#then they would carve out their own place in the hero community

[loveemagicpeace]

💿Some of life things in astrology💿

✨Venus in cancer - I usually see that these people always include parents in their daily life , in their love life , in their life in general. Also they always include their parents in their vlogs. They will always post their parents on social media or doing videos with them.

🎶People who have aquarius in 2nd house have the best taste in music. They have their own music that they listen to, but people always like it. They just put some song and people will love it.

🍸Mercury is how you express yourself and in which way and also shows how good you are in texting with people and how you are in contact with others.

🦭Mercury in capricorn- they are not such a good texter actually.I would say that they will texting you about: I don't know about time or place you two will meet or practical things. But they will not text you like 24/7 or something they are too busy. And also I feel like capricorn usually think they wasting their time texting someone things that don't usually have any meaning or are not practical.

🦋Mercury in scorpio- dig deep into things. Sometimes even too deep. In the sense that they go so deep into the things they want to find out ,that they hurt them at the end. One thing they have is, that they feel better when they find out things by themselves than when they find out from others. They are very deep thinkers and very deep in conversations they don't like small talks and they will always want to go deep with you in every conversation they will have. When you hurt them they will be harsh and very mean to you because when they speak they speak to their emotions.

❤️‍🔥Fire signs are confident, driven, lively and full of energy. They like to be mentally and physically active. They are also dreamers who measure their height. Fire signs are competitive.

🖤Earth signs are more in tune with nature and their bodies. They are reliable, tough, practical partners and friends. Earth signs take time to master a skill.

💕Air signs are mental and need a lot of communication. They like to remain objective. They often negotiate for justice. They value freedom and dislike conflict.

🩵Water signs are by nature creative, imaginative, dreamy and often very ignorant. Water is associated with emotions and the unconscious. They can be visionaries and have many ideas clairvoyant abilities. Water signs care about the environment and by nature feel with everyone and everything around them.

🌞God of Sun is Apollo. It is carved in the sanctuary of Apollo in Delphi the ancient saying "Know thyself". Because with the sun we ask ourselves "who am I?" and "why am I here?". Because with the sun we feel that our lives have meaning, that we were born with a mission that we must fulfill, and we want to know what it is supposed to be.

The sun represents its essence and indicates our goal in life. With the sun, we can discover qualities and find ways to use them in our lives. This can mean that we engage in a certain activity or wear colors with a connection to the sun. Just as Apollo rides in his fiery chariot across the sky, so the sun represents a heroic journey through life. Therefore, we can connect it to the work we do or should do performed in the world. The path of the sun is usually not very clear and, just like the heroic myths say, there are many pitfalls to overcome and lessons to be learned. It is these difficult tasks that test our limits, they confront us with loss and sacrifice and force us to become the best we can be. The Sun together with Saturn represent the father principle. The sign in which our sun is describes experiences with the father figure. In childhood, our first hero is the father.

🫧Nobody talks about how lonely you can feel with Uranus in the first house. Because it's the part of your personality and Uranus could make you feel that you don't belong somewhere or you feel some kind of distance in this house. When it's in in your first house you could feel that being around people make you lonely or doing some things alone for ex.: eating alone in the restaurant this could be the problem for you because you could feel very lonely when you do some things in the public alone or I don't know going to the coffee alone.

🌟Planets return show you things that you are not aware of it or you're not expressing them. For example Mercury return can show you the whole new perspective about things and could change your mindset for the better. Venus return can show you the new value about you or what you value about others. You are more aware now what u actually want. Where do you find real love. Mars return it can show you a new way to be brave, fearless and go outside your comfort zone. And where is your energy best expressed and through what. You can show your anger more during this time.

🍿It’s really hard to forget people with whom you share 4th House this is because they make you feel the most familiar and the most comfortable around them. It's like the family kind of vibe.It feels like coming home and being with them it's like being in the safe and secure environment. 4th house represents our home , the people that are closed to us , the space when you feel the most comfortable and people with whom you feel the most comfortable with.

🧜🏼‍♀️ Venis trine Uranus- I find this aspect so unique because you actually fall in love with the person's uniqueness and differentness they have. You actually love them for it. You love that this person is different and is not the same that anyone else. For ex.: it could be you don't like face tattoos or you don't like someone who dress extra but when you meet this person you actually love this on them. This relationship can be unique and so different than the others.

🧚🏼‍♀️Uranus in 1st house in synastry- it's kind of the same vibe that with uranus conj venus but it's not because when you first meet this person you feel like this person is different than the others and that they have some unique energy that nobody else has. You feel like this person is special and so unique. That their personality could be so different than the others. It's like you can try to find someone else but you feel like nobody else could compare to this person.

🌙Personal planets appear faster in synastry and the first time you meet the person (especially: sun, moon, mercury). And, of course, rising sign :which indicates the energy of a person when you meet them. But here's the trick with rising sign that many times the true energy of a person can be hidden and only show up after a while when you get to know the person better. 💧The outer planets, however, manifest themselves over the years, when the persons already know each other very well and have a relationship.

🧸3rd house not only represents communication, mind,car ,electronics ,social media ,telephones and any of this stuff. It's also represents your early high school experience and also people who were with you in your high school. Your high school first love and how it feels like. Your high school best friend. So every person you have a 3rd house synastry with is usually a person you met at that time. A lot of people you share third house with or the sign you have in the third house is meant to be for you to meet them actually.

🎸The best time you will have with the person and the best things you will experience with the people are people u share 9th house. This house is ruled by Jupiter the luckiest Planet. This is the house of gifts. The girt from God, so when you meet the people you share this house with it's a gift that actually was brought into your life. All the things you will experience with these people will actually mean something to you. Because 9th house is meaningful house is where you find meaning, where u seek for meaning , when u actually find optimism. The person's u share this house with can actually inspire you the most or give you the most luckiest advice.

🧁I believe that it's not only 5th house that represents memories, but every house represents some memory you have from your early childhood. Every house is something special. The sign that you have in this house is the sign that reminds you most of this event of your life. So for ex.: aries in 3rd house -maybe this person were your best friend and remind you the most of your high school experience. Taurus in 4th house- this person maybe remind you the most of your home or your childhood, family life. Maybe you grew up with this person. Leo in 8th house-this person probably reminds you most of a dark/deep period of your life. Maybe you could spend the most intense times with this person and share the most secrets.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah💿🧚🏼‍♀️☁️

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

What parts / bits of Papa Titan's speech do you agree with when he was talking to Luz about Belos? Was he right when was said that Belos liked being the hero of his own delusions and was afraid of things he couldn't control?

So there are two major lines that I think the Titan is dead wrong about Belos: the first is “You assume Belos’ goal comes from a genuine place" and "that man doesn't care about anything but his own need to be the hero."

The first line feels less about explaining Belos' motivation and more like the Titan is trying to absolve Luz's (narratively stupid and overly drawn out ) guilt about "helping" Belos. Because Belos' goals do come from a genuine place; he really thinks he is out there protecting humanity and that he will be thanked for it. He tells Luz that he does not want to see "one more human life destroyed by this place." The man carves up his own arms and ears to achieve his goals! Belos may be genuinely wrong about the target of his mission but he was raised and encouraged to be a witch hunter (by his brother!) and it's the only thing he has left justifying his horrific existence so he has to go through with it.

The second line is missing a lot of context as to why he feels the need to be the hero. A lot of people think that Belos just wants praise and glory and to be the Witch Hunter General but his actions and the story focuses more on the trauma connected to his brother than any desire for fame and glory. He set out to the Demon Realm to save his brother but when that failed, his goal warped from "save brother" to "save humanity because I could not save my only family." His desire to help Luz and bring them home in King's Tide is proof of this.

The Titan's lines are extremely reductive and either ignores a lot of context behind Belos' actions or are flat out wrong. The only thing I do agree with is that Belos is afraid of things he cannot control. Growing up in a Puritan community, he would have been taught to fear the Unknown, the Other. Anyone who didn't fit into the rigid standards of Puritan society was deemed suspicious. The show supports this reading when Masha says that the Wittebane brothers became witch hunters "to fit in." They talk about how the brothers tried to adapt to their new home but failed, so the two adopted the path of violence to gain acceptance and security in the community. With that background and mindset, Philip would be wary of anything different because he was different, and anything outside the norms could threaten his status as well.

We see this a lot in real world communities where anyone who is different is stamped down into conformity because such differences upset the status quo and threaten the identity of the community. It's a toxic environment that breeds suspicion that then can be turned onto anyone, even those already on the "inside."

When Philip arrives in the Boiling Isles, everything is turned up to 11. The inhabitants look just like the creatures he's been taught are pure evil, he can't eat the food, and the very environment itself is dangerous to humans. If Luz had a hard time adjusting to the BI even though she loves witchcraft and all things weird, then for Philip it would have been literal hell. And then he finds his brother alive and thriving in this hellscape and when he dies, Philip has no one to guide and support him. Small wonder he never changes.

I think what's most disappointing about the Titan's speech is just how dismissive it is; we could have had a great story about how trying to adhere to toxic conformity is ultimately destructive, about how small-minded communities traumatize children and continue the cycle of violence, and the importance of positive social connections, especially for the community's most vulnerable members.

But instead, the show decided to spit on all that and reduced Philip's complex story to make the protagonist feel better. It's frankly disingenuous and hypocritical that the writers gave the audience all of these tantalizing details that have massive implications for the character and motivations of the central antagonist, only for all of that to be ignored in the end.

#asks #toh critical #toh criticism #the owl house #emperor belos #philip wittebane #toh titan

[msfcatlover]

Every Monster Can’t Be Your Kid, Bruce.

Inspired really heavily by You, Me, and the Humanity in Between by JUBE514, which I misunderstood the first time I read it and thought they were all going to be different types of monsters. So Dick & Jason are very close to that story in their origins here. You should absolutely read that fic, because it’s fantastic, but the major take away for my AU is that if you pour enough love into something, it can come to life, and the more life & love it carries the more “real” that life becomes.

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Dick is an antique doll, handed down through generations of Graysons, becoming gradually more alive & aware as time went on. It was John Grayson and eventually his wife Mary who managed to tip Dick over into being animate even when people were watching him. Dick only became more & more real from there, as John & Mary shared their love of flying with him, and eventually shared the spotlight & love of their audience. The circus as a whole saw Dick as a blessing, being fully aware of his inhuman nature but accepting him as a source of good luck… until John & Mary fell, leaving their doll-son behind. Dick could actually see his place in the family he’d been part of turn towards superstitious whispers, as his movements stiffened and his joints became more visible. He wasn’t anyone’s good luck charm anymore.

Bruce also saw how everyone turned on that poor little boy, and rushed to give Dick a place to stay, haunted by the whispers of his own childhood that found ways to blame Bruce for what happened to Thomas & Martha Wayne. Bruce isn’t exactly great at expressing his love, but Dick never needs to doubt it when he can see & feel the evidence right there in his own body. And when Robin met the rest of the hero community, they loved him too, giving Dick the chance to actually grow up for the first time in almost 150yrs.

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The first thing Jason ever experienced was love, as the city itself brought him to life. The second thing was freedom, as Jason slipped from the rooftop he’d been carved for and for the first time experienced flight. The third was agony, as Jason struck the ground and his wings snapped right off.

Jason’s not technically a gargoyle. Gargoyles are structurally important, directing water away from the building, and basically never come to life. Jason is a grotesque, carved for decoration & to ward off evil spirits. Without any family to go to, Jason stuck to that second job, protecting the people of his neighborhood as best he could. Batman investigated what he thought was a new vigilante, and found a boy carved from solid stone who could almost pass for human if he stayed out of the light. Bruce worried Jason would suffer the same rejection Dick had, and offered Jason a home; it took some convincing to tempt Jason away from his territory, as it is in Jason’s nature to stay in place in order to protect, but eventually Jason agreed in exchange for training.

(The new Robin doesn’t bend or jerk the way the last one did, but he hits the ground like a meteor strike, and rakes gouges in brick with his claws. He doesn’t shatter & grin through any injury, because most weapons glance off or shatter themselves against his stony skin.)

(Joker submerged a boy carved from centuries-old limestone in an acid bath, and by the time it was drained there wasn’t enough left to animate. Bruce still called every magician he knew, hoping to hear someone say Jason was still alive despite that.)

(Talia had a marble sculpture carved, and had what was retrieved from Jason’s coffin sealed at its core. It still took one hell of a ritual to bring him back, now with a tail that lashed & wings that swept the ground behind him to go with the fangs & claws he’d always had. The new body was perfect in the way only sculptures can be, and Jason just kept himself covered up rather than bother painting & repainting color onto his skin every time he went out in public, lacking the love to lock it in.)

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Tim was the opposite of his brothers. If you love something, anything, you can bring it to life; if something goes unloved & ignored, on the other hand… Tim just slowly faded into the background of his own life. Nobody talked to him at galas. His parents overlooked him at dinner. Other kids avoided him, while staff wouldn’t look him in the eye. Until one day Tim’s teacher was calling attendance and called Tim’s name three times before Tim abruptly stood up, chair screeching across the floor, and snapped, “I said, I’m right here!” The whole class stared wide-eyed, as though Tim has appeared from nowhere.

Tim learned to take advantage of it. He learned what he could do, as something reality itself sometimes ignored (if Tim closes his eyes and has no one else observing him, he can even bypass laws of physics to move through walls or take a few steps out on open air.) Tim tried to convince himself it was just meta-powers manifesting, and it was pure coincidence how closely his condition mirrored mythical Echo (at least people always hear her voice.)

The only time it doesn’t work is if someone wants to notice Tim. A paradox, as first they need to know the true Tim well enough to want to notice him, rather than their own preconceived notion of Tim or one of the masks that Tim puts on. On the plus side, once Tim became Robin that meant he had people he could reach out to who would answer the phone & talk him through it when reality felt especially swimmy or Tim’s own sense of self might waver. Being overlooked is also just one hell of a superpower, and Tim puts it to good use.

