#some of y'all are so cruel and for what

[breakbeatbun]

#10k notes #ok. clearly y'all don't know what 'reblog the other version' means it does not mean 'screenshot/copy these tags' smfh #also some of you people are pure toxic about something as innocent as learning how a different website works #'omg that's so cringe' 'ew i can't belive new users are doing this' i can. grow up. #i made this post as a fun little joke and i regret it now bc where y'all aren't annoying as hell you're needlessly cruel

[navree]

How can you humanize Maegor , if you will make a show about him?

It depends on how far back you're willing to go in his life, because really up until he takes the crown, you can do quite a bit to humanize him and make him someone people want to engage with, without woobifying him or trying to excuse the truly heinous things he does. Starting backstory onwards, there are lot of ways to do this. There's a lot of room to play with in his childhood and the interpersonal relationships that should be his strongest tethers to humanity, but aren't: his relationship with his brother, his relationship with his mother, and his relationship with his father.

Aenys and Maegor are a relationship that was doomed to fail since birth. For one, while the age gap isn't huge, five years is still pretty significant in terms of differences in development as children, which definitely got in the way of any bonding. For two, they also appear to have largely grown up separately, with Aenys spending most of his time by Aegon's side in King's Landing, and Maegor being raised on Dragonstone with Visenya, before the two essentially switched places with Aegon at Dragonstone and Visenya overseeing the construction of the Red Keep in King's Landing. For three, there's also the external factors, such as their incredibly different personalities and viewpoints on basically everything, as well as the fact that, when Maegor was born, Aenys was only very recently removed from the complete breakdown he had due to his trauma over his mother's sudden death, and likely still wasn't in a state to be trying to forge new bonds with anyone who wasn't Quicksilver (and Aegon, but Aegon's grandfathered in by being his literal dad). So Maegor, who we know wasn't making friends on Dragonstone and just in general was probably really isolated from kids his own age due to it being Dragonstone (not unlike how we see with Shireen Baratheon) also isn't getting any kind of connection from anyone close to his own age throughout his entire childhood.

Really, the only person Maegor is close to in any capacity is his mother, Visenya. She's the parent he grew up with, his primary caregiver and his closest relationship not just in childhood, but likely throughout his entire life. In the nature vs nurture debate on childrearing, she's the one who was providing the nurture. Nearly everything about Maegor, his personality and his view of the world and his personal philosophies and his love map in his brain, among many other things, all of that was shaped by Visenya and her influence on him and her care and devotion for him. And with no one else really around to provide him any sort of companionship that he might have needed, and with his other parent being incredibly distant and barely a parent, Maegor likely latched onto her incredibly strongly. I think, if asked, Maegor would say that, should he be found capable of love, Visenya would be the person he loved the most in his life (I'm of the opinion that his relationship with Tyanna was him trying to find a significant other that most reminded him of his beloved mother, not entirely dissimilar to the way that Henry VIII felt that an ideal wife would be one who was almost identical to Elizabeth of York). And we know that this is something that persisted long after childhood, into his adulthood Visenya was his strongest supporter and Maegor relied on her a lot early in his reign, and was publicly devastated when he learned that she had died. His mother was the only parent he ever really knew as a parent, certainly the family member he loved most, adored even, especially in such sharp distinction with Aegon as a distant father. And speaking of that distant father...

I love Aegon, he's one of my absolute favorite Targs, but he was practically just a parent in name only to his second son. And that's going to do a number on someone, no matter who they are. Maegor's father doesn't much care for his mother, certainly doesn't seem to care for him at all personally, and despite the fact that Maegor is probably far more like Aegon, and a far worthier successor, than Aenys, Aegon still dotes on his eldest while barely spending any time with Maegor. And it's not because of anything Maegor's done, or even anything Aenys has done: it's entirely because of Aenys's mother. Aenys is Aegon's favorite, his precious son, not because of anything Aenys has done to earn that, but simply because he is the son of Aegon's beloved Rhaenys, and that his very existence is a way of having Rhaenys still with him after her disappearance/death. We know that Aegon was forever incredibly affected by what happened to Rhaenys and that he never stopped loving her, given that he openly wept when he held Rhaena and was informed that she was named after her grandmother. Meanwhile, there's Maegor, whose own mother's relationship with his father was never very good (marriage of duty for them vs the Aegon/Rhaenys marriage of desire) and had become incredibly cold and distant by the time that he was born, and you can very easily see how that might ultimately affect a kid. He's watching his mother be completely ignored by his dad just for being the wrong woman, he's dealing with himself being completely ignored and passed over in love and affection just because he's the son of the wrong woman, because his mother isn't the lost ghost that Aegon loved and won't ever be able to stop loving. How much of Maegor's prowess in fighting, not to mention the unchecked aggression he showed during training, was borne of trying to impress his martially skilled father and being upset when it didn't work? How much of his continued presence in tourneys and melées was to show Aegon that he was a much better son than Aenys, that he deserved the love Aegon was freely giving his brother just as much? Was there ever a time when he resented Visenya for being his mother when that was enough to make Aegon uninterested, and did he ever hate himself for blaming the wrong person, or blaming anyone at all? How much did he internalize his own feelings about it as the relationship never got any warmer? How did he feel when Aegon finally noticed him enough to knight him himself, and make him the youngest knight in the realm at that? Did Maegor ever want to talk to him about it once he was a young man, did he ever want to try and forge a stronger relationship on his own merits as an adult, did he ever even try?

There's also the matter of Balerion, which is as much its own relationship as a subset of anything that can be played with as it pertains to Aegon and Maegor. For one, we know that Maegor point blank refused to claim any dragon because he felt that Balerion was the only one worthy of him. And you can take that at face value, but you can also go deeper into it, into the ideas that Maegor might not be consciously aware of. Maybe he wants to try and connect with his father on some level through the dragon bond. Maybe he looks at how Aegon gives Aenys so much, his companionship and his throne and his sword and his love, Hell he even gives Aenys a Valyrian bride (Alyssa Velaryon) but demands that Maegor settle for a simple Westerosi, as if he's lesser than and not the blood of old Valyria. And still he waits to see if maybe Aegon will give him something. Maybe once Aegon is too old for dragonriding, he'll give Maegor Balerion, or at least give Maegor the opportunity to try, to prove himself as Aegon's son, to have that connection. And when Aegon doesn't, when it's still Aenys getting everything Maegor might not even realize he wants, that's just another disappointment for him.

But Maegor does get Balerion anyway, once Aegon dies. He finally gets a connection to Aegon that's his alone, and it's after Aegon is already dead and likely after Maegor was already hardening into the man he would ultimately be remembered as. Not to mention, even on its own, Balerion and Maegor's bond is a good way to show a human element to the man. I've always maintained that, when it comes to Targaryens, the most unconditionally loving and the most openly affection and emotional we should see them should really be with the dragons. With their magic and their Valyrian blood and old world roots and just everything about them, even if you don't subscribe to Targaryen exceptionalism, they are pretty far removed from the place they actually live; culturally and ethnically and socially, they are not Westerosi and certainly in Maegor's time, don't see themselves or are seen by others as Westerosi. The dragons, products of Valyria's heyday, are the closest living beings that Targaryens can relate to, and this is doubly important when it comes to Balerion, who was born during the reign of the Valyrian Freehold, who was alive before the Doom. Balerion is a living cultural heritage, and for someone as isolated as Maegor is (and, as we see in his actions re: his marriages and the Faith, as divorced from Westerosi customs and standards as he is), having that connection is probably the deepest one he'd have, bar maybe his mother, and even then, despite that closeness and love, their mutually cold personalities probably made it hard to be open in any deep affection once Maegor started growing up. Dragons and their riders are practically one being, they feel each other's pains and pleasures and angers and grudges and triumphs, and Maegor having something like that, along with the connection to a father he never really was connected to, adds a human element to the man that he was, despite the fact that he used Balerion to do terrible things.

