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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 2 months

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because this has been on my mind wrapping up the epilogue, here is a little story about how writing fanfiction for very silly sometimes awesome sometimes genuinely terrible SYFY show the magicians changed my life for real.

i started writing help, i’m alive in may 2020. as i have stated many times on this blog, the overarching goal from which this story sprung was my passionate desire to give quentin coldwater each and every last thing he deserved: i wanted to follow him all the way through a downward spiral, and then i wanted to figure out what it would take for him to climb out of the darkness and make it to somewhere he actually wanted to be. the first part of that, the part that became damage control, was some of the easiest writing i’ve ever done, even accounting for the hours spent google mapping the most depressing road trip of all time. the second part was harder, and not just because it wound up being more than four times as long (lmao). it was thornier; there were more threads to weave through; and, frankly, quentin was so fucked up that it took a lot of effort even to outline what it was he needed in order to change. i had written one story already in which the pivot happened entirely internally, an act of self-forgiveness that proved transformational, and i knew that this time i needed to give him more: actual wants, actual actions, an actual life, with actual ties not just to the people already in his circle but to the world beyond. once i had that outline, the first four chapters flowed pretty easily, anchored by the goal of hitting the story’s first big win, which is when quentin finds a way to fix something for the first time since his magic broke; chapter five was where i got stuck.

by that point, it was fall. i had quit my teaching job mid-pandemic with some modest savings, no back-up plan, and a growing realization that after five years in the classroom, teaching was no longer something i could see myself returning to; working obsessively on this story was, among other things, a great way to quiet the constant humming freak-out of what the fuck i was going to do with my life. in october doing some jump squats after sitting in bed all day i threw my back out so badly i couldn’t walk to the bathroom unassisted and paid a hundred dollars to talk to a telehealth doctor for fifteen minutes for some muscle relaxants. the pain sucked, but so did not knowing whether i was going to be better by election day — i’d signed up to be a poll worker, and i really could have used the money.

i’d started dipping my toe in some local volunteer stuff when i quit, but it was during this time that i signed up for the first time for a particular project i was really excited about joining. i did the zoom training with my camera off because my back still hurt too much to sit up; the follow-up involved scanning and emailing some personal documents and signed agreements. i didn’t do it the next day because, whatever, my back fucking hurt; i didn’t do it the day after that because…? and then, well — then i started feeling like i had missed my chance, and it was too late now.

now, here’s the thing: i say feeling like because by this point i had learned enough about the world that i knew — like, knew — that, objectively, taking a few days to send an email (during a pandemic, while i was having previously established health issues) is not considered by most people to be an unforgivable crime. i knew that i should still send the email. and i also had learned enough about myself that i could actually recognize the thing happening in my brain as an example of the kind of overly self-protective mechanisms in which i have many years of practice; i knew by then that i was an absolute expert at finding reasons to not do things that felt like they were based in truth but were really just cleverly disguised manifestations of fear, because if you do things then bad things might happen, but if you don’t do things then nothing bad happens, except that you ruin your own life. i knew all of this!! i could diagnose and analyze exactly how i was once again perpetuating the same anxiety-driven patterns that had governed so much of my life. i was conscious of the workings of my own unconscious. but i still couldn’t bring myself to send the fucking email. instead i was spending 16 hours a day alternately lying in bed and gingerly pacing in my apartment to regain mobility, feeling like shit about the fact that i wasn’t sending the email and also trying fruitlessly to unpack whatever was going on in chapter five.

the election came five days into this mess, and i did feel well enough to go work the polls. this was a great way to experience election 2020, by the way; i had to leave my apartment at like 3:30 in the morning and by the time the returns started coming in i was too delirious to have any emotions about them whatsoever. it was also, not to be a shill for electoral politics, genuinely kind of inspiring: all these people lining up to Do Democracy, the deployment of translators to assist across languages, the columbia undergrad from the neighborhood we were in i was paired with at the info desk who told me he wanted to go into politics and said very seriously, upon hearing i had a friend in the grad school there, “you should tell