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flowerandblood · 19 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (23)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, manipulation, blackmailing and threats ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Alys had always known that, like any bastard child, she could only rely on herself. Her existence was merely an unfortunate accident to her father and brothers, with which they nevertheless came to terms, and she, in their minds, should be grateful for being allowed to stay and serve in Harrenhal.

Indeed, she never considered herself to have been significantly harmed by fate.

Compared to women who had to sell their bodies for money in order to survive, her function as herbalist and wet nurse completely satisfied her.

Milk filled her breasts along with the baby that one of the guards had put inside her. When he pressed her against the wall and lifted her gown, panting that he had desired her for a long time she did not stand up to him, even helping him by bending over and spreading the folds of her womanhood before him so that he could more easily hit the right spot with the thick tip of his length.

This particular man never aroused her desire, however, he supervised her chambers, and since she allowed him to enjoy the pleasures of her body, he closed his eyes to when and where she went out, giving her more freedom.

His wife, however, was not comforted by the fact that her husband had a mistress.

She could not conclude that her husband was a good lover; his hands only clenched greedily on her firm breasts, his thrusts violent, fast and deep. She knew that as he chased his fulfilment hissing that he would fill her with his seed, it did not even cross his mind to touch her between her thighs or ask what would give her pleasure.

She did not, however, resent him.

She recognised that this was how men were.

Although she tried not to think about it, the sight of his wife, one of her father's servants, filled her with remorse, for although she knew that this woman did not love him, she humiliated her every time she took away what belonged to her.

She had nothing to justify it, but she knew that if she told him to stop she would arouse his anger and his behaviour towards her would change.

He might want to take revenge on her for rejecting him.

She couldn't allow this to happen.

What he didn't know was that he wasn't the only man she allowed to sink between her thighs for the benefit; it was easier and sometimes even more enjoyable than trying to bribe them with money, which she didn't have much of anyway. What she was able to do perfectly was to observe people from the sidelines − their reactions and desires, coming to her own conclusions about what they needed and wanted.

Usually these men wanted not only sensation and elation, but also reassurance, a warm word and understanding; they lay with their faces cuddled between her breasts, muttering for her to stroke their heads, and she did so, allowing them to turn from men into innocent children for a moment.

The women in the fortress began to whisper among themselves that the ease with which she seduced men and with which she maintained her beauty despite her age was due to the fact that she was a witch.

She smiled piteously as she strolled through the corridors of the fortress, overhearing their conversations from afar, hearing about the potions she gave to poor, unaware men so they could not forget her, that she bathed in milk and blood to keep her face young and bright.

She did not deny the accusations, because she derived satisfaction from the fact that they feared and avoided her.

Fear, however, also tended to provoke interest and curiosity, and the young, newly arrived servants who were just learning their trade could not tell what they thought of her.

When she needed a break from the men's sweat and their aggressive, deep thrusts she sought peace and solace in the arms of young girls, much more gentle and understanding when it came to the nature of female fulfilment, their sweet moans and surprised expressions as she caressed them made her feel a pleasant pulsation between her thighs.

Although the prospect of becoming a mother did not fill her with particular joy, when she woke up one morning, feeling a pool of wetness under her thighs and saw blood, the squeeze in her throat and the tears she felt under her eyelids were proof that some part of her hoped she could love this innocent creature that was growing inside her womb.

This did not happen, however, and she, not wanting to waste her milk, from which her breasts had already swollen, decided to feed the children whose mothers had too little nourishment.

She considered her life quite prosperous and peaceful until her father and half-brother died in a fire.

Until Larys became the Lord of Harrenhal.

Everyone, including her, feared him.

He was like a writhing viper, tightening slowly around the necks of those who aroused his suspicions, his gaze black and completely blank, as if he experienced nothing, felt nothing inside himself.

He could not be seduced, appeased, pleaded with, persuaded.

He was like a stone, merciless, cruel, taking satisfaction in domination and power.

She never got in his way.

One evening, however, he summoned her to his chamber, and she feared what he desired.

When she stepped inside he was sitting at the table, having just eaten his evening meal. He smiled slightly at her in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back; his eyes remained indifferent, glowing mischievously in the firelight.

"Sit down, sister. I wish to discuss something with you." He said softly, and she swallowed hard, keeping an indifferent, satisfied face, looking at him from under half-closed eyelids. She sat down opposite him in one of the chairs, spreading out comfortably in her seat, sighing quietly and nodded for him to speak.

"We will have guests of honour. Prince Aemond and his wife will be arriving here within two days to spend the night here and then head off the next morning to meet Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon." He said calmly, putting a few pieces of cake from the tray onto his plate, with a hand gesture he encouraged her to eat as well, but she shook her head, analysing his words quickly.

She had heard of them.

Prince Aemond had married and taken his niece's maidenhood on the same night he chose Maris Baratheon as his wife.

His brother the King, to save the situation, married them in the eyes of the Seven before an enraged Borros Baratheon could arrive in King's Landing demanding justice.

There would not have been all the commotion if Prince Aemond had taken her as his second wife, but he clearly only wished to have one, therefore, Maris was sent away with only a dowry and humiliation.

Her half-brother continued, seeing the lack of response on her part.

"I want you to host them well. Both of them, if you understand what I have in mind. Myself and his grandfather do not believe in the success of their mission. Like most of the kingdom we know how it will end: with a war. A war we wish to win. However, our Prince, if I may say so, does not think with his mind now, but rather with what he has between his thighs. He gives in to his wife and her persuasions to bring about a reconciliation. I know you are well acquainted with human nature and will surely win both her trust and his heart."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at her fingers, trying to hide the horror and squeeze in her stomach she felt.

He wanted to expose her, to put her head under the Prince's sword if it turned out that her attempts would only enrage him, and he could wash his hands of everything.

"In any case, in a few days' time the matter of the succession will resolve itself with the help of my birds in the Eyrie. They know what to do. Of course, I'll let our Prince believe that his decision matters, however, everything is already arranged. I hope this should settle the matter. With the help of the gods, the girl might try to take her own life for the second time. Let us raise our cups for that." He said lightly, as if indeed such a course of events would please him the most; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking that she had not even noticed when he had become such a disgusting creature.

A monster that, like a black, empty hole, was consuming everything around him, destroying it and crushing it.

She wasn't in a position to refuse, and he knew it.

That was why she walked out with him to greet their guests, thinking she would simply do what he ordered her to do.

She blinked as the figure of a petite, pretty girl jumped down from the shimmering blue and silver dragon, her long, dark hair of a shade similar to hers tied into a braid, its unruly strands dishevelled by the long journey through the skies.

She stepped out in front of them, breathing heavily, her eyes big, full of curiosity and uncertainty, her gaze warm, kind, her cheeks all flushed from exertion. She stopped in front of them and forced herself into an innocent, almost childlike smile, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

Gods, have mercy.

"My Lady. What a joy." Said her brother. The girl blinked, not knowing for a moment what to answer, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She muttered at last, clearly tense − her was voice pleasant, melodious, soft, the kind that gives comfort with ease, brings peace of mind.

They all turned their faces towards the approaching figure as they heard his footsteps; Prince Aemond in his long black leather coat and black eye patch indeed looked like someone menacing, commanding, as powerful as the great dragon he was riding.

What immediately caught her attention was that as his gaze traveled over their faces he stopped at his wife, assessing her figure from afar as if quickly examining whether she had suffered any damage after such a long journey and whether she was well.

He must have evidently concluded that she was, for his gaze turned after a moment towards her brother.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

The Prince and her brother moved first, followed by his wife, looking around the interior of their fortress with genuine curiosity, not even listening to what her brother was saying.

She didn't even notice that her uncle was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, checking that she was near and in no danger.

She thought he would sooner stab her in the heart than take her to his bed.

Her brother opened the door of the chamber that had been prepared for him, the largest in the entire fortress, not coincidentally located close to hers. The Prince, however, did not look impressed; his lips pressed into a thin line in disapproval when he heard that Lord Strong had assigned his wife other quarters.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said coolly, as if the very suggestion was offensive and insulting to him.

He had kept her with him the whole time, she thought in disbelief, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the girl standing next to her.

She stood, gazing at her uncle as if she were looking at a statue of one of the gods; her bright, shining eyes large and filled with affection, devotion, longing, even though, after all, he was standing in front of her, at her fingertips.

She realised, swallowing quietly, that he had not taken her by force the night he married her or any night after.

How long had they looked at each other like this?

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." Her brother replied.

Prince Aemond then looked at his niece with a gaze as if he was about to explode − his wife pressed her lips into a thin line, immediately understanding what the expression on his face was meant to convey to her, her look of understanding and sigh was meant to add to his patience.

His gaze softened and after a moment he nodded, letting her go.

The girl looked at her, so she smiled quickly and pointed with her hand the way they should go to her quarters. Before moving behind her she looked at her husband, the Prince leading her away with a cold, sharp gaze.

Overwhelmed by this revelation, no longer knowing herself what she thought of it or what she should do in such a situation, she simply followed her into the room, closing the door behind her. She watched quietly as the prince's wife walked to the window, placing her hand on the glass, and smiled slightly, noticing something outside.

Had she been like this all the time?

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, My Lady?" She asked finally, recognising that she needed to start any light conversation, to try and understand who was standing in front of her.

The girl shuddered and blinked, as if forgetting her presence for a moment, turning to face her. She nodded, forcing herself to smile, unsure and embarrassed, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked lightly and kindly, willingly shortening the distance between them, which surprised her.

Usually women of her ilk took satisfaction in calling her Lady Rivers, reminding her every time that she was a bastard.

But she, even if she was married to the Prince, was also one.

She was her relative, her brother's daughter.

She swallowed hard at that thought, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

"Alys, my Lady."

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering something for a moment, and then her bright eyes looked at her again.

She thought with pain that she was like a small flower, a daisy or a forget-me-not, which one picked to weave into one's hair, to feel as innocent as a little child again.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She muttered with some sort of embarrassment, from which she involuntarily burst out laughing.

Good gods.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She said softly, amused; her gaze shifted, her brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

She knew what she was going to ask her, she could feel it in her bones.

"Did you know my father?"

She named him as her father even though she was officially Laenor Velaryon's daughter.

She admitted to her that she too was a bastard without a grimace of embarrassment.

"Yes, my Lady."

Her whole body tensed, her hands clenched into fists.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, and her lips involuntarily lifted in a dangerous smirk at the thought that her directness was surprising her.

Was this how she spoke to her husband?

Was this how she forced her way into his heart?

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, my Lady."

