#scourge is hard to write

[sonicstorybook]

The King's Champion

A SatBK AU where Shadow is the one sent to Camelot and Sonic is the doppelgänger- the one and only King Arthur!

Part: 4/4

Summary: Arthur the Hedgehog pulled the legendary sword Caliburn from the stone, and he became King Arthur, the ruler of Camelot. Shadow the Hedgehog appears in a flash of magic in the middle of his banquet hall, and he becomes Arthur’s problem. As the sun rises over the kingdom, a pre-dawn conversation between both hedgehogs also helps them reach... well, not quite a mutual understanding, but progress is progress!

(Shadow doesn’t know where he is, what’s going on, or why he’s there- but it doesn’t matter. He’s Shadow the Hedgehog, the world’s ultimate life form, and he’s going to play this weird game by his rules.)

Contains: Pre-relationship/platonic Arthadow (Arthur the Hedgehog x Shadow the Hedgehog)! Lamorak (Jet the Hawk) and Percival (Blaze the Cat) are siblings! Gawain (Knuckles the Echidna) and Gareth (Mighty the Armadillo) are siblings! Gawain and Gareth are Yvain’s (Ray the Flying Squirrel) cousins! Kay (Scourge the Hedgehog) is Arthur’s adopted brother!

Rating: G

Word count: 2,252

Note: The close of the first chapter of Shadow’s stay in Camelot! C: Will there be more? Yes, because I have no self-control. C,:

Reminder of characters: Sir Kay is Scourge the Hedgehog! Sir Gareth is Mighty the Armadillo!  Sir Yvain is Ray the (Flying?) Squirrel! Percy is Percival the Squire, aka Blaze the Cat! 

All chatter ends and the courtyard is deathly quiet as everyone collectively holds their breath, certain they must have misheard Shadow just now… but the black hedgehog doubles down.

“You heard me,” Shadow repeats, turning to face Gawain with a challenging arch of his brow, “Lancelot can keep his Queen- I’ll take the King.”

“What!?“ Half a dozen voices cry out at once. Arthur barely manages to contain his own surprise, whipping his head to look at Shadow so quickly he almost flings the circlet off his head. 

Shadow does not flinch under the heavy weight of the stares, cool and determined with a haughty hand on his hip.

“Shadow,” Arthur wishes he had a moment with Shadow alone to explain what the black hedgehog was getting himself into, tenting his hands in front of his face thoughtfully, “Once again, I am asking you to reconsider this request. That is no light commitment or task. Are you sure this is what you truly want?”

“I’m going to prove that I am superior to this Lancelot in every possible way,” Although Shadow says Lancelot’s name, the challenging glare he levels in Arthur’s direction indicates that Camelot’s king is included as well, “By the end of it, all of you will be comparing Lancelot to me.”

“You are completely mad if you think the king will accept such outlandish demands!” Gawain is so worked up he throws his hand out, hitting the unfortunate Sir Yvain in the chest with his barbed knuckles. The yellow squirrel is knocked off his feet and into Sir Gareth behind him, who barely manages to keep them both upright, “Who are you?! What are your designs on our king?! Are you a spy or assassin?!”

“I am Shadow the Hedgehog, the world’s ultimate life form,” Shadow is arrogantly self-assured as he literally turns his nose up at Gawain, “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care about you or this kingdom. And if I wanted your King dead, there’s nothing you could do to stop me!”

“You churl-!”

It’s very clear that Shadow and Gawain are about to start slinging hotheaded boasts, vicious insults, and blows again. But before Arthur can try to restore order, aid comes from an unexpected source.

“Hah! You are a saucy one!” Sir Lamorak’s squawk of laughter shatters the tension like ice, pushing past Gawain to stand directly in front of Shadow. 

“Brother!” A small purple cat darts out from the crowd, grabbing onto the hawk’s hand and giving him a stern shake, “Do not be foolish!”

“I know what I’m doing, squire,” Lamorak hisses at her, low enough only those nearby can hear him, shaking himself free and pushing the child behind him, “Watch and learn, Percy!”

‘Percy’ gives a loud, annoyed groan as she stomps her foot irritably, sulkily crossing her arms and watching her brother with an incredibly unimpressed expression. Who was this girl, again? Lamorak had asked if he could bring his sister in as his squire, but that had been only a few days ago and she wouldn’t have been able to make the journey so quickly, could she? She also seemed a little too young to be a squire… 

Lamorak flips his visor up with one hand as he looks down on Shadow with a condescending grin, “Do you have any idea what you are asking for? Do you really think an untried knave without any weapon or armor of his own has a chance?”

Shadow is coolly defiant, eyes boring into Lamorak ferociously, “I don’t need anything but my bare hands to beat you.“

Lamorak’s grin falls immediately, and his hand reaches to the scabbards where his twin swords are sheathed on his back-

“Enough!” Arthur steps in before Shadow manages to make more enemies, putting himself between his combative guest and his strongest knights, “Shadow is new to the realm and not familiar with its customs, and yet you treat him with great hostility! Where is your courtesy? Your patience? This is a most inhospitable way to treat my personal guest!”

Arthur hates having to use his authority like this, he really does, but Shadow is going to wind up as unpopular as Kay at this rate. 

The stunned silence lasts only a moment. 

“Your guest!” Gawain sputters indignantly, gesturing at Shadow like he doesn’t know what else to say, “Your guest!!”

“My lord,” Gareth puts his hand on Gawain’s shoulder, choosing his words carefully, “It is most unusual to have someone enter the kingdom with the visage of one of the round table’s most illustrious and well-regarded knights-”

Kay blows a dismissive raspberry, smiling when the armadillo gives him an annoyed side eye. Gawain leans over his brother’s shoulder to give the green hedgehog a full on glare.

“And it would be imprudent to rush into something like this without considering all potential factors and viewpoints,” Gareth finishes primly, bowing his head respectfully as he meets Shadow’s eyes, “While still giving Sir Shadow the same opportunities we would extend to every other child of Camelot.”

“You cannot be serious!” Gawain turns to his brother incredulously, “He disguised himself as Lancelot!”

“I have no need to disguise myself as anyone!” Shadow’s eyes narrow as he takes a step toward Gawain.

“Enough, enough!” Arthur massages his forehead as he glances up at the sky, knowing that this argument will cost him the rest of the morning. He will be struggling to meet all his daily obligations at this rate, and will likely be working late into the night... “I will hear your arguments in the great hall at the round table- after we break our fast.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Arthur turns to his guest, “Come, Shadow the Hedgehog, bringer of chaos! Before you end up creating blood feuds with the entire round table!”

Shadow doesn’t look the least bit chastised, incredulous and amused as he gives a flippant shrug, “Fine by me.”

“With these jests, it sounds like you’re better suited to the role of court jester!” Lamorak laughs boisterously, arms crossed over his chest as he grins mockingly. His squire stands behind him, less than enthused at her knight’s actions, but doesn’t say anything. She simply grips onto his tail feathers and digs her feet into the ground below, trying to physically keep him out of the range of Shadow’s fists. 

“Have you any more?” Lamorak jeers, obviously trying to get back at Shadow for that earlier insult. (Even though the brash hawk brought it on himself. Again.)

The air around Shadow turns positively murderous, and he flexes the fingers of his right hand as he brings it up mid-chest, “How about a magic trick?

Sparks crackle around his fingertips as he looks at Lamorak over his shoulder, eyes narrowing like he’s honing in on a target.

“I can make you disappear-“ Shadow starts to say, bringing his hand down in a vicious arc-

That Arthur jumps in to stop with his hands. The strange energy spreads through Shadow’s fingers and into his own, leaving behind a tingling sensation that seems to seep into his skin and to his very bones. Arthur lets go quickly, but it travels up the length of his arm and into his shoulder before radiating through his entire body.

“My Lord!” Half a dozen voices cry out at the same time in dismay.

“It’s nothing!” Arthur doesn’t have any time to dwell on any of this, even as his body seems to buzz with the energy. He wants to shake his hand out, but he knows that will just worry his knights, “I said this will wait until after breakfast! Be still, all of you!” 

He grabs Shadow’s hand tightly as he ushers his taciturn companion forward, as if afraid the black hedgehog is going to run off and punch someone else in the face. (Which seems very likely at this point.)

 “Come along!” Arthur’s hand buzzes where it touches Shadow, even through the fabric of his glove. He half expects the dark hedgehog to push him away, and is surprised when Shadow’s hand squeezes him. But painfully so, like this is a challenge he can win while making sure Arthur doesn’t let go. The king glances back as Shadow, curious to see why the prickly hedgehog would touch him without a clear purpose- when it becomes clear this is a calculated power play.

Shadow is staring Gawain down, using this simple gesture to establish himself in the king’s entourage, annoy the echidna and the other knights who regard him with suspicion, and show his clear disregard for hierarchy of the court. For some reason, Arthur is disappointed… but he pushes that feeling aside immediately. Shadow would be a fool if he did not use the king’s political and social position to his advantage.

Arthur pulls Shadow towards the now doorless archway, whispering as he discreetly elbows the black hedgehog, “What are you doing? I don’t know how it works in your world, but you’ll accomplish more with friends in Camelot’s walls rather than enemies!”