(Tim is eternally annoyed once he starts getting close to people and can no longer slip past them. He demands to know why they can see him, and they’re like, “Because we want to? Because we care about you?” and Tim’s like, “Well that’s inconvenient!”)

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Finding a decapitated teenage girl caught under one of the docks was just an especially depressing day for the Gotham PD. Finding a corpse that grabbed back when the coroner went to move it meant it was time to call in the Batman. Steph didn’t know Morse code and her eyes & ears were currently stuck somewhere in muffled darkness far away from the rest of her, so communication was rough but they eventually got her story out of her. Revenants come back for specific reasons, so it was expected she would be there when her father was apprehended; the words he screamed when he saw her corpse, and the beeline Steph made for the box under his workbench put any remaining doubts to rest. Steph picked the lock by touch, and retrieved her head with a huff of relief.

Then Robin said, “Did you find it?” and Steph jumped, throwing her head at him on instinct. It was very embarrassing for both of them, and when Robin handed Steph her head back and she balanced it back on her neck, she immediately started blushing.

(Bruce buys Steph a whole lot of beautiful “necklaces” to help keep her head balanced. Spoiler is the Headless Horseman of Gotham, and Steph finds it hilarious to play into the image. She no longer experiences true pain, just deep discomfort, and gets very good at lobbing her head like a grisly dodgeball at anyone she dislikes.)

(Steph’s a lot more lively than most people expect of the undead, eating & chattering, even getting sick sometimes. She loudly proclaims that the best part of losing her head is that she no longer has to taste it when she throws up, as long as she’s quick enough removing it—when Steph does puke, it’s mostly bilge-water, no matter what she put in her stomach ahead of time.)

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Cass is a homunculus, but I have no details. Damian’s got his “mixed DNA clone” origin going on. That’s where I’m at with this one.

#batfam #monster bats #monster batfam #monster batfamily #batfamily #monster!bats #monster!batfam #monster!batfamily #batman #dick grayson #richard grayson #jason todd #tim drake #timothy drake #stephanie brown #steph brown #living doll dick grayson #gargoyle jason todd #grotesque jason todd #ghost tim drake #echo tim drake #undead stephanie brown #zombie stephanie brown #dullahan stephanie brown #my writing #mine

[theplotdoctor]

Building Queer Worlds

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how queerness is not only an identity but an act of political rebellion. How by taking a well worn cishet “thing” we can subvert it and turn it back on society as a mirror, showing the hollowness of cisheteronormativity and how it excludes the full range of humanity by insisting on narrowly defined boxes.

Thinking about this led me onto the idea of building truly 100% queer worlds. Worlds where absolutely nothing is straight, where the mythology, culture and even natural laws of a place all lead to queerness. 

What if rather than a sky father and an earth mother you had a lesbian couple? Rather than some bearded dude planting his seed, the two came together and force of their sex raised the mountains and carved the valleys. What if their spit became the oceans and their sighs became the breeze? What if the generation of life came from their love, their queer love, rather than something as mechanical as sex? What if everyone in the world is a child of love and choice?

What if the gods of war and peace are a gay man and their enby lover? Chasing one another down the centuries, never managing to be present where the other is. What if war is seen as the sharp piercing pain of penetration? And peace is the gentle relaxation of loving aftercare. What if through the lens of queer love war is viewed as a sad but necessary price of creating a more gentle world? What if the only time they meet is at the beginning and end of war?And their anger and sorrow incites people to war and leads them to peace?

What if the gods of rivers take their long and winding sensuous course until they gather power and penetrate the ocean, but every stream feeding them is another god? a million trains being run to create the most potent top imaginable. 

Mythology and sex have always been intertwined. Why not make it gay as fuck?

What if everyone in the world can change their body’s sex at will? either, or, both or neither? What if everyone could just make what was on the outside perfectly reflect their inner world? 

What if they could go beyond the humanoid template? What if somehow they could make their bodies express more abstract concepts, mythological creatures, rainbows? 

Perhaps people wouldn’t even need to adjust their bodies if they don’t want to? Maybe in this world everyone just has the power to project their gender so strongly that there is never any mistaking it? Or everyone has the power to instinctively grasp and understand every gender presentation.

What if all the great romances of the past never discussed the gender of their subjects? What if any love song could be about anyone? What if the entire culture of the world was built around queerness? Gendered anything exists only insofar as the people who want it to be gendered claim it for their own. 

Gender in our world is heavily entwined with systems of power, why not divorce it from oppression?

What if the hero of the world's greatest epic romance was explicitly ace? What if the gold standard of romance in this world is divorced from sex? What if the connection between two people was held in more high regard than the mechanical aspect of it all? 

What if the world's legal systems explicitly recognised polyamory? What if having more than two parents was common? What do familial kinship dynamics look like in a world where extensive interconnected families are common? How does inheritance play out?

What if the world recognised that some people have a very fluid experience of sexuality? What if that society was more open to polyamory as a result? What if the idea that you might go through periods of not being attracted to your partner was accepted? How would relationships look? More open and understanding? 

How does all of this affect material culture? What do houses look like to house very large extended families? Do people still give expensive tokens of affection or are they cheaper and more symbolic? Are there communal platonic living arrangements for those that are aro ace? How does food preparation and consumption look? What do children’s things look like to handle multiple children of roughly the same age?

My point with all of these question is to highlight just how far you can go in making world’s queer. How much a society can change and adapt to be more inclusive. How you can take common things that most worlds have and subvert them by making them queer as hell. How you can make people question why they’ve always done it the one way.

Hope this was useful. I’ll likely start building a super queer world and post my progess here. 

Thank you all for your continued support. It’s appreciated so much!

All my Love - TPD

#ttrpg #dnd #dnd5e #queer #lgbtqia+ #worldbuilding

[that-yandere-life]

Now I have an unnerving urge to read some general yandere Poly all three Spider-Men headcanons 😳

[Warnings: Yandere Themes *Obviously*, All in the same universe AU, SMUT (not incredibly descriptive but it’s definitely there), Kink talk, Mentions of kidnapping.]

Each of the various Spider-Men have their own qualities or tendencies that differ from the others which is what makes them such a great team.

Peter 1 (Tom) for example is a sweet, kind, loving soul who gets obsessed really quickly, instantly believing it’s fate that they encountered you to begin with.

Also able to use those qualities to be rather manipulative without you even realizing it, just kind of slipping it in every now and then so it’s not noticeable at any given point.

Peter 2 (Tobey) is more emotional but he doesn’t always have the ability to keep them in check so it tends to make him a bit volatile at times, feeding into this is his innate need to be possessive or jealous when it comes to you.

On top of that he is the one who suggests stalking you to find out more about you, setting up a schedule so that someone is watching over you at any given moment.

Peter 3 (Andrew) is anxious but hopeful most of the time when it comes to love, he has lost it before and is terrified that falling for another person will end the same way, leading him to immediately agree that keeping an eye on you was the best option.

Mostly being overprotective of you, to the point it will cause him some stress that thankfully the other guys are able to help him battle.

A bunch of puzzle pieces that come together to create a masterpiece of a poly relationship, working alongside one another flowing like a dream.

All of them will want to court you naturally or at least attempt it to begin with should you be hesitant it might lead to intense consequences.

Should you deny their advances they will try to get creative, buying you little gifts, making sure you didn’t walk home alone at night, asking if you need anything.

Overwhelming to be sure, but if you don’t even want to entertain the idea of friendship they will eventually snap and kidnap you to show you just how amazing (Pun intended) they could be for you.

Modifying the place you would reside in to ensure that you would never be able to escape, not to mention figuring it out so you were always in the presence of one of them, unless there was a major disaster going on.

Now if you accept their affections things will go much smoother for you, you won’t be really restricted to any one place, although they will get testy if they catch you talking to another guy they don’t know.

Allowing you to go on about your life as usual as long as they are integrated as a major part of your daily routine, carving out a place in your heart very gradually.

Peter 2 would likely be the one to suggest they all ask you out as a unit, since all of them had the same feelings for you and there was more than enough love to go around.

Peter 1 quickly agreed while Peter 2 was a tiny bit more apprehensive at first worrying that it would scare you off to come on too strong, but it was either all or nothing at that point in their obsession.

Asking you to move in right away after you agree to start a relationship with you, convincing you it was for your own safety, although at first you wouldn’t understand why as they hadn’t told you of their alter egos just yet.

Once it finally comes out you will be shocked and a little confused on why you didn’t figure it out sooner as it was right in front of your nose.

Actually it proved to be an asset that they are so well loved in your community it made it a lot easier to gloss over their oddities when you began to notice how deep they truly ran.

Heroes wouldn’t possibly do anything to hurt you, or direct you down the wrong path on purpose would they?

It took a little while but eventually you get the hang of sexy times with them, the logistics weren’t always the easiest to figure out initially but regardless it became incredibly pleasurable for all involved.

Typically you would lay back on Peter 2’s chest, Peter 1 standing next to you while you jerked or sucked him off, while Peter 3 was on top, they each took turns to alternate.

Kink play becomes a major thing in your sexual relationship, engaging in some nearly every single time, fulfilling at least one for everyone.

Peter 1 would be more of a switch, liking to be dominant but perfectly fine with being submissive at times, encouraging bondage, blindfolds, and ball gags.

Enjoying it most when you couldn’t talk and they kept telling you to use your words frustrating you to no end, uses edging just a little bit too often.

Peter 2 would be dominant, maybe allowing you on special occasions to be the one giving the orders instead of taking them, really into overstimulation wanting to make you cum as many times as possible.

For sure is the kind of guy who wants to engage in dirty talking, the one who is willing to degrade you in ways you never thought possible, also would want you to wear an anal plug at all times.

Peter 3 is a switch leaning towards dom as well, this man is all about pleasing you not even caring if he gets off, the one most invested in your emotions the entire time, checking in with your code system to ensure they weren’t going too far.

A kink he has is mirror play, he wants to watch what they are doing to you (and each other)in intense detail, might even convince everyone to record it and view it at a later time to get you in the mood, on his rough days he takes his turn to roughly pound you into the mattress until you are seeing stars.

Willing to try anything you want at least once to see if you all like it, in these kinds of events you had to be open, honest, and communicate your wants or needs with each other for it to be successful.

Other times two of them would be together next to you while one was tending to you making sure everyone was getting taken care of by the end.

Loving the whines and moans that you give off, sometimes having a friendly (Pun again intended) competition to see who could get you to be the most vocal.

The winner gets to be the one to finish inside of whichever orifice they so choose, with your consent of course, you have a codeword set up, and a non-verbal cue just in case you can’t use or form words.

One thing that all of them have in common is body worship and they attend the church that is you as often as they could, always praising you for how incredible you were to them.

Constantly telling you how good you are, or degrading you depending on which you prefer because that is what they will go by, wanting you to be content with their actions not offended.

Aftercare is immaculate, if you are too tired to take a shower they will get a warm washcloth to ensure that you are cleaned up, making sure you pee after because it’s important for all who have sex to prevent a UTI.

Should you want to bathe or shower they will help you, washing you off themselves enjoying the intimacy, and sometimes another round if you are up for it.

Cuddling is a huge must because these boys are touch starved to the max, they need you close to them to reassure them that this is reality, unable to believe that they finally got lucky for once in their crappy lives.

Nightmares are something that you will have to help them through occasionally, needing to be grounded with them returning the favor if the situation ever arises.

Losing most of what they held dear before they met you, it was hard for them to conceptualize that you weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

Problems might occur when they are overly vulnerable about it, because they will come off far stronger than necessary, sometimes concerning you or scaring you even with how intense they can be.

At the end of the day you loved them all and you truly loved the life you were building with them by your side, each of you looking forward to the future for the first time in your lives instead of dwelling in the past, seeing the same thing… hope.

[Okay I had to do this one because I couldn't stop thinking about it and knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't just write the damn thing! My return to smut, although not incredibly detailed I hope it is still satisfying! One of my favorite things I've ever written tbh!]

#yandere spiderman #yandere spiderman x reader #yandere tobey peter parker x reader #yandere peter parker x reader #yandere tasm peter parker x reader #yandere marvel #yandere peter parker

[bontenten]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December 

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!" 

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied. 

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up. 

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister 

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect. 

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker. 

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle. 

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence. 

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. 

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all. 

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing. 

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven. 

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers.  Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think. 

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that. 

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave. 

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe. 

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen? 

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied. 

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.  

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder. 

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…” 

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting. 

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome. 

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you. 

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

#shirabu smut #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjiro x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #tw:incest #tw somnophilia #tw yandere #tw drugging #tw dubcon #tw noncon #the intoxicated collab #emi.freshtea #🍵.shirabu

[whump-a-la-mode]

continuation of the magician story please? I want villain to be escape and be happy 😭

Thanks so much for the ask! This may not exactly have them being happy but...

I can write some actual comfort too if you want ^^ Just lmk

Continued from here.

CW//Dehumanization, pet whump, collars, referred to as a dog, cages, dog kennels, mitt cuffs, muzzles, bit gags, conditioning, past torture, threats of torture, claustrophobia, ice baths

The moment Hero let go of their collar, Villain dropped to the floor like a stone.

The smell alone was enough to turn their stomach. The scent they'd been so free of for so long. On trembling limbs, they struggled to their hands and knees-

Only to be forced back down by a boot upon their spine. A familiar boot.

Trainer let out a sharp sigh.

"Now, what did your doggy do this time?"

"You want to tell them, Villain?"

"No, don't let them talk. They'll start getting ideas."

"Fair." Venom dripped immutably from Hero's tongue. "While they were performing, Villain here decided to use their powers to take off their muzzle. Then they tried to hide it from me. I don't doubt that they had some plan for when they got back to their cell."

The boot's steel toe drove itself between Villain's shoulder blades, tearing a whimper from their throat.

"Is that right? I thought they were through with that phase."

