#I am forever feral over the line: I will protect you as long as I can

[lilyharvord]

I need people to understand that my hyperfixation ships are limited to one thing: a man who is usually in full control of himself meeting 1 woman and losing complete and utter control over absolutely everything he does.

I just like to watch when they go full feral for a woman who could literally chew them up and spit them out, but choses to let them stick around because I don't know, it's nice to have someone carrying their bag or whatever.

#red queen #mare did this twice over so she gets double points #this is why I adore Marecal #I am forever feral over the line: I will protect you as long as I can #AND: I thought of you in the end I saw your face in the water #THAT MAN IS RIDICULOUS FOR THAT. He did not need to go around re-inventing love #cause I mean... man was a full blood prince with “responsibilities” and he seriously fell apart over a woman who was 5'2“ #and dont even get me started On kanthony #I am unironically obsessed with the scene in the library and the line: AND IT IS NOT FAR ENOUGH #ridiculous that this man sniffed the air behind her as she walked by #like sir you are in HEAT stop it XD #and of course i could never forget about Delilah Bard and Kell Marsh #holy shit talk about a man with his life in order who met one woman and became so fucking smitten he spent a whole book low key crying #about her being gone and then getting stupidly excited over seeing her again #and then left his brother behind to go sail on a boat with her XD when she clearly only keeps him around for minimal purposes #I swear to god I went FERAL OVER “there is no where you can go” said the Antari to her prince “that I cannot follow” #SHUT UP she loves him so much😭😭😭😭😭😭 and she refused to admit it to him #a darker shade of magic #fragile threads of power

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 11

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 1.8k

some more pieces of Juliet's backstory...

Chapter 11: 'Tulsa Jesus Freak'

Five years ago, Iowa. 

Juliet sat on her bed with her legs crossed, the mattress squeaking beneath her as she shifted forward to grab the book laid on the threadbare throw. Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. Juliet’s fingers grazed over the cover, mystified by the rolling hills and ferocious dark blue sky painted on the front.

A smile overtook over her features as she flipped through the wrinkled pages and caught the name of the fictional man who often consumed her thoughts: Heathcliff. With his bad temper, quick wit, and undying love for Cathy, Juliet was captivated. She had found her copy behind a bookshelf in her town’s community centre, her hands had clutched around the scratched cover before she furiously stuffed it in her bag before anyone could see. Her father had ordered the burning of all books which did not follow his teachings a few years prior.

This would be her secret, she had thought, rebelliously.  

Every evening when her father bolted the lock on her bedroom door and Juliet was confined within the four walls of her bedroom, Juliet dug her copy of Wuthering Heights from beneath her mattress and read those same words over and over again: “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

The passion which passed between Cathy and Heathcliff only existed as words on yellowed paper. Juliet knew this, but she couldn’t help but feel like a knife had been plunged into her soul when she read about the devastation of their brutal longing. What it would feel like to share that connection with another human being, to wish the earth would swallow you whole so that you could remain forever with the one you love. Their hunger for each other was deadly, lethal.

Juliet knew that the love Cathy and Heathcliff shared could only exist in fiction, she was sure of it. A love like that could destroy someone. It didn’t exist in real life, especially in Juliet’s world.  

Reading Wuthering Heights by candlelight was a typical evening for Juliet. What wasn’t typical, however, was the tapping on her window.

Juliet froze, her hands stilled on the page she was reading and she slowly closed over her book. She waited and listened, sure that the noise she heard was really just the wind, nothing else.  

Another tap attacked her window and Juliet flew from her bed, almost tripping over the rug on her floor as she stumbled to the window and looked out. Her bedroom was on the second floor so her eyes dropped to the ground below for the source of the noise. A gasp left her lips when she saw who was waiting below with a bundle of stones in his hand: Ethan.  

Panic struck Juliet, fierce and hot. She whipped her head around, desperately listening for any sign that her father had heard the tapping or her hurried movements. When she turned around, Ethan was at her window. Juliet jumped back, signalling with her hands for Ethan to climb back down, tears burning in her eyes as her fear took over her whole body.  

Ethan used one hand to stabilise himself on the window ledge as he unlocked her window with the other. It was always locked from the outside, Juliet was not allowed access to fresh air.  

When the window was propped open by Ethan’s steady hands Juliet became paralysed with fear, there was no way her father hadn’t heard that. She glanced down at the radiator below the window and the chain which puddled on the floor, a phantom pain attacked her ankle as she remembered the feeling of the cold metal against her skin. She couldn’t go through that again so soon. Ethan had to leave.  

Her body kicked into action and she sprung forward, grabbing Ethan’s arms as he pulled himself through her window. Before she could beg him to leave, Ethan cradled her face within his warm hands, moving his fingers across her mouth to silence her protests.  

“He’s not here,” Ethan murmured, his mouth so close to her shocked eyes.  

Confusion must have been evident in her stare because Ethan clarified: “Your father, he’s not here. I spotted him at the mess hall only a couple minutes ago, he was giving a sermon.” His voice was slow and steady as he returned Juliet’s panicked glare with his reassuring smile.

Juliet’s eyelids closed, relief shuddering through her body. Ethan let go of her face and ran his hands down her shivering arms, tracing her elbows as he led her back over to her bed. They sat down together, Ethan’s leg pressed against her own.  

Juliet finally opened her eyes, nodding slowly as her heart slowed to a normal pace. She looked up at Ethan, noting the way his gaze roamed across her face.  

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, not fully trusting the idea that her father was not able to hear their conversation.  

“I had to see you,” he responded, his voice low. “I was so worried,” he added with a wince.  

“I’m fine, Ethan,” Juliet reassured him after a long pause.  

Ethan coughed out a cold laugh. “Fine,” he said mockingly, then turned away.  

“Nobody has seen you for days,” he continued. “Not after…” Ethan trailed off as he removed his arm from Juliet and wiped a hand down his face.  

“I know what happened,” Juliet snapped, then shook her head, regret churning in her stomach. She wasn’t angry at Ethan for bringing it up, it was just that she had spent the past several days locked within these four walls, desperately trying to forget the slap that her father had given her in front of a whole hall of people. A whole hall of people who did nothing but stand there in shock as Juliet was punished for taking another piece of bread from the table without asking her father for permission.  

Juliet reached down and rubbed her ankle without thinking, the redness had started to recede from her two day long extended punishment for ‘embarrassing’ her father in front of his followers, but it still stung.  

Ethan followed her movement with his wide eyes before glancing across at the chain beside the radiator. He went entirely still. Juliet closed her eyes, cursing herself for her stupidity.  

“What did he do to you?” Ethan asked and every word carved at another piece of Juliet’s remaining pride. She knew Ethan had already figured out her latest punishment, there was no point in denying it. So she responded with her usual silence. Ethan’s fists balled on his lap.  

Without warning Ethan turned back towards her, his arms latched on her shoulders as he turned her whole body towards his strong chest. Juliet’s chin tilted upwards and Ethan rested his forehead against hers, his hot breath mingling with her own.  

“We could leave right now,” he whispered against her mouth.  

A breath rushed from Juliet’s lips, the urge to agree with him, to grab his hand and run was overwhelming, her heart was thundering in her chest again. But this was not a fairytale, Ethan had promised her the same fantasy again and again but they both knew it was impossible. They both knew it was a pipe dream. Ethan was the son of another prominent man in their community, the only difference was that his father wasn’t a psychopath. Ethan’s father was the town’s doctor who was training Ethan to take over his practice one day. Ethan loved the work, he was born to save people, to heal wounds and soothe trauma.

Sometimes Juliet wondered if that was all Ethan saw when he looked at her: another broken thing to mend.  

Juliet shook her head in the tight space between them, her lips brushing Ethan’s. She didn’t need someone to save her, she didn’t need Ethan’s sorrow to mingle with her own.  

Juliet just needed a distraction.  

She moved forward, her chest pressing against Ethan’s as her lips crashed over his. She left no room for tenderness as her hands wrapped around his body and gripped the back of his t-shirt. Ethan responded immediately, his lips matching her brutal pace. Juliet could feel his heart hammering against her own. She parted her lips, her tongue met his and Ethan let out a shocked gasp, a moan rumbling in his chest.  

Juliet’s mind fell into a blissful numbness, a veil had dropped over the swirling mess that lived in her head. She could still feel the fear and regret but it was like her thoughts were floating around her in a dark muddy water, she could see them but she couldn’t get a good grip. Juliet barely felt Ethan’s lips on her own, she knew that her hands were running through his hair, clutching at the thick strands, but she felt nothing.  

Nothing was exactly what she wanted.  

Juliet felt her hand reach down and tug at Ethan’s belt and a second later he pulled away, his breathing rough as he gripped her hand, stilling her movements.  

“Juliet,” he breathed into her open mouth. “We need to slow down, I - I need you to slow down.”  

Juliet nodded and her gaze dropped to Ethan’s lap before she averted her eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  

Ethan laughed, reaching down to adjust his trousers. “Don’t be sorry,” he replied, his voice practically a growl. His stunned features twitched into warm amusement. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

Juliet rolled her eyes and looked away, her gaze fell on her worn copy of Wuthering Heights. She flinched. Brontë’s deathly romantic prose mocked her: “My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.” 

To Cathy, Heathcliff was the weight that dragged her soul back to earth, he grounded her in a passion so vicious it caused genuine pain.  

Juliet had just kissed Ethan and felt nothing at all.  

She knew she loved Ethan, their friendship was forged over years of stolen meetings and kind favours. But he wasn’t her Heathcliff, as much as he wanted to be. Ethan was the knight in shining armour. He was safe, he was easy to love. Juliet didn’t have to guess how he felt about her, she could feel it in every sad look he sent her way.  

Juliet’s heart was heavy as she lifted her faraway eyes to meet Ethan’s heated gaze. She forced a shy smile to slide across her face as her hand reached up and tugged Ethan’s chin down to meet her awaiting lips.  

Heathcliff was a dream anyways and Ethan was right in front of her, real and tangible. His body was warm and his lips were eager, Juliet’s eyes closed as the sweet numbness surrounded her once more. 

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

@ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl @amyispxnk

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller hbo #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x oc #Spotify #pedro pascal

[romanarose]

Forever Young

Marc Spector X Reader

A/n: I am.... so fucking nervous to post thing. Like i feel anxious this is a fic based on a FANTASTIC Moon Boys fic, Limitless by @missdictatorme and i really really hope they don't hate it for think it's weird. I fucking love this fic and im addicted. BUUUUUT it can be read separately as Marc with a pregnant reader.

Anyway, here it it and PLEASE GO READ THE STORY THI IS BASED OFF OF!!!

***********

Forever young

Forever young

May you stay

Forever young

Marc Spector couldn’t sleep. He went through life pretending he had it all figured out, trying to convince everyone around him that everything was fine. Great, even. Some people saw through it: Layla, Steven, Jake. He wondered if she saw through him. Had he let it slip yet? Had she caught onto the fact he was a disaster, a broken mess of a person? The beautiful woman next to him, she had no idea what he had done and the person he was, yet she trusted him. Would she be here right now, laying in that skimpy nightgown, trusting him with herself and her child? Their child? Tentatively, he put a hand over her stomach, as if doing so would protect their daughter from all the horrors of the outside world. There was a song his dad used to sing to him in Hebrew, he couldn’t remember all there words but there was a line he remembered. “Little one, Somewhere Hangs a crystal ball And a ray of sunshine carefully Approaches Touches it with light And all the fairies Come To your cradle In all the rainbow colors” all the rainbow colors… that’s what he wanted for her, a life filled with color and light.

May God bless and keep you always

May your wishes all come true

May you always do for others

And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung

And may you stay

Forever young

They could stay here forever, safe in his little apartment, he’d take care of everything. Take care of them. He knew some other men might laugh at him, laugh at how deeply he had fallen in love with a woman pregnant with another man’s child… but Marc didn’t see it that way, he never had. From the moment he saw her, that was his child, nothing could ever change that, as long as she’d have him. The instinct to protect his girls was feral, primal, an integral part of his core being now. There was so much he wanted for that little girl, so much he wasn’t sure if he could provide, an example he couldn’t be. Steven and Jake were better for that. Steven was kindness, honesty, intelligence. Steven would do anything for anyone at any time, an ameriable trait and something any father would want for his children.But he was also honest, would tell people off if they needed. As much as he wanted to be there to protect her in everything, he knew that wasn’t possible. He wanted her to be able to stand up for herself, to take up space, and not be walked on. As for Jake. Jake was passionate and skillful. Although there was a good few months where Marc was… less than thrilled about Jake, he came to be thankful for Jake’s abilities in both battle and the real world. He could talk his way in and out of almost anything, and fight his way out of what he couldn’t. Latter, Marc really began to admire Jake’s passion. When he loved, as he loved Marc and Steven, he loved hard. That’s how him and Marc found common ground; their love of Steven and desire to keep him safe. 

May you grow up to be righteous

May you grow up to be true

May you always know the truth

And see the light surrounding you

May you always be courageous

Stand upright and be strong

May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young.

To be honest, he was scared shitless. Her and him… they hadn’t talked about Marc’s past. He didn’t really want to, but he was certain Steven would let it slip at some point. Couldn’t keep a secret for the life of him. As much as Steven and Jake insisted he wasn’t, he constantly worried that he was everything his mother said he was. He worried he was his mother. Sometimes, after a long night of drinking and self-hatred, he’ll look in the mirror and see his mom. How can he raise a little girl? How can he be fit to hold that little girl, something so pure and precious and innocent? Will he break her? Will he destroy her the way his mom broke him? Will she see the darkness in him, and hate him in her first breaths?

May your hands always be busy

May your feet always be swift

May you have a strong foundation

When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful

And may your song always be sung

May you stay forever young

They say kids are good judge of character. What if she cries whenever he holds her? What if she hates him? She’ll know. She’ll know what he’s done. She’ll know the people he’s killed, she’ll know how he fucked over Layla, she’ll know how he didn’t watch out for Randell and how can he protect her when he couldn’t protect Randell? He almost pulled his hand away from her stomach, almost removed himself from holding her when he felt it. A kick. Right where his hand was, he felt a kick, and then another. She was going for a swim in there, it seemed. It was like… it was like she was talking to him. She was here, she trusted him, she was excited to meet him. The love Marc felt in his heart right then? Insurmountable. Right at that moment, he couldn’t imagine how he had gone through life without her, he felt like something had changed in him. She felt him there, she felt his darkness and broken soul, and she loved him anyway. He sat up, watching the movement in his love’s stomach. Marc had been so far removed from his faith, it was a part of his childhood, thus it was something he hid away. But he remembered the words his parents used to say to him, a Shabbat prayer they would say over him and Randell before his death. He couldn’t remember the exact Hebrew, but he could remember the English words, and he could remember the version for girls.

Quietly, with her still kicking and moving and tears in his eyes, he placed his hand over her stomach, hoping he wouldn’t wake her.

“May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah.

May God bless you and keep you.

May God shine His face on you and be gracious to you.

May God turn His face toward you and grant you peace.”

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young.

#limitless #moon knight #moon boys #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfic #bob dylan #forever young #song fic #moon knight angst #marc spector needs a hug

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Sixteen

Summary: The pharaoh Ahkmenrah takes his new queen with ample celebration. Nouke learns of the struggles laid out in her new path.  

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 9684

Warnings: 5K PLUS WORDS OF WEDDING NIGHT SMUT. You younglings stay away, (18+ only)!! Why am I so thirsty? Seriously this chapter is the longest one in the whole story because I’m a thirsty hoe.

Tag List:  @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​, @edteche2​ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N:  I-uh-sorta went feral with this one. I got my feet wet writing smut a few chapters ago and with this one I straight up jumped into the deep end. Hopefully you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, thank you so much for your comments and reactions! I adore you all! Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

When Nouke stepped out into the hall with Setshepsut at her side, dripping from head to toe in finery, she did so with a new wave of confidence, using every perfect step as a moment to reflect. Her childhood was spent roaming the very halls in which she strode, wearing shoddy garb, ignored, and expected to serve men and women greater than herself. She’d come so far from the life of servitude she was born into. Now, Nouke walked freely, poised on a higher tier than a princess. Her rags were replaced with riches: adorned in fine linen and gold—she was someone no one could ignore.

Servants and nobles alike bowed to her as they passed, the crown on her head a sign of the status she would soon carry—its weight a reminder as well. Every piece of her history and the shimmering future laid before her was difficult to wrap her head around, but it thrilled her nonetheless.

Before another surge of hesitance could claw into the pit of her stomach, Nouke cast a studying glance to Setshepsut, watching the elegant way she carried herself. Her inherent grace was much like her brothers, especially when he turned on his pharaoh act. Every line in her body was straight but not rigid. Her posture was precise but comfortable; with her shoulders squared and her chin held just high enough to resonate a calm authority, she was regal without seeming arrogant.

Every step was weightless and fluid like a leaf on a breeze; Nouke walked as though she had rocks tethered to her feet. It took effort to stifle her frown, suddenly overcome with the desire to replicate the casual sophistication.

The chance she could master a paralleled radiance before they reached the council chamber was nil. Too straight of a posture would come across as stringent, and if she angled her chin even a fraction too high, she would surely come off as snobbish: two factors Nouke was keen to avoid.

With some luck and a large amount of diligence, Nouke knew she would be able to find that middle ground on par with the likes of Setshepsut and the rest of her family. Until then, Nouke made a vow to herself to stay calm and mimic Set’s gentle smile, hoping she did not look as foolish as she felt. 

When they reached the set of double doors, Setshepsut took the liberty of opening them herself. The council room was longer than it was wide and decorated with statues of the most important gods. Shelving ran along the wall to her right, housing scrolls of papyrus and other idols. At the rooms center was a long wooden table, which was already filled with a sea of unfamiliar faces.

A sense of panic consumed Nouke when each of the foreign faces turned to appraise her with varying expressions she had trouble reading. To a degree, she expected to be met with a cold welcome. To them, she was a filthy servant—a witch—who seduced their noble pharaoh into giving her a seat in the monarchy. Most of them probably wouldn’t believe her if she confessed to not wanting the crown; she just wanted Ahk.

In spite of the scrutiny, Nouke held her resolve, unwilling to let them upset her. Ahkmenrah chose her to be his queen. She had nothing to prove to them except, possibly, how much love she possessed for the pharaoh: that she would most willingly prove for the rest of her life.

Uninterested in catering to so many probing expressions, Nouke scanned the faces until she found Shepseheret at the furthest end, happily seated next to Maketaten. A grin broke through her protective mask of indifference as she found her mother dressed in finery befitting a noble. She looked so young and healthy the vision was almost enough to fill Nouke’s eyes with joyous tears, but she fought them, not wanting to ruin her makeup.

Beyond them, Merenkahre stood looking calm and pensive, harboring the same confident air Nouke needed to master.

Without a word, Setshepsut ambled prettily around the table to take the empty seat next to a handsome young soldier, leaving Nouke alone in the open space between the head of the table and the wall of shelves. The loss of her closeness triggered more panic to manifest, causing the rhythm of her heart to increase and a lump to build in her throat.

Instantly her mind and her eyes searched the room for a way to remedy the sudden wave of anxiety, wondering if she should join them at the table or wait for instruction. 

Just as she was starting to feel faint from holding her breath, everyone who was seated stood.

The abruptness startled Nouke with a gasp, and before she could follow their gaze to find an answer, Ahkmenrah twined his fingers with hers, throwing her a blinding, toothy smile. 

“Hello, my love,” he said proudly.

His presence easily allayed her unease and suddenly, Nouke felt weightless.

“Hi,” she replied with a dreamy exhale, her awe prompting his lips to curl into a grin until laughter lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes.

“If we now may proceed, my king?” Merenkahre cleared his throat to gain their attention.

There was the slightest hint of an adoring smile playing on the former pharaoh’s lips. No more was his face a mask of dutiful indifference; there was sincerity in his tone and eyes that was a welcomed sight. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to win his approval after all.

“Yes, father,” Ahkmenrah said with a respectful nod.

Merenkahre returned the gesture and took a single step to place himself between his wife and Maketaten.

“In following tradition, marriage contracts are usually written by the fathers of the young man and young woman. However, we must offer our condolences to our soon to be queen and her mother. Ramentukah was a loyal soldier under my reign and a good man.”

The room collectively bowed their heads in a show of respect—a moment of silence that was bittersweet.

“Thusly,” Meren began again. “I thought it more appropriate, that in this circumstance, the mothers scribe this agreement.”

Merenkahre stepped back into his previous place as Shepseheret and Maketaten stood, both smiling.

“Ahkmenrah. Anuksamun. I speak for both of us when I say it warms my heart to see the both of you reunited,” Shep began.

Maketaten brandished a roll of papyrus and laid it on the table as Ahk’s mother continued, “The terms of this marriage are simple. It states that in the unlikely want of a break to this union, any children of royal blood will remain heirs to the throne of Egypt. The homestead of Maketaten, Ramentuka, and Anuksamun will remain their property. Until such a time, the farm's upkeep will be the responsibility of the crown to ensure its longevity.”