“I don’t need friends,” Shadow gives Arthur a flat look, answering loudly as he glowers back at Lamorak, “And if you want to keep yours in one piece, they shouldn’t start what they can’t finish. I don’t like leaving loose ends.”

Arthur rolls his eyes in exasperation as he hurries through the corridor, ear swiveling backwards to pick up on the disgruntled chatter that is naturally amplified by the stone hallways. Shadow’s combative attitude and abrasive demeanor are certainly not doing much to endear him to anyone.

“You don’t seem to like casual conversation or friendly advice either,” Arthur quips back, shaking his head, “And certainly not comfortable beds. What of mead and bread? Do you like that?”

“You're starting to irritate me, hedgehog-” Shadow answers back automatically, annoyed, before blinking rapidly. He gives Arthur that look again, like he’s seeing him in a completely different light, “You are going to drink mead for breakfast?”

Arthur finds Shadow’s baffled confusion amusing, quietly chuckling to himself, “Would my new champion prefer wine instead?”

“Sure, why not,” Shadow lets Arthur open the door to the chamber himself, purposefully ignoring Gawain’s outrage and rubbing it in by refusing to let go of the king’s hand the entire time, making Arthur do it one handed. Arthur can’t remember the last time he’s opened a door for himself, let alone another person. It’s strangely thrilling, “Where does the echidna sit?”

“I sit in the red velvet siege,” Arthur nods at the plush seat with the crown carved into the wood above it, “And ‘Wain sits to my left-”

“Good,” Shadow doesn’t wait for Arthur to finish explaining or sit down, plopping himself in the seat to Arthur’s right like it belongs to him. It belongs to Sir Kay, who seems less than amused- but, in a rare move of self preservation, also doesn’t seem very keen to attract Shadow’s ire on himself directly. Arthur shrugs to his brother apologetically, making motions to an attendant by the door to bring another chair.

In fact, Shadow goes out of his way to make himself look as comfortable as possible, throwing his crossed legs over one arm rest and propping his elbow on the other, resting his chin on his fist. Incredibly bold… Arthur sits down quickly himself, hiding a smile behind a sip of his cup.

“MY KING!” Gawain yanks his chair out from the table so violently the wood cracks under his grip, splinters falling to the floor as he sits in it heavily and unhappily, “THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!!!”

Shadow stares at Gawain with a bored expression as he filches a piece of cheese from Arthur’s plate, popping it into his mouth as the echidna slams his hands back down on the table. 

Well, this is certainly turning out to be a very different and complicated day! When Arthur first rose this morning, he didn’t think he’d end up having breakfast with Shadow the Hedgehog sitting on his right hand side after causing a feud with almost half the round table. Or to have Gawain, one of his most powerful and influential knights, squabbling with the black hedgehog like a petulant child.

One of the many large and small problems he needs to solve... Arthur nibbles on a roll absentmindedly as he listens to Gareth’s argument from the other side of the table, pretending he doesn’t notice Shadow flick a piece of apple at the side of Gawain’s head.

He needs to nip the budding tension between Lamorak and Shadow before it leads to bloodshed… Lamorak is very pointedly glaring daggers at the hedgehog until his sister kicks him in the shin when he doesn’t pass her the jam quickly enough, and that quickly devolves to the hawk arguing with a literal child. 

Arthur needs to make Shadow’s self-appointed position as his champion palatable to the majority of his knights and advisors, many of whom are regarding Shadow with guarded suspicion over the rim of their mugs. 

He needs to find and check on Lancelot, whose absence in the siege at Gawain’s right is painfully obvious. And Arthur needs to soothe Kay’s wounded pride before his brother does something reckless and foolish that causes them all unnecessary grief. (Especially Kay himself.)

It was exactly as Sir Ector had warned- the secret wish of excitement in his heart had been answered in the most unexpected way. But Arthur has no regrets. 

Despite it all, he is eager to see how this new adventure unfolds.

#satbk #sonic and the black knight #satbk au #kings champion au #writing #fanfic #satbk king arthur #satbkified #shadow the hedgehog #satbk sir gawain #satbk sir lamorak #satbk sir gareth #satbk percival #sonic the hedgehog #Knuckles the Echidna #Mighty The Armadillo #Scourge The Hedgehog #satbk sir kay #shaodw makes enemies with everyone. <3 the ultimate troublemaker and poor Arthur tries so hard to clean up the messes lmao #this took me 5ever because needed to do the lil chapter header ahahaha think it came out really cool tho! so v pleased #v pleased with this au overall ahaha

[cactusprisms]

Dr Cetus Salus is the walking equivalent of the knife cat meme. His sense of humor is often somewhat dark or mean spirited. He is self admittedly immoral, lies for fun, and finds it funny when people get themselves hurt through their own stupidity.

he also volunteered to run damage control on niflheim’s daemonic research. He uses his meager (compared to the rest of the family) magic to mess with scourge experiments. Refuses to work with non-consenting subjects. Dances circles around any of niflheim’s investigations.

Ardyn’s introduction to any of his descendants is a sneak of a man who bluntly informs him that he is not the best of his family. Who is very careful with his words around anyone and everyone. Who grimaces as he summons a simple club to knock Verstael unconscious at Ifrit’s frozen feet.

#blabbering #Ffxv au #Salus Caelum #he’s Pinna’s cousin several times removed #my writing #And he’s an asshole. I can’t quite get it across writing on my phone as I am. Im in the barn #but he is a smug little asshole. I cannot express this enough #something something horrible goose #btw the Salus family has pretty much knocked out the scourge and daemons on one continent #it’s why they’re watching Niflheim so hard. What are you guys doing making plague carriers. Stop that

[troblsomtwins829]

I want to redo this doodle at some point, but I also wanted to post it just to get it out there.

This is a concept piece for a JnD fic I'm writing. I think I could've done much better with the anatomy, especially in the arms, but my main concern is the apparel.

The fashion in Haven, for Nobles at least, seems rather lacking, so I'm digging through what I can find an piecing together what might work. I'll come back to it at some point, idk when, but some point.

#this is a wip #King of Scourge and Waste #Concepts #jnd fanart #fanfiction concept art #writing is hard #Young Damas #and siblings #gods he is too bony for a thirteen year old

[fstbmp-a]

It's very funny that Olympia knows nothing about Scourge, despite mine indeed still being mostly a mirror of her specifically. Knows jack nor shit.

#my kingdom ;; ooc #Play the Hero ;; Olympia #It is Hopelessness ;; Scourge #like if you slapped them side by side reacting to the same things you'd see i write them similarly save when the splintering happens #it is in fact something i work pretty Hard to do in fact

[sonknuxadow]

basically when a sonic character i like does something annoying its the writers' fault not theirs and if they were actually written in character by someone who understands their personality they wouldnt have done that. but when a sonic character i hate does something wrong then the character themself sucks and i hope they die. Hope this helps

#theres not many sonic characters i would say i hate though. the only ones i can think of that i genuinely hate #are locke the echidna and geoffrey st john #and theres others i dont really care for but i wouldnt say i hate them. at least not on the same level as those two #scourge the hedgehog is in this weird gray area where his particularly awful behavior can definitely be blamed on bad writing #and i dont really Want to hate him because so many people love him which makes me feel like i should like him #but i just cant get myself to like him all that much #i just realized every character i just mentioned is from archie sonic. now it looks like im being unnecessarily hard on archie sonic #anyway i dont really like the deadly six. but i dont hate them as characters i just am so tired of them coming back over and over

[wangxianficrecs]

Seven Seconds to the End by Admiranda & miixz

Seven Seconds to the End

by Admiranda (@admirableadmiranda) & miixz (@miixz)

T, WIP, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian has been alive for less than an hour, he has no plans for his future. But if there is one thing he knows, it’s that he wants to see Lan Zhan again. Wei Wuxian remembers all that happened at the end of his first life. He remembers that Lan Zhan stayed on his side until the very end, how he'd tried to save him before Jiang Cheng attempted to kill them both. When he fell, the last thing he saw was Lan Zhan's eyes, the last thing he heard was his cries. When he finds himself unexpectedly returned to life, he knows exactly who he can trust and where he needs to go. A Chen Qing Ling retelling. Kay's comments: The thing with CQL is that I love it dearly, but also, there are so many plotholes due to how it was adapted from the source material and I actually love those plotholes too, because that's where fanfic authors can make themselves comfortable and write so many creative stories. This story explores how CQL Wangxian's relationship is actually really great and it makes no sense for freshly-resurrected Wei Wuxian to run away from Lan Wangji when he appears in Mo village and I love this so much. The cherry on top is the fact that miixz and Admiranda are both really great writers that always draw me in and I'm excited to see how this story might continue! Excerpt: In the distance, Wei Wuxian hears the Lan juniors scramble to their feet, overhearing something about how they’ll be acting in the west courtyard tonight. It’s good to know where he can find them, but he doesn’t mind the loss of the rest of their conversation. Whatever they’ve come here for is definitely something to look into, but he’s in no hurry to learn about it. If their presence is somehow related to his return, he doubts any of them know it. No one would knowingly send a group of young cultivators anywhere near the scourge of the cultivation world. But for once, this works in his favor. For one thing, young cultivators are bound to be informed on the state of the world, and most importantly, these particular boys should know about the one he wants to meet. Just a little bit longer, he thinks, looking at the cuts in his wrist. I’ll see this through, then I’ll find my way back to you, Lan Zhan.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, the untamed compliant, canon rewrite, fluff, hurt/comfort, family feels, getting together, developing relationship, pining, friends to lovers, adopted lan sizhui, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, not jiang cheng friendly

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#WIP Rec Week #WIP #Work in Progress #Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #March 2024 #Seven Second to the End #Admiranda #miixz #teen #medium fic 15k-49k #pov wei wuxian #canon divergence #the untamed compliant #canon rewrite #fluff #hurt/comfort #family feels #getting together #developing relationship #pining #friends to lovers #adopted lan sizhui #no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation #not jiang cheng friendly

[bonefall]

Upon rereading Into The Wild, I saw the "paw in each world" line from Lionheart to Rusty, and it made me think...