"As did I."

"I hope you're intending to drop them off for an extended continuation of their residential training."

Even with their chest compressed as it was, Villain still managed to gulp.

"No."

The relief flooded their veins strongly enough that, for a moment, it replaced their terror.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary this time." Hero continued. "I'm hoping that this is just a momentary slip. A quick reminder should do, for now."

"You're certain?"

"For now. I'd prefer for them to still be in performing condition. Though, if this happens again..."

"I would recommend at least a few weeks in my care, in that case."

"I agree. If there's a repeat of this behavior, I'll bring them right back."

"Good. They'll be ready to perform for you in no time."

"Thank you, Trainer." Hero dipped their head. With a quick, side-eyed glance at their captive, they turned to leave.

The boot on Villain's back was relieved, only momentarily-- returning a split second later to strike them in the side, forcing them to roll onto their back. With trembling eyes, they gazed upwards, the figure looming over them blocking out the light.

"I'll need to get ready, then." Trainer bemoaned. "And I was so busy, today..."

As though plucking litter from the sidewalk, they knelt down, yanking Villain upwards by their collar. They hacked against their squeezed windpipe, but struggled to obey, scrambling to their feet.

The kennels.

Villain had hoped they'd never step foot back in the kennels.

The room was nothing if not barren-- concrete walls, floor, and ceiling all reflecting the same sterile lights. Yet, at the same time, it was immaculately clean. Symmetrical countertops and sinks sat on either side, while, against the back, the kennels themselves were polished to shine.

There were about a dozen of them, stacked two high and rendered of stainless steel. The bars making up the kennel doors were closely spaced, yet, between them, canine faces could be made out, peering with curious eyes. A few let toys drop from their mouths to better taste the intruder's scent.

Still holding tight to their collar, Trainer dragged Villain towards the cages.

"Come on, now. You know which one's yours."

They dug their feet into the smooth concrete floor, a low growl sounding in their throat, though it came out strangled.

"Damn." Trainer grunted. "You are getting bad. I should've tried to talk them into letting me keep you a week... Eh, whatever."

Despite Villain's struggling, even at their full strength, undrained by stage lights and shouting, they would be no match for their trainer. Dragging them forth with one hand, they swung open a cage door with the other, practically throwing them within one of the bottom-row kennels.

They stumbled, throwing their unsteady form in a desperate attempt to escape the kennel's confines, but there was no chance to it. The barred door was slammed an inch from their nose-- secured just as quickly with a padlock and a practiced movement of the hand.

The light that managed to penetrate the bars was quickly extinguished- a blanket draped atop and pinned in place.

"I'll be back." Trainer's voice began to fade as they moved. "How about you think about what you did to land yourself here."

A door closed, and, like that, Villain was alone.

Alone in their kennel.

No. Not theirs. Humans didn't have kennels, and they were a human fucking being.

Not that they were treated as a dog. The dogs were treated far better. They got blankets and beds on the few square feet they called home. Villain had only chilled steel, and a blanket over their cage.

They weren't scared. Of course they weren't scared. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was just a cage, a tiny little box where their spine was crushed against one side, and their limbs against the other. A box where there was no air to breathe, no light to see, only darkness and tightness and no room and no space and dark and dark and dark.

There was nothing to be afraid of. That wasn't why they scrambled to their hands and knees, why they slammed their mitted hands against the barred door, why they screamed and howled against their bit gag.

They were just letting Trainer know that they weren't afraid.

Not afraid of the cold, or the dark, or the squeeze. Certainly not afraid of whatever their trainer was preparing, just out of their sight.

Hero had said to keep them in performing condition, right? So, what could they really do? Not the whip or the pliers, but...

But the stress positions didn't leave marks, nor did the blow dryer, pressed right against their skin until they screamed.

They were shaking because they were furious. Not scared. Villains didn't get scared.

By the time Trainer returned, Villain's trembling had already begun to make their muscles ache something awful, not that that stopped it. As the blanket was ripped from their kennel door, they shoved their face against the cage's steel floor-- refusing to show their tears.

Tears of rage. Tears of rage.

Like a child at a fishtank, Trainer ran their fingers along the bars. When they spoke, there was nothing in their voice that resembled fury. Instead, their tone was calculating. Staring at their captive as though they were solving a math problem.

"You know why I do this, don't you?"

They paused, as though Villain could reply.

"You see, with dogs, training... training is somewhat of a misnomer. Dogs seek to please their owners. When they misbehave, it is because they do not understand what behavior is expected of them. They are dogs. They cannot speak, they cannot understand. Training a dog is about remedying this issue. About learning to communicate across the species divide.

Once they understand what is needed from them, then there is no more misbehavior.

But you, you are not a dog. Now, you are certainly not a human, you forfeited that title long ago. But you are smarter than a dog. You understand when I speak, even if you threw away your own voice. You know exactly what is expected of you.

And, yet, you misbehave.

Because that is not what is wrong with you. There is no communication barrier between hero and villain. No, what you lack is the base desire all dogs have.

You lack the desire to please. That is what must be trained into you. And if that desire cannot be borne from respect, then it will be carved from fear.

Now, you are going to show me just how well you can obey-- or I will have your stay here extended until, when I take out that gag, you bark. Got that?"

Villain's gaze trembled. Trainer slammed their hand against the bars, sending a shockwave through the kennel.

"Mhm! Mhm!" They hummed frantically, nodding.

"Good. Now, good dogs don't need to be dragged. Heel."

The padlock clicked as it was undone, followed by the barred door swinging open. On legs that were, paradoxically, cramping and trembling all at once, Villain crawled out, feeling a faux-affectionate hand card through their hair.

"What you need is to see the groomer." Trainer commented as Villain stood to their feet. "Come on, now."

Their eyes scanned the room frantically, searching for what device would be used against them. Yet, the whip hung in its place, unmoving, as did the shackles that would be used to contort them until they sobbed.

"Look forward." A sharp hand on their chin redirected their eye line, refocusing their gaze on what was before them.

A door.

There were only two doors, in the kennels. The exit...

And the bathroom door. Villain had learned to fear the two equally.

As the door to the restroom was swung open, cold wafted out like a solid thing. Shaking like a leaf, they were led inside, noting with a fluttering heart that the blow dryer was unplugged.

No. What was planned for them was not the agony of heat.

Villain's gaze landed on the bathtub.

The tub was filled to the brim with water in different form-- cubes of ice, nearly spilling over the porcelain rim. All at once, the air conditioning seemed to penetrate their thin prisoner's uniform even more sharply.

"Part of obedience is obeying when you don't want to. It's either this, or I get out the clothes iron."

Villain gulped, fingers curling, though stopped from balling to fists by the padding inside their mitts.

It would be far from the worst pain they'd been subjected to. No, by comparison, it was a mercy. And yet, the idea of doing it to themself...

No. No, no, no! They were not a dog, they were not anyone's pet. They didn't follow orders. They didn't bring harm upon themself just because some asshole told them to!

Their spine straightened as they shook-- this time, it was out of rage. There was no lie to that fact.

"First, though." Trainer continued. As they raised their hands, Villain couldn't help but flinch. "We need to get these off. I doubt your owner wants them soaked. They're copping out by using them, anyways. A well-trained dog doesn't need a muzzle."

It took every ounce of willpower that remained in their chest to not slam the trainer up against a wall. Even the ghosting of hands over their skin made them want to scream.

Nobody touched Villain.

Yet, they stayed still as fingers swiftly worked on their muzzle's buckle. Bloodflow returned to their face as the device was slipped off and placed aside, followed by their collar, slipped off their neck, leaving a tan line where it had sat for so long.

As soon as the dam was removed, their power flowed like a waterfall.

Blood, too, returned to their compressed tongue as their bit was pried from their abused mouth. For the first time in so long, they closed their mouth, and had no metal preventing their teeth from clacking together.

Trainer's hands trailed down their arms, to their wrists- but stalled.

"Those are probably waterproof. Besides, training you not to use your hands in the first place was a nightmare."

With their work done, the trainer stepped back, leaning against the bathroom counter.

"Alright, doggy. In the bath."

Villain's bare toes curled into the tile and grout. With shaking steps, they advanced, feeling the frigid chill that seemed to waft off of the tub like dragon's breath.

For a long moment, they stood, staring at the thousand ice cubes, shimmering with frozen glare. They could practically feel the effects already, the heat torn from every cell in their body.

Trainer straightened themself, moving forward.

"Good dogs don't hesitate."

Even without the collar, their trainer had no issue finding purchase on Villain's neck, well enough to send them careening forward. Their hip struck porcelain as they were sent flying, sailing to arctic depths.

The shock hit, all at once, worse than even their twisted nightmares could ever hope to concoct.

Yet, instead of tearing their energy away, the ice bath flooded their veins with red-hot adrenaline.

Like an osprey bursting from the sea, Villain leapt-- twisting about until they were upright, before launching themself out, water spraying from soaked hair and clothes and blue-hued skin in a dazzling flash. The back of Trainer's head cracked against the tile floor as they were sent crashing, tackled by their own canine.

"Stop! Right now! Stay still! Good dogs do not-

But Villain did not stay still. Shivering uncontrollably, they limped to the other side of the bathroom, clutching a bruised shoulder as they turned.

"Villains don't listen to heroes." A frission wracked their body like a sob. They couldn't feel their fingers. "Next time you see me, it'll be when I'm burning your city to the ground."

#magicians assistant #whump community #pet whump #hero villain whump

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

#eivor x randvi #eivor randvi #lady eivor #lady knights #women in armor #my writing #randivorprideweek #randivorprideweek2021

[scripttorture]

Writing Torture Scenes: Shock Value

We’ve all read or watched a story like this: after several scenes of build up the lighting goes down and we get the Big Reveal that… something traumatic happened. Cue close up on the inevitable wounds or scars and the main character’s shock and horror.

 Then, just as abruptly as it was brought up, the story drops this theme. The traumatic event never comes up again. It has no lasting impact on the main characters or the plot.

 It’s only purpose was to shock the reader.

 Now I know what you’re thinking; after all that, you’re probably expecting me to tell you that using torture for shock value is ‘problematic’. So let’s get this out of the way early: I don’t think there’s anything morally dubious about using torture for shock value in a story. I don’t think that it’s apologia.

 I think it’s bad writing; it’s a missed opportunity to get more from a scene.

 So we’re not talking about how to write ethically here today, we’re talking about how to write better scenes.

 Getting an emotional response from your readers.

 Positioning torture, or any other traumatic event, as shocking is not in and of itself a bad thing. These things can be shocking.

 But assuming the primary (or only) response is going to be shock or horror means making some pretty big assumptions about the audience. For one it assumes the audience doesn’t include any survivors or witnesses. Because someone with lived experience of the things we’re depicting is probably not going to find their existence shocking.

 Shock can also fall flat for anyone who has read widely. After a while readers start to recognise tropes and patterns in the fiction they consume.

 Shock value only really works once. A reader who has seen this sort of scene before is going to have less of a response compared to a reader whose never encountered this trope before.

 Shock isn’t a reliable emotional response.

 So what is?

 It might sound obvious but torture is an extreme experience and it tends to elicit some pretty extreme emotional responses. Anger, grief, despair, bitterness, spite, determined opposition, fear and revulsion are all possible, in survivors and those close to them.

 Think about the character’s relationships to each other. How would revealing a traumatic event change that relationship? How does the character the survivor is confiding in feel? How do those feelings impact the survivor?

 Communicate the emotions the characters are feeling during the scene. Use them. This doesn’t mean getting rid of narrative elements designed to shock it means adding to them. Not just shock but shock and whatever else fits the scene.

 If your characters are experiencing more than shock, you’re increasing the chances that there’s more for your readers as well. Especially if you’re telling a horror story that’s trying to build up a sympathetic response to the victim because a flat or one-note description can kill that emotional response.

 What is trauma adding to the story?

 Step back from your own response to the story for a moment and imagine that (however nasty or brutal the incident in the story is) it’s ordinary in this world. Try to view it through that lens.

 Without the shock, what’s the character’s primary response? And is that best captured with description, conversation or action? What does that response tell the readers about the character?

 Let’s have an example: war is tearing this fantasy kingdom apart and as they trek towards their goal our heroes have seen villages damaged, abandoned or destroyed. They’ve come to this one perhaps a day behind the attackers and as they march down the main road they see the detritus of lives overturned. A loom broken in the middle of the road, the carved weights still intact. A child’s shoe smouldering.

 They could change course, charging after the attackers. They might even catch them and drag them back to justice. Though it won’t rebuild the shattered houses or heal the injured.

 They might halt and spend hours or days sifting through the rubble. Because someone might have survived. And maybe they do pull someone, injured and shaking, out of the ground. Or maybe they don’t. Perhaps the sun bakes the mud and the brick dust hard and it clings to their clothes for days afterwards.

 Perhaps they cut the weights free of the loom and carry them. Because the weaver must have gotten away and they’ll need those weights back-

 Or may be they keep marching through and spend the weeks afterwards thinking about it, wondering if there was anything they could or should have done.

 What the characters do, think and feel after a traumatic event communicates the impact more clearly then a statement about the event itself. Regardless of the level of gore or how unusual the event might be to most of the audience.

 Consequences give a scene weight, meaning, impact.

 And shock doesn’t really serve to drive long term consequences. It’s not a sustained emotion. It doesn’t drive change or re-evaluation.

 When an event is only important in the narrative for a moment we’re signalling to the readers that it isn’t that important. Which seems like the opposite of what a reaction like shock is trying to achieve.

 A character doesn’t need to be directly harmed or traumatised for an event they see or hear about to have lasting consequences. Does the character think about it afterwards? Does it change their plans or effect their motivation? Does it haunt them?

 What serves the story?

 A good scene, no matter the subject, usually accomplishes multiple things at once.

 A conversation between characters can show the audience something about the characters, establish their relationship and give out important plot information all at once.

