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sleepy-belphie · 4 years

Note

I have a request if you’re up for it. An MC who just arrived in the Devildom who’s lover just dumped them the day prior. The bros know MC isn’t emotionally or romantically available at the time but the bros still fall in love regardless. How will the bros handle the situation? Thank you! 🙏💗

Hi! I sort of took this idea and ran with it and wrote basically a headcanon short story for each bro lmao. Sorry I got a bit carried away but I hope you like this and it satisfies you! :)

Also thank you so much @midnight-dome for the help with Asmo, you’re a lifesaver

Tags: @kawaiiblack

~~~~~

Lucifer:

The success of the program depends on your wellbeing

So he checks in on you every other day like clockwork

“Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable?”

You always say no

At first, he’s glad you’re staying in

Because it means less trouble for him

But when you skip all of your classes one day, he comes to your room ready to give you a firm reminder of your tasks here

He’s about to knock when he hears you sob

Now, Lucifer has heard a lot of crying in his life

But he’s never heard someone sound so completely broken

He shocks himself when he turns on his heels and walks away

He shocks himself even more when he texts the group chat and demands everyone leaves you alone for the day

That evening he comes into your room with a small plate of food

By then you were are least on top of your sheets

You knew he was gonna ask the same question as always

But this time, his words were different

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Help?”

He simply nods

And though he didn’t outright say what he meant by help, you knew

“I...don’t know?”

“Hm, okay. I’m going to listen to some music in my study. The door will be unlocked should you wish to join me.”

Then he’s gone

The few precious moments Lucifer isn’t working, he prefers to not be disturbed

So why on earth did he invite you to join him in his study?

He doesn’t have time to ponder it because the door opens and you come in with a blanket wrapped around you

The first night you both listen in comfortable silence

A few nights in, you start asking Lucifer about the records he puts on and he has no qualms educating you on it

On night 10 you tell him about the breakup

Once you’re done he, again, asks the same question

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

‘You’ve done more than enough to help me Lucifer, thank you.”

He finds himself blushing from the sincerity in your eyes and the warmth in your smile

That night you fall asleep before the record finishes

Surely you’d wake up aching if he left you in a chair

So he picks you up, carries you to your room, and tucks you into bed carefully

He tells himself he’s doing it for Diavolo

It’s for the program, this is his job

He’s gonna need time to accept his own feelings before he can tell you anything

For now, he’ll keep doing his “job” and spending evenings with you

Mammon:

He didn’t want to be your babysitter

He was a busy guy! He had stuff to do, money to make, things to steal

Some days he gets Beelzebub to keep an eye on you so he can do what he wants

One night in particular he heads to your room to make sure you won’t interfere with his plans

“Yo! The Great Mammon has things to do so don’t-”

He pauses when he sees you sitting on your bed with your headphones plugged into your laptop

He would have assumed you were just watching a sad movie by the tears streaks on your face

But the pain in your eyes…

He’s seen that look before

His brothers held that same look the day they fell from Heaven and lost Lilith

Mammon sits on the bed and you jump, finally noticing him

You expected him to make fun of you but instead, he grabs the tissue box on your bedside table and hands it to you

He glances at your laptop to see what you were watching and sees a paused video of you and someone else

You tell him about the breakup and Mammon listens closely

“What a jerk! Ya deserve better than that! I’d teach ‘em a lesson if they ever showed their face around here!”

You smile for the first time since he came in the room and he feels like he’s done something right

“How about we get some late-night food? I know a 24-hour restaurant with the best baked newt ever. Your treat.”

He’s shocked when you agree

He makes a point to hang out with you more often

He can’t recall exactly when you went from “a human” to “his human”

Maybe it was when you held his hand while you erased all your photos and videos of your ex from your computer

Or when you texted him at 3am because you couldn’t sleep and before he could even think about it he was up and on his way to your room

Or when he spotted you in one of his jackets while walking home from RAD

But his greed was kicking in and he wanted you to be his and only his

However, much like he puts himself first, he knows you need to do the same

So though his nature and mind wants to kiss you silly and have you for himself

Part of him knows he’ll ruin things if he lets his greed take over

So he’ll fight his nature and try his best to be patient

Leviathan:

He had been playing one of his games online

He’s on a big winning streak and feeling a bit cocky

He sees he’s been matched with someone else so he gets into gamer mode

Then he loses the first round

He’s a bit shocked and pissed that his streak was now broken but he has to prove his superiority to whoever this opponent was

So he rematches them

And loses again

And again

He loses 7 rounds in a row

By this point he is fuming

So like any salty gamer he sends a very lengthy, angry message to their inbox

Accusing them of using cheats and hacks because there was no way anyone was more skilled than him at this game

He gets a reply a few minutes later

“Um.....is this Leviathan? Avatar of Envy? It’s MC…”

You knew it was Levi because his username is the same across all his social media platforms

Cue Levi barreling into your room a minute later

“How are you so good!? You’re cheating, aren’t you!? You cheater!’

You weren’t cheating, you just had been playing games day in and day out to distract yourself so you got really good at it

Levi all but demands you to come to his room and show him what you know

You were already playing all night anyway so why not play with someone?

Initially, Levi would have you come over just to show him your tactics

(Also to get some team wins on his stats because he never has anyone to play with)

But you were actually pretty chill for a normie

Maybe if he exposed you to his otaku ways you would take to them and he wouldn’t be the only one in the house anymore!

You don’t become an otaku but you do get invested in almost every anime he shows you

He starts inviting you over for midnight premieres of new episodes

He starts buying extra merch because what if you wanted one?

He was used to disproving looks from his brothers when he mass buys stuff from Akuzon

But you only smile and listen when he tells you about his new special edition item

You never once judged him and his unconventional ways

This epiphany makes him extra nervous for your weekly hangouts

It was only a matter of time before you came across a break up in an anime

When the episode ended you told him about your break up and how the protagonist reminded you of yourself because they also were taking a break from love

Levi has seen this anime before actually

He remembers how the protagonist reacted to a side character confessing to them and it went bad

So while he knows he likes you, he holds off on saying anything because the last thing he wants is to be a bad story arc in your life

Lucky for him he’s always a flustered blushing mess so you shouldn’t suspect a thing

Satan:

He is the Avatar of Wrath so whenever there is rage, he is aware

He feels anger radiating through the house one day and thinks his brothers are just fighting again

Imagine his surprise when he realizes the source of the anger is coming from your room

He walks in and sees you throwing things around and screaming, your room was destroyed

He sees you’re about to step on some glass and instantly swoops in and picks you up so you don’t hurt yourself

But then you curl up against him and burst into tears

He stands there, not quite sure what to do

He ends up sitting on the bed and letting you cry for a while

You word vomit about your break up and he listens carefully and notes the anger welling up inside you as you speak

He knows all too well what anger can do to someone and a fragile human shouldn’t have to go through that

“Would you like some tea?”

He can spare 30 minutes for some small talk with the human if it meant that you wouldn’t be left in your thoughts

You look at him like he has three heads but agree because your room is a mess and you don’t wanna deal with it right now

Tea time becomes a daily occurrence and soon enough it escalates to full-on hangouts

Going to the bookstore, going to cat cafes, going wherever you wanted to really

One time you both took a day trip to the human world

Lucifer wasn’t happy to find out his brother and you were gone for an entire day but he lets it go when he sees that you’re smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks

What Satan didn’t expect was how these outings made him feel

He finds himself distracted from his books because he can’t stop thinking about how cute you looked holding that black cat at the cafe

Or how happy you looked when you took him to that ice cream shop in your hometown that you really love

He wakes up and you’re the first thing to pop into his mind

He’s not dumb, he knows he’s fallen in love

But he also knows this isn’t the right time, you aren’t ready

So he’ll keep being there for you as a friend

And if you ever want him to be there as something more, he’ll happily oblige

Asmodeus:

There was a movie night at the House of Lamentation

Today’s movie was an action movie, courtesy of Mammon

Amidst all the face punching and explosions, there was a budding romance between the main characters

After the third obnoxious makeout scene, you leave the room claiming you need to go to the restroom

But you leave just a *little* too fast and Asmo can feel something is up

And he thrives on gossip so he intends to find out what is it

He leaves the room a few minutes later and catches you in the hallway, determined to get you to spill the tea

You tell him about the breakup

He wasn’t prepared for the tea to be so bitter

“Oh. Well, you know what’s good for that? Face masks!”

He had to save face somehow and beauty was his default

He’s a bit shocked when you agree but you both ditch movie night to do face masks and talk a bit

He decides to share a couple of bad date experiences he’s had to make you feel better

“Trust me, you haven’t felt embarrassment until you have someone vomit Enfield brains on your new pants and shoes while at one of the hottest clubs in the Devildom.”

You spent the entire night giggling and listening to his stories

Devildom products are surprisingly effective on your skin so you keep asking Asmo to show you new products

Plus his company is nice

Self-care days become a common occurrence

Then those self-care days become self-care sleepovers

He starts intentionally waiting to try anything new because he wants you to be there when he does

He buys more of those scented candles you told him smelled nice

A few weeks later you’re having a self-care sleepover again and you have this really cute focused look on your face while painting your nails

He knows he likes you, but this was different than his usual attraction

He didn’t want to fuck you

Well he did but not just fuck you

He wouldn’t mind if there was something more

But you routinely ended your self-care nights by yelling ‘Fuck love!’ at the top of your lungs and laughing

So he knows now isn’t the time and he’s actually okay with that

You were a sight to behold regardless of his relationship status with you

But he hopes you’ll indulge in him one day

Beelzebub:

Mammon keeps pushing his human watching duties on Beel

But he doesn’t really care because he’s being paid in cheesecake

After his third day of keeping an eye on you, he notices you aren’t eating much

Being the Avatar of Gluttony, this is basically a crime

He starts bringing extra snacks with him when he hangs out with you

“I think the chocolate flavor is better than the vanilla. What do you think?”

He actually doesn’t have a preference

He just wants to know which snacks you like more so he can bring more of them

He makes a game out of it so you don’t think about how much you’re eating

“It motivates me to work out longer when I get a snack, could you help me?”

You sit on his back and after every pushup, you both eat a bit of whatever snack he has

He keeps going until he thinks you’ve eaten a decent amount

Or you say you’re getting full

Belphie notices that Beel is refilling his snack stash more often but he doesn’t say anything

Beel feels an immense sense of accomplishment when you finish your plate at dinner a few days later

Soon after you tell him about the breakup

“It hit me hard but you made it easier to cope, Beel. These hangouts are the highlight of my day so thank you.”

There’s a certain pang Beel gets in his stomach when he’s really hungry

Somehow your words made that pang happen in his chest

But this didn’t hurt him, quite the opposite actually

He felt good, he felt happy

It was strange for his stomach to be the quiet one while his heart went wild

But this wasn’t a change he minded too much

He wasn’t sure what to make of it but he knows he wants to figure it out with you

And he’ll take his time doing so because he liked how things were now

Belphegor:

He’s intrigued by you after the first week of your stay

He’s never seen a human who slept as much as he did

Frankly, he was impressed

Until Lucifer informed everyone about your recent breakup and made it clear to not upset you

That’s when Belphie realized these were not the leisurely naps he takes, but depression naps

One day he sees you sleeping in the living room and you looked so distressed

Sleeping was meant to be a peaceful state but you looked so unhappy

So he wakes you up

“You’re in my sleeping spot.”

You weren’t in his sleeping spot.

“Oh sorry, I’ll move-”

“You’re already here. We can both fit.”

Before you can protest he’s all comfy next to you and falling back asleep

Having another person next to you was kind of comforting so you let it go and go back to sleep

What you didn’t know was Belphie could partially influence your dreams

He can make them more pleasant but he can’t control what you dream about

He knows it works when he wakes up and you have a relaxed expression on your sleeping face

You wake up soon after looking confused

“Good dream?”

“I think? I had a dream I rode a unicorn to the moon then carved my initials into it?”

Napping together in the living room becomes a routine

And every time you woke up you told him about the dream you had with a small smile

A few weeks later he notices he no longer has to influence your dreams for them to be good

So he leaves you be and instead curls up in the attic for his afternoon nap

He wakes up a bit when he feels someone lay down next to him

It’s probably Beel

“Why didn’t you tell me you moved napping spots?”

His eyes open and he looks over to see you pouting at him

“I just sorta ended up here.”

“Well, I can’t nap without my cuddle buddy now can I?”

You’re teasing him and he should be annoyed

But he’s blushing

He spoons you to hide that fact, resting his forehead on your shoulder

But while your dreams were getting better, it didn’t mean you were ready to move on

So he just enjoys his intimate cuddling sessions with you and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he really likes how your body fits against his

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #annazonabeth

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henqtic · 3 years

Text

learning- d.m

- summary: one where Draco learns how to do your hair, you being a poc- more specifically a black girl with curly hair :)

- word count: 1.4k

- warnings: mentions of being insecure about your hair

- more works with black/ poc readers → Hat & “just one more hour”

- masterlist | gif creds | taglist form |

——

“Draco I love you but— just not that much,” you said through a grimace, only making him roll his eyes again.

Draco was always one to offer you help on wash days, knowing how much time it took you to do all of that on your own and honestly, you appreciated that.

But today as the conditioner was getting combed through your hair, he brought up the idea of doing it for you— And no he didn’t mean the basic task of combing a product through your hair, but he meant actually doing it.

And it wasn’t that you thought he could... Of course not. And as dramatic as it sounds, you didn’t want to take the risk. What you mean by that is that Draco is someone you would classify as a mom friend.

Being called a mom friend wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was one of those good titles that any person would want to have in a friend group. And even though Draco didn’t seem like the type, he was always that person to make sure everyone else was taken care of— even if it was in his own way.

It could vary from making sure everyone’s assignments were done in time to them eating enough and the really surprising one— comforting people.

And you could tell that he wasn’t completely comfortable or familiar with it but he tried his best when he needed to.

You had caught him many times in some corner trying to comfort some first year Slytherins a few days into the school year because they missed their parents and when he did see you, he’d give you a look of ‘this never happened’.

But being a mom wasn’t an easy job, there were times where’d they’d get angry because a kid had the great idea to draw on the walls instead of on the paper right beside them. And to say Draco fit that role perfectly was an understatement.

He once not only scolded Daphne for forgetting her sunscreen when you went on a trip to the beach but he also provided her a lengthy lecture on how she could’ve easily have gotten sunburned and we would’ve had to drive around with a flaky friend.

You couldn’t lie that it was amusing to see an adult get scolded by another adult like a five year old but to be on the receiving end didn’t sound too fun.

——

And you had to admit that sometimes you did miss that routine you had with your mom on early Sunday mornings.

She’d tell you to get the bucket of hair supplies and you’d take your place to sit in between her legs, allowing her to start combing and brushing your hair into whatever style she saw fit for the next few days.

The small conversations that were held between you and her weren’t important in any way— you couldn’t remember half of the words spoken now but it meant a lot to you in the sense that it was a calm- ish period for you and her to talk about mother and daughter things.

But every good thing just had to have a downside and this one was a shared experience amongst many people in your community.

Uncooperative hair.

And it seemed that you had one of the most. You tried, really, but you could never keep your head still or neck at a specific angle for too long, and that only led to hair tugging and you in almost tears.

And maybe thinking was a little flawed. But you were still scared that Draco would do just the same if you allowed him.

And that’s exactly what you voiced and of course, he said that wasn’t a good enough argument and continued to go on and on about all of the reasons you should let him and how it would have benefits for the both of you.

——

“You know, it would show how much I care,” he said, providing yet another reason as to why you should let him do it.

“You’re showing how much you care right now— I promise,” you assured, eyes skimming the bathroom to find the heated shower cap.

“But what if there’s a day where you’re too tired to do it and then I could do it all by myself?”

He was close to convincing you but he failed to remember the fact that there actually were days where you were too tired to do it but you still woke up very early just to do some style that you had set in your mind.

And even then, your eyes were barely opened so if you had to do it now, you would be too phased.

“What about our future kids? What’s supposed to happen when I have no idea how to do their hair?”

Kids. They weren’t something you actively talked about but it was for sure something you wanted to have in the future. And he was right, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Even if the hair type that he had was far from many black people, it wouldn’t make sense for a child’s own father to not know the basic needs of their hair— including how to do it.

“Fine— but if I feel one tug I won’t hesitate to get up and leave,” you threatened, pointing a comb at him and playfully narrowing your eyes at him to add effect. He only snatched it out of your hand while smiling in success and happiness.

“You won’t regret it.”

Deja vu; it was the only term that could describe what you were feeling at this moment of finding yourself in between someone’s legs, waiting for them to do your hair.

And while Draco was a little clueless, it was cute. You really didn’t mean to laugh when asked what happened to one of the combs that were missing a third of its teeth, but the look of pure shock on his face was too funny for you to resist the laugh that bubbled out.

And telling the truth, the experience wasn’t half as bad as you expected it to be. There weren’t too many snags or tugs along the way or rough actions— it was calm and gentle. And having to assist him on what product to put on your hair and when to do it was rare.

It was heartwarming really, knowing that he had actually been paying attention when he’d sit there and watch you in the bathroom for an hour or so after your hair had been washed.

That he had been listening when you’d rant about how hard it was dealing with your hair and how it would never look the right way even though there is no right way for natural hair to look.