“Are these terms agreeable to you both?” Maketaten added.

It was absurd to even speak about the notion of their union breaking; Nouke would never surrender Ahkmenrah, and she knew beyond a doubt he would never surrender her.

“Yes,” they said in unison, causing them both to crack a smile.

A pridefully pleased grin spread over Shepseheret's face as she gathered the marriage document and brought it to their end of the table.

“Then, if you please. Make your marks, your majesties."

Nouke’s heart was hammering as she watched Ahkmenrah scribe his name; the rush of excitement made her feel faint again, and she gripped Ahk’s hand a little tighter to keep from falling. He passed her the quill with another blinding smile, and her hand was shaking so badly it took all of her focus to will it steady as she wrote her name next to her husband's.

And then, it was done. He was hers, and she was his—forever.

Merenkahre spoke then, his smile wide and sparkling, a hint of his son’s expression peeking through.

“Our honored guests, and respected councilmen. It is my pleasure to present to you the pharaoh Ahkmenrah and his Queen, Anuksamun!” 

***

While Nouke found the ceremony to officially mark her union to the pharaoh to be—in a word—underwhelming, the celebration that followed made up for the boring political fuss of signing a document in the confines of the council chamber. The moment she stepped into the great halls of the palace with her husband, the commotion of the festivities echoed through the stone walls in such a way it was difficult to pinpoint their true origin.

Sounds almost alien, bounced around in a muffled and obscured clamor that instilled Nouke with curiosity. The corridors were nearly vacant as they strode; everyone, it seemed, having been coaxed with intrigue to the cause of the sounds pulsing through the palace.

Step after fluid step, the din of celebratory excitement grew louder until the halls of the palace gave way to a large courtyard oasis. Nouke’s breath caught with thrill as she took in the unbelievable sight, the crowd gathered below the stairs she and Ahk stood atop.

Shouts of praise for their king and queen burst from the guests below, in a thunderous roar that triggered a wave of shock to freeze Nouke's movements. Were it not for the proud smile on Ahkmenrah’s lips, the number of eyes suddenly cast upon her would have been even more staggering. His heartened expression was enough to combat the fluttering of butterflies in her belly, and she smiled too.

His sparkling eyes met her with a silent question—to ask if she was ready to keep going—and she nodded. Confidence thrummed from him and into her where their hands were joined, lending her the posture she thought she would need to work at to master. With Ahk at her side, the air of casual dignity came to her with ease.

She felt a true queen at that moment as a hush fell over the crowd when they began descending the stairs. Every person fell in a wave to their knees, parting like a river through sand for them as they slowly tread past.

Ahkmenrah was the paragon of regal as he moved throughout the crowd, his crown gleaming in the burning of torchlight, his golden robes catching the breeze, and sweeping elegantly behind him. Like all those before her, Nouke too was in awe of his presence: so calm and utterly beautiful. And all hers.

When they reached their destination at the center of the grand courtyard—a raised platform of identical twin thrones—Nouke was unsure if her heart was pounding from the thrill, the nerves or simply by the way Ahkmenrah glowed at her side.

There was so much to focus on from their stage and Nouke’s eyes scanned over it all feeling breathless. It wasn’t until Ahk stole a quick kiss that her nerves settled. He proudly drew her into the warmth of his orbit, and out from the tepid eyes surrounding them. The glean in his eyes moved through her entire body, snaking and rooting into her core.

Ahk’s puckish grin spread wider, recognizing her look of want all too easily, and gave her one last peck before turning to address his still kneeling guests. 

“Rise, my loyal, most cherished friends.” Ahkmenrah’s voice bellowed with a robust, prideful vigor that immediately settled between Nouke’s thighs despite the mundane nature of his words.

With a small bereft sigh, Nouke bit her lip and steered her focus to the crowd hoping to allay the heat Ahk’s deep bravado stirred.

“Tonight, I am the happiest man in all Egypt. Fore on this night, I have the supreme honor to introduce to you, my wife.” Ahkmenrah’s glittering eyes turned to drink in her sight, holding her gaze as he spoke again, “Whose beauty could have only come from the gods themselves. She is my greatest love, and your new queen…”

He sounded breathless, completely in awe, and almost in tears when he continued, “I present, Anuksamun!”

Instantaneously a chorus resonated throughout the air, “My Queen!”

Everyone bowed before her, even Ahkmenrah bowed, murmuring a gentle, “My queen,” that curled tendrils of warmth through her body.

Nouke’s mouth hung agape as her eyes flitted over each bowed head, her heart bursting and pounding all at once, overcome with a hundred different emotions, but mostly she stood with disbelief and profound gratefulness.

With a deep breath, Nouke poised herself with all the grace and confidence she could derive from those turbulent feelings inside and prayed her voice would not crack under the onslaught of pressure.

“My lords, my ladies, my new friends. I am humbled by your praise. It is my honor to share this night with each of you.” She paused to take in another slow breath, letting her sight catch Ahkmenrah to gauge how her first official address was faring.

His eyes were wide with admiration; his lips parted and quirked into a three-point smile. The look of reverence instilled a fresh wave of courage, and Nouke continued.

“Thank you all for making the journey to celebrate with us—”

“Let the festivities commence!” Ahkmenrah declared, ceremoniously flailing his arms to the heavens with a toothy smile that put the moons silvery light to shame.

All at once, the large garden erupted with life as every manner of entertainment broke out. Music and laughter sprung up on every side, filling the air with an ample joy that mirrored the sensation buzzing in Nouke’s chest.

With the spotlight no longer on her, a grin unfurled on her face, both proud and glad their guests were suddenly too caught up in the merrymaking to pay her and the pharaoh much attention.

“That was terrifying,” she half-joked with a shaky giggle.

In a fluid movement, Ahk’s arms were around her waist, guiding her against him until nothing remained to part them.

“You, my love, are a natural,” he purred with a smirk before claiming her mouth with his.

The delicate sweep of his tongue over her lip, begging for entrance, cajoled a pleased hum from Nouke’s throat. She was only too willing to open for him--starving for his intimacy after days without it.

His kiss was all greedy tongue and skillful lips, dancing desperately against one another, tasting and worshiping, until it stole the air from their lungs, leaving them panting with desire. Warmth coiled for each of them, low in their abdomen, spurring more quiet and indecent laments to pass—muffled—between them.

It took all of Nouke’s diminishing will power not to ravish her pharaoh then and there for everyone to see. His lips curled into a devious smirk, and his eyes trailed down the deep V of her neckline with a hunger no feast could fill, gnawing his bottom lip to curb his own appetite.

She shivered, thinking he was going to indulge her lewd fantasy and christen her his queen there before all of his subjects. However, the cloud of lust dissipated as quickly as it had formed when Ahkmenrah’s family swarmed them with praise and introductions.

Nouke had only met Ahk’s older sisters once or twice in her youth. Most were married off to important husbands before she and Ahkmenrah were old enough to speak, but she did remember that they were all beautiful, kind people.

While she stumbled through each introduction, confusing names of sisters, husbands, nieces, and nephews, each welcomed her with open arms. As they caught up with their younger brother, Nouke stood at Ahk’s side, her heart swelling every time she found a piece of her husband in one of their expressions. Ahk, Set, and their oldest sister had a tendency to bite their lip before they smiled. His laugh was a perfect echo of his second oldest sister and all of them had strong jaws and expressive eyes. There was an entire repertoire of matching idiosyncrasies that made Ahkmenrah and his sister’s harmonious, and Nouke was never more delighted to be among a group of strangers.

***

Nouke was unsure how far into the night the celebration had lasted when she found herself longing for it to be over. The food and drinks continued to flow endlessly; the guests continued to dance and thrive in the convivial atmosphere without constraint. She alone seemed to beg for an end.

Sleep was far from her mind, yet the thrill of the festivities concluded when Shepseheret and Setshepsut pulled her away from Ahkmenrah, tasked with the obligation of introducing her to all the important ladies of Egypt in attendance.

The burden of duty, she thought, easily recalling each time Ahk had spoken of duty and frowned. At last, she understood. And just like her dutiful husband, Nouke wore a kind face and as regal a posture as she could manage, while her mother-in-law and sister-in-law paraded her from noble to noble.

Each woman greeted her with a respectful bow, yet not all their praise felt genuine, which made for a keenly distressing jumble of introductions and conversations. From awe to abhorrence, their lofty masks split to reveal the truth of how they saw her. Some commended her for coming from nothing, while others made it clear with only their icy tone, that the notion of a commoner queen repulsed them.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Set said in a timely fashion, just as Nouke’s anxiety was beginning to root in her bones again. The negativity and false faces were too much too quickly.

“Some of them are jealous, and some of them are upset my brother chose you over their daughters.” There was a smug quirk to Setshepsut’s lips that was enough to allay a sliver of Nouke’s malaise finding it to be a twin of Ahk’s smug simper.

Still, Nouke’s brows had difficulty not knitting together with inquiry.

“Did Ahkmen not tell you?” Set asked, her brows pulling together in a similar expression.

“Tell me what?”

Setshepsut’s features softened into a genuine, wholehearted smile, and she looked to her mother.

“When the council encouraged him to seek out a second wife, my husband sent for suitors,” Ahk’s mother explained, joining the conversation as they stood amid the sea of guests.

It should not have come as a surprise the handsome, young pharaoh would have a line of women waiting to wed him, and even though she’d married him hours prior, Nouke struggled to keep jealousy from twisting a frown onto her lips.

“Ahkmen denied them all,” Setshepsut assured her, once again swift enough to combat the nagging sensation the thought of suitors conjured. “He was already so in love with you; I'm not even sure he truly looked at any of them.”

Nouke’s smile grew firmer, “When did this all—”

“A few weeks before you showed up,” Set said happily. “It is as though the gods knew you needed one another.”

Nouke beamed, and while her words struggled to compile themselves to form a response, she knew Set was wise enough to understand that the feeling was the same.

“The gods always know what we need before we do,” Shep said in a scholarly tone, full of wisdom and warmth. “Which is why the gods blessed me with three daughters before a son. His kindness comes from all his sisters, and kindness can be just as powerful as any weapon a king could hold.”

The former queen’s sentiment was not lost on Nouke; Shepseheret's knowing expression provided enough context. Her son would always rule Egypt with a level head and no cruelty, unlike his brother.

A quiet moment passed as they idly scanned the crowd around them until Shepseheret’s elegant posture relaxed.

“I do believe we’ve met everyone.” She exhaled, releasing more of her queenly persona, looking every bit as exhausted from the charade as Nouke felt.

“I know those were a lot of names and faces, but it will spare you in the future,” Shepseheret explained, offering an apologetic smile. “It should keep them from showing up unannounced to introduce themselves.”

Nouke frowned, “They do that?”

Ahk’s sister nodded, frowning herself, looking more irritated than sad.

“Mmhm, any excuse to possibly gain more favor with the pharaoh.” Set threw a narrow-eyed glance around them. “Everyone here is not-so-secretly vying for the next-best position of power.”

Nouke’s frown pressed deeper into her features as she glanced at the party-goers through a new lens of understanding. It made so much sense suddenly—the grandeur of every detail—the frock and the praise and the forced well wishes. 

Every soul in the garden was there only for the prospect of selfish gain, be it for a seat at the pharaoh’s council or merely to nurse from the royal teat. They attended only to take whatever they could: meals and drink and entertainment when no guest in attendance ever knew a day of famine.

They owned no golden crown to mark them supreme over all, but they were mayors and governors—lords and ladies—who knew only lavishment and plentiful meals. None of them put in a day’s labor under the sun out of fear of going hungry. And still, they took what was provided freely with heedless greed.

The worst thought was that the pharaoh could do nothing but play along to ensure no offended party sought to overthrow him.

Queen for less than an evening and already the weight of it all seemed crushing.

“I’m going to find Ahk,” Nouke announced, suddenly in need of his warmth after hours of only cold faces.

“Thank you,” she added with a genuine smile, grateful to have them both to ease her into her new life.

A sickly air of melancholy swept over Egypt's new queen as she wandered the party alone, her inner thoughts a tangled web that drastically contrasted the joviality enduring around her. Nouke felt her usual spirit unexpectedly laden: overwhelmed and acutely out of place among a legion of highborn faces. Their mocking expressions could not be overshadowed by the few wholesome gazes that met her as she walked making her spirit heavier.

Every non-distracted face and sober mind bid her a bow as she maneuvered passed, each act making her wonder whether they saw a queen or a servant strolling by.

The envy was easiest to catch on the young faces of potential queens; each one of them beauties Ahkmenrah passed up to tie himself eternally to her. Nouke did garner a hint of pride at that particular thought, manifesting with a well-hidden smirk.

Nevertheless, by the time her feet carried her across the spacious garden to its center where the twin thrones sat, Nouke felt thin—like the threadbare garments, riddled with holes, she wore on her farm. She lingered a moment in the open area between the masses of guests and her throne, letting her focus slip into the distance with a deep inhale, and a slow exhale. Only after several slow, calculated breaths did her spirit find its center once more, bringing a much-needed wave of calm.

The abrupt sound of children laughing quickly stole Nouke’s focus, and the sight she found was enough to devour the remaining traces of melancholy. Instantaneously her face erupted into a grin so wide it hurt to hold. All at once, the heaviness in her heart melted into a warmth that swelled to fill her entire body with adoration. 

Upon the lordly stage, where the thrones sat unoccupied, was Ahkmenrah and a slew of his tiny nieces and nephews. All of them were laughing and smiling as their uncle playfully chased them with a mischievous smirk on his lips, his fingers outstretched and threatening to tickle them. Nouke’s heart fluttered, and tears prickled her eyes as she pictured their children running and giggling as Ahkmenrah chased them; beautiful babes with ringlets, blue eyes and smiles that rivaled the sun. What a wonderful vision.

The smallest of Ahk’s nephews let out a yelp when he scooped the boy into his arms, his cry immediately followed by a barrage of shrieks and laughs as his uncle tossed him into the air. When the pharaoh caught him, Ahk kissed the boy’s cheek before releasing him. The little boy let out another mirthful cry as his tiny legs carried him into the crowd the moment his feet met the ground. Ahkmenrah’s grin was like magic, unfurling slow, with ample affection as he watched his nephew vanish into the sea of people.

Several of the other children ran after the toddler, all carrying on with convivial squeals that somehow made the pharaoh’s grin even brighter. Only one of his nieces remained, older than most of the other kids, but still small enough to warrant her yanking on her uncle's cape to get his attention. Ahk turned his radiant smile upon her, and she matched its vibrance when he scooped her up as well, neatly tumbling backward onto the wide seat of his throne.

The little girl cackled as they expertly fell, reaching with wonderment in her eyes for the golden crown on her uncle’s head. Ahk’s smile touched his eyes as he carefully removed it and placed the headpiece on her head. Immediately it slipped past her ears and nose, causing her to giggle as she pushed it back far enough on her crown to see. She stood in Ahkmenrah’s lap, throwing her arm around his neck for a quick hug before mussing his hair.

A second later, the girl hopped from his lap with an excited squeal and ran to join the other children, her uncle's crown still on her head.

Ahkmenrah chuckled a delightful sounding bellow that shook his entire body with joy as he settled back into his throne effortlessly. He took a long swig from his goblet that was precariously perched on the wide arm of his chair, relaxing.

All at once, the warmth in her chest dripped further down, becoming something much more immodest than the virtuous affection it had been only a moment ago. Never had Nouke been so compelled to sit on someone’s lap. Seeing her husband forgoing his perfect posture for a lax slouch, legs sprawled wide in front of him, with the curls on his head an unruly mess, made her tingle and ache.

He was like poetry in motion, and all hers. 

The keenly alluring sight of her husband perched so prettily on his throne, with a hint of kingly arrogance playing around his upturned lips—brought on by the drink in his hand—was like flint on steel. Sparks stoked molten heat to spill to her core; like a pot boiling over, the wave of longing begged for attention. No routine introduction or beckon of duty was going to keep her from taking advantage of such an enticing sight. The liquid desire coursing through her veins evoked a brazen want that Nouke clung to, allowing it to bleed into her movements. Her sultry gait quickly caught the pharaoh’s attention and the moment their eyes met; Ahkmenrah's playfully arrogant smirk spread into a wide, adoring, and proud smile.

“My queen,” he purred, welcoming her into his lap gladly when she lithely perched herself there, tucking her legs at either side of him.

She swept her fingers through his unruly curls, no longer able to quell the desire to do so, before her hands came to rest at the back of his neck. A gentle hum vibrated from deep in his chest at the glide of her fingers over his scalp, and his eyes fluttered shut as he savored their feel. Just the sound was enough to prickle her touch starved skin in a wave of goosebumps.

As her fingers wove and played absently with the hair at the back of his head, the queen met her king's eyes in a gaze that transcended all others; an exchange marked with wonderment, as though the meaning of life itself was transcribed in the smoldering colors of each other’s eyes.

Nouke’s heart was beating with a familiar, anticipatory fervor; every passing moment without kissing him moved painfully slow. There were hundreds of wandering eyes, but sensibility was lost when she was under the worship of Ahk's stormy gaze. He looked upon her as though she was the only living being in the universe; a mix of awe and affection that coupled sublimely with the quirk of rascally desire on his lips.

Ahkmenrah's own aura was inherently beguiling, effortlessly eating away every rational thought until Nouke found it impossible to douse the growing fire within her, wandering eyes be damned.  

Shamelessly, she took his bottom lip between hers, teasing a brush of her tongue over the sensitive skin until Ahk welcomed the kiss with a hungry sound. Nouke leaned closer, controlling the lascivious play of his lips and tongue, purring agreeably at the delicious taste of her king's mouth under her own. 

Ahkmenrah artlessly abandoned his goblet, the clank of the chalice against the stone ground barely registered when his hands came to moor at the small of her back, and the heat of his fanning fingers consumed all her senses. He drew her closer still, the slight friction against his frame utterly divine as their kiss built with a burst of fervor. It deepened and expanded, her hands holding his jaw as their joined passion became something inevitably bigger than they both could contain. Nouke’s sober mind grew drunk with lust when his heavy breath swept over her skin; Ahk’s low gasp curling around her spine. Every sensitive part of her was tingling. She wanted him. Needed him. 

When they parted to find their breath, the blue of Ahkmenrah’s eyes was narrow; a thin ring around wide pools of black, and he blinked slowly, watching her with feline intensity.

“Are you enjoying the festivities, my love?” he asked once his breathing calmed. His tone was like velvet, warm and luxurious; a bravado that actively attempted to unravel any trace of composure she had left.

Nouke’s lips quirked into a coy smirk as she considered her answer until she decided to reply with a kiss; her words tangled in the haze of her desire. Her hands surrendered their delicate press to the edge of his jaw, blunt nails raking over the skin of his neck, mapping the jeweled wesekh and down further over the lean muscles of his torso until she found the bulge under the silky fabric of his shendyt.

The pharaoh shifted and gasped a choked sound as his eyes fluttered with mild shock, lips trembling into a grin. With a purr and a mischievous simper of her own, Nouke palmed him, the sensation of his girth twitching and growing with even the slightest touch instilled Egypt's new queen with pleasurable power no crown could ever foster.

“I am now,” she whispered against his ear, and when she flicked her tongue to taste the soft lobe, Ahkmenrah groaned.

The strain to keep his kingly resolve in front of potentially gauging eyes only made Nouke want him more. His eyes fluttered shut as she pumped him slowly, watching as he gnawed his bottom lip to combat the need to express his pleasure with a wanton cry. 

Another rampant surge of power tore through her in a wave that heightened each of her senses and dripped to her own arousal. The desire to hear every sound she could coax out of her handsome pharaoh fueled every movement. She worked down his covered length, brushing her pinky over his sensitive tip, and when he moaned, Nouke muffled it with a burning kiss. An impish grin worked onto her face while she sucked and nibbled his bottom lip until her resolve folded as her mind and senses blurred with lust.

Ahkmenrah was quick to pick up the shift in her ministrations, their kiss stealing some of her confident vigor. The distraction of his lips allowed him to gather her dress just enough for his fingers to find her heated center. Without ceremony, he glided two digits through her slick folds, and he grinned.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping quick circles over her sensitive nub with enough pressure to make her gasp.

The shock of his delicious fingers was enough to make her forget the scene around them.

“Oh! Ahk!” she bit out louder than she should have. Instantly her vision flashed white and her once preoccupied hands anchored themselves to his strong shoulders.

“Shhhh,” he admonished gently, pumping his fingers slowly and just enough to send Nouke reeling.

All rational thought abandoned her, leaving her to the mercy of her own desires and her husband's gifted fingers. Suddenly, Nouke cared little about who may have taken notice of their less than proper behavior.

Wantonly, she rolled her hips into his cupped hand, its heel providing the friction she longed for. A jolt of pleasure pulsed through her, and her walls squeezed tight around Ahk’s wide fingers, causing them both to moan.