You can also do a lot with Maegor's actions before his own kingship, specifically the reign of his half-brother Aenys. In spite of their differences and distances, in spite of the shadow of Aegon and the relationships he had with his sisters that affected his relationship with his own sons in turn, Aenys does embrace Maegor with open arms. He gives him Blackfyre, another possession of Aegon's that Maegor must have coveted, and he promises that they'll rule together. They're both adults now, and Aenys seems emotionally sensitive enough to have realized that Maegor probably has some deep rooted issues borne out of things that were set in motion before he was even conceived. And while Visenya might have scoffed at the gestures Aenys made for Maegor, Maegor appears to have taken them really seriously. He personally crushes a rebellion against Aenys in the Vale, and makes huge showings of his loyalty by fighting really hard for his brother against his foes. When Aenys makes him his Hand, Maegor takes that responsibility really seriously and is willing to obey Aenys as his Lord and King, as well as protect him. This seems to have been loyalty that was reciprocated, since it's noted that, when Aenys exiles Maegor for his bigamy, he does it because he felt he had no other option than to be mad at Maegor for what he did, due to the huge public outcry, and even then he still offers Maegor a way out. He only exiles him because Maegor refuses to set Alys aside (another way to humanize Maegor, he takes Alys as a wife despite it being a big taboo for most Westerosi and in spite of her being from a pretty minor noble House, and he refuses to leave her even at the cost of losing his home, he keeps her by his side and he refuses to give her up when there were likely a shitton of better options to deal with his childlessness, to say nothing of women from greater Houses with more potential for him politically, but he CHOSE Alys), since Aenys felt that this was the only choice left to him. And Maegor abides by the exile. Yeah, he takes Blackfyre even though Aenys asked him to leave it, but he still goes into exile, and he stays in exile. Aenys rides Quicksilver and Maegor rides Balerion, the two dragons literally go toe to toe with each other and it's so massively onesided because Quicksilver doesn't stand a chance. If Maegor wanted to, he could have very easily repudiated his exile and decimated Aenys if he tried to enforce it. But Aenys told him to go, so he did, and he stayed gone until Visenya came to fetch him back with the news that Aenys was dead. He respected Aenys's word as king, his sovereign authority as liege lord and as the elder brother, and even if he might not have entirely thought the man worthy of what he had, that does speak to a sort of deference in spite of the complexities of their upbringing, and a willingness to obey Aenys despite everything about their personalities.

So, by the time Maegor comes back from Pentos to usurp the throne, there's a lot that can be used to humanize him and make him a compelling protagonist. A close but somewhat stilted relationship with the only parent to have ever tried with him, an unfulfilled, desperate need for approval and affection from a parent who couldn't give that to him due to circumstances entirely outside his control, a brother he didn't know well in his youth and might not have thought worthy of what he had and certainly been jealous of but that he still respected as king and fought hard to defend and that he deferred to even when he didn't have to, at least one marriage that, in spite of what little it offered him and the clusterfuck it caused, he valued enough that he refused to set aside, and an intense bond with a fearsome dragon that you can make him value more than almost anything or anyone. All of that set up can then be used for an extraordinary fall from grace, to watch the potential and nuance slowly grow darker and darker and darker as Maegor does increasingly horrible things, treats the people in his life increasingly badly, descends further and further into the tyranny and madness that will utlimately kill him. There's bright spots that can be used as well, like the fact that he does have Jaehaerys as his heir and doesn't seem to have had him or Viserys treated that badly, even though they were prisoners, and that he didn't actually set out to kill Aegon the Uncrowned at all until Aegon decided to take back his throne and amass an army. Then, as we've watched Maegor slide further and further down, we can watch with a sinking dread as he annihilates Aegon beneath God's Eye, as he turns on Alys and extinguishes her family, as he has Viserys literally tortured to death to punish Alyssa and Jaehaerys and Alysanne for their escape from Dragonstone. So that, by the time we get to shit like the completion of the Red Keep and the Black Brides, we see that Maegor is incredibly far gone, and we can only watch as all the complexities within him are swept aside by the monster he's become, so foul and loathsome that the eldritch abomination that is the Iron Throne finally kills him to stop the madness.

It's not about woobifying Maegor or excusing him. It's about providing a reason for the audience to look back on who he was as he becomes what he was always going to be, to give explanations for why he does the things that he does (how much of his initial militarism and violence and heavy-handedness, before he went doolally, was borne out of not just his martial prowess as a kid but also watching Aenys's version of ruling not work, for instance), and to get people to understand and feel his initial motivations so that the later stuff also makes sense, and so that you're watching something akin to a doomed fall when he becomes Maegor the Cruel. These are, at least to me, some of the most important and influential ways you can humanize Maegor as a character if you're planning to center him in a proper narrative story, without filing down his edges and keeping him as the kind of person he is. Extrapolate on why he is the way he is, and then show him how he is throughout his lifetime and what he does, along with the how and why of what he does.

#personal #answered #anonymous #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #yeah i've got a lot of thoughts about the conquerors and the dragon's peace and the sons of the dragon #anyway remember what i said about rhaenys being the glue that held the family together? #rhaenys's death being the reason that everything starts to fall apart? #rhaenys being the figure that looms large over the early reigns of the targaryens? #rhaenys being the ghost that haunts this entire family and won't ever leave them until all the people that both knew her #and were affected by her are dead? yeah i stand by all of that #it's why i'd want a sons of the dragon show to be preceded by a conquest show #so that the intense shift in dynamics and characters once she's gone makes sense #so that the very essence of the story changes when she dies #but anyway i've got Feelings #@ hbo come on guys!!!!!! #i'm right here i'm willing to work for very little money on this!!!! #(and then once i get y'all raking in cash through my correct opinions about the conquest and the sons of the dragon) #(you let me make the augustus show) #hope some of this makes sense i've been thinking about these characters a lot #so sometimes it's hard to organize it all into a cohesive essay

[angele-midnight]

Why are so many people on Tumblr/Twitter claiming Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss are bad shows??? "They're not mid shows guys they're just bad" can y'all give me one concrete reason they're bad besides debunked "controversies" or things that other people told you were bad about em?

Like I'm halfway convinced all of these people claiming these are such bad shows and are annoyed about em haven't actually watched them - "I don't need to watch a show to know it's bad" pretty sure you do if you want to have an informed opinion, that goes for everything actually.

If you're annoyed by the hype and the fan culture?? That's fine we all got our things but that doesn't make the shows themselves bad I think y'all just like having someone to poke fun of without feeling like a bully and honestly?? That seems like a miserable way to live.

#This is specifically about that mid shows post going around #What other people like and consider good/bad/mid is none of your business and not a reason to make fun of them #Y'all think you're being SO progressive and kind when you're still being cruel to people online for the smallest shit #You don't like it?? Don't interact with it just block and move on #You curate your own internet experience it's not that hard #I don't like rwby or one piece and those come up on my dash all the time it's so easy to ignore and move on #I don't call those shows bad because surprise! I've never seen them so I don't know! #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #Y'all claim cringe culture is dead but still mock people who like “cringy” stuff like any of this is gonna matter in five years #And mark my words I'm gonna get called cringe or some shit for this post #When y'all should be thinking about why you take joy from calling people shit on the internet like it's gonna make you happy #Years long mutuals of mine are even jumping on the mockery bandwagon!! I've followed y'all for almost a decade what is going on

[frozenambiguity]

So, hum. I just found out about a highly important Kaeya fact. In case you didn't know, apparently Kaeya has slightly different voice lines during the Caribert quest in the archives, concerning Mondstadt and his father.

And why is it important? Because saying:

«Maybe my father left me in the peaceful land of Mondstadt for no other reason than simply to give me a happier life... A happy life sounds good to me, of course. Even if it means being cut off from... certain things».