It was the pure knowledge that he actually meant the words he spoke to you that made you so happy; how he’d hold your face in both of his hands and tell how beautiful both you and your hair were and the only reason you should ever think about relaxing it was if you wanted to do it for yourself and not because it would be more accepted by judge full eyes.

It was nice to know that he wasn’t just saying those things because he felt some sort of obligation but that it came from the heart.

——

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were looking at now; not only did your hair look moisturized but the style had come out somewhat good.

You were a little surprised and Draco noticed that too. “You look surprised,” he pointed out in a smug tone, eyes finding their way to look into your wide ones through the mirror. “I’m not surprised, I'm just— how did you do so well?” You questioned, body turning to face his.

“Love don’t tell me you— Di- Did you really doubt me?” He gasped, dramatically placing his right hand over his heart to further feign his ‘hurt’.

“Okay, I did doubt you in—”

gasp

“In the beginning, but now that I actually saw how you did, I regret it. And thank you for being willing to learn,” you continued, this time not getting interrupted by his dramatics.

“It was the least I could do for you,” he assured, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Me and your mum weren’t talking about your abnormally sized head for nothing.”

“Hey! My head is a perfectly normal size.”

“Yeah alright,” he said unconvinced, cracking his knuckles and shaking his hand. “My hands had to pay the price too.”

“You're an idiot Draco—”

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malebodysuittf · 3 years

Text

The Wrapping

In my last story, I wanted to write a dark thriller-ish story with a villainous protagonist, but I wanted this story to be a whole lot more wholesome (though still devious) for the holidays! It’s kind of silly and not as hot tbh, but hopefully it’s kind of fun for someone. It’s been one hell of a year, so here’s to a better 2021. Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays y’all! Stay safe, and make sure no one you’re close to is plotting to suitify you! ;)

edit: Oh crap, I totally forgot to post this yesterday! Here it is though, my message stays the same!

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

I sighed as I listened to the mundane tapping of fingers on keyboards, nails hitting the desk, pens clicking. Over and over, my head rang with the same sounds throughout the morning. No one who was here wanted to be here. Except perhaps my boss. That piece of shit put us all to work instead of giving us the holidays off. Only reason he might be happy to be here is probably because, if his wife has been hearing any of the rumors regarding his interactions with the female employees of our company, I’m assuming their marriage is disastrous.

I thought I’d be able to relax at home, spend Christmas with my boyfriend, Craig. We’ve been together for a couple of years now, and this was our first year living together. Our first Christmas spent together. The last one, we had both flown home to see our parents, splitting up.

But of course, my piece of shit boss had called me up. Told me to come in and work...subtly threatened unemployment if I objected. I wanted to quit right then and there, but money was tight and I knew how much Craig and I could use the cash. I had to break the news to Craig, but he was understanding. He promised that we’d open up presents tonight, or we’d open them up tomorrow if I was too tired. It was heartwarming to hear the support loved one, but made the act of going to work the next day no less grueling.

“Hey Lance, you get that call from boss too?” I jumped at the sound of my name being called and turned to see my coworker and one of the few friends I’ve made in the office, Trevor. He was a good lookin’ guy, though he only had a frustrated face at the moment.

“Yeah. Fucking ridiculous.”

“Right? Sick of this fucking job. Frankly, I’m not even sure what I fucking do at this point,” he joked. A hint of a smile popped up on his face. He slapped me on the arm and got up, heading towards the bathroom. I closed my eyes and imagined what I’ll do with Craig. It was the only thing that could motivate me to keep up with my work.

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

Hours later, the sun was setting and an orange hue painted the sky. It was a surprisingly beautiful sunset, considering it was Christmas. I finally finished my work. I watched the tired people around me cleaning up their desks, disgruntled and ready to go home. I glanced over at Trevor’s desk and noted he was still missing...weird. I hadn’t seen him the entire day ever since he left to go to the restroom. I guessed he had wisened up and just left. I sure as hell wish I could afford to...I know Trevor came from a pretty wealthy background. But at least I could finally find some respite with the end of the day approaching.

Until I saw the secretary walking to my desk.

She placed her hands on my desk and looked me in the eye, almost remorsefully.

“Mr. Campbell would like to speak to you.”

My heart sunk as I realized I’ll be spending more time in this shithole instead of celebrating the holidays with my boyfriend. I slumped in my chair and nodded to the secretary. She left me and I cleaned my act up. Surely it must be something quick, right? I couldn’t imagine him calling me in at the end like this for any reason.

Walking over to Mr. Campbell’s office, I opened the door and saw my dapper boss staring at me intimidatingly.

“Hello, Lance. I’m sure this little meeting may come as a surprise. Take a seat, won’t you?” He motioned towards a chair opposite from his desk, while seating himself in a larger one.

“I know you might be a little confused as to why I called you in. But let me assure it’s nothing bad.” He smiled at me, something I had never seen before on his face. He always looked menacing and unwelcoming. But right in this moment, something seemed different.

“I just wanted to give you this for being an outstanding part of this office. You’ve always been productive and loyal to this business. You deserve proper compensation. Especially for coming in on Christmas.”

From behind his desk, he pulled out a fairly large box, wrapped in a snowman-covered paper, perhaps the size of my torso, and slid it across the desk. I cautiously took the box, wondering what the catch was. There was no way he decided to just randomly give me this out of kindness or gratefulness. Not Mr. Campbell. This is the abusive boss who makes people work on Christmas, threaten their jobs and their records, and, allegedly, numerous women have quit and spoken up on him firing them if they did not oblige to sexual favors. On top of that, why the hell is he only giving this to me? Still, he was my boss for now, and I had to appeal to him.

“...Er, thanks, Mr. Campbell. I appreciate the gift. I’ll make sure-”

“Why don’t you open it?”

“Right here? Right now?”

“Yes. Open it. I want you to see it.”

Confused, I still obeyed and started to rip the wrapping paper off. I glanced up to give the boss an acknowledging smile as I lifted the lid up. I found a folded up suit and tie, along with pants.

“Clothing, Mr. Campbell?” I tried to feign gratitude with a hesitant smile.

“Keep going.”

I lifted the clothing and saw an ID on top of a peach colored object. On the ID, I saw a picture of...Trevor. A chill ran across my spine as I felt the peace colored object...it felt like skin. I pulled it out and lo and behold...it was Trevor in the form of a flimsy suit.

“Is this some kind of...costume?” The thing gave me the creeps, but I couldn’t defy my curiosity.

“You could say that.”

“Was that...you earlier then?”

A grim glare shot across Mr. Campbell’s face. “No.”

“Then...what did you do to Trevor?” My voice quivered as a ton of horrific scenes ran through my head.

“It was just an injection. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.” He pulled out what looked like pink stickers. “All you do is slap these magic tags on, and he’ll be restored within an hour. Sorry to alarm you.”

A sigh of relief escaped my mouth, until Mr. Campbell said, “Why don’t you put him on right now?”

“What? Right here? I don’t even know-”

“Take your clothes off. Stretch open the mouth. You can figure out the rest.”

Something told me I didn’t have a choice. I laid the suit on the floor and started to pull out of my clothing, tossing it over the chair. I grabbed the Trevor suit and dipped my toes into the mouth. Surprisingly, it was soft and comfortable. I slipped into the legs and did a few test jumps. Mr. Campbell observed closely as the suit matched my form. I squeezed my way into the rest of the suit before pulling the face over my own, before a painful ache rushed through my body. Suddenly, a lifetime of memories flooded my mind. I recalled feeling a prick in the neck before everything went black...I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Mr. Campbell.

“Is there something you would like me to do with this?” Trevor’s voice escaped my throat! It was like I was him entirely. But why did Mr. Campbell want me in this suit? I was confused on what to do now. I stood there awkwardly, naked with an admittedly sexier body. Mr. Campbell walked around his desk and came up to me.

“Why don’t you unwrap your second present?” He grabbed my crotch, though I immediately relented and backed up.

“I’m sorry Mr. Campbell, but I’ve got a boyfriend, and frankly, this is a little weird...”

“Don’t you want to provide for him?” I gulped, knowing my job was on the line. Craig would understand, he always does.

I started to unbutton Mr. Campbell’s jacket and slid it off of him. The white button-up was already partially open, displaying the man’s hairy chest. Despite how awful my boss was, I confessed I considered him an attractive man. I pulled off the shirt and was down to his pants. I looked at him, unsure if he wanted me to go all the way. He nodded, urging me to take it all off. I unbuckled his belt and slid it out, the pants visibly loosened and slipped down with ease. I looked up for another nod of approval before removing his shoes and socks, smelling the subtle rankness of his feet. Finally, i slipped his underwear down, and a lengthy member dropped in front of me. I examined the man in front of me, up and down. Were these the kind of sexual favors my boss wanted? Was he interested in men?

“Why don’t you keep going?”

I raised an eyebrow at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Keep going.” He walked closer to me, sensually looking me in the eye.

I couldn’t quite grasp what he meant, until he tugged at his cheek, revealing something else inside. I rubbed Mr. Campbell’s face and he closed his eyes, groaning in pleasure. Slowly tracing down his face, I hooked my fingers under his lips and started to stretch the mouth open. I could feel the scruffy facial hair move under my fingers as I tugged at his face, the face distorting as a familiar face was revealed under Mr. Campbell’s face.

“Craig?” I was absolutely speechless as I slipped off the entire face of my boss. The upper half of the face landed in a heap behind him, while the chin lay across his chest. I backed up in shock at the spectacle before me!

Craig gave me a devious smile and started to rip the skin off of himself. Still using Mr. Campbell’s hands, he grabbed at the mouth around his neck and started to pull. As he did, the skin started to give, and he started to rip it off, like wrapping. Truly like a Christmas gift! The face split in half and he tugged towards his left arm. With a forceful motion, the arm sleeve ripped right off and he tossed it towards onto the desk, the fingers hanging over the side as they flopped around. He continued to rip the other side off as the suit seemingly got shredded. With the torso hanging over his hip, the torn up skinsuit hung onto the cock in pieces, the face hanging by the side while the right hand of the suit laying flatly on the ground. Craig heaved as he pulled the rest of it off violently, further shredding the skin until it lay as a mess on the floor. He picked up it and slung the mangled skinsuit onto the desk.

“Merry Christmas, babe!” He held me by my hips and kissed me.

“Craig, what the hell is this?”

“I bought us some of these serums, and figured they would make a nice gift. I didn’t originally plan to use it on these guys in specific, but when you got that call and told me about your shitty boss...I figured we could get a bit of revenge. Plus, you’ve told me about Trevor being hot. So I figured, why the hell not?”

“But what about Mr. Campbell? You ripped him up!”

“Don’t worry, trust me, some tape and those little sticker things he showed...he’ll be back. And he’ll be humbled.”

He went back behind the desk and pulled out a paper and slid it over to me. I skimmed through it...this was a document giving the company to me!

“Oh my God! What the fuck? This is...”

“Yep. I always said you’d make a great leader. And whenever your coworkers come by to hang out with us, you have no clue what they say about you. They’re gonna love you. And Mr. Campbell over here, signed the document. Hopefully, he takes the time off to reimagine himself as a better man. All you gotta do is sign it yourself.” He rolled a pen over and I held it within my hand. I scoured through Trevor’s thoughts, and he had said some of the sweetest things about me, and his conversations with our colleagues suggested that maybe I could be the one to make this shithole better. I brought the pen to the paper and voila, my signature was on it.

“You get to be the boss now, Lance.” Craig got up and came to embrace me. I was too stunned at everything happening to give him much of a response. “You can make this place so much better next year. But for now, why don’t we enjoy that sexy suit you’re in?” He started to kiss me, and I returned the favor. I pulled back for a second and looked Craig in the eyes.

“This is the best Christmas ever...Why don’t I give you my present now?” I gave him a suggestive look, rubbing up against against him. I pushed him down across the desk and whispered into his ear, “I love you, babe. Merry Christmas.”

#male skinsuit #male bodysuit #male transformation #christmas special #male tf #boss

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baekhvuns · 2 years

Note

do you have any advice for new fic writers ? sorry if you’ve answered a question like this before dkdndj but your work is so so good! any tips on how to write lengthy works without rushing and how to make it super detailed?

oh pls don’t apologize fdjhdh i recently had gotten that question but ill put that answer up and answer the second half of your question !!! <3 and thank u so much 💓✨💓 sorry this got long 😭😭

tag system! first FIVE tags on your works are very important so make sure u put those tags that define your fic !! it’s a way ppl can find ur fics easily for ex if it’s a seonghwa fic my first five tags r like “seonghwa, ateez, ateez seonghwa, seonghwa fics, park seonghwa.”

grammar and punctuation, use “” instead of <> when dialogues + leave space between paragraphs so ppl can find it easy to read and understand !! also the usage of lowercase is used for aesthetics so that’d be pretty nice to use !!

when writing, don’t be obliged to write something u don’t want to! if u would like to come up with plots but r a mind blank on it u can get some plots by watching movies (adapting a fic on that) and or kdramas !! (i think a while back i linked a few places i look for prompts,, if i can find it again ill link it here)

also this is super important, whether it be if ur posting from phone or laptop. make sure u put the “read more” button if ur fic is longer than 500+ words. on laptop u can find it as the button with 3 dots !! on phone, to add the readmore button do the following

:readmore: (then press enter on ur keyboard it’ll make a sign by it self)

you can follow the thing i personally do, the whole “synopsis, themes, parings etc” when u write a fic !! in the synopsis part, that’s ur trailer and ur job is not directly tell everything in it. make it short and sweet

a way u can attract ppl are with your blogs themes,,, i recommend browsing through pintrest to find some exceptionally great pictures that u find really pretty and make it as ur theme !! if u find it difficult i can for sure help!

set your masterlist up, u can use the same colour them on that too!! make it as organized as u can !! + lastly have fun writing! u can use google docs to get ur grammar checks and stuff, and then copy paste it onto tumblr and set up a post and boom publish!

THE SECOND HALF FBFB

“how do you write lengthy works without rushing and how to make them super detailed?”

okay for me, i write lengthy works because there’s times where i feel like there isn’t enough interaction between the yn and whatever idol you write for. as in for example, when i feel the interaction between the reader and xyz is very awkward or minuscule,,, i tend to write small paragraphs that can describe their relationship building thru time.

like use time and pace as a tool, describe like “you and him went down the streets with drinks in hand and giggles echoing out to having sleepovers where you binged movies to doing hand paintings which ended up being a mess.”

see that kind of builds relationship between the reader and xyz in a short amount of time that you necessarily don’t feel like you’re rushing a fic !!! and so u can also image that right? dbdbdb

i will always always recommend that after you write a few words or a paragraph, or whatever many words you wrote in one sitting. read it thru again, fix the mistakes, make it make sense. bc u are your own critique and you’ll find the tiniest of detail to fix.

as in for me, i do this quite often when i write something i always go look back and reread from where i wrote and fix each and every thing that bothers me or sticks out.

and as for super detailed work, i usually web that in when i do the ^^^^ top part !!! id say don’t be afraid to describe things in details, NO MATTER how much u think ur are overdoing it. just keep doing it, if u have a picture in mind then use that exact picture and describe it in as much of detail as you can.(browse thru pintrest for inspiration for pictures)

so take a building for an example

“there stood a building, grey and tall with windows on each level.”

now i write that, but when i go look back at it to fix it, i won’t be afraid to literally list every possible thing about that building.

“there stood a building, grey in colour, around fifty floors tall and windows that were made of glass. making the orangey hued sunset reflect beautifully through them.”

now you can IMAGE that right? the entire aspect is for you to put enough detail that when you read it again in your drafts, you’re able to picture it perfectly in your mind. i usually stumble upon some ig reels about certain sceneries or museums and i save them so i can look back and put it in my works !!

whatever you can picture in your mind after reading whatever you wrote, that’s when you know you have made enough detail that is acceptable (although all of it is) !!!

that’s quite literally what i do when i write !!! hope this helps in any sort of ways and if you have any other questions you can absolutely send in an ask or direct messaging me!! ☺️☺️ hope u have fun writing !!

#✉️ : ask #for writers !!

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another-snape-story · 4 years

Text

Firewhiskey

Chapter XVII

“Alcohol is not a solution,” Snape reminded you as you both entered his office.

“I know,” you sighed, placing a large bottle on his desk. “I’m just so tired, Severus…” You took your regular place in the armchair, where a wool plaid blanket was folded a little sloppily – the way you left it here the last time. So he didn’t even bother putting it away anymore? Although Snape just lit the fireplace and its heat didn’t yet reach you, you felt so warm like never before.

“Yes. You are,” he agreed, focused on uncorking the bottle. “Why would you have firewhiskey in your possession?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled apologetically. “Bought it the day you refused to go to Hogsmeade with us.”

“Is it a vivid example why I should’ve agreed?” he smirked now pouring the spirit into two glasses and you laughed.

There hardly was a place in the whole world which offered you this kind of comfort and consolation, but this cold room with the dark figure of a man smoothly pacing around. Wrapped yourself into the blanket, you relaxed in the softness of the cushions.

“Quidditch Through the Ages,” you leisurely read the title as you noticed the book on a side table. “So now everything comes together!”

“What exactly?” Snape handed you the glass and sat across from you.

“You were to be heard in the Entrance Hall,” you giggled. “Why did you take it from Potter?”

“Well, I wasn’t in a mood,” he said apathetically, wobbling his glass and watching the liquid rotating inside. You couldn’t discern if he was joking or not – it was so likely of him to consider it a fair reason to do so – anyway, his answer amused you, same as his serious look.

“Have you ever been?” you teased, and he answered with a displeased curve of his lips.

“So?” Snape leaned a little forward.