Firestar has to be laughing his ass off in Starclan looking at Skyclan's Daylight Warriors, but in a sad way.

I'm not normal about Firepaw's indoctrination don't do this to me. I'm trying so hard to not write a thesis paper on that one specific scene in Into The Wild where Firepaw asks an incredibly benign question about interclan cooperation and it is IMMEDIATELY shamed out of him by the two older warriors that he respects more than anything

I hate you Darkest Hour I hate you killing Scourge in the end and all his evil atheist genetically inferior minions run along I hate you defense of the status quo I hate you retcons that attempt to make Blackstar and Leopardstar less bad I hate you I hate you I hate you

Firestar's Quest ALSO has a ton of like... weird fucking problems in this vein. And ultimately in AVoS, they paint the Daylight Warriors like they WERE a problem because of how they couldn't come defend SkyClan.

"Can't have a paw in each world" is a line in-canon worth a lot of critique, but no. Sadly they build up to that being right, because they don't want to address the Clans as flawed entities.

#warrior cats analysis

[rottingparts]

omg could you possibly do a RotB!Unicron x Human!Reader? 👉👈

his giant form and his voice have me going crazy I swear 😩💕💖 giant, imposing men hit so different for me 💖💖

Curious

Summary: You can't help but be turned on by your new, very large and very imposing 'boss'. And he can't help but notice.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI! Unicron doesn't touch you, there's some mind stuff going on, reader is suspended in air, GN AFAB!Reader, masturbation, unicron calls you 'pet'

Word Count: 1,300 (this was supposed to be like 500 words...)

A/N: As always... I GOT CARRIED AWAY! Anyway, I've wanted to write for Unicron and didn't know what, or if anyone would wanna read it, so thank you for starting this !! Also, y'know that scene in that gif? Where Scourge is like being hurt by Unicron? Yeah, imagine that, but with Pleasure~ -Rot

--------

To say Scourge despised you was an understatement. Unicron, his master, had brought a human into the mix and he could not have been more displeased. You could absolutely not have cared less though.

Being part of Unicron’s team had many perks, and one was listening to his voice. There was also power you could never fully imagine, but that wasn’t as important as listening to a large, imposing, planet eater explain things to Scourge.

“You aren’t making the human go after the Autobots?”

“No.” Unicron ended his sentence there. You tried to hold back a smirk. “Now, go get the other piece of the key!”

Unicron’s voice boomed and just like that, Scourge was gone. You were left standing in front of him, all alone. Your hands were behind your back and your eyes watched him from across the large space between the two of you.

“Is everything alright?” You cocked your head and furrowed your brows.

Unicron was silent. He blinked and finally spoke up. “You are aroused.”

Your eyes widened. “Um-”

“Do not deny it, sweet pet,” Unicron’s voice boomed, you could feel it in your chest. Swallowing hard, you thought about every possible outcome from this. But then it registered that he had called you ‘sweet pet’. “I can sense it from here.”

“Okay,” You exhaled, your breath unsteady, “you’re right. I am turned on.”

That was all you had to say, really. What more were you to confess to? That you thought about him when you touched yourself? Not on your watch.

“Show me how ‘turned on’ you are.” Unicron sounded curious, intrigued, and definitely not like he wanted you dead for even mentioning that he, the man you were working under, had turned you on. “Touch yourself.”

Normally, you’d be reluctant to even do anything like that. But, for some reason (and it wasn't the fear of death), you were quick to listen. As your hands went down your waistband, you asked, “What if someone sees me…?” It was a valid question. Of course, Unicron could see you, but you were also in the back of some alley that Scourge had found to talk to his master. So, anyone else who entered that alley would also see you.

The thought of someone finding you was genuinely one that almost made you laugh. Someone finding a random person, who was also completely sober, getting off alone in an alley? Even if it was funny, you hoped it wouldn’t happen.

“No one will find you.”

You nodded. You had no reason to not believe him. He had kept every promise to you thus far. So, you touched yourself. Your hand was between your legs in an instant and you were working on yourself. Unicron let out a low hum, one so low you could feel it. Your body was shaking, from excitement and from the reverberation of Unicron’s voice.

Your finger ghosted over your clit and then dipped down, pushing past your lips and inside of you. You let out a low moan and your eyes shut. You could feel your skin burning, Unicron’s eyes burning into you. You could feel his eyes on you, watching with curiosity. Your fingers were making quick work of you, you knew exactly where to touch yourself, how much you could take. And Unicron was taking that all in.

You fell onto your knees on the platform you stood on, and a loud moan slipped past your lips. You had tried to stifle it, but it wasn’t working. Unicron let out another low hum, obviously liking what was in front of him. At least you hope that’s what it obviously was.

“I want you to be loud.” Unicron finally spoke up. As soon as he did, you were sent into overdrive. Your fingers were curving in and out of you, your thumb circling your clit, and you were at your breaking point.

“Unicron!” Your voice was shaky, but loud, just as he had asked.

You slumped over slightly, legs spreading even more. One of your hands was still in your pants, and the other was supporting you. You swallowed hard and looked up at Unicron through your lashes. His optics watched you, unmoving.

“Uh,” You stumbled on your words, “Did you need me to help Scourge- I’m sure I could-”

“No.” His voice struck you, like electricity hitting every nerve you had. “We are not done.”

You gulped down air and took in a shaky breath. You were going to stand back up, but you were unable to. You weren’t controlling your own movements anymore. You were moving up, your body limp and your breath hitched. Your eyes hit Unicron’s and suddenly, fear washed over you. You couldn’t tell what he had in mind, and while that was kind of hot, you were also terrified.

“No need to be afraid,” Unicron reassured you, “I’m not getting rid of you any time soon.”

Your eyes moved up towards the stars around you and took his word for it. You had no reason not to…

You were floating in front of Unicron, still fully clothed, and your body was pliable and as relaxed as you could possibly make it. You were unaware of how greatly you would be rewarded for that. All you knew was that Unicron had just held Scourge up and all he seemed to feel was pain. You did not want that to happen to you.

Your body grew hot and you felt a knot forming in your stomach. The heat between your legs was only growing hotter. You were suspended in space, and your mind was everywhere. Until, suddenly it wasn’t.

A shock of pleasure ran through you, and you let out a sharp, surprise filled moan. Your eyes snapped towards Unicron and his optics looked more focused than you had ever seen before. Your back arched and your head snapped back at the feeling of another wave of pleasure hitting you like a ton of bricks. A pressure formed at your clit, as if something, or someone, was rubbing against it, and you gasped. You twitched and cried out for Unicron.

Briefly, you wondered what this looked like from the alley. How weird a passerby would find the situation. You could only hope that, if you were found, their response would be “Oh, a person suspended in air, crying out from pleasure? This is normal for Brooklyn.” And that they would move on.

You were brought back to Unicron when he let out a low groan himself. “You are being so good,” His voice rumbled, causing you to let out another moan, “Much better listener than Scourge.” You could hear his distaste. You almost laughed, but another cry pushed past your lips as it felt like a small shock was pressed to your clit.

“Fuck,” You struggled out, “I’m gonna-” You gasped, “please let me cum!”

Every single bit of you tensed. Your back arched further and your toes curled. Your nails dug into your palms and you screamed out for Unicron. You rode the wave of ecstasy while still in the air, Unicron watching you as you writhed from satisfaction.

You felt yourself slowly descending back towards the platform and you let out a soft groan. You lay there for a minute, taking everything in. Unicron, still not saying anything, watched you closely.

You sat yourself up and looked into his optics, “Unicron…?” It was a question more than anything, causing him to give a low ‘hm’. “I’m telling Scourge you said I’m a better listener.”

Suddenly, everything was disappearing around you. Your eyes stayed on Unicron though. “Do tell him he needs to hurry, as well.”

He was gone, and you were back in that alley. On the hard, wet ground. You grimaced and scrunched your nose up. You huffed, stood up, and brushed yourself off. You were left alone, having to find Scourge on your own. Your body still burned at the thought of what had just happened, and you smirked at the thought of rubbing it in Scourge’s face.

#valveplug #unicron #unicron x reader #rotb unicron #transformers smut #unicron smut #snail-noodle

[gumnut-logic]

Cethair (intro)

Óen | Cethair

Okay, so about a third of you who voted requested some more Thunderdragons. I don't have much, and I need to write more, but here is the intro to the fic about Gordon's dragon.