Is vastly different from saying:

«Maybe my father left me in the peaceful land of Mondstadt for no other reason than simply to keep me alive... As well as ensuring I'd be safely cut off from... certain things. The thought that I might be able to actually live a happy life there must have been the icing on the cake».

In case you want to confirm it yourself but are too lazy to go to the archives, check this tiktok! I've confirmed it in the archives myself, so it's the real deal, guys.

#【 let me tell you a story | thoughts to be shared. 】 #{{ SHAKING........ }} #{{ so sneaky WHY DID THEY CHANGE THE VOICELINE IN THE ACTUAL QUEST }} #{{ THE HIDDEN ONE IN THE ARCHIVES HAS SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANCE }} #{{ this further intensifies my theory of kaeya actually being in danger bc of his lineage }} #{{ and his father having to leave him in mondstadt for the sake of his safety and survival; rather than simply using him to spy on others } #{{ y'all I don't think Papa Alberich is as cruel as some people seem to think or make him to be }} #{{ from all the info we got he shows remorse/anger that he was forced to leave kaeya alone. And was doing his best to protect him }} #{{ the way I would have never found out about this were it not for tiktok's algorythm.... what the heck }}

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Do you not realize it? Do you... truly not see what this means?"

The next Destiny Bond update is in progress! ❄️✨ –> Check out the latest part here 🔷 –> New to the series? Follow from the start! 💜

#we back for the winter season bois :} ☃️ #got some Particularly Fun parts I wanna have done before the end of the year--that I'll hopefully have time to do over the term break !!! 💫 #it's actually so? insane? how we're nearing the end of the year already??????????????HUH #just a little over a week and some Ridiculous cramming I'll have to pull off (no thanks to past me sdskjfs) before I'm free for the holiday #I mean I'd--still have freelancing to do of course but without the looming dread of actively avoiding college responsibilities at least /lh #it's even more insane somehow looking back on when I actually started this whole comic that spiraled Wildly out of controlSKDJFNSDFS #to think that this all started from a prompt I had a few days after my birthday--into its own whole story I wanna see through is--- #honestly something I'm really proud of. something I'm really happy I got to do for myself since it's-above all a passion project if anythin #I'm a lot slower these days what with juggling my own mental crises here and there on top of work for sure #but I get to come back to working on this whenever I find myself feeling down or with some free time to unwind and it's--really nice 💖💕 #and we're still in the beginning I swear to god we're still so early I'm so sorry this is gonna take so longSDHFIUSHDNFKJSDHS #but it bears repeating how thankful I am to everyone who's joined along for this ride- who've been so wonderful and patient thus far #to know that even a handful of people out there tune in to this silly ol thing and are genuinely excited for its sporadic updates-- #--has been a definite highlight in what's been a- Ridiculously--almost comically cruel year (in ways I can't begin to express skjdfnsdfs) #and what with this holiday season being all about giving and gratitude---I want to emphasize on how thankful I am for all of y'all 💖💖💖 #I'll see what surprises I can sneak in to my schedule these coming weeks- the insanity of these following updates included hehee ✨ #Destiny Bond comicverse #mystery man eusine #eusine pokemon #pokemon #pokemon fancomic #pokemon gsc #pokemon hgss #comic wip

[thebirdandhersong]

I decided this year that being introverted was no excuse for avoiding people, and that I needed to focus less on shyness and more on community building and Being Brave For Once, and so naturally one of the steps I took was attending an English department socialization event today--the first time I have ever attended one of their events. And boy did that come This Close to making me regret stepping out of the house

#if you ever find yourself in an enclosed space with twelve english majors i'm telling you SHOUT A HASTY GOODBYE AND SCOOT #that's an exaggeration sorry i love english majors also i am one so i feel some license to make fun every once in a while #HOWEVER #if y'all have ever sat through 15+ minutes of arts major girls complaining about the Trials of being a woman and whining about Men...... #in front of the ONE MAN who showed up for the party. poor boy #it is an incomparable experience and one that i would not wish on anybody #on another point the eng department party that showed up hit all the bingos today in terms of conversation: #death of the author. book piracy (one of the exec team girls ADVOCATED for this). how Evil the british monarchy is #(like. girls the queen just passed away last year also can we please not ridicule people in this very contemptuous and cruel way) #gender and politics. gender and ideology. gender and--you get it #cheating in class (one of the exec team girls ADVOCATED for this too) #complaining about the university's policies and system. #also did i mention complaining about Men #it was a Lot and i hobbled back home with a headache #am i going back?? remains to be seen!!!! GOOD GRIEF what a day #slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in year 21

[corgoship]

tumblr users stop saying walt was always evil or draw 25

#YOU'RE MISSING THE POINTTTTT #was he always an asshole with deep rooted issues with his ego and masculinity? #possibly probably yes #BUT. He wasn't nearly as bad as ppl make him out to be. he struggles with his morality and his descent is gradual #vince gilligan's whole idea for brba was to 'take mr. chips and turn him into scarface' #FURTHERMORE one of the themes of Better call saul was nature vs. nurture #and how jimmy WASN'T 'always like this'. maybe he had some predispositions but he wasn't BORN like that #so by claiming that walt was always evil you're missing the point #which is that he was this milque toast run-of-the-mill guy who got corrupted by power and this could happen to anyone #feel free to hate on him bc he deserves the shade but do it for the shit he did AFTER his diagnosis #of course there is no excuse for what he did but there is absolutely no indication that he ever did anything to harm anyone before that #skyler and flynn both keep saying how much walt changed so like. that's your proof right there that he was more or less normal #if he was always as cruel and abusive as y'all claim then the change wouldn't be. a change noticed by the characters #thanks for coming to my ted talk #breaking bad #brba #walter white

[heffrondriving]

welp, i just had a weirdly stupid dream about the btr gang randomly taking a holiday in my home region and i got to hug kendall and lowkey hang out with carlos and logan as they went to go see the local sights and naturey stuff. also mica and alexa (with ocean + kingston???) made cameos and i greeted alexa with the awkwardest handshake in the history of dream handshakes. oh and james was there bare-fistfighting a donsol whale shark too ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#welp make that an important lesson never to pass out from pure exhaustion after freaking out abt them ;/ #there was also like this liminal endless flower field the van was driving through and smth about shirts and some of my family were there? #that dream hug was nice though. ken was so warm and fuzzy and smelled like fresh citrus (yeah kinda weird now @ self) and now i'm sad :'< #even if it ended with action star james montage snarling and trying to intimidate a giant shark in some vacation water park kinda place lol #neway now back to reality where i'm oceans and an entire continent away and will prob never get to see them irl for as long as i live. sigh #i woke up at 8 AM and i'm still mad lemme indulge for a while reality u cruel boring bastard;;; there ain't no forever tour rodeo for me!!! #sorry if this is weird to even admit ahah idk what's going on in my braim but at least it isn't bloody dissection dreams this time so. #although those are kinda cool too. or i might just be watching too much g0ry dead meat eps on youtube idk :^) #do pretty girl don't speak #will delete #i just said i'd stop with the personal infodumping didn't i. shit. sorry once again y'all ;-;

[dduane]

Had an idea you might be able to use for something: Klingon Soap Operas.

(sigh)

Thanks for the thought. I appreciate your kindness!

But unfortunately, because you've sent me the idea and I've read it, I can now not use it, ever. No matter how much I might like to.

This isn't about you, you understand. And in its way it probably seems like a cruel paradox. You were only trying to be helpful! But if I was working on something for Trek and this concept came up even in casual discussion, I would be honor-bound (and contractually required) to inform them that the idea had come to me from a reader or fan. And then—rightly, from their point of view—they would forbid me to use it, because the idea's originator might some day, despite all their friendly intentions now, sue them over it. And the evidence that I was at fault would be easy to obtain. Sending a DM on any major platform generates an electronic "paper trail" that will confirm its target has opened and read the message in question. And that electronic record can be subpoenaed and submitted as evidence, and would stand up in court.