“I’m drinking for you,” you declared, not a trace of your former gaiety remained. “I’m so happy I met you, Severus. You can’t even imagine…”

“Slow down,” he smiled softly. “Too early for confessions.”

“You know I mean it!” you insisted. “I’m telling it before I take the first sip, and I will tell it after taking the last!”

“I know,” his voice so quiet yet so deep. “And you do know I feel the same, don’t you?” The words being extremely alien to Snape’s enclosed character, the words he never dared to say aloud, struggled their way out. He’d prefer to keep them to himself, but he couldn’t leave your sudden ingenuous impulse without an answer.

Your heart skipped a beat each time he acknowledged his reciprocity towards you, although he never said it directly. You nodded, blissful to be ascertained of his fellow feeling again, and reached out for the man.

Mild sonorous clinking broke the silence once your glasses struck against each other.

“How did you get here?” you asked randomly, intending to divert depressive thoughts by some neutral topic, but Snape – unlike what you’ve expected – now looked gloomier than before.

“Dumbledore offered me a job,” he answered with a sigh after emptying his glass.

“Is that what you wanted to be at the age of…”

“Twenty-one,” he finished, filling his glass anew. You tossed yours closer to him to be refreshed with a drink. “All I wanted at the age of twenty-one was being dead.”

“Not much has changed since then, huh?” you smiled sympathetically, and he snickered. Yet again you managed to liven him up.

Another shot followed. Having no crumb in your stomach since lunch, you felt alcohol quickly take over your body, spreading fatigue through your limbs, while your mind still strained to preserve the clarity of thought.

“Did you know each other before?”

“I was studying here. So, apparently, we did.”

“You should’ve really loved it here to return inside the walls of your alma mater?” Recalling your time at school you dreaded the thought of stepping on its threshold ever again.

Snape lowered his head, peering at the brownish fluid in his hand. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. I’ve guessed there’s a mystery behind all this.” You felt so terribly sorry for him all at once. There clearly was something he couldn’t tell you, but he did his best to be as honest with you as the circumstances allowed, or his obligations, or whatever else it might be. What the hell it might be?! The thing gave him no peace, torturing his heart, it was evident – judging by his rare bitter remarks; and you felt so helpless not knowing how to ease his mental torments. “Don’t worry, mysterious Professor Snape,” you reassured him in barely a whisper. “I won’t ask questions.”

“I wish I could tell you...” he hopelessly shook his head, afraid you might turn away from him sooner or later – no one would tolerate reticence for long.

“We don’t have that much firewhiskey, do we?” you smiled kindly slowly draining your glass.

“You should be prepared better for the next time,” thankful for your patience and understanding, he gave a short, half-suppressed snigger, and you laughed loving the idea.

“Oh, I will! You know me!”

“I don’t even doubt that!”

“Wanna know what I wanted to be after school?” guilt-driven for involuntary making him feel uncomfortable, you changed the subject, hoping to put some spirit into the man, yet your glance gained a spacey glint. “Hats designer!”

“Hats designer?” Snape chuckled, a slight haze enveloping his head.

“Yep. But somehow ended up being a scientist.”

“What a loss for the fashion world,” he said deliberately unimpressed, but a sly narrow of his eyes betrayed he was ribbing you.

“Heey, don’t you dare question my artistic talents!”

“Or what?” he provoked you further.

“Or I’ll tell Minerva you assumed no one would notice if she replaced the hat she usually wears with an old Hagrid’s shoe!”

“You can’t blackmail me with a commonly known fact,” he replied in a bored tone, which made you burst into laughter.

“Aw, Snape, you’re such a bastard!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” with a smug grin, he raised his glass and polished it off.

Snape rested beside you. All of his troubles seemed to step aside when you came around. He wasn’t expecting any kind of cunning, deceitful tricks from your side and could fully relax in the solace your presence comprised. Alcohol helped him loosen up even more, but he still had things under control. You, on the other hand, let frivolity take the lead.

“I was young and naive,” you tilted your head on the backrest, reflecting on a girl you used to be. “Ah, where are those days?”

“You’re still very young,” Snape smiled softly, admiring your features, which he found so alluringly attractive. But it wasn’t appearance that captivated him – something much deeper than physical perception forcefully drew him to you.

“It’s not the point,” you sighed. “Our bodies are aging, but we never actually grow old.” You gulped the rest of firewhiskey left in your glass and looked closely on its empty bottom. “Somewhere deep inside there sticks a child inside each of us. A child with a flaming hope, still believing all of the most fantastic dreams will jolly well come true... Add me some?” you stretched out your hand to receive a new portion of drink.

Snape unhurriedly provided you with another shot.

“Do you regret becoming what you are?” he let the question slip off his tongue.

“And you?” you gave him a pitiful glance, already knowing what he would say.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But it’s not too late for changes, is it?” you asked uncertainly, mainly, not to cheer him up – which, nevertheless, was also your intention – but hoping he would agree, so that you too could regain confidence there still was a chance, but Snape silently finished his glass instead.

“The Dark Lord might return any time soon. This is currently my main concern.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, I’m just saying whatever comes to my mind,” you smiled weakly. “My tongue works faster than my brain.” The setting of the room started slowly swaying around, causing a sick feeling in your stomach. You seemed to run out of the last bits of energy – another few minutes, and you’d find yourself balancing on the edge of oblivion.

“Do not apologize,” Snape leaned forward, took the glass out of your hand and put it aside. “What is it you were dreaming of? Will you be willing to tell me?” he asked quietly, his voice so pleasant to your ears.

“I’m dreaming of a small house on the mountain side,” you closed your eyes, “surrounded by a forest…”

“And a lake somewhere nearby,” Snape continued pensively, “its waters clear as crystal…”

“Yes. There will be flowers everywhere…”

“Grown all by yourself?” he smiled, taking in your every breath.

“I have seeds of some rare species,” you agreed serenely.

Each word you said found response in Snape’s heart. For a moment he seemed to be carried away – far from his cruel reality – right in the middle of your little paradise.

“We’ll set off for lengthy strolls along nature paths early in the morning with a basket of sandwiches,” you mumbled sleepily, “to gather herbs and berries…”

“…and return home right before the sun falls…” he whispered, “…tired, but so happy…” Snape’s words faded into silence, as he watched you drift off in a peaceful slumber, leaving him with a feeling of a vague regretful longing.

<<< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >>>

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof @amywright @redrehab @space-helen @fluffymadamina nadiigh @theworldisugly-22 @lukaerith-morningstar @sighsinkhuzdul @67-chevy-baby @rustypotatospork @aquila-leo @dandyrua @majusketch @sevyythebeanqueen @writingmi @s00nhi @pinkininja @shizuethedragon @chocolattefrog awkwardaxelotl @bionic-otp @samnblack @sailorstupidsblog @purpledragonturtles @xwaterproofx @lokistann @psycho-howell @planetmystery @lovelyravenkite @taschaschwarz @grimrapper11 @xpissbabyx @lullabylike

#snape #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

I would stop the world for you

Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones Rating: E for smut WC: 6975 ABO!AU

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Here it is! The ABO you’ve all been waiting for... maybe?

I want to give a BIG thank you to Salem (@artistic-writer) who is not only the reason for this works conception but also the brave soul that beta'd the living shit out of it, helped me muddle together a summary after I killed my brain while writing and put up with my whiny arse throughout. The bitch is fantastic. Show her, her writing and her art some love!

I also want to thank Sara (@darkcolinodonorgasm) for giving this a once over at the 4k mark and screaming at/with me when I thought my muse had run out. You're wonderful!

Also on AO3

Tagging a few who showed interest early on! @thisonesatellite, @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, @winterbaby89, @gingerchangeling, @resident-of-storybrooke, @tiganasummertree

It started with a text. Usually, Killian would have let it be and left the message unread until his break for fear of Liam catching him slouched over the battered oak workbench in the corner of their somehow impeccably kept workshop, eyes glued to his phone rather than the carburettor of the ‘76 Impala he should be working on. It would have earned him a lecture on professionalism and appearance and the same ‘this business is important’ shpiel Liam came out with every time he caught any member of their small team in a moment of distraction. As CEO of Jones & Jones Auto Refurbishments, he tended to let his ruling Alpha traits come through as a business owner - assertive, confident, loyal and a little bit of an arse if he didn’t get his own way. Killian, similarly Alpha in his nature, knows they’re unfortunately similar in their personalities, although he likes to pride himself on not being an arse all the time and being the more likeable Jones sibling. Hopefully, many people would back him up on that. They’d butted heads throughout their lives but, at the end of the day, Liam is all he’s got and a simple text message is usually not worth losing his brother’s favour over.

Liam wasn’t there today though, choosing instead to meet up with some of their more high profile customers to discuss refurb schedules in the spring quarter. His absence bumps Killian up from CEO’s younger-not-little brother and head mechanic to CEO’s younger-not-little brother, head mechanic and acting CEO until Liam gets back from his weekend away talking shop with a bunch of ponces who buy classic cars but have no clue about the maintenance or upkeep. It’s a lengthy title. They’re working on it. The biggest take away from his temporary promotion is that he can check his phone whenever he damn well pleases. Will and Robin are working away on the rust bucket of a Mini Cooper that had been dropped off yesterday by a disgruntled Graham on the other side of the workshop. They’re bickering, as usual, over if the vehicle will need a respray or not. Killian lets himself zone out of their squabbling as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

What’s waiting there for him has a thrum of arousal awakening before he can even compose himself to read it fully. Emma. His best friend, confidant and the occasional recipient of his knot whenever her heat gets the better of her.

It’d been less than 48 hours since he’d seen her last to fuck out the residual energy his rut had left coursing through him. It was needy and raw and, when his knot hit, he’d had to stop himself from clamping down on the gland in the juncture of her neck. There was no way he’d have been able to resist sinking his teeth into the supple skin there if his rut was in full swing but that’s exactly the reason they’re careful about the scheduling of their trysts – avoiding his rut and indulging her heat whenever possible. They have apps to log it and everything.

With spring coming in, most Alphas were taking time off to handle their season. Killian had felt his coming a mile off and immediately locked himself away and started prepping high-protein meals, sterilizing his toys and cancelling all his plans – including the ones involving a certain willing Omega. He likes her a lot more than he probably should, but he doesn’t want to force the obligation of his mark onto her. A lot of other Alphas would’ve already. He’s been told as much and knocked half as many out for trying. Always coming to Emma afterwards, battered and bloody. She welcomes him with open arms, cleans his wounds and thanks him in her own way. He knows she doesn’t want that whole marked, barefoot and pregnant life and he respects that. There’s no way he’s ready to bring kids into the world. His one-bedroom apartment above the workshop is no place to raise a child, for god’s sake. He knows Emma feels the same. Her reliance on the contraceptives Dr Whale supplies her with is concrete proof of that. She even keeps a box in Killian’s bedside table, just in case.

As much as he’d love a repeat performance of the other night, they’d already discussed their clashing calendars. Liam was away on business and Emma was covering for David at the station while he rode out his rut. Well… his wife rode it out. They’d be fine for a couple of weeks. Killian has a reminder in his phone for when Emma’s next heat is due to hit so he knows when to stock up on carby foods, ice cream and good coffee. He’s freed up that week for her, knowing how needy she can get through her heat.

Regardless, she doesn’t usually text him while he’s at work. She knows how Liam gets. It must be something important. He swipes open his phone, taking a second to smile at his lock screen. It’s a picture of the two of them, curled up with matching cups of hot chocolate and a shared blanket that he’d taken at some point to prove to Ruby that they occasionally do things other than fucking. Sometimes ‘Netflix and Chill’ means just that. Emma’s hair is a mess and so is his but their smiles are genuine and it makes his heart warm every time. He flicks up her messages with another swipe of his thumb and his smile falls.

Swan: I’m early. Need you now. Please.

She means her heat. He’s not stupid. Had it been a month already? A quick check to his calendar shows that she’s not due for another week at least. They meticulously planned these things. Killian Jones, a self-professed neat freak, and Emma Swan, the proud owner of a ‘floordrobe’, disagree on a lot of things when it comes to personal organisation. The one thing they do agree on, however, is keeping track of their cycles.

The last time she’d been early, they ended up fucking in the back of her Yellow VW Bug on the way home from a beach trip with the Nolans. She’d been wearing the smallest bikini he’d ever seen, the two black triangles only just covering her breasts before being secured by a thin strap at her nape and a second behind her back. Instead of matching bottoms, she’d gone with a pair of frayed denim shorts that brushed the tops of her thighs and hugged her behind so deliciously that he could barely keep a hold of the growl brewing in his throat. Sand clung to her arse and the back of her legs and he wanted nothing more than to brush it off and pull her into his lap. He could smell her arousal creeping up on her before she could, approaching as inevitably as the tide, and he knew they would not make it back to her apartment before it hit. For the sake of David, Mary Margaret and the rest of the families trying to enjoy themselves on a rare sunny beach day, Killian bundled Emma into the cramped back seat of her car and began the two-hour drive back to Storybrooke.

She had him pull over after half an hour to give her a hand, so to speak.

The upholstery stains had been a bitch to get out.

Before thinking of the consequences, he fumbles out a text back to her.

K. Jones: Be there in 5.

“Rob! Will!” He calls out across the shop, knowing he’s been heard when the incessant bickering turns to silence. The two Betas would be able to handle things on their own for the day. They’d get no work done, sure, but he could afford that. Work had been slow all morning and there was no sign of it picking up any time soon. As long as they finish the Mini by the week’s end, Liam will be none the wiser. Pulling on his leather jacket, Killian headed over their way. “Something’s come up. Can you cover for me?”

“What is it this time, lover boy?” Will chimes in, appearing from under the hood of Graham’s Mini, his white vest smeared with oil despite him not remotely touching the engine today. One eyebrow raised in a questioning glare. “Missus need you to lick her boots again?”

Rob issues him with a slap, sending his friend’s head straight into the hood of the car with a metallic thud and a groan. They’d have to buff that one out later. Well…Will would.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior, William. Show some respect.”

Rob laughs at the snarl he gets in return, reaching across to ruffle his friend’s buzzcut. Will clenches his teeth, biting out his response. “Call me William one more time and I’ll show you some respect.”

Killian had always found their relationship a little odd. Will is always ready for a fight, a punch first ask questions later kind of bloke and Robin is the one that drags him back to reality with a gentle hand…and maybe occasionally a firm shove. They’re two sides of the same coin and Liam would be lost without them in the shop. Hell, Killian would be lost without them in his life.

Especially now.

“Lads, I’m trusting you to not burn the place down. Lock up when you’re done, will you?” He launches his keys at Rob who plucks them out of the air and tucks them into the breast pocket of his pristine overalls, patting them for good measure. Rob, he could trust. Will, on the other hand…It’s a good job Liam had gone all out on their liability insurance.

They bid him farewell with a sarcastic “Aye aye, Captain!” before Killian can protest. He doesn’t have the time to bollock them for being insolent. Plus, they’re doing him a favour by watching over the shop, both automatically aware of the nature of his absence. He flips them off, jumping into his Jeep and slamming it into gear before speeding across town with little regard for the speed limit. It’s okay. He’s got connections in the sheriff’s office.

Well… one connection. The same connection he’s about to fuck the living daylights out of.

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Emma’s apartment building is tucked away on the other side of Storybrooke. Past main street and the town hall, almost on the edge of the town boundary. The whole apartment block is a sanctuary for unclaimed Omegas; tucked far enough away that they’re able to endure their heats in peace, but close enough that you can still get lunch delivered from Granny’s if needed. Alphas, upon entry, have to provide ID, evidence of their previous rut and what their intentions are while visiting. Luckily, Ruby was on duty today – pillar-box red nails offering him a little wave as he passes by the entrance checkpoint. Killian didn’t even have to slow his Jeep. She had the barriers open for him already. Emma must’ve called ahead.

Rolling his truck into the nearest parking bay, Killian almost forgets to check if he’s locked it before he’s vaulting over the fence and sprinting into the sterile building, taking the linoleum stairs two at a time to get to Emma’s third-floor apartment faster. The building smells of bleach and fresh laundry but, underneath it all, he can taste something distinctly her. Earthy yet fresh, sweet and almost spicy. It swells around him like a warm embrace when she throws open her door.

He hadn’t even knocked.

She’s a sight for sore eyes dressed in one of his old band t-shirts, logo far too faded to be legible anymore, and a pair of boy shorts that do nothing to hide how slick she is, wetness seeping through the material with every second spent stood in the doorway. She’s gorgeous and glowing, a thin sheen of sweat causing her to glisten under the fluorescence of the hallway lights, flecks of gold catching in her lust-darkened eyes. Her hair hangs in matted curls over her left shoulder and he knows she must have been too impatient to blow dry it that morning, instead opting to let it air dry while she took care of herself in other ways. Fuck. He can’t think about that right now. The tang of her heat in the air makes him want enough as it is. He does not need filthy images of Emma trying to get herself off with the knot toy he’d bought for her last year when her heat and his rut had clashed. He does not need to think of how she was probably whining for him, aching to be filled by something real, way before she texted him to come over.

She wants him, needs him, and he can smell it rolling off her in waves.

It’d be rude not to oblige.

She must’ve had the same thought because she pounces on him the second he moves to step forward, arms surrounding his neck and legs circling his waist. He can’t help but reach down to her arse, giving it a light pinch which has her letting out an indecent moan before she’s crashing their lips together. He shouldn’t miss her. It’d not been two days since he last had her, hard and fast against the tiled walls of his shower and yet, when she’s like this, desperate and begging in his arms, he damns every second they were apart. The door slams shut behind them and Killian promptly shoves her up against it, swallowing down the noise it earns him.

Emma kisses are urgent and powerful, overwhelming in their ferocity. Omegas aren’t usually celebrated for their power but she’s different. Her heat brings out a side to her that drowns out his comprehensive thought with fiery kisses and insistent touches. She tears down his resolve so completely. Is there any way he can deny her when she’s like this, hands impatiently tearing at the buttons of his shirt?