A silence fell between them filled with the weight of their words and what they meant; she licked her lips involuntarily, feeling that she was incapable of denying herself the pleasure of having to see her reaction to her words.

To see if she was right.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She said with amusement, feeling a tingle in her fingertips and in her lower abdomen at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you mean?" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed; however, it was not shame feigned and exalted, but more an expression of genuine surprise and excitement at her words.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said calmly, turning her head away, immersed in her own thoughts.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She looked at her, wanting to see her reaction, and sighed almost imperceptibly, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the sight of her parted, plump lips, her dreamy, hot gaze.

She knew that she had felt something at her words, that it had taken deep root in her heart and made her return with her thoughts to her husband.

Was this how she had looked at him when he made love to her?

She could not imagine that he could take her maidenhood brutally and cruelly, that he would allow her to cry beneath him in pain.

No, she thought − he surely took her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips, letting her get used to his shape deep inside her, assuring her in a whisper that just a little more.

She felt a strong throbbing and tickling between her thighs at that thought and licked her lips, looking up at her again − her gaze lowered meekly to the stone floor, a soft, thoughtful smile on her face.

She decided on second thought, helping her change into one of her gowns, touching her soft skin, smelling the wonderful scent of vanilla in her nostrils, that she would braid the most elaborate hairstyle she could think of on her head, just so she wouldn't have to leave her chamber before supper.

She knew that her half-brother expected her to then take the opportunity to venture into the Prince's chambers to make sure he was not missing anything.

Therefore, she began to braid her soft, long, dark hair, creating a beautiful, complicated hairstyle surrounding her head.

She escorted her to the proper quarters and bowed, Larys gave her one impatient look.

She felt a cold sweat on her back, leaving immediately.

He was not pleased.

She thanked the gods that the Prince's wife had summoned her herself, wishing her help with her bath, giving her another reason not to head to her husband's chambers.

She thought that if she went on like this perhaps the situation would work out in such a way that she simply wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything, though even if she did she wasn't sure Larys would believe her.

As she walked into her chamber she saw that she herself was trying to untie her bodice, so she approached her, undoing the tangles with ease, looking at her face with curiosity.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, my Lady?" She asked softly, noticing from the corner of her eye that the girl had lowered her gaze, ashamed and saddened.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said with resignation, and she couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face.

Of course, she thought.

The sight of her loose hair reminded him fondly of how it had been spread in disarray around her head, shining in the darkness of his chamber as he fucked her greedily.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, for some reason wanting to lift her spirits and comfort her; she heard her move in place, the sweet blush appearing on her cheeks again.

She was embarrassed, she thought with disbelief and tenderness, as if she were looking at a small child.

She was so innocent.

Was that what attracted him to her?

The idea that he was surrounding her with himself like a dark cloak, devouring her again and again?

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She heard her uncertain, curious voice; she looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, noticing that she immediately lowered her gaze, as if she could not bear the intensity with which he was looking at her.

"Yes, my Lady."

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked intrigued, and she smiled again involuntarily.

"Yes."

When her gown finally fell to the floor she saw her girlish, pleasing curves peeking through from under her nightgown. She watched as, with a light, confident step, she walked over to the bath and bore herself into the hot water, tilting her head back, sighing in relief, her head still adorned with the braids she had woven herself.

Such a pretty little thing.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled out at last, looking at her with those big, warm eyes of hers, seeing in her apparently her guide, someone who could help her with these complicated and intimate matters.

She felt a pleasant squeeze in her lower abdomen at the idea that popped into her head.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied amused, drawing out of her exactly the reaction she wanted − her cheeks turned scarlet, her gaze fled downwards, her tiny long fingers clenched into small fists.

She was wonderfully embarrassed, so sweet that he would have gladly shown her everything, step by step.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, and she involuntarily licked her lower lip with her tongue, feeling the throbbing between her thighs at her words, her nipples hardening under the material of her gown.

Gods.

"I see." She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad as she moved slowly towards her, her surprised gaze lifting to her as she knelt right next to her tub, cupping her wrist in her hand.

Her skin was as soft as silk.

Her gaze escaped involuntarily to her breasts, now perfectly visible through the wet material of her shirt clinging to her bare flesh; she felt a tickle in her swollen lips at the thought that she longed to lick and caress them.

She was sure that as he teased and sucked her nipples she moaned sweetly beneath him, begging for more, and he always, always gave in to her.

Because how could he refuse her?

"I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, my Lady."

She saw her pupils dilate in disbelief, her lips parted as she swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in accelerated breaths.

"…How?"

She couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on her lips, nor what she did next.

She heard her sigh quietly, surprised and thrilled when her lips ran over her pointing finger, enveloping her skin with her hot breath.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman shows them with gentle, tender caresses." She whispered, running her swollen lips up and down her finger leaving a sticky, warm trail of her saliva on it, surprised at how wet it made her between her thighs, how wonderfully arousing it was, how obscene it was.

She heard her draw in a deep breath without moving away, but as she guided the tip of her finger between her lips, teasing and licking it lightly with her tongue, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her thighs clenched in some helpless, subconscious reflex.

What other reactions could she draw from her?

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She sighed quietly as she suddenly slipped her whole finger deep into her mouth, feeling her swollen folds pulsate hard again and again as she began to suck it in slow, steady movements with the quiet click of her saliva.

She heard her gasp on the verge of a moan as her tongue began to trail over her skin with her low murmur of satisfaction, her free hand involuntarily sliding down to the material of her gown, wanting to slip under it and bring herself to fulfilment with her own touch.

She slipped her finger out of her mouth with a loud plop and looked up at her − her face all flushed, her gaze dreamy, hesitant and warm, as if she herself didn't know what she felt or why.

Something in her gaze made a pleasurable heat spill over her lower abdomen as she dug her own fingers into her fleshy folds, all sticky with her moisture, pulsing aggressively with her every stroke in pleasure.

"− you pretty little thing − it’s usually him taking care of you, isn’t it? − he can’t deny himself − I can’t blame him −" She whispered, trying not to move her hips so that she wouldn't notice anything; she lost the battle with herself as she felt herself getting closer and closer to fulfilment, pushing against her own slit with the tips of her fingers.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her husband was more vigilant than she thought.

When he burst into his wife's chamber she barely had time to remove her hand from under her own skirt and let go of her, standing quickly and bowing before him.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled, and she walked out obediently, grateful in spirit to the gods that he hadn't stopped her to question her, that he hadn't noticed the glistening wetness on her fingers.

Or he saw it and it infuriated him, she thought with amusement, feeling her heart pounding like a mad in her chest.

She finished what she had started in her chamber, bringing herself to fulfilment with sure, swift strokes of her fingers, driving their tips into her sensitive, fleshy womanhood, able now to afford to moan and rock her hips, imagining her body peeking through from under her wet nightgown.

She imagined that she knelt before him to lunge and soothe him, that she barely fit his fat cock in her small mouth, all swollen from the desire she had always aroused in him, that this proud, dark, cold man whimpered before her like a small, innocent boy when he finally gave in, thrusting again and again deep into her warm throat.

She came with a low moan of relief, panting heavily, hugging her face into the pillow, rocking her hips for a while longer, slowly coming down from her peak.

She was sure that as she lay half asleep, feeling a blissful, pleasant peace, she heard their moans in the distance and grinned involuntarily.

Of course he forgave her.

He always did.

She often had dreams whose meaning she did not understand; she saw people she had never met before, observing events that might as well have happened in the future or in the past. That night, however, her dream particularly troubled and worried her, as she had no idea what it actually meant.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one, flowing like a river, which then, however, became a lake that reminded her of a dragon's head in a crown, only to spill over after a while, and she saw nothing but red.

Was this what was about to happen?

Would Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon be murdered and another dragon's reign begin upon their blood?

She swallowed hard, thinking of that young, cheerful girl, of how obvious it was that she was not aware of anything, that whatever her uncle-husband knew, he had not shared it with her.

She thought that if he betrayed her, she would wilt like a flower, fade like the sun in a setting sky.

She stood up and headed for his chamber.

His gaze expressed nothing less than disgust and rage at the sight of her. He reached for his tunic, dressing it hurriedly, tense and pale, knowing full well what was to happen if the negotiations did not bring the results he hoped for.

She wondered if he realised that even if he didn't give the order, they would be murdered anyway.

"You will betray her." She said indifferently, and he threw her a quick, horrified look, his nostrils quivering in disbelief.

He knew perfectly well what she was referring to.

She thought that sometimes all it took was a gentle push, putting a mirror in front of someone's face to make them think carefully again about whether they were ready for the consequences of their choices.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

She said and grinned, seeing that he shuddered all over, that his mask had cracked, his lips parted as if he wanted to groan in despair.

She knew he saw it in his mind, felt it in his heart, and she left his chamber without a word.

She let out a loud breath as she walked down the empty corridor, thinking with some kind of hope that her words, the vision she had invented to break him would terrify him enough to make him fall to his knees before his wife and confess everything he knew.

And if he doesn't, if in fact he betrays her, it will prove that he was never worthy of her.

She had come to her summons when she wished to clothe herself; she saw, crossing the threshold of her quarters, that she too was frightened and anxious, only for completely different reasons.

She wished for them to come to an understanding.

She believed it was possible.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought, at the realisation that she was alone in a world where everyone but her craved war, craved power, craved the throne.

She did not look at her face, at the clear command of her husband not allowing herself any closer proximity to her, which she accepted with understanding.

After she had fastened the buckles of her leather coat, however, she allowed herself to take her soft hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb.

She hesitated and furrowed her brow, but before she could move away, she began to speak, forcing herself to whisper, fearing that her brother's servants might have heard her.

"Do not return here. Fly from the Eyrie straight to King's Landing. I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown. I saw red flooding everything around me." She said quickly, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She thought in disbelief that she pitied this girl.

"This warning, these words, are my gift to you. Look after yourself. Trust no one."

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flanaganfilm · 1 month

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howdy!! do you rewatch your own work? if so, how often? im wondering if it has the same "artist just sees faults with what they create" thing, or if youre able to appreciate past projects the way they deserve

I don't, typically... usually, by the time we're finished with post production, I've seen the thing so many times that I'm thrilled to stop watching it. I'm either sick of it, or just feeling like it doesn't belong to me anymore. There are other reasons, too - Hill House was a traumatic production for me, for example, I have a lot of complicated emotions woven into it, so I haven't felt ready to rewatch that one since before it aired. Maybe in a few more years.