"Oh, come on, who'd do a thing like that, what are the odds...?" people will say. But it's not generally known that I've already been involved in a high-stakes lawsuit in which someone tried to sue Mattel over material I wrote when developing the initial form of the "Barbie: Fairytopia" universe (and the first Fairytopia film) for them. I'd never so much as met or communicated with the person suing them, had never read even a word of their work... but they still went to great trouble and expense attempting to prove that I'd had access to their material and used it without permission.

Mattel won the suit (as I'd frankly been expecting: the attorney handling their defense was one of the most expert IP lawyers in the US). But it gave me the chills... and made it clear how very wrong things could go, and the kind of damage that could be done to my career and my personal life, if I even accidentally used ideas from unauthorized sources.

Seriously, folks. I know you all mean well! But please don't make me tap the sign. DO NOT SEND ME STORY IDEAS, no matter how vague or general or unformed they may be. To do so is to absolutely guarantee that they will never, ever happen.* (And in my own universes, your innocently-meant suggestion could mean that neither you or anyone else will ever see that particular Young Wizards or Middle Kingdoms plot, no matter how much you'd like to... because I take this stuff seriously.)

...Thanks, all.

*This is also why I don't read fanfic set in my universes. Which you also shouldn't send me: please and thank you.

ETA: I would really, really appreciate it if y'all would refrain from giving @eldritchcatpossumamalgam grief in the tags. They made an honest, well-intentioned mistake, that's all, and they don't deserve to be personally raked over the coals for it. (And any of you who think I would derive any kind of satisfaction from that happening plainly don't know me very well.) So thanks in advance for your cooperation.

#fanfic #story ideas #Don't. #Just... #you know... #DON'T. #(thanking you)

[headspace-hotel]

I saw this book entitled "Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have to Do is Ask" by Mary Siisip Genuisz and i thought oh I HAVE to read that. The author is Anishinaabe and the book is all about Anishinaabe teachings of the ways of the plants.

Going from the idiotic, Eurocentric, doomerist colonialism apologia of that "Cambridge companion to the anthropocene" book, to the clarity and reasonableness of THIS book, is giving me whiplash just about.

I read like 130 pages without even realizing, I couldn't stop! What a treasure trove of knowledge of the ways of the plants!

Most of them are not my plants, since it is a different ecosystem entirely (which gives me a really strikingly lonely feeling? I didn't know I had developed such a kinship with my plants!) but the knowledge of symbiosis as permeating all things including humans—similar to what Weeds, Guardians of the Soil called "Nature's Togetherness Law"—is exactly what we need more of, exactly what we need to teach and promote to others, exactly what we need to heal our planet.

She has a lot of really interesting information on how knowledge is created and passed down in cultures that use oral tradition. The stories and teachings she includes are a mix of those directly passed down by her teacher through a very old heritage of knowledge holders, stories with a newer origin, and a couple that have an unknown origin and (I think?) may not even be "authentically" Native American at all, but that she found to be truthful or useful in some way. She likes many "introduced" plants and is fascinated by their stories and how they came here. (She even says that Kudzu would not be invasive if we understood its virtues and used it the way the Chinese always have, which is exactly what I've been saying!!!)

She seems a bit on the chaotic end of the spectrum in regards to tradition, even though she takes tradition very seriously—she says the way the knowledge of medicinal and otherwise useful plants has been built, is that a medicine person's responsibility is not simply to pass along teachings, but to test and elaborate upon the existing ones. It is a lot similar to the scientific method, I would call it a scientific method. Her way of seeing it really made me understand the aliveness of tradition and how there is opportunity, even necessity, for new traditions based upon new ecological relationships and new cultural connections to the land.

I was gut punched on page 15 when she says that we have to be careful to take care of the Earth and all its creatures, because if human civilization destroys the biosphere the rocks and winds will be left all alone to grieve for us.

What a striking contrast to the sad, cruel ideas in the Cambridge companion of the Anthropocene, where humans are some kind of disease upon the Earth that oppresses and "colonizes" everything else...!...The Earth would GRIEVE for us!

We are not separate from every other thing. We have to learn this. If I can pass along these ideas to y'all through my silly little posts, I will have lived well.

#symbiosis #the ways of the plants #you are a caretaker #you are not separate from every other thing #indigenous literature #books

[valeskafics]

"Nothing Compares To You" - Feyd Rautha x Wife!Reader

a/n: grouped a few similar anon requests together, hope y'all enjoy. just some fluffy feyd hehe 🩷

Summary: Things change between you and Feyd when he learns of an attempt on your life.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, physical violence, arranged marriage, pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2,000

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Feyd’s uncle always taught him that love was weakness. That he should never let it cloud his mind or judgment. So, when he saw you for the first time, the young woman he was fated to marry, he did his best to ignore the pang in his chest, the longing brewing inside him. He ignored your kind smile, your gentle demeanor. He laid with you on your wedding night, doing his husbandly duty, but beyond that? He rarely sought you out. Feyd knew his coldness confused you. But he couldn’t afford to let himself fall in love with you. So keeping you at an arm’s length was the best option for everyone. Feyd has never known how to care for something, for someone. All his life, he has known only violence and pain. How in the world is he meant to know what to do when it comes to you? His sweet, gentle wife? The one who looks upon him with such sadness when he goes to his concubines after dinner every night instead of to her bed?

Feyd has never been cruel to you. But he has refrained from showing you the warmth it is that you so clearly crave. You share your meals together in sustained silence, you make your appearances together without him giving you the affection it is you desire. And each time he sees you, his will to keep you at a distance weakens. His resolve hangs on by a thread that grows more and more precarious with each passing day. Every gentle smile you give him despite his aloof demeanor, every graze of your hand against his. Slowly, but surely, you have begun to wear him down.

The day you are attacked is the day everything truly changes for the two of you. He receives word from one of his slaves that you are in the hospital wing. Feyd races as fast as his feet can carry him, finding you laying there, your body battered and bruised, your body and face marred by injuries. There is an unpleasant sinking in his chest as he gazes upon you, turning to the doctor and demanding to know what happened. He shouldn’t be surprised to learn that this was the handiwork of his Harpies, but he is. Rage bubbles up inside him. He had explicitly demanded that they never touch you. And the simmering flame of his rage grows to a fiery inferno at the doctor’s next words.

“We are lucky the na-Baroness was found when she was and that she didn’t lose the baby, na-Baron.”

His child. That one night, your wedding night, had borne fruit. You were carrying his heir. Feyd grits his teeth, the steady rise and fall of your chest the only indication that you are still alive. You look so small and fragile laying there in that bed. It makes him sick. It shatters everything in him that he thought he knew. Feyd’s only thoughts are of you now, of his need for you to wake up and look at him with those soft eyes, to hear your sweet voice once more. He stays at your side for the next three days. He ignores his uncle’s demands that he join him in matters regarding the administration of Giedi Prime, roaring with anger that his first and foremost duty is to protect you and his unborn child.

Three days later, you wake, your eyes fluttering open, your voice raspy and weaker than he’s ever heard it before as you question, “Feyd…? What happened?”

He whispers your name, rushing to be at your side, helping you sit up. It physically pains Feyd as you groan and wince in pain, his touch uncharacteristically gentle and doting as he brings a cup of water to your lips. After a few moments of allowing you to catch your breath, you speak again.

“The last thing I remember was the Harpies…”

Feyd does his best to hold back the snarl of rage that threatens to escape his lips, wiping your feverish brow as he explains, “They tried to kill you.”

“Kill me?” You question incredulously, your blood pressure and heart rate rising on the monitor, “Why? You haven’t even touched me since the wedding night! I’m no threat to them!”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, his fists clenched as he remembers how you looked. Lying there unconscious, vulnerable and defenseless. A sweet, innocent woman caught in a cruel fight that was never yours to begin with. Everything has changed for Feyd in this moment.