Omegas are commonly seen as the weaker class, apparently only superior in their fertility, and abused by the archaic roots of their world. Killian had never understood the prejudice held against them, even as a boy. He’d been born into privilege and he accepted that. As the son of an Alpha father, sibling to an Alpha brother and an Alpha himself, he will never be able to comprehend the struggle that comes with being born with a target on your back. He will never know the pain of suffering through twelve heats a year or the immense risk that other Alphas pose on a regular basis when you’re unclaimed. He will never know the sheer unadulterated bliss that Emma feels when he fills her so full of his come that it leaks around his pulsing knot, mixed with her sheer slick on its path down her thighs. He will never know just how much trust she puts in him when his teeth graze over the patch of skin along her neck that calls for his bite. But, for her, he tries.

“Stop thinking.” She growls, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, utilising probably more force than intended. Her hands make their way under his shirt in an attempt to push it off his shoulders but it doesn’t budge far, the buttons she’d missed in her haste straining to accommodate. Her eyes, emerald and dangerous, flutter shut as he lets the hand that is not supporting the small of her back slip beneath her sodden underwear. The scent of her hits him stronger now and all he can do is bite back the groan in his chest. She’s soft and silken and he can see how absolutely consumed she is by her pleasure in the way she relaxes into his touch. Her lips part against his mouth in a gasp. He wants.

“I came all this way and that’s all you have to say?”

“Killian, please.” Her thighs clench his hips as he dips one finger into her centre. He’ll never tire of this. Feeling her twitch and whine as his deft fingers work their magic. She unravels beneath his touch and it’s maddening. Teasing her, caressing her core and revelling in the slick that spills beneath his ministrations, builds his own arousal in an agonising burn. Her lips take his again in a breathless kiss, a mess of mouths and tongues and teeth. Fire rushes through his veins as he fights the urge to fuck her senseless right there. As much as he wants to slam her against the white varnished wood and take her so deep she can’t help but cry out, he doesn’t fancy a repeat of the last time they’d been so impatient. He’d awoken on the floor, half-hard, after literally fucking the door off its hinges and knocking himself out on the frame on the way down. Emma had laughed about it for weeks after and the apartment block billed him for the repairs.

Beds are easier to replace and Killian has fucked her in his fair share of them.

He smells her orgasm approaching before it hits. He always does. The heady scent of her sex becoming richer, sweeter, thicker before he dips a second finger inside her cunt, pushing deeper to massage the rough spot that sends her over the edge every single time.

Emma can’t help but run her mouth as she comes. Shaking in his hold, fists balled in his hair, cursing his name between kisses until she’s spent and boneless. Each expletive sending a throb to his cock, straining against his jeans. Such foul language doesn’t come to her naturally but Killian drags it out of her with each circle of his index finger against her clit.

“Such a filthy mouth, Swan.” He smirks, breaking away to press a kiss to her neck. The resulting shiver that creeps down her spine has her clench around him once more, a wave of slick coating his hand. Her shorts are ruined, completely soaked through. It makes it all the easier to tear them off as he removes his hand from her folds, seams protesting as the fabric splits, revealing her in her entirety to him. Pink and wet and fucking delectable.

He’s wearing too many clothes.

“I can’t help it.” She shrugs, still breathless, fingers returning to the buttons on his shirt that she’d missed in her insistence to run her hands through the thick hair there. “Blame it on my heat, or your fingers, or both.”

Killian chuckles. His chest jostling her ever so slightly where they’re still stood. With practised ease, he begins the short distance to the bedroom.

“I’d love to take all the credit but you were already halfway gone by the time I got here.” Together they shrug the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the hardwood floor as they make their way. Emma leans into him then, letting her head rest against his chest, just over his heart. He knows she’s got more in her and the next wave will take them both in its wake, but for now, he’s content to just hold her as she recovers, her breathing falling into sync with his own heartbeat, avoiding the cluttered glass coffee table as he walks her through the living room.

“I’ve come four times today.” Her breath is hot against his nipple, which hardens with the combined weight of her confession almost as if commanded to do so. He stops short of her bedroom, adjusting her weight in his arms so he can open the door without disturbing her further from her rest. “I was hoping I’d be able to get it out of my system without you. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Emma, love, don’t be stupid. That’s why you keep me around.” Pressing a kiss to her crown, inhaling the soft vanilla of the shampoo that she loves so much, he steps inside the room she calls her own. It’s messy, not as much as it used to be but more than he’d allow his own space to get, and he has to tiptoe between abandoned outfits she’d probably tried on that morning before deciding that work was just off the cards today. It’s never advisable for Omegas to be in public for their heat, claimed or otherwise. He can imagine her pouting in the mirror, hair wet, arousal rearing its head between her thighs, unsatisfied and wanting. “I can make you feel good. I want to.”

“Ah yes, my own personal fuck toy. How chivalrous of you.” He dips her onto the bed, ignoring her sarcasm, and pushes aside the toys she’d clearly been using, still sticky with her essence – a couple of small vibrators, a string of anal beads and the knot toy he’d supplied her with over a year ago. She’d admitted to him that it didn’t get much use. She’s come to rely on him for satisfaction, these days. Why would she need a toy? Killian adds washing them to his mental to-do list because she will definitely forget once he’s done with her. Emma unfurls her legs from around his waist and lets her back slump against the mattress with a soft thud. In the soft light from her bedroom window, he gets a good full look at her core, fresh slick coating her outer lips in a delicious glaze. Maybe later he’ll get the chance to feast upon it, eating like a man starved in that way that makes her toes curl and her voice hoarse from screaming.

“If that’s what the lady wishes?” He hums, dragging his eyes from her cunt to her tits. When had she removed her–his shirt? The swell of them is enough to drive him wild, their pert buds the same soft dusky rose as her mouth. He leans down to take one into his mouth, not missing the relaxed sigh it earns him. Looking up at her from this angle makes his cock stir, her head thrown back, long pale neck exposed in a subconscious invitation. He squeezes at her neglected nipple with slick coated fingers, trailing patterns into the quickly pebbled flesh there.

Fuck, he wants to mark her. Take her as his over and over again. He wants to fuck her through his rut and show her how deep under his skin she has managed to crawl. Every inch of him yearns for her. Every second they’re not like this, together, entwined, is agony. He can’t let himself think that way, not like this. Emma is not an object, not a thing to be possessed and claimed. She’s headstrong and stubborn as any Alpha. She belongs to no one.

Her moans sear into his mind, a permanent brand, a reminder of everything he cannot have.

Tonight, like many other nights, he pretends she belongs to him.

“This lady definitely wishes.” She sighs, bringing him back to reality. Somehow she always seems to ground him, despite being the root of all his desire. A smile, a laugh, a cry. It always brings him right back. Back to her. She squeezes at his shoulders, pulling him up so she can kiss him again. It’s languid and warm, passion simmering beneath her tongue as it finds its way into his mouth. These are his favourite. The kind of kisses that burn slowly, growing deeper and deeper until they’re both left gasping for air. He could kiss like this forever. Suffocation be damned. Her hands slide down his chest, through the hair she loves to toy with so much, down across his firm stomach. The muscles there flutter under her touch and Killian’s cock aches to be released from its denim prison. She seems to notice just as he does. Her hand makes the final stretch to where he wants her most, cupping him roughly and giving a hard grasp. He snarls, animalistic desire shooting through him. It’s inevitable, the call of her heat claiming him fully. She loves it this way the most. Rough and hard. Alpha.

One eyebrow quirks up, behind a mop of messy blonde hair, with kiss bruised lips and eyes so dark they’re almost black. A challenge. He loves a challenge.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Their fingers clash while trying to unbuckle his belt, caught between the dark thatch of hair there and the soft leather. Emma retreats first, choosing instead to utilise the belt loops and tug him to his knees between her spread thighs. Laced with urgency, their kisses grow sloppy, insistent and chaotic. Killian struggles to shove his jeans low enough to let his cock spring free. They don’t have time for anything else. She needs him now. Slick glistens as it trails down her thighs, the sheets below soaked with it and every hitch of her breath drives him wild with hunger. Everything smells of it, the inescapable musk of her sex drowning his last rational thought.

His Omega needs him.

“Killian.”

Pushing into her is better than anything he could have ever prepared for. Years ago, the first time she’d invited him to bed, he’d popped his knot embarrassingly fast from just the sheath of her alone. The feeling tight and foreign. He’d never had an Omega before. He hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of her heat. It hit him like a train. It still does. They’d laughed it off, her face pressed into his neck, and he’d vowed to make up for it in other ways, ensuring she was thoroughly satisfied by the time the swelling in his cock had dispersed half an hour later.

He’s had more than enough practice now, though. She’s hot and wet and still so impossibly tight. Slick gathers on the tip of his length as he slides true. All of him. Emma doesn’t even flinch, taking it all in her stride and demanding more with small cants of her hips, breathy moans falling from her lips with every inch. Killian was fucked from the get-go. With shallow pants, she writhes against him, legs winding their way around his hips again, only wanting him to move deeper, faster, harder as he tortures her with devilishly slow thrusts. The drag of his thick cock against her insides draws out the most sinful sounds and Killian can’t help but slow to take it all in, hands gripping her hips.

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you?” Arousal coats his voice, deep and gravelly. An entirely different man to who he was five minutes ago. Not a man at all. An Alpha. Killian the Mechanic didn’t have the balls to so brazenly ask that question. Killian the Alpha definitely did. Emma’s resulting moan at his speech makes him throb, his cock dragging deliciously against that spot inside her that makes her only cry out for more. It’s intoxicating to watch himself disappear completely inside her sopping heat, folds moving to accommodate his size. “You fucked yourself over and over wishing it was me. Wishing I was here to fill your greedy wet cunt. Am I right?”

She can’t even form words; head thrown back, hair splayed out in a crown of gold against soft white sheets, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open as she allows herself to sink into bliss. Like this, a slave to her desire, she’s otherworldly. This is his power.

He takes her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes while his hips snap with a little more force. Not as rough as she really wants it but rich with the promise of more. Always more. “Answer me, Omega.”

“Y-yes,” Hearing the words break through a deep moan only fuels him further. Knowing he’s responsible for every ounce of her pleasure proving to be a greater turn-on than anything else ever could be, flames of his impending orgasm teasing at his base. He might be the Alpha but she holds all the power here. “But it wasn’t enough.” She sighs, teeth catching her bottom lip as his cock drags almost fully out, taking a second to nudge her clit and the slick gathered there before plunging straight back in, deeper, drawing a sob from her in return. “Fuck, Killian! It’s never enough.”

“And why’s that, love?” His voice is calmer than he feels. He leans down to press a kiss between her breasts, letting his tongue drag in the valley between them. Salt blooms on his tongue along with the unmistakable tang of her. All five of his senses are under siege by the very presence of the Omega – his Omega – in his arms; her sharp taste, her rich scent, her needy touch, her fucked voice and the sight of her completely at his mercy all adding to the sensory overload that has his own release building low in his gut. It tears at whatever shred of control he has left, leaving only raw impulse behind.

“Because it’s not you, Alpha.”

With that, Killian breaks.

He pulls out completely, cool air hitting his length, barely noticing Emma’s cry of protest. She clenches around the open air, slick leaking from the space left in his wake. Seeing her like this, open and wanting, has electricity fizzing beneath his skin. The primal urge to take her over and over clawing deep in his belly. Her thighs tremble, still clinging to his hips despite the distance he tries to put between them, resisting his attempts to untangle her crossed ankles from behind his back. He wants to slide in, take her until she’s filled with nothing but him, and ride it out that way until they’re both spent and softening in the glow. He wants to tell her he loves her while they’re tied together. He wants to sink his teeth into the juncture of her neck and be hers until his last breath. He wants to be her Alpha. Wholly. But he can’t.

He can fuck her but he can’t love her and, in some ways, that’s worse.

She drags her nails through the carpet of hair at his chest, noticing his hesitation and striving to bring him back from the edge of madness. Back to her. With one touch, she’s expressing more than she ever could with words, not that she could even form words at this point, her breath coming in gasps. Totally ravished. It says Are you okay? and I’m here and, atop slick soiled sheets and freely given moans, Mine.

It does nothing to ground him now. Nothing can.

One word pulses through Killian’s mind. Instinctual. Carnal. Feral. Slamming her ankles to the bed and flipping her onto her stomach with abundant force, it rips from him with no hesitation.

“Present.”

In another life, maybe it’d be different. Maybe he’d be a gentle lover, revelling in every inch of her skin, tasting wherever his tongue could reach. Maybe he’d be able to worship her in the way he wants, with prayers dying on his lips, finding god in her thighs and the devil in her curses.

In another life, he would not have to hide the fact that Emma holds his heart in her palm, deft fingers holding the ability to destroy him entirely. But that’s what he does. He hides, always, behind filthy words and hungry kisses, giving her everything she wants in the form of his thick cock coaxing her to completion again and again. She loves it, informing him in screams when pleasure hits. He loves her, irrevocably. It’s too easy to forget that they’re nothing more than friends when she’s like this.

Pushing to her hands and knees, Emma slides her hips up from the bed with a hiss of yes alpha. Slick, viscous and rich, leaks further down her legs. She flips her hair over one shoulder as she looks to him, revealing the curve of her spine from her arse to her nape and the scars of their previous encounters. They litter the pale expanse of her back, evidence of where he’d clawed too hard at her flesh and drawn blood. Regret tinges the memories a little, but not enough to stop him. Killian lets his eyes drag over her, ready and willing and calling out for him. Half lidded eyes, lust glazed and begging, find his as his gaze reaches her face. She’s beautiful, ethereal in a way he can’t quite describe with words, and like this, submissive and yet still fully in control, he falls just a little bit more.

“Please, just fuck me.”

Did he ever stand a chance?

He sheathes himself in seconds with no resistance, a snarl pulled from his throat by the overbearing heat of her dripping cunt. It’s almost too much and his fingers grip at her hips; the stark slap of skin on skin, broken moans, and laboured creak of the bed an overwhelming cacophony of sound that stokes the flame in his belly. The telltale signs of his release tug at his periphery but he staves it off. What kind of Alpha would he be if he didn’t ensure his Omega was satisfied first?

No. Not his.

Bypassing the thought completely, he slides a hand from her hip to her core, gliding over the engorged nub he finds there. One pinch. That’s all it takes for Emma to collapse face-first into the bed with a scream caught by her pillows, arse still proudly presented because she’s nothing if not obedient. Her orgasm hasn’t claimed her just yet, but it’s close; insides gripping him impossibly tighter.

“You're naughty, Omega, presenting like this, arse up and suffocating me with the scent of you,” Killian tries his best to enunciate, channelling every modicum of control he has left into keeping his voice deep and authoritative. The Alpha. Her Alpha. It calls to her basest nature, making her writhe with want. It must work. Along with the caresses of his fingers against where they’re joined, it has her insides fluttering. Any noises she makes are caught in the sheets below and he’s glad for that. Anything more would be a death sentence. “But you know how your Alpha likes to fuck you, don't you?"

No. Not hers.

Emma turns her head to the side, sweeping blonde waves shifting just enough that he can see her face as he fucks her with renewed vigour. The broken please cuts like ice down his spine, before it breaks off in a whine. It’s too much for her, being filled and stroked and brought to the edge. And yet, she wouldn’t have it any other way; always urging him on when Killian ever dared to fuck her slowly. She delights in the aches and bruises he leaves behind.

He could fuck her for hours like this, pounding into her with reckless abandon and not a care in the world but, perhaps selfishly, he wants more. He wants and wants and wants. He wants an Omega to call his own, to fill up and care for, he wants to nest together through her heat and shower her in gifts and make her breakfast every day. Instead of some faceless Omega in the fleeting moments he lets himself think this way, it’s her. It’s always her.

He snaps hips in time with Emma’s hurried heartbeat. Staccato thrusts hitting her just right as his fingers match the pace.

“Alpha!” She sobs with her eyes clenched shut, balled fists clutched in sheets. He can feel her teetering on the edge. The precipice of her orgasm stirs his own and, when she screams at the fervent attention to her clit, her whole body shudders. He’s close, so close, fucking her through her climax as she convulses around him. The scent of her release permeates his skin and fogs his mind in a way that nothing else can. It’s heady and seductive and her.

“Emma.”

His knot comes, to no surprise, as quickly as she did. Swelling out from the base of his cock and dragging a moan from her spent form at the familiar stretch of it. His thrusts slow, movement stilted by the knot that secures him, emptying himself within her centre without a second thought. She hums as he fills her with warmth, eyes fluttering open just a little. Her smile is dangerous and his breath catches in his throat. Generally speaking, she’s fucked; hair even more of a mess than when he arrived, lips bruised from kisses and bites, sweat beading at her temples and in the dip of her collarbones. She’s fucked and when she looks at him like that, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, he can’t help but groan as his cock stirs. How does she even have this effect on him? Even now, with his knot still solid inside her. With laboured breaths, he gently manoeuvers them onto their sides so they’re curled together on the bed. His jeans, still shoved just below his hips, making it slightly more difficult than it should be.

Emma relaxes against him for a while, resting against his arm tucked up under her head with that same secret smile. Only the sound of their own breathing breaking the silence between them. She’d be sated for a couple of hours after that, residual energy from her orgasm would see her through until the early evening. With a little help from his friend, double shot espresso, he’d be ready to go another round by then. If she asks him to stay, that is. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. He doesn’t force it. She can handle herself. It’s one of the things he likes so much about her.

Time passes agonisingly slowly and, as much as Killian could stay here forever with Emma Swan pulled close against him, he’s lost feeling in one of his arms and both of his legs.

“My Alpha?” The smirk is audible in her tone. Killian freezes, his whole body tensing beneath the weight of her words. She snuggles back against him, dragging his other arm over her waist, entwining their fingers together.