Somewhat recently, I've revisited a few of the older movies with my eldest son, who is 13 now. He's basically as old as my career itself. We've watched Oculus, Hush, The Midnight Club (which he LOVED, proving it worked for our target audience) and Ouija: OOE together, and each of those screenings was a really cool experience. His reactions and questions were really fascinating, and I felt like I was able to see those movies anew through his eyes. That's the closest I've come to feeling like I was really seeing them, and that's only because so much time has gone by for those. I watched the Director's Cut of Doctor Sleep a few years back at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park Colorado. It was part of a live NoSleep Podcast event, and that was the first time I'd seen that movie since it was released. It was also the first and only time I'd ever seen the Director's Cut with an audience. That was a really special screening and it meant a lot to me.

I haven't yet had the guts to revisit any of the TV series other than Midnight Club. As my kids get older, I'm sure I'll watch them all with them. The one I'm most excited to see is Midnight Mass, which remains my favorite of the shows. I haven't seen it since before it came out - I remember the last day of post on that show, watching down each episode with final mix and color. That's a series I wish I could actually watch like a viewer at home, and while I'll never truly be able to do that, I look forward to looking at it with some real distance.

There are a few of the older projects I'd be curious to watch now. I wonder how Absentia holds up - I was such a baby when we made that movie, and it's been so long. I imagine I could watch that today and have a really trippy experience. I also haven't revisited Before I Wake in a very long time, and I always really loved that script. The movie was a rough road, and my feelings were mixed by the time it finally found its finish line (Relativity Media really beat that one up), but that could also be a really interesting viewing experience at this stage of my career.

But generally, each of these movies is a journey, and once the journey is over it's tough to ever really go back. There's little point, and moving forward feels like a matter of survival. The "finished product" is only the tip of a large, deep, labyrinthian iceberg for me. It's impossible to only see what's on the surface, no matter how hard I try.

(Interesting side-note: The only exception I've found to this rule is The Life of Chuck. We just finished post production on the movie, and I've watched it dozens and dozens of times now - but I've never grown tired of it, not even a little bit. That movie is something special, and I am eager to watch it again - and again - and again. I don't know that I'll ever want distance from that one; in fact, watching it brings me a sense of joy, comfort, and safety.)

#midnight mass #the fall of the house of usher #the haunting of hill house #the midnight club #doctor sleep #the haunting of bly manor #ouija origin of evil #oculus #before i wake #absentia #ouija: origin of evil #gerald's game

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queenhunter102 · 2 months

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NSFW

I mean it! this is not meant to be consumed/ read or seen by minors, this is WHOLE SMUT WITH LITTLE IF ANY PLOT, so please If you're a minor, stay away, Contents: Masturbation, edging (Male), sudden need to cum and orgasm (Of the male kind, ya' welcome Johnny), phone sex, Public sex?, Public Masturbation? Johnny hated you currently, you were floating around in his shirt and ONLY his shirt and he wanted to fuck you and he couldn’t, you were in the kitchen making dinner, while he was out on a fucking mission, and he pressed his head into the wall in the canteen, his cock growing unbelievably hard under the table, he groaned in frustration, causing Kyle and Alejandro to turn their heads to him, he gave each of them a curt smile, he watched you spin around, the shirt lifting to show a little of your ass, making him bite his lip as his cock twitched. He hadn’t touched his cock in weeks, and he had no need to but the lack of attention was coming to bite him in the ass, with each movement of yours his cock jumped and demanded your touch, it certainly didn’t help that your voice was light and breathy the type he draws out when he sits on his knees for you when he drives you crazy with his tongue, the memory was enough to force him to hunch over the table as his hand gripped his phone tighter. As he shifted his hips he felt his cock head rub against the seam of his trousers and he coughed trying not to moan at the feeling. and now he was trying to rub the head on his cock against the seam trying hard not to moan, while he was on the phone with you and his team, and it was hard both physically and socially, he slipped his earphones in as he dropped you a message, tell you, what he was doing knowing you would try and help him.

The laugh you gave him as you looked at your phone, as you flashed him your chest, his eyes fluttered as he turned his head away so he could blow a breath out alone, trying not to crack under pressure, this man has taken on terrorist, assassins, he has survived torture, but hearing you fake moan in his earphones would drive him to the edge as he felt his tip press just right into the seam. He stood up and walked away with speed, he had managed to make it to the bathroom slamming the stall door shut pressing his back to the door, as pulled his cock out, hissing as the cool air touched his cock. You laughed and tease him, as he wrapped his hand around his cock his eyes rolling back his lip caught in his teeth trying to muffle his moans, as he sat the phone on the lid of the toilet, as began to pull his hand down his cock, he began to pant as his cock started to twitch. All he could think about was you sinking onto your knees and sucking him off, the feel of your mouth on his cock the drag of your tongue on the vein of his cock, the suction of his cock, he squeezed his eyes shut as he paid special attention to the head, imagining it hitting the back of your throat making you gag. and the edge hit him like a truck, he didn’t feel it coming but he certainly felt the band snap, and his cum coated his hand and stomach it covering his shirt and staining it a darker sand colour as he moaned, his back arched off the door, his head digging into the door has his hips thrust into his hand his cock begging for more even though it hurt so much. He had a feeling he was going to become addicted to overstimulation.

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awkwardsonicphotos · 1 year

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So awhile ago I talked about how Sonic’s quills spike when surprised etc., but now I want to talk about the spines themselves. Hedgehog spines are actually super cool. They can be quite flexible due to how humid they are. Less humid quills are more brittle but still strong while more humid quills can have some give and bend. Quills can also freely bend and move in many directions thanks to the tipped bulbs in the hedgehog’s skin.

I took a video of Thistle to show how movable quills really are on a hedgehog.

So pictures of Sonic’s quills like this

And even Shadow’s one idle animation is pretty accurate to real hedgehog spines.

Spines are also built to stay in a hedgehogs body unlike porcupines which can detach. A hedgehog spine is so strong you can pick up a hedgehog by single spine and it won’t detach. A single spine can also withstand and bend against up to 200 times the force that would crush it. One scientist noted that he’d never seen a hedgehog with a broken or dulled quill. (Hedgehog quills can be cut from lawn mowers or hedge trimmers so always be careful and aware if you live near wild hedgehogs.)

While spines are used against predators they are also used for shock absorption. When a hedgehog is completely curled up their spines will absorb incredible amounts for force from falls from trees or high areas.

One study showed, “quills protected from a fall at 15m/s. Despite the velocity at impact, the animal survives unscathed due to the shock absorbing capabilities of its spines, which buckle under the load.” Because of this people have been studying hedgehog spines to better make helmets to protect people from concussions and head injuries.

Sonic’s drop dash could protect Sonic from large falls. (Too bad he mostly lands on his face lol)

One scientific paper I recently read did a study on the durability of hedgehog quills against repeated high velocity impact blows. It concluded that while low humidity quills were better at absorbing shock, repeated impact blows weakened the durability and broke the brittle quills. While more humid quills absorbed less shock but remained more durable and survived the repeated impacts with less damage. They said more tests would have to be done because most people only studied the strength of one quill and not all the quills working together like theirs did. But that their test may not be entirely accurate since they could not fully replicate the hedgehog’s skin/muscles working with the spines against the blows. As the bulb tip on a hedgehog's quills protect their skin from the quills being stabbed back into them after falls or hits.

But the results concluded that, “in certain conditions, Hedgehog spines can absorb as much, if not more, than industry standard impact-absorbing foam.”

Just makes me wonder how strong Sonic’s quills are as he uses his to break robots at high speeds. But him using his quills to protect himself while also using them to attack is pretty smart.

#hedgehog facts #long post #sonic the hedgehog #sorry I just find this stuff to be really cool #hedgehogs are fascinating creatures

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uncharismatic-fauna · 3 months

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A Shoo-in Shoebill Stork

The shoebill stork, also known as the whalebill stork or Balaeniceps rex is in fact not a stork at all, but a long-legged wading bird belonging to the family Pelecaniformes. This species can be found in the central African tropics, from southern Sudan to northern Tanzania. Within this range, they mainly inhabit freshwater swamps and dense marshes, particularly those with deep water large reed beds.

Balaeniceps rex is often referred to as a dinosaur among birds due to its fearsome appearance. The average individual stands 1.1-1.4 m (3.6-4.5 ft) tall and has a wingspan of 2.3 to 2.6 m (7.5 to 8.5 in). However, adults are quite light, weighing only 4 to 7 kg (8.8 to 15.4 lb). Males tend to be larger than females, but otherwise the two sexes look identical. Adults have dark grey plumage with a lighter belly and darker wings. Their most striking feature is their beak, which is extremely large and can be said to resemble a wooden show (hence the name).

The shoebill's beak is very useful for catching its primary prey: fish. B. rex consumes a variety of species, including lungfish, catfish, and tilapia, as well as non-fish items like water snakes, frogs, turtles, mollusks, and even young crocodiles. Shoebills typically stalk their prey, or stand perfectly still and wait for their prey to come to them, before quickly snatching it up and decapitating it with the sharp edges of their beaks. Because of their large size and strong bills, adults are seldom prey for other animals, and they defend their nests fiercely from predators like snakes and other birds.

Outside of the breeding season-- and even during it-- shoebills are extremely territorial. Not only do they chase potential predators away from their nests, both males and females will fiercely defend their territory from other shoebills.

Breeding begins in the dry season, typically in in May, and lasts until about October. Once a male and female form a pair, they remain together for the duration of the mating season. They build a nest from floating vegetation, and 1-3 eggs are cared for by both parents; in addition to being incubated for warmth, one parent may also occasionally pour a beak-full of water over the eggs to keep them cool during the hot summer day. The eggs hatch about 30 days after being laid, and young are fed continuously-- though usually only one chick survives to adulthood. At 125 days old they become fully independent and leave to establish their own territories. The average individual can live up to 35 years in the wild.

Conservation status: The IUCN lists the whalebill stork as Vulnerable. Current wild population estimates sit at about 5,000-8,000 individuals. Primary threats include poaching for the zoo trade and consumption, habitat destruction, and pollution.

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Photos

Santiago Caballero Carrera

George Amato

Mana Meadows

#shoebill stork #Pelecaniformes #Balaenicipitidae #wading birds #birds #wetlands #wetland birds #freshwater fauna #freshwater birds #africa #central africa #animal facts #biology #zoology #ecology

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skylarsblue · 2 years

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Yo itz me again may I request the slashers with a yandere s/o that's like very loyal and very devoted to their slasher and then one day they are like chatting together and their s/o is like "I would do anything for you" and the slasher bf would be like "ok then stab this pencil in you eye " ofc they aren't serious they was just joking than their s /o was like " bet" straight up grabbing the pencil and almost stabbing in into their eye and then the slasher bf will stop them before it was too late

I've had this thought for a long time. Yandere Slashers are cool, but yandere reader? That's underrated. I know Danny is a DBD killer, but, he suits this concept so well that I had to add him. This took way too long and I apologize, writers block is a bitch.