“They attacked you because they know you carry…”

Your eyes go wide as the realization hits you, lips parting in shock, “I’m pregnant? But we only… We only ever slept together on the wedding night! Surely just one time couldn’t have resulted in a pregnancy.”

The corners of Feyd’s lips turn up in a slight smile, his gaze soft as he murmurs, “Sometimes it only takes one time, little one.”

You frown at the pet name ever so slightly. Feyd knows that you must be confused by the sudden tenderness he is treating you with, his complete 180 in demeanor. However, you shake your head and face him again, a new determination in you. A mother’s strength as you rest your hand on your stomach, protecting the unborn baby in whatever way you can, fire in your eyes and a steely resolve to you that makes Feyd feel a strange rush of desire.

“I want them gone, Feyd,” you demand firmly, gazing into his eyes, “I don’t care that they’re your concubines. Find new ones. I want them gone.”

He nods, “Do you want them punished as well?”

“Banish them, execute them, I don’t care. I just want them away from my baby.” It’s strange, but he relishes in your demand. In the power in your voice. Something stirs inside of him at the sight of you like this as you continue speaking, “And I promise you, Feyd, if they don’t leave? I will. I don’t care who you spend your time with. I know this wasn’t a love match. But I’ll be damned if your Harpies touch my baby ever again.”

Feyd’s head is spinning as he nods, your voice still echoing in his head, answering without a moment’s hesitation, “They will be executed. It will be done.”

“Good.” You lean back, wincing slightly in pain, waving him away when he tries to assist you, “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to feel pain,” he blurts out, your pain becoming so unbearable as if it’s being inflicted on his own person, “You are not fine. You’ve been hurt. I cannot have that.”

You scoff, “Really? You haven’t cared about me at all these last three months. Is it different now that you’ve bred me?”

Feyd’s heart sinks, anger spiking inside him. There is truth to your words. He has done his best not to care for you since the day you came to Giedi Prime. But he is done pretending. He clenches his jaw, meeting your gaze.

“Don’t speak to me that way. I’m your husband.”

“I will speak to you in whatever way I wish,” you retort sharply, your glare harsh enough to intimidate even the bravest of men, “Your playthings nearly killed my baby. I want those murderesses gone.”

It’s strange. The old him would have snapped back with a callous remark. But the man he is now, the man who thought he was going to lose you? He feels something he has never felt with another woman. He feels like he is yours. Completely yours. Your servant. He tries to give you a stern gaze.

“You are bold tonight.”

“I am a mother now. It is not only myself I have to protect.”

Your doctor returns, declaring that you will require two weeks of bedrest. That you will need to be accompanied at all times. You scowl, exclaiming that the whole thing is ridiculous, but Feyd smiles, saying he will be glad to care for you as you recover from your injuries. He lifts you into his arms, spiriting you back to the bedchamber the two of you were meant to share. The one he never came back to after that first night. He smiles to himself at seeing how you’ve made it your own, little touches here and there that make it so quintessentially you. He lays you down on the bed, watching you glower up at him.

“I have slept alone every night even since we’ve been married. I intend to continue doing so.”

Feyd shakes his head resolutely, “No. You will not. I will stay here and care for you.”

He watches as you struggle to make yourself comfortable in the plush bed, his heart squeezing uncomfortably as he catches a glimpse of the bruises that litter your body. You lay on top of the quilt, groaning slightly as he moves to help you.

“You don’t need to look so guilty. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sit up and he moves to sit beside you, his fingertips gently tracing the bruise that goes up your neck, whispering, “How could it not be my fault? I have failed you. As a husband and as the father of your child.”

You shiver slightly as he continues, his hand moving down to rest against your chest, feeling the beating of your heart, “You couldn’t have known how ambitious they were. You’d given them an order and expected them to obey. They were yours, you thought better of them.”

Feyd leans in, resting his forehead against yours, rasping, “They were mine, yes. But you are mine as well. You are my top priority.” His hands move to caress the curves of your body, groaning at the feeling of your soft flesh against his palms, “Don’t keep me away. I was selfish. And scared. My uncle always taught me love was a weakness. And when I first saw you, I knew you were the only woman who could ever make me fall in love. My body, my heart. They ached for you every single day. I was so afraid of losing myself to you. You tempted me with every smile. Every kind word. Every touch.”

“You’re a fool,” you murmur softly, your hand reaching to touch his cheek, “Temptation is when you are not meant to have something. Feyd, you’re meant to have me. To love me. You chose to slake your lust with your Harpies. Did you think I would not have welcomed you into my bed? You’re my husband.”

“They never compared to you,” he replies, his fingertips tracing the Cupid’s bow of your lips, “Nothing compares to you.”

“I’m well aware.”

He chuckles as you grant him the greatest gift he could have ever asked for. That sweet smile of yours. Aimed at him. Feyd leans in and kisses you, his touch rough and demanding. He does not know how to love gently, but when you trace his cheekbones with your fingers, your touch so soft and soothing, he nearly freezes in place. He moans against your lips, laying beside you, holding your body close to his as you continue to engage in this languid kiss, slowly exploring each other’s bodies. He refuses to take you, not in this fragile state. In two weeks, when you are recovered, he will claim your body once again. But for now, he’s perfectly content to lay here like this, kissing his sweet wife.

“I don’t mind your nature,” you whisper against his lips, “Your love is violent. Mine is gentle. We can have both. We need both.”

Your words, your presence, it all lights a fire within him as he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue, the taste of you being committed to his memory, wrapped in each other’s arms, finally experiencing the marital bliss you two had robbed yourselves of.

Feyd knows now that love is not a weakness.

His love for you makes him strong.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x you #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune x you #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd oneshot #my writing

[xenasaur]

some of y'all need to stop seeing self deprecation as a funny joke and start looking at it for what it is. you are being so fucking cruel to a member of our community. and they don't deserve your cruelty. I love all of you so much and it sucks to watch you gleefully shittalk someone I care about then excuse it by going "but it's okay, I can say that, it's about myself!"

I feel like a lot of people use the "hey don't be mean to my friend [name] >:(" in a joking manner but. no. seriously. stop shittalking my friend. it sucks to hear you talk about anybody like that, ESPECIALLY a community member. you don't get a free pass for directing it at yourself.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #könig #könig cod #konig x you #cod konig

[ohnoitstbskyen]

... y'all know Lae'zel is acting scared, right?

Video transcription: I've seen a lot of comments on my short about Lae'zel dismissing her entire character because she's mean and… I'm just checking in here… you guys know she's scared, right? She's terrified. She was kidnapped by the worst monster she knows, infected with the most horrifying death anyone in her culture can have, and then stranded on a hostile world, alone, with nothing to guide her except the dogmatic military cult indoctrination of a cruel lich demigod, telling her that her only hope of salvation is to follow Gith doctrine with total unyielding faith. And still she tries to save you. When she keeps insisting that you must get to the Githyanki crèche, it's our only hope, she's trying to guide you towards the only salvation she knows from the parasite, so she can share it with you. And Gith... aren't supposed to do that, saving an outsider is not part of the doctrine, she's breaking the rules trying to do right by you. None of that means she's not being an asshole, she's rude, dogmatic and unpleasant. But everything she does comes from a genuine, very misguided and abrasive, desire to do the right thing. It doesn't make her behaviour okay, but there is more to her character than just "being the mean one."

To expand on this a bit more than I can in a 60 second short, people acting from fear and from their damage is a major theme among the Baldur's Gate 3 companions.

Lae'zel is terrified and falling back on the only thing she believes will give her back some control over her situation, which is the dogma of the military cult she's in. Shadowheart is much the same, amnesiac and grasping on to the only solid thing she knows, which is her faith, which preaches deception, loss and duplicity as the only certain factors in life.