“What?” He can feel her chuckle against him and it jostles his softening cock, knot still full but well on its way to receding.

“You know how your Alpha likes to fuck you.” She grunts in a terrible impersonation of his dirty talk. Heat spreads from his chest to his face, a blanket of shame at his own outbursts. Now sated, his primarily Alpha urges were all in check, leaving Killian alone to deal with the consequences. Leaving Killian to explain why, in not as many words, he’d told his best friend that he was hers.

“Got caught up in the heat of the moment, is all.” He feebly tries to brush it off, but she turns in his arms to look him in the eyes. With hair splayed out in a halo of gold, there’s no fear or anger or shame on her face. Only the same smile. Any other protests turn to ash on his tongue. He wants to tell her the truth but he couldn’t bear the rejection. Having part of something was better than having none of it at all. Right? “You know how it is.”

“Maybe.” She pouts.

They lie together in silence for a little while longer, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on his wrist. He doesn’t know how much time goes by but he’s holding his breath for most of it. Cautious. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. If this is the only way he can have Emma, in friendship and in heat relief, he will take it. His knot is almost fully receded when she next speaks, turning and pressing a kiss to the column of his throat as he fully slips from her, soft and wet.

“Maybe next time my Alpha can let me ride him senseless?” She purrs, fingers tangling in the hair coating his chest. Killian doesn’t know how he has any strength left in him but, somehow, with Emma’s lips at his throat and her voice in his head, he does. Rolling her onto her back just as they were joined earlier, he hovers above her. She’s still smiling and it’s beautiful, one eyebrow raised as if to challenge him on it.

“Yours?” He almost chokes on the word, knowing that this step would be one they will never return from. She nods, shuffling so she can lean up to kiss him softly. It’s barely a press of lips, Killian too busy processing her words to be able to respond. “Really? Not just...?”

“I’m not ready to be marked yet, Killian, but It’d be nice to keep you around for more than… well… this. What do you say?” His forehead falls against hers, noses pressed together in a sweetness Killian never thought he’d be able to witness. She cups his cheek with her palm and he meets her halfway for another kiss, firmer but no less sweet. They come together, over and over again, taking their pleasure all over her apartment until he’s not sure where Emma ends and he begins. He would never have it any other way.

Killian doesn’t make it home that night.

He doesn’t make it home all week, actually. Rob and Will do not burn down the workshop but they also don’t finish the refurb work on Graham’s Mini and the suspicious head-shaped dent on the bonnet had yet to be buffed out.

Liam is going to kill him.

#cs ff #cs fic #cs smut #captain swan fic #captain swan #ouat fic #Ficminds #WHAT DO I EVEN TAG THIS AS I NO LONGER HAVE A FUNCTIONING BRAIN #let me know what u think tho!#em's foray into abo

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stoopsbookstore · 5 years

Text

Kinktober Day 6 (10/06/2019)

Kinks - Pecattiphilia (fetish for sinning and breaking religious rules) & Exhibitionism (fetish for performing sexual acts or being naked in front of others)

Warning - Minor Character Death, Blood warning, Part 3 of the Demon!Taeil series

"I think I've been possessed."

Taeil looked at the gentleman in front of him, his body drenched in sweat as pain overcome his body like lava was in his veins.

"I'm in so much pain being in here right now, but I figured it was worth the agony if I was about to talk to you," Taeil keeled over, his face unseen by the pastor, who showed sympathy from Taeil by placing his hand on the young male's shoulder.

"Dear son, you'll need to be exorcised, cleanse yourself, but we must make sure," the pastor removed his hand from Taeil, walking over to a small ornate bowl holding some holy water.

The pastor filled up a cup with the special liquid, turning to Taeil not on the front row, an empty church presenting itself to the godly man.

"Son? Are you still there?" An echo in the spacious area, a tap on the pastor's shoulder startling him, spinning around to a red-eyed Taeil and a slit throat.

"You poor, naive bastard. Believing every sad soul you see, you can save," Taeil licked the blood off his knife, tucking back in his pocket, all the lights in the church going out.

Taeil took his phone out of his pocket, texting Y/N, asking to facetime. His eyes going back to normal, the line rang three times until Taeil was met with Y/N's voice.

"Hey you, what's up?"

"Nothing much, just walking around town. I found this cool church, would you like to meet me here?"

"Is this going to be another late night haunted house situation where all the other guys come and Chenle almost gets his foot cut off?"

"I was thinking more of a 'fuck you on the preacher stand' if that's okay with you," Taeil flashed his signature smile, Y/N's laughter heard from the speaker, "it's been a month since we last slept together."

"And? That is breaking like every sin in the bible."

"Good."

"Can't you just come over?"

"What's fun about missionary in a bed? Isn't Rena home?"

Y/N sighed. Taeil was right, her roommate was home and they couldn't do much with her there and interrupting them.

"Just send me your address and I'll be there as soon as I can."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Y/N met Taeil, her purposely short and low-cut dress was covered by a cardigan, Taeil whispering as he walked up to her.

"Hey miss," Taeil circled Y/N, his hand playing with the hem of her skirt, "could you tell me where my friend is? She's beautiful, her body is amazing and her mouth is to die for."

Y/N playfully shoved Taeil, "I could ask the same about you, Mr. Insatiable Sex Drive."

"What can I say?" Taeil grabbed Y/N's arm, pulling her to the preacher's stand, the only light source dim candles around them, "you awakened something inside me."

Taeil sat on the stool behind the podium, palming at his pants, keeping track of Y/N walking, staring at the candles and admiring the stained glass artwork.

"I've always thought stained glass were beautiful pieces, they're stunning in the morning."

"I think I'm looking at the most beautiful piece right now," Taeil signaled for Y/N to come over to him, the girl walking over him, gliding her hands over the prominent bulge.

"Oh yeah?" Y/N leans in for a kiss, Taeil happily obligating, "tell me more."

"Her eyes are the brightest you've ever seen. The color memorizing," Taeil stood up, switching spots with Y/N.

"Her skin, flawless no matter what tries to ruin it," Taeil took Y/N's cardigan, throwing it on one of the pews, moving the straps of the dress to trace his lips down her shoulders.

"Open or closed, her smile puts all the models and Instagram whores in the world to shame," his voice going deeper, Taeil's hands cupping Y/N's breasts, "look out to the pews. Imagine all of the seats filled, all of those Jesus heads staring at the sinful display, my cock in you."

"Oh my God, Taeil, keep going," Y/N shut her eyes, Taeil reaching between her legs with one of his hands, his eyes going red.

"Let me move this podium, princess, show all of our friends," Taeil took his hands away, moving the obstruction, Y/N opening her eyes, seeing some of Taeil's friends sitting in the pews.

"Is tha-" Y/N's words were cut off by Taeil, kneeling in front of her, burying his face into her panties.

"Johnny, Doyoung, Taeyong, Jaehyun, Kun, Ten, even a few of your friends, Joshua, Jun, Seonghwa and finally, that pest, Yuta. Always all over you," Taeil started to eat Y/N out through the fabric, nipping and licking the barrier, "I know how much you love having an audience."

Taeil took off his shirt, revealing a dried pentagram he drew using the blood of the pastor, guiding Y/N to the center of the pastor stand.

"Y/N, lay down," Taeil gently commanded her, his seductress jokingly getting on all fours, wiggling her ass while turning to get on her back, Taeil spanking her, "beautiful, naughty goddess, all mine. I changed my mind, don't lay down, get up on your knees."

Y/N felt Taeil unzipping her dress, helping her to her knees, Y/N shimmying out of the dress, leaving her in her bra and panties in front of the crowd.

"You love the thrill of being watched, in the house of God," Taeil growled in Y/N's ear, Y/N moaning as the people in the pews started feeling their pants grow uncomfortable, "they're all aware, they even came willingly. Would you believe people are actually attracted to the dark, the taboo, the unusual?"

Y/N listened to Taeil whisper in her ears, Taeil smearing a liquid on her stomach, his clean hand making its way up to Y/N's neck.

"I know you know I'm not a human anymore, Y/N and yet you stay," Taeil's hand tightened on Y/N's neck, "is it the danger of knowing what I'm capable of?"

Y/N shook her head, the wetness in her panties getting uncomfortable, tubbing her thighs together in a vain attempt to satisfy a little bit of the discomfort, Taeil spreading her legs apart.

"What is that then," Taeil pulled Y/N closer to him, his chest fully flushed to her back, his pants at his ankles as he rubbed his cock inbetween Y/N's thighs, "is it the power that I have? The protection of having a demon on your side?"

Y/N sighed in content as Taeil found his answer.

"I'll always be here for you, my princess," Taeil turned Y/N's face to kiss her, "I won't ever leave. How long have you known?"

"Last time we were together, at the club," Y/N dreamily smiled, thinking about the moment, "when you shot that one guy, he was clearly a demon. Something had to have happened to you, you normally would've tried to talk the guy down before even thinking about harming him."

Y/N reached behind her to put her arm around Taeil's neck, the demon making some sort of noise in acknowledgement.

"So a month. When were you going to tell me?" Taeil began to prep Y/N, his fingers penetrating her as her squeal filled the church, half of the audience staring while the other had started to play with themselves.

"I was waiting for you to tell me," Y/N giggled, Taeil, in a rare soft moment, nuzzling into her neck, "it was your secret, you would've shared it with me when you felt comfortable."

Taeil finally pushed into Y/N, a lengthy groan coming out of him and out of Y/N, a high-pitched moan.

"You always feel so good, whether it's my fingers or cock," Taeil begun to hump Y/N, thrusting at an angle that drove her insane right away, "the best I've ever had in 25 years."

Y/N looked out the pews, all of the boys now masturbating as Taeil fucked her, Johnny focused on pumping his cock, Kun watching Taeil's thrusts go in and out of Y/N, Ten arched up into his hand.

"Fuck, Il-ie," Y/N dugged her nails into Taeil's thighs, an intense feeling going through her, "keep going, push me as far as you can."

Taeil grunted, pulling out of her as she quietly whimpered at the loss. Taeil kicked off his pants and disappeared, leaving Y/N alone in front of their 'fans.'

Taeil came back after a few minutes, blood coating his arms as he brought out the pastor he killed earlier.

"You want me to go rough, Y/N?" Taeil looked at Y/N, her reaction indiscernible as he gently angled her chin up, "If you don't want me to do so, tell me now. I don't want you to regret anything past this point."

Y/N eyed the corpse, the shock of seeing Taeil covered in blood, the pentagram now dripping, wearing off as she stood up, unclipping her bra and dropping it to the side. Walking to Taeil, she gave him a sensitive kiss.

"Do whatever you want."

Taeil's eyes went full blood red, the pupils gone as he picked Y/N up like a feather, kissing her breasts and using the blood to draw a circle on her chest.

"This is your last chance, princess," Taeil asked a final time, Y/N's arms limp around his shoulders, looking for sign of hesitation, "will you be okay?"

"Yes."

Taeil finished the pentagram, an upside down star, as Y/N felt a sense of protection over her body. Taeil again penetrated Y/N, the boys in the crowd watching as Taeil begun to bounce Y/N in his arms, her ass on full display.

"No one will ever fuck with you again," Taeil began to chant, keeping his face in Y/N's breasts, singing praising of her as her moans became squeals and screams, the members of the audience starting to make a mess of themselves, Yuta being the first to orgasm, "I'm gonna make your mine."

"Taeil, make me yours, I'm all yours," Y/N whispered in the demon's ear, her hand tagging at his hair, "I don't want to be with anyone else other than you."

"You're stuck with me," a breathy laugh coming from Taeil, "we belong to each other now."

Y/N's eyes were shut again, her orgasm erupting from her as Taeil continued his dirty talk.

"All mine, no one else's," Taeil came in Y/N, the white liquid making its way out of her princess, the pair catching their breaths, Y/N's head resting on Taeil's shoulder, both sweaty and bloody.

A few moments passed, Taeil still holding Y/N, gently rubbing her back as those who were in the seats of the church were all asleep now. Taeil waved his hand, the boys fully clothed and cleaned as they woke up and walked out of the glass door, the boys having a vauge idea what happened. Taeil's cock still inside her, cum dripping onto the floor, he clenched his hand, opening it to reveal a box, Y/N's eyes widening at the surprise.

"Will you be my queen?"

#taeil #moon taeil #nct smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct #nct 127 #nct au #kinktober #moon moon #demon!taeil #my writings

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glompcat · 5 years

Text

I want to start by saying that @captain-janegay is a truly amazing friend, and I want to hold them up as a paragon of someone who really deeply cares about their friends?

I also want to start by thanking them for making me really think about my attempts to distance myself from fandom for the past few months, and how my reaction to what happened when things got bad (withdrawing from posting most of my fandom related thoughts online, instead creating a series of very lengthy gdocs where I keep all my fandom thoughts and only very very very rarely sharing those thoughts online, as a response to a period of time where I was receiving at least one message calling me a particularly violent antisemitic slur each and every day) may be tied into the sort of bullying I experienced as a child.

They really made me reckon with how much of my current attempts to isolate myself from fandom (and then having this terribad cycle where I bottle my fan feelings up and when they come out it is as an over enthusiastic bubbling mess that I am immediately deeply ashamed of) are actually me attempting to reduce my exposure to attack, and how much of it really is me in the midst of a horrible depressive episode saying that my childhood bullies were right.

I am so grateful to have friends like them.

I also, I think, may really start posting my fandom thoughts more on here again? IDK.

I... am not sure as of right now how I’d even start doing that (did I mention I have several hundred pages of fandom thoughts and feelings written in a gdoc?) much less how to properly tag the sort of meta/analysis I’ve been engaging in as of late (I very much do not want to tag hate, and do not consider my analysis to be character hate in any way, but it is very very very different from the sort of things I see in those character’s tags and I am certain it would be read as bashing as opposed to an attempt to understand why certain narratives cause particular reactions when I consume them).

I do know however that I am a person who has special interest hyperfixations, I have since I was a child. Ever since I was a child I have responded to those by wanting to talk to people about them. Often desperately so. These past few months, where I stopped really talking to the internet at large about things... it was so stifling and suffocating, and the few times I did talk about these things it felt like a flood of over-enthusiasm breaking free, and I was always immediately ashamed after. I find myself fixating on the hyperfixation more weirdly, without any outlet for my feelings, and when something within it makes me happy, instead of sharing that joy with others, I have been catching myself berating myself for daring to find pleasure in something so “silly” that no one else cares about.

Quite frankly, trying not to talk about my fannish special interests is really fucking bad for my mental health.

I’m not going to pretend my thoughts on these things are profound or worth reading or anything like that, but there is a part of me that truly needs to at least put them out there, to pretend I am not alone in getting amusement and entertainment out of thinking about these things.

Watch me not act on any of this and keep isolating myself, but I just... idk... I feel like if I post this on here it makes me feel somewhat obligated to follow up with posting some stuff eventually?

#long post

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iamtrashforash · 5 years

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“Problematic” Fanworks, i.e. Re: Last Reblog

A particularly prolific and highly talented artist-writer duo in the Banana Fish fandom has been getting aggressive messages that toe and occasionally cross the line to harassment, on top of actual hate messages. The common grievances are that their fanworks often feature “controversial” pairings, e.g. Max/Ash and Foxx/Ash, and are sexually explicit in nature.

@silverquillsideas wrote a lengthy response to an anon ask regarding the matter, which I would highly recommend people to read. I am mostly interested in the responses to @silverquillsideas post, which I find to echo similar sentiments (or “arguments”) found on Twitter and Tumblr.

[Fiction affects reality. These fanworks contribute to the normalisation and/or romanticisation of rape, abuse, and pedophilia. Hence, they are not allowed to exist.]

To “normalise” these things, I argue that the works have to present them in a normalised manner. However, this is simply not the case. The fanworks are conscientiously put behind age and NSFW filters (in this case, Privateer) and well-tagged with trigger warnings. At one point, the artist even made a separate, viewable upon approval account for the more NSFW pieces, so that people who are interested only in the SFW or “sanctioned to be non-problematic” artworks need not be notified of the existence of the “non-sanctioned” artworks. The experience is highly opt-in, and is by no means normalising. The multiple filters and warnings highlight the paraphilic, outside-the-norm nature of the artworks.

Personally, I think this normalisation argument is patronising: it underestimates the ability of adults (especially -- let’s be honest here -- female adults) to distinguish between reality and fiction, and between safe, consensual sex and fantasy materials.

[Think about the children!]

This argument is often attached to the normalisation argument. It is heavily undermined by the presence of the age filters. Age filters are put up precisely because, in general, younger consumers lack the critical thinking to properly compartmentalise fiction/fantasy from reality. When you click through an age filter, you are, in effect, declaring that you have the critical thinking and maturity to properly digest whatever awaits beyond.

[Fandom is a safe space!]

And still it remains, as long as we keep up the standards of proper age filters, NSFW filters, and trigger warnings.

[Why would you have these unhealthy fantasies when healthier fantasies exist? What is wrong with you?]

Sometimes, people ship things because they think it looks good. It appeals to an aesthetic side of them. Sexual arousal by visual cues is, unsurprisingly, greatly rooted in the aesthetics. It does not need to go deeper than that. An anecdote: I am, technically speaking, a Shingeki no Kyojin Eren/Levi shipper. Since I neither read nor watch SnK, for a long, long time, I did not realise Eren’s age and the age gap between the two. Even after finding out, I could not stop aesthetically liking the ship. When I ship them, I am not consciously and actively shipping a teenager with a middle-aged man. I ship them because they appeal to me aesthetically: I like their visuals and the fandom’s depictions of their interactions in doujinshi. I fancy that, for a lot of people, this compartmentalisation of aesthetics and age of the characters involved happens often. Some people, however, seem incapable of internalising the idea that other people are capable of this mental separation -- a failure of the imagination.