(CONTENT WARNING: Unstable reader & attempted self-stabby. Some mild descriptions of what WOULD happen if Y/N wounded themselves)

Michael Myers (ANY)

He doesn’t believe you at first , he wholeheartedly doubts you’re as loyal as you say you are. Main reason being, humans have a natural want for self preservation. He is a threat to you. That’s just a fact, and he’s certain that when it comes down to it, you’ll choose your life over your loyalty to him.

So when you say “I’d do anything for you.”? He will question you, he won’t take it very seriously. Perhaps he’ll appreciate the sentiment but he’s not buying it. His doubt shows in his gaze. It’ll rise when you said you could prove it.

“Stab me.” You said clearly. And for the first time in awhile, the Shape was caught off guard. “Go on, stab me. I’ll stab myself if you want.” Michael nearly scoffs. But he humors you, certain you’d back down once you saw him encouraging it. Michael set his knife on the kitchen counter, waiting for your hesitance & anxious expression. He feels another wave of surprise when you waste no time to grab the knife. He goes rigid when you take hold of the handle and aim for your ribs, face showing nothing but determination and a strange calm. Before you can make the full motion, he catches your wrist, leaving the tip of the blade mere centimeters from your skin. Michael’s shock doesn’t show in his body, nor on his face behind his mask. But he’s astounded as you look up, doe eyed, head tilted. “Why’d you stop me?” You asked. Michael let out a breath from his nose and took the knife away. You blinked as he, awkwardly, patted your head. It was quick & unpracticed, despite the fact he’d done it before. He believed you now. Admittedly, now he was far more curious about just how far that loyalty went. For the sake of stress, however, he’d rather not find out.

Thomas Hewitt

While Thomas sometimes doubts your affections for him, it’s not the way Michael does. It’s because he’s insecure. He thinks you deserve better. But your admissions that you’re so dedicated to him, that you’d do anything for him? It makes his heart warm. He takes it seriously, but in a lighthearted way. A kind statement that you’d always be there for him.

The only people that may doubt just how dedicated you are would be his family. Charlie Hoyt in particularly. He will doubt every loving proclaim you make, assuming you just want to placate Thomas to keep your role in their house. A survival tactic. He’s taunting with it.

Hoyt chuckled at his end of the table then, looking at you sharply as you sat on the opposite end. “Aight then, why don’t’cha prove it?” He questions. You nodded. Luda Mae kept quiet but shook her head, Thomas frowned as he stood in the doorway of the dining room. Both he & Luda tensed slightly when Hoyt brought out a knife. He walked over and stopped a few few away, stabbing the blade into the table. “Take out ya eye, the left one.” Hoyt instructs, confident you’d back down. Thomas is tense but he doesn’t move. He’s come to trust your loyalty to him, but he’s certain in your natural instincts, you wouldn’t go that far. Luda sighs from her place at the table. “Cha-Hoyt, that’s really not necessary-“ The older woman is cut off as you reach for the knife’s handle. You are calm & composed as you flip it and aim the blade, taking only a second to properly align it with your left eye. Luda barely as time to gasp as the blade comes only a centimeter from your iris, but your hand is stopped by one you’d come to adore. You tilt your head back to look up at him. Thomas’s breathing is heavy as he feels adrenaline rush his veins, brown eyes wide in shock. He takes it away & places it on the table, before he narrows his gaze at Hoyt, frowning. Even Hoyt is shocked. Perhaps impressed. “I’ll be damned, maybe ya do mean it.”

Bubba Sawyer

Similar to Thomas, Bubba is more willing to believe you when you say you’d do anything for him. They’re overjoyed when you admit it. They assume the same thing as Thomas. You mean it in a sweet way, serious but not to the extent you truly mean.

Bubba may not take it as heavily as you mean it. It’s not that he doubts you, just that he takes it like anyone else would. They believe you only mean it like “I’ll always be here for you.” Now, of course, that meaning certainly fits, but it’s not quite to the level of dedication you’re actually promising.

“I mean it Bubba, I mean anything.” You clarified again. Bubba nodded and gave a sweet pig-like squeal. Nodding innocently. You smiled softly, but shook your head. “Bubba, dear, I don’t think you understand. I mean I’d cut my own hand off for you.” Bubba stopped moving for a moment. His eyes were wide, blinking in astonishment. He tilted his head. “I mean it! Here.” You took the meat cleaver off the wooden countertop. Placing your nondominant hand on the surface, eyeing where to bring the blade down. The blade didn’t come into contact with the muscle & bone of your wrist, but it came close. Bubba held your weapon wielding arm in their large hands, squealing & whining in distress. They shook their head frantically as they took the cleaver. Your words were cut off when Bubba hugged you into the plushness of his stomach & chest, patting your head & petting your hair. “Okay, okay, breathe Bubs. I’m fine. I just needed you to understand just how far I’d go for you.” You reassured, patting his back. They whined and nuzzled their face into the top of your head. You continued gently hushing him until he calmed down.

Bo Sinclair

Bo’s probably more suspicious of you towards the beginning of your stay in Ambrose. Understandably, of course. You waltzed into a town where two twins turned people into wax statues. It’s not a common thing to accept. He wasn’t very trusting to begin with, even if those circumstances weren’t present.

While he’s come to like you, he will still have a paranoia about you calling the police, or perhaps trying to hurt one of them. There’s a voice in his head that insists no one would love him that much. To ignore murder? He’s certain you’re just going with what he wants in order to stay alive. That thought often haunts him when he realizes how much he likes you. Bo’s not shy about telling you either.

Bo scoffed & shook his head. You’d been there about four months & he still didn’t believe you, no matter how many times you told him of your loyalty. You knew why. Bo was a guarded man, thanks to a shitty childhood, it was completely understandable that he’d doubt every person who he came across. It became clear that your words weren’t getting through. “I mean it, Bo. I told you! I don’t plan on leaving or ratting you out, I love it here! I’d do anything for you!” You insisted for the millionth time. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Fuckin’ prove it then.” He challenged. You stared at him. He watched your gaze narrow in determination, calm despite everything. He rose an eyebrow when you turned to the counter top. Reaching for a pair of kitchen sheers. Bo’s face turned to confusion when you grabbed it, holding it steady. “Pick a part.” You said. “What?” “Pick a part of me. Anything.” You clarified. Bo was beyond confused at this point. He shook his head as he thought of an answer, deciding to pick what he liked most about your face. “I dunno, your mouth?” “My lips or my tongue?” Bo huffed. “Fuckin’, tongue I guess? What does this have to do wit’ provin’ yourself?” His question became choked at the end when you grabbed the end of your tongue and opened the dirty blades. Adrenaline jolting his extremities as you went to place your tongue between the blades, only to have the hand holding the scissors to be pulled away. “The hell ya doin’?! Are you fuckin’ crazy?!” He insisted. Your other hand dropped as you stared at him calmly. “I told you. I’d do anything for you.” Bo’s was visibly taken aback. He let out a breath and took the scissors from your hand. “Do you believe me now?” Your question made him look over your face again, scanning the peace in your features. “Yeah...yeah I believe ya.” He muttered.

Vincent Sinclair

While Vincent’s not as hostile about his doubts in your loyalty as Bo, he still questions you. There’s a part of him more willing to believe you’ll stay, though there’s a bigger portion of their brain that insists you’re only trying to survive. They dread the day you’ll slip up and it will end up one of two ways. You’ll manage to successfully leave, tell everyone about what happens in Ambrose, and their brother & themselves will end up rotting in prison. Or perhaps die in a police shoot out. The second option is that they’ll catch you before you can, and Vincent will have to silence you in wax.

Still, when you proclaim you’d do anything for them, they love to hear it. Even if it’s hard to believe you. Vincent wishes he could just take the declaration & be happy with it, not doubt your every move. The more you do to prove it to him, the more guilty he feels for doubting you. Perhaps that’s why you felt it was best to shock them into believing you.

Vincent leaned slightly to allow you to push his hair out out his masked face. “I’d do anything for you.” You whispered, you’d said the same thing at least six times a week. You could see their eye gaze at you past the socket in their mask. There was softness to his gaze but it was mixed with uncertainty. You sighed. “You still don’t believe me.” He almost flinches at it, you know he can’t help it though. “What can I do to make you believe me?” Vincent shook his head. There wasn’t anything more you could do, you did so much for them, it wasn’t you at all. He knew full well it was himself. You huffed a breath, looking around the basement. You caught sight of a knife on the table next to you. You reached for it, making him jolt. They watched you in confusion, the tip of the blade pointed at them. “I’ll prove it to you.” You stated. Vincent’s confusion turned to surprise when you flipped the blade towards you, aiming for the eye. Their breath caught in their throat and their hands rushed forward. Your gaze unfocused from the shiny blade only a millimeter from your cornea, looking at Vincent again. His chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. You allowed them to take the knife and place it on the table again, pulling you to his chest. They let out a shaky exhale. They rarely spoke, but when they did, it was deep, raspy, & unpracticed. “I believe you.”

Lester Sinclair

Lester’s probably the most willing to believe you when you say you’d do anything for him. He might even delusion himself in thinking you mean it more seriously than you do. Jokes on him though, he doesn’t need to convince himself of anything! Because you do mean it that seriously.

Lester’s not going to ask you to confirm or prove it. He’ll be grateful that you’re around to begin with. However, he may occasionally ask what it is about him that makes you want to stay. These are days where his insecurities weigh a bit heavier on his shoulders than usual. Lester was often ignored/emotionally neglected by his parents when he didn’t measure up, and while he’s become a bit better at coping, he still sometimes wonders if it’s something wrong with him.