“I do so love the intimacy of large gatherings,” he mused, watching her as she skirted around the edge of unravel, so very close to coming undone already. “Everyone is entirely too caught up in everything else to notice anything. . . peculiar.”

Nouke gasped when Ahk pressed the heel of his hand against her clit with a sweeping motion that triggered a wave of euphoria so grand his name tumbled heedlessly from her mouth again. The pharaoh pressed a finger to her lips to shush her cry, throwing her a devilish grin.

“That is, of course, if you don’t make too much noise.”

Even through her half-lidded, hazy vision, Ahkmenrah’s impish smirk was easy to make out: supremely proud of his innate ability to properly sate her.

In a rapidly diminishing moment of clarity, Nouke drew his thumb into her mouth, tongue curling around the digit, sucking and hallowing her cheeks until the act won her a groan from her husband, giving her a taste of satisfaction. 

Had she been capable of more than a solitary moment of coherent thought, Nouke would have happily gone back to teasing him, but her body was greedily playing into his game; surrendering to desire with eager desperation. Nouke released his thumb when her mouth fell open with another cry of pleasure as her hips bucked against the soft heel of his hand.

The pharaoh’s free hand moved to cradle her throat, the brush of his finger so soft. His warm lips followed his touch, trailing from her jaw to her neck, as his hand fell to palm the globe of her breast. Even through the fabric of her dress, her nipples stiffened wantonly at his contact, her head falling back, body shivering. Nouke husked out a ragged sigh, a helpless cry that wanted to be more, but he shushed her again just as gently as before. Warmth curled through her body, triggered by the timbre of his soft chide, making the muscles in her abdomen so, so tight.

“Come for me,” Ahk murmured low against her ear, his teeth grazing the soft skin of her lobe.

Nouke bit out a sharp inhale when his confident fingers began working her in earnest, steering her with precision to that heavenly peak. Another moan spilled past her lips as everything inside coiled hot, and tense and hard.

“Quiet, my love,” he warned softly, and she could hear his smile.

“Come for me, my beautiful queen,” he encouraged, hooking his fingers perfectly.

That was enough.

The velvet of his voice in her ear coupled with the feel of his hand circling the aching cluster of nerves at her center swelled until it burst, surging throughout her body like lightning from the tips of her fingers to her curling toes. Every nerve was on fire with ecstasy.

The intensity secured her to his shoulders with a white-knuckled grip, afraid she would fall. Her lips parted with rolling whimpers and tiny cries she could not contain, riding out her pleasure as quietly as she could will herself to do.

“Perfect…” Ahkmenrah marveled, completely beguiled by the sight of her undoing.

When the waves of her pleasure shifted into small tremors of aftershock, Ahk withdrew his fingers, leaving Nouke suddenly bereft. She whined on account, blinking slowly until her vision came back to her.

Despite the threat of wandering eyes, Ahkmenrah pushed each slick digit into his mouth, indecently sucking and licking them clean, his expression utterly smug.

Little by little, the entirety of Nouke’s senses returned to her; the lusty haze dissipating enough for her to lay her focus on her handsome husband who was ogling her with playful arrogance.

Immediately she cursed herself for allowing Ahk to get the upper hand. He ruled every night they spent together—not that she minded; Ahkmenrah was an attentive, generous lover. However, Nouke felt it more than fair she got a chance to be smug, to send him reeling. No longer could he hold over her the guise of the powerful pharaoh who did as he pleased. She was a queen, and she was going to prove it.  

Nouke shifted in his lap, a sly gambit to test the state of his arousal. She licked her lips feeling his hard length beneath her; the peak of her tongue making Ahk’s lewd smirk grow. Nouke matched his arrogant grin, and the change in her body language sent a devious twinkle into Ahkmenrah’s lust dark eyes.

Before he could, Nouke kissed him, pushing her lips on his with prurient vigor stemming from the irresistible need to be the master of his undoing. The phantom feel of his fingers inside her encouraged her movements, her wet center grinding against his clothed cock. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Shhh,” she admonished teasingly.

Nouke grinned when his blunt fingernails pressed into her hips in an attempt to quiet his own cries as her body continued to roll against him. She kept her hands at either side of his face to hold him where she wanted, controlling every movement of their kisses.

Ahk’s tongue was warm and velveteen like his voice, the inside of his mouth damp and hot, and when he made another low groan, it wound around her with warmth. Ravenous need began to whirl and tighten deep in her belly once more, and for a moment all traces of playfulness was scoured away leaving only breathless need.

Nouke willed herself to focus, breaking their kiss long enough for the haze to settle, carding her fingers through his dark hair as she met his eyes. They were half-lidded and sparkling—the blue-gray she loved nearly consumed by black. The more or less smug twist on his kiss swollen lips did well to lend Nouke a rational thought: a reminder not to let him win the game again so quickly.

Once more, her hips rolled against his pulsing length, coercing soft hums and groans past his lips in a beautifully soft fanfare that worked between Nouke’s thighs as she fought off a cry of her own. She tugged his bottom lip with her teeth before moving to the heavenly angle of his jaw, her tongue tasting its sharp edge from his chin to the soft skin behind his ear.

Ahk inhaled sharply, his mouth falling open as her name spilled heedlessly off his tongue in a tone too loud to be a whisper. His hips bucked in helpless abandon, arousing another strangled moan deep in his chest, and Nouke stopped.

The pharaoh’s breath hitched at the unexpected end to her ministrations, and the sudden loss of her body against his prompted a whimper. Nouke reveled at the sight of his blinking, wild eyes searching her face for an explanation while she nonchalantly took her time re-situating her gown and jewelry.

Right where I want you, she thought, stretching her legs to allow blood to flow.

Her husband was still blinking, looking profoundly bereft and confused when she threw him a coy smirk. A flash of her tongue to tease and wet her lips caused him to swallow—hard—and his mouth fell open, as though he wanted to speak.

All Ahk managed, however, was another choked whine.

Nouke held his gaze for only a moment before turning without a word, ambling into the crowd with an air of mystery she knew would see him venturing after her—once he’d calmed himself down first. 

This time, as the new queen strolled through the mass of party guests, her spirit was buzzing with a puckish charm that carried her feet across the garden in a buoyant stride leaving her oblivious to any mask of disdain thrown her way.

It wasn’t long before she found a vacant corner, free of guests and guards; a quick discovery that made Nouke smirk. Ahkmenrah was right, there was a certain level of solitude that correlated to large gatherings, and she was abundantly grateful.

The sounds of celebration faded into the distance as the fervent beat of her heart grew more prominent in her ears. Only a few minutes passed, but Nouke was impatient. Every nerve in her body was aching to finally have Ahkmenrah buried deep inside of her; ready to feel that coiling spring snap for a second time as she was lost in the feel of him.

However, neither she nor her husband would know that satisfaction until he paid for what he’d done; defiling her proudly and publicly—the perfect justification to have her way.

The moment he found her leaning against the high stone wall; Ahk's eyes devoured her. Nouke recognized the look of animalistic need on his face—she felt it in herself—and the second he stepped into her orbit, heat pulsed to her core. Hastily, she clenched her thighs in an attempt to deter her own want.

Make him yours, she reminded herself.

But Ahkmenrah’s hands and mouth were already on her. He pressed her against the wall with avid hunger and a low, sensual growl that was almost enough to steal the teasing Nouke had in mind. The pharaoh was so decadent and rich to taste—a nectar that was so sweet; it made her feel helpless each time his kiss was deep and full of passion. It took all of her will power not to drown in the luxuriousness of his tongue and mouth.

 “I do not like seeing you walk away from me like that,” he scolded, his pouty upper lip close enough to brush against hers as he spoke.

The bass note of his voice dropped sinfully low, and the lascivious fire in his eyes was difficult to look away from. His words prompted a chill to work down her spine as he pinned her harder against the wall.

Slowly, a familiar haze began to cloud her mind when his warm lips seared a line of wet kisses down her neck, sucking and nibbling until soft purple marks burnished the surface of her skin. Each one he tasted with a wide sweep of his tongue, making her hum gentle encouragement—sinking further into his ministrations.

Nouke’s nails dug into his biceps, leaving tiny red crescents, her body bucking wantonly against his—betraying her rationale. Ahk had a talent for unraveling her resolve.

With what clarity remained, Nouke pushed through the haze. Her fingers sunk deeper into the muscles of his arms, sureing her grip, and with a calculated spin she pinned him against the wall.

The sudden rush of power was like a drug in her veins, spreading wild with desire she couldn’t quell. An impish smirk drew her lips with a curl seeing the look of shock in his big, beautiful eyes, and she quickly covered him with her whole body. Her nails raked possessively down his arms as her hips rolled against his middle, relishing in his hard length pressed against her center.

When he moaned, she kissed him until the air was taken from his lungs, leaving him panting and thirsty for more. Ahk hissed and bucked under the friction of her undulating movements, and Nouke’s lips trailed down the line of his throat, suckling on his fluttering pulse.

“My queen…” he sighed raggedly with exuberant praise of encouragement.

Her mouth climbed inexorably upward, along the column of his neck to the edge of his jaw, and Ahk’s head rolled against the wall. She coaxed a groan from his lips as she suckled her own marks on his flawless skin, tasting each before mapping the rest of his enticing throat with her mouth.

While her lips explored, Nouke’s hands wandered the lean plates of his chest and torso, calloused fingertips raking over the tight muscles of his abdomen before venturing lower, untying his fanciful belt with practiced ease.

Ahkmenrah’s moan was low and loud when she gripped him through the fabric of his shendyt, the sound eliciting tendrils of warmth to pool in her center. Nouke stroked him lazily over his silky garments, her focus lost in every guttural sound she was able to cajole out of him.

Her hand stilled, prompting a whimper and she blazed a line of kisses to his ear.

“Would you like your queen to kneel before her king?” She grinned when his skin erupted in goosebumps, inspiring another wave of power to envelope her.

“Yes,” Ahk swallowed.

“Yes, what?” she murmured, sliding a single finger under the waistline of his shendyt.

“Yes, my queen,” he husked out just as her fingers dipped bellow the fabric and curled around his cock.

A string of profanities spilled from his lips and his head rolled against the wall; Nouke watched with avid thrill as he unraveled with every slow stroke she offered. She surged forward to kiss him in a hasty brush of lips before tasting her way down his body, humming pleasantly at the feel of his muscles shifting under her mouth.

Every sound and instinctual movement of his body chasing the pleasure she stimulated rushed through her own like fire. Nouke's thighs were slick with her own arousal, her core ready and begging to accommodate him.

A sort of sigh escaped Ahkmenrah’s mouth when she released his throbbing cock to kneel in front of him. She could feel his lustful gaze upon her, and she met it, tugging gently at the fabric that hid him until the garment slipped past his slim hips, all the way to his ankles.

His freed cock jutted proudly, and she licked her lips taking in the sight of his kingly grandeur—there truly wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t perfect.

When she glanced to meet his gaze, she found it half-crazed with lust, pleading for her to touch him. A mischievous smirk quirked onto her lips as she leaned to press soft kisses to each of his hip bones, causing him to whine until finally, she took mercy on him.

Gently, she curled her fingers around him, letting her thumb swirl the pearly bead of precum over his sensitive tip, feeling him shiver and hiss from the sensation. She squeezed him to reacquaint herself with his girth before stroking him once, delighted with the way he trembled against her.

He was a vision of licentious need, and Nouke was certain no queen ever felt so powerful on her knees as she did then.

Nouke kept eye contact as her tongue unfurled to taste him, licking his entire length before taking him into her mouth. A haggard string of curses tumbled off of his tongue, groaning as he pushed his hands into her hair to keep her head still against the slight thrust of his hips, fucking her mouth slowly until her tongue swirled over his tip.

Ahk’s body stilled and tensed as Nouke dipped and suckled, cheeks hallowing as her hand worked his base until with an impetus shove, he pushed her away.

“I need you,” he proclaimed urgently, pulling her to her feet and into a sloppy kiss.

“Yes,” she agreed against his mouth without protest. 

Nouke welcomed his weight when he turned to pin her to the wall, the swift gesture awakening something dark and primal in them both. Without ceremony, Ahkmenrah freed her breasts from the gown she wore, humming delightfully, his palms instantly molding to the globes like his hands were made to hold them. He kneaded and pinched until her nipples stiffened, and when he leaned to kiss the soft underside before dragging his tongue over the stiff peak, Nouke moaned loudly feeling his smile of satisfaction.

Every part of her was more sensitive to his touch than ever before, his hot breath tingled over her skin as he kissed his way up her torso to her mouth. Her fingers trembled as she gathered her dress before swinging her leg around his waist to draw his center against hers.

In a single perfect thrust, Ahk glided to fill her, completely engulfed and could go no further. They moaned in unison, the sudden pleasure almost enough to work them over the edge in one fell swoop.

His movements were slow at first, surely an attempt to draw out every moment of their pleasure, and she tightened around him at the same rhythm, watching his eyes darken and flutter until his thrusts became the paradigm of desperation. Nouke’s head rolled against the stone wall, staccato moans of absolute lechery spilling from her mouth as her husband fucked her hard.

The pharaoh buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth nipping the darkening spots of lavender he’d kindled previously, each bite shooting a luscious chill throughout her whole body.

Nouke gasped and keened, free to make any and every sound he coaxed out of her this time, and he did the same. Every hungry thrust teetered precariously between calculated and clumsy. One, a mindful push that aroused glorious friction, while the next was a carnal shove that yielded both pain and pleasure.

Her fingers twisted into the short hairs at the back of his head, pressing against him to better angle herself to meet every thrust. Immediately she was rewarded with a fresh wave of heat that seeped to where they were joined, arousing a moan to pass between them.

“Ahk,” she cried, so close and almost in tears from the intense waves of pleasure he sparked with every thrust like nothing she’d ever felt.

Nouke clung to him with an iron grip despite her rapidly diminishing strength. She choked out another moan when his hand hoisted her other leg around his waist, creating a new angle that found her sweet spot every time his hips hammered into her.

Sweat beaded to cool her skin, provoking more chills to work down her spine, coupling euphorically with every other sensation vibrating through each nerve ending.

“Ahk…” she husked out again in a plea, the muscles in her abdomen constricting, her walls growing tighter around his cock as her climax built.

His lust-filled eyes took several moments to find their focus as his hand moved to cradle her throat—a gesture of prideful passion—squeezing just enough to propel a fierce jolt of heat to every hollow and shadowed place inside her. Nouke’s muscles grew impossibly tighter, back bowing in reaction.

Ahkmenrah’s hand was still on her throat when he found the focus to drink in the sight of his queen. The lewd intensity in his black eyes was something that, even through her hazy vision, made Nouke powerless against him.

“This time I want you to scream,” he demanded with a growl and a crooked smirk. “Come for your king, and scream so everyone knows you are mine.”

As he spoke, his hot breath scorched across her overly stimulated skin, causing the build-up of tension to snap at once. She screamed as everything uncoiled in a white-hot rush. Nouke’s vision tunneled, forcing her eyes shut, tears ruining the kohl as they streamed down her face at the manifestation of her joyous pleasure.

The erratic pulse of her walls worked Ahkmenrah to the brink, hips trembling as he reached his peak a moment later. He cried her name into the air with a chanted refrain that echoed the movements of his thrusts until he filled her; hot cum coating her walls, mixing with her own.

Her head rolled forward onto his shoulder, its weight suddenly too much to manage as she came down from her high, sounding a haggard but satisfied sigh. Ahk mimicked the motion, resting close enough to plant soft, barely there, kisses to her neck and shoulder as he held her with all his remaining strength.

“Did I hurt you, my love?” he asked in a calming murmur that was free of his previous, dominating bravado.

After a couple more steady breaths, Nouke raised her head to meet his gaze; his eyes were blue again—the lusty blackness chased away. There was a twinge of concern on his compassionate features that made her heart swell as he searched for an answer in her expression.

A gentle smile spread over her lips as her fingers mapped the line of his jaw in feather-light touches; her eyes fixated on his, enchanted by the kindness glistening in them.

“No,” she said, her smile growing. “On the contrary.”

Ahkmenrah beamed and joined their lips in a lazy passionate kiss.

Incrementally they unwound themselves from the other, and immediately Nouke missed the feeling of him inside of her. By the look on his face, Ahkmenrah shared the bereft feeling and made a point of keeping himself pressed to her body as they stood.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” Nouke asked with a coy smirk playing around her mouth and eyes, unable to look away from her husband's swollen lips.

He teased her with a flash of his tongue, making them shine deliciously in the starlight. Ahk stole a glance around, then met her with a cheeky smirk.

“It doesn’t appear so,” he paused. “Perhaps we should try again?”

His brow hoisted high into a playful arch as his hands wove behind her, giving her ass a firm squeeze.

“If you think you’re up to it.” Nouke matched his grin and tangled her fingers in his thick hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Ahkmenrah closed his eyes and purred at the sensation of her blunt nails working the crown of his head. He stole a quick kiss before his entire face erupted into a toothy, arrogant smile.

“You doubt your king?”

“Never.”

Nouke claimed his lips again, feeling each of their impish grins mold into a soulful and demanding show of effortless passion. It took only the sweep of his tongue begging for entrance to prompt the familiar heat to begin to build once more, and when he moaned, she did too. They were blatantly aware how easy it would be to chase their pleasure to completion a second and third time, and both of them didn’t care. They were making up for lost time.

Ahkmenrah was already semi-hard; the growing length of his cock pressed against her making her ache, and she whimpered impatiently.

“Always so eager,” Ahk mused, reaching as he dipped a finger between her slick folds; the surprise almost enough to send her careening back over the edge.

Before Nouke could bite out a witty response, the sound of Setshepsut’s voice broke their serenity.

“Nouke!?”

The sudden sound rendered their roaming hands and lips immobile and Ahkmenrah cursed under his breath with a defeated smirk.

“Apparently, my sister heard us.” Although his tone was annoyed, his expression was amused.

When Set’s call came again, it was closer, causing the king and queen to scramble in a rushed attempt to make themselves look respectable; as if the purple and red marks on both their necks weren’t evidence of their rendezvous.

“Nouke?!...Oh! Ahkmen, have you seen Nou—”

Ahk was still tying his shendyt when he turned to cast her a grin. And while Nouke couldn’t see it, she knew it was undoubtedly gushing with shameless gusto and telling enough to match his hastily adorned attire and wayward curls.

“What’s the matter, Set?” Ahk asked as he casually bent to retrieve his discarded belt and refastened it.

Setshepsut’s eye watched him, blinking, mouth slightly open as though her words were suddenly lost.

“I—um—heard Nouke scream…” she decided on, abruptly looking as though she regretted investigating the sound.

The pharaoh tossed a quick look to his queen behind him, then met his sister with a prideful smirk, “I assure you; we are both quite well.”

Set nodded, casting a swaying glance to them both, “I see that.”

She paused to give her brother a mock look of disapproval, “I am aware the future of Egypt relies on you producing an heir, but some of your guests have noticed your absence. I suggest you finish this up.”

She eyed them both with a quirk tugging the corner of her lips that made it clear she was more amused than dismayed.

“Of course, Set. We were only doing our duty as king and queen,” Ahkmenrah teased further, and Setshepsut rolled her eyes.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed as she turned away to make her way back to the party.

“We probably should go back,” Nouke sighed as she smoothed out the wrinkled front of her dress.

The allure of staying tucked away with Ahkmenrah was almost too much to ignore, but the beckon of responsibility was stronger. When he glided effortlessly into her orbit, wrapping his arms around her waist, she reached to comb her fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the messy curls she couldn’t keep from touching.

“Mmm,” Ahk purred, brushing the tip of his nose over her’s gently. “We do have the rest of our lives to spend together.”

He never looked away from her, his eyes crystal clear.

“I think we can afford to share the rest of this night with people who came to celebrate us,” he added as he pulled her into one last kiss that drifted into a slow draw that embodied the depth of his love.

“Are you with me, my love?” Ahkmenrah wove their fingers together as he spoke.

“Now and forever,” Nouke nodded. 

Next Chapter-> Chapter Seventeen: The Blessings We Deserve

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek #Smut #Ahkmenrah Smut

[witched-the-watcher]

Sometimes you just need to lie back, relax, blast The Horror and The Wild on full volume right into your ears and imagine the most ridiculous overpowered feral bard scene you could possibly come up with.

Like for example...

It's a horrifying battleground. They're completely surrounded from all sides by an entire army. Outnumbered and outmatched. Yen is shielding them from the enemy's attacks with the last of her powers. Geralt can't fight anymore and on top of that Ciris is right there with them, the main target of the whole shitshow. Their only consolation is that they at least left Jaskier behind. He wouldn't have been any help in a fight and with some luck he might be able to escape all of this alive.