 A panoramic view of the surroundings can tell us about the history and environment the story takes place in and show the characters’ relationship to those things. The character who kicks the historic monument on the way past versus the character who stands for twenty minutes sketching it.

 Scenes about revealing brutality work the same way.

 They can add more then shock. You can use them to challenge and change characters, to make them reaffirm or question their goals, to strengthen or crack their relationships. You can use them as part of the world building, showing what’s considered terrible and what is considered ordinary.

 So the next time you sit down to write a shocking scene take a moment to think: What else could this add to the story?

Edited for typos.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #writing torture #writing torture scenes #masterpost #shock value #emotional impact #tw war

[le0watch]

"the moon is beautiful tonight."

it was said so quietly, langa almost thinks he hadn't actually heard it. he glances to his side, where reki is sitting, his knees hugged to his chest. his cheeks are a deep red, spreading over and across his nose. the moon's light shines brightly, highlighting his face just enough for langa to see the curves of his cheeks, the freckles peppering his skin, the honey amber of his eyes. he's not looking at langa, but at the moon instead, its perfect sphere reflected against the soft candlelight of his gaze.

he's beautiful, stars surrounding the moon's reflection, making his eyes look like a bit of the night sky captured in his skull. langa could get lost staring into them, to forever drift through the stars and galaxies in his amber orbs. a few strands of his fiery hair frames his face, bringing ever more of langa's attention to his gorgeous eyes.

langa can't stop the breath from being caught in his chest. at the way reki blushes so adorably. by why is he blushing? he normally only does following a stream of compliments that langa had released, or due to the brushing of their hands. maybe if due to his gorgeous eyes catching langa's watching him, a softness at their edges.

but none of that had happened. they've sat here together, under the night's sky for about an hour now. it had started off with langa pointing out some of the constellations he knew, followed with reki asking for the stories behind each. and because of the interest langa had taken in them when he'd been younger, he happily obliged, retelling each of the stories he knew behind the shapes of the stars.

his favorite is o'rion. langa likes to imagine that instead of the ancient hero, carved into his place among the stars, that it was reki, instead, forever shining like the sun he is.

he hadn't even been looking at the moon. but now, after reki choked out that sentence, his gaze drifts to it, finding it to be large and full, bright against the black backdrop of the sleeping sky.

he has to agree that it is, in fact, beautiful.

but that still doesn't explain the feather light flush covering reki's cheeks and nose.

a cat with a pure coat of silver fur approaches them, tail held high, curved at its tip. its eyes are an unearthly green, watching the two boys curiously.

"it is," he replied, softly, not wanting to break the state of their quiet comfort. the still of the night they had melded into.

somehow, he thinks, he must have answered wrong. because of smiling back at him, reki frowns, his eyes dropping, chin burying itself in the fabric of his sweater's sleeves. langa frowns, too, guilt rising in the pit of his stomach over a mistake he doesn't understand.

"reki, i-"

"tell me more about the stars, langa," reki said, interrupting him. langa stops, mouth still half way open to form his apology, eyes blinking slowly, like a confused owl. reki looks at him, now, with a bright smile that langa knows is forced. what had he done? he'd messed up again, and he doesn't even know how. and now, reki isn't going to explain why, not now, and langa knows he shouldn't press.

so, he tells him more about the stars. he traces the constellations with his fingetip, and he doesn't comment on how he feels reki's gaze on the side of his face the rest of the time theyre there, laying in the grass, skateboards abandoned nearby.

the silver light cat trots away, tail lowered.

langa later tells joe about the confounding experience. the morning sun's fresh rays of light pours in through the windows, gleaming off of the slicked counter and tabletops. joe pauses in the cleaning of the glass he'd been focused on, eyes darting to langa's face.

"he said what to you, word by word?" joe asked, somehow serious of the smallest of a thing. what does it matter what reki had said? langa did something wrong, making those bright honey amber eyes dull to a brown pebble. he just needs to know what he did, so he knows how he can fix it.

"'the moon is beautiful tonight'," langa repeated, recalling each word easily. he remembers anything and everything reki ever says to him, filing each phrase and thing that leaves his lips in sections of his heart. especially the things that matter most- like the time he'd admitted to wanting to skate with langa forever, the day after that and the day after that!

joe's eyes widen, but his lips quirk upwards into a light smile. he chuckles softly, setting the cup he'd been cleaning aside, with the rest of the drinking cups.

"langa, that phrase holds meaning in our language," joe informs him, and langa's heart skips a beat. oh, no, what if it was something important, and langa had just brushed over it like it was no big deal? what if he'd offended reki, and there was no way of returning the honey he loved to those amber orbs he adored?

"what? what does it mean?" langa asks quickly, desperatly. he needs to make it up to reki as soon as possible, so joe needs to hurry up and tell him already!

another chuckle, and joe leans back against the wall across from the counter, large arms crossed over his even larger chest. "i told kaoru that very phrase, before we were together," he said, instead of answering langa straight on. langa's eyebrows furrow with his confusion and impatience, and he wants to demand that joe just tell him already. but joe is hokding a hand up, probably to calm him. "i told him this phrase on the night we got together. so that he would finally know. i couldn't tell him outright, so saying that instead helped me tremoundously. now, as you know, we're together, because he understood."

his eyes had gone soft as he spoke, remembering the night that he and cherry finally became official. it had been a pretty night, with them standing together a tad off from the rest of the ground, joe's jacket draped over cherry's shoulder. the moon hadn't been to remarkable that night- a small sliver, more dark than actual light. langa recalls just hearing the whisper of joe's words brushing through the air, against his ears.

"the moon is beautiful tonight," joe told cherry, his voice low like it had been a secret. langa's head tilted in confusion when cherry's eyes widened with surprise and disbelief, glazing over with something like admiration. reki beside him had gasped, hands coming up to cover his mouth at the scene, a light pink flushing his face. langa's confusion had only grown, furthered by the rolling of miya's eyes and shadow's blanching noise.

cherry had, surprisingly, pressed closer to, even if a tad begrudgingly. "i'm glad that you do," cherry had finally responded, and didn't sound like he was hissing through the cracks of his teeth anymore.

and then, just like that, they'd been official, and everyone cheered for them, leaving langa behind in his utter confusion.

now, it's dawning on him, and his mouth drops open, heart skipping another beat. he could feel his cheeks heating up, like he was outside in the summer's heat instead of inside in joe's a/c cooled restaurant. joe smiled at him as his eyes went back to his face, nodding a little, confirming langa's suspicions.

langa ran from the building as soon as he knows for sure, needing to find reki right then.

he doesn't find reki until later that day, as the sun sets and the moon is peeking over the horizon. reki is at the skatepark, alone, sitting on top of his board and idly scooting himself side to side. the last of the sun's light catches around him like a halo, making him the sole originator of all sunlight for a moment or two, before it fades, leaving him in shadow.

but langa can still reki's beautiful face, honey amber eyes looking at the cracks in the ground, tracing them almost like they are the constellations fallen to earth. he can't stop himself from smiling, at the freckled face, the lightly tanned skin, the fire red hair and amber eyes.

he makes his way to where he sits, and plops down on his own board beside him. reki jumps a little, not noticing his arrival until he's directly beside him, their bent knees brushing in the middle. the moon is slowly rising, a sliver of it sliced off. but it is still large, still bright and beautiful. like the boy he loves sitting beside him.

"hi, reki," he said in greeting, offering a small smile and wave.

reki flushes a little, already, waving back, shy. "hey, langa," he replied, and looks back up at the star dotted sky, capturing some of it in his eyes once more. if reki's eyes were the universe, langa wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. "wanna tell me about more of the constellations?"

langa hums, a light, song like note. he scoots ever closer to reki, the edges of their boards bumping, their thighs meeting. the flush on reki's face darkens, and his gaze flickers at their connected legs. "maybe in a minute," langa said, and brings their shoulders together. reki goes completely still, knees locking him in place. he leans closer, wetting his lips only a tad nervously. he's waited for so long to say this, and now he could communicate it in the way reki would prefer. he tilts his head towards the dark sky, towards the moon, now halfway high. "don't you think the moon is beautiful tonight?"

it must be the way he says it, because reki's honey amber eyes dart to his, and his flush deepens even further at how close their faces are. langa is now completely invading reki's space, their noses inches apart, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

wide honey amber eyes stare into his own, searching, and he smiles warmly, nodding, a minute thing.

reki's lips part, his gaze drifting to langa's mouth. langa makes sure to lean in closer, slower now, however, to allow reki time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he leans closer, their noses bumping, brushing against one another intimately.

"me too," reki whispered. his words are nearly stolen by the breeze, but langa catches them, bottles them into a small jar and stores it away to keep forever.

finally, their lips meet, warm and soft and chaste, with only the moon watching.

#OOPS THIS GOT OUT OF HAND LOL #have it i got inspired #sk8 #snowgear #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki kyan #langa hasegawa #drabble #my writing

[hournites]

A lot of ways to love you (teach me through your eyes)

Hournite Week Day 7: Love Languages 

Summary: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Gifts, Quality Time, Touch. Or, Rick, Beth, and their many languages of love.

Thank you for coming along on this first HN week journey with me! ❤️

~.~

Words of Affirmation

  Beth found Rick by himself at the corner of their shared history class, carving his initials into the desk. She didn’t understand why he’d put himself there. It was like a brooding corner to be miserable. 

  “Hey,” she said, taking the seat in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

  Rick dug deeper to splinter the wood. “They think I cheated on my chem test.” 

  Without asking, Beth unzipped Rick’s bag to pull out the test. Rick let her. 

  She gaped at him as she scanned over the F and comments from the teacher. He always treated Beth kindly when they passed in the halls, but she never actually had Mr. Geralds. Chemistry wasn’t her strong suit like Rick, but there wasn’t a doubt that she’d given some of the same answers with a great grade from the other science teacher. “Are you serious? That’s crazy. You’re going to contest that, right?”

  “You’re not going to even ask if I did?” 

  “I know you didn’t, you’re too smart.” 

  “I used to steal shit,” he muttered under his breath and dropped his pencil. “Haven’t heard you say I’m too smart for that.” 

  Beth slipped his test into her folder to return to at a later time, right now focusing on Rick. 

  “Hey, that’s not fair.” When Rick wouldn’t meet her eyes, she leaned in closer. “Look at me.” 

  Rick did. 

  “You know you deserved a good grade. And you’ve done what you did to get by.” She glanced at the vandalism briefly. “There are people here who know you’re better than what the majority of the town thinks.” She lowered her voice to keep her next words between them. “You’re a hero. You’ve helped save everyone in this town. So show them who you really are.” 

  She smiled when he let out a small huff, she knew he was listening. “I’ll go to the principal’s office with you, and we can get Pat to vouch for us. We both know that for Chem you should be in AP.” 

  “It’s really not that big of a deal,” he lied, shifting uncomfortably from all her nice words. 

  “If it weren’t a big deal, you wouldn’t have done that.” She pointed at the roughened mess he’d made of the school desk. “I know you better than you think.” 

  Act of Service 

  “Has anyone seen Beth?” 

  Rick walked around the main area of Pat’s cabin. It was after 2 AM. Barbara and Jennie were making late-night comfort food in the kitchen. Pat was manning the first aid station, tending to Mike, Jakeem and Yolanda’s injuries from Sportsmaster. Courtney was bonding or something with the staff in some strange ritual she had after a life-threatening mission. Rick just stepped out of the shower, washing the grime from his arms and face. 

  “She’s upstairs, I think!” Yolanda called, holding her ribs from her seat on top of the table. Rick shook his head when Pat admonished her not to yell. Rick made it up the stairs two at a time, stopping when he found Beth with her packed school bag on the floor in front of the couch. She was searching through papers, openly crying. She hadn’t even taken her cape off yet. 

  Rick crouched down beside her. “Hey,” he said softly. She looked utterly exhausted. “Are you okay? You said you didn’t get hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt.” She hiccuped, flipping through more papers, a little hysterical. It looked like it was for school. “I can’t find my math assignment. It’s due tomorrow morning.”

  “Did you finish it?” he asked. 

  “I don’t remember.” She wiped at her tears as she cried harder. “I might’ve left it at home, I can’t find it. I’m too tired, I can’t think.” 

  “Yeah,” Rick agreed. His bones were weary but he had always felt the least affected after battling it out with the ISA. He suffered plenty of superficial cuts and bruises, but he hardly felt them because his hourglass really protected him. He couldn’t imagine the hit the night must’ve taken on Beth’s body. Pat was going to be driving them back to main Blue Valley at 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning to get them back to school. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a random Wednesday. It’s not like they had a choice. 

  “Did you ask Chuck?” 

  “No.” Her lip wobbled, face contorting into another sob. Rick regretted asking. It was clear she was far too drained. It would’ve been simple to have asked Chuck to scan her bag to find out, but she hadn’t thought of it. 

  “Okay, okay,” Rick said. “Go to bed. You’re not going to be able to do the homework now even if you found it.” Rick got up to get to the top of the stairs, calling down for Barbara. 

  When he returned, he helped her up and managed to get her to let go of her school bag. “We’ll look for it before we leave, okay?” Rick ran a hand through his damp hair, his own eyelids started to droop. “I promise you’ll get it done before school.” 

  Barb joined them upstairs and coaxed Beth to change out of her suit, leading her downstairs with her regular clothes and a promise of a warm bed and tea. 

  Rick followed to grab Chuck when Beth wasn’t looking, turning him on once alone to help identify if this alleged math homework was even in her bag. Together they found what she was talking about. Ten problems of pre-calc. She was right. It was rushed and not done. 

  Rick sighed, tucking it under his arm. He said goodnight to the rest and retired to his assigned room. He turned on the lamp on the desk where he first solved the code of his father’s journal, spreading out the assignment and using Chuck as a calculator. It dawned on him an hour later as he rubbed at his tired eyes how he would be staying up all night to finish homework that wasn’t even his. 