You frowned and turned around, drying your hands from the dishes you were doing. Bo & Vincent always used a massive amount of plates when they visited Lester. Who, currently, sat at the little table in the kitchen. Fiddling with the edge of his stained flannel. “What?” You asked. “Just like...why would ya choose me to stick with, that’s all. I mean, why me?” The man asked softly. Your chest clenched in sympathy. You set the dish towel down and turned to him fully, stepping over. “Lester, I’ve told you this before.” You replied. “No no, I know, I was just...wonderin’.” He shrugged, nervously tipping down his hat. You sighed. You turned and slid a knife from the knife block, freshly cleaned. Lester didn’t see it happen, he looked at the floor until you walked back towards him. “Do I need to prove how far I’d go for you?” You asked. Lester swallowed and shook his head, he looked up and jolted at the sight of the knife. “Well you don’t seem to believe me. I have no issue showing you.” You said as you set your hand on the table’s surface. “Hey now, what’re ya-” Lester cut himself off when you rose the blade. Nearly sending it through the back of your palm. That was, had he not stopped you. The chair slid loudly on the tile from the force of him getting up. “Whoa whoa! Don’t do that!” He insisted. You turned to look at him, setting the knife on the table as he looked over your face with wide eyes. He blinked in awe as your took his face in your hands. “Lester, when I said I’d do anything for you, I meant it. Now quit questioning yourself, okay?” You asked. The blue eyed man swallowed and nodded. “Alright, I believe ya. Just...please don’t go stabbin’ ya’self.” He said softly. You smiled and turned to peck his cheekbone. “Only cause you asked, sugar.”

Jason Voorhees

Jason values loyalty above a lot of things. Almost everything, really. He’s not likely to show you any doubt he may have, because once he trusts you enough not to kill you, he’ll feel guilty for when he doesn’t believe you. The more effort you make, the less & less he’ll wonder your sincerity.

Still, he’s been tricked before. There are times where he’ll recall these moments & wonder if you plan to do the same thing. That you’ll try to slip away from him when he’s distracted by trespassers. There’s a voice in the back of Jason’s head telling him that he’ll come back to an empty cabin, that it’s only a matter of time that he’ll need to do away with you. And he fears that day immensely.

Jason stood in front of you in the cabin. He’d rushed home after taking care of some intruders, only to have a bit of a panic when he couldn’t immediately find you. You’d been taking a bath, but rushed out when you heard his boot steps turn into running. Hearing frantic searching in the rooms. You barely had time to dry your hair, an inconvenient time to try and have a wash day. Jason settled down a bit when he saw you. But you knew immediately what he had been thinking, the thought making you sad. “Jason, honey, I told you this. I’m not going to just up and leave you.” He looked to the floor, a bit ashamed, but you could still sense his uncertainty. You looked around and caught sight of his machete, stabbed into the floorboards, covered in blood. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove to you that I’d do anything for you, okay?” You said as you went over to the blade, pulling it out of the floor. Jason tensed as he watched you wrap your hand around the handle. It looked so strange in your hands, so much smaller than his. He jolted visibly when you rested your hand on the small table in the room, trying to get a decent grip on the machete, a bit of an awkward angle. You set sights on the space where your fingers connected to your palm, spreading them out, gaging the position in which the blade would land. Wanting to make the cleanest sever possible. As you tensed your forearm, bringing the blade down, you expected to feel the searing pain and gush of blood from your digits. Instead, there was a dirtied glove stopping the weapon from falling. You looked up at him, seeing his one working eye wide and worried, blue irises staring down at you. He quickly took his machete back and set it down, pulling you tight to his chest. You looked up at him after settling your arms around his thick torso. “I mean it when I say it, baby. I’d do anything you want or need, okay? Stop worrying so much. I’m not going anywhere.” You said softly, smiling sweetly, as if you hadn’t just tried to cut off your fingers. Jason exhaled and nodded, petting your hair.

Danny Johnson

If any of these slashers would work well with a yandere-esc partner, it’s Danny. While Jed is the suburban sweetheart, bringing you flowers & offering you coffee dates, Danny is willing to paint the town red for his lover. Both acts are genuine. They both express how he really feels for you, but one is more open, more honest to his true nature. If you know about his...”hobby”, then they’ll be more inclined to believe you. You’ve reached that point of trust with him. Now, if you say this around Jed, before you know about Ghostface? He’ll doubt you more.

That being said, they has every reason to doubt you. Not only does he have some major abandonment issues. You can thank their mother for that. On top of that, he has issues being vulnerable. That, you can thank his peers and father for. And lastly, he’s a murderer, one motivated only by his sick desire to hurt others. While he doesn’t have any desire to harm you (in a non-sexy way), they know that their temper can be frightening. And when at it’s worst, he knows it can seem directed at you. Deep down, Danny is certain you’ll leave him eventually, because he doesn’t deserve you. As narcissistic as they can be, they think you’re too good for him.

You frowned as you looked at Jed’s cheekbone, seeing a darkening bruise that laid there, splotchy broken blood capillaries adding to the few imperfections to his face. He spoke to you with his charming grin anyway, straight white teeth exposed as he chuckled while telling a story. He flinched slightly when you reached your hand out, tracing the mark gently. Jed blinked before he gave a little smile, standing up fully, rather than leaning against your kitchen counter top. He slid the coffee mug away from him. “Who hit you?” You asked, voice soft. He noted a strange glint in your gaze. “No one, just got smacked with a door.” He said. You shook your head, frowning. “Someone hit you, who?” “Why does it matter, doll?” Jed replied lightheartedly. You shifted your gaze to make eye contact. “You do remember the time I said I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” The brunet man tilted his head slightly, he nodded though. “Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with this.” He said. “You don’t think I’m being serious?” You asked. Jed chuckled again, rolling his shoulders. “You make it sound like you’re gonna find this person and kill them.” He fought the urge to laugh at his own little joke. Your face remained calm and determined. You lowered your hand and stepped away from him, reaching for something in the sink. Jed’s shoulders tensed when he saw the glint of a blade, watching you turn, peaceful and concise as you looked at him. “Clearly, you don’t believe me. So I’ll show you.” His brows furrowed as you flipped the handle of the blade, only to feel a shock of surprise when you aligned the tip of the knife to your cornea. It happened so fast he barely had time to reach over the island to grab your wrist, the edge of the knife only millimeters from blinding yourself. You looked up at him. Jed looked between you and the knife, before he let out a breathy chuckle, smile twitching onto his face. “Jeez doll. Alright, I believe you...no need to go stabbing yourself.” He said softly. You let yourself set the knife down. Unbeknownst to you, Jed concocted a plan in his mind, wondering if he could really let you in on his hobby. You seemed dedicated enough. He smiled at the thought.

Billy Lenz

Billy’s gonna love hearing it, that’s for sure. It’ll get excited when you say it, it’ll probably send a lotta blood below the belt. Billy loves hearing your dedication to him, though it doesn’t think too much of it.

Whenever you say that you’d do anything for him, he’ll take it at face value, even if it makes him rather giddy. Having you show it will make him feel rather clingy, he’s not sure what he did to deserve having you be so sure of your adoration for it. But Billy certainly isn’t complaining.

Billy hugged your waist tightly, burrowing his face into your chest. He’d been peppering you with questions after your proclamation that you’d do anything for it. A large grin across its face. “Yes, Billy, I’d give up my money for you.” You said fondly, petting his hair. Billy squirmed before looking up at you. “Would...would you, would you st-tab yourself for me?” He questioned. You tilted your head, knowing the question wasn’t really that serious, still, you smiled. “Why of course I would. Where would you want me too?” You asked, recalling the switch blade that always rested in your pillow case. Ironically to protect yourself from intruders like Billy itself. The brunet man hummed, giggling a bit, he hadn’t been completely lucid the past two days but you didn’t seem to mind much. “Your uh...your hand!” It slurred. You shifted and reached behind you, feeling around in the pillowcase of the pillow you rested on. Billy tensed a bit when you revealed the handle, pressing the switch to send the shiny & sharpened blade up. Green-hazel eyes watching the knife with cat-like curiosity, pupils wide. “Alright then. Hand it is.” You took your other hand off his shoulder and held it up, open palm, taking the other and gripping the knife. Before the blade could enter the center of your hand, Billy’s hand blocked your wrist. It looked at you owlishly, blinking in awe. You rose an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to?” It shook its head slowly. You put the knife on your bedside table, letting your hands fall back into Billy’s hair as he leaned against you again, looking up at you. “Believe me now?” You asked lightheartedly. Billy nodded, relaxing again when you began petting his hair. “Cutie...” You cooed softly.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms expects this of you, but for some reason, he doubts you constantly. Believing you’ll eventually try to leave him, and to be fair, everyone else before you did. Brahms isn’t exactly used to people meaning what they say when it comes to loyalty.

Most of the time, he’s grateful that you say it. It brings him some peace, makes him feel more content that you mean what you say, that you’ll stay with him. However, there are some days and some events that tend to make Brahms inconsolable. These tend to be things like phone calls from old friends/family or when the grocery boy shows up. (We’ll use Malcom for an example). It’s times like these where Brahms becomes certain that you’ll leave him for whatever reason. Maybe because you miss your old life or because Malcom managed to charm his way into your heart. Even when you reassure him, he doubts you.

Brahms kept his arms crossed and his gaze at the floor as you both stood in the kitchen. “Brahms, I mean it, I promise Malcom is not going to steal me from you! He has to deliver the groceries and I have to be here to accept them. Even if he flirts with me, I swear to you, I don’t flirt back.” You said. You’d been trying to reassure him for the past twenty minutes, nothing seemed to be working. You sighed and approached him. He flinched away from your attempt to rest your hands on his cardigan-covered arms. “Brahmsy, I mean it. I’d do anything for you.” You whispered to him sweetly. Brahms turned his head to look at you, green eyes sharp as they looked past the sockets of his mask. “Prove it.” His voice wasn’t childlike this time, deep and demanding. You sighed again. “Alright, I will.” You said with a single nod, turning to walk away from him. He stared into your back as you grabbed a knife from the knife block. His face twitched in confusion for a moment as you turned to have him. His pupils shrank as you aimed it at your face. Brahms’ arms uncrossed and his hands twitched as you ensured it was lined up properly. He had to dive a few feet, moving quickly. He pulled your arm down, keeping the blade from coming anywhere near your face. You looked at him and heard him breathing shakily behind his mask, adrenaline lowering just as quickly as it had risen. You took a breath and set the knife on the kitchen table, turning to hold his face in your hands. “When I said I’d do anything for you, I mean it, Brahms. And I need you to stop doubting me on that. Okay, baby?” You asked. Brahms swallowed and slowly nodded, brown curls falling over his forehead. You gave a smile and pecked the porcelain cheek. “Good boy. Now, your lessons are supposed to be happening, so let’s get you to the piano.”

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Note

For the dialogue prompts: Steddie + 22. “Yes, you totally can. You can do anything! Um. Do what, exactly?”

also on ao3

"Do you think I could ask Eddie out?"