Yen wavers. She won't be able to hold on for much longer. They better say their goodbyes now. Both her and Geralt know they failed Ciri but at least they'll go down fighting, trying to protect her until the bitter end. They're so proud of her. She fought bravely but her powers are still untrained and now more than depleted. These are their last few precious moments together so they join hands and prepare to fight. Geralt counts down for Yen to lower her shields and attack.

THREE

One last breath

TWO

Take the last comfort from each others hands

ONE

Battle stances

FIGH- Music

Impossible music sweeps over the battlefield. They shouldn't be able to hear it but it resounds all around them and a female voice announces the beginning of a song. There is an uncomprehensible amount of power underneath the music and Yen has barely time to ask herself what a goddess could possible be doing here when the song begins and the battle turns to their favour.

You were raised by wolves and voices

Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed

They said it all comes down to you

It starts on one end of the battlefield. Pure wild chaos erupts and attacks the enemy forces. Gigantic wolves and all kinds of monsters Geralt would normally fight to death appear out of nowhere clawing and biting the enemy soldiers down, accompanied by winds so strong they throw men up up into the air and let them fall mercilessly down onto a ground that splits open and swallows them down whole.

None of this however is as surprising as the second voice that joins the goddamn goddess in her song. Or is it his song? What the fucking hell is Jaskier doing? How the hell is he doing this?

You’re the daughter of silent watching stones

You watch the stars hurl all their fundaments

In wonderment, at you and yours, forever asking more

A path starts to open itself up and they can make out a man, Jaskier, lute in hand walking towards them. Singing. The enemies try to attack but noone manages to touch him.

You are that space that’s in between every page, every chord and every screen

You are the driftwood and the rift, you’re the words that I promise I don’t mean

We’re drunk but drinking (sunk but sinking)

They thought us blind (we were just blinking)

All the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold

Jaskier reaches them and crosses Yen's shields like they're made out of nothing but air. His clothes are impecable like always and not a hair is out of place. He looks like he is simply having a leisurely afternoon stroll and serendipitously met them out here.

The music calms down for just a moment and Jaskier bows down with a smirk first to them and then mockingly to the enemy forces.

Remember me I ask, remember me I sing

Give me back my heart you wingless thing

It begins. They don't even noticed when Yen's shields fall down completely. They are save now and too stunned to comprehend what's happening.

Think of all the horrors that I

Promised you I’d bring

I promise you, they’ll sing of every

Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child

Witness me, old man, I am the Wild

Of course Jaskier has to audacity to look Geralt right in the eye with an annoying grin on his face as he sings those last few lines.

You are the son of every dressing up box

And I am Time itself, I slow to let you play

I steal the hours and turn the night into day

Day by day oh lord three things I pray

That I might understand as best I can

How bold I was, could be - will be - still am, by god still am

They tell their story. Jaskier and the other voice (the goddess?), they tell their story somewhere in between the lines but between their exhaustion, the shock and the sheer size of the battle it gets lost. Maybe it was never meant for them to hear or understand in the first place.

Fret not dear heart, let not them hear

The mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings

Welcome to the storm, I am thunder

Welcome to my table, bring your hunger

The winds that have been growing stronger and stronger up to this point follow the song's words and culminate into a frightening strom that rains thunder and lighting down on the enemies still remaining.

Think of all the horrors that I

Promised you I’d bring

I promise you, they’ll sing of every

Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child

Witness me old man, I am The Wild

Remember me, Remember me, Remember me, Remember me

Remember me I ask. Remember me I sing

A shudder runs down Geralt's back. He always knew he would never forget Jaskier or get his songs out of his head but the bard is often just dismissed. He's too weak and too human to be useful in a fight. Too loud on a hunt. Doesn't know enough about monsters to be helpful. Sometimes it's all too easy to forget that more often than not Jaskier still manages to use his skills to their advantege, that he's just as much part of their team as they are. They forget that Jaskier doesn't want to be save or stay behind. They forget that Jaskier always refuses to stop following them, singing through it all. They should've known he wouldn't run away when they told him to

They should've remembered he sings.

Think of all the horrors that I

Promised you I’d bring

I promise you, they’ll sing of every

Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child

Witness me old man, I am the

Think of all the horrors that I

Promised you I’d bring

I promise you, they’ll sing of every

Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child

Witness me, old man, old man, old man, I am the

The song ends. The enemy is defeated. An eerie quiet surrounds them.

Unbothered by it Jaskier swings his lute back on his back, places his hands on his hips and says with a smile

"Phew, what a day, eh? I hoped for a little bit more applause after my fantastic performance but I guess you can't please everyone. Come on, let's go back home and have a nice long bath. And after that there is an old friend of mine I'd you to meet. She's very important to me so you better all behave and make a good first impression."

Geralt and Yennefer are absolutely speechless. Ciri, of course, is delighted.

#the witcher #jaskier #feral jaskier #it's 3am and I dont know what I am doing #sorry in advance

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi, I've been looking for some fic recs. I was hoping Derek protecting stiles from people at school, or maybe someone with not so innocent plans. Also maybe someone stalking Stiles, and derek or someone in the pack being protective. This is the one type of fic I can never get enough of and I'm desperate. Also, you do God's work on this blog and I'm forever grateful.

AND

walcraftart said:Hi 👋 I love this blog so much it’s given me so my to read honestly you’re doing gods work! But I’d love to ask if you know any fics where stiles is in danger and loses his goddamn mind over it? Like Hide of a Life War specifically not like feral!derek or regular protective!derek. I didn’t know it was my jam and I need more. Please and thank yo if you can 💕

Sure! - Anastasia

Old Traditions, Werewolf Edition by Footloose

(1/1 I 3,601 I General)

Stiles does not work his Omega ass off to attract frat boy Alphas. Absolutely not. He’s at college to get his degree. If he’s crushing on an Alpha who never crosses the lines of propriety, well, no one needs to know, right?

CSI: Beacon Hills by Jerakeen

(1/1 I 8,243 I Teen)

Back when Stiles was in high school Beacon Hills didn’t have a crime lab, because they simply didn’t need one. Those were the days.

Throw Me to the Wolves by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 13,493 I Teen)

He feels the physical embodiment of devastated, his already too strung-out mind struggling to wall up all the hurt, the rejection—he takes a deep shuddering breath and looks down at the shredded skin on his arms, at the sluggish way they’re weakly healing.

There is nothing, nothing he wants more than to have Derek sweep in and make everything all better. He should have known, though, that something like that would never happen to him.

OR -

Stiles accidentally gets bitten, and everything goes to hell.

Weave Soft Spells Over My Sight by AgnesBlue

(2/2 I 51,424 I Mature)

Derek had blossomed steadily over the past year, growing into his ears and turning even more handsome, if that were possible. But instead of going out and melting the panties off the girls, suddenly he was coming to Stiles all bashed in, demanding that he patch him up like Stiles was some freelance nurse. It was a familiar pattern by now.

AU in which Stiles has been living with the Hales for a few years as their assistant and friend. He needs to deal with Derek, who keeps coming to Stiles with bruises and cuts to be treated, while trying to figure out what the elderly alpha of the Hale pack is up to.

Regular Joe by tugela54

(9/9 I 54,612 I Explicit)

Meet a mysterious, drop-dead gorgeous stranger (that has a peculiar yet endearing infatuation with wolves) have the best sex of your life, and then fall in love with him.

That is what you do on your summer vacation in the idyllic Florida keys… Right?

Blood is (Not) Thicker Than Water by Anxiety_Baker02

(13/13 I 78,000 I Teen)

Stiles hasn’t seen his extended family in years- mostly because they’re assholes. His cousins bully him relentlessly, and his aunts and uncles aren’t much better. So when he hears that they’re coming out for a family reunion, he’s understandably upset. He knows the next week is going to be hell, and it’s made worse when a new pack shows up, vowing revenge on their pack.

Also, Sterek happens.

Something Rotten by HappyJuicyfruit

(5/5 I 78,762 I Mature I Rape)

Dammit, this was another reason he hated walking around a big city at night, he always managed to catch glimpses of the dark underbelly. He turned around, planning on going the long way home, but he froze when he heard the voice-

“Let me take you home,” a man said.

“That will cost you more. I get the money before we leave, and I take another hit at your place before we do anything.” Another man slurred.

That voice. It sounded like- Derek’s feet were moving him towards the men before he could think.

“Stiles?”

Can’t rely on me by Littleredridinghunter

(12/12 I 116,206 I Not Rated)

Set at the end of season 2, Gerard beats Stiles up, but it’s a lot worse than anyone knows.

The pack let him down, that’s not really a surprise lately.

When Danny finds Stiles nearly bleeding to death the next day it’s the start of a beautiful friendship.

Can the pack make amends before it’s too late? Will Stiles ever forgive them for not being there for him when he needed them the most?

Bruises and Bitemarks by orphan_account

(27/27 I 121,566 I Explicit)

Biologically, Stiles is weak. When he presented as an omega, he knew that to be the truth but that never stopped him from running his mouth as a defense mechanism. However, it could only save him so many times before he ended up pissing off the wrong person. After he’s attacked in the parking lot outside of school, Stiles realizes he can no longer protect himself with just pure wit and sarcasm. When the attack lands him in the hospital, his dad forces him to pick between two options, report the alphas who attacked him or join a kickboxing gym run by omega rights activist and alpha, Derek Hale, a man Stiles has been in love with for many years.

Settle Down by wearing_tearing, whatthehale

(19/19 I 153,181 I Explicit)

Stiles is a struggling author barely making ends meet.

Derek is a successful architect whose biological clock is ticking.

Enter a surrogacy agency, two packs, and a particularly sticky and toe curling heat week and you get a match made in heaven.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(7/7 I 196,127 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #protective!derek #jealous!derek

[captainjimothycarter]

How about modern Steggy meeting at Pride? Both bi, but that's not why she's there, she's there cause her young child is trans and she's not letting them grow up ashamed of this ("Even if it does turn out to be a temporary questioning 'phase', I won't let them ever be ashamed of being who they are."). Cause like 10 year old Carter child who's a little antsy to be there, Peggy with bi-pride tipped curls, and Steve with the trans flag painted on his cheek

OP YOUR MIND!! They would fiercely protect the Carter Child, not that Steve thinks she can’t do it, but he’s downright feral at times when it comes to kids in danger. This might not be what you had in mind, so I do apologize. This got ahead of me is quite long.

--

“Ignore them,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s ear, tugging on the blonde’s hand to get him away from the protesters that are somehow legally allowed here. This was borderline abuse if you asked him. Sure, freedom of speech but it was quickly cut off when you yelled at children and elderly people for being themselves. 

Steve growled under his breath and tugged his hand away from Bucky’s, careful not to touch the drying trans flag painted across his cheek. Natasha would be furious if he messed up her work. Or touch the chalk-dye of the flag in his hair.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, despite Bucky didn’t look like he’d believed him. The guy stood out like a Christmas tree, literally with the bi flag colors wrapped around the metallic arm and shining bright enough to land a plane. “Just go find Clint, I’m going to walk off. Need to cool down.”

Before the man could say a thing, Steve was stomping off, in midst of the crowd to get away from his rightfully worried, best friend.

The last he expected was when he emerged from the other side of the crowd was to be tackled-hug by a ten-year-old child with bright hazel eyes, a buck-tooth grin, the same colors in his hair dyed on their hair, and wearing a shirt that read, ‘i’m the trans kid your parents warned you about.’ 

Steve fell to his backside to avoid instinct-wise to protect himself, an arm wrapped around the kid to prevent any of them from being trampled over by the crowds rushing from one stand to another.

“You’re Captain Ameria!” The kid sat upon his chest, still bright-eyed, kneeling rather painfully. “You’re Steve Rogers! I did reports about you.” They were actively bouncing up and down and Steve was doing his best to school the pain the sharp knees caused. 

“I am,” he grunted. “Can we keep it to a whisper, son? It’s a secret.” He pressed his finger to his lips to indicate hush, hush until he saw the kid’s eyes widen and go glassy. “Oh no, no. Hey, hey, did I say something wrong?” He sat up and the kid latched on, imitating what Steve imagine what it was like to hug a Khola.

His arms wrapped around the kid and gently held them close, kissing their temple in a show of calming them down. What could he say? He still had parental instinct installed in him from his mother. 

He could feel the kid’s sobs against his chest, feel their fingers dig into his shirt, refusing to let go while he tried to calm them down. If anyone noticed Captain America clinging to a sobbing kid, no one stopped to say a thing.

“Michael?! Michael!” 

A breathless woman with flushed cheeks, the same brown eyes, and her hair dyed in the bi flag colors scrambles to them. She drops to her knees beside them and slides the last few steps, looking from her child to Steve.

“I-I don’t know -” Steve breathed, a panic looked etched on his face. “They tackled me and I-I fell and-and accidentally said son, a-a force of habit and they started crying. Did I say the wrong thing?”

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition as to who Steve was before her face softened, tenderly laying a hand on the back of Michael’s hair and stroking it out of the way. “No,” she breathed. “No, you said the right thing. The perfect thing for them to hear. They ideologize you and always have. I guess seeing you here is...well, overwhelming. Michael, love, we got to let the Captain go.”

Slowly peeling away from him, the kid sniffles and rubs at their face, smearing the flag’s paint without realizing it. His face is flushed and eyes red, with tears still in them. He looks almost ashamed as he climbs from Steve’s lap to his mom’s. He could hear the murmurs of an apology.

“Hey now,” Steve breathed, fully sitting up now. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He can’t help himself in tossing the guy’s hair and wiping away a stray tear. It makes the kid smile, at least. “You were just excited and overwhelmed, there’s a big crowd here today, huh? And I guess...me calling you son didn’t help did it? Just burst that bubble.” When the kid flushed, Steve just gave a helpless smile. “When my ma first called me Steve, I cried so hard I managed to throw myself into a panic attack.”

“I bet that did nothing to help the asthma,” the mother muses, giving Steve a fond smile. At Steve’s surprised look, she shrugs. “I might be a Brit, but I grew up on your story, Mr. Rogers. I’m Peggy, by the way. This is Michael.” 

Steve shakes their hand and nods. “No, it didn’t. Managed to give myself a nose bleed too. It’s good to meet you two. Here, let’s get up before we’re trampled.” Getting the pair off of the ground, Steve brushes the grass stains off of their clothes out of habit. “I take it it’s your first pride?”

“For both of us,” Peggy muses, kissing her embarrassed son’s cheek. “Michael wanted to go to his first pride since coming out and I wasn’t going to tell him no. We’ve already been yelled at by them.” The tone alone tells Steve well enough who them is.

“Tell me about it. I’ve already gotten into two screaming matches before my friends had to drag me away.”

“That was you? Crickey, no wonder people looked nervous. Well, yes they’ve called me quite a few names already. Child abuser. Pedophile. Rapist. Disgusting, barbaric group.” She sets Michael down and hugs him close to her frame. “Even if this is a phase, I don’t care. I’m going to support and love my child regardless. They do not deserve to be ashamed of themselves.”

Steve’s eyes fall to Michael whose still staring up at him like he’s the moon and stars and it makes him both antsy and warms his heart. “I wish I had that line of thinking,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not that I’m ashamed of who I am, anyone with the right knowledge can research about me, history can’t erase that forever, but...the backlash one could’ve received in my time...it leaves a mark on you.”

It was a struggle in his mentality. Steve supported, openly every LGBT organization, spoke out against protestors, and haters. Donated large, marginal amounts of money, but when it came to speaking about his struggle and making an ‘official’ public remark? That’s when he backed out. 

“But Mr - Captain…” Michael sputtered, tugging on Steve’s shirt.

“Steve.”

“S-Steve.” He was still breathy from the crying spell but his excitement to get to call his obvious hero by his name was etched into his face. “There are lots and lots and lots of people who would be happy to know that you’re like us too! You might get people mad at you but then they weren’t fans of you in the first place if they don’t support your decision. I know lots of my friends would know and  be happy to know that you’re a-a-a trans guy like me!”

Well, what in the hell could he say to that? He looked from the smart kid up to his mother who just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “He’s right, you know?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do. I think you’re right, Michael, I shouldn’t hide who I am. Been asleep far too long and I think I got work to do to fix this mess.” He paused for a moment, reaching into his jeans to hand Peggy a business card [Tony’s idea] with a hologram of himself in his uniform and saluting, his name and personal number on the back.

“Call me tonight? I want to talk to you about this. I have to go.” 

His eyes flew to something past the pair and Peggy’s neck craned to see over the crowd, clicking her tongue as she spotted what Steve had seen. 

If it was just her, she’d help, but Michael was here and perhaps didn’t need to see his hero fighting a bunch of bigots. He was still quite sensitive to violence, the poor thing. 

“Okay,” she agreed, scooping her son up and tucking his head into her neck. “You go do that.” She paused to kiss his cheek. “And be safe, please.” 

--

That’s how, two days later, Steve finds himself standing in the very park Pride had taken place, on the portable stage with his team behind him. He still sported a black eye, almost healed but the remains of a yellow bruise were still there. His ribs ached from being kicked, but he was still standing. It was on the news for days how Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and Clint Barton ruthlessly attacked a bunch of peaceful protesters.

Peaceful, my ass.

They didn’t see the symbols they carried, the signs, the proud man who stood in front of them? Steve wasn’t standing in 2013 anymore, he was in 1943 and standing before a german officer, wearing the same grin on his face. He knew his choices, the power of his voice, and money, and knew them well. He also knew what the other side of Steve’s fist felt like against his jaw.

“They were Nazis,” he tells Tony over dinner, rolling his eyes. Peggy’s on speaker between them, having just gotten done lecturing him. “I don’t give two shits what the media says.”

“Language,” Peggy muses, though Steve can hear the smile in her voice. “I have a son.”

“Whose asleep,” Tony interjects. “Cursing is allowed when the kidlets are asleep.”

“Says you.”

Steve rolls his eyes at them and downs the rest of his beer. “Pepper is gonna smooth it out, anyhow. I’m not making some public statements on how sorry I am ‘cause I ain’t. Don’t show up to an event and not expect a backlash. They’re lucky that’s all we did was break a few bones. Maybe it’ll teach ‘em next time. Besides, they attacked us. We gave them clear enough warning not to touch us.”

They had formed a barricade, protect those Pride Idiots from charging inside while the cops did nothing. Even Tony had to call in a few suits and help, Pepper immediately on the scene with her trusted news crew. 

“I ain’t worried about it,” He continues, shrugging.

“Spoken like a true American,” Peggy teases, making Steve flush. “So have you given any thought to our earlier conversation?”

Tony’s staring at him from across the way, Steve’s started to nervously play with the end of his binder. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I have. I’ll call you with the details.”

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, Steve’s eyes scan the crowd. He knows there are a few of those Pride Boys out there, but he can’t make them out. He doesn’t care to. They wouldn’t dare to attack a stage when Captain America stands in full uniform and his team behind him. Pepper had brought out her news crew again, live broadcasting this emergency meeting, as well as a few other news sources. 

She’s smiling at him from the side, giving him the thumbs up.

Steve’s eyes fall to Bucky whose gotten up with Clint and stood beside him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “About time you’re doing this, though you owe Dugan 50 quid for this,” Bucky teases, leaning up to just barely kiss Steve’s cheek in a public display of affection. “I’m proud of you.”

Clint’s beside them, towering over Bucky, holding the life out of Bucky’s flesh hand and pulling him close. His head tilts to the side and signs to Steve, asking if he’s ready. 

Steve nods, his eyes finally falling to the two people who got this started. Peggy Carter and her son. Michael runs up to him from the side of the stage when they arrive, climbing onto Steve’s shoulders like he’s always belonged there. Steve can’t help the laugh he lets out as he grips Michael’s legs around his chest to keep him secure. Peggy, for her own sake, smiles as she stands beside Steve, Bucky moving over to let her get closer.

“Alright,” He sighs into the microphone, perhaps too close. “Let’s get this over with.” He pauses, counts his heartbeats, feeling them in his throat. “It goes without saying, who I am and whose in my company, but I think we need to make some personal facts clear in the light of recent news.”

He stills and takes in a sharp breath, eyes scanning the vast crowd before he feels Peggy’s hand on the small of her back.

“My name is Steve Rogers and I am a transgender guy.” There’s a mixture of stilled silence and gasp throughout the crowd, followed by intense murmurs. Yet no one raises their hand or shouts questions. Pepper has these guys whipped. Good.

“That might come as a surprise to some of you and regardless of your personal opinion, I do not care. Let me restate that, I do not care if you support me or don’t. I want one fact and one fact made clear, if you decide to attack me, my friends, or anyone for being who in the hell they are, no amount of legal fear and paperwork will stop me from doing what I think is right to rectify that situation.”

“I was thankful to have heavy support during my time serving, before, and after, and even waking up here. It was recently brought to my attention as to what me coming out officially could do for the young LGBT youth and I am only sorry it’s taken this long for me to realize it.”

“To be fair,” Peggy muses. “You’ve been a little busy.”