This is a standalone fic that happens a few years before Óen. There are no HTTYD characters in this one. I needed to write it to sort out their history so I could write Óen. This AU/Crossover is hard work :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for all their support on this project. And many thanks to those of you who answered my poll today. It gives me an idea of what you guys would prefer. As always, I can't guarantee anything (stupid brain won't even do what I prefer), but you never know.

Oh, and this is apparently my 12,008th post on this blog. Go me :D

I hope you enjoy this bit.

-o-o-o-

Virgil O’Treasaigh hurried between the tents careful not to trip on the pitch lines, but moving as fast as possible nonetheless.

The Flaithri’s tent was not far, the stamp of the Thunderbird was lit up by the torches clearly in the night, but it felt like leagues into the distance.

Perhaps because the title of Flaithri had shifted so recently and so painfully. Because behind that stamp he would no longer find his father, but instead his eldest brother.

And he feared his mood.

His flight leathers rubbed in places sore from travel and he let out a breath.

Casey had placed guards at the tent, the soldiers eyes sharp as he passed between them without question, striding through the tightly woven flax as it was whipped up by the wind off the black ocean to the west.

“Flaithri, I must speak with you.”

His brother was pacing, of a sort, the injury to his leg forcing a limp that had Virgil biting back protest. Considering the slice to his thigh, it was a sign of his agitation that he could pace at all.

Kyrano stood to one side, his eagle eyes watching everything. His daughter,  Tan, may as well have been a statue in his honour, her stance so mirrored her father’s.

“Scott!”

His brother stopped. His stance lopsided as he turned to face Virgil. “News?”

Virgil swallowed. “Mathair Chriona fears he will not see the light of morning.”

He watched his brother absorb the information. Ever the king he was born to be, there were no tears, only hurt in the depths of his eyes. “Nothing can be done?”

“We have tried everything. He has lost too much and his heart is beginning to falter.” Virgil’s voice cracked on the last word and his head dipped, his own calm strained beyond exhaustion and grief.

A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers tightening almost enough to cause pain. “John has spoken to Cóic.”

Virgil’s head shot up. “No!”

“Virgil, I will lose no more family today.”

And the blue of his brother’s eyes was terrible. Because today they had seen their father taken from them, the fire of Gaat’s beast scorching him from the earth.

The attack had been sudden and unexpected. Cóic had been unable to give warning, still too young to have the reach of an adult matriarch.

They had thought they were safe, hidden in the mountains in the land of the Picts, far from their homeland and the decimation the Scourge had wrought. They thought that Gaat could not find them.

His attack had targeted John and Cóic as it always did. Cóic was what he wanted, of course. The power of the Matriarch and the offence of John receiving the gift and not him had maddened the man.

But John had family and their father had intervened to protect and given his life. It was Gordon, seamaster at arms, who had leapt up onto the worm, stabbed the man, and ended the fight.

But despite his victory, Gaat’s beast had shaken him off and Gordon had fallen. If that was not enough, the cursed worm had then raked Virgil’s little brother with fire.

Gaat had been desperate and had withdrawn to lick his wounds.

But Gordon, dear Gordon…

A single tear tracked down Virgil’s cheek.

“Cóic will save him.”

“She can’t. We don’t know what creatures might be willing. What is the price?!”

But there was blue fire in those eyes. “His life.”

-o-o-o-

Next

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #thunderdragons #nuttyfic

[themainspoon]

If you are a WoD fan and you aren’t aware of how fucking wild White Wolf’s strategy for marketing Demon: the Fallen was, that changes right fucking now, get ready.

So, the year is 2002, American Culture is still moving past the Satanic Panic, and your job is to market a Table Top Role Playing Game where you play as literal demons who were aligned with the Biblical figure of Lucifer. The book has a big ass pentagram on its cover, and is filled with information on fictional demons and their demonic powers.

How do you market this?

Well, isn’t it obvious?

You satirise Chick Tracks by making a fake one about how the game you’re supposed to be promoting is satanic. I’ve linked it below, it’s only 23 pages long;

But you may be thinking: “Ok, that’s a funny concept, but why is this such a big deal to you?” Well, buckle the fuck up kiddo’s, because I want you to look at that last panel again:

Do you notice anything about it that could prompt further inquiry? What about that URL?

You see, the chick track was only one part of this little marketing stunt.

And so, I ask again, how do you market Demon: the Fallen?

You create an entire fake Evangelical church website called the Eternal Grace Evangelical Church, and write a fake sermon in which you claim that the brand that hired you is producing games that turn children into drug addicts and sexual predators, also claiming that Vampire: the Masquerade was involved in real world murders including the fucking Columbine School Shooting.

Below is a link to the site from the Internet Archives Wayback machine, the main bulk of the interesting stuff is in the sermons section.

Quick note, they used EVERY part of the evangelical bullshit playbook to make this site look legit, they went hard on this. So, the site is satire, but it still feels like it would be a good idea to mention that they satirise everything about Evangelicals, including their homophobic, transphobic, anti-catholic, and anti-pagan beliefs.

https://web.archive.org/web/20031205191032/http://www.father-ramos.com:80/

If you don’t want to read it yourself, here are some actual quotes from this fake Evangelical site that was, and I can’t stress this enough, MADE BY WHITE WOLF TO PROMOTE DEMON: THE FALLEN: (above disclaimer applies here too)

“Eternal Grace Congregation Church is a community of Christians who seek to love, worship and praise Him and to communicate the Word of the Gospel to the world around us while exposing the lifestyles and and recruiting prctices of those deviants who would make this world a place of horrors. Among these are homosexuals, gamblers, drug addicts and role-players.”

“You may find it useful to tell role-players about the Dallas youths who were burned to death in the steam tunnels of Southern Methodist University (of course it was the Methodists) while exploring them for treasure. Tell them about the syphilis-related insanity of Jimmy Cox, a Tennessee teenager who used role-playing games to build around him a coven of homosexuals. Tell them about Michelle Sikes, the Montana role-player who had a sex-change operation. The more perversion you can ascribe to involvement with role-playing the better. You may even wish to fabricate some of your own, to better illustrate the point to your specific at-risk individual.”

“Listening to accounts of the role-players’ games is either the height of tedium (it must be said, pardon my air of judgment) or evinces strong feelings of pity, […] Invitations to participate, if accepted, place the individual in a precarious position himself, and will probably expose him to the scourges of drugs, fornication, homosexuality and Catholicism/paganism in many cases.”

“point out to them that the activity borders on delusion (“You are not an elf, Tommy!”) and heresy (“If God intended for you to act like a demon, he would have made you a demon, Jenny”).”

“In addition, rumors (which is why I relegate this to a side note instead of including it in the main body of my discourse) link the activities of the Columbine high-school “trenchcoat mafia” with Vampires Masquerade.”

“As good Christians, it is obviously our duty to prevent our youth from learning the corrupt ways these books and games teach. Sex, suicide, drug abuse, homosexuality, “golden showers” and many other behaviors proscribed by the Lord and the Good Book come as a result of players taking their games too far. In particular, the moral execration contained with the Demon book takes these aberrations to new levels by openly encouraging players to act in the interests of Satan (or Lucifer, as he is depicted herein).”

“Additionally, role-playing games teach that violence is an acceptable and even admirable way of solving problems. Significant portions of their rules are devoted to combat and weaponry. Demon, for example, also contains systems by which the satanic characters can attack or use magic upon their enemies, with dark arts spawned from Hell itself. These are not unlike the gay community’s reactionary “straight bashing” in response to the more physical efforts of their loving fellows (but loving in the Lord’s intended way) to bring them back into the fold.”

“This Week: Pastor "Father" Ramos discusses the Catholic Church and the 68 Million deaths its evil has caused throughout the world! You won't read this in the history books! Father Ramos also discusses why he has chosen to reclaim the Holy tile"Father" from Catholocism.”

White Wolf was frequently quite edgy, and often wasn’t great at dealing with social issues (you could argue this is still true of the modern World of Darkness in some cases). But honestly I think this is a fun stunt. It mocks evangelicals for all their insane bigoted beliefs, and for basically giving all the stuff they call satanic free advertising. No matter what though this is an unhinged marketing stunt, and it is so wild that they actually did this.

#world of darkness #WoD #Demon: the Fallen #DtF #Demon the fallen #White Wolf #White Wolf Games #a certified themainspoon classic

[dwellordream]

On the Black Death in Africa and Asia, and the interconnected Middle Ages, by Eleanor Janega

“…See, the thing is that one of the weird myths I have to deal with all the time is that the Black Death was somehow a European experience, as opposed to an Afro-Eurasian one, and that Europeans were uniquely attacked by it because of something stupid/gross/superstitious that they did that everyone else avoided. Sometimes that’s people saying Europeans killed all their cats and so rats proliferated. Sometimes its people saying that Europeans didn’t bathe and therefore germs spread. (Of course, that’s beside the point anyway, because last time I checked fleas, which are what spreads plague, DGAF about how clean you are, but OK! Europeans still bathed! I am so tired!)