Gale is an inveterate people-pleaser desperately dependent on other people to help him feed his magic addiction, with his overtly affable exterior hiding a rolling boulder of guilt, ambition, greed, arrogance and legitimate hurt. Asterion is... well, no way to really lay out his deal without spoiling, but the boy has been through it and his self-destructive, hedonistic and selfish impulses are all coping mechanism and self-defense all the time.

None of that make their shitty behaviours okay, but in a fictional story, those kinds of flaws and toxic behaviours are what make for interesting stories and characters. I don't blame anyone for finding Lae'zel unpleasant and abrasive, but I do get a bit Old Man Yells At Cloud about people who casually brag about shoving her off a cliff-side, or murdering her because "she was a bitch" or whatever.

Like... being unable to face discomfort in your media is not a virtue, and lashing out reactively against fiction that doesn't validate your power fantasy isn't a flex.

Of course, I saw a lot of those reactions in YouTube comments and on social media, so my sample is biased by those algorithms, but still. A lot of people seem aggressively proud that they never engaged with her story because the terrified indoctrinated child-soldier wasn't immediately nice to them and I can't explain it but something about that reaction feels puritan to me.

#tbskyen #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #laezel #lae'zel #Youtube

[jessieliveblogs]

The thing about so many people being mad at Izzy's death is that they have no fucking media literacy.

Did it make you sad? Does it feel unfair?

YEAH! THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT!

It is sad. It's unfair, even.

But what it's NOT is bad writing or "bury your gays" or cruel to the viewers.

You dumb shits.

"But Izzy is disabled!" So are Lucius and Ed.

"But Izzy was suicidal!" So was Ed.

"But Izzy was an elder queer who came out later in life!" (Debatable but) So was Stede.

"But Izzy was abused!" So was literally everyone.

Y'all just don't want death to happen to your favorite characters. Which is FINE and a very NORMAL response but you're doing way too fucking much.

It's like when Noah died in The Raven King and people were sending the author abuse about it. Like SOMETIMES SAD THINGS HAPPEN! If everyone got off scot free and no one suffered consequences you'd get the end of Breaking Dawn. Which NO ONE can argue was 'good writing'.

I don't know man, it's like you're allowed to be sad your fave died but this witch hunt, this crusade of virtue signaling trying to assign your bad feelings to some Great Bigoted Crime of Problematacy is just fucking ponderous

#Our Flag Means Death #ofmd2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #izzy hands

[smallpeniscollective]

Raphael fuckers, come get y'all juice!!

another smutty Raphael/Haarlep blurb for a concept I CANNOT get out of my HEAD

ladies, gentlemen, and anyone else who showed up to the potluck, here’s some good old fashioned dp with Raphael and Haarlep

content: pov/2nd person, she/her pronouns, afab body parts, pet names, devil sex, fingering with claws (yeOWCH), orgasm delay/denial, p-in-v, p-in-a, double penetration, master/pet dynamic, and whatever else comes with sploinking the devil and his incubus

trigger warning for pain during sex and also for rough sex as punishment for stealing from the house of hope

(this kinda ended up Way longer than a blurb so please enjoy just some porn with barely any plot)

*~*~*

He could have whisked your clothes away in an instant with one of his usual theatrical snaps, but you could sense this was a power play, to make you feel your submission to him deep under your skin. Ravenous, glowing eyes watched as you undressed, making you feel suddenly shy and yearning to hide from his penetrating gaze.

“Oh, don’t be timid now, little mouse. You lost that right the second you entered my home without permission.”

While your terrifyingly hopeless situation had your blood running cold, you couldn’t deny that feeling the low rumble of his voice in your naked chest sent a fresh wave of arousal to your core. You continued to undress with averted eyes and shaky hands. When you dropped the last of your clothing onto a small pile on the floor, you managed to look up at him with anxiously rounded eyes.

“On the bed,” he ordered. His voice sounded cruel and cold, contradicting how intimate this felt to you.

You felt the sensation of shame drop your heart in your chest, unable to stop the panicked wondering of what your companions would think of their fearless leader degrading herself so willingly for a devil.

But your body acted of its own volition, obeying his orders and climbing into the bed rather ungracefully. You sat towards the edge of the bed on your heels, kneeling before him as if he were the answer to your prayers, despite him being the main threat to your existence in this moment.

He approached the mattress with slow and calculated steps while his tail swished behind him like an irritated cat. His wings extended out wide, encompassing you and blocking your view of anything but him.

His hand raised, and you instinctively flinched, only for him to slowly stroke his knuckles down the side of your cheek. His lips curled into a wicked grin in response to your fear. “Don’t act so scared, little thief. I won’t harm you… yet.”

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest at the promise of pain.

He gripped your chin tightly with his thumb and finger, pressing his claw into your bottom lip. When your lips instinctively parted, he dove in. You never expected his kisses to be gentle, but the scorch of his lips pulled a surprised noise out of you. Your eyes fluttered closed as you let him consume you with greedy licks of his hot tongue.

His other hand grazed your cheek before tracing down the side of your neck, claws scratching against your soft skin as he slid that hand into the hair at the nape of your neck.

When your hands moved to touch him, he gripped your hair and yanked your head back harshly, prying your open mouth from his. You whimpered from the sting of your hair almost being ripped out.

“You will not move until instructed. Do you understand?”

You tried to nod your head, but his firm grip on your hair didn’t allow much wiggle room.

“Use your words, pet.” His eyes were half-lidded with lust, but the cruel glare shined through his fiery irises.

“Yes,” you squeaked. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at how weak you felt in that moment, when your entire journey seemed to have been about proving your strength.

“Yes, what?” He asked, tilting his head to the side and squinting his eyes at you. He was searching for submission in your frightened eyes, attempting to crush any form of rebellion against him you had left.

You reactively gulped, mouth suddenly dry as you realized what he wanted. With your voice as meek and vulnerable as you had ever heard it, you whispered, “Yes, master.”

The sharp-toothed grin that spread across his face could only be described as pure evil. The hero of Faerun, the ender of the Shadow Curse and life-saver to any unfortunate soul who crossed your path, was nothing but a mere pet to their new master.

“I so enjoy that title from your lips, dearest pet,” he hummed.

Before you could think of any response, his heavy hands swiftly moved to shove your shoulders back, sending you flying into mattress. You landed with a gasp on your back, and he was quick to pull your legs towards him, spreading you wide for him.

He had been able to smell your arousal from the moment he laid eyes on you in his home, but seeing now how truly wet you were for him, slick dripping from your folds and smeared across your inner thighs, it seemed to boost his ego beyond his absurd level of narcissism. “My, my,” he mused, swiping a clawed finger along your drenched slit, “it seems you rather enjoy submitting to my whims.”

Without instruction to move, you gripped the silken sheets with quick, shaky breaths as he toyed with you. When his claw caught on your clit, you inhaled sharply and bit down in your bottom lip.

Suddenly, two large fingers were shoved into you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you at the feeling of being stretched beyond what your own two fingers could manage. His pace was teasingly slow as he watched your body react to his touch, how your thighs trembled and your abdomen clenched. When his gaze shifted up at your eyes squeezed shut, he paused his motions. “Eyes on me, little mouse. You wouldn’t want me to take your averted gaze as disrespect, would you?”

“No,” you whimpered, opening your eyes slowly. When you met his eyes, his stare was downright predatory, and it sent a shiver up your spine.

“No?” he asked sharply, correcting your mistake of forgetting your manners. He forced his hand in deep, and you felt the tips of his claws press into your cervix in a warning.

“No, master.” Your brows upturned with an unspoken apology.

“Do not make me remind you again,” he threatened, digging his claws deeper into the flesh of your cunt.

“I’m sorry, master,” you whined. You could feel your walls throbbing around his hot fingers.