(A tangent: I mean no harsh judgment on those who fail to separate character age from fantasies, but I think one does have to accept the personal limitations of one’s own tastes. Personally, I find it hard to separate biology from shipping; hence, A/B/O fanworks are simply Not My Thing. The common trope of feminising male omega characters tends to make my eye twitch. But I am not leaving comments of how disturbed I am on A/B/O fanworks for their dissemination of wildly inaccurate biological facts and/or their tendency to reinforce a masculinity-femininity binary in MLM relationships.)

Regarding depictions of rape, assault, abusive relationships, etc., ravishment fantasies are very common; this is a fact. Sexual arousal, fear, pain, and pleasure are incontrovertibly linked: they all belong to the response pathways of the “primitive brain”, having existed long before our ancestors began developing the cortex of higher thinking. The arbitrary categorisation of “healthy” and “unhealthy” fantasies means nothing to something as basal as sexual responses.

[Still, these fantasies are disturbing.]

Some of them do disturb me. However, again, the content creators have done their utmost to make sure the experience is opt-in by nature, with big warning signs attached. If you think the content will disturb you, please do not engage with it. Think of it as not buying pickle-flavoured ice cream when you know it won’t be to your taste and/or you are allergic to pickles. The presence of pickle-flavoured ice cream might weird you out, but you have no obligation to consume it. In the same way, it is unreasonable for you to demand the ice cream company to withdraw their product because the thought of pickle ice cream disturbs you, or to complain to the convenience store for allowing the pickle ice cream to be stocked on their shelves. They released the flavour because they believe there is an audience for it out there, and that the release would bring some people delight and/or money.

[I have the right to announce how disturbed I am by these fanworks.]

I agree. You do not, however, have the right to harass people over them, especially when -- I reiterate -- the creators have made the entire experience highly opt-in.

Also, I implore you to think of the practical consequences of your actions before you decide to send strongly worded messages to content creators:

No real person is harmed in the creation of fanworks.

On the other hand, your strong words may dampen the mood of a real live person who has decided to share their talents with the world.

In consequentialist terms, when you send messages like, “You disgust me,” to a content creator, the net result of your actions is....negative. In other words, I am asking you, “Aren’t there better things to do with your time?”

[To depict Ash, a sexual abuse survivor, in sexual situations is highly damaging/insensitive/triggerring to CSA survivors.]

I have a very personal, by-no-means objective reaction to this particular extremist view. Please just skip this entire section if rationality is what you seek. I will even give you a TL;DR; it reads, “Fuck off.”

I had an entire essay planned on this for my own benefit -- think of it as bloodletting -- but I might as well say it now. Banana Fish and Ash made me realise that I was the victim of a systematic pedophile, almost twenty years after the fact. Ash and I had our fateful encounters at roughly the same age, in startlingly similar scenarios.

The realisation came more as a shock than I could ever have expected. I struggle (note the present tense) with the endowment of the mantle of a victim. I don’t know why Ash became the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle -- I mean, I had read Lolita cover to cover multiple times -- but I hypothesise that it is because his trauma does not consume most of his identity. So many stories of abuse survivors are heavily focussed on how their experiences, well, fucked them up, but I -- I was so young that I got out without any visible mental and physical scars; all that is left are grimy fingerprints on a pane of glass, visible only when you breathe on it. Specific parts of my body are weirdly off-limits in sexual situations, but I managed to ascribe those to “just how my body is” instead of “the parts he touched”. Stories about trauma are certainly needed, but what my memory needed was representation in the manner of Ash’s.

Reading about Ash exploring his sexuality, especially in a healing manner that I will never experience due to my odd lack of apparent trauma, helped me a lot with coming to terms with the realisation. I was devastated when an author abandoned an R18 fic of Ash reclaiming his sexuality with the help of Eiji, due to people messaging her with the argument above and claiming to speak for all CSA survivors. Thankfully, the author returned to finish the fic, but the experience overall had been marred, and the author was clearly uncomfortable with having posted the fic at all. It feels terrible to know that something that has helped me tremendously is regarded as disturbing by its own creator.

In other words, if you have used the above argument to harass content creators, please stop.

CLOSING REMARKS

I have none. It is currently 02.30 a.m. in Japan. Please feel free to comment with your own opinions and experiences; I will try to reply after I get some sleep. I may edit this piece tomorrow, should my morning self violently disagree with my 02.30 a.m. self.

#Banana Fish #discourse #fandom #I am trash for ash #long post

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frauleinsmaria · 5 years

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The Village is a Glow (2/2)

A/N: This is the final part to my CSSS gift for @eastwesthomeisbest ! Thanks for being patient with me while I recovered from Christmas retail and tried to work out some of the kinks in the story. I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve enjoyed getting to know you! Special thanks again to @profdanglaisstuff for beta duties and @cssecretsanta2k18 for hosting this event.

Summary: Killian Jones credits moving to the Big Apple for getting his photography career off the ground. He also has it to thank for causing his first run-in with Emma Swan, who makes him question every photo he takes afterward.

AO3

Coming to the conclusion that there was something extraordinary about Emma Swan was fairly simple. Putting his finger on just what that something was, however, was anything but.

The first time, he’d chalked it up to coincidence; a change in his camera settings, the way the light reflected off of the lens maybe. The second was enough to make him question things.

The problem was finding her. Everything he knew about Emma was limited to her name, her age, her taste in movies, and that she worked at a bookstore in the city. In a place like New York, he might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack. He’d tried looking her up on social media, feeling both a bit nosy and disappointed when he scrolled through the list of accounts of people with the same name who obviously weren’t the blonde consuming his thoughts.

Killian soon found himself just hoping that his good luck she’d referenced the day of their first meeting would work in his favor again. He’d found her unintentionally twice, and what was that they said about the third being the charm?

What would he even say to her the next time they inevitably ran into each other? Hello, Swan. Funny thing, I’ve noticed this odd golden haze over both of the pictures I took before encountering you and wondered if you would be willing to provide an explanation. Are you a witch, fairy, magician, or involved in some other kind of odd supernatural activities I’m not familiar with? Because that definitely wouldn’t cause her to question his sanity (even though he’d questioned his own every single time he looked at either of those two photos and the golden glow that permeated both.)

In the meantime, he went about his regular routine and kept himself busy with work. Ruby and Belle had been ecstatic over the photos he’d emailed them not long after the impromptu photo session in the park. Both women sent him lengthy messages thanking him and yet again offering some kind of payment for his time and the pictures. His only request was that they consider seeking him out again next time they were in the city.

(He knew it was no coincidence that the last photo with the mysterious golden glow was the picture Ruby posted on her Instagram account first and Belle made her profile image, both women tagging him and insisting all their friends consider him for sessions in the future.)

Good luck must have been on his side after all, because two weeks later, he was walking home on a Friday afternoon when he saw a familiar face framed by blonde curls standing in the front window of a store with a sign claiming itself to be Booth’s Books. He’d found it- more importantly, he’d found her. Of all the bookstores in New York, Emma Swan was working at one less than six blocks from his apartment.

Killian quickly ducked inside, the bell on the door announcing his arrival as he made a sharp left and found himself face to face with Emma.

“Oh! Killian?”

“Hello, Swan. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

“Do you need help finding a book?”

“Er, not exactly.” “I really hate to bother you at work, but would you have a few minutes to chat anytime soon? Or I could come back later when you’re free.”

“I’ll get a break in thirty minutes if you don’t mind waiting. There’s a coffee bar at the lounge area in the back.”

“Thank you, love. And don’t rush on account of me; I’m in no hurry.”

Killian made himself a blonde roast with cream and sat back to flip through a random magazine on a nearby table while he waited for Emma’s shift to end. True to her word, she appeared at his side half an hour later, wearing a red leather jacket over her white sweater and was pulling a gray knit beanie on her head.

“I thought maybe we could go for a walk and talk about whatever’s on your mind? The store is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I can only stay in the place where I work for so long afterward.”

“Of course, love. I’m following you.”

She led him out of the store and into the chaos of afternoon traffic, both of them darting around other people to keep up with each other, Killian desperate not to lose her before asking the questions that had been boggling him for days now. He followed her to City Hall Park, only fitting considering their last encounter.

“I thought we may have a better chance of having a legit conversation here.”

“Aye.” The park wasn’t empty by any means, but they could speak to each other coherently without as many outside interventions.

“So, uh, why is it that you were so glad to see me? Unless you couldn’t find Granny’s on your own and needed me to give you directions to curb your grilled cheese cravings.”

“Afraid not- although that does sound quite appealing, now that you mention it.” He took a deep breath. “Swan, I’m not sure just how to approach this, but- wait.” He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and brought up the picture of the sun he’d taken right before their first meeting. “What do you think of this?” he asked, holding it up for her to see.

“That’s really neat, especially the way the sun looks with the golden haze over the photo. Did you take it?”

“I did. I took this one as well.” He swiped through a few more photos to find the one of Ruby and Belle, showing it to her next.

“Killian, these are great pictures...but I doubt showing me your work was the real reason you wanted to talk to me.”

“It’s not so much the photography I’m concerned about. Okay, it is, but not in the way that it sounds. You see, Swan, none of my other photos look quite like these two. And these were both photos I took promptly before running into you.”

Her eyes widened. She bit her lip and glanced away from him. “So, what are you insinuating here? You think I help your ability to take good pictures?” She forced a laugh, but he could tell she was now suddenly worried.

“I honestly don’t know what to think, love. Other than this is all too concrete and specific for me to believe it was a lucky coincidence on my part.”

“Well, we have established that you tend to attract good luck.”

“I think there’s a lot more than luck behind this, love, and something tells me you’re thinking the same.”

Emma made a noise that was something between a sigh and a groan. “Would it be that hard to chalk it up to fate and that you’re a good photographer?”

Maybe this wasn’t Killian’s best idea. She evidently didn’t want to discuss whatever it was she knew about the photos. As much as he wanted answers, he didn’t want to risk making her any more uncomfortable than she already seemed to be. “I apologize, Swan. You’re not obligated to tell me anything, photos or not. I’ll let you go now, if that’s what you like. I’m sorry again if I made you uncomfortable and for taking up your time.” He turned to leave when she called out his name.

“Wait.” Was she having a change of heart? “Never in a million years would I have seen myself asking this question to a guy I’ve met all of three times, but since you seem decent and you’re so perceptive: do you believe in magic?”

“A month ago I would have said no. Now, I’m starting to feel open to anything.”

“So, I have certain...abilities,” she began. “There’s no solid explanation, but I can essentially create certain auras or illusions based on my emotions. It doesn’t happen all the time, mostly when I’m feeling pretty strongly about something. They usually look like a trick of the light or something, so most people don’t even notice something’s off unless they have tangible evidence afterward.”

“Like my photos?”

“Exactly. I’m sure it was hard for you to see past it considering it probably didn’t show up in the rest of your photos. I didn’t even know it could be captured on camera until you showed me just now.” Her eyes kept flitting from his to the ground. This wasn’t easy for her to share with him.

“That’s quite extraordinary, Swan.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “So you don’t think I’m crazy yet? Not gonna call the cops or run for your life?”

What kind of people had she had this conversation with before? “I take it people you’ve shared your abilities with in the past haven’t been very accepting.”

“That would be an understatement.” She barked out a laugh. “I’ve been called a psycho bitch by guys over this before.”

“Well, I can’t lie to you and say it’s easy to wrap my mind around all of this just yet, but I have no reason to believe you aren’t being truthful love, photos or not.”

“You really mean that?”

“Aye. Your secret is safe with me. And I can delete those two photos from my social media pages if that would make you more comfortable.”

“No, it’s okay. Two pictures aren’t enough to tip people off about anything; they probably just thought you used a different lens or filter.”

There was a moment of silence before Emma noticed the time. “I’m really sorry; I have to be back at the bookstore in ten minutes. August and Marco have been great to me so far, and I don’t wanna do anything that could change that.”

“I understand, Swan. I’ll walk back with you now if that’s alright.”

“Sure, thanks.”

They were silent on the walk back to the bookstore, Killian feeling relieved to have answers about the connection between Emma and his photos, but also unsure of where this would go next, if anywhere.

“Killian?” She asked as they walked up to the store’s entrance.

“Yes?”

“Would you, uh, be up for getting coffee again sometime? Or hot cocoa, whatever. If it’s too weird that’s fine, but, I dunno, you’re easy to talk to and I really appreciate someone who doesn’t freak out over a conversation like the one we’ve been having.”

It was the last thing he expected, but he would’ve been a fool to say no. “Of course. Nothing would make me happier.” They exchanged numbers with her promising to get in touch soon.

He received his first text from Emma not two days later. I could totally go for another grilled cheese from Granny’s if you’re free tomorrow afternoon.

With onion rings?

Fast learner. I like you.

He showed up to Granny’s the next afternoon twenty minutes early, eager to see her and learn everything about herself that she was willing to share, whether it involved her abilities or not.

Emma arrived just on time, red-faced and wearing the same jacket and beanie from a few days earlier. She dropped into the seat across from him and let out a deep breath. “Sorry, I ran from the store. I thought I was gonna be late.”

“Quite alright, Swan. I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead a few minutes ago and ordered the same thing we had the last time. You can get something else if you wish, of course, but I’m familiar with your penchant for grilled cheese.”

“You might be my favorite person in the whole world,” she said, beaming, just as the waitress walked over with their orders.

They ate and spent the next hour or so unofficially resuming their conversation in the park. It had been anything but small talk, yet they still barely knew each other. She told him about how she became aware that there was something different about her at five years old when her foster parents were in a heated argument and a cloudy haze formed around them, evidence of Emma’s distress. But she didn’t discover more details behind this part of her until later.

“I was thirteen,” she told Killian. “I had run away from the group home and was at some supermarket trying to swipe food. Someone caught me, but Lily popped up out of nowhere and covered for me. She told me she could tell I was scared; apparently, if two people with these same kinds of abilities are close enough, you can feel the other person’s emotions instead of just seeing whatever manifests from them.”

“That’s…” he struggled for the right word to say. “Well, that’s remarkable, love. So you two were able to bond over your shared capabilities?”

“Not really.” Something told him that story didn’t have a pleasant ending. “But it gave me an idea of how to spot other people like me. I’ve found half a dozen or so since, mostly in smaller areas where it’s easier to detect. It’s a nice reminder that there are other people like me.”

“I appreciate that you were comfortable and willing to share all of this with me, even just what we discussed in the park,” he told her as they left the diner. “I hope you know that I don’t take it lightly.”

“I do know. And it may not make sense, but I trust you.”

“I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

“Good. Go out with me?” she asked without missing a beat.

“Come again?”

“Go out with me. Y’know, to dinner, or something. Or not,” she quickly added. “That’s fine too.”

“I would love nothing more. I only have one request, if you’re up for fulfilling it.”

“Uh, sure, I guess?”

“Would you give me the honor of taking your picture?” Killian gestured to the camera bag at its usual place on his arm. “I’ve gotten to take photos that you’ve impacted twice, but something tells me one of the marvel herself would be quite spectacular.”

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed. “But okay. What should I do?”

“Stay just as you are, love,” he said, pulling out his camera and taking a handful of images while the afternoon sun was in the perfect spot to highlight her features. He quickly brought up the last photo in his media library and couldn’t help but smile at the result: Emma, beaming, green eyes full of light, and, just as he expected, that obvious golden glow he’d become so familiar with.

Killian used to think he owed New York for getting his photography career off of the ground. Now, he knew he owed the city for introducing him to Emma Swan.

#cs ff #cssecretsanta2k18 #eastwesthomeisbest #captain swan #cs au #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #ouat fic #mine #captain swan fanfiction

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worldwalkernovel · 5 years

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The dynamic duo: What is their favorite book/poem/song of earth? Of Alleirat? Can they sing? What are some instruments of Alleirat? What are they made of? How are they made? Are they widely available? Of earth's instruments, what is their sound similar to? Are there major festivals/holidays? Any strange ones (like the city in Spain that has an annual tomato fight)? What are Alleirai beds like (raised on four legs/futons/hammocks)? Are there sleeping bags or does everyone just suffer on the road?

Hey, y’all, sorry I just...fucking vanished there! Real life obligations caught up with me. Ironically this is a long term positive--I’m much more productive in writing when I have a job, because it leaves me less time to second guess myself. Point is, I’m going to try and actually Do Things on this blog again. Also the last one about holidays got pretty long so I put it under a cut.

What is their favorite book/poem/song of Earth? Of Alleirat?

Oh my God, listen, I’m not gonna get to most of this question because I got overexcited, but let’s talk about these two and Earth poetry, yeah?

Crispin discovers Emily Dickinson in seventh grade English class, and the first poem of hers he ever reads is, of course, Because I could not stop for Death. He traces his fingers over the words “Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet//Feels shorter than the Day//I first surmised the Horses’ Heads//Were toward Eternity –” and for some reason he can’t quite put his finger on, his throat closes up tight and his voice breaks when he’s asked to read aloud. Some indiscernable something about her words ring in his head like English hasn’t rung in years, and he checks a collection out of the library the same day. His favorite poem of hers is--it’s not really his favorite, but the poem of hers he knows by heart and can’t seem to peel out of the beat of his pulse is I measure every Grief I meet. Some days he loves it, for how cleanly and purely it seems to scribe him into neat four-line stanzas. Some days he can’t read it without crying, or throwing the book across the room.

The only Dickinson poem Brenneth likes is Tell all the Truth, and sometimes when she looks at Crispin she thinks it was written for him.