Sometimes, it’s people saying that Europeans’ backwards medical ideas involving the humoral system is to blame. (The entire Arabic world also believed in the humoral system! The only thing that works to treat the plague is antibiotics! No one in the entire world had medicine that could fight this until the nineteenth century!) Sometimes its people saying that Europeans threw sewage in the streets. (They didn’t, but I’ll have to talk about that another time. And also! Plague comes from fleas! Which do not live in human excrement anyway! So that’s really beside the point! And even when it’s pneumonic not bubonic it spreads via droplets! Which are in your breath! Not excrement! Oh my god!)

But here’s the thing, if any of that were true, (and it isn’t) that would mean that the theoretically smarter rest-of-the-world wouldn’t be affected by the Black Death at all because they were having a bath with their cat next to a fully piped sewage system while not believing in humoral theory or something.

Fun fact! No.

Now we might not have a lot of sources from the totally collapsed Silk Road cities, etc., but we do have a lot from our friends in the Middle East. And they are here to tell you that everyone was having a hard time, and they had a pretty clear idea of how the plague spread.

The historian Ibn al-Wardī (c.1291 – 1349), writing in Aleppo described the onslaught of the plague thusly:

“The plague frightened and killed. It began in the land of darkness [Northern Asia]. Oh what a visitor! It has been current for fifteen years. China was not preserved from it, nor could the strongest fortress hinder it. The plague afflicted the Indians in India. It weighed upon the Sind. It seized with it’s hand and ensnared even the lands of the Uzbeks. How many backs did it break in what is Transoxiana! The plague increased and spread further. It attacked the Persians, extended its steps toward the land of the Khitai, and gnawed away at the Crimea. It pelted Rum with live coals and led the outrage to Cyprus and the islands. The plague destroyed mankind in Cairo. Its eye was cast upon Egypt, and behold, the people were wide-awake.”

“… Oh Alexandria, this plague is like a lion which extends its arm to you. Have patience with the fate of the plague, which leaves of seventy men only seven. … The plague attacked Gaza, and it shook ‘Asqalan severyly. The plague oppressed Acre. The scourge came to Jerusalem … It overtook those people who fled to the al-‘Aqsa Mosque, which stands beside the Dome of the Rock. If the door of mercy had not been opened, the end of the world would have occurred in a moment. It, then, hastened its pace and attacked the entire maritime plain. The plague trapped Sidon and descended unexpectedly upon Beirut, cunningly. Next, it directed the shooting of its arrows to Damascus. There the plague sat like a king on a throne and swayed with power, killing daily one thousand or more and decimating the population.”[6]

He died of the plague.

Later, writing in Algeria, the historian Ibn Khaldûn (1332-1406) said of the pestilence that “It swallowed up many of the good things of civilization and wiped them out. It overtook dynasties at the time of their senility, when they had reached the limit of their duration. It lessened their power and curtailed their influence. It weakened their authority. Their situation approached the point of annihilation and dissolution. Civilization decreased with the decrease of mankind. Cities and buildings were laid waste, roads and way signs were obliterated, settlements and mansions became empty, dynasties and tribes grew weak. The entire inhabited world changed. The East, it seems, was similarly visited, though in accordance with and in proportion to (its more affluent) civilization. It was as if the voice of existence in the world had called out for oblivion and restriction, and the world had responded to its call. God inherits the earth and all who dwell upon it. … it is as if the entire creation had changed and the whole world been altered”.[7]

So, this is all very depressing, but I think it’s important that I lay this all out here for everyone’s perusal. Because the thing is until we begin to approach the medieval world as an interconnected place, weird myths are going to persist. As a Europeanist I am as guilty as anyone of aiding those who want to create a world where the Black Death is a phenomenon that happened on one continent to a group of uniquely stupid people. If no one sees the sources where our friends in Asia and Africa discuss the horrors around them, then of course they are going to continue to believe that the Black Death is something that happens when the Pope takes a disliking to cats. Or something.

I’m not writing this, however, just to defend Europe. I checked, these people are all dead and probably fine. I’m writing it because persisting with the myth that everywhere other than Europe was actually an enlightened paradise does a major disservice to those histories as well. Whole communities collapsed. Death was everywhere. The historians who wanted you to understand the chaos and pain happening all around them died of that plague and if we don’t witness that, then it’s for nothing.

Further, to pretend that only idiots couldn’t figure out that this pestilence was spread by germs in fleas is actually calling all our friends in Africa and Asia stupid as well. Because they also didn’t have germ theory, and they also died in huge numbers. This does not make them foolish.

We can’t go back in time and save the hundreds of millions of people who died of the Black Death in Afro-Eurasia. What we can do from our safe distance of almost seven hundred years, behind a wall of antibiotics, is to at least do them the service of acknowledging their experience and not calling them stupid. These were real people who lived in a complex world and were doing their best in it. Frankly, if you chose to ignore their suffering and their own testaments to it, then you are the one who is ignorant.

Societies are not a hierarchy, and we don’t need to impose one. We certainly don’t need to go back in time to do that either. Ideas of a divided medieval world where people from different continents were all separate and doing totally different things do nothing but serve to uphold outdated and racist ideas of the pre-modern world. Don’t do that in a rush to condemn Europe for its modern problems.”

#eleanor janega #medieval #history #medicine

[yandere-writer-momo]

I love Cahira. I love the way you write her and the story was so compelling! She seemed to really adore the princess but considering her initial interest was hearing about the princess's beauty and then upon hearing she was sapphic was interested in a relationship rather than a piece of her hoard (but still shallow interest built off her draconic greed and pride) can I ask when her interest turned from superficial to something deeper?

I mean, given her princess is so shy and being kidnapped by a huge dragon wouldn't ease her anxieties it would be hard for her to get to know her very well (you did mention that princess was very scared initially). How and when did she start to get to know her princess and grow interested?

Cahira, the Emerald Calamity, Scourge of Viridian hues, plunging the castle into darkness with just the shadow of her massive body: Such a cute little human... I could just eat you up

Princess, scared and flustered, panicking: a-and also with you?

Cahira, discovering morosexuality: ... I thinjk... I haube the plagye?

Cahira has been lonely for a long time. It’s not often to meet other women who like women (most aren’t open about it or interested in actual dating). So Cahira jumped the gun to be with the princess.

Cahira began to grow interested because of how meek the princess was. It’s a Dragon’s nature to want to protect pretty things (treasures) and the princess flicked on that instinct.

Over the year of being together, Cahira adored how the princess always politely accepted her gifts and how she’d blush whenever she’d recieve a compliment from Cahira. Cahira adores the cuteness and the shy glances. The small moments where the princess would read or hum a tune to herself were studied by Cahira.

Cahira wants to show that she’s serious about getting to know and loving the princess. She’s willing to go to any lengths to show that strong devotion. Such as finding a witch to help her be more human like or eating every knight that tries to take the princess back to her kingdom. It’s the little things that matter!

In Cahira’s mind, she believes the princess has a crush on her. Why else would she blush so much and enjoy every gift? It must be because Cahira is an amazing partner!

Cahira is delusional, but also somewhat cognitive. She’s slightly aware that there’s a possibility of the princess being afraid, but Cahira had never given her a reason to be (in her mind). She’s just eaten a couple knights and merchants is all! She’s a pretty gentle dragon.

[fstbmp-a]

Okay that was the last of my energy, sadly, so I'm gonna take a nap before smth I have to do today. I'll probably be back in just a few hours. See ny'all!!

#My kingdom ;; OOC #anyways yes mint and i's scourge nd rosy are canon-divergent HARD #and we kept talking about the moment that kinda cemented why rosy was obsessed with him and #i was like “well damn i can write that ig” and so i did... #a single act of generosity doomed him /hj

[lizdonnelly]

Second Circle, Ch. 1

Pairing: Elizabeth Donnelly x f!reader, shades of Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson Warnings: Smut, violence, references to alcoholism Summary: “We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.” Based on a request for Liz/f!reader's first time, and my own desire to write a series about Liz navigating romance amidst chaos. Loosely inspired by the events of 2x21 'Scourge' and a few details from 10x8 'Persona'.

---

Although the wind rattled against the windows of the banquet hall and the pinprick lighting of the chandeliers overhead flickered, the murmur of the gala continued on.

The air vibrated, alive with the weight of the tension that had wracked the city in the past few weeks and no doubt fueled by the media machine cranking out headline after headline, each more sordid and gruesome than the last.

Melinda's grip tightened on your elbow as another group approached. Your heart quickened at the sight of short, gelled back blonde hair and the heady perfume that wafted over. Anxiety tore at your stomach with molten claws.

"Doc Warner, glad to see you've made it," a bloodhound of a man said, leading the pack. He gestured towards you with his whiskey glass. "Elliot and Olivia give you enough time to make friends outside the morgue? I must not be pushing them hard enough."

Melinda patted your back. Heavily lined brown eyes scoured you from behind the bloodhound, appraising the manner in which Melinda had touched you. A cold bead of sweat slid down the back of your neck.