Steve laughs, unable to help himself. “A tad bit.” He squeezes her to his side and presses a small kiss to her temple. “Now,” he speaks into the microphone. “If anyone else is curious, I’m bisexual too. And in this recent news, my team and I have gotten together to design a program to help the LGBT youth seek the sanctuary they deserve. This means after school programs for all ages, cafes, safe bars, book stores, all opened 24/7 to offer them help. There are homeless shelters in place that will help the youth kicked out, programs we’re establishing to help with anything from name changes to hormones, to funds to get back on their feet. Counseling as well for any who wish to seek it. Adoptive parents who figuratively would want to ‘adopt’ and assist the youth.”

“Who’s paying for all this?! It sounds like -”

The reporter, someone in the midst of the crowd, that Steve can’t see is instantly shut up when Clint charges off the stage and heads in his direction and pulls the man up to his feet by the collar of his neck. 

“Who in the hell do you think is?” He snaps. “I wish these programs were around when I was a kid, then maybe I wouldn’t had destroyed my body using makeshift binders that hurt me. These kids, adults, whatever will get the help they need. If you have a problem with it, then I suggest you shut the hell up.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve breathes, jerking his head at Bucky to go get his boyfriend. “In a better sense of words, I am. Now, any questions?”

There’s a hell of a lot of questions that go over Steve’s head. 

When did your name change? What’s in your pants? Did you have surgery? Did you have bottom surgery? Is that kid yours? Are they paying you to say this? 

There’s plenty of statements too, raging from support but more often protest and the second it gets rowdy, it’s put to a stop when Natasha and Tony are strolling around the crowd. 

Bucky and Michael are right - this is a long time coming. The youth, the people of today deserved to know who Steve truly was. Not that he’s ever denied himself. They deserve to know that he would do anything to protect them, even if it involves a few legal cases of punching a Nazi here or there.

Michael was certainly right, the youth of today deserved to know who had their back, and how proud he was to come home one day and run straight into Steve’s arms while his mum was at work, to tell him how he stood up to his bully and made sure the substitute teacher called him by his real name and how he got to tell them that his new dad was Captain America.

#Steggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Bisexual Peggy Carter #Bisexual Steve Rogers #Bisexual Bucky Barnes #Transguy Clint #Transguy Steve Rogers #Peggy's lil kid is trans too #tw transphobia #tw slurs #I hope this doesn't offend anyone somehow #despite being trans i tried to write this carefully too

[normal-thoughts-official]

I'm ignoring my responsibilities in favor of watching the All Malec Moments video compilation so get ready for a livewatch no one asked for

Hodge is so incredibly wrong about everything he says about Magnus and it's kind of impressive because all he says is heavily supported by the Clave's files, which. Is proof of how great Magnus is at manipulating them and having them think exactly what he wants them to, tbh. Especially considering that as much as Magnus closes off emotionally, he was always very caring and kind to all other downworlders and warlocks, like, they all know they can trust him, he was named HWoB, he has a thousand kids, he took them all into hiding, etc. But the Clave and circle members are still 100% sure he's a super greedy lothario who's good for nothing but partying, and like. Obviously it's because they racist but they have an intelligence system and a file full of pictures and information and it all seems to support what Hodge is saying about him. So like Magnus was quite literally living a double life, with a whole personality he put up for shadowhunters and enemies, and another for his allies and friends, and even that one isnt 100% him because he was still trying to protect himself by closing himself off from relationships. and thats fucking impressive like my man is so smart i love him

Their first official talk is so funny magnus literally goes "I'm magnus" and Alec goes "Alec" and then he smiles and then he just goes. "Oh yeah right we should uh we should go to the hmm youhavebeautifuleyes what's it called hm" and its hilarious because they exchanged three (3) words and Alec is already all lost because Magnus is just That Beautiful. also all Magnus has to do is introduce himself and Alec smiles for the first time in 4 episodes like bro. bro. seriously. help him

he's SO frustrated when Alec doesn't get the "i love a dirty lair" flirt like he does that little eyebrow raise and hes just like "what the hell i thought that was GOOD" but Alec's head is legit playing wii music

Magnus pays izzy for "defending the warlocks" i had forgotten about that and it makes me so soft ;-;

Magnus and Izzy were just vibing with magnus asking her what presents Alec likes and clary immediately interrupts to ask about the memory demon like homophobic from day one i guess

Magnus is positively impressed by the way Clary goes "I'll do anything to save my mother" you can see how much he values loyalty right then have i mentioned that i love him

we talk about the "I'm talking to you" part a lot but we never mention how Magnus just throws that one and yeets off with clary not even waiting for a reaction he's just like that's RIGHT bitch you have beautiful hazel eyes too! do with that what you will i am now summoning a demon goodbye forever

the second him and Clary are away from the rest he tells her not to trust anyone and to be careful, like... ugh he cares so much it's unreal and again very deliberate, flirt a little, give izzy a necklace, throw in some innuendos, make it seem like it's all very innocuous so no one bothers to follow them or listen in when he goes away with Clary alone, and then immediately warn her about the clave when he gets away from the others. like he cares so much and he's so good at keeping that visible only for those he wants to it's astounding, my man is so talented and i hate that he had to learn to do that to survive but god i admire him and how committed he is to helping others too. like he could say "welp who cares it's dangerous imma go fuck off" like ragnor did but not only did he stay but he had a huge vulnerability with all his generosity and he never gave that up not for a second, even as he closed himself off from having any close friends or family or lovers, he never was anything if not generous and kind

the way he deliberately calls Jace shadowhunter in the most uninterested and even lowkey condescending way after the "pretty boy" incident idndjdndi we stan a king

the way Alec and magnus hold hands to summon the demon and even Magnus seems a bit shocked at the intensity of the sound and the bond that they make like. obviously they have their little staring contest and Alec is doing the Lightwood Intensity™ thing but like you can see Magnus frown just slightly and be a little confused because it was so strong right off the bat. even the sound of when they hold hands is louder than when the others do, like you can just feel their connection and the way magnus' magic flows so freely through Alec like god the soulmate energy tbh

Alec has a full body jerk when they hold hands too and he's the only one like damn we get it u 2 r vibin get a room

Izzy going "you ppl are pathetic" straight to the hets is so funny especially after Alec reacted to holding magnus' hand like he had gotten a 1000W electric shock or something. but i get the feel maybe she did that deliberately so they wouldnt pay as much attention to Alec's reaction too

the special effects were truly so bad like we all knew this but damn

Jace is such an asshole like Alec made it to kill the demon because it was you know about to seriously hurt them all and Magnus had just said that he couldn't contain the demon for longer (and like we know that Alec is the only one who ever cared if Magnus overexerted himself out of the shadowhunters but like bro this affects you) and Jace just???? shoved him??????? against the wall???? like a fucking piece of shit??? they should have let valak kill him tbh

the first time magnus calls him Alexander is when he calls Alec to see if he wants a drink and it's just like very clearly a thing that's supposed to be between them two? like he never did it when there were others nearby and i dig that

the fact that when asking Alec out he said "it was nice getting to know you, you seem sympathetic" like he could have gone with a lot of better more flirty adjectives but for a second the truth slipped out and he said what he thought - that while Alec was objectively you know tall and strong and all what really attracted him was the way Alec clearly gave a fuck whether or not Magnus was struggling with his magic to keep the damn demon at bay. and that was before the magic sharing shit too when Alec proved him right by cleaning up his things and saying that he had exerted himself enough for one day. like so many ppl see Magnus as the All Powerful Son Of Asmodeus Who's Also There To Service Shadowhunters and Alec just shows the faintest signs of caring about his wellbeing and he's immediately drawn to him like damn Im sad

also maybe this might be why he asked Alec to come so he could draw from his strength specifically, like he knew from the little hand holding thing that Alec was open and receptive to his magic (which probably adds to the "sympathetic" stuff like the fact that Alec had such an intense reaction to his magic and yet didnt try to push it back or draw away from it basically shows that he's open to Magnus if that makes sense? not only because magic is a part of warlocks but also because shadowhunters are all taught that magic is like, dirty and evil, so it would be instinctive for Alec to be resistant to demonic magic in his body, but he wasn't, he accepted it so readily and intensely it was a shock to the both of them) and also that he cared enough to support him. he kinda had Magnus' back from the beginning, first killing that circle member in the club before Magnus even saw him, then helping Magnus kill the other, then immediately making it to kill the demon when Magnus said he couldn't hold him back for long. like im aware I'm reading too much into this but s1 malec was very kept to the between-the-lines and its very interesting to me to think what Magnus was thinking, even if obviously on a subconscious level. Alec was showing himself to be open, reliable and caring, and magnus values that, and hes attracted to him and he hasnt had that in a while, because he wouldnt allow himself, but now he's healing and the pull he feels when he finally gets that while being emotionally available enough to accept these little gestures of caring is really strong. love that for him tbh

i go FERAL over everything about the magic sharing shit okay i always have. the way alec shows up and Magnus is kind of falling over, exhausted from trying to hold onto luke, and Alec immediately runs to support his weight and make sure hes okay? and magnus even as he was about to fall over never had his magic falter, my man couldn't keep his balance but still wouldnt come close to stumbling and risking luke's life further for even a second. so when Alec gets there he's just quite literally having his back, supporting his weight, when even Magnus didnt care about that (which like. unhealthy) and was focused on luke? and like Magnus can focus on luke because Alec is there to give him his support and make sure he's fine and how long's it been since he last had someone to do that?? and it's clearly alec's first instinct and like we know Jace or even Clary wouldnt fucking react like that. and then they have this ridiculous fucking staring contest again like we get it alec you're gay panicking at Magnus' beautiful eyes but like pls? and then we get to the most important part which is TAKE WHAT YOU NEED

like JDNDJSNSKDNDJDBSHSBSUSNSISNSIBSZJBZUZBSJSBSISNSSINSIS *SCREAMS INTO OBLIVION, SENDING SELF OUT OF EARTH'S GRAVITY ZONE*

his reaction is just SO intense and immediate he's just like "take what you need" he just offers himself fully to help Magnus just like that, no hesitation, and like Magnus is literally drawing from Alec's strength/life force, there should be some kind of resistance, even from a regular person or a friend, like its a very natural instinct. but Alec just grabs his hand and goes take what you need and he doesn't resist he just lets him do it and lets Magnus take his strength, because he genuinely worries about his wellbeing and safety just because he does, he believes in protecting others and being there for them, same as Magnus, and to Alec it's the most natural thing in the world but to Magnus it's shocking because he's always been self reliant, he has to be, he's been alone too many times and he's been used too many times and he's scared of what he'll let people take from him if he opens himself up because he always gives and gives, and he hasnt even let anyone be there for him to have his back and give him support when he needed in these last few centuries, not fully, not since Camille. but Alec shows up and just immediately cares for him in both small (like later when he refuses to let Magnus clean his couch magically because he knows he's tired and does it himself) and huge (like literally not hesitating before letting Magnus use a super intimate and presumably draining spell on him without putting any kind of limit, so Magnus can not overexert himself like he always does) ways and it means so much to him? and hes just so drawn and attracted to him and suddenly he realizes he's catching feelings that he had forgotten how to, because of course he had been healing and opening up, but he still kept people at some kind of length that didnt allow them to take care of him even if they wanted to, but Alec got that opening and he dived right in, and Magnus realizes how starved he's been for this kind of care and support that he's been denying himself and he decides to chase this, take it seriously, and i just aaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and like again Alec doesn't even think twice about it, because he's always been the protector and the support anyway, and he doesn't want to let anyone struggle and also most of that is just him being a Decent Human Being, but just like he got that opening that no one else did before, he met Magnus at the right time and he was sympathetic and caring and that sparked so much in Magnus, made him realize just how much he's been craving affection and care and close contact with people, and being vulnerable emotionally, and all of that that he's been denying himself. obviously magnus is romantically attracted to him but right then Alec is unlocking honesty with himself inside of magnus, he's unlocking vulnerability and not using it against him but really making a good thing out of it, and magnus' forgotten it could feel like this, safe and nice instead of hurting and scary. and again it's such a simple gesture but fuck my boy's been starved!! for so long!!! okay! and he can't help but want to desperately clutch to that feeling because against all odds he trusts alec to see his vulnerability right then (and he deliberately lets him see it further when he gives Alec that drink, tells him he's been closed off, that alec's unlocked something in him. you can see all the sadness and hope and vulnerability in his eyes right then, pretty much for the first time in the show, hes just so open and vulnerable and that's deliberate! first time was a fluke but second time he's choosing to because he wants to see where this goes, and if the magic sharing scene is the spark, the drinking scene is the fire, because they're not in a life or death situation anymore, Magnus is choosing to give Alec a chance by showing him a glimpse of his insecurities and Alec answers in kind, letting Magnus see his own confusion and want, and also again shows his caring and doesn't betray or use magnus' vulnerability and fuck!!! Magnus falls in love right then because this boy stays with him all night and talks, and he sees Magnus look at him with shiny eyes and admit that he's been scared of relationships, and he tells magnus not to overexert himself, and they click and Alec is open to his magic and hes funny and hes compassionate and also passionate about what he believes in, and they have so much in common with the way they hide and care so deeply and protect others always and are so loyal and i just. udndjdndidjdjxnxjxnskxndk SOULMATES god)

I need to lie down actually this was a bad idea I'm not strong enough I'm too feral

Might continue this later who knows. I'll be tagging malec livewatch and also long post as always if you want to filter this nonsense out

#fuck im an emotional bitch this was supposed to be funny and lighthearted!!! #incoherent shit #sh #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #meta #malec meta #aaaaaaa #overflowing trashcan #long post #malec livewatch #anti jace herondale

[anchoredtether]

2020 Writing Roundup

Stolen from Rue! This was fun to reflect on!