Robin chokes on her 7-Up, and a little goes up her nose, and it burns, but she still turns to Steve, wide-eyed. Her face is wet with soda, but she doesn't bother to wipe it at she stares at him and he stares back, blank-faced.

"Well?"

"Run that by me one more time?"

"Okay--" He sighs, dropping his head for a moment as he leans over the counter, pushing his pack of Red Vines away. "Look."

"Where did this come from?" Robin bursts, finally wiping her face clean of the soda and the single tear that's fallen from her eye. (It really burned.)

"I-- Okay," Steve says again, sighing heavily. He glances at the door, which is hanging open to combat the summer heat, but it's a slow day today, and the parking lot is empty except for his Beemer and two other cars. "I kind of... really like him." Her eyes widen more and her head tilts. "And I only realized, like, yesterday, so I haven't been keeping this from you, I swear. I just..."

And then Robin is grinning, and she hops over, bouncing up onto the counter next to him and setting her soda down dangerously fast. It almost tips, and Steve stares at it with wide eyes as Robin kicks her feet and looks down at him.

"How'd you realize?" she asks excitedly, rocking back and forth.

"Are you serious?" he questions, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I never got to talk about crushes when I was a kid," she complains, whining and kicking at him. "Let me have this, come on. Tell me."

He sighs heavily, looking around again even though they're alone, and he leans against the counter next to her legs, a smile now teasing at his lips.

"He made me a mixtape," he says, and Robin grins, watching the way his eyes glaze over a little.

"Was it all metal?"

"I mean. Yeah. That's kinda all he listens to," he says, and he's fidgeting with his fingers, twisting them and cracking his knuckles. "But it was... It was good. I liked it."

"Right..." she prompts, nudging his side with her foot again. She lifts her 7-Up to her mouth as he nibbles on his bottom lip, thinking.

"There was one song on it," he says slowly, carefully. "That just... I don't know. It felt... different."

"Different how?"

"Like... Romantic?"

Robin's smile grows until it almost hurts, and she kicks him.

"How does it go?"

"I don't remember," he lies (she can tell), "but part of the chorus says something about, uhm. 'I'm a prisoner of your eyes.'" He pauses, brows furrowing as he thinks. "And there's a part about, like, 'I've locked myself inside your heart and thrown away the key." And, uhm, 'Only time will tell if I can live without you,' or something."

"Oh my god," she says succinctly. He stands up straight, looking at her, exasperated.

"Right? And I can't tell if it's, like, just a good song that he thought I'd like or if he's trying to say something or if he's saying something without meaning to, or..."

"Okay, wait, how did you realize you like him?"

"I just..." He sighs heavily, falling forward so his face is smushed against her thigh, and she pats his head. "Was listening to it and thought about, like. If someone else showed me that song it would be romantic. And then I thought, like 'What if it is romantic?' and I thought I wouldn't mind if it was, coming from him, and then I just... Realized I kinda want it to be."

Robin's heart swells. She runs her fingers through his hair tenderly, and he sighs again.

"You're cool with liking a guy?" she asks after a moment. "When I realized I like girls I totally freaked out."

He shrugs, standing up again and sighing.

"It took a minute," he says a little tiredly, "but... Weirder shit's happened in my life. Liking a guy doesn't seem like the end of the world when you've witnessed and survived the actual end of the world, you know?"

She frowns thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Just... I mean I guess I'm just kind of stressed about, like... What if he doesn't like guys?" he asks, picking up a Red Vine and taking a bite.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," she says without thinking, and his eyes widen as he looks at her, half a Red Vine hanging from his mouth.

"...Huh?"

"...Uh."

He stares for a few more seconds, chewing slowly.

"Do you think he's gay?" he whispers.

"Well, I don't think he's straight."

He swallows and throws the other half of the candy to the counter aggressively.

"Robin."

"Steve."

"Are you serious?"

"Look, I'm not saying I know everything, I'm just saying he seems kinda..." She shrugs weakly.

He takes a breath, one of his hands flapping weakly for a moment as he raises onto his tiptoes and then lowers, calming himself. And Robin thinks maybe they spend too much time together.

"Are you serious?" he says again, and his eyes are wide and shining, and he suddenly looks like he's the kids' ages, like he's just a boy with a crush instead of a man that had to grow up too fast and then never got the chance to slow down. She shrugs, smiling a little. "Do you think I could do it?" he asks almost excitedly, giddily, and God, she loves him.

"Yes, you totally can, you can do anything!" a voice says brightly from the doorway, and they both jump, looking up to find Eddie strolling in, wearing a pair of jeans despite the heat and a white shirt that reads Iron Maiden with some illustration on it. The sleeves are cut off, exposing his tattooed arms and his scars, and Robin knows Steve is probably melting just looking at him as he approaches the front counter and leans over, looking at Steve with shining eyes. "Um. Do what, exactly?"

Steve and Robin look at each other.

Now's your chance.

Should I?

Yes, obviously. Use the breakroom.

What if you're wrong?

I'm not, get out of here.

Eddie waits patiently, looking back and forth between them, smiling almost nervously like he knows they're talking about him, and his face light up and his smile softens when Steve looks at him.

"Uh. Can we talk?"

"Yeah," Eddie says lightly, confusedly. "'Course, what's up?"

"Like..." Steve gestures with a tilt of his head toward the back, and Eddie taps on the counter as he stands up straight, following him.

Robin kicks her feet, smiling at the ground and lifting her 7-Up again.

---

"So."

"You okay?" Eddie asks as the door shuts behind them. He leans against the back of it looking offensively good as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, no, I just... Uhm." Steve takes a deep breath, moving to lean against the wall across from him. The room is laid out so there's a wall in front of the door, so their shoes are almost touching. Eddie's wearing some black Converse today, scuffed and ripped and stained with mud and grease. "Wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," Eddie says slowly. "What might that be?"

"Uhm." Steve takes a breath. "That mixtape you made me."

"Did you listen to it?" Eddie asks, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah," Steve says, and he can't suppress his smile, looking at him. His hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of his head, probably with a hair tie he stole from Nancy, but there are some pieces falling down around his face, and it looks pretty. Eddie pulls a piece across his face shyly.

"Did you like it?"

Steve blinks at him.

"Yeah," he says breathlessly. "I liked it a lot."

"Really?" Eddie asks, beaming.

"Yeah," Steve says, his smile widening. "There was one song--"

"Which one?"

"I think it was called..." Steve hesitates, watching Eddie carefully. "Prisoner of Your Eyes?"

Eddie's smile falters, and his eyes flicker across Steve's face, his hand lowering the curl he's holding.

"You like that one?" he asks, his voice softer, and Steve almost has all the confirmation he needs.

"Yeah," he says shyly. "...Made me think of you."

Eddie's eyes widen the slightest bit, and he stares at Steve, and in the small space, Steve can practically hear his heartbeat. (And what a beautiful sound that is.) Eddie drops his hand and puts it in his pocket.

"The others didn't?" Eddie says, and Steve scoffs, kicking his foot lightly.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Steve looks at him, and Eddie's eyes are boring into his, dark and shiny and Steve could swear he can see the universe in them. Eddie is unblinking, and he looks like he's holding his breath, apprehensive and shy and nervous.

Steve stands up straight off the wall, taking a deep breath as he steps closer. Eddie's eyes somehow widen even more. They're practically the same height, but he still looks like he's looking up at Steve, eyes shining.

"Do you?" Steve asks, his voice soft now, almost whispering.

Eddie's lips part as he looks at him, and he's close enough now for Steve to see each eyelash, to see the strand of hair that's on his face. Steve reaches up to move it out of the way. Eddie's cheeks flush pink.

"Is this what you were talking about with Robin?" he asks, his voice breathy, as he looks across Steve's face, his eyes lingering on his mouth. Steve hesitates, his face warming.

"Uh. I asked her if she thought I could ask you out."

Eddie's eyes snap back to Steve's and flick back and forth between like he's looking for a lie in them, like he's searching for an indication of Steve's honesty.

"Really?" he breathes.

Steve nods, smiling softly at him. He reaches up and tucks a curl behind his ear tenderly, tracing a line down his neck, looking at the scars that match Steve's own.

"What do you think?" he whispers. "Could I?"

"Yeah," Eddie breathes. "I think you could."

Steve suppresses a smile, moving closer and touching Eddie's face, caressing his cheeks, tracing the scar that's on his left cheek, rough and pink and a little silvery and beautiful.

"Will you go out with me?" he asks softly, disregarding the second part of the question, which clarifies that going out for them isn't the same as it is for other couples, because they have to pretend to be friends, because Steve can't bring him flowers, because he can't kiss him in the parking lot. But for now, at this moment... they can pretend.

"Yes," Eddie says, and his hands finally find Steve's waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of his vest. "I'll go out with you."

"Yeah?" Steve asks weakly, smiling, and Eddie's eyes flicker across his face again, his fingers tightening on his waist.

"Yeah," he says. "I wanna."

"Shit," Steve breathes. "Okay."

"Okay," Eddie says softly.

They stare at each other for a moment, just breathing. Touching each other. Holding each other.

"Will you kiss me, please?" Eddie bursts after a moment.

"Can I?" Steve asks, his heart pounding, excited, and Eddie pulls at his waist impatiently.

"Please," he says adamantly. "I've wanted to kiss you for fucking ages, I'm begging you, Stevie."

Steve beams so brightly that his face hurts, and he moves closer, setting a hand on Eddie's chest and pressing him into the door.

Eddie's eyes are already almost closed, and he's lifting his chin up for him, lips parted, and Steve wonders how he could have gone this long without realizing he likes men, because Eddie is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're fucking gorgeous," Steve whispers when their lips brush, and Eddie's hands tighten again as he pulls at his vest.

Steve kisses him before he can say anything.

Eddie gasps and clutches at his back as Steve presses him into the door harder, and Steve is so glad his life's worked out the way it has, because somehow he has Eddie Munson up against a door, kissing him like his life depends on it, and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Steve holds his face tenderly, tilting his head as he kisses him again, and he can feel Eddie's pulse hammering against his fingertips as he presses them into his skin under his jaw. Steve smiles, catching Eddie's lip between his teeth, and Eddie lets out a breathy hum.

"Do you wanna spend the night at my place tonight?" Steve asks breathlessly when they part, panting, and Eddie kisses him desperately before he answers. His hands are pressing into the small of his back. It feels good.

"Yeah, obviously," he says softly into his mouth, licking at his lip. Steve grins.

"Cool," he whispers. He pulls back just enough to look at him, at the way his lips are red and shiny now, the way his eyes are a little glazed over. "'Cause I got, like, twenty years of repressed bisexuality to work through and I kinda want you there for it."

"Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, yes."

---

They're taking too long. Robin helps a customer, the only one that comes by, and she helps herself to Steve's Red Vines, nibbling them as she watches the movie they put on earlier even though she can't really follow along because she got a little distracted earlier.

She looks over at the breakroom, sighing, bored, and then she sticks a Red Vine in her mouth, stepping cheerfully around the counter to the breakroom, where she pauses, listening in case they're talking. She just hears a soft, breathy hum, and she grins, her fist hovering above the door before she knocks hard.

"Jesus fucking--"

"Robin!"

She cackles happily, throwing her head back.

"I'm bored," she says loudly, and Steve calls back, "Okay, well, I'm not, so fuck off."

She groans loudly, falling against the door, and she hears Eddie

They emerge after another few minutes, their hair touseled and cheeks red, and Eddie is grinning smugly.

"Rob," Steve says before he's even at the counter. "You're staying at Nancy's tonight."

"Yeah, I figured."

dialogue prompts!! ❧ buy me a coffee // check out my commissions ☙

#had no idea what to do for this so i just started writing and i ended up w this #it was fun #robins gaydar is perfect when it comes to dudes but she cant tell that nancy is sapphic even when shes staring right at robins lips #steddie #steddie oneshot #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #robin buckley fanfic

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trans-queen-administrator · 8 months

Text

During the talk with Phir Sē, it comes up that he has a daughter when he tells Taylor about how keenly aware he is of what he could be sacrificing to kill Behemoth.

And it's very odd to me that she's a hero, when her father is one of the men so monstrous that he's used as evidence for why the PRT should stick around. It's almost like the stereotypical superhero show plot where the plucky protagonist hero learns their dad is Doctor Evilman or whatever, but this is Worm. Later in the conversation Phir Sē reveals that he sacrificed family before in a similar scenario

And I can't help but feel that him sacrificing his wife and sons is connected to his daughter being a hero? Like imagine being her, and seeing your dad refuse to save the rest of your family because of the greater good. He could effortlessly step backwards in time but he stands there while their corpses cool instead. That could definitely crack a rift between them and cause his daughter to join the heroes in a desperate attempt to prove that you can save everyone. Hell, I could even see her dad letting her family die being a trigger event. And she's specifically one of the bright and popular heroes, one of the campy flashy ones like Mouse Protector. How much of that is because she can't bear to let herself be anything less than the ideal of a hero, because she can't stomach the thought of being someone who has to make a sacrifice like her father? Phir Sē says he'll live the rest of his life down in his bunker mourning her if he fails, but I think he's already been doing that. He's been consumed by the guilt of who he left in the past and how that ruined his only tie left, and he wants to do something that justifies his existence. If he kills Behemoth, the world celebrates, people are saved, and maybe his daughter will talk to him again. If not, he keeps living as he always has, alone and crippled by the weight of his actions.

I wonder how he felt, in his last moments. The bomb didn't kill the Endbringer, and Behemoth hunted down his bunker and killed him. He had to have seen that it survived, and while maybe he didn't fail so hard he vaporized the country, he didn't redeem himself, he didn't save anyone. He'll never know that his actions weakened Behemoth enough for Scion to finish the job, from his perspective he lost. I wonder if his daughter survived, and if she knows what he did to tip the scales of the battle. Would she even mourn him, assuming he caused her trigger and she knows he let her family die?

He liked Weaver because she reminded him of himself with her ruthless pragmatism and ability to make the hard choices, while also reminding him of his daughter with her idealistic nature. I think he saw a version of himself in her, one that didn't end up isolated in a bunker with no family left. One that has hope and still kept the humanity he feels he lost. She talks to him about working together with others, communicating, and he doesn't think it's something that's possible, he thinks humanity is a "wretched, petty species" and that infighting and lack of coordination would prevail even against an Endbringer. And I think he's right in thinking Taylor is like a younger version of him, because that's exactly what happens during Gold Morning until she makes them work together. He would feel vindicated, seeing Khepri.

Honestly I really wish he survived, he's such an interesting character and I would love to see more of him beyond a single random Tohu face. Most of this is headcanon but like, I think it fits pretty well, so who knows maybe it's the intended subtext.

#worm #parahumans #Phir Sē #and his unnamed daughter #gosh I just analyzed way too much about a character that doesn't even have dialouge #or a description #or anything beyond a mention #also ty to the person who wanted Phir Sē posts I really enjoyed rereading his chapters and thinking about it #what a good minor character #ramble #also #I will kill those people who make me smile and feel more human than I am. I will grieve their deaths #and then I will take that gamble again #what a great quote

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tekia · 18 days

Text

Sun Blind

I commissioned @meredithmcclaren! She was a pleasure to work with and produces some of my favorite art! (I got my character drawn by @meredithmcclaren!!!!! omg how cool is that??(◕ᗜ◕))

Najma closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

In the shade offered by the balcony above her, she stamped her feet and stretched her arms, twisting her back and bending her knees. She had ran around the arena twice before arriving at the entrance, and her skin was pleasantly flushed, her body loose. Her bare toes dug into the dry dirt under her feet, the bite of the marble stone walkway bisecting her foot, cold and rough compared to the fine grain of the dirt in the arena.

Cheers and cries of merchants filled the air around her as the people gathered in the stands awaited the show. Children laughed at the antics of the fools now dancing for their entertainment. Drunkards shouted for more wine and beer. Somewhere, one woman’s boisterous laugh carried over the rest. Horns trumpeted in the distance as a foot race concluded, and a cheer went up as the victor celebrated.

Najma tried to ignore it all as she shook out her arms. She bounced on the balls of her feet, balanced delicately on that edge of marble.

“Najma,” her brother called softly from just beside her, and her eyes popped open.

“What are you doing here?”

Zilan smiled slightly, his dark hair blowing in his face as a breeze picked up, carrying with it the scents of fried foods, unwashed bodies, and animal. Najma shivered at the scent of angry bull.

“I’ve come to wish you luck.” He held out a length of ribbon, brightly dyed and thin. She peered at it happily until he motioned for her to turn. She presented her back to him and felt him tying the ribbon into her tightly bound hair. The tips of the ribbon only just brushed her shoulders once he was done.

“I love the color,” she said, picking up the end and eyeing it. It wasn’t an expensive ribbon, but Zilan surely knew how likely she was to ruin it today, perhaps even lose it. But it was the thought that counted.

Red for luck.

She turned back to him, smiling up at him.

He had always been taller than her, as far back as her first memories, when he held her clutched in his arms, his heart pounding loudly against her ear as she cried for their parents. It had been so cold back then, in the dark and rain.

She shivered again, and he reached out and rubbed his hands down her arms. “You’re ready for this.”

“Mn,” she agreed. “I know I am.” Her heart was pounding as loud as his had on the night they lost their home, for a reason so far removed that she couldn’t hold the sadness in her heart.

She knew the sadness of their loss was never far from her brother’s thoughts, something that kept him going in troubled times, but he tried for her. He smiled at her confidence and nodded.

“I’ll be watching from up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. She bit her lip.

Up there, the rich could afford seats under a shade and servants to bring them food from the market without them having to brave the crush. She and Zilan were certainly not wealthy enough to place among them.

Their parents had been simple folk, weavers by trade, dead these past eleven years. They had escaped the raging waves of the untamed river that had swollen with freezing waters into the city with only the clothes on their backs with the other displaced peoples of the flood. Just a pair of orphans among the dozens of others, lost into the crowd of poor and hungry.

Zilan had been old enough to become an apprentice, and clever enough to hide his sister in his little room permitted to him by his master that they had survived, but Najma had to wonder how much of their luck was due to hard work and how much of it was due to Zilan’s loose morals.

She had seen him come home far too often beaten and bloodied.

He patted her shoulder and shook his head. “Just focus on your performance today.”

She nodded. “Be careful up there with the lofty types, hum? They’re far more dangerous than any thief with a knife in the dark alley.”

“And you beware of the horn!” He pinched her cheek like she was still a child. Whinging like a child, she pulled away, batting at his hand.

“I know Sap well! He will not harm me!”

Laughing and shaking his head, Zilan left to take his seat as horns within the arena sounded. Najma returned to her preparations, stretching and bouncing on her toes.

She wore little clothes, so as not to have anything that might catch and pull. She had bits of cloth wrapped around the length of her feet, leaving her heel and toes free. Her hair had been pulled up, secured with pins and ribbons. Beside her, two other young women also prepared for their own performances. Dressed similarly, the three of them were a little troupe of dancers that knew no rivals in the city.

The oldest of them was Selika, dark and tall. She was well muscled and limber, and had been dancing their dance since she was a child, as her father had been a master in his own time. Najma was only two years younger than her, and the third girl was much younger, coming only up to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma wasn’t tall at all.

Salima had been sold to Selika’s father as a serving maid when her mother died and her father found he didn’t have it in him to care about a girl child that couldn’t work the fields. Selika’s father was a decent man that raised Salima as his own, giving her his family name, and teaching her alongside Selika. When Najma appeared to watch the girls practice, the man had easily drew her into the lessons until she was a part of the little troupe as if she were their sister, too.

He had died two years ago, a cough that wouldn’t go away, so Selika had taken over the training, while their cousin, Atam, insisted on taking over the business end of her father’s business.

He wasn’t as decent. Salima now lived with Najma, and Selika hoarded away as much money as she could, out of his hands.

Salima jumped into the air, touching the tips of her fingers to her toes in the air, and a few children spotted her, cheering at the display of skill. Salima landed, her arms thrown up into the air, posed just right, back arched, feet planted. A louder cheer went up.

Two fools came running back toward them.

“Let’s go,” Selika said, then ran out into the arena. Najma followed, and she could feel Salima behind her.

Two steps out of the shade, the sun bore down on them and sweat beaded on her brow, but she ignored it all in favor of leaping into the air, her hands landing with a dull thud in the dirt. She shoved back to her feet, into another flip, and a third, hands nearly touching her heels with every flip.

She caught glimpses of Selika doing a similar trick, higher into the air than herself. Then she stopped just in time for Najma to flip onto her shoulders. She caught her balance and held her pose as Salima lightly skipped onto her back. She touched a hand to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma gripped her leg and lifted her into the air.

Salima waved to the crowd, drawing more cheers, before Najma dropped her leg and caught her by her arm pits and then let her to the ground. Selika threw her into the air, and Najma twisted into a spiral before landing sideways in her arms.

“Good,” Selika commented before setting her on her feet. Najma nodded to her before bouncing back into motion, kicking up into the air to the cheers around them.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Twist. Land and tumble under Salima’s flip. Climb Selika’s knee and flip. Catch Salima and throw. Pose. And breathe.