"Always glad to see you on the right side of the concrete, Captain," The medical examiner teased. "Especially these days. But yes, believe it or not, I do have time to run in other circles." A man with a voice as calm as the creek that ran beside your childhood home piped up. "Pleased to finally get the chance to meet you," he said with an easy smile and a tip of the head. This man carried himself with a centeredness that was hard to come by, even across the crowd of New York City's top professionals that had congregated that evening. "I've heard about your efforts at Mercy General. I can't imagine what you've had to deal with as of late." It was a line you'd heard plenty of variations of recently, but his sincerity seemed completely genuine. Although his eyes were warm, inviting pools of black ink, you couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he knew. Melinda turned to you with a smile, oblivious. "As you can probably tell, Dr. Huang is our resident psychiatrist," she said. "And a fed, at that," came that harsh, staccato voice you had become attuned to. You bit at the inside of your cheek. The psychiatrist-fed's gentle smirk grew. Thankfully, a pasty, bird boned blonde intruded, reaching out past Huang. "Alexandra Cabot, assistant district attorney," she said, wasting no time.

You shook her hand, surprised at the strength of her grip. Studying her gaze, you got the sense that events like this were easier for her to navigate than they were for other members of the party. She sipped at her champagne lightly and looked around, her stare lingering on the elevators as if she either wanted to leave or wished for someone else to arrive.

"Can't forget her royal highness," the bloodhound Captain joked, gesturing to the woman you'd been struggling not to address.

Dr. Huang spoke again in earthen tones and an air of alacrity. "There's no need to bother, Melinda. The only reason the Bureau Chief wouldn't have led the introductions," he paused, "is if this isn't a stranger to her." Liz rolled her eyes. You subconsciously tugged at the sleeve of the sweater that hung a little past your fingertips. "If you're so perceptive, Agent, then why did a sixth girl show up gutted like a fish at Grand Central this morning?"

---

Liz Donnelly hated courtroom restrooms. She had since the 70's, in fact.

On this occasion, though, she tolerated the lavender soap and the lukewarm water as she used the mirror to study the other woman.

The younger woman next to her scrubbed underneath her nails with a precision so adroit it had to be practiced. "If you're trying to scrub away evidence," the Bureau Chief piped up, "do me a favor and be less obvious." The woman's eyes widened, eyebrows rising. Liz leaned over and tugged playfully at the name tag dangling from the pocket on the woman's scrubs. The woman paused. "If you're trying to flirt with me," she finally whispered, "do me a favor and be more obvious."

The bathroom door swung on its hinges and in strode Olivia Benson, the SVU detective clearly in a tizzy and blind to the way the Bureau Chief and her conversation partner jumped apart like two opposing magnets. The strands on the back of her glossy brown pixie cut stuck up. As the detective ran a nervous hand through them again, Liz understood why.

"Got tired of listening to Cabot try to grill a child? Don't tell me she needs me back in there." Benson shook her head, slumping against the paper towel dispenser. "He got another one."

The detective muttered a quick apology, shifting aside to let the woman in scrubs dry her hands. Liz swallowed thickly.

"Sexually assaulted as well, I take it?" Benson eyed the prosecutor. The detective nodded exasperatedly. "She was an architect. Single, wasn't a user, friends are all model citizens." Benson sucked in her bottom lip and bit at it. "No vengeful ex-boyfriend, at that. Seems she had a gambling habit, but I've know plenty of girls who play the ponies, and all of them are still very much alive."

"However disparate these murders seem, there has to be a connection. Better make good use of that overtime, or you'll have more blood on your hands," Liz jabbed, gesturing towards the sink. The detective's brow furrowed.

"So this is the support we're going to get from our new Bureau Chief? How the hell are-"

Benson paused awkwardly as the woman in scrubs shuffled out the door, paying no mind to the quick finger waggling wave she threw at the prosecutor.

Liz managed a brief smile.

Benson looked towards the door, then back at the wiry woman before her in the starched black pantsuit.

Had there been a window in this particular courtroom restroom, Liz had half a mind to climb out it herself.

---

The bloodhound, whom you now knew as Cragen, thumbed the facets of his whiskey glass at the sound of the announcement.

A gentleman in a well-pressed suit and white gloves had called out across the banquet hall. The gala wouldn't be ending at its scheduled time, due to "inclement weather conditions", meaning the whole ordeal was to proceed for who knows how long. Fortunately, the waitstaff were headed back with fresh bottles and hor d'oeuvres as an apology for the inconvenience.

"I don't mean to pry, but does this have anything to do with-"

He cut you off with a somber shake of his head. He turned to face you, the capillaries webbing along the corners of his eyes swollen.

"This is news to me."

Cragen turned and headed back to the bar with a sniffle.

"They're doing a reasonable job of keeping everyone occupied, at least," came an even voice from behind you. Huang joined your side. Jet black pools still held a mirthful twinkle.

"Tell me something. How long have you and the prosecutor been involved with each other?" "This is the first time Ms. Cabot and I have met," you stammered. "You know that's not who I meant," he countered with a soothing grin. "Forgive my intrusion. You don't have to answer, if you don't want to."

The psychiatrist's musings were an unexpected relief to you. You felt the dam within your chest begin to burst, allowing you to finally speak on something you had kept locked up to yourself these past few weeks. "I'll forgive you, but only if you tell me how you knew," you laughed, tension evaporating from the edge of your voice. Huang nodded to himself.

"That's not your sweater."

You lowered your glass. "It's too long in the arms," he said, gesturing freely. Huang was one of the few who had not been drinking.

"It's not like I have much time to see a tailor," you tried to riposte. "True, but the odds that you and Donnelly wear the same perfume are not favorable," he said with an air of one revealing a royal flush. "My guess is that either she gave the sweater to you, or you're wearing it out of convenience. Alternatively, she could've asked you to wear it, knowing you'd cross paths tonight. She appears to be rather domineering, so that would not surprise me if it were the case."

It took everything in you to fight back the heat that rose in your cheeks at the bounce of his eyebrow.

"You make a hobby out of judging women's perfume?"

"I was a profiler in another life. It was more than a hobby to judge everything about a person." Huang's gaze followed Cragen as he made his way through the crowd across the room.

"Makes for a good party trick, I'll give you that."

Huang paused before turning back to you. His expression held an odd seriousness to it now. "I get the sense that I'm not the only one playing party tricks tonight."

---

Alex Cabot hadn't known Elizabeth for long, but she already didn't care to know the woman much longer.

The younger prosecutor checked her Cartier watch once more, eager for any distraction at this point. Somehow, neither clock hand had so much as budged. She squeezed her eyes shut amidst the bubbling conversation of the crowd in the godforsaken hall and thought of wide, chocolate brown puppy dog eyes and pixie cuts, of handcuffs and coffee cups.

"Alexandra, that look is not becoming on someone like you," an airy tone wafted over.

Lena Petrovsky, New York Supreme Court judge. Fuck. At this rate, she half expected Barry Moredock to round the corner and lecture her about some constitutional disservice she also happened to be encouraging this evening.

"Running all-nighters with the SVU shouldn't be taxing on someone from Harvard Law. But really, you look like hell, try to get some rest after this circus," Petrovsky said, gesturing around them. "You won't be of any use to the city if you keep burning the candle at both ends."

Alex opened her mouth to speak, but a harsh voice speared through her.

"From what I've seen so far, Ms. Cabot is no stranger to circuses," Donnelly jeered.

Alex was certain some snide joke about her courtroom performances was incoming, but she paused, shrieks cutting through the crowd behind them.

---

"This just in: at approximately 11:07 tonight, NYPD discovered the body of a young woman in Central Park. The cause of death? A large wound along the victim's neck, a similar M.O. to the recent string homicides that have shocked the city this past month. Although signs of sexual assault were present, no information is available yet as to the identity of the perpetrator. Investigators have identified the victim as local self-portraitist..."

Liz looped her arm around your shoulders, tugging you out of the bar and onto the street.

"I am not ruining one of the rare nights we both have to ourselves with more of that fear-mongering," she said. You shifted under the weight of the fur coat she shared with you, pressing yourself against her side. Although her voice was firm, you could tell she was rattled. She led you past throngs of men and women in pressed shirts and cocktail dresses, club promoters, and a man stumbling toward you with a box of pamphlets.

"They didn't call me in," you mused. Your brows knitted in confusion. Liz grabbed hold of your chin.

"And they won't," she seemed to command into reality through sheer force of will alone. She brushed her thumb across your lips. Rain gently began to fall overhead. The lights of the cabs clogging the street blurred.

You leaned forward, slipped her thumb into your mouth, and lightly sucked on it.

The prosecutor smirked. You were pleased with the fact that she appeared slightly taken aback by your boldness.

"Come on," she said with a gaze that told you she was a thousand miles away already.

You felt her breath hot against your ear as she tugged you into the back seat of a nearby town car.

"I have something else for you to suck on."

---

"Top her off," Cragen said to the bartender, tilting his glass across the counter.

Across the room, the band still played. The peeling notes of the saxophone reverberated across the inside of his skull. A dull throb continued to pound at the back of his eyes.

Looking down into the amber liquid, Cragen studied the panes of glass that stretched across the ceiling. More rain, more wind.

He couldn't kill in this.

Cragen took a swig.

Elliot and Olivia were still at the station, sifting through tips and folders full of supposed eyewitness accounts. Munch was no doubt trying his best to hold down the fort, but even his endurance, battle-tested over years in Baltimore homicide, was waning.

The brass thought maintaining appearances would comfort the public, although the Captain wondered how all of this pomp and circumstance could reassure anyone but those New York elites with the most fragile of egos.