  Gifts 

  Beth was immersed in her book when two hands landed on her collarbone. She looked down, touching the skin at the opening of her shirt when she felt the weight of something new at the base of her throat.

  “What’s this?”

  Rick murmured in her ear from behind. “An early birthday present.”

  She let out a soft gasp when he finished with the clasp. A tiny brass hourglass pendant with sand just like Hourman’s trickled steadily beside her rainbow pendant. 

  “Woah.” She glanced up at him. “You got me an hourglass?” She bit down on her lip, dread creeping into her mind when she realized this had to be expensive. She struggled to voice what she was feeling out loud, but Rick must’ve caught the complicated expression on her face. He smoothed his hand along the sleeve of her cardigan and reassured her the cost didn’t push him into any kind of financial ruin. 

  “Did you not realize I’ve been working for Pat before school? I had some spare cash. Trust me, there’s nothing better I’d spend my money on.” 

  The puzzle clicked into place. Beth had been meeting Rick at the Pit Stop every morning before school for what felt like months now. It made sense he was there to work on the cars. Beth felt her face heat up at his implicit soft-spoken confession. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, still in awe. The necklace was beautiful and she felt fuzzy ever since his hands were on her neck. “I love it.”

  His eyes, usually hardened and defensive, skilled at warding off unwanted attention, now creased at the corners. Gentle, quiet, yearning, he watched her accept his gift. “I’m glad.”

  Impulsively she asked, “Could you unclasp the rainbow one?”

  Rick did. The chain pooled in her palm. She shook her head, pushing it to his chest. “You should have it.”

  His brows furrowed in response. “You want to give me your... rainbow necklace?”

  She flushed when he said it like that. She toyed with her new one, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “Well…” she said. “I have something of you, now you can have a symbol of me.”

  Rick let out a small laugh. Beth was pretty sure if this were anyone else he’d say it was stupid, so she couldn’t help the surge of pride when he nestled her necklace around his own neck. 

  “How does it look?” 

  It was actually twisted. She flattened it so it would look the way it was supposed to over the collar of his shirt. Rick didn’t complain, but it was bright and cheery and clashed with his entire self. Beth bit her lip, withholding another laugh, and took pity on him, changing her mind to tuck the necklace underneath. “Perfect now.” 

  “Beth, I hate to interrupt this moment but you will be late for school if you don’t leave the Pit Stop in the next five minutes.”

  Chuck broke them out of their weird double transfixion. They both found themselves smiling shyly at each other, neither truly wanting to move. 

  “Come on,” he said after another few moments of them smiling at each other without moving. “Put your bike in my trunk. I’ll drive you.”

  Quality Time

  When Rick stopped by at Beth’s locker, she was talking to Charity, a new close friend she made over the summer volunteering at the Blue Valley Community Centre. 

  “Hey,” Rick greeted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for Beth to visit. 

  “Hey,” Charity said back. She swept her blonde bangs out of her face to continue their conversation. 

  “Charity had a great idea that we should enter for the sustainability case competition,” Beth filled in.  

  “We’re going to need at least a month to prepare. I was thinking we could meet Tuesdays and Thursdays after school?” 

  Rick stuck a hand in his pocket, sullen. Thursdays were their days, unofficially. Not that they’ve ever said so out loud, but with JSA training afternoons the rest of the week, Beth working on a case competition their days off basically meant not getting to see her. Which was fine. It happened. Rick just wishes it didn’t have to. 

  “I can’t on Thursdays,” Beth told her. She glanced up at Rick to give him a smile. He straightened up, meeting her gaze with obvious surprise. “Those are our nights.” 

  Charity paused, watching the two with curious eyes. 

  “We can cancel,” Rick found himself saying and actually meaning it. “You don’t have to stay on my account.” 

  Beth’s nose scrunched up as she shook her head, mind already made. “Nah. Sorry Charity, Thursday doesn’t work for me. Take out your schedule, maybe we have a shared free period somewhere.” 

  “Oh, yeah, sure! Okay!” 

  Rick ducked his head to hide his smile as Charity fished through her bag for her agenda.

  Touch 

  When Beth stumbled out of the cell she’d been bound in, she hadn’t realized just how long she’d been gone. She was hungry and exhausted and felt horrifically dirty in her soiled Dr. Mid-Nite suit, but then she got a glimpse of Hourman nearly pushing the others in his rush to get to her all she could feel was relief. 

  Rick cupped her face, eyes squeezed shut as he held her close, his thumbs brushed along her cheeks, under her dry eyes. She felt the buzz of adrenaline rushing through him just by being so near, but the way he touched her was gentle, so gentle.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered, a startling unfamiliar word to fall in succession like that, coming from Rick. His hands flew to the crown of her cowl, tugging it down to kiss her forehead again and again. “Thank you.” 

  I’m okay now, she tried to comfort him, though her words were choked, smothered out by the crushing weight of it all. He was crying as his lips brushed over her face. It wasn’t his stamina. The buzz, she felt. Rick was shaking. It hit her then, that maybe he wasn’t sure Beth was ever going to come back. Beth had scared him. He was scared.  

Beth vaulted with her tired, numb legs, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. Her mind went calm for the first time since before they left home, muscles relaxing as she let Rick scoop her up. 

  She was safe. She was home.

Beth was loved. 

#hournite week #hournite #hournite week 21 #hournites fic #love languages #fluff #hurt/comfort #i'm proud of this one

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

I listened to the TAZ Grad finale!

Fellas is it gay to become imbued with the essence of the sea after influence from your water genasi teammate, pester said teammate afterwards to name a boat after you, and sail away with them into the sunset to run a cruise line scam and become morally righteous pirates?

Ive been looking at people’s reactions on the finale and yeah I loved the chaos magic parts! The whole issue with the mishandling of D&D mechanics was never really a problem with me, although I know some people feel more strongly about that than I do.

Personally, I’ve always listened to TAZ for the story and not the actual D&D so I never really took issue with any of the DM-ing mistakes Travis did. Parts of the actual story had problems (the centaurs, Ranier, other points where Travis tried to be inclusive but implemented it where it wasn’t relevant) but overall I think the enjoyable parts far outweighed the bad.

And the McElroys in general are funny as hell so even though Grad wasn’t as profound as Balance or as sad as Amnesty I still enjoyed it a lot! I would probably put Grad above Amnesty but below Balance, but of course Balance holds a special place in my heart.

A problem people had with the finale that I didn’t notice while listening was that of all their talk of “destroying capitalism,” the trio settled down to comply with capitalist society at the end. And while I do agree that the “this system is bad but let’s slowly make change from within” message has been done to death, I don’t think that the ending was necessarily performative and disingenuous on the McElroy’s part.

The first point is that even though the trio decided to participate in Nua’s society in stereotypically “exploitative” careers, (particularly in Fitzroy and Firbolg/Gary’s case) they did so explicitly to keep people from being exploited by the system. Not to mention their paths fit their character arcs pretty well. 

Fitzroy’s “who will protect the weak from the strong” speech doesn’t indicate a sleazy lawyer willing to exploit the law to make a quick buck. One person described him as one of those pro-bono lawyers and I agree with that comparison. Fitzroy is a morally good person at his core, and he initially thought the hero society would help him do good, and after becoming disillusioned with hero society, he decided to carve out his own system to allow him to do good, both by being a lawyer and by being a pirate that only attacks rich assholes. (I really like that he clarified he would only attack rich assholes my chaotic good lawyer boi <3)

Firbolg’s whole character arc of being conscientious of resources to help the community instead of hoarding things to himself, in my opinion, culminates neatly with his decision of becoming a financial advisor. He has learned that both the “share all your resources without regard for the future” ideals of the Firlbolg and the “hoard all your resources for your own benefit” ideal of Nua’s society are both flawed extremes, and has dedicated his career to helping communities find a balance between the two.

Argo’s cruise seems more of a small business to me than a capitalistic venture, but I have never taken an econ class in my life so I digress. His character arc was about finding something to live for other than the past and I think it’s a good conclusion to his arc that he commemorates his mother and friends with the cruise line but still seeks out his own future outside of that by becoming a pirate. His original plan was to go with the establishment and work with one of the most powerful heroes in the world until he gets revenge, so it’s nice to see him grow to find his own self sustaining outside of the establishment.

The second point is that TAZ Grad was never about destroying capitalism. That was a joke that Travis laid the foundation to, but it was the players who made that joke and rolled with it. Tumblr user @fitzroythecreator wrote a really good analysis of how the main theme of Grad was self reliance which I agree with. While that is one of the main themes, I will be focusing on the theme of capitalism that a lot of people tend to focus on.

The characters’ goal was to destroy the HOG, which was an allegory for how organizations function under capitalism, but never a direct parallel with capitalism as an ideology or functional system itself.

When they first joked about “ending capitalism” by blowing up the HOG I was concerned because that’s not how anything works. The HOG was just one cog (heh) in the capitalist machine that was Nua’s society, and while destroying it would cause significant damage and change, it wouldn’t immediately shift everyone’s worldviews to discard their capitalist society as a whole. If the boys carried out the mission and all of a sudden the whole world was fixed, it would be even more disingenuous to present a utopian solution to a pressing, real world problem that simply cannot be solved this way.

I’m glad that they didn’t end capitalism. Social issues like this can never realistically be resolved by three spunky heroes on an adventure. You would need action from an entire population. Often violent action. There were already issues with too many NPCs in the spotlight so describing and entire population’s uprising would have exacerbated the problems even more. As four white men, the McElroys neither had the answers for how to end capitalism, nor would their medium of a D&D podcast have allowed them to present them effectively.

From my perspective, the way they would have actually ended capitalism was to go to war like Chaos and Order wanted. In this case, the entire social order and way of life for Nua would have been overturned. The main characters, Fitzroy most vocally, reject this option because of the human toll (or elves, or dwarves...whatever the term for that is for D&D races). Instead, they disturb the system to expose its flaws and let society recognize said flaws in the background. (Again, they couldn’t focus too much on it as it would take away from focus on the main characters.) Then, they choose to find their own place in the system and fix it from within.

I’m not surprised that the McElroys would pick the “change the flawed system from within” route over the “use continuous and possibly violent action to force rapid social change” route in the end. While the second stance could work if written correctly, there’s a lot more room for the message conveyed to be catastrophically bad if the writing doesn’t work. I’m personally glad that the McElroys, who don’t have a solution, presented the tamer first take instead of trying to give a solution with the second take and failing spectacularly.

TAZ: Grad was social commentary on the problems of late stage capitalistic society, but it never tries to present a clear answer on how to end this society. Rather, it recognizes that this is a problem that can’t be solved by one small group of people. It presents several possible solutions to navigate this society to bring yourself happiness within this soul crushing system while slowly changing the attitude of the society. After all, if everyone quietly changed societal attitudes for the better, then perhaps one day the population will be united enough to bring about the drastic social change that we all hope for.

#taz: graduation #taz grad #fitzroy maplecourt #argo keene #taz firbolg #SHUT UP JESSICA #this is the kind of analysis i do with media when im bored #except none of my friends that i share my bad takes with know about taz grad so #its your problem now

[honourablejester]

Homebrew Dragon NPC

A little bit of a homebrew Ancient White Dragon NPC/Adventure Focus, based a bit on this post of mine, because I just really love white dragons, and I wanted to try my hand at using the DMG a bit:

THE LEGEND OF MIIRIKJILINTH, THE BONEMOTHER

In the great trackless North, in the Ocean of Ice underneath the Sea of Stars, the hunter-fisher peoples of the twilight ice relay the legends of the ancient dragon known as the Bonemother. Miirikjilinth, the Memory of the World. As old as the ice itself, as the ocean, she is the memory of the north. The record and the rhythm of all that has passed beneath that great wheel of stars. Nothing that has ever lived in that vast frozen realm has done so outside of her memory.

It is said that she lives in a vast floating mountain of ice in the far northern reaches of the world, where the sea and the sky intermingle, and the stars swim in a river of green light. There is never a permanent path to her home, for the Ocean of Ice moves like a living thing around it, and only by her grace and the paths drawn by her breath across the waters can anyone venture to her halls.

And many do venture. Each and every year. A hundred thousand pilgrims, from tribes all across the Ocean of Ice. On the last journey of their lives.

For she is the Memory of the World, the Keeper of Songs, and what lies collected in the great galleries of that frozen mountain is so much more than a dragon’s hoard.

It has been the custom of the peoples of the ice, for time almost without memory, to go out on one last hunt when they feel their youth and their strength begin to fade. Seeking not meat, now, nor fur, though neither will be wasted, but for bone. For a rib of whalebone or a plaque or horn of ivory, on which to carve the story of their lives, to mark out their song. It is the ritual of passing. For those who have died suddenly, those who have been lost, their friends or families must carve one in their stead, and only those who have been heinous beyond measure would be allowed to pass from the world with no bone to mark their song.

Then, when they feel the time is right, those who have determined to pass go north. Across the ocean, across the ice, following the river of stars, and the paths of whales, and the frozen roads traced across the waves by the Bonemother’s own breath. Until at last they come to the Mountain of Ice, and She That Is The Memory Of The World.

There, in the great halls of ancient ice, they will sing the song of their lives, and entrust their bonesong into her care, so that their memory will last through the ages of the world.

In the vast and trackless North, in the Ocean of Ice underneath the Sea of Stars, an ancient white dragon lives in a Mountain of Ice. She is the Bonemother. In her halls lie the bones of all who have lived on the twilight ice. In her memory live their songs.

She is the Memory of the World.

CONTENTS

Miirikjilinth, the Bonemother

Lair: The Mountain of Ice

Adventure Hooks

(Attempted) Stat Block

MIIRIKJILINTH

Very little is known of the great dragon in the north that the Peoples of the Ice call the Bonemother. Few who are not of the Peoples have met her, for her lair and the dragon herself are elusive in the extreme, and the Peoples do not share the details of their final pilgrimages with outsiders. As such, much of what the wider world knows of the dragon is legend, hearsay, myth, won from the stories of travellers and, for those few who win their relative trust, from the oral histories of the People of the Ice. If any outsider has stood in her presence and learned the truth of her themselves, they have not told of it, nor written it down.