Satisfied with your reply, he continued pumping his fingers into you, letting his sharp claws freely scrape against your insides. Your moans mixed with winces as you experienced the pleasure mixing with pain in a way you never pictured yourself enjoying so much.

After what felt like an eternity of such sinful pleasure, a warmth bloomed below your stomach, pulling a string tight within you. When your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled them out, eliciting a pathetic whine from your lips as that feeling in your abdomen sizzled out.

“Fret not, dearest thief, we’re not done yet,” he murmured before stepping back from the bed and snapping his wet fingers.

A flash of bright flames sparked, and you recognized the devilish form that appeared beside the bed.

“You called, master?” Haarlep asked, shifting his gaze from the still-clothed cambion to your naked body with unbridled lust.

Raphael looked over at Haarlep, and you witnessed the possessive gleam in his eyes fade into something colder and strangely more distant in regards to his personal incubus. “I want you to fuck our little thief,” he said bluntly. “And do make sure she comes. It will make the next act of our torrid affair… easier to handle.”

His phrasing had your mind beginning to spin with worry, but before you could vocalize any concerns, Haarlep obliged his master. He crawled onto the bed with fluid movements and slithered over your smaller frame, lining up his already-hard cock with your soaked entrance.

“Wait,” Raphael barked. Haarlep turned towards his master, and you both watched as Raphael walked towards the side of the bed and snapped his fingers once more. An elegant chair appeared behind him, and he promptly sat, crossing his leg over his knee and curling his fingers around his chin as if he were in deep thought. “Now, you may begin.”

At his words, Haarlep turned back to you, smiling wickedly. “I remember you,” he said, his voice identical to Raphael’s but with more whimsy, “you were the little mouse who snuck around the cat’s house. How does it feel to be beneath his claws?”

“Haarlep, your order was to fuck her, not to make conversation,” You could hear the annoyance in his tone.

“Very well, master,” Haarlep said, before settling his hands on the plump flesh of your hips and pushing into you. The first thing you felt was the sting of the stretch, much larger than anything you had felt before. You panted between pained moans as the ridges and bumps that adorned his member dragged along your tight walls, and your eyes squeezed shut involuntarily in response.

“Eyes on me, pet,” Raphael said, and you obediently opened them once more, turning your head to face him as Haarlep ground his hips against yours to nudge his cock deeper into you. Raphael studied your face as your brows upturned and your mouth hung open in intense pleasure.

You could see outline of Raphael’s erection through his breeches; he was feeling every sensation that the incubus was as you were taken in front of him. Raphael's eyes remained on you as he demanded, “Harder,” but you could tell the order was not for you when Haarlep’s grip on your hips tightened. His claws left deep, crescent-shaped indentions as they dug into your delicate skin.

Haarlep’s sensual slower thrusting then became hard pounding, and the sound of wet skin slapping against skin began to fill the room, along with the noises he pulled out of you. Your knuckles turned white from the grip you had on Raphael’s sheets as your low moans morphed into cries of pleasure. Your eyes were still on his but beginning to blur with tears as he watched you be fucked relentlessly by his copy.

Raphael let out his own quiet groans as he felt the sensation of your phantom cunt squeezing and quivering around him. He smoothly uncrossed his legs, spreading his thighs in a deliciously dominant way and untied the string to his breeches to free his aching cock. Precum leaked from his tip as he lazily stroked his shaft.

“Touch her,” he ordered Haarlep. You grew somehow even wetter at his orders when his eyes never left you.

“As you wish,” you heard Haarlep’s voice sing out, his face just barely in your peripheral view. One of his hands moved from your hip to your most sensitive region, and you gasped loudly at the caress of your clit as he continued his hard thrusts.

At the sensation of your clit being touched and the pleasurable pounding you were taking, your knees lifted of their own accord to hold at Haarlep's hips. You could feel the bruises forming already from the ridges on his hips digging into your skin, yet that string inside of you wound tightly once more. You knew it wouldn’t take long for it to snap.

Your loud moans were music to Raphael’s ears as he stroked harder and tighter, his cock now glistening with an abundance of precum. He grunted before asking in a voice even lower and reverberant than before, “Do you wish to come, little mouse?”

“Yes, master,” you managed through your moans.

“And she calls you ‘master’,” Haarlep cooed at your use of the word. “What a delectable little mouse, indeed.”

Haarlep’s generous circling of your aching clit and deep rutting had you seeing stars. You could feel yourself on the cusp of your orgasm, and your thighs began to shake vigorously from holding it back. Raphael could see this, watching you teeter on that edge with a lick of his lips.

He waited, of course.

Pleasure turned into torture as you wailed, your fingers going numb from how tightly you were gripping the sheets. Your muscles grew taught with the exertion of holding in your orgasm.

You didn’t want to beg, but you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, master!” you cried out, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

When your cries of pleasure became pitiful sobs, Raphael finally relented.

“Go on then, pet. Come for me.”

With a strained moan, your back arched and your vision blurred as white hot pleasure flooded through you, ebbing through you in waves as Haarlep rode you through it, pounding so hard you could feel it bruise your cervix.

Your thighs twitched as your legs instinctively tried to close from the overstimulation of still being ravaged by the incubus, but Haarlep moved his hands to your knees to keep your legs pried open for him as he continued.

“Enough.” Raphael stood up from his chair as Haarlep stopped his movements, stilling himself inside of you and turned his head towards Raphael. “Up.”

You looked to Haarlep, and Haarlep glanced your way quickly to express his annoyance in having to stop before pulling himself off of you. You let out a soft whine as he pulled his cock out of you, feeling suddenly empty.

“You as well,” Raphael said, gesturing at your limp body.

You took in a deep breath and sat up, muscles already sore as you slinked off of the bed. When you stood up, your knees almost buckled beneath you, but you kept yourself up on trembling legs. He noticed, smirking to himself at your weakened state.

With another snap of his fingers, his clothes were gone, and you couldn’t help but stare at his naked form. You had seen it on Haarlep, but Haarlep’s form was a little less sharp than Raphael’s, with his slightly rounder jaw and softer nose. Raphael’s true naked form was enthralling, the divots and ridges on his body seeming sharper, more dangerous.

He took his place on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with a smug expression. He gestured to his cock, still erect and glistening with his precum.

You understood the silent command, climbing back onto the bed. You crawled on all fours towards him and took the opportunity to freely graze your hands up his muscular legs, touching as much skin as you could—as much skin as you were allowed to touch. Despite how rough the two fiends had been with you, your touch was adoring and gentle as your fingertips brushed over the ridges and protruding veins.

When Raphael's expression shifted from inquisitive to impatient, you took it as a cue to fulfill his desire and made your way to his lap to straddle his textured hips. You let your drenched folds glide over his shaft in a slight teasing manner, this being the only teasing you could sneak in before his hands seized the meat of your thighs to serve as a reminder of who was in charge.

You took the large member in your much smaller hand while your other hand landed on his broad chest for stability, and you slid the head of his cock down your slit to guide it towards your entrance. With a sharp breath, you pushed down onto him, still feeling sore from the previous pounding. When your hips landed against his with him fully sheathed, you took a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him yet again. Both of your hands on his chest now, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing, and he, in turn, gave your thighs an assertive squeeze to let you know he was done waiting.

Your pace was slow on weak thighs as you rocked yourself against him. But his cock nudging that soft spot deep in your core egged you on, giving you just enough energy to revitalize your need.

You let yourself fall against him, clinging to him and nestling your face in the warmth that was the crook of his neck as you chased that high once more. His hands moved to your waist, forcing you down harder against him, and you couldn't stop the whimpers tumbling past your lips, landing right in his ear.

You felt the bed dip in weight behind you, but you were too focused on the grind of your hips and the pleasure climbing in your core to pay any mind to it.

"What a naughty little pet," you heard Haarlep muse from behind you, but you didn't dare slow or stop your movements. Haarlep sat himself atop Rapahel's mid-thighs, planting himself right behind you, and you could feel his heat radiating onto your back.