Brenneth doesn’t like poetry much, she mostly prefers songs--they’re easier to remember and she knows what to do with them, she doesn’t really know what to do with poetry (can’t sing it, doesn’t have a narrative, can’t even go see it performed) and she doesn’t like not knowing what to do with a thing. But once she read Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti. She started it by accident, and there was a story, a narrative threading through the ramble, and she kept reading, and--

Brenneth has dreams for a week, dizzy uneasy dreams of Crispin biting into strange foreign fruits and letting juice as thick and red as blood stain his mouth, and of hands--his hands, strong and crackling with lightning--pressing the fruit against her mouth and saying eat, eat, and of a mouth on her jaw and neck and collarbones, drinking the juice from her skin.

What are Alleirai beds/travel beds like?

The basic structure of Alleirai beds is “four legs, some kind of pad, sheets/blanket, maybe a pillow” but there’s a lot of scope there and it’s not unheard of for people to have a different arrangement based on what they’re used to--sailors are used to hammock-style bunks on ships, travelers used to sleeping rough are most familiar with bedrolls that consist of little more than two blankets and possibly a very thin pad. At the end of the day, though, since a large portion of the continent is arable, elevated beds have the practical advantage of being easier to keep relatively clean of dirt, water, and creepy crawlies. As such, a cot-style arrangement is considered the bare minimum, with a base of taut cloth and no mattress at all. The rich might have a four-poster bed with a down mattress. Most people are somewhere in the middle with plain frames and horsehair or straw ticks that get exchanged on a semi-regular basis.

Can they sing?

Yes! Brenneth has a nice folksy low alto, it’s nothing special but she used to sing shanties and ballads while she worked in her forge, especially while she was hammering or doing anything else that required a rhythm. Sometimes she gave people a discount on their work if they were willing to teach her a new song instead, and people made jokes about the singing smith. Crispin has a beautiful mid-range tenor, sweet and clear as glass when he was a child and deepening to something warm and full as he got older. He has formal voice training, which was part of his education--singing is a good way to learn to project your voice, which is a desirable trait in a hero of legend. However, he hates to sing alone, which is where all his training lies, so he taught himself to sing harmony to Brenneth’s melodies and that’s the only way he sings anymore.

What are some instruments of Alleirat/what are they like?

They hit a lot of the same major categories as we do--they have necked and non-necked string instruments (things like guitars or fiddles and lyres or harps, respectively), drums and other percussion instruments, wind instruments. They lack the finesse to make out modern instruments, and most wind instruments are made of wood rather than metals, whereas they have a lot more metal drums than hide-and-wood drums, so playing the drum in Alleirat is equally about knowing how to stop a sound as start it. You know that dome-shaped hang drum thing? Something similar to that with only a few tones (like four total) is pretty common on ships and is used to keep time for sea shanties, and more complex versions are popular during festivals, in combination with strings and singing. Vocalists are prized in Alleirat, so wind instruments are less common than things that allow singing and playing simultaneously.

Are there major holidays/festivals? Any weird ones?

I’d have sworn on my life I answered this already, but apparently not. The Alleirai seasons each have a festival at the height and one at the end of the year, four religious festivals and one political. The political festival is Unification Day, the commemoration of the unification of the continent of Alleirat and the formal truce of the lengthy wars that threatened to kill everyone on it, and takes place in the early days of summer. How seriously and/or cheerfully people take Unification Day depends on how they’re feeling about the Unified Council at that moment, and whether or not their protectorate state is on the verge of civil war with a neighbor.

The religious festivals are:

the Feast of the Wanderer, which takes place at midsummer and is a festival of plenty and warmth and alcohol--the Wanderer is the god of life and fire, and the festival is encouraged to embrace and embody joy and revelry. There are also ritual fights, which are largely in fun and more like friendly bar brawls than formalized gladiator matches, and both participants are usually quite drunk. Agreeing to be the on-call flesh workers standing ringside on the Feast makes you an obscene amount of money, but you have to be sober. Gifts are also exchanged at this festival--material gifts, specifically.

the Lady’s Night, or the Night of Stars, which takes place at midwinter and is very much a festival of...keeping out the dark, I suppose, would be the way I’ll put it. The festival is about remembering that We Are Alive And Life Is Short, as well as remembering the dead, with a lot of candles lit in memorial and just for light--traditionally, you stay up from dusk until dawn, and if your candles and fire go out, you’ll have bad luck all year. There’s still drinking and feasting and general celebration, but it’s more intimate and less raucous than the Feast. You exchange stories and sing and hold your breath whenever the flames flicker. (Cheating with magical glowglasses is considered bad luck as well.) There are people who learn a single story or song all year in preparation for the Night of Stars, and you display them as a gift for the people you’re celebrating with.

the Landing, the first day of the new year at mid-spring, which marks the day that tradition and lore say the gods first came to Alleirat. It’s probably not the right day, sort of like Christmas was moved around a bunch, but no one but the very well educated or very pedantic care. You leave offerings at the temples or shrines at dawn, and then you go out and celebrate. All day if you can, more often just from “whenever you get off work” to “whenever you collapse.” The large cities and sometimes smaller towns and villages hold a parade, and crown young people, a boy and a girl in their mid to late teens or early twenties, as the Lady and the Wanderer for the day. The crowns assigned to each of the two (generally flower crowns, rather than anything valuable) is supposed to be handed around over the course of the day, as a sort of village-wide game of Tag with the crowned people as “it”, and whoever holds the crowns at sundown has the responsibility of leading the town in the service of the Landing, which is a whole thing. It’s sort of like religious hot potato with drinking.

the Eve of Dead Gods, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. In terms of the feel of the Eve, it’s sort of somewhere between old celebrations of Halloween and Yom Kippur, with an emphasis on considering your own actions of the past year and serious reflection, as well as a day when...well, they’re pretty serious about the dead gods. Gods can’t be ghosts, of course, don’t be foolish, but--but when you worship the last two of a mighty pantheon, it doesn’t hurt to do honor to those who went before. On the Eve, you lock your doors and windows at dusk and don’t go outside again until the sun is shining, and you remember that everything dies. Even gods.

Some people--those whose ancestors escaped the sinking of the western continent--hold a quiet holiday for the Chained Lord, the god who didn’t answer when they called for salvation and whose death throes killed thousands. It’s a small thing of fasting and candles and salt scattered on the floor, observed by most as little more than a cursory tradition and not even a shadow of a shadow of what his festivals must have once been.

#worldwalker #alleirat #alleirai culture #alleirai religion #brenneth #crispin #earth #i am not dead and i have brought content as an apology for disappearing on you #so sorry folks #real life beat me metaphorically black and blue for about two or three weeks there #i'm trying to get some structure back in my life so that i can get stuff done again #god you just took me out at the KNEES with that question about poetry #i have a LOT of feelings about that suddenly #also if you're in the market for good poetry the mentioned ones are some of my favorites #queue deeper than the sea of stars #sprifes-are-bamfs #asked and answered

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adulttalk · 6 years

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Hello! I just searched the advice tag and found your blog. I need a little bit of help with something. A couple days ago I posted about my depression on reddit. I was just having a bad day and venting like a lot of people in the depression subreddit do and I ended up getting a message from a guy who was willing to talk to me and let me vent more if I needed it. I didn't really have much else to say other than my post and I told him that, but we ended up just chatting about other things (cont)

It was a pleasant conversation, pretty much just talking about what we liked and such and why we think we have depression and all that and now we’ve been talking every day for I think 3 days. They’ve been pretty lengthy messages and we’ll go back and fourth a few times a day. I was happy talking to him during the time I was upset, and I don’t mind a message or two every now and then but I think he’s developing feelings for me (mostly friendly but a little romantic too maybe) and I don’t really feel like being his online friend. I don’t mean it in a mean way and I appreciate him reaching out to me but I really just don’t have the energy to talk to him all the time and from what I’ve gotten to know about him, I don’t think he’s the right kind of friend for me anyway. I just don’t know what to do because he keeps telling me I’m the sweetest person he’s ever met and that he hates himself and stuff. I don’t want to hurt him more than he’s already hurting.

I understand what you mean by not wanting to hurt him more than he already is hurting but remember that you are your first priority. If he’s not the kind of friend you need and you don’t want to be his friend and he’s making you uncomfortable with the messages all the time, it’s okay to not want to keep talking to him. You are not obligated to keep talking to someone just because they were kind to you. Simply tell him that you appreciate him helping you but you really don’t have the time to keep up with an online friend. Or, you could keep it super simple and just quit answering his messages. You don’t know him in real life so he’d never see you and be like “you stopped talking to me.” Also, if you try to explain why you don’t want to be friends, he may try to guilt you into keep on talking to him. It’s up to you on how you go about it. Just remember, you first. How you’re feeling needs to be put first. His emotional stability is not your worry.

All the love xx

#friendship advice #asks #anonymous

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beautifulramblingbrains · 6 years

Text

The Dog - Chapter 2

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) Rating: This is Mature content with trigger warnings.

A/N: This was not meant to happen, but hey, it did. After my prologuey start, a couple more original characters have been added. Please note, this story deviates heavily from the show. I’m just a real lover of fictional history stories and getting lost in those worlds, and want to drag as many people with me as I can. Shout out to @murmelinchen for her forever guidance. FYI: Lines are time jumps, big or small.

Read the First Chapter/Prologue here

Tagging who I did before and whoever was interested in my ramblings: @pathybo @oddsnendsfanfics@sparklemichele @singingpeople@captstefanbrandt @equalstrashflavoredtrash @whenimaunicorn @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @emmysrandomthoughts @pokeasleepingsmaug @underthenorthstar (If you want in or out of the tags just tell me, it’s all cool :))

Ivar surveyed the long ships progress; the loading and docking of the men while Hvitserk stood by his side. In the distance he could see Ubbe with his guards dock without looking back towards him standing on the high hill. Hvitserk still wouldn’t talk, a face like miserable thunder.

Ivar had had enough. “If it pains you that much, why don’t you go with your beloved dog brother?” Hvitserk looked to him, frowning, and also contemplating. “Your sorry face makes my heart bleed.”

A call from down by the dock was the last before the ships were to leave. Hvitserk still hadn’t moved, though fidgeted restlessly.

“Let Ubbe remember with his time away where he really belongs,” Ivar said, more to himself, but Hvitserk heard him clearly.

“You’re wrong to mess with our blood.” Finally, the mute boy spoke. “I can’t just stand here.” Ivar’s eyes widened as Hvitserk broke away, down the hill.

“Hvitserk!” Ivar called, shocked that he’d made such a decision. He hadn’t thought he’d take the bait.

“I’m going with my dog brother, to remember where we really belong,” Hvitserk stopped, hesitating, turning back to get his point across. “Because right now, I don’t feel it is here for me.”

Ivar seethed, face crumpled, eyes narrowed until Hvitserk docked, taking up only a small distance away from the dog. May the seas take their boat, he thought, for I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

But there he stood in his heavy furs, head hooded, watching until the masts disappeared and his men shivered around him in an unsaid oblige to watch. Ivar didn’t freeze from the cold, for his rage boiled under his skin, spreading like wildfire. But there was one thing that kept him from erupting; kept him from scarring the people around him with his temper. The thought that Ubbe wasn’t the same person he once was, and Hvitserk now had to deal with it.

Ivar the Boneless will triumph, even from countries apart.

Ivar smirked from beneath the darkness of his hood.

Avery knelt in her dark green dress, white pinafore stark against the material and still tied around her waist, pressing her hands together while whispering the lord's prayer beneath her breath. She stared into the flame of the candle for a long time. “Thank you for this sanctuary. Thank you for blessing us with time for recovery and healing.” After she’d finished, the room was still as quiet as it was before, not a sound, the room no bigger than a crypt if she thought about it long enough. It’s high windows of the Keep only blessing one the size and width of her hand high above her head, unreachable, making the darkness ever more imposing.

In her bed lay sleeping children, the eldest no older than eleven. They weren’t hers and they weren’t related. They were victims, all of them; victims of continuous war. They had all lost their families and been sent to various places, travelling off the back of the Lord. They all ended up here, put together like broken puzzle pieces and glued to fit. Avery was chosen and commanded to take care of them, and that she did, being the oldest of all the girls; blushing at the use of Lady used idly and comically from her masters because of her efforts.

As much as it was a sanctuary, it played a part in keeping her stashed away with a future unknown. She supposed that is what she prayed to God for in her underlying message of thanks; for answers asking if this were really it; the life she would now lead until she became nothing more than a spinster, or, perhaps a nun.

Avery clamped her eyes closed and banished the thought. When they opened they felt clearer. Poisonous thoughts shouldn’t linger on the mind, for when they fell asleep it would curdle their brain and seep into their everyday life - so they say. And girls young and scorned who kept secrets were the most poisonous of all.

But Avery had never spilled her thoughts on the future to anyone. And sometimes at night she would dream her blood didn’t run red but black, spilling out like oil, drowning the children beside her in their sleep. And many times she woke with a fright.

Remembering the dreams, Avery pulled her pinafore off, blew out the candle and crept in the dark to get in beside the youngest, the barest of cloth to cover her between the four of them. She must have been in a state of sleep and consciousness because she could hear so vividly a conversation of worries one of the priests brought to Benedict Biscop; the head of the Keep, a strictly religious and stern man in constant robes and situated in a fine room with a long table that Avery wasn’t allowed to enter.

Though he was stern, he found happiness in that he’d rescued some orphaned children and resided them with God’s people and the church’s men, and showed it regularly with lavish meals sent to them along with small parcels of delicate materials.

Though, it wasn’t the most appropriate place for young girls of any age to grow up, and there was always something wrong with the way religious men watched them. Perhaps Avery’s age and presence was the only thing that kept them safe.

“Stop,” Avery told her over-thinking mind. What ludacris thoughts. But the memory of the priest and his worries, along with the word ‘raids’ specifically, slowly seeped its way back in. And when she finally fell asleep, she dreamt of the oil catching fire.

A loud crash had Avery frightfully jumping awake. She put a hand to her chest and stared towards the door, concentrating for a moment until her vision blurred. One of the young ones sighed next to her and turned over which drew her attention away - until she heard it again.

Letting her feet down to the cold stone, she found her leather boots and slipped her feet in, tiptoeing towards the door. It opened with a harsh creak and she froze on the spot, looking down the empty hall towards the twisting stairs at the far end.

She glanced back to the youngsters still asleep, took her cloak from a stool and put it on her shoulders, heading down the hall. Footsteps, like someone sprinting echoed from the stairway, scratchy and far away. There was a voice, a low voice.

Avery crept closer, almost silently. She took the torch from the adjacent wall and went to the top of the steps, treading each one carefully. It only lead down to another floor, one on level with the Keep’s wall, and a lengthy hallway until she would be near Benedict Biscop’s living quarters. It was usually warmer down here, for her room was high, and they always had better fires and people to tend them regularly. But there was a weird chill, it breezed down from the quarters - the same one’s Avery headed to.

“Hello?” she said in the smallest whisper, searching ahead with the torch. “Is there somebody there?” She kept herself to the wall, hand out in front to keep steady until she got to the two-way corner which split the hall. She stopped and peered round it, seeing the door to Benedict Biscop’s quarters was open.

“Father Benedict?” Usually there was always a guard here. Usually the door remained locked and Avery had certainly never seen inside. But she found herself in the doorway, looking at the thrown sheets from the bed now littered with items, the overturned candle still burning. The room had been torn apart and left.

Further in, until she got close enough to stub the abandoned candle, she crouched low and licked her thumb and forefinger, dousing the flame. She then put it back next to the overly large bed and took a step back.

Something cracked under her heel.

She waved the torch down by her feet and got low again. Recognition, the thing from her nightmares - blood that looked black on the stone of the floor. A tooth, now splintered after she stood on it. “Lord, have mercy.” She stood and walked backwards, her chest heaving, the need to vomit rising. A smell became distinct, an unearthly metallic - death.

Avery bumped into something solid behind her and she turned her head over her shoulder half expecting for it to be the wall.

But it weren’t. And oh how she wished it was.

A bald man sheen in sweat and blood slapped across his face, tattoos etched like demonic callings weaving between his eyes, tilted his head. It made it harder to focus, to view him as even human. Avery felt her lungs seize up and the scream about to rip from her throat when he flung himself forward, grabbing her mouth, and pushing her back towards the bed. She dropped the torch when she buckled backwards, finally screaming out but it wasn’t long enough, for he had her pinned and was ripping at her skirt.

“Get off of me!” She beat him, tried ferociously to dig her nails into his face while simultaneously fighting her clothes back down. For only a brief moment, screams from the past echoed behind her eyes, seeing the flames in the village, finding her parents, their blood on her hands. It was happening. It was all happening again...

His strength felt inhuman, he smelt like something long dead, and he was speaking in a weird language she didn’t understand. He slapped her for her struggling efforts, snapping her head from side to side until she saw stars and felt the world draining away. Avery’s eyes danced, heavy, the room buzzing. In her daze she saw the three children in the doorway, rubbing their eyes, the eldest coming up behind the demon on top of her.

Reality shot back when what she was seeing was real. The eldest jumped upon the demons back and made him move just enough for Avery to gather herself and get towards the pillows. He was shouting loudly now, having flung the eldest, Eda, to the ground.

There was something; a moment when he looked at Avery that she saw every intention. When he turned back to Eda, horrified Eda pleading with an extended arm, Avery slipped from the bed while he was too busy pulling Eda from the floor. She found the torch, the thinned, spike-like end, and crept towards him. The children were screaming, Avery’s face was throbbing. She lifted it behind her head, over her right shoulder, baring her teeth and willing her might, and put all the force she could gather into bringing it down into the fleshiest piece of his neck.

It didn’t work as well as she had initially thought, but enough so that he let Eda go and that he had to pull it out of his skin. Avery and the children ran from the room, and she shut it behind her, pushing the little ones ahead, guiding them towards an exterior door that lead to the walkway of the wall where she could finally get a glimpse of what was happening beyond.