From what little is known, it is said that the Bonemother has seen more than a thousand winters. That she was young when the ice was young. It is said that she is the Ice, that she lay at the centre of the Ocean and the Ice wreathed itself gradually around her, over the course of centuries. Her name, the name she calls herself, is Miirikjilinth, the Song of Memory, and her great lair is the Mountain of Ice, a gargantuan iceberg somewhere deep in the Ocean of Ice.

When the Peoples of the Ice feel their ends drawing near, many choose to make one last great trek to the Mountain of Ice, to give their memory into her keeping. Her great treasure hoard is no pile of gems or precious furs, but gallery upon gallery of the carved bone work of the Peoples of the Ice, each piece tied to a song and a story that only the Bonemother now remembers. She welcomes and watches over the last hours of all who make the pilgrimage to her, and offers her strength and her protection to all who aid them honestly on the path across the ice. Those who cross the ice falsely, however, who seek to injure or steal from her and her Peoples, will find there are few places they can escape her wrath. There is no greater crime in the Bonemother’s eyes than to falsely gain access to her lair, to lie in her presence, or to steal from her and her People.

There are many theories and stories on how this relationship between the Bonemother and the Peoples came to pass, and what might be its true nature. White dragons are not generally known to be social or caring creatures, but neither are they greatly known to be manipulative. Such a symbiotic relationship as that described between this great wyrm and the peoples of the ice is unusual in the extreme, but it is also difficult to imagine such a large-scale and long-standing deception on the part of a creature more usually known to be direct about their feelings.

Some have said that the Bonemother must not be a white dragon at all, but a metallic dragon in disguise for some reason or another. Others believe that, if the Bonemother is indeed a white dragon, that the relationship must have originated from a test of daring. That the Peoples sought to slay the Bonemother when both were younger, and somehow this test of strength softened into something more communal and ritualised over time. To be remembered by so ancient and exacting a memory as that of a white dragon might be reason enough to seek one out in one’s last days, and who knows? Perhaps the dragon herself might come to value the role and ritual of the memory of a people over time.

There are other, harsher rumours, however. Some, particularly outsiders, believe that the relationship is not symbiotic at all, but a ritualised predation that takes advantage of the Peoples. Other rumours explicitly say that the Peoples of the Ice are knowingly sacrificing their old and frail to a dragon in exchange for that dragon’s protection. Needless to say, these theories are among the reasons the Peoples tend not to speak of the Bonemother to outsiders anymore, and why few among them would ever choose to lead them to her, save to see them face her wrath.

The Peoples of the Ice also maintain that the Bonemother travels the Ocean of Ice in other forms. That she is the albatross on the wind, the whale among the waves. The spear-fisher on the wharf. As often as she flies beneath the River of Stars in her own mighty form, she travels in lesser ones for other purposes. To watch over her people, or to watch among them for enemies. Any beast or bird or man upon the Ice might be the Bonemother in disguise. For this, among other reasons, the tradition of hospitality on the Ice is sacrosanct. Until a guest betrays you, no hand will ever be raised against them.

And too, all who hunt upon the Ice place their lives in her claws, knowing that at any time they might find themselves unwittingly trying their strength against her. It is said that she does not begrudge this, however, nor does she necessarily kill those who strike against her unwittingly. Should they prove their strength well, the Bonemother might be moved to show mercy. There are even communities and villages said to have benefited from their daring in their desperation, to have fed on whale and porpoise through the most vicious winters by the benevolence of the Bonemother.

LAIR: THE MOUNTAIN OF ICE

The legends of the Mountain of Ice grow taller and taller across the decades, though perhaps with reason, for it is said that the Bonemother herself is always adding to it. The impossibly huge iceberg is mountain and citadel all in one, and it moves through the floes and currents of the Ocean of Ice as Miirikjilinth wills it. There is no set path to the Mountain, or, if there is, none that the Peoples will ever share. What little they will say is that, to take the last journey, one must have faith that the Bonemother knows your purpose and will open the path before you. Quite possibly literally: it is said that the great dragon creates roads across the ocean with her frigid breath, paths and bridges that never existed before and will no longer exist again before long. In such a way, among others, does the ancient dragon protect her lair.

Of the Mountain itself, there are several stories told of the many wonders within it.

The first and most reverent of them are always the Galleries, where the bonesongs of generations without count lie sheened in ice. It has been possible, the Peoples say, for those who have aided others in their pilgrimages to witness the Galleries without offering up their own bonesongs. There are songs that been lost for centuries that have been learned again in the Bonemother’s galleries. She does not only keep the memories of the ice, she is also willing to speak them, to those who seek honestly and with reverence.

It is said the Bonemother also maintains more personal galleries, of her own bones and memories. When rumours mention the treasures of the Bonemother, it is these galleries they speak of, full of diamonds and artefacts and the frozen corpses of her slain enemies. Here, it is rumoured, rest precious ivories, pearls, gems and weapons, as well as the bodies of heroes who sought to unmask the Bonemother’s ‘true nature’. Whether these galleries truly exist is unknown, as the Peoples of the Ice do not seek them, and no one else has ever survived the attempt.

More curiously, a Hospice is also spoken of within the Mountain of Ice. It is here that the pilgrims come to rest, once their song has been sung and their final hours are upon them. It is said that some may even be there for years, if they sought to make their pilgrimage while they still had strength to survive it, and so had some years left once they had arrived. Some speak of the Hospice as almost a settlement, provided for by the Bonemother and those of its inhabitants with strength remaining to hunt and help, or those who came with them to aid them. Such stories are almost unbelievable outside of the Peoples who tell them, as the idea of a settlement, perhaps even a town, existing and thriving within a white dragon’s lair seems … far-fetched at best. Yet, stories persist.

The Mountain is vertiginous, vastly tall, and it is said that the Bonemother herself inhabits the peak of it, the tallest tower of shaped and carved ice, an eyrie only a bird or a dragon could reach. Conversely, it is also said that her chambers lie within the deepest submarine depths of the great iceberg, and that the only entrance to her deepest lair lies far beneath the waves. Perhaps both are true, or neither. It is also said that the Mountain of Ice is not her true home at all, that it is only the meeting place at which she greets and cares for her People, and that her own home lies elsewhere. If that is true, however, then no one save perhaps the gods know the location of her true lair. No one but the Peoples have seen the Mountain, let alone anywhere else.

ADVENTURE HOOKS:

Many people around the Ocean of Ice and further afield have interests, whether fair or foul, in the legend of Miirikjilinth. The Bonemother is considered half grandmother and half goddess by the various Peoples of the Ice, the living embodiment of memory and tradition, and the reverence and respect for her cannot be overstated. Conversely, she is viewed with deep suspicion by almost everyone else who have heard of her, if only by virtue of being a chromatic dragon apparently acting in a very unusual way.

Whether they are People of the Ice seeking aid on their pilgrimages or lost relatives who have not returned from aiding someone else on theirs, treasure hunters seeking rumours of a vast dragon hoard, historians and scholars seeking the only known repository of the People’s oral history, druids seeking the history and health of the Ocean of Ice, or righteous heroes and metallic dragons seeking the truth of the Bonemother and her relationship with the Peoples of the Ice, there is always someone in the many ports and trailheads of the Ocean of Ice seeking to venture into the great trackless north in search of the Mountain of Ice.

(ATTEMPTED) STAT BLOCK:

(I say ‘attempted’ because I’ve never tried altering a stat block before. This is essentially just a slightly beefed Ancient White Dragon with spellcasting, the metallic dragons’ Shape Change ability, and some bumped mental scores. I wanted her to have developed wisdom in particular over her long years of symbiosis with the People of the Ice. She had the feel of a druid, between the more feral nature of stereotypical white dragons and the more communal aspects she’s taken on in despite them, with a few more clerical elements from her ritualistic funerary role among the Peoples. Take with a huge grain of salt here, particularly the CR rating, because math is not my strong point and I struggled a bit with the instructions in the DMG)

THE BONEMOTHER (ANCIENT WHITE DRAGON)

Gargantuan Dragon, Lawful Neutral

Armour Class: 21 (natural armour)

Hit Points: 429 (22d20 + 198)

Speed: 40ft, Burrow 40ft, Fly 80ft, Swim 40ft

Statistics: STR 28 (+9), DEX 10 (+0), CON 28 (+9), INT 10 (+0), WIS 23 (+6), CHA 18 (+4)

Saving Throws: Dex +7, Con +16, Wis +13, Cha +11

Skills: Perception +20, Stealth +7, Insight +13

Damage Immunities: Cold

Senses: Blindsight 60ft, Darkvision 120ft, Passive Perception 30

Languages: Common, Draconic

Challenge:  22 (41,000 XP)

Ice Walk: The dragon can move across and climb icy surfaces without needing to make an ability check. Additionally, difficult terrain composed of ice or snow doesn't cost it extra movement.

Innate Spellcasting: The Bonemother’s innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 19). The Bonemother can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components:

1/Day each: Zone of Truth (2nd level), Intellect Fortress (3rd level), True Seeing (6th level), Wall of Ice (6th level)

Legendary Resistance (3/Day): If the dragon fails a saving throw, it can choose to succeed instead.

Spellcasting: The Bonemother is an 8th level spellcaster. Her spellcasting ability is Wisdom (spell save DC 21, +13 to hit with spell attacks). She has the following druid spells prepared:

Cantrips (at will): Shape Water, Mending, Thunderclap

1st Level (4 slots): Detect Magic, Speak with Animals, Healing Word, Create or Destroy Water

2nd Level (3 slots): Pass Without Trace, Augury, Heat Metal, Locate Object

3rd Level (3 slots): Dispel Magic, Protection from Energy, Revivify

4th Level (2 slots): Hallucinatory Terrain, Stoneskin, Locate Creature

ACTIONS:

Multiattack: The Bonemother can use her Frightful Presence. She then makes three attacks: one with her bite and two with her claws.

Bite: Melee Weapon Attack: +16 to hit, reach 15 ft., one target. Hit: 20 (2d10 + 9) piercing damage.

Claw: Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 16 (2d6 + 9) slashing damage.

Tail: Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 20 ft., one target. Hit: 18 (2d8 + 9) bludgeoning damage.

Frightful Presence: Each creature of the Bonemother's choice that is within 120 feet of her and aware of her must succeed on a DC 19 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature's saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune to the Bonemother's Frightful Presence for the next 24 hours.

Cold Breath (Recharge 5-6): The Bonemother exhales an icy blast in a 90-foot cone. Each creature in that area must make a DC 24 Constitution saving throw, taking 72 (16d8) cold damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

Change Shape: The Bonemother magically polymorphs into a humanoid or beast that has a challenge rating no higher than her own, or back into her true form. She reverts to her true form if she dies. Any equipment she is wearing or carrying is absorbed or borne by the new form (the Bonemother's choice).

In a new form, the Bonemother retains her alignment, hit points, Hit Dice, ability to speak, proficiencies, Legendary Resistance, lair actions, and Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores, as well as this action. Her statistics and capabilities are otherwise replaced by those of the new form, except any class features or legendary actions of that form.

LEGENDARY ACTIONS:

Detect: The Bonemother makes a Wisdom (Perception) check.

Tail Attack: The Bonemother makes a tail attack.

Wing Attack (Costs 2 Actions): The Bonemother beats her wings. Each creature within 15 feet of her must succeed on a DC 24 Dexterity saving throw or take 15 (2d6 + 8) bludgeoning damage and be knocked prone. The Bonemother can then fly up to half its flying speed.

LAIR ACTIONS:

On initiative count 20 (losing initiative ties), the Bonemother takes a lair action to cause one of the following effects; she can't use the same effect two rounds in a row:

Freezing fog fills a 20-foot-radius sphere centered on a point the dragon can see within 120 feet of it. The fog spreads around corners, and its area is heavily obscured. Each creature in the fog when it appears must make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw, taking 10 (3d6) cold damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. A creature that ends its turn in the fog takes 10 (3d6) cold damage. A wind of at least 20 miles per hour disperses the fog. The fog otherwise lasts until the dragon uses this lair action again or until the dragon dies.

Jagged ice shards fall from the ceiling, striking up to three creatures     underneath that the dragon can see within 120 feet of it. The dragon makes one ranged attack roll (+7 to hit) against each target. On a hit, the target takes 10 (3d6) piercing damage.

The dragon creates an opaque wall of ice on a solid surface it can see within 120 feet of it. The wall can be up to 30 feet long, 30 feet high, and 1 foot thick. When the wall appears, each creature within its area is pushed 5 feet out of the wall's space; appearing on whichever side of the wall it     wants. Each 10-foot section of the wall has AC 5, 30 hit points, vulnerability to fire damage, and immunity to acid, cold, necrotic,     poison, and psychic damage. The wall disappears when the dragon uses this lair action again or when the dragon dies.

REGIONAL EFFECTS:

The region containing a legendary white dragon's lair is warped by the dragon's magic, which creates one or more of the following effects:

Once per day, the dragon can alter the weather in a 6-mile radius centered on its lair. The dragon doesn't need to be outdoors; otherwise the effect is identical to the control weather spell.

Icy walls block off areas in the dragon's lair. Each wall is 6 inches thick,     and a 10-foot section has AC 5, 15 hit points, vulnerability to fire damage, and immunity to acid, cold, necrotic, poison, and psychic damage.

If the dragon wishes to move through a wall, it can do so without slowing down. The portion of the wall the dragon moves through is destroyed,     however.

If the dragon dies, the fog and precipitation fade within 1 day. The ice walls melt over the course of 1d10 days.