"Some spittle, to prepare her," Raphael instructed through soft grunts, and Haarlep eagerly complied, deftly snaking a large hand around the column of your throat before suddenly prying you off of Raphael and pulling you back against him.

Then Haarlep took his turn devouring your lips. His kiss was much more gentle than Raphael's, and you couldn’t help but melt into his touch. Your hips ground down harder against Raphael as Haarlep beckoned your lips open with a swipe of his tongue. The second your lips parted for him, his tongue was barging into your mouth, stroking your tongue with tender licks.

When the saliva seeping down your throat made you reactively gulp, you felt your insides light up with an energy that could only be described as carnal lust in its most calamitous form. Electricity seeped into every fiber of your being, tingling all the way down to your fingers and toes. Every muscle in your body ached for sex, more and more sex until it consumed you whole.

Subconsciously, your pace atop Raphael quickened. Your moans, muffled by Haarlep's mouth on yours, heightened in pitch and intensity. Arousal pooled beneath you, leaking onto Raphael's skin and aiding your gliding atop his hips.

Raphael leaned forward, greedily taking a nipple into his mouth while his other hand groped at your other breast roughly. Your hands flew to his head, your fingers digging into his soft hair as you pulled him further against you. You practically mewled when his hot tongue ran over the bud, letting his sharpened teeth scratch your sensitive skin as he sucked.

Your core felt dangerously aflame with a mounting pleasure surging through every inch of your body. Haarlep released your lips, eyes burning into yours to watch his spittle work its magic on you. With his hand still on your throat, his other hand tickled the skin along your spine as it snuck down your back.

In your haze of primal desire, you almost didn't notice Haarlep's fingers swipe at the puddle of your own wetness beneath you, until you felt those fingers smear the slick over your unused hole. Still holding his stare, your eyes widened at the realization of what the next act of your "torrid affair" truly was.

Raphael intended to stuff you full of two cocks, both of which he would be feeling inside of you.

Your mouth dropped open, attempting to stutter out any protest you could think of in the moment, but your words—or lack thereof—were cut short by the hand around your throat quickly moving up. Your jaw was abruptly encapsulated by Haarlep's large hand, muffling any noise you could make.

"Hush now," his voice rumbled in your ear, sending more tingles down your spine. Your labored breathing through your nostrils sounded loud against his hand. "Don't you want to be a good little mouse for your master?"

At the word, Raphael released your breasts, paying his full attention to the interaction between you and Haarlep. You felt him pull away, and your frantic eyes locked with his in a silent plea. You had never had any lovers use that particular hole; you weren't ready for it to be intruded upon.

But the spittle in your veins begged for more.

The tip of Haarlep's cock pressed into the tight ring of muscle, and the feeling was... strange, to say the least. You never used this hole in any pursuits of passion, you never thought to. It was uncomfortable, but the member still being coated in your slick made it easier to take.

The stretch as he pushed in farther burned more than it did in your cunt, and low, pained moans slipped past your lips in response, still muffled by Haarlep's hand.

You stilled your movements, unable to continue grinding with this new sensation distracting you. Your inner walls throbbed around the two cocks, and you could feel the sweat covering your skin, spurred on by the heat of the two infernal bodies surrounding you. With your eyes still on Raphael's, your chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths.

"It seems our little thief needs some aid," Raphael said, his voice more gravelly than before. He removed his hands from your waist, allowing Haarlep's hands to take his place, and you sucked in a sharp breath the second your mouth was freed.

"Sing for us, little mouse," Haarlep whispered in your ear before he forced you down by the waist, plunging the two cocks deep into you.

You shrieked at the pain, and tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. The stretch, the burning, the stinging; it was too much. But you were not granted a moment of reprieve when Haarlep effortlessly lifted you and shoved you down repeatedly.

The spittle in your system felt like a godsend now, easing the pain and turning it into a plethora of pleasure as the ridged cocks ground together with the only barrier between them being your slick inner walls. You continued to wail, it being the only sound your used, feeble body could make.

Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open as your vision blurred from your tears.

But Raphael would not allow your eyes to close. He wiped the sweat-soaked strands of hair from your face before gripping your jaw with a grip that almost crumbled the bone.

"Eyes. On. Me."

The dam finally broke, and the tears leaked down your face inn warm streams as you blubbered, "I- I can't. T-too much."

He laughed coldly in your face, his broad chest bouncing with the deep chuckle. "Thieves must be punished, dear. Is this not a merciful punishment? Would you rather I skin you? Maim you, hm? Make you bleed?"

You sobbed, your body shaking. You couldn't even tell if it was cries of pleasure or cries of terror; you were too far gone as the devil and his incubus abused your frail, mortal body.

That familiar string winding tight in your lower belly once more was the hint that it was, in fact, cries of immense pleasure, the kind of body-wrecking pleasure that you could never experience with another mortal soul.

Raphael could feel you tightening around him, and the sight of his favorite little misadventurer, his dearest thief, falling apart so beautifully under his claws...

This image of you would make the most wonderful painting to adorn his grand halls.

Haarlep felt it too, and his response to it was to quicken his forceful pace of shoving you down on him and Raphael. His hold on you was so tight that his claws dug into your sides, and small beads of blood trickled down your sweaty skin, not that you even noticed in the moment.

The rapidity of being shoved on two cocks and the pressure of them digging into every soft spot inside of you had you racing towards a powerful orgasm. You could see in Raphael eye's that he was near his own end with his quick grunts and heaving chest. His hold on your jaw loosened and changed to a gentle holding of your chin, keeping your teary eyes on him throughout all of this, while his other hand sought out your clit once more. He wanted to feel you come apart.

And come apart, you did.

With one last wail, a tsunami of blindingly hot pleasure surged through you, sending every nerve into overdrive. Your walls squeezed the two cocks tightly, and every continual shove down on them resurged the bliss until your body was convulsing.

The squeeze of your cunt and sound of your cries pulled his orgasm out of Raphael, and his lips parted. In a chorus of low and sultry noises, you felt him and Haarlep come inside of you in tandem, the molten heat of infernal seed filling up both of your holes.

When they finally stilled, Haarlep released his grip on your waist, and you instantly keeled over, landing against Raphael's chest with a barely-audible whine. You were exhausted, out of breath, and slick with sweat and a faint amount of your own blood.

Raphael's breathing returned to a normal pace almost immediately, and you listened to the heavy beat of his steady heart to ground yourself back to reality. He let you lay on him for a moment and stroked your hair rather gently, unusual considering how cruel he tended to be.

Haarlep noticed this, eyeing his master with a suspicious gaze. Has the devil gone soft for a mere mortal, and a thieving one no less?

Raphael motioned to dismiss Haarlep with a wave of his hand, not even giving the incubus the dignity of a verbal dismissal.

Haarlep pulled out of you, his seed spilling out of your used hole. A whine hitched in your throat at the motion as you tried to control your breathing. He slipped off of the bed and gave Raphael one last mischievous glance before disappearing in a quick haze of sparkling flames.

Once you were alone with Raphael, his hand reached for your face, lifting your head up to meet your tired eyes. “You did very well, little mouse. You’ve proven time and time again to be far more resilient than I originally gave you credit for.”

Your arms trembled as you lifted yourself off of his chest. All of the doubt and fear you had tucked away when the pleasure rolled in came flooding back. “What’s going to happen to me?”

He smirked at your nervousness. He twirled a strand of hair around his finger while he murmured with his smooth, deep voice, "You will rest in the House of Hope tonight, little thief. And tomorrow, you will be back on the road with your merry band of misfits. I still need the Crown, and how very lucky for you that I still have your contract."

The contract. The very item you were caught stealing. You were still merely a pawn in his overarching game of chess, but he was right.

How lucky for you that your services were still needed.

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