Everyone is welcome to use this same format if they’d like to do the same!

~~~~~~~

S T A T S

Words written:

A whooping 232,867 - which is more than half of all the words I’ve written on Ao3 in the past seven years LOL. I guess I wrote to keep myself sane this crazy year.

O N G O I N G: S T A R T E D / U P D A T E D

AN UNORTHODOX APPROACH  (21,586 words)

First new fic of the year, this is my Shrek AU! I really adore this fantasy AU and it’s fun to explore such a crack concept and treat it seriously. It’s also a Pikelavar AU of sorts. 

DEFENDERS OF AURITA  (62,538 words)

Only updated my fantasy AU epic with one chapter this year, and I’m actually kind of sad I didn’t work on it more. It’s been hard to find muse for it when it hasn’t gotten nearly as much traction as other projects. 

PARADISE LOST  (13,013 words)

Another new fic started in June, this is a Zootopia AU! Heavily inspired from Zootopia, Beastars, and The Last of Us, it’s an apocalyptic future involving hybrids, people who have animal traits in order to combat a deadly strain of cancer. Plus I just love fox!Lance and rabbit!Pidge. 

SCALING BACK  (6,041 words)

New fic started in March, this is one I’ve had stewing on the backburner for quite awhile actually, and decided to start. It’s basically canon but Lance is actually a merman and hiding it from the team. It surprisingly fixes a ton of plot holes and fits with canon narrative. 

SHATTER AND TESSELLATE  (19,661 words)

This new project kind of took over my life if you couldn’t tell from all the art I’ve cranked out this past year for it. Oddly enough the idea just kind of hit me one day in March. I think Rue’s “worst timelines” got me thinking along those lines and I came up with the idea of Honerva seeing into the future and kidnapping the future paladins and turning them galra to prevent Voltron from defeating the Empire. So it’s a Galra AU but in the worst way possible. 

SIX IMPOSSIBLE THINGS (7,243 words)

Another new fic started in August, this Wonderland AU I’ve had notes and ideas for since 2018 or something. And it’s hilarious because I thought of Lance being the Cheshire cat long before Pike existed. Thanks to lots of brainstorming on Discord I’ve figured out a lot more worldbuilding for this AU and I can’t wait to expound on it. 

SLIDING LEFT MAKES MR. RIGHT (2,788 words)

Crack Tinder AU which says I posted in 2020 but I think I wrote it in November/December of 2019. This is a oneshot and it’s taking me forever to finish because it’s hard for me to write short things lol.

THE VACANT ETHER (31,121 words)

This is from the Stories in the Dark bang back in October 2019 and I’m still working to finish it. Post s8, horror, cosmic Reaper AU. This is a favorite AU of mine because of how nicely it fixes and explains all the plot holes of s8.

WHAT TIDES MAY BRING (20,704 words)

The Mer AU that Rue and I started writing last year! I really adore this AU and the Plance family feels it has, and sadly I’ve been slacking on my end with writing the next chapter but I hope to get more content in before MerMay this year. 

WHERE SAPPHIRE ROSES GROW (31,101 words)

I wrote a lot this year for my Beauty and the Beast AU. I’m quite pleased I finally got to the part where Lance learns Pidge is a girl because that’s when things start moving into motion (and obviously the romance starts developing, but still not for awhile yet because I’m a sucker for slow burns).

WHERE THE SUN MEETS THE OCEAN  (8,620 words)

I barely touched my Atlantis AU this year. This is another AU that doesn’t get as much love so it’s hard to find muse for it at times. 

R E F L E C T I O N S

Best title

I am really fond of Shatter and Tessellate. Not only does it sound pretty and gives great imagery but it’s symbolic of how the paladins are broken and put back together. 

Worst title

Probably Paradise Lost. It’s unoriginal (I stole it from the book by John Milton) though it fits the themes of the fic. But I also couldn’t think of anything better and I do find it funny that shortened it becomes PL which is like Pidge/Lance.

Best/worst last line

Best: from Where Sapphire Roses Grow: 

She opened her eyes to see Lance looking up at her with his captivating irises as brilliant a blue as the very sapphire rose that cursed him, eyes that were still human.

“I swear to you Lance… I will figure out a way to break your curse.” 

Worst: from Paradise Lost:

“Please…” she says in a muffled voice between sobs. “I can't - I can't do this alone."

“You won't have to,” he promises softly as he holds her close. “I'm here. I'm right here..."

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I wrote uhhh.... way more. Than I thought possible considering all the stress that happened this year. I started six new fics and progressed a ton in others. 

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

This is a hard one to choose... but based on the content I covered this year for the fic as opposed to the fic itself, I’d have to say Where Sapphire Roses Grow. It’s so fun writing feral Lance and him protecting Pidge from the wolves was one of my favorite scenes to write this year. 

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

By a freaking landslide, Shatter and Tessellate. This really caught me off guard - I never thought this fic would be so popular, especially considering it starts out as a kid fic of sorts (paladins are all early teens at first) and most people don’t like kid fics. It’s also quite dark and highkey horror? So I’m shocked it’s so well loved.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

By far The Vacant Ether. I thought it would gain a lot more traction considering everyone and their dog wants a s8 fix it fic, but then again TVE covers really dark topics and is technically a horror fic. So I shouldn’t be surprised it isn’t for everyone. But I am really happy with how it has turned out, even if less people read it. 

Story that could have been better?

All of them Hmm. I feel like Scaling Back could have been more imaginative, considering the second chapter mostly follows the events of a canon episode with little divergence. 

Sexiest story?

None of them have really gotten to that point yet... though I have been working on some future steamy scenes for some fics. If I had to pick one though probably Where the Sun Meets the Ocean because Pidge ogles Lance in that one. 

Saddest story?

Yikes this is a hard one. I think I have to say Shatter and Tessellate, because not only does that one cover death and kidnapping, but metamorphis and body horror. And it’s all the more sadder because they’re just kids. 

Most fun?

I think the one most fun to write is Where Sapphire Roses Grow. I love the time period, I love monster!Lance, I love Pidge and Lance bickering, there’s just so many good points to it. Plus BatB is a classic I loved and grew up with as a kid so it’s really fun to write out the themes I love. 

Story with single sweetest moment?

I think Lance comforting Katie in Shatter and Tessellate when she asks him to call her by Pidge from now on fits this one. Lance and Pidge have a lot of little moments like this in this fic but this one in particular is very tender. 

“Pidge is cute,” he finally says as he nervously rubs his wrist. “Reminds me of Pokemon.”

She makes a small sound which he thinks is an attempt at a laugh and turns her head to face him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s where Matt got it from, actually.”

He smiles at her. “Is Matt your brother?”

She nods. “I’ve always loved owls, but I had a hard time saying it when I was learning how to talk. I watched Matt play enough video games that I could say ‘Pidgey’ though, and so I started calling any owl I saw as Pidgey. At some point the nickname Pidge stuck.”

Hardest story to write?

Easily The Vacant Ether. It covers a lot of heavy and dark topics and it’s hard to really nail the horror vibe sometimes. But also Sliding Left Makes Mr. Right solely because I can’t write short one-shots to save my life LOL.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Not really? Aside from just... cranking out a ton. I suppose starting 6 new fics can count as taking a risk. Keeping up with all my projects is also a project but I somehow manage to do it.

Proudest Achievement:

I think Shatter and Tessellate reaching so many kudos and hits. I seriously was not expecting that. 

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just keep writing I guess. I do have two ambitious plans, to finish Not All Pain Heals, my Teen Wolf fic that is long overdue to be finished, as well as The Vacant Ether which is the fic I have planned out the most and would be easiest to finish. 

#fanfic writing roundup #2020 stats #Ao3 stats #my fanfics #plance

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

The Death of A Demon - Pt 3

I swear I am working on my other fics and stuff, but I already have like 20 parts written for this and I just wanna keep posting it since it’s my baby. Sorry if you don’t like OC fics. 

Warnings: Anxiety, thoughts of self harm/suicide, threats, not much to warn for this chapter. 

Word Count: 2.6 k

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

Back to current day

It was barely a day later. Feral had seen it on the news, the devilish hero that came all the way from Spain in the hero exchange program. The way that all of the girls fawned over him as he smiled and waved to the crowds gathered outside the gated airport. She had recognized his dark features immediately, hair pushed back from his chiseled face, a light scruffy dusting of facial hair accentuating everything he wanted. He was wearing a business suit when he had landed at the private airport that the big named hero’s tended to use, but even without his costume, she knew exactly who he was. The number 1 hero in Spain, Diablo, had come to Japan under the guise that he was working with the Hero’s commission to help locate and stop the League of Villains. Feral knew better though, she knew what, or rather who, he was really here for.

To bring her home.

After years of being on the run, constantly watching over her shoulder, making sure to stay out of the media and to avoid anything whatsoever that could get her caught, Feral had finally made a mistake. She had finally shown up on Diablo’s radar.

He had been immediately caught up in a press conference, smiling his perfect white teeth to the camera, canines bigger than a normal person’s which Feral knew only made him that much more popular with the ladies, talking about the goals for this hero exchange and what he could bring to the table in tracking down and dealing with the league.

“What would you say to the villain Shigaraki Tomura if he was watching this right now?” One of the reporters asked. She looked absolutely enamored with him, looked like she was going to start squealing like a school girl any minute. Especially when he turned his full attention to her and gave her a very obvious once over. Feral was pretty sure the reporter blushed.

Red eyes slid over from the reporter’s face, looking directly into the camera, staring into Feral’s soul as she watched. His oh so charming smile hiding the truth behind it. Hiding just how ruthless this so called ‘hero’ really was.

“I’d tell them that: no matter where they hide, no matter where they go, I will find them.”

Her bags were already packed. She had already triple counted her money she had plenty of it to get her out of the country, to start over. As much as she hated the idea of leaving the one place that was finally starting to feel like home, she couldn’t stay here. He would fine tooth comb the entire country until he found her. He would stop at nothing.

“Is there anything you are going to miss about Spain while you are here?”

Feral could here the background noise of the TV as she double checked everything that she had. She needed to make sure there was no trace of her left behind. Nothing.

“… Barcelona is beautiful this time of year.”

Feral’s hands were shaking, her heartbeat too loud as she turned and stared back into the cheeky smile on the camera. Her mind racing with memories from too long ago, of a mission where they had effectively turned their beloved city into a cage, impossible for anyone to escape. In one fell swoop he had cut off all routes of escape. Of course he had. Feral was stupid to think that he wouldn’t have a plan in place to stop her from running. There was almost no way that she was getting out of the country now. Not without making a very obvious scene. Not without him being able to track her down to her next location just as easily.

She needed a backup. She needed some kind of protection. Something to get rid of him. To keep him off her trail.

Someone.

Fumbling with her phone she pulled up the message from just the day before that she had long forgotten. Looking at the pictures and back at the TV a plan forming in her mind. He was officially brought here to help with the league. Meaning that the Japanese government is fully expecting him to work on it and show results of some sort. Meaning that the league has to now deal with a new Hero that they most likely no nothing about. A Hero that they would want to get rid of just as much as she does.

As much as she really didn’t want to, they were her best chance, and she was theirs.

She just had to track them down, but that was the easy part. She tore through her bags, landing on a particular item, one that she probably should have thrown away years ago but she was just too attached to get rid of. She pulled it out and looked at the torn-up leather jacket, the one that was singed in multiple places, ripped in others and just plain worn out all around.

Everyone has a particular scent, one that is completely and 100% unique to them, and they leave it on basically everything they touch, though it fades significantly over time. The good news is that Feral had a pretty recent run in with a particular fire user, one that had pinned her up against a wall in his most recent attempt to kill her, only for her to easily over power him in strength, his flames not getting hot enough before she could get away.  

She had been too tired to wash her jacket afterwards which meant that it still reeked with his scent. While Feral had a decent sense of smell normally, it got even better when she shifted, to the point of a dogs. As long as she got somewhere close to where Dabi has been in the last few days, she could pick up a trail and track him down.

----

She had been right in her assumptions. Dabi was shockingly easy to find.  Everyone had habits. Things they go back to again and again. Dabi’s happened to be a liquor store in the wrong kind of neighborhood. One that wasn’t going to turn him in any time soon even if they did recognize him through his rather weak disguise. When was the boy going to learn that a turtle neck, a mask and a hoodie was not the most inconspicuous way to walk around when your on the countries most wanted list. Still the workers at the liquor store had turned a blind eye to the shady things that happened around them for years. Feral would know. It was the same liquor store that she shopped at.

Right next to the alley way that he had tried to kill her in last week.

Funny how they both just kept coming back.

As soon as she picked up his scent she tracked it back, weaving in and out of alley ways and halfway across the slums of the city, to what seemed to be a condemned bar. There were several other scents coming and going from the area, all of them seeming to be pretty recent. Feral recognized this must be the leagues current hideout and decided the best course of action.

She can’t just walk in there. At least not with Dabi there, she would need to wait until he at least left and then sneak in. He would just alert the others and they might be less inclined to agree to an alliance if one of their members is so against it. Feral wasn’t 100% sure about how their group worked, but she knew Dabi was considered an important member. One that probably had a lot of sway in the group.

If she could get the leader, Shigaraki Tomura, to agree with her, to understand that she would be valuable to them, she was pretty sure Dabi would have to fall in line and play nice. At least until this was all done.

So she waited. And waited. And waited. For what felt like days, when in reality was only several hours. She had watched a small blonde girl skip into the building, double checking that no one was watching her (she clearly did a bad job) before sliding through the door. She had even watched as another blonde, a tall male with what seemed to have some kind of scarring on his forehead peak his head out of the second story window that seemed to have previously been boarded up with a cigarette between his fingers as he chatted away on the phone. Unbeknownst of the brunette two stories below him keeping a watchful eye on the building. Feral couldn’t help but wonder if she was trusting the right people.  

Finally, after what seemed like forever, well into the darkness of the night, Dabi stepped out onto the street. A lit cigarette between his lips, his hood pulled over his face. He barely glanced around before shambling off down the street, away from the building. Feral watched as he turned a corner three blocks down before she finally moved.

She had barely taken a step out from her hiding spot when the world disappeared from under her.

----

It felt like a weird dream, one moment she was outside, the next she was frozen in time and space, floating in a sea of blue glass, unable to move, until finally, she was breathing fresh air again, only this time standing in the middle of what seemed to be a dimly lit bar, surrounded by some of Japan’s most wanted.

All of them looking more than ready to kill her. Shame that most of them can’t. Most of them.

Her eyes stayed focused on the on in charge. The blue-haired villain standing directly in front of her, a wide smile on his face, which was mostly covered by a severed hand. She couldn’t help but glance down at his hands, hands that wore no gloves, a smile spreading across her own face.

Maybe she should just have him kill her. End it all right here. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“I know you. You’re that werewolf quirk that was on the news.” The petite blonde leaning against the wall next to the door blocking the escape was the first to speak, her eyes widening in what seemed like glee. Feral recognized her from the wanted signs. Toga Himiko

She was still partially shifted, her red eyes glowing for anther moment before she let her body relax, it shifting back into her normal state, a hint of interest in Shigaraki’s face.

She stayed quiet, not sure just how much information she was willing to give them just yet. It seemed a least someone in here had a brain, as Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed onto the collar around her neck, his eyes trailing down the chain that disappeared about a foot down, ghosting away occasionally swinging back and forth just slightly like something was moving it, tugging it.

“That’s not your quirk. Werewolf. It’s something more than that isn’t it.” The mist villain known as Kurogiri was standing behind the bar, polishing a glass casually seemed to mimic Shigaraki’s thoughts, the leader grunting in agreement.

Glancing around Feral meet the eyes of the others in the room, gauging them as she did. There was the man in the black and grey full body suit, a mask pull firmly around his head, he was sitting at the bar. Known as Twice. His quirk was multiplication of some sort. She didn’t understand the logistics but it seemed simple enough.

“What are you looking at? Wanna go freakshow?” Crazy, but a strong ally.

Feral ignored his comment, her eyes flicking to the lizard man in the room who was leaning with his back to the bar behind Shigaraki looking pissed off. Spinner. She was pretty sure he was a Stain fanatic. There wasn’t much information on him from what she had seen, other than he seemed to be able to do things that lizards could do. He was an unknown.

Lastly her eyes slid up to the masked magician standing at her side, his grip loose on her left shoulder, seemingly innocent but she knew better. Mr. Compress. The one with the condensing quirk that turned objects and people into marbles. The one that snuck up on her. He was powerful. A good ally to have, a terrible foe. She had seen how he used his quirk in shaky out of focus videos. A complete mastery of it from what it seemed like.

She couldn’t help but flash him a smile before her eyes focused back on Shigaraki who was still waiting for an answer.

“My quirk is known as Hellhound. A little different than werewolf but they had the right idea.”

“And what are you doing here, Hellhound?”

“I want to join up. Form an alliance. I have something you need and I could use the extra… hands.” Twice snorted at her little joke, Shigaraki’s face turning into a frown, looking like a bratty child.

“And what is it that you think we need so badly as to trust you?”

“Information, on the new hero that has shown up on your doorstop. Diablo. He will hunt you down. He’s rather good at it actually. His quirk is Devil, which sounds simple, sure, but it goes much deeper than you think. And he has friends. Very. Problematic. Friends.” She enunciated the last few words. Her eyes drilling into Shirataki’s as he watched her skeptically.

She would tell him almost anything he wanted to know. As long as it meant they helped her.

“Go on.”

“His quirk almost gives him invulnerability. He’s going to be very hard to kill. Actually pretty sure, you are one of the few people that can kill him. Not to mention he’s strong. Not All Might strong, but he could easily break every bone in your body. He’s faster than your average hero. He’s just an overall powerhouse really. But what you should be most concerned about is his… friend. He’s got someone on his side that rivals All Might in both speed and strength. Someone not unlike your precious Nomu’s. Someone who will kill without hesitation. Though if we play our cards right you won’t ever have to meet them.”

“Why would they kill us? Heroes don’t kill, they put us in prison. It’s why they are so weak. Is it different in Spain?” Toga had been all but scoffing at the idea.

“Legally speaking, no, but the Spanish government is in cahoots with Diablo. They have basically given his free reign to use his friend to deal with problems to big for a simple prison cell. I’m pretty sure the league counts as one of those problems.”

“But he is in Japan. He has to work under Japanese laws.” Twice was the one to jump in this time.

“If you think that for one second he care’s about your laws, you are vastly mistaken. He’s a Hero. But I never said he was a good person.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. How do you know all of this? Who are you? He didn’t show up until you were on the news.” Spinner narrowed accusing eyes at the athletic female.

Feral rolled her eyes. Time for the 20 questions games about her life. This wasn’t going to be fun. She once again had the thought run through her head, that it would be much faster to just kill her. Get it over with.

“Because, He’s my brother.”

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

Want to show your support? Buy me a coffee!

#bnha fic #bnha oc #bnha #mha #mha oc #mha fic #oc fic #original character fic #Feral Fic #oc x shigaraki #oc x dabi #oc x compress

[grimmradiance]

The dreamers? 👀

Okay so here’s hoping there isn’t a secret character limit on ask responses because Hoo Boy, I Have Lost Control Of This Ask.

Monomon

A. realistic

Monomon is super hyperempathetic--that’s part of the reason the Foggy Canyon is the way it is.  She’s surrounded by other creatures that prefer to simply exist, who are fine with being left alone, but also don’t mind if she or that odd heavy bug she adopted gives them a little pat on the way past.  That’s also the reason Quirrel is so good with a nail--Monomon could channel the powers of lightning and/or explosions that other jelly creatures seem to have, but emotionally? imagine the toll.

B. not realistic but hilarious

She has NO sense of scale whatsoever. None.  Most bugs in Hallownest measure things against their height, since a bug’s shell is rigid and generally about the same length all the time, but since Monomon is 70% jelly by volume, she tends to measure herself like a cat or a mouse would, by the amount of space she needs to fit into places.  This makes Quirrel’s life...unusual, to say the least.  She gets stuck places sometimes.

C. heart-wrenching

If she’s hyperempathetic, imagine how she fucking feels about Quirrel and the Hollow Knight. I can’t even go off on a three paragraph rant on this one it just makes me HURT.  Quirrel being sent to the Howling Cliffs for No Thoughts Crystalline Memories Empty treatment was probably her best attempt at mercy.  God. I’m never gonna be over these sad fucking bugs.

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

Monomon is a very, very clever conversationalist.  She knows how to talk in just such a way that you feel like you’re being heard and understood, until you suddenly realized you’ve said something aloud you really shouldn’t, and Monomon says “don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”

And then, of course, she tells Quirrel, because what is knowledge for if not to be shared?  The two of them could totally take down the structure of the White Palace if they were on the same page about how to go about it.

Herrah

A. realistic

This is more about Deepnest in general, but the Weavers prefer to be left to their own devices, and leave other groups of insects to theirs. I mean, look at the Weaverlings from the Weaver’s Song charm.  They’re the only companion charm that doesn’t actively target enemy bugs, they just sort of...wibble around.  And they’re a relic of the Weavers as they moved towards the heart of Deepnest.  The dangerous, heavily-trapped and hypervigilant Deepnest we see is a product of outside interference, presumably the Pale King being salty that the Weavers didn’t accept his rule.

B. not realistic but hilarious

Herrah didn’t just teach Hornet to be a persnickety little anarchist terror in the White Palace, oh no.  She tried to teach Quirrel to be a feral little gremlin too.  I mean, most of it didn’t stick, but she tried.

C. heart-wrenching

You know that one Tumblr post that’s basically “sorry, all the nice queers are gone, you killed them, so now it’s just us pissed-off cockroach motherfuckers left”?  That’s what happened to Deepnest.  What kind of peaceful or uninvolved society would need anything fucking like the Midwife or the Devouts? Well, they’re perfectly good to have around if peace is no longer an option.  Every once in a while I just lose it thinking about all the culture the Weavers probably had preserved through their tapestries, and how much of it must have gotten destroyed along the way.

Also bonus round for Sad And/Or Horrifying Implications regarding Hornet: most spiders lay hundreds or thousands of eggs at a time.  I don’t have the time to even START unpacking Hornet’s distinct lack of siblings (as in specifically not half-siblings).

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

slaps my little hands on the table.  Even as everything was going to shit, Vespa and Herrah were still good friends, and sent letters to each other over the Stagways.  She got to know a number of Vespa’s subjects very well, including the Hive Knight. Silksong better give us more lore on them.

Lurien

A. realistic

The Pale King loved having Lurien around because Lurien was half of TPK’s charisma.  TPK very much seems the type to get wound up in his own thoughts and image, constantly micromanaging it to get the best response from specific people. (Unrelated, but I think only the Hollow Knight knows what TPK is really like, since if TPK really did believe Hollow had no mind and no voice, why would he bother? People make that exact assumption all the time with disabled people anyways, I am sick of my peers realizing I have a disability and changing the way they act around me send tweet  This is a whole other post, maybe I’ll write it another time.)  So who better is there to have around than someone whose hobby and greatest skill is watching a situation and analyzing it?  Once the Dreamers were sealed, TPK’s public image was fucked, no doubt about it.

B. not realistic but hilarious