#d&d #long post #homebrew #dragons #worldbuilding #stat blocks #attempted anyway #chromatic dragons #i just love the white dragon

[jumptheshark]

i get that you’re emotionally repressed, but i’d appreciate it if you called for help when you’ve been stabbed

(or: ghoul is being hunted and doesn’t think to call for help until hes badly injured. tw for graphic descriptions of injuries and violence)

They both hear prayers meant for Michael. It started after Castiel’s set up, when Adam realized that an over-confident archangel isn’t always the best at gauging threats. It works pretty well; Michael screens out the billions of random prayers he gets everyday - as he’s done for years with only a little bit of guilt - and they’re only interrupted every few weeks. And this wonderful system of communication is the reason that Adam is woken up at two in the morning one night by a voice screaming for help between his ears.

“Michael-“ the voice is pained and breaking off. It’s familiar, but Adam can’t place it through the harsh breathing. He does, however, feel Michael’s attention snap in the way it only does when he’s gearing up for a fight, and dread creeps into his gut. “I know we’re not on the best terms, and- and I don’t even know if monsters can pray, but I could really use a hand-“ The voice cuts out with a gasp.

Monster… the only monster that would pray to Michael is-

“Is it Ghoul?”

Michael turns to him with a panic that Adam didn’t expect and doesn’t answer. The dread in his gut turns to icy fear. In the back of their head, an address is mumbled out to them, somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin. The next thing Adam knows, Michael is extending his wings and they’re landing in a cramped, dark room. Even with Michael, it’s cold in here. Each wall is made of smooth stone bricks. Plaques carved with names and years are evenly spaced out across the walls. It’s a crypt, he realizes, and there’s no one in the room but them.

“Michael, where is he?” It had never occurred to him that Ghoul would get into any danger. Adam had gotten so used to the immortality that came with Michael that he forgot it didn’t extend to everyone else, and now all the ways Ghoul could’ve gotten injured are flashing before his eyes. Michael’s looking around frantically, like there’s something he’s missing in this bare room.

“He’s- It’s the warding I carved into his ribs, I can’t find him.” Michael sounds worried, which does not happen often. Just hearing it spikes Adam’s anxiety that much more. “He’s here somewhere, though. I couldn’t find him in the cemetery.” He spares one last look around before leaving. Just before they fly away, Adam realizes there’s a trail of blood coming in from the door.

The next and only other room is equally as empty. It’s also just as quiet, except for the muffled groan that echoes through the far wall. A stone in the corner of it is loose and Adam immediately knows exactly where Ghoul is. Michael doesn’t wait before flying them there.

They’re met with pure darkness, until Michael snaps and the room is illuminated by an invisible source. It’s just like the other two, all cool gray stone and cobwebs, with the notable addition of a trembling body lying on the ground.

“Hey, big guy.” Ghoul is smirking up at them as if he isn’t laying in a pool of his own blood. “Took you long enough.” Adam is so relieved that he doesn’t even notice Michael has moved forward until they’re already kneeling next to Ghoul.

“What happened?” Michael asks. The wounds are bad, whatever it was. His torso has been torn through with gunshots and blood is steadily dripping out of a cut on his head. Looking at it gives Adam a dizzying sense of deja vu.

“Hunters. I guess they don’t take too kindly to strangers eating corpses in this town.” Michael moves Ghoul’s jacket aside and finds his chest sticky with blood. It gushes through his t-shirt in a way that isn’t lethal for a ghoul, but definitely isn’t pleasant either. “When they ran out of bullets, they tried to do it the old fashioned way.” He points to his head, where there are so many bruises and cuts that any human would be long dead from them by now. A few months after they first started talking, Ghoul had told Adam how Dean killed him, how he had bashed his head in until it was a smear of blood on the carpet. And now it’s happened all over again. If Adam was in control of his body, he’d be nauseous.

“Are they still here?” Michael’s voice is all business as he scans Ghoul up and down. Healing monsters isn’t difficult, but it’s a bit different than healing humans; angels weren’t built to care for the impure.

“Yeah, somewhere out in the graveyard, I think. But I’m not worried now that I have my big, strong hero here to protect me.” He winks and Michael levels an unimpressed look at him, but Adam feels the flare of amusement rise up in their chest. They’re growing on each other, even if they both pretend otherwise.

It only takes a press of his fingers to Ghoul’s forehead to heal him. The skin comes back together over his wounds like vines growing across a ravine and the blood evaporates from his clothes into the air. Adam’s pushing forward to take control of their body the instant it’s done.

His arms are around Ghoul as soon as they’re his again, and Ghoul hugs him back just as quickly. He smells like the dirt and dust of the crypt, but he’s alive and breathing and he isn’t going anywhere. Tears rise to his eyes and Adam forces them back.

“Do you know how annoying it would’ve been if we had to go running around purgatory looking for you?” His scolding loses its effect when it’s mumbled into Ghoul’s shoulder, but Adam doesn’t care.

“With tall, dark, and handsome helping out? You’d get me back in no time.” A hand comes up to rub circles into his back and suddenly Adam feels guilty. He should be comforting Ghoul, not the other way around.

“I can hear you, you know.” Michael’s apparition is sitting crossed-legged on the ground next to Ghoul, still looking unimpressed.

“Was kind of counting on it, Mikes.” Ghoul unfolds himself from around Adam and turns towards the archangel. They meet each other with identical pairs of soft eyes and hesitant smiles. Adam can see it sometimes, the comfortable friendship growing between them. It shines in moments like these, when they manage to forget their roles as “archangel” and “monster” and just see each other as people. He just wishes it didn’t have to come at the expense of Ghoul almost dying.

“Kind of cutting it close there, weren’t you?” Adam asks, poking Ghoul’s thigh. “Why didn’t you call us sooner? We could’ve flown you out of here.”

Ghoul is silent for just a second, a brief pause that could be written off as nothing. He perks up the next moment and smirks, but Adam has known him too long now to not recognize his acting face.

“Didn’t want to bother ya. It wouldn’t be the first gang of hunters I’ve escaped. I didn’t expect things to get so hairy, that’s all.” Something sinks in Adam’s chest at the fact that Ghoul still sees himself as a burden, even after these last few months.

“You know that’s really stupid, right?” Ghoul looks down and picks at a rip in his jeans, smiling in a way that doesn’t look very happy. Adam takes his hand in his own and lifts it away from the fabric, folding their fingers together. “We would’ve come for you. We both-“ he nods to Michael, “-care about you a lot. Let us take care of you.” Ghoul looks over at Michael, who nods in agreement. It’s not something he would’ve admitted to a few weeks ago.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m being chased down for going grocery shopping, thanks.” His tone is softer than his words. For Ghoul, it’s as close to vulnerable as he gets, and it’s good enough for Adam. He stands up, pulling Ghoul with him. Michael isn’t far behind them.

“How about we get out of here and grab some legal food, yeah? How does sushi sound?”

#hi :) i finished it :) #i hope it’s comprehensible #could NOT think of a title so apologies for that #midamoul #ficlet #? #txt

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 28

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky settles into his new life in Hell.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

The years were tallied and the rare nights were marked, and Bucky did so, but not alone. He never told the voice to leave again, and it had stayed by his side ever since.

The road back to himself had been a painful one, but the voice never let him down. It told him things about himself he couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t until his mind began to heal and he remembered things for himself that he fully trusted the voice. Everything it had told him was true. His curiosity for the nameless entity only grew over time, made stronger by the fact it was so secretive.

Somedays, they were simply amicable companions. Even friends. It reminded Bucky of the comradery he shared with the Howling Commandos, and it made his chest ache. He thought of Steve, and the pain was nearly unbearable, so he tried not to think of him at all. Maybe he would later, after Bucky escaped this cursed world. If he ever did.

The voice still wouldn’t tell him who it was or even what it was. Bucky was disconcerted by the fact that as he regained his memories, it was possible the voice was not even real. After everything he’d endured, after Zola had robbed him of his humanity and Lukin had shaped him onto a monster, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he was as mad as a hatter.

He also decided he didn’t care. He was in Hell—if not the biblical one than very close to it—and he couldn’t survive without an ally. Imaginary or not.

There were other things that lived in this world. Terrible things as large as mountains, roaming in the distance and leaving valleys of sand in their wake. There were also smaller demons, but still considerably larger than Bucky. He avoided them when he could, but it wasn’t always possible. In those moments, he’d either defend himself until they ran, or he killed them with his bare claws.

He never ate the flesh. One, he didn’t know if it was edible, and two, it felt… cannibalistic. A large part of Bucky was from this place, as evidenced by the fact he never needed to feed the demon side of him. Thank Christ for that. If it was between dying and getting fucked by one of those creatures out there, he would have gladly offed himself.

But he never had to. Why would he, when all the demonic energy he needed was right here, beaming down from the never-ending sunlight. It was harsh, and the human part of him wanted to seek shelter from it, but the demon was more than happy to bask in its warmth. Sated in a way it had rarely been back on Earth.

As he grew bolder and explored his “territory,” Bucky came upon curious artifacts. Things that looked too manmade to be a coincidence, but it was always ancient and cracked stone. Designs that looked Greek or Roman.

On an especially productive exploration, he came across what looked like a rudimentary camp. Broken pottery, busted wooden furniture, and even some ancient books that crumbled in his hands when he picked them up. There was a hefty tome that had somehow survived, and Bucky took it back to his cave, hoping to explore it later, but he was disappointed to find the ink too faded to read.

Bored and with way too much time on his hands, Bucky managed to fashion a writing utensil made of a “bamboo” shoot, honed to an edge, along with some ink made of lichen and moss. The relief of being able to do something as human such as journaling made Bucky laugh for the first time in… a long time. He began to document his daily excursions. It made him feel less like a prisoner and more like an explorer, but even then he couldn’t drop the habit of marking ticks on a wall to count the days. And there were many, many ticks.

There was evidence that humans had been on this world in other ways. For the few creatures that seemed to speak a language, they always spoke in Latin. Bucky couldn’t fathom it until he remembered the red book, the one that had controlled him. It had been inscribed in Latin, and his so-called masters had made sure to teach him to speak and read it. HYDRA couldn’t have been the first to summon demonic entities, and perhaps Latin had been their way of communicating with the demons they summoned?

Bucky didn’t know. He didn’t think it was important either, but the voice always got excited when he stumbled across a new ruin or found a new item of manmade design. That alone was enough to make him go out of his way to find more. He liked when the voice was happy, even if he didn’t quite know why.

And the voice was happiest when Bucky flew. The first time he realized it was when he was doing it simply for the exercise, not having anywhere he wanted to explore. Letting his mind go calm and quiet, he found he was able to pay better attention to the entity in his head. He could sense its awe and wonder as they flew high above the hellscape.

Bucky could understand. When his wings had first appeared, he hadn’t hated them. The boy who’d loved comic books and super hero pictures had been fascinated with them, and getting to fly was one of the few times he’d felt free while in HYDRA’s control.

He sensed a little bit of sadness from the voice too, and a physical longing for something. It didn’t hit Bucky until that moment the possibility that the voice might once have had a body, one it had lost, and now it was trapped here with Bucky.

His suspicions were founded when its “presence” grew, expanded within his body, until it was filling him up to the fingertips. Bucky gladly pulled back, allowing the voice to take temporary control.

It wasn’t expecting that, apparently, because Bucky’s wings slanted at an angle and they almost dropped from the sky. The voice took control of his wings and flapped in a panic, like a baby bird fallen from the nest.

“Calm down,” he said, still having control of his voice but he sounded far away to his own ears. “Just do it the way I do it and you’ll be fine.”

I-I shouldn’t-this isn’t right—

Bucky sighed but took control of his body when he sensed the voice pulling back, its presence tinged with horror. He hadn’t wanted to upset it, but at least it was calming down now that he had control again. Poor thing probably hadn’t meant to reach so far into Bucky’s body to begin with.

“If you ever change your mind and want a turn at the wheel, just say the word. I trust you, sweetheart.”

Bucky blinked. Why had he said that? He didn’t know, but by the way the voice went suddenly dead silent, he wondered if he’d gone too far. Been too familiar. Probably had. He’d have to be more careful in the future. It would be just his luck to scare away the one person he had left.

He couldn’t tell if it was human, but it spoke like one. He couldn’t tell its gender, either. Age, race, nationality? Hadn’t a clue. He wasn’t even entirely sure what language it spoke and if the words he heard in his head were literal or some kind of mental translation.

One thing Bucky knew, even if it was the most confusing fact of all: The voice cared about him.

After everything he’d done, Bucky knew it was undeserved. It didn’t stop him from being selfish and clinging to the voice like a lifeline, though.

When Bucky woke from nightmares, shaking and gasping in terror, the voice was there, wrapping warmth and comfort around him. In those moments, he felt especially weak, because he wished more than anything the voice was real. Tangible. Something he could hold and touch.

He didn’t even have a name to call it by. It wouldn’t tell him, so Bucky had said fuck it and tried to come up with one on his own, but they all felt… wrong.

He wished he knew. The one thing Bucky wanted more than to escape this world was to finally meet the owner of that voice.

That urge had never been stronger than the day they found the corpse.

It had been a day like any other, without end under the relentless pale red starry sky, and Bucky had been exploring more of the ancient ruins. He came across a structure that looked different from the rest, almost handmade and clearly thrown together in a hurry. The occupant was still inside, and by the looks of it, had been for many years.

Bucky had come across many corpses in this world, all of the demonic variety, but this one was clearly human. The body was desiccated, mummified and preserved by the hot, dry air. Bits of tattered faded clothing covered its chest and hips, not enough to discern what nation or era they came from. How they’d gotten there, Bucky didn’t have a clue. They came along with the rest of the human ruins, he supposed, but it was strange this was the first actual human body he’d come across.

He’d been about to turn away, leaving the bones undisturbed, when something caught his eye. On the mummified shoulder, stretched but not beyond recognition, was a pentagram carved into the skin.