He took another sip, turning back to watch ADA Cabot and Dr. Huang engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument. At least, heated on the blonde's end. Nearby, Doc Warner was caught in Judge Petrovsky's line of fire. He chuckled into his glass, thankful not to be in the good doctor's shoes.

Further off, Donnelly and the woman Melinda had introduced the group to were headed towards the restrooms. Cragen squinted. The Bureau Chief, with all five foot something's worth of bluster, was leading the other woman hand in hand. Something Arthur Branch had told him once made him chuckle.

Cragen went to take the final swig of his whiskey to finish off the glass, but noticed it was still full.

---

You stumbled through the doorway of Liz's brownstone, her hands quick to pull down your skirt. The door slammed shut. Her mouth pressed hot kisses up the side of your throat. Deceptively strong hands gripped at your ass.

"Upstairs," she husked.

Something fluttered in your stomach. Although you had gotten used to the feeling of the prosecutor's clever tongue in your mouth after a couple coffee dates, the two of you had yet to cross the threshold, so to speak.

Her hands guided you around the corner and up the flight of stairs, toying at the back of your bra. The sensation of her fingers trailing down your spine broke your brain. There could be no anxieties at this point, no thoughts for that matter, only Elizabeth Donnelly and her teeth at your throat and her pillows now pressed up against the back of your head.

The prosecutor leaned over you, nudging your legs aside. She began to drag her knuckle up and down the rapidly dampening fabric that clung to your slit. Heavily lidded brown eyes met yours.

"God Liz, I need you...I need it..."

You were embarrassed at the whine, embarrassed with how wet you already were for the woman.

"Need what?" her voice came coolly. She paused her ministrations to press a finger up against your hole. "This?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Please..."

Liz chuckled and hiked up the sleeve of her blazer.

"Since you beg so pretty," she said, "I guess I'll have to oblige."

You felt her tug your panties to the side, the sensation of her pressing a few quick kisses all across your mound and lips sending your heart into a spiral. Shortly afterwards, she helped you kick out of them, and her hands slid up to caress the insides of your thighs. Liz dragged her tongue up through your folds, praising how good you tasted. You moaned unabashedly now, desperation rising to a fever pitch.

"So impatient," she teased from between your legs as she lapped at you. You fought back another whine, the cry dying in your throat as you felt her climb up the bed and tug your body against her. She snaked a hand between your legs and slid a finger into you.

"Fuck, you're tight," her voice strained against a few strands of hair matted against your ear.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to reply. "Speak up, sweetheart," she cooed, easing another finger into you.

"I want you to stretch me," you panted, clinging to lucidity.

She bit at your earlobe with a growl, a third finger slipping inside you now. Your head spun at as you felt yourself adjust to take even more of her. The air was now thick with the wet, wanton sounds of her pumping inside you. With each thrust, she stroked at a spot inside you that brought you closer and closer to your peak.

"I-I can't last much longer," you sputtered. You pressed back against her, hips rocking up into her palm. She sucked at a patch of skin underneath your jaw.

"Then cum for me," Liz said, beginning to stroke her thumb along your clit. She curled her fingers inside you and allowed you to roll your thighs against her hand.

The tension gripping your body snapped, your mind careening into the darkness as waves of pleasure rushed over you. Liz kept up her pace, pressing light kisses across your face. She talked you through your orgasm in crisp, honeyed tones in a manner you'd spend the next few days dwelling over.

When your heart finally calmed, she withdrew her hand, savoring the taste of you as she rose up off the bed. You watched her with a confused look, eyes straining against the shadows that cloaked the bedroom.

Her hand threaded into your hair, cupping the back of your scalp. Suddenly, she met you from the side of the bed.

You felt her pull you towards her, your face soon nuzzling up against the fabric of her slacks.

She tugged her zipper open with her free hand.

You wasted no time in starting to cover her panties in kisses, rewarded with a groan as she lolled her head back.

"That's a good girl," she said, voice straining. "Keep it up."

You reached up and tugged them down, lips wrapping around her clit. She laced both hands in your hair, pulling you closer. You leaned up, catching a glimpse of her through heavy lashes.

A thumb caressed your cheek.

"I can't wait to cum all over that pretty face."

You sucked harder.

---

Liz led you towards the restrooms, which were just outside the banquet hall in a hallway not so generously lit. The darkness served the mood well, though. Her mind wandered to thoughts of herself draped over your back, your legs parted wide enough for you to try taking her strap, her hips rutting into you with a ferocity that'd leave you with bruises she was proud to give you.

She wasn't sure if it was the booze or the fatigue calling the shots at this point, but neither prevented her from noticing your hand tugging free from her grasp.

The prosecutor turned in time to catch sight of a white glove cover your mouth.

#elizabeth donnelly #elizabeth donnelly x reader

[sethcertified]

「 SLOW DANCE ! 」 . . . 📂

supernatural : sam winchester

wrd count : 2.1k

⊹˚.⋆ synopsis . . . slow dancing was always a fantasy for you. that fantasy comes true when sam decides to confess his feelings

⊹˚.⋆ starring . . . sam winchester & male reader

Being a hopeless romantic was hard. Being a hopeless romantic in love with your best friend was harder.

You sat in the, surprisingly, comfortable hotel bed that you and the boys had rented for the night before you guys went back on the road; hunting the next monster that tainted the innocence left on the world. Your attention laid fixated on the book in hand; eyes scourging the words on the page, soaking in each and every detail. It was a romance book. In fact, a favorite of yours since high school.

The book was the perfect embodiment of what you desired in a relationship. The love interest was your ideal type of man; describing a certain man you knew to a T. He was tall, gentle, nerdy, and loving in the most comforting way. Was it really just a coincidence that he shared a striking semblance to Sam? For you, no.

You were in love with Sam Winchester. You had been for years. He was, in your mind, the perfect man. But he was also your best friend, and that was something you did not want to compromise. It hurt to hold in your feelings for someone you spent almost every hour with. Especially when you had been concealing those very same feelings for years.

As a way to cope with these feelings, you delved into the romance novel world even more than you already had been in the past; which was still quite a lot. It gave you an outlet for the feelings that had been building up for years. An outlet for you to imagine that maybe in a different world Sam would be yours. A world in which you could hold hands and kiss and cuddle with Sam.

Even your more abstract fantasies could come true in your head. Slow dancing with Sam was a particular favorite. A ditzy smile plastered against your face as the image took place in your mind. Your bodies just mere inches a part from each other; Sam’s breathing fanning your face, his hands engulfing yours in a firm but gentle hold, his eyes never straying away from yours as the two of you danced to the most beautiful of songs. It was a dream.

Sam knew of this dream, unbeknownst to you. He had “accidentally” read a page out of one of your journals that was dedicated to your fantasies that you left out. Journaling was a way for you to write out whatever scenario was plaguing your mind on the lines sheets of paper, and as much as you daydreamed about slow dancing with the love of your life; the more that dream came true on paper.

Sam bit his lip nervously as he tried his very hardest to remember the scene you had written about. He wanted to recreate it down to the most minuscule of details, and now that the hotel lobby was decorated, the minuscule details were all that was left. He wanted this to be perfect even it it meant the most obscure details were included. You deserved perfection.

Dean watched Sam with concerned eyes and crossed arms. Sam was an over thinker, and he was letting his head get the best of him once again. Dean knew this better than anyone. He was Sam’s older brother, after all.

“Don’t overthink it, man. He’s going to love it,” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder with a tight-lipped smile. Sam returned the smile with a wary look in his dark, chocolate eyes, “Yeah, yeah. You're right. It's just,” his eyes scanned the room with anxiety, “it has to be perfect for him.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief as chuckles poured out of his lips, “Look at this place! Any girl,” Dean coughed as he corrected himself, “In your case, guy, would fall for you in a second.” Sam nerves began to fall away at Dean’s word, “And how do you know? You have never put this much effort into a relationship; let alone asking someone out.”

“With my looks, I don’t have to,” Dean jested.

Sam pushed Dean with his shoulder as he left out a playful, “Shut up!” His mood had done a 360, and he was finally ready for you to come down from the room. Sam took a shaky inhale as he turned to Dean, gesturing to his clothes, “And I look good, right? I-I don’t usually dress like this.”

Sam had dawned a sleek, midnight black suit. It was virtually flawless with its lack of wrinkles and the way it fit snug around the giant of a man’s body. His hands dug into the pockets of the dress pants he wore paired with a smooth, leather belt. His black, button down shirt was tucked into his pants causing small cracks to form at the border between shirt and belt. The buttons along the shirt were white; the only aspect of his outfit that wasn’t black making them catch your eyes immediately. A blazer covered the shirt, making his broad shoulder even larger. It fit him perfectly as if it was almost tailored just for him. Bottom line, he looked good.

But what kind of brother tells you that? Dean shot Sam a snarky, “Couldn’t have laid a bit back on the all black?” before he elbowed Sam playfully, “I don’t know how many times I have to say it. You look good. Now, go get ‘em, tiger.”