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned Autistic Lurien before but he is in my head, so branching off of my own experiences: this guy is the KING of Relatable Lapses Of Insight.  This man has drunk paint water before on accident.  This man has tried to sit on a stack of tablets and knocked himself over.  This man will spend three minutes explaining how light reflection works to try and convey the word he’s forgetting. (The word he’s forgetting is “mirror.”)  I care him so much.

C. heart-wrenching

I cannot overexaggerate how fucking brilliant of a meta-narrative choice the existence of Lurien’s butler is. I *cannot.*  I am perpetually in awe of how good Hollow Knight is with environmental storytelling, and how much material it leaves for people who love to dig way too far into things. 

Why do I bring this up here?  Lurien’s butler is a parallel to Hornet and Quirrel, who are, to Herrah and Monomon, their only concrete link to the present that isn’t at least partially painted over in the Pale King’s propaganda.  And he’s been Light-ridden for gods only know how long.  The popular fanon about Lurien having it bad for the Pale King always gets me thinking about this, because we have Lurien’s journal as our only source on him. A scarce few lines: his sleep is in service to King and kingdom.

I can’t help but wonder if Lurien chose those words especially deliberately, knowing they would be his last. “Though my gaze falls no longer on this city, I will act forever in its protection,” in a journal carefully hidden in a private building of the City of Tears.  Why hide something like that with so much care, unless there was something to be gleaned from it?  Well, whatever information we need to know about Lurien to contextualize anything outside of context clues and the King’s image of him would have been with someone who was loyal and trustworthy enough to watch over him. Someone who was loyal and trustworthy enough that that would be all that remained in their mind, even under the Light’s influence.

Basically, what I’m getting at here: I know for a fact there is something we don’t know about Lurien, and whatever that secret is, it died with his butler.

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

Lurien travels!  He is very good at making up academic or political excuses for it, but we all know why he’s really leaving the city: to paint.  He isn’t quite as skilled with natural features as the regular shapes you see in a city, but he enjoys himself so that’s what matters.

[spiiderwiick]

Wick had been avoiding their home. When they did pop back there, it was always with an escort, and mostly they just fed and misted their bugs before scurrying back off.

They’d heard about what happened when Benrey had run into Patches earlier. They knew she was not in good shape. The spell had worn off but it seemed to be having longer lasting emotional effects. That or feeling for the first time in decades wasn’t sitting well with her. Whatever the case, Patches was self destructing off in the woods when she wasn’t being a problem for everyone else and she seemed to be having weird emotional hangups about people being nice to her.

Wick found themself wishing she would just stay there, but they knew things wouldn’t stay that way.

After what felt like ages but had probably only been closer to a week, they decided they couldn’t stay away from home any longer. It was quiet, aside from the distant sounds of beetle feet squeaking against the corners of their enclosure and the hum of the fridge. Somehow these sounds didn’t grant them any feeling of comfort and security.

The first night. Things were normal enough. They spent most of the entire time with a cloud of anxiety hanging over them of this is it this is the day she finally comes for me. But no clown came.

The second night more of the same. Wick did start to reflect on what little they had seen of her recently. Usually it was in chats they both frequented. Any time they showed up, she tended to quietly disappear. It was actually pretty nice.

Just for a little while, they let their guard down. They stopped spooking at every bump they heard in the night, and only spooked at half of them. It was progress.

Nothing lasted forever though.

It was on the fourth night that the hammer finally dropped.

Wick was winding down for the evening. They’d just fixed themself a nice mug of hot chocolate, something suitable for the cool, late summer evening. They found themself taking a peek into their backyard to see if the stars were out, but as they did, a red glint caught their eye. At first they figured it was a reflection of one of their devices in the kitchen or living room, they glanced behind them to check.

There was nothing shining red in here.

The eyes in the back of their head caught movement and they quickly turned to focus on what they knew deep down in their gut was going to be the clown.

Patches had made short work of the distance between them, and had her face and long, long claws pressed to the glass. That single red eye burning with hatred and fully focused on Wick.

Wick did not hesitate to bolt, and they were speedy when they wanted to be. As they ran, they tried to pull out their phone and send a hasty text.

Speed doesn’t beat magic, though, and Patches, despite her open hatred of it, was very magic. Bubbling goo in their hallway was the only warning they had before a clawed hand grasped their leg, toppling them and sending their phone with its half written text flying out of their reach.

Patches pulled herself from the puddle, her many hands grasping Wick’s flailing limbs as they kicked and struggled. They were strong but she was stronger, “If you even think about calling that freak here, I will gut you on the spot.” Wick stared up at her, horrified. There was no lingering sentimentality left in them, she noted, unlike with Benrey. Their voice stayed caught in their throat before they managed to squeak out a terrified question, “what do you want?”

This fear... She had missed it. Too many people had been getting bold and more interested in striking up deals than fearing her. Patches leaned in close, teeth bared as though she intended to bite their face off right there and then, which had admittedly crossed her mind, “I want to know why.”

Why...............? Wick’s mind was blank. Why what? What was she demanding an answer to? Wait... No they remembered now, “i... you were just a kid. even if i-it’s you i. wasn’t gonna just. leave a scared kid on their own.”

Just a kid. No. She had bit them, she had outright told them she had killed before. Anyone in their right mind, especially someone she had been tormenting for most of a year should have taken that chance to off her. She was sure this was the correct line of thinking and not her own distorted bias talking, “You don’t seriously mean to tell me you are so sentimental that you felt the need to protect me.”

Their eyes widen as one of her hands tightened dangerously close to their throat. In that moment they became convinced that his was definitely where they were going to die, “i- no i- i just-”

Tears welled in their eyes, they were so scared. They knew this was going to blow up in their face. They knew it the whole time. Why did they help her? Why did they have to be so nice? That was exactly what she wanted to know too, apparently, “it.. was to protect you. and everyone else from you. i didn’t want you to get hit by a car or to hurt anyone else in your panic.”

“And why not?” Wick flinched at the sharpness of her question.

“i don’t know! maybe i am just so fucking soft that i can’t wish bad shit happening to a baby!” It was a perfectly reasonable thing to be soft about, and they knew it. That didn’t stop them from feeling bad about it because a clown was angry and in their face because of it, unfortunately.

“But you didn’t stop there, did you?” Her voice was accusatory, furious, “Playing pretend? That fort? All those treats?”

Wick knew they’d be frustrated by this later, assuming they lived through this encounter. These sounded like the stupidest things to be angry about, “i don’t know what you want me to say? sorry for treating you like a fucking person instead of locking you in the garage like a feral demon cat???”

Ah. Apparently they were already frustrated enough to run their mouth. They had no idea what was the right course of action to take here. There was no running, Patches had them pinned to the ground and claws everywhere. There was no appealing to her sentimental side, she clearly didn’t have one anymore. They knew she had been literally trying to tear out whatever might have been there, in their eyes she had succeeded. Being nice to her was the opposite of what she seemed to want. Being mean to her felt like a good way to get into a game of escalation. All they could do was snark and hope that it was mean enough to not piss her off without escalating things.

Patches looked surprised by their answer, maybe even a little impressed. She was used to them freezing up when they were afraid of her. Patches of course, gave no indication of this and only continued to press with her claws, “Ah but what am I if not a feral demon cat, hm?”

Whatever snappy retort Wick was going to fire back caught in their throat yet again as the claws pressed harder. It felt like she was going to puncture their carapace soon and that thought brought a new wave of fear, “y-you’re just a heartless monster. is that what you want me to say? are you happy???”

While that had been what she was fishing for, it didn’t hit like she’d wanted it to. Some minuscule part of her felt hurt by the comment, some remnant leftover from the magic, she was sure. Clearly she had more carving to do, because she wasn’t happy. Nothing was fixing this pit she felt in her chest. All she wanted was for it to go away. She thought confronting Wick, hearing words of hatred, unfiltered by any niceties would do it.

It didn’t.

Nothing was helping. Maybe she should just off them. She’d been toying with them for almost a year. The thought had struck her more than once, and she hated whenever people brought them up as a reason she was softer than she let on. That would show everyone, wouldn’t it? Especially that Nero fellow.

Patches raised a hand, claws curled and ready to strike. Wick paled, this was it. They squeezed their eyes shut, bracing themself for the inevitable blow.

All the sickeningly sweet kindness they had shown her roiled in her mind, she let the memories rise to fuel her anger. All their sympathy, their thoughtfulness, their patience, their genuine kindness, even when they were terrified of her, how they pushed through it to show her that she didn’t have to be mean or evil. How she didn’t want to be bad, she was just scared and met with fear in turn. Being a monster didn’t mean she had to do monstrous things. No. No... That wasn’t what she wanted to think about.

She struck.

Her claws buried themselves deep.. Into the wood floor, right next to their head.

At first Wick thought the crunch was their own exoskeleton and that their nerves just hadn’t caught up with them yet. They cracked open their eyes to figure out what happened. Had someone stopped her?

They had hoped Benrey had decided to check up on them at just the right moment. Instead what they saw was the claws tearing deep gouges into their floor and an incredibly upset clown. Wick couldn’t place any of the emotions on her face, it was hard enough to read normally with its mask-like qualities and the near permanent grin she wore. They could feel her hands trembling where she had them pinned down. Was she having second thoughts about killing them?

Truth be told, even Patches was having trouble figuring it out. Decades of suppressing nearly all her emotions had left her terrible at identifying them. Everything was either cruel glee or anger with no in-between. There was anger there, that much she knew. Now however, it was directed at herself more than Wick. Why couldn’t she do this? Why hadn’t she done it earlier? Was she growing sentimental?

More nausea rose in her. This was supposed to be easy.

Patches found herself so rattled by her inability to kill them that she couldn’t even come up with some half baked excuse. It took her longer to notice her trembling hands than it did for Wick. Why was this happening? What was wrong with her? Damn it all. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She knew she was better than this.

Gritting her teeth, Patches hauled Wick off the ground to slam them back against the wall. She just needed to get back into it, she needed momentum. Glass picture frames crunched behind them and Wick cried out in pain, kicking their legs feebly in an attempt to keep her at bay. Patches drew back a hand and- The pit was back and it was growing. It was that same guilt she felt as a child when she realized that biting their hand had been wrong. Why? Why why why why why?

Shit.

She couldn’t do it.

Why couldn’t she do it?

Her grip faltered and Wick dropped to the ground like a gangly sack of potatoes. Before they could do or say anything, she withdrew into goo, vanishing into the night.

It was Wick’s turn to be a trembling mess now. Their life had flashed before their eyes twice in the span of two minutes. What had just happened? She wanted to kill them, they knew that much, but something had stopped her. Did she have a conscience now? Was there still some shred of good in her?

Wick decided they didn’t care. They crawled down the hall to reach their phone. The screen had cracked from the impact. They sat back against the wall as the tears started to trickle down their face. They could barely type or proofread what they were writing.

Whatever. They sent the garbled message. Now to wait and try to remember to breathe.

#drabble #f2f #jpstandsforjustpatches

[stillyourprussianblue]

Title: skyclad;

under the moon, long shadows are cast Part II of III

Author: feuillemort [AO3] / stillyourprussianblue [tumblr]

Rating: T

Pairing: 10088 (Byakuran & Bianchi)

Event: KHRWeen2020

Prompts: Digging up a Body | Blood Drinking

“Witch!” the magistrate gasped.

Bianchi smiled wanly. “Yes, and?”

“Demon!” he cried.

“He prefers ‘angel,’” she replied lightly when the flames danced higher

[AO3] [image] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

“You stand before us accused of witchcraft,” the judge presiding proclaimed, leaning forward to fix her with a look down his nose. “What say you to these charges?”

She smiled demurely and spoke after an uncomfortably long silence. “What do you know of witchcraft?” she asked. Bianchi tilted her head just so, letting her hair slip out from behind her ear, her full lips parted in an enigmatic smile that she knew would unsettle the panel assembled to arraign her because of the apothecary she owned and the feral cats that frequented her home. “What exactly am I accused of?”

“Witchcraft!” his voice boomed.

When he realized that he had failed to intimidate her, Bianchi tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Look at all of these men, afraid of a few kittens.”

“Ah yes,” a new voice said breezily, its prescience pervasive but somehow without form or substance, “but kittens also have claws.”

The chief justice looked around, his panic beginning to rise.

But nothing changed in Bianchi’s demeanour, as if this was a regular occurrence. “And teeth,” she added. Then she turned her attention back to the judge. “But yes, I am a witch.”

The man’s eyes lit up as if he had caught her in his web, but her next words made his smug smile falter.

“Of the worst kind.” She watched him squirm. “What will you do with that knowledge? You can’t kill me in any way that matters.” She paused to allow him to splutter. “But would you like to try?”

“Such impudence!” The man looked at the panel of judges that sat on his either side, reeling back slightly when he saw the same dreamy smile on each of their faces.

Bianchi stepped forward, the lights in the room began to flicker and brighten as they filled with some sort of supernatural energy. The brighter it grew in the room, the longer the shadows that were cast and thrown about, criss-crossing and layering over each other until the contrast threatened to overcome them all.

Bianchi’s shadow on the wall seemed to tremor on the edges like a desert mirage, glowing hazily. A form began to take shape behind it, a silhouette of a man with feathery wings that oscillated between cold light and sinful darkness, tucked safely into her shadow, threatening to overflow, just brimming with untapped power and wild magic. But when the judge looked behind her, he saw nothing that could cast such an ominous and oppressive presence.

“Stop this at once!” he yelled, trembling in his seat as she continued to approach, pulling herself up onto the dais and leaned over until her lips brushed his ear and the collar of her dress dipped, tempting him closer. The others around him merely smiled dumbly, as if there was anything amusing at what they were witnessing.

“Witch!” the magistrate gasped.

Bianchi smiled wanly. “Yes, and?”

“Demon!” he cried.

“He prefers ‘angel,’” she replied lightly when the flames danced higher as the gas lamps struggled to keep up.

“If you don’t require anything else of me, I’ll be leaving now,” she murmured lowly in the judge’s ear, cupping his jaw in her long fingers, tilting his head back just enough to leave him vulnerable, with just enough volume to ensure that he was not the only one that had a shiver run down his spine. “You’d best be careful. There’s dark magic out there.”

She left a whisper of a laugh on his cheek and the faint scent of lilac and lemon verbena in her wake. Her eyes dared him to make a move. He didn’t; they were all under her thrall. They stared as she turned to leave, the smiling shadow of a spectre trailing at her heel, wings half unfurled as it moved like an angel in chains.

___

The first things she saw as she entered the dark apothecary were the white patches of Luce’s calico fur as the cat slept in a nest made in an empty crate on the counter. The matriarch of the colony had finally gotten comfortable enough in her presence to enter the shop and had begun spending more time indoors as she aged; she continued to sleep as Bianchi approached.

“There you are,” Bianchi murmured as amber eyes lifted from Luce’s sleeping form. “Renato,” she greeted. The black cat yawned, showing her his pink mouth before closing his eyes and returning to sleep as well, a sleek void curled protectively around Luce. “They mistook you for my familiar.” She chuckled quietly and lit the candles lining the space with a flick of her wrist.

Another cat pressed itself against her legs and she leaned down to give him a scratch behind the ears. “How wrong they were, right Fon?” It was hard to tell how old the feral was, especially given how spry he still was, but his once jet black fur had lost its pigmentation and he glowed a russet brown that was particularly red in the candlelight. He evaded her touch and disappeared deeper into the shop.

She watched him go fondly, seeing the small Russian Blue she had named Skull scamper after him. He had been the only one of his littermates to survive a particularly harsh winter, and now his gangly form shadowed Fon wherever he went.

“If you took any of them on as a familiar, they could stay with you forever, you know?” Bianchi felt the shift when his presence left her as if she were shedding a cloak. He materialized like a white shadow behind her. She didn’t bother turning to face him—he posed no threat to her so she went on to sort through her various sickles and knives.

“I already have you for eternity, my love,” Bianchi replied to the demonic presence as Byakuran floated forward to rest his chin on her shoulder, looking at the way she inspected each blade and placed each and every one precisely in its spot, lining them neatly beside the crucible.

“Until I tired of you, pet” he teased.

“Until I tire of you and send you back to that infernal realm that I summoned you from, darling,” she corrected.

“No, you wouldn’t!” Byakuran gasped with his eyes as wide as saucers. “As an immortal, hell does grow dull.”

“And you and your epicurean ideals simply could not be contained,” Bianchi said, stepping away to check on her greenhouse. Byakuran followed closely as she continued to poke barbs at him. “Except, that’s exactly what it was – you can’t sustain your form in this plane of existence without feeding off of my magic. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“I’m just another one of your charity cases,” he concluded, smiling down at little Skull who peered out at him from behind the safety of a cabinet. The kitten hissed and leaped away.

Bianchi ran her hands over the soft leaves of a silk sage plant, pausing to consider for a moment when the leaves crunch faintly –much too dry. There wasn’t a moment to spare to water it; there were more things to follow and she had to move things along.

Byakuran sensed the moment of hesitation and he took a half-step closer, and then away again when she gave him a look that was a little more forceful than necessary to remind him of his role.

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled as he held his hands up in feigned surrender.

She moved onto the next pot, pushing aside the fronds to check on the condition of the soil. The herb hadn’t seemed to be thriving as well as she’d hoped and she had crushed some eggshells to hopefully enrich the soil. She poked around the check the moisture and hummed appreciatively when she saw the fractured femur was dry of marrow and that the flesh had started coming off of the knuckles tucked into the roots –the plant would begin its recovery as nutrition was slowly absorbed.

“How is the dead man’s dill?” Byakuran asked conversationally.

“I know you don’t care unless it’s a flowering plant,” Bianchi said, to which he laughed, stepping closer to encircle her in his arms.

“I was hoping that once I escaped from hell I could at least stop and smell the roses,” he whispered with his lips on her ear.

“I’ll give you something better than roses,” she murmured, placing her finger in his mouth. He bit hard enough to draw blood and felt her magic flow, filling him with more of that energy until he was brimming with the madness and his dark wings unfurled behind them.

His tongue ran over her finger before he pressed a chaste kiss on the tip to stop the bleeding.

“Better than roses,” he agreed.

“Oh there’ll be more than roses, love” she promised.

They stayed like that for a while, swaying lightly, as confidantes in the low light, dangerous and untouchable. His voice was like crushed velvet, hers like sultry satin, his laughter like warm sugar, hers like a poisoned apple; both of them hardly soft and bitterly sweet.

___

He followed her to the graveyard, able to maintain a humanoid form at her side now that the world was asleep. Knowing his floral fixation as an aesthete, she wanted to give the demon enough to satisfy his greedy nature.

Finding a spot among the burial grounds, Bianchi drew the circle around her with her athame, carving it lightly into the ground. He felt the energy thrumming along the seam, and how it intensified as the circle was completed, letting her channel it freely.

The silky white robe she wore slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the ground by her feet. She slid a hand up her bare thigh and up her exposed arm. He followed the motion of her hand, gaze flicking over to her other hand as she beckoned him closer.

He took a few steps towards her, unable to get any closer than the circle’s barrier would allow. He watched her move: the tantalizing sway of her hips, the soft movements of her hands, the flutter of her lashes as she turned her face to the firmament. He had never seen someone so connected to the sky; the clouds had parted, letting the moonlight make her bare body glow and the stars dance in her hair as she turned slow circles with her arms raised. She looked like an angel, the picture of heaven, like a beautiful painting he would taint.

The blood blossom buds burst open, reaching for the energy she emanated. The moonvines grew around her feet, curling around the headstones in their vicinity, crawling closer until the flowers bloomed a brilliant white.

But something distracted him from fully appreciating the show.

There was a sound, a thudding, a pounding, repeating somewhere in the middle distance. So while Bianchi lost herself in the dance, Byakuran floated between the headstones to seek out the source of the sound, until he found the girl in the ditch, desperately clawing at the earth with her hands. He caught a glimpse of the hand that jutted out of the ground and the metal ring on the corpse’s finger and chuckled under his breath.

“Interesting,” he murmured, looking at the girl’s small frame as she and her beastly companions paused in their excavation. “So you’ve got something to do with that lovely man that wreaked havoc in hell.”

He floated back over to his mortal patron. That bit of amusement would only grow more interesting with time, aging like a fine wine, but he wanted to enjoy this moment with an angel before it was lost to time.

He saw her eyes fly open before he heard the first explosion, like a crack of thunder that shook the ground hard enough that she had to grip a headstone for support.

A dark figure flew past them in the opposite direction, stoic and steely-eyed, towards the graverobbing girl.

There was another explosion that shot fire between them, and he skidded to a stop, only to see Bianchi break the circle and make her way towards him, somehow still graceful while moving swiftly. He took her outstretched hand and pulled her close, his black wings wrapping them up as the fire raced along the edges of the graveyard. Loose feathers whirled around them, catching fire and taking flight.

“Hellfire not too hot for you I hope, darling?”

“It’s fire and brimstone, my angel; it’s the beating heart of stars, and it keeps me warm.”

The intensity of her words made him look into her eyes and really look—she was no longer acting. Bare of costume or disguise, she was somehow more than a skyclad sylph, more than passion incarnate, and he would gladly drink her love potion, poison and all.

___

[AO3] [image] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

#KHRween2020 #10088 #khr #khr byakuran #khr bianchi #under the moon long shadows are cast #feuillemort #prince supersharky #stillyourprussianblue #tumblr still isn't showing me in the tags so I'm reposting #tumblr equivalent of elo hell #cast me into the void

[reynesofcastamere]

Jagged Crowns(1/2)[β]

(A/N: I had a bit of an internal debate as to whether I should keep writing while...Well, some parts of our world are in a rapid spiral towards a fascist dystopian nightmare due to centuries of institutionalized racism, ignorance, and hair-trigger violence, among other things. I understand that I will never fully comprehend what POC have suffered, because the system has been rigged in my favour since before I was born. There is much and more that can and has been said on the subject, but to summarize: It is not my intention to further harmful ideas/depictions or to hurt people via this self-indulgent outlet. If I have done so(and not given appropriate warnings), please do not hesitate to inform me so that I may correct this. That said, warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive thoughts, mental breakdown/hallucinations, and suicidal ideation. The prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka helping Maul through his own struggles, since he’s pretty much on the verge of insanity at all times.’ Unbeta’d.)

In the end, there is no need for a chosen one. No bright, wide-eyed youth to take up a burning sword and the incalculable burden of ridding the galaxy of an oppressive evil. The reality turns out to be less of a legend and more of a horror story.

The Royal Palace is littered with the dead and dying, but there is only one that matters. Sidious is still immensely powerful, but his body has grown old and slow, and there are only so many guards he can sacrifice to protect himself. Overcoming his Force lightning, preventing bones and organs from being crushed, protecting their minds from invasion and violation: That is much harder. But finally, finally Maul strikes off the Emperor’s head as Ahsoka’s twin ‘sabres pierce his shriveled, black heart. She steps back. He keeps going, slicing and hacking until the throne is in pieces, the floor is a cross-hatch of burning lines, and what was once an Emperor is nothing more than a pile of charred meat and cloth.