She looked over the crowd, but there were so many people she couldn’t quite tell one face from another, and the balcony was facing the sun.

Who had decided to make them face the sun?

She glanced at Selika and saw that she was also worried about the sun. Under the balcony, Najma could just make out the shape of Atam as he opened Sap’s pin, but the bull that exited wasn’t Sap.

He was an unfamiliar bull, and Najma stiffed as fear coursed down her spine. The bull scuffed the ground, his snorts sending up a plum of dust.

“That’s not Sap!” Salima cried, her voice high with terror.

“Salima,” Selika snapped. “You stay out of his sight.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You stay out of his sight. Keep the crowd entertained and distracted with your flips and tumbles.”

“Yes, xwişk.”

“Najma-”

“Let me do it.”

“You-”

“He’s too short for you. You’ll get injured if he tosses his head. I can do it.”

Selika sighed. “Okay. I’ll dance.”

Grimly nodding her head. Najma ran forward. She knew Selika would be running just beside her. Salima would be sure to flip around to the back of the bull where he couldn’t see her and would hopefully forget about her.

The first pass the two girls dodged his wide horns as he charged, and each flipped in a different direction as the bull turned to face them again.

From around her waist, Najma tugged free the red pennant that would draw the bull’s attention to her alone. With the dust and dirt in the air, the red wasn’t as vibrant as in the fields just outside the city, but the size and fluttering nature of the fabric was enough to keep him distracted.

Selika kept pace with her as she raced toward the bull again, but once more they diverged when the bull swung wildly. Too dangerous to trust.

Panting, Najma knew that they’d couldn’t keep it up. Two flips was the standard. Najma daren’t go for more. Sap would have tolerated it, but this unknown bull was dangerous. Where did he even come from?

The third pass arrived and the bull lowered his head just right. Najma felt Selika break off as she caught the bull by the horns and threw herself into the air, feet over her head, body twisting as the bull tossed his head, shoving her farther up into the air. Silently cursing, she released the horns and touched her feet to his spine before quickly skipping off into a second flip.

That wasn’t elegant or smooth, she thought as she landed on her knee, quickly tumbling to her feet and dodging out of the raging beast’s path. Selika distracted the bull only momentarily before he was once more charging at Najma.

He was too close. The sun was directly in her eyes.

Huffing, Najma nodded to herself and met him head on again. He swung his head the wrong direction, and, had she time, she would have broke off, but they were too close. She heard Salima cry out.

Launching herself into the air, she landed on her hands on the bull’s shoulders, felt his horn brush her thigh, but shoved off just as quickly and landed on the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact.

There was blood dripping down her inner thigh, but it was done.

She did a back flip in place then looked to the bull.

She had dropped the red pennant on the last jump, and the bull had mauled it into the dirt. Selika was flipping off to one side, headed toward the shelter of the balcony. Salima was already in the shade behind the stone guard that surrounded the arena.

Najma quickly made her way out of the arena amid the cheers. Panting, she stopped beside Salima. “Are you alright?”

“Mn, he didn’t come near me.”

She reached out and patted her hair. “Good. That was dangerous.”

“You still did it.”

She nodded. “It was too late for all of us to back out. Never jump over an unknown bull, Salima. You saw how he tossed me the first time and then gouged me the second?”

Salima looked down at the blood on her leg. “That looks painful.”

“If it was painful, she wouldn’t have done it,” Selika’s cousin sneered, snapping a rope in his hands. “What a pathetic display.”

Selika stepped between them, glaring at her cousin. “Where is Sap?”

Atam shrugged. “I sold him. He cost too much to feed.”

“What?!” The three girls shouted in unison. Najma and Salima gaped at Atam while Selika fought to keep the rage out of her voice.

“How dare you? He was my bull!”

Atam waved a hand and turned away. “And the money I got for him will pay your rent.”

“In my father’s house?”

“And for your upkeep,” he went on, ignoring her. “Next time, I expect to see a better show.” He snapped at the arena. “And get that bull back into the pin so I can return him to his owner.”

He left them, and Najma could only reach out and rest a hand on Selika’s shoulder.

Salima leaned against her own shoulder. “How are we supposed to get him back in the pin?”

Selika shook her head, looking lost and afraid. Najma didn’t know what to say, and when she turned to wrap her arm around Salima, she spotted her brother standing farther inside the shelter, his arms over his chest and glaring at Atam as the man walked away.

She shivered at the hatred and anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look since the day they discovered that the district governor had been the one to order the dam upriver from their family’s village to be destroyed.

That governor was now dead through unknown causes.

She met Zilan’s eye and shook her head. His eyes narrowed then he moved away, disappearing into the shadows, out of her sight.

#original character #ttrpg character #comissioned art #original work #original fiction #2k words

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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sniffles. giving izuku a fashion show. squeezing into all the dresses ‘n skirts ‘n tiny shirts he bought you 🥺 squeezing his arm ‘ n pulling him into the dressing room so he can get a better look <3333

+ warning(s): smut, mdni 18+, public sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fem!reader, fingering, face sitting, reader is wearing a dress!!

gargles :((

izuku loves spoiling you, his pretty baby— it’s the least he could do when you’re weeks without him and he’s away on missions. something about the way you light up when he splashes the cash or flashes his black card (meant for agency stuff only but it’s you, and he doesn’t care), something about the way you smile just for him when he approves of something you want— it makes izuku warm, makes him feel proud and idolised by the one person he truly cares about.

izuku who likes to sit back in the plush seats of a chanel store changing room— dior being the one prior, a second away from purring as you slip out in dress after dress, skirt after skirt. “do a twirl for me, sweetheart.” “oh you like this one? i think i like it too.” “you’re so pretty baby, so pretty.” he praises each time, emerald eyes glued greedily together the way the fabric is caught on your hips and your chest and your thighs. making you toddle over to him every time just so he can get a better look, his usually quiet mind running wild at the thought of you sauntering around his agency in such skimpy, designer fits that he might have to tear of off you.

izuku who lets you drag him by the wrist into the dressing rooms, staggering after you even though your grip on him is barely enough to move to a fly (he’s built like a tonne of bricks stacked together with the perfect foundation). you giggle as deku lets you shove him against the opposite wall— back cooled by the glass mirror before his hungry eyes slink down to your cute little ass as you stand on your tip toes to draw the curtains. he groans, hand running through his hair when he gets a peek at your sweet cheeks.

“i…fuck, i don’t think i should be in here, sweet girl,” izuku’s breath stutters not because he’s nervous but because he wants to fucking devour you and you know exactly what you’re doing. his tongue pokes into his cheek as you wriggle the skirt of the dress up, grab at his scarred hands and let them sit at your ribs— thumbs tucked under the swell of your breast. “but oh…oh i like how this one fits.” he coos in a lower voice, when you smile and gasp and your nipples hardened under the pads of his thumbs as he rubs them from over the soft fabric. “pretty colour too, baby.”

izuku who slips the spaghetti straps down your shoulders, kissing every beauty mark or scar— revealing inches of your skin that were once covered by Forrest greens to match the pro hero’s hair. “picked it for you, you always like it when i dress in your colours, i-izuku,” the ends of your words are sighed out as he flips your positions— your back now against the cool wall though your bodies are pressed together and heated.

you gasp, he bites into the flesh of your chest. “izuku—“

“hmm, baby?” pro hero deku, the country’s shining light runs his tongue down your neck— eager fingers pulling down the front of your dress while his other hand pushes its way up the rest of the skirt.

“l-look underneath, wanna show you what’s underneath.”

so he takes a peek, strong hand that’s saved more than half the world cupping your pretty pussy like it’s the most precious thing in the world. and that’s where he feels it, the little lace that covers what little modesty you have before he pulls them right down so they pool around your ankles. “these are f’me? oh…oh sweetheart,” you’re already wet, surrounded by all these people yet trapped in your little bubble of lust and you tremble above izuku when he drags two slender digits along the length of your slit. he’s hungry now, head under the fabric and tongue lapping at you like a man deprived of the water he needs to survive. “oh…such a treat. thank you baby, you’re such a good little thing...” the words vibrate against you, sending tingles of pleasure to your spine until you’re scared you can’t stand and deku wraps his arms around your midsection to hold you up— nose nudging your clit, tongue wriggling against your sensitive walls.

you give into him, collapse into deku and rut against his face— the frills of this expensive skirt messing up his precious perfect curls while your juices dance among the freckles that are paint brush splattered against his face. fabric bunches at your hips, and you begin to unravel on japan’s most loved face like a lose thread. “fuck, baby you’re so pretty… ‘n so so, wet,” deku growls, voice now deep and husky— abandoning his sweet boy charm saved for public as he tongue fucks you and slurps on the honey that drips between your puffy folds. “fuckin’ droolin’ in this dress sweetheart and it’s not even yours yet.” glowing green eyes pull back from under your skirt to look into your own, rough fingertips rubbing sharp circles into your swollen nub.

“i want it.” you grunt, grinding down against deku’s fast pace with tears brimming in your eyes and your body doused with sweat from how vigorously you move with your partner. “please, izu…wanna, wan—!”

“want what? to cum? want this dress? how about both, yeah?” when you nod your head, izuku grins almost sadistically. he loves spoiling you, he loves how you look down at him when you’re seconds away from losing it all on his tongue— he’ll get you this dress and then ten fucking others, he just wants to taste you. so deku slurps, suckles and spits beneath your dress, slaps a hand down on your cute ass and squeezes your fleshy thighs— using his grip to drag you back and forth across his strawberry tongue as its tip draws his name and price tags against your syrupy cunt.

deku does nothing to hide your moans while you shake and finally fucking cum in his mouth from underneath the dress— your juices running in thick droplets down the insides of your thighs and down his big muscled arms. heck, deku does nothing to hide his own moans, growling into your sex, high pitched and needy from time to time as your nectar spreads across his tastebuds and his fingers sink into the softness of your flesh just underneath the fabric.

and when he’s sure you’re cleaned up (an overstimulated and with licked clean cunt or jelly like legs), deku fixes the dress against your hips and chest perfectly— pulls your panties right back up and makes you walk with him to the tills so he can purchase you half of the dresses on display.

of course, ruining you in each one later.

#tteokdoroki #deku x reader #deku x you #deku smut #deku thirst #deku drabble #izuku midoriya smut #midoriya smut #izuku midoriya x reader #💒. user sem #[ exe. princess of softness ]#🖇. moots #💌. you’ve got mail

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