They busted through and were met with a contemporary description of Hell. The battle of the church’s men against Heathrens. Cries called out around them, the sounds of metal clashing, arrows zipping. Avery ordered the children to crouch by the brow of wall while she got her thoughts straight. The only logical place she knew to go was the cellar of the kitchen. Their quarters were now compromised. Outside was too dangerous...

She dragged them back inside, carolling them down the steps as Benedict’s door was thrown open and an eerie shadow cast upon the wall. Her feet worked so fast, holding the back of the nightgown of the smallest as they fled for their lives. Down and down they went, three floors, passing corridors that seemed more perilous than theirs as the screams got louder. They passed figures battling, not sparing them a glance and finally reached the bottom, the fire was still roaring, logs spilled across the floor. Avery found the hatch under a rug and flung it open, her lungs heaving. The wooden stairs were steep and it was cold, but the children didn’t argue. Once inside, she grabbed Eda’s shoulders. “Stay here.”

“Avery! Don’t go. Don’t leave us,” Eda said. The youngest was sniffling into her sleeve.

“Get behind something and don’t come out until I come back. I’m going to look for a way out. I can’t do that with Kendra, she’s too small, and she needs you. Somebody needs to hide the hatch.”

It was irony. They knew of the room from when they would steal food, the old cook that worked here showing it to them in the first place. And now it would save their lives.

Eda nodded slowly, tears brimming her eyes. “Okay.”

“If I don’t-”

“No, Avery! Don’t!” Eda interrupted her, but she continued anyway.

“If I don’t, wait a day and follow the path towards the South. Keep heading south.” Avery didn’t know exactly why, and didn’t believe anyone was truly safe, but directions and commands were sometimes the only thing people had left apart from their faith in God. She briefly touched the rosary around her neck, hidden under her clothes.

There wasn’t time for goodbyes and Avery ruffled her hair, then took off up the steps. The hatch closed heavily, the last thing she saw being three pairs of frightened eyes. She pulled the rug over, hoping they were strong enough together to lift it. They had to be. On the way out, a cleaver was still stuck into pork, and Avery took it. Honestly, she wasn’t a warrior, but there was a difference between warriors and survivors. Survivors being far more dangerous.

Hell ravaged outside and fear momentarily crept back in. The screams and cries were enough to instill fear even in the bravest. The kitchen lead to a small area with chickens scuttling about by her feet, a small gate into the courtyard. Avery wrapped her cloak around her and pulled up the hood, shadowing herself in the darkness of the Keep. It felt like time passed slowly, and her gut kept telling her to stay where she was and not move. But the stables weren’t far, hoping that when she got there she wasn’t the only person with the same thought. Perhaps find some church men struggling with an escape.

The air around her grew quiet. Avery took it as a sign and snuck out, past holdings, the storehouse, and carts left idle. She darted between each one, further towards the Keep’s large gate and where the stables would be. But the closer she got the more she lost her faith. They were ransacked and empty, every horse Benedict Biscop held here taken. Those were his most treasured. The others were kept outside the walls in the surrounding village, not far, but not protected and cared for.

She checked anyway to find hay and horse manure, then went to the arching iron gates splayed open for all to enter and leave, looking down the hill and across the land. The village surrounding laid in ruins, burning, some with people still rummaging, others flinging women and children to the ground. Avery could see the glint of the moon on the river and that would be her chosen path. Behind her stood the Keep she’d known for a year presented as a Headstone.

Catching her breath, Avery wiped at the blood from her mouth where the monster had slapped her. Overall, she was fine considering what might have happened.

“Stúlka.”

That thick accented language burned her ears. Avery turned to see another burly demon standing loosely, sword in hand, helm in the other against his hip. He was covered in a similar grime, chest still heaving from his murderous efforts.

“Stay away from me!” Automatically she held the cleaver up towards him. “I am not a...afraid…” she suddenly lost her voice, watching great flames beginning to lick out of the windows in the top tower of the Keep, furthest away - where her and the children would have been sleeping. “Oh my-” she bolted towards the courtyard. From out of the shadows came the bald, tattooed man from before, blood still wet, but not looking any less threatening, blocking her way. Two of them stood between her and the children now locked in the cellar. “I am not a threat to you. Just let me go,” she pleaded.

The two spoke briefly. Then another voice rose up behind her and she swiveled between them all, still holding the cleaver up. There was a strong smell, something unnatural burning in the air. The three got closer, more men began to appear; happy, excited, thrilled with the carnage. Eventually her back hit the wall of the arching Keep entrance as they closed in from both sides leaving her nowhere to go. The first one came towards her quickly and she slashed at him to no avail. He knocked the cleaver away and grabbed her only weapon, lobbing it somewhere over his shoulder, and heavy handedly grabbed her neck, forcing Avery to walk.

But it was the wrong way. And the children…

She didn’t care what would happen to her.

She pushed with all her might and tried to run, only for her hood and hair to be grabbed and yanked back. Avery kicked, lashed out by violently shifting her weight.

A thick blackness billowed into the air above the Keep and desperation sunk in. “You don’t understand! There are only children in there! They don’t know to run! Let me tell them! Let me-” They gagged her, tying rope around her wrists. She was still screaming into the dusty cloth in her mouth, catching a glimpse of the monster from Benedict Biscop’s room showing the wound she gave him. They smiled and joked in their strange language, the quietest being the one who held her, guiding her casually away from the Keep as it creaked and groaned, while she shrieked with it hysterically.

They all didn’t seem to mind.

Avery still fought as she was tied to a horse to walk behind it, pulling back even though it was pointless.

The very top tier made an awful rumbling noise, part crumbling away… and that smell…

Avery watched as the tower began to lean, right over the kitchen, right where she had led them. It buckled, like her knees, and ploughed down into the building below. She lost all her senses, letting the darkness swallow her, just a secondary pain from her wrists as they jolted in her collapse. Then... nothing.

She will burn in Hell.

Avery woke to the sound of a rhythmic wheel turning, the rumbling beneath her head bouncing it off of wooden planks. It was bright daylight, blue skies, cloudless as she stared up. Her eyes felt heavy, body like lead, and as she tried to raise her hand her wrists were still bound, mouth gagged. Everything came rushing back.

Sitting up the world spun. She was being watched by an old man on the head of the cart, turned right around, legs in the back with whatever bounty they’d stolen, and her. Behind them trailed a line of horses. They were walking slowly, but timely, and peacefully.

Avery’s eyes narrowed at the men that dragged her from her home. They stared at her, blankly and unabashedly. Trying to appear fierce didn’t work. They were eating too, sharing across to each other. Avery didn’t know where or how far they’d come. It was just open land for miles, greenery, and severely cold. She only realised she was shivering when she automatically tried to pull her cloak further around her, finding it hard work with tied wrists.

The cart stopped suddenly, almost sending her over the back. They left her for the best part, idling themselves with building a camp. It might have been an hour or so that she watched until she was approached. They said something foreign to her, a command. When Avery didn’t move, they resort to grabbing her. Men laughed while she was hauled over one of their shoulders, kicking and hitting out, her yell muffled. She was all but thrown into a put-up tent and she scrambled right back, warily eyeing Benedict Biscop’s room demon.

Avery’s mind raced. He was going to try again, his pants were already half undone and nobody seemed to care to stop him. His wound had been covered. She owed him, that must be going through his mind, and it must have been the reason why she was still alive.

He yanked her ankles, pulled her down, removed her ragged mouthpiece and tugged her mouth to his, a disgusted sensation causing her to cringe, pulling constantly away. He said something, pinning her with his body, travelling down her neck, smothering her. With hands bound they were useless. She was going to die either way. She lifted her head and chomped down into his cheek as hard as she could until her teeth hurt, unrelenting to him shouting out some curse she didn’t understand. He rose up on his knees, seeing blood through his fingers; blood she had caused again. But before he lashed out this time, she kneed him, wiggled away, clambered up and ran from the tent.

Outside people laughed like it was some hilarious joke, the entertainment after a successful raid - and that wasn’t far from the truth. The demon came out from the shadows, absolutely furious, spitting onto the grass. Avery pleaded to all the amused faces, panicking, dizzy, lost. They all looked small and as if they couldn’t stand up to this unrelenting demon or as if they wouldn’t want to. They’d rather watch her get torn to shreds - except one. One who didn’t laugh, one who was polishing his helm while seated on a log doing his best to ignore the commotion. The crowd of people found her too amusing to stop and she ran to him and halted.

“Please…”

The quiet one stood up, frowning, looking at the blood by her mouth then to the unamused demon storming up behind her.

He’s big enough, she thought. And just when the demon reached for her, she slipped behind the quiet one, a curious expression gracing his face.

They made a brief exchange, the quiet one suddenly squaring his stance, the conversation getting a little heated until the demon threw his hands up exasperated and strode off. Then he merely rolled out his shoulders and sat, continuing to polish his helm, two feral dogs as symbols on each side.

Avery caught her breath, the wind whipping her cloak out behind her while watching the crowd disperse. Putting one foot sneakily behind the other, she backed up, looking unsuccessfully for a treeline or cover. There was nothing. But it was better than staying put.

“Think very carefully, stúlka,” he finally spoke to her, not gracing her a glance. “I will not care for you a second time.” He spat into his rag, smoothing it across the snarl of one of the dogs.

“I knew you understood me! I knew it,” her voice only squeaked from the fear still rattling her bones. “To Hell with you!” Avery turned, bolting across the grass.

What she didn’t see was Ubbe The Dog stand, pull back his arm and lob his helm directly at her head. Watching her tumble to the ground in a heap, he sat down back on his log, eventually joined by Hvitserk casually strolling over. “We move on tomorrow at first light. West,” Ubbe instructed, taking the ale Hvitserk offered - tasting better stolen.

Hvitserk peered to the girl out cold on the field. “We take slaves?”

“She stabbed Hendrick.”

It was enough for Hvitserk, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

Ubbe downed his drink, throwing the cup out to the field. “Bring out our holy man Benedict.”

#the dog #chapter 2 #ubbe #hvitserk #ivar #oc #fanfiction #vikings #vikings fanfiction #ubbe fanfiction #beautifulramblingbrains

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yukipri · 7 years

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I never experienced art theft until one of my works became unexpectedly popular- since then, I've found my work reposted, redrawn, and used as reference for cosplays. It's been exhausting, both seeing it, and not knowing WHERE I should stand on the issue. I've let redraws slide (with credit), but I plan on not allowing future ones from occurring. How do you deal with art theft? How do you continue drawing without thinking about the disrespect thrown at you during bad/failed confrontations?

I am so, so incredibly sorry this happened to you, and empathize very strongly with you. Art theft SUCKS, few things can be quite as demotivating as a creator than having something you’ve worked your ass off on swiped by someone else. And unfortunately, given the current internet culture, if you continue as an online artist it’s inevitable that it’ll happen at one point or another.

Because sure, of course part of the reason why we create is because we want to, but a large part of the motivation for sharing it is to hopefully get some response that people like it, whether it be in the form of likes, reblogs, comments, asks, tags, or anything else. That is the tangible PROOF that our work touched someone, and for someone who put in zero effort and has no idea how we felt while creating to receive all of that instead of us…sucks.

I think where you stand on the issue is up to you, and it’s okay for it to change. YOU always have the right to decide how you’re comfortable with people sharing your art, and your feelings are valid regardless of how they change.

Ironically enough, I just had another art theft on Instagram (my Anniversary post) super recently, so I was like HAH when I got this orz

This rant got a bit long, so the rest beneath cut but here’s a rundown about how my feelings towards art theft have evolved over the years.

For example, over the years I’ve gotten much, MUCH stricter. My earliest online art, I just put it up, no url, oftentimes no signature, no warnings in the comments or my blog bio. Admittedly I was starting out and didn’t have much viewers anyway, but the point was I still had Trust at the time.

Then the art thefts began. I started adding my url to all my illustrations, even if it was just small in the corner, as this’d let people at least find my website. Most people are too lazy to type out a url though, and I’ve seen people asking “Who drew this??” on art theft comments EVEN WHEN THE URL IS LITERALLY RIGHT THERE…

And then people started cropping my watermarks. I made my url bigger, and started adding an additional “DO NOT REPOST” to the image itself. I used to allow reposts with credits on platforms I’m not on, like fb, until I realized that people were then reposting from THOSE communities without credit and putting them into their videos and fics and I just…decided it wasn’t worth it.

I switched to no reposts PERIOD. I have lengthy disclaimers on all of my art that leads to an even lengthier FAQ post that, should people wish to look, leads to even an even more detailed post about WHY art theft sucks, as I’m explaining now.

(EDIT: ALSO, reduce the quality of the images you upload, and NEVER upload the full resolution, and try to keep you unmerged original files. This is for several reasons: no matter how much an art thief reposts your work, they’ll never have access to the higher resolution, and if they ever decide to try to print to sell for profit it’ll be shitty quality compared to anything you make with the original. ALSO, you having the maximum resolution with no watermarking with additional unmerged psd files will be proof that you are the true creator should you need to prove it, which I’ve heard is sometimes necessary to show when your art is stolen at say, an artist alley)

I also used to bother trying to talk to art reposters. I’d comment on the post, try to send messages, etc. It’s fucking exhausting, and while there are some exceptions, the VAST majority of art thiefs will feel attacked and immediately get rude and defensive. (the failed confrontations and disrespect you mentioned orz) If it’s a large community, they may even try to gang up on you. I’ve unfortunately experienced this most frequently in communities centered around other languages (mainly Spanish) because of different mainstream attitudes towards art reposting etiquette combined with a language barrier.

You will, and no doubt already have, encountered people who will argue with you, like the people I describe above. “You should be grateful for the bigger audience!” “We just want to appreciate your art, how can you be so horrible?” “We’re all fans together!” “This is fanart and doesn’t belong to you anyway!” Etc. etc. etc. It’s exhausting, it’s repetitive, it’s neverending, and you already felt awful before it even began and the stress just continues to build.

So I personally have just begun reporting people, if the service allows it. Use DMCA takedown request forms (and YES, even if it’s fanart it’s still yours if you drew it). This is stressful too because it sends your real name + info to the reposter (and wow I clearly can’t trust these people to begin with, why would I want them to have that???) but most sites (facebook, instagram, certainly tumblr, twitter) are very efficient and responsive, and in the end the relief of receiving that email that the art has been taken down is worth it. Especially with facebook, they also send a scary official warning email to the reposters which I sincerely hope will help educate them and discourage future art thefts.

I try to avoid posting public urls because yes I’m aware how mob mentality Tumblr can get, but sometimes it’s just too much. There’s no convenient form of getting my content removed (perhaps bc it’s in a compilation with a ton of other content), or for some reason my attempts to communicate have failed. In those times I have occasionally asked my followers to help, with a reminder to PLEASE always be polite and respectful, regardless of the offense. Y’all have been amazing, and this has saved me many nights of crying in the past.

I will sometimes also write lengthy posts (like this one!) to help educate. Because I do feel that art theft will continue so long as people don’t understand what it does to artists, and it’s up to the community as a whole to make that change, which also depends heavily on the consumers not just creators. A lot of art theft really isn’t intentionally meant to harm, but IS super ignorant.

But in the end, all I’ve ranted about so far is how I’ve dealt with actually removing/dealing with the shit. But the emotional pain, it builds. Sometimes, when it’s too frequent and the stolen art gets way more attention than my original that I worked my ass off on that basically flunked on my own platforms, I feel a bit of me break.

And in the end, it’s up to you what that threshold is, where posting art and feeling good about it is overwhelmed by the pain, fear, and anxiety of art theft. I’ve crossed my own threshold too many times, and once had to take an art hiatus because of it (fandom was BH6). This lead to a break in my productivity and motivation and my eventual complete departure form the fandom. I’ve seen many other artists just stop posting art entirely or moving everything to private. It’s terrible, but my feelings are with these artists, and I feel so, so sorry that they were hurt so much to the extent they had to do this.

With my current fandom and followers, I feel that regardless of how niche an audience my content tends to be geared for, I have a community that is really satisfying for me to create for, one that is responsive to me and gives me tons of feedback. This is the number one reason why i continue to feel motivated to post a ton of online content despite the risks.

The takeaway form this long meandering post: Posting online is a hobby, it’s for fun, and I don’t make any money off my public audience (unless they come to Patreon! LOL!), so I’m a firm believer that once the anxiety + misery starts outweighing anything positive you personally may get from sharing online, which for me heavily depends on my audience and their responsiveness, there’s no reason to subject yourself to that anymore and you are in no way obligated to stay. There are various methods to more efficiently get rid of art thefts without dealing with them in person which is stressful AF, and also ways of marking up your content in ways that may look less aesthetically pleasing, but will hopefully discourage art thefts, and at the very least give them very little leg to stand on should they do it anyway. How forgiving you are in art thefts also depends on you, but the more forgiving you are, the more it can get away from you. And in the end, YOU as a human are more important than any complaints about art looking less pleasing or the feelings of art thefts who don’t get to do what they want with YOUR hard work.

Sorry this was so disjointed and literally just me spewing at you, but I hope some of it was helpful ^ ^; Please let me know if I can give you any other advice, and I’m sorry again that you have to deal with this ;_;

(and to respond to your second ask, I do try to respond to most of my asks, but sometimes it takes a while (sometimes even months orz), especially if it’s one that requires a lengthy detailed answer like this one ^ ^; thank you for your patience!)

#YukiPri replies #Anonymous #art theft #I hope this was helpful ^ ^;#started getting really distressed myself writing this haha #in general i'm okay with my art getting little to no attention #i just asked that i don't get hurt for the trouble of posting which i feel should be fair #and sometime yeah it does get to be too much #hopefully won't happen in the near future for this fandom but #we'll see sigh #another reason i like drawing niche hyper specific content LOL #fewer people tend to want to reblog/share it #but fewer reposters are also interested in it haha #long post #longpost

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