“Is this...Am I free? No, this was too easy. Master always has a contingency plan.” He does not even realize he is voicing these thoughts, too occupied with searching the Force for something, any trace of Sidious’s presence. Foolish child. You thought you could defeat ME? I know your every pitiful thought, every scheme you concocted while you wriggled, a blind maggot encased in filth. “Be silent.” Maul snarls, fingertips coiled around his anterior horns, palms pressed into his eyelids. “Focus. Focus. Search for him, he cannot hide from us.” There is another voice, outside his head, but he cannot hear it. He has to know. Yet despite the venomous hiss that tries to steal away his concentration, there is...nothing. The Dark Side is empty of even the barest wisp of his Master. “Gone. Gone at last. Finally I have achieved Bane’s will...” He laughs, long and erratically pitched. Not a comforting sound, or even a sane one. Wait. There is something. He uncovers his eyes and re-opens them. Someone before him, unlit ‘sabres in hand. Another rival apprentice. Another test. “Have I not done enough to prove myself?” Maul whispers, disbelieving and enraged all at once. No. You must destroy all who would stand in your way if you wish to claim my power. Prove that you are worthy and strike them down! “Yes, my Master.” He had dropped his sabrestaff before -careless, stupid, he could have been killed-, but it leaps eagerly into his hand and activates as he begins his assault. He cannot seem to get a clear picture of his opponent, their form shadowed and not entirely solid around the edges. He sees their weapons clearly enough, though, especially when they clash with his own. His rival is on the defensive, parrying his strikes but not counterattacking. He cannot hear their words past the blood rushing in his ears, infuriated by this insult. Is he so weak that they do not even think him worth the effort of assaulting?! Maul drives them back, seeking to disarm, to maim, to kill, but he cannot connect. He resorts to yanking their legs out from under them with the Force, lips curled in a feral snarl as he raises his sabrestaff for the final blow...Then the Light bursts into his mind with the force of a battering ram, and he can feel-These thoughts, this presence, he knows it-Mine, this warmth is mine, cast from the star forever out of my reach. Ahsoka Tano looks up at him, eyes wide from exertion and fear. “Maul. Please, stop.” His legs give out from under him, weapon deactivated and slipping from his suddenly-nerveless fingers. He does not know how long it takes for her to come to him. Seconds, or perhaps years, her hands circling his face as their lips meet. He pulls her close, fervent and desperate in his passion. Yes. This is fitting. One last time, before the end. “You must kill me.” A whisper when they part for air, watching her blink in confusion. “What are you talking about?” “I have never fought for your hope of a restored Republic. You know this. You have prepared for it. Sidious is dead and I will inevitably take control of his Empire. Unless you stop me.” “I don’t have to murder you to accomplish that.” “Ah, so you are content to truss me up like a rabid animal and let your superiors toss me in a cage or cut off my head. How noble.” “No.” “Why? Because you believe that they will not take the opportunity to rid themselves of a long-standing nuisance? Or that they will simply leave me in peace because our goals aligned temporarily?” He summons her shoto to his right hand, snarling in frustration as he presses it to her left. “You are neither sentimental or naive, Ahsoka Tano. Do not hesitate.” For a moment, it seems as if she will go through with it. As if white light and the deep blue of her eyes will be the last things he sees. It is not the nature of the Sith, to surrender to death’s embrace so readily. But Maul has...never been a true Sith, and he is so very tired. The voices in his head are blessedly silent, yet it is only a temporary reprieve. Without purpose, without vengeance or ambition, he will lose himself again. “Stop running, Maul.” Her voice is firm, and oh, she burns bright enough to blind him, but he cannot tear his eyes away. Ahsoka takes her weapon from him, sets it down, and entwines their fingers instead. “You’re right. I know who you are and what you can do. I also know you’re capable of more than that.” He cannot breathe. What has she done, to make him feel this way? That there might be hope of being...something other than this? “Did you really think I didn’t notice all these years? The small acts of compassion and honour...Palpatine didn’t rip those away from you.” She is so warm, so willing to offer up these things he has blatantly denied himself and others. “A foolish dream.” Maul rebuts, but there is no real strength behind it. His left arm holds her more tightly, both for emotional and practical purposes. He is not certain how much longer he can remain even partially upright. “It doesn’t have to be. Join me.” Ahsoka offers. “There’s still Vader, Thrawn, and a whole mess of other Imperials to defeat or force surrender from. But after...We can try to build something of our own.” Her right thumb lightly brushes over his cheek. “Won’t be easy, but it’s a chance for both of us to try something different.” “You will regret this decision. Soon.” He points out dryly. There is only so much optimism he is willing to endure, even in this state. She only laughs. “And you haven’t driven me insane. Yet. I don’t expect either one of us to be perfect at this from the start. Just to try.” Her hand curves down and around, lightly dragging her nails up his nape and eliciting a low rumble from him. “Aren’t you going to give me your answer?” Her smile cements the fact that she is utterly devious beneath her relatively-harmless exterior and he will get her back for this later. “You. Are an unrepentant tease. And I will greatly enjoy administering your punishment.” He growls, both impressed and frustrated by her manipulation. “But I am willing to see whether this insane notion of yours will work.” His agreement brings a smile from her, but not before she rolls her eyes and gives a small, exasperated exhale. “‘Yes’ would have worked fine, you know.” “And since when have I ever passed up the opportunity to frustrate you, my Lady?” “Ass. Mmmmph...”

“Care to rephrase that?”

“No. You are the worst. But I might be persuaded to change my opinion.”

“Let us see if I am up to the challenge, then.”

This is merely the beginning of a very long, hard road. Yet neither one of them will walk it alone, and that makes all the difference.

(A/N:Things I didn’t include in the top note because it was getting a bit wordy: This is set around 5-ish BBY, so Thrawn isn’t a Grand Admiral yet, only an Admiral(or possibly Commander, depending on when his promotion happened). Obviously certain canon events didn’t happen (ie Malachor), and Maul and Ahsoka have been in a sort-of relationship for about a decade at this point. Also, sorry, they didn’t have sex in the throne room. Just makeouts and soul-searching. This is absolutely a starting point. Neither character is ‘cured’ of their various issues/traumas by the end of this installment even if they are being semi-cute and flirty. This is...not what I would consider a realistic way to handle someone being triggered/having a delusional episode, but I digress. *notices that fics that have started with gore or violent imagery have mostly ended in fluff* -_-....Hm...Well, that’s a pattern. Or possibly a problem. Cheers, everyone!) 

#maulsoka #so much offscreen murder in this #except for Palpatine #because he is a BastardTM #I've decided to remove the 5-number limit and keep my askbox open for prompts/requests #for the moment #all of you are awesome btw

[zerot0all]

ᴅᴀʀᴋ ɴɪɢʜᴛs | ᴍ

.DONGHYUN POV.

.Small story plot. Straight filth. Instant love.

.Rated M for smut & slight fluff.

Enjoy!

.

The strong scent of cigarette smoke took up my lungs as I watch my prey prance around the dance floor from the second floor. My brothers sat back in the dark as I took in her form.

A delicate thing.

Long brown thick hair ... thick enough to wrap around my hand and do as I please with her. Her body was an enticing invitation... her heart beating loudly making the noise of the DJ seem almost absent. Everything she did made my hunger for her almost insatiable.

“Will you claim her tonight , it’s a bore watching you stalk your prey when you could easily take her.” The youngest of my brothers speaks up, Daewhi, rolling his eyes as he goes to take a quick sip of his wine.

I inwardly growl , hating the truth he spoke. I’ve been watching her for months. Obsessed with her scent. Her tasteful aroma driving me wild ... like the monster of the night I usually am. But I continue watching her. I am mesmerized by her beauty. Something an animal like myself is not used to but will go through an endless sea of blood to find her.

But I will claim her tonight. Drink her her precious blood ... maybe even use her a few times after. Fuck her sore till I can’t seem to function anymore. I don’t know ... I might even keep her around as my own personal toy. The ideas keep coming to mind as I continue to grow hungrier... I’m completely famished when she finally glances up to the second floor VIP. We instantly make eye contact ... her impact makes my desire grow like wild fire.

She’s... she’s ... she’s mine.

“Brother, you’re excused. Go,” Youngmin, the eldest spoke. Besides being the head of this family , he was also the King of our clan. His words ingnite the flame which grew within me , and with his permission, I became the dark shadow which covered the empty club corners, skillfully making my way down into the dance floor.

“Keep dancing like that and I might have to take you right here on the dance floor,” I hissed into her ear once I appeared behind her. I could hear her heartbeat skip a beat then mellow down as she slowly turned around. My hands were placed on her hips, bringing her closer as she faced me. She’s smaller in person, fragile little thing that I could break in half like a toothpick, if I chose.

But as her head shifted upward , her chin pointed as her eyes finally met mines.

I choked.

If possible , I was left breathless. My chest constricted with such pain , I didn’t know what to do but lean down and take her lips. My mouth molded into hers perfectly. And just as if it was meant to be , she responded. Kissing me back.

Her scent. Intoxicating... addicting. I breathed her in like I needed her to survive. It was pure devastation knowing how much power she had over me ... so suddenly.

“Come back home with me,” I spoke into her mouth, unable to move away from her. She gripped my shirt and nodded , licking my lips so seductively. I couldn’t help it. I wanted her. Right here. Right now.

But I couldn’t.

She deserved more than a quick fuck in the alley behind a dumpster. She deserved silk sheets, champagne, and long hours of my mouth on her flesh.

It didn’t take long to escape that crammed club and get her into my car, speeding back to the mansion.

The home to some of the most powerful night dwellers known to man... blood thirsty killers... monsters to the world ... the Royal Vampires.

Before she knew it, I had her against the door of my bedroom panting, sighing for more, her skin tasting delicious on my tongue. My hands worked quickly , getting rid of her small tight pink dress. The latex clothing seeming like a second skin as I began to peel it off of her. Releasing her round swells , then her abdomen and lastly her hips.

I dropped to my knees, in awe of her beauty. My goddess , she was beautiful beyond belief and I was the monster willing to taint her flesh.

The idea itself made my cock beg to be inside her , I craved her delectable blood , her mewls of pleasure and pain to take over my room as I do the unthinkable.

“Mine,” I growl, going to place soft kisses on her stomach, my large hands taking her ass in handfuls. She hummed in pleasure, her fingers raking through my hair the more I sucked on her pubic bone. I can already smell her addicting scent the closer I got to her cunt. The aroma driving me feral, my fangs wishing to come out and bite. But not now..

“Give me permission, doll. Let me have you completely.” Like a fool, I begged. I groveled like a needy, pathetic dog. But as soon as her eyes met mine, I was at a loss of words. The tiny shimmer in her dark orbs made something inside of me thump louder than ever. Something in my chest moved and I couldn’t help but be at her will, if it may be, I was putty for this creature created by innocence. My mouth dried up as she sent a delicate hand to my cheek, light as a feather, she caressed me.

“What is your name ... I need to know what I will be screaming later.” She grinned , slowly bitting her bottom lip like the vixen she was. In a heated sense , my jaw dropped. My groin throbbed. And my fangs painfully wanted to elongate. I needed to mark her and make her mine forever.

“Donghyun.” My vision shook as she blinked back a shy little smile. She radiated a virtuous essence which made the monster within me growl louder than ever.

Her heartbeat raced , her temperature rose ... the room became hot and cloudy with a sexual fragrance taking up every inch of breathing space. She murmured my name. She was dizzy with lust, craving me equally.

My large bed was a mess of sheets , pillows and our tangled body parts before I was able to pin her down beneath me. With her hair sprawled over the silk sheets, her cheeks tainted pink and her bottom lip between her teeth... she still gave me innocence. And as I lifted her leg , aligning my length to her pretty little cunt ... I couldn’t help but feel wrong.

She was an innocent human ... and I was a bastard for trying anything with her. What has she done to me? But before I was able to make a move, she slightly lifted her hips, making the tip of my cock brush up against her soft clit, and like everything else that was addicting about her ... I was balls deep before my mind interfered again.

She gasped , wincing in pain as I bottomed out with every thrust. I needed her screams to take up my life, to take up my fucking world. The immense pleasure I sensed was something I’ve never felt before ... the controlling need to keep her. Protect her with my own blood. The black blood that has been condemned to the underworld since I was bitten so many centuries ago.

“D-Donghyun... I- I know what you are.” She moaned beautifully, her hands on my neck keeping me close to her mouth. Her body shivered the moment I changed the angle, giving her long slow strokes as I lifted her leg a little more , making her eyes roll back like as if a demonic soul had taken over her precious form. Her mouth hung open on a silent scream , but her words rang in my head, her knowledge of my kind was a sign that we have not been a secret for many years ... but we already knew that.

“Oh yeah? And you still let me take you... why?” I spoke deeply into her mouth, ghosting over her trembling lips which needed me more than ever. My hands went to her hips, wrapping my arms around her frail body. I pulled out completely, and watched as her eyes fluttered open, a small tear dare tease me. It played on the edge of her large doe eyes, making me play back into her game.

As much as I wished to possess her ... she was possessing me. She was reeling me in like a moth to a flame and I couldn’t see myself walking away from this. From her.

“You’re not the only hunter in this town.” She whispered so casually , if it wasn’t for the tiny hint of sarcasm hidden behind her lustful beauty, I would have never of seen it.

Before my assumption gets the best of me , I thrust back into her warm cocoon, which hugs me tightly. She gasps some more, then I do it.

I let my fangs come out to play. I dropped my mouth to rest by her throat as she continues to moan my name , begging me to fuck her faster. Her end was near and so was mine .. time to have a sweet drink of my precious human.

Sensing her vein, the precious thick blood coursing through her body made me thirsty. Opening my mouth slightly, then piercing her skin instantly made both our orgasms crash.

Her flesh on my tongue, her blood in my mouth and down my throat was a new high. The euphoric stage making our bodies soar in a blissful manner. She tasted exquisite, the more she screamed the sweeter it was. I continued to thrust into her , harder , as I drank some more. This was addictive, but something in her blood tasted familiar.

It wasn’t till my latch on her neck was released that I noticed my mistake.

My eyes grew as I went to sit up on my knees, admiring as my damsel shivered post orgasm. The goosebumps on her glistening body , covered in sweat was art on her, proving the outcome of our pleasurable encounter.

She looked fine. Beautiful as ever ...

“You come from a long line of hunters ... your people have tried to kill our kind for centuries.” I spoke under my breath as the realization shook me to the core.

I had just fucked this beauty. My seed rested inside her womb , as I covered her walls completely. I drank her blood. Feasted on her like she was another woman in my bed.

But she wasn’t. She was more and fucking hell , I hate myself for wanting her all over again.

“Why?” Was all I could possibly say. I was in no position to demand such thing , being my cock was still within her glorious walls. Lodged in there awaiting round two, or three ... fuck, just thinking about it has made my groin thicken. She hums, letting her eyes flutter close as she feels it too.

“Death after death, kill after kill ... and nothing changes. I am sick and tired of this war. This is not my war , or my battle. I have nothing against monsters,” she breaths slowly.

My hands , which have been glued to her thighs, begin to massage her slowly. Everything about her is so alluring , so damn tempting , I can’t help but feel a bit possessive of her. I want her but .. she must know what kind of monster I am.

“Sorry to ask again, but why? We’re filthy fucking creatures... if I could , I would have drained you completely. You would have been another of my tasty midnight snacks ... I’m not a good guy, doll.”

I finish saying as I lean down towards her , my hands began to roam up her body. Carefully.

“But you’re not a bad guy either ... and yes, you could have killed me but you didn’t.”

She winks , making my whole world come crumbling down. She was right .. I wasn’t a monster with her. I was at her beck and call and I have been for months now. She owns me ...

She’s been indeed playing with me , the same way I thought I was. She knew who I was all along and yet.. here we are.

“Donghyun, I don’t care about my families past like I don’t care about yours. The future can change ... for us.” Her voice was airy , her heartbeat picking up again as I began to lazily move my hips. She suddenly grunts, then winces as I push all the way in. My poor doll was sore , good.

“And you’re willing to try with a creature of the night , like me?” I spoke onto her lips, taking her breath away, just like how she took mine. She breathed deeply, adjusting to me , then whispered.

“I would do anything for you, Donghyun.”

—————————

[MS]

#ab6ix smut #ab6ix one shots #ab6ix imagines #ab6ix fanfic #ab6ix scenarios #ab6ix donghyun #ab6ix fanfiction #ab6ix drabbles #ab6ix kpop #the night series

[fifteenskies15]

My Sympathies

(Michikatsu Tsugikuni x Reader x Yoriichi Tsugikuni)

Admin's Note: Hi, let me just drop this here, I'm bored so I decided to write this, also I'm fully aware that Michikatsu or Kokushibou already had a wife and kids even before he turn into a demon, but let's forget it about a moment, yes? For the sake of the story, I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, but I hope you enjoy it.

Also as usual, it's gender neutral, the reader can be either female or male. [Most of the lines are taken from the manga]

Also, here, Reader and Yoriichi are just friends

----

"My brother, is your dream to become the strongest samurai in the nation?"

A voice of a little child said as Kokushibou see the monstrous reflection on Shinazugawa's sword, he froze a little as the voice said again

"I want to be like you... I want to be the second strongest samurai in the country"

Kokushibou were silent for a while "Is this how samurai looks like? Is this what I really wanted?" he realized his body slowly disintegrated "...?! My body is falling apart where Muichirou stabbed me" stricken with panic especially when Himejima's spiky flail crushed his head.

"Use a technique! A technique..."

Realize his attempt are futile, he lowered his hand "...I can't use blood demon art!!"

"Not yet, I should be still able to regenerate"

"I haven't lose yet!"

"I still..."

...

"My sympathies... My brother"

Yoriichi's face from 400 hundreds years ago, with tears in his eyes flashed before his own eyes...

"My sympathies... Michikatsu..."

Who... Who is it? Who is that person? They were looking at him with tears from their (E/C) eyes, their voice were shaky, laced with genuine sadness "Look at what you have become, Michikatsu... I really mourn for what you have become... This ugliness, this is the form because you never admit your own defeat... Have you been living in such disgrace, my dear?"

"...Living in disgrace...?"

"Have I lived a hundred years for this? Was I afraid of death that I became a monster? Did I want to be strong even if it meant eating people? Did I become a miserable creature because I didn't want to die?"

"...No, Yoriichi... I just want to be you"

"And so that... I can protect you too, (name)"

...Huh...

(Name)? Who is that again?

Michikatsu realized that right now he was standing alone in darkness and there's nothing, just empty space filled with darkness...

"Michikatsu, you have come at last..." the figure said with a sad smile on their face next to them, there's Yoriichi who had the same expression as the person he didn't even recognize.

"Brother... You have come to us at last"

Michikatsu looked at them blankly, in all his life he don't even remember his parents face, only Yoriichi so why...?

"You don't remember me, Michikatsu? You don't remember everything about the time we have spend together?" the person said as he put their gentle hands on his face, not caring the demonic feature on his face, the touch made him remember something from the past... Something that make him temporary forgot how he was envious of his own brother.

"...(Name)..." Michikatsu called out the name he forgot for a hundreds of years, he grasped the pair of the hands and looked at them "(Name)! I remember you now..."

This person... (Last name) (Name) is one who learn breathing techniques under Yoriichi's watchful eyes, they have a personality as white and as pure as snow, smile brightly like the sun and their (E/C) eyes reflect gentleness and bravery, when he met them the first time, Michikatsu felt inferior feelings towards them, he pushed them away, but they keep approaching him with a smile, saying that they won't leave until he told them what's bothering him, this crumble the boundaries between the two of them as Michikatsu told them what's bothering him until he feel comfortable with them, he remembered the words they say to him about how envious he is of Yoriichi:

"The only reason that made you feel like that is your own jealousy to your own brother, Michikatsu... It's good that you have a strong ambition to be the strongest samurai in the country, but the stronger it is the easier you forget yourself and people around you, Lord Yoriichi once told me he wants to be the second strongest samurai in the country, he wants to be in equal position with you, talent and ambition can be a wall that divide you and your brother, if you want to be like him, crush that wall with something we called bonds and consideration"

Those words were ringing inside his mind, it did fix his relationship and changed his thoughts of Yoriichi for a while, it makes his younger brother happy and he's thankful for (name) and their wise words and he's thankful for them for making his brother smile.

(Name) did make Michikatsu smile and feel somehow secure with them, he really imagined his future with them, being the strongest samurai in the country with them and even Yoriichi by his side.

He felt a spark of pride when (Name) got their mark, somehow it adorned their features so well and it did make Michikatsu's heart skipped a beat.

But everything changes as (Name) turned 25, (Name) died... Just like the other marked ones, in their last breath they said that they will always watch over him and always care of him even though their body no longer exist.

After their death, Michikatsu back to his old self, his hatred for Yoriichi blooms again and he became hopeless, he knew that he had no future now that his days are numbered that is... Until he met Muzan, who offered him to become a demon and after that he just forget everything including (name) and their smiling face.

The rest is history, now Yoriichi and (Name) stand before him, (name)'s hands left Michikatsu, immediately he missed their touch.

Both name and Yoriichi teared up though the smile on their faces not falter.

"I'm sorry that I left everything to yourself brother... I'm so sorry for not being there for you" Yoriichi's voice is shaky as he embraced his brother, Michikatsu could feel tears on his kimono, he himself could feel his tears threaten to spill out, (Name) also hugged him with tears in their eyes "I'm so sorry that I left you so soon, Michikatsu, I'm sorry, I really am... I'm so sorry that I can't realize the dream we built together"

"It is all my fault that we crossed a different paths"

"and I too am sorry that I can't be there for you when you need me the most, I did promised that the three of us will be the strongest samurai in the country yet I break it, I'm so sorry for being weak!"

No...why would they said that?

"I'm so sorry for being a bad brother for you"

"I'm so sorry for being a bad partner for you"

The demonic feature on Michikatsu face dispersed as he turn into his normal self, tears drip down from his eyes "No... Don't say that, (Name) ...Brother..."

His hands wrapped around Yoriichi and (Name)'s trembling bodies.

"I should be the one... I should be the one who sorry, Brother, dearest (name)" he sobbed and tighten his grip afraid that the two people in his life will disappear in a second.

"I'm so sorry, Yoriichi, I just... I wanted to be you, I always wanted to be like you, please forgive me for what I have done and all this years, and (Name) I'm so sorry that I forget you, I'm so sorry that I forgot all your words to me, I'm so sorry for giving in to my fear and ambition, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry that I disappointed both of you..." his voice are shaky because of the tears "I don't want to go, But I have to, I don't belong to the heavens like you both..."

He loosened his grip and backed away from them, but (name) and Yoriichi didn't let him as they embrace him tightly

"No! Don't go Michikatsu!! Please! Stay with us! I beg you!"

"Brother, please don't go, (name) and I still want to be with you"

"No matter how much you beg, I cannot, you both don't deserve hell..."

They both shook their head "Then take us with you..."

"Yes brother, we care not how hell can be very torturous, as long as we are all together it's nothing but an empty field without any soul around"

Michikatsu smiled sadly as he hold his brother and his loved one "You both...are terribly tenacious" he said with voice laced with genuine fondness and whispered "...I love both of you..."

Flame arose out of nowhere and slowly it engulfed the three figures holding each others, and slowly they vanished from the purgatory together...

They're both gone forever, but at long last... They can be together forever.

----

*Admin's feral scream and sobbing*

How was it? Does this bad? If yes I'm so sorry that you don't enjoy it, I will try my best to improve! Forgive me for this, and sorry that it had a lots of nonsense that it made you super confused! Well anyway, thank you so much for taking your time reading this, see you in another Admin's post!

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #tsugikuni michikatsu #tsugikuni michikatsu x reader #kokushibou #kokushibou x reader