Dean began to walk off with a light feeling in his chest. It hadn’t been long since Jessica’s death, and Sam probably still wasn’t completely over with his survivor’s guilt and all, but a beginning with someone new, someone good like you, it gave Dean peace of mind. Sam needed a good guy like you in his life, and Dean was happy to be apart of the effort into pushing you two together. His fist knocked on the door to the hotel room you guys had rented alerting you.

“Dean? You’re back!” You shot Dean a happy smile before your eyes scanned for his missing piece who practically stood by him like a shadow, “Where’s Sam?”

Dean set out his arm for you to grab, "C’mon."

You furrowed your brows at him as you apprehensively grabbed onto his arm, and he began leading you somewhere. Dean held a pleased smile as his eyes kept flickering to you.

“So, where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

“I hate it when you’re so vague,” you whined.

Confusion clouded your mind until your eyes caught sight of the beautifully decorated lobby. It was straight out of your dreams with the man to match. Sam stood in the midst of it all with a book in hand. As much as you would’ve loved to stare at Sam for the entirety of the night, the scene has caught your eye.

The lighting was dim, but highlighted all the right spots. It gave the once blinding lighting that streamed out of the open windows a cosy and romantic environment. The tacky carpet that looked like it had taken its design from a The Shining knockoff was gone, and the dirty, wooden tiled floor was polished; reflecting the light and the silhouettes of the objects on it like a mirror.

As you sunk in the scene, your eyes drifted back to Sam who was obviously getting more nervous by the second. He had pulled the scene together, and was the cherry on the top of your cake. Your face heated up as you sized him up. He looked his absolute best. The perfect combination between sexy and stunning.

Dean removed your hand from his hold as he began to back away. The tension filling the room between you two was beginning to get suffocating for him, and he knew you two needed to be alone. And besides, a beer and trashy, hotel food awaited him upstairs back in the hotel room. His eyes lingered on the scene as you moved towards where Sam stood, and pride swelled up with him. His little brother was in love.

Your feet stopped short as Sam waltzed towards you. You felt out of place in the grandioses of it all in your pajama pants and sweater you stole from Sam. Especially with how eloquently Sam was dressed up. The two of you looked like Batman and the Joker standing by each other.

Sam opened his mouth first since an awkward silence was taking place, “[Name].”

“Sam,” you responded, eager to hear what the man in front of you had to say.

His fingers tapped against the cover of the book he held nervously, “Uh, you’re probably wondering what’s going on…”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “It’s a bit extravagant.”

“Do you not like it?” Sam uttered, fear coursing through his veins.

Your eyes shot wide as you corrected him frantically, “No! No! No! I love it! It’s amazing.” You bit your lip as you checked out Sam, “And you look amazing too.”

“No, you’re the one who looks amazing here, really.”

“I’m dressed like a homeless guy, Sam. You look like a sexy, dark, dreamy professor who all the students bend over in front of. I mean, wow, look at yourself.”

Sam blushed a cute, faint red at your words. You thought he looked good. A shy smile spread across his face, “Thanks… I, uh, I wanted to look good for you.”

“Really?” Your expression brightened. Sam Winchester dressed up for you? Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Why?”

Sam took a deep breath as the unavoidable question came up, “I need to tell you something, but I, well, I got you this.” Sam extended his arms out and pressed the book into your hands. It was a hardcover edition of your favorite book, and a big, toothy grin covered your face, “Sam! I can’t even thank you enough for this. It’s like I’m dreaming.”

Sam worn a bashful expression as you moved to place the book on a nearby tabletop. His hand fiddled with the iPod in his pocket, trying to cue the music for you two to dance together with before you turned back towards him. Sweaty hands sleeked the device as he fumbled for the play button. Sam clicked the play button as he shoulders relaxed.

Your head tilted to the sound of notes of one of your favorite songs pouring out of the speakers Sam had set up. It was slow and soft but most of all; romantic. Sam had walked to where you stood and now shadowed over you. You felt his presence from behind you, and spun around to face him.

“Dance?” Sam asked, his hand extended towards you. You blinked as you placed your hand in his. Sam cupped your hand in his as he brought you to his chest, and led you to the middle of the lobby; where he had cleared out the most space for the two of you to dance in.

Your eyes were latched onto Sam’s face; admiring all of his features as the song faded away. His hair framed his face perfectly, calling attention to his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. His gentle, intelligent eyes. His perfectly shaped, cupid-bow lips. He was gorgeous.

And Sam was thinking the very same. He had lost sigh of anything else but you. Even in the homiest of clothes, you outshone everything and everyone. Sam couldn’t help the way his eyes kept falling to your lips; eager to entrap them with his own.

The silence between you two was comforting; especially with the gentle rhythm of the music guiding your bodies as if they were one. The eye contact between you two was electric and never ending.

“Sam,” you uttered breathlessly, still caught up in majesty of it all, “what did you need to say to me?” A part of you was holding your breath. Praying that it was those very three words you dreamed he would utter to you for years.

Sam’s eyes softened, “I-I love you.”

Tears erupted from your eyes at the words as a heartfelt smile spread across your face, “I love you too.”

Sam’s fears and anxieties were gone as the words he too had been longing for left your lips. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that followed. You loved him.

Sam caressed the side of your face as he leaned in to to kiss you. His eyes fluttered shut as you tip-toed and connected your lips together. Sam’s lips flushed against yours, soft and addicting. Your fingers had crawled up to his neck and dug into the back of his hair; pulling him closer than you thought was humanly possible. Your bodies contorted together beautifully. You two were no longer two vessels intertwining, but rather two lovers coming together in a beautiful display of passion and yearning.

✎ notes . . . very much inspired by the dean & rory scene from gilmore girls. first time writing for sam so I apologize if it was out of character :( （ 𖦹◞◟） 🌠˖ ♪

©️ sethcertified 2023

#☆ — sethcertified #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural x male reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #supernatural #supernatural x you

[subzeroparade]

lore question: do you think laurence had good intentions when he brought the old blood to yharnam, or do you think it was entirely out of self interest?

I think, like with any compelling/relatable character, it's a mix of both. 

(Caveat: the way I describe Laurence’s character here is mostly based on how I write him, since it requires the most engagement with lore while being thoughtful enough to build and shape a believable person with a compelling arc). 

I think there’s a significant degree of sincerity and good intentions that drive him to bring the old blood to Yharnam. Based on the info we get in-game, the scourge does not manifest immediately, and the effects of the old blood are real and miraculous. (He also benefits personally from the effects of the blood in my headcanon, so in a sense he sees himself as proof, and denial of that is unjust and frustrating). He seems to believe it’s worth abandoning a career/life at Byrgenwerth and drawing the ire of his mentor to bring this into the world. But surely there’s bit of ego there too, a bit of “if you won’t do it, then I will.” Part of the way I interpret Laurence is through personal experience - I left academia right when my career should have kicked off. So when write him, I write from that point of view of realising now that I’ve left, I need to do something to prove myself - to prove this wasn’t a waste. I think the old blood is the ideal vehicle for personal ambition, too. It’s for the good of the people, but also his own reputation, his own need to be important, to have done something worthwhile, to prove Byrgenwerth wrong.  Most of us who were at one time deeply entrenched in academia (professionally) can have a hard time seeing past it, and use it to measure our worth. When you leave, unless you have another kind of identity to latch on to, it’s easy to become unmoored. 

But I’d argue the way he went about it - via the Church and the acquisition of political power, and the kind of Foucauldian control of the definition of healing and normalcy vs insight and/or madness, for example - all these are obviously coloured by a kind of pragmatic cruelty. I don’t think any of Laurence’s bad or heartless decisions (the ashen plague if you attribute it to the Church, or the horrors of the Orphanage) are couched in wanton cruelty - wanton cruelty is usually not very smart. They are strategic sacrifices he thinks are justified in the pursuit of his goals. I imagine when everything is going well it's easy to point to the blood’s benefits and say they outweigh the cost. But upon the emergence of the scourge I think he would find greater need to justify himself, rationalise his actions, even the worst ones, by the notion that if we can just fix the blood, get ascension to work properly, this will have been worth it. Rather than back off, he doubles down. To do otherwise would be to admit failure. To admit that the whole enterprise, and everything that props it up, is worth nothing.

Someone left a comment on my work once describing Laurence as “cruel in a way you'd not expect” which I really like. I think he’s much more interesting without this dichotomy of blatantly tyrannical vs entirely good-intentioned. It’s a question of circumstance, of which buttons can be pushed and which sacrifices can be made, and how to weigh the value of whole city, or a single person, against the goal of ascension/a cure for the scourge. 

It’s also why I love thinking about the period where he starts to lose his grip on the situation, and begin to change; and why I write the Moon Deal going down as it did - another thing, perhaps the most critical one, that he thought he’d have control over - and instead that spirals out of his grasp, too, and he loses the thing he never really wanted to sacrifice in the first place. The shock of it, for a character so in control of the narrative, is irresistible.  anyway tldr I forgive him like the French forgive Napoleon. Ty for the ask! Here's a little recent holyvicar doodle.

#ask #bloodborne #lore #lore speculation based on the lived truth of my insanely petty graduate department #laurence the first vicar #ludwig the holy blade #Ive called him a charlatan but I think it's more nuanced than that #but he's still my favourite uppity ex-academic-turned-charlatan-turned-burning-deer babygirl