Bucky’s eyes widened. Another demon that had once been human like him? That had been his initial thought… until the voice reacted so violently that Bucky could actually feel the anxiety shooting through his limbs.

“What?” he insisted. “What is it?”

I…

The voice seemed to be at a loss for words, fear that was not his own seeping into Bucky’s mind.

“Hey, come one. Tell me what’s got you so riled up. Do you know this guy?” Bucky didn’t see how, but that’s almost how it felt. As if the voice had recognized the corpse.

N… no, it finally said. It’s… it’s nothing.

No matter how much Bucky tried to pry for the truth, he couldn’t get a straight answer, and it only seemed to agitate the voice to the point where it couldn’t speak, fear pulsing from it like a living thing.

Bucky left the corpse where it was, doing his best to project calmness toward the entity sharing his mind. But the voice didn’t speak again until he returned to what he thought as “our cave,” and it took several days for it to return to its usual outgoing self.

They didn’t talk about it again, but Bucky never forgot how the voice reacted to that corpse with the pentagram scar. And some days, when the voice was quiet and sad, he knew it hadn’t forgotten either.

The next time Bucky decided to venture outside of his territory, he waited until the voice was in good spirits. Bucky smiled at his own pun.

Penny for your thoughts?

Bucky snorted. Maybe the voice had pulled phrases like that from his head to make him feel more comfortable, but he didn’t think so. He was sure the damn thing was human, or was at least from Earth. By paying attention to how it said things, rather than what it said, Bucky found he learned a lot more than by asking it straight-on personal questions.

For one, it seemed to appreciate sarcastic humor, and Bucky was never in short supply.

“It would be a penny more than I have,” he said, poking at a suspicious mound of dirt. This area had been promising; he’d even found a couple of dusty robes at one point. Bucky hadn’t been able to tell how old they were, but they’d definitely been the right shape and size for a human.

I suppose you are destitute. What would buy, right now, if you could?

“A blueberry slushy,” Bucky lamented. “And new boots.”

He stared mournfully at what was left of his old pair, torn apart by his expanding, clawed feet. HYDRA had told him his transition had been complete after they’d done an especially horrible ritual on him, but apparently, they’d lied. Big shocker there.

“Do you miss slushies?” Bucky kept his tone carefully neutral.

Sure, it answered, just as vaguely, as it always did. Bucky heaved a sigh.

“Come on, give me something,” he grumbled as he trekked over the deep sand. “We’ve been here… how long?”

Forty-eight years and thirty-two days.

Had it really been that long? It seemed… shorter, somehow. And also infinitely longer.

“Exactly. Almost five decades, and I don’t know anything about you!”

That’s not true, it said, going soft. Sometimes it did that, as if thinking fondly of some far away past. You know me better than anyone.

“Yeah. Right.”

It’s true!

“I don’t even know your name.” Bucky kicked over a large rock, finding nothing but a bright red reptile underneath. It scurried away, hissing indignantly.

“What, is it a witch thing? If I know your name, your sinister powers won’t work on me?”

Don’t be dumb.

“I’m not dumb. You’re dumb. Witch.”

Oh, my God, I’m not a witch.

“Well, unless you’re the figment of a shattered psyche, then you’re something. Witch is as good a guess as any.”

The voice gave a huff. Bucky could imagine it pouting like a child, and he grinned.

How is it that no matter what planet you’re on, you’re still the same smartass that I—

The voice stopped and Bucky’s head snapped up, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. Something had shifted in the air, and a second later, the ground rumbled under his feet.

At first, he thought it was one of the mountain-beasts, but this felt… different. Sharper. Every nerve ending was tingling and he leaned forward, hungrily. Not the demonic part of him. The part that was human.

He could smell it. Earth.

That’s it! the voice shouted. Over there!

He could see it in the distance—a glowing oval that looked as if it was bordered with blue fire.

Bucky didn’t move.

What are you doing! The voice screamed at him. You have to go! Now!

“I…” He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding as he couldn’t seem to get enough air. His legs wouldn’t move and his tail stuck out at an upward angle like a frightened cat’s.

Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. More importantly, he didn’t know what was beyond that portal. What if the world he went back to wasn’t like the one he left? What if he returned just to be caught by HYDRA? What if he had to feed again?

And the most terrifying question of all: what would happen to his little ghost?

There were too many unknowns, too many variables. This place may be actual Hell, but at least he’d carved out a place that was his own. He knew what each day would be like and what to expect. He had no such information about what lay on the other side of that ring of fire.

Bucky, please, it pleaded. I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me. You have to go through that portal. You’re meant to go through!

He stared at the object, no larger than a pebble from this distance, but nothing had filled him with so much fear. Not even the things he could hear crawling around his cave during the rare nights.

“I can’t,” he croaked out. He was cowardly, and he hated himself for it, but he still couldn’t budge.

Yes, you can. You can and you have to!

Several emotions flickered through Bucky’s mind, all coming entirely from the voice, too strong for it to hide from him. Sorrow, yearning, grief.

…Love?

“What’s on the other side?” he asked, suddenly desperate. “What will I find when I cross?”

Through their connection raced an ache so powerful it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

Me.

The fear keeping him immobilized shattered, and he spread his wings and took to the air. He raced to the portal, narrowing his eyes against the heated wind as he zeroed in on his target.

There were other demons below, drawn by the otherworldly energy flowing through the fiery blue portal. A dark green humanoid demon slipped through, a slithering, worm-like creature following after. Bucky ignored them, ignored everything except the portal.

The last thing he remembered was the voice telling him to land and run.

Bucky slammed into the ground in front of the portal. A demon that looked half-bull, half-bear was to his right, and it gave a roar and swung its claws when it realized he was there.

Bucky ducked under its outstretched arm—stupid beast wouldn’t even be able to fit through the portal—and he slipped around the larger demon. He pushed off from the ground, claws digging into the sand, and he leapt through…

…to land on a child’s bedroom floor.

Next Chapter

#demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #branded

[hopeaterart]

Mario Odyssey: Paper Kingdom AU

Or: The AU where I adapt Paper Mario characters into a kingdom in Mario Odyssey because while my brain is small, it has a big mind that keeps thinking up new ideas. This tackles the kingdom’s backstory, it’s travel brochure, why Mario ends up going there, and the frankly ridiculous political context he stumbles into. I might tackle the characters in another post.

Backstory

A long time ago, a creature made out of shadows and thin as paper rose out of an island. Calling itself- or herself- the Shadow Queen, the malevolent spirit could wield the power of seven stars, and her heart was pitch-black and full of chaotic hatred. She reigned over the land with an iron fist, terrified painted shadows at her command.

Until one day, a small faction of her own people turned against, led by four heroes and eight mages. They studied her magic, and turned it against her, folding themselves like paper get close to her and stealing her stars to destroy her body, the eight mages using their magic to separate her heart from her spirit

Enraged, her spirit lashed out, cursing the four heroes into suffering the same fate as her, reduced to spirits enclosed in coffins just as she unleashed the full power of her heart. But before she could turn her wrath on the other rebels, the eight mages sacrificed themselves, turning their souls into pure energy and setting it on the Shadow Queen’s heart, ripping it out and sending both the heart and the soul of the Shadow Queen into a deep sleep.

The only thing left was a prophecy- a warning. If a cruel monster and a gentle maiden marry each other in a farce, the Chaos Heart will rise again. If this happens, the Shadow Queen’s rise is imminent, and she will take over the body of the maiden. The only way to stop her is to find her Seven Stars, and use them to destroy her soul once and for all.

The throne of the Paper Kingdom is left symbolically empty, and the country is ruled by a council.

-

Travel Brochure

Population: Sparse, but plentiful

Size: Wide

Locals: Shapeshifters

Currency: Paper fortune teller shaped

Industries: Construction, stories

Temperature: Average  73 °F

A craft for the ages

Multi-level: The Paper Kingdom is made of multiple levels carved within the plateau, and all of them have something to offer. From the charming beach town of Rogueport to the looming Castle of Chaos, this place is vibrant and full of carefully crafted layers.

Rich History: The Paper Kingdom’s history is something for the ages: A demon rising out of the earth, her own people standing up against her, a battle ending in tragedy, and a prophecy! And they know it too! Their own history is so rich and captivating, they transformed telling people about it into a spectacle. If you’re ever in the need of someone to give a grandiose speech, a Paper Kingdom storyteller is what you need!

Origami Festival: If you visit the Paper Kingdom during their fall season, you might bear witness to the Origami Festival! While considered unorthodox and dangerous, Shapeshifters recognize origami as an incredibly powerful type of magic, allowing one to become anything their heart wish. As such, they have festivities centered around this concept that lasts a week, where they put up tons of different and incredible origami displays celebrating the concept.

-

How it fits in the game

For it’s location, it would be a decently sized island between the Luncheon Kingdom and Snow Kingdom, and would be the last place you go to before Bowser’s castle. From above, it would look rectangular, and most of it would be very elevated (think of a plateau, but in the middle of the ocean.) While it would seem small at first glance, the truth is that most of the earth is hollowed out, and there’s a lot of communities that live underground. You would be able to visit the two surface ones (Rogueport at the base of the plateau, and Castle of Chaos (Equivalent to Castle Bleck) on top of it) from the start, and at least one additional area under Castle of Chaos would unlock after the main story.

As for it’s place in the story, a wedding needs an officiant, and Bowser decided to get a storyteller from the Paper Kingdom because they’re known to give quite touching speeches. Bowser was originally planning to make his announcement of his marriage to Peach, take someone by force if he got denied, and leave the kingdom in disarray as punishment for denying him.

So you can imagine his surprise when not one, but two storytellers volunteered to be his officiant: Dimentio, royal jester and local agent of chaos who’s starting to find the current situation in the Paper Kingdom boring because it’s stagnating (albeit because they want to stop the hostilities temporarily for the upcoming Origami Festival), and the Beldam, eldest of the shadow Sirens and actively trying to resurrect the Shadow Queen. 

Let’s be clear, here: Neither of them are really interested in Bowser’s marriage, but both are after the power of the Chaos Heart, which has the potential to arise from this union: Dimentio to create even more chaos, and Beldam to harness it’s power and bring the Queen back to life. He picked the storyteller who had actual experience with being an officiant: Dimentio, who officiated multiple noble weddings- and left a fuming Beldam behind. In her rage, she decided to make the King of Koopas not choosing her as an evil marriage officiant everyone else’s problem and promptly started freezing everything in sight.

And that’s where Mario and Cappy come in, looking for Power Moons...

-

What’s going on?

A few weeks before Bowser shows up, the wedding of Blumiere, the son of an important count, and his human girlfriend Timpani (I don’t know from where she could be, probably New Donk CIty), was happening. However, in part due to a sinister prophecy that foretold the rebirth of the Chaos Heart if a furious monster lord (Blumiere is not human, and he has quite the unstable temperament) and a fair and lovely maiden (Timpani is a bit shy, cares for everything around her, and is nothing but kind) got married, and in part due to being a racist fuck, Blumiere’s father tried to stop the marriage by lethally attacking the bride.

Big mistake.

Blumiere ended up flying into a rage, messily killing his father with his bare hands and the assistance of a surge of magic, and destroyed the wedding venue. He then took Timpani, who was dying, to the origami craftsman, who earned himself a reputation of defying nature’s law by creating Olly and Olivia for an Origami festival, which was. Not planned. He then more or less forced him to heal his bride. 

The craftsman was absolutely able to say no: Olly brought to life multiple office supplies and all of them are ready to attack on sight, but he still went and healed up Timpani, albeit altering her physical appearance permanently due to having to heal her up using Origami Magic. Olly does not take his father being threatened into helping someone well, and barges into Castle of Chaos two weeks later and self-proclaim himself king with the assistance of the office supplies, which he dubs his Legion of Stationery, because of a perceived disrespect toward his family.

He is twelve.

Blumiere- who renamed himself Count Bleck following his father’s death- is understandably outraged, and denounces Olly with the support of his companions. Said companions are: his wife lady Timpani whom he (and most of the kingdom) adores, a small bat-like woman and his spokesperson Nastasia, the strong but dimwitted warrior and champion O’Chunks, the robotic but emotional Mimi who works in banking, and local shit-bastard jester Dimentio. This is due to Bleck being a direct descendant of one of the eight mages that sacrificed themselves, and he’s forced to make a claim to the throne to be taken seriously in trying to stop Olly.

He does not want to take the throne.

So now, there’s a twelve years old and a pissed off count who murdered his father in a blind rage fighting over the throne of the Paper Kingdom, neither of them know what they’re going to do next, and no one is happy about this situation. The instability allows a third party to make an appearance and grab for the throne: The X-Nauts, a race of robotic aliens led by the tyrannical Sir Grodus. Their goal? Resurrect the Shadow Queen and use her power to remake the Paper Kingdom, and eventually the planet, in their image.

The good news is that neither Olly nor Bleck want the X-Nauts to succeed. Bleck because he knows they’re planning on resurrecting the Shadow Queen and he does not want that to happen, and Olly because Grodus’ second in command was mean to Olivia once. This means that they are able to put their difference aside, which means there’s still hope an all-out civil war can be avoided.

Speaking of Olivia, poor girl think her brother went evil and wants to reign over the Paper Kingdom like a tyrant. This is understandable, as he’s a irritable twelve years boy with six killing machine at his command and also starting his emo edge lord phase, and she’s a literal ray of sunshine. As such, Olivia decided to find other people willing to stop Olly, Bleck and Grodus from burning the country to the ground in their squabble, not realizing that, as the leader of this group, she is also making .a claim for the throne.

She is also twelve.

And now, there’s Beldam losing her shit over being turned down and freezing everything into unmoving sheets on the walls. Ironically, this common enemy might just be what’s needed to calm everyone down.

#writing #My writing #mario bros #paper mario #paper mario origami king #paper mario the thousand year door #super paper mario #pmtok #spm #pmttyd #king olly #olivia #count bleck #blumiere #timpani #tippi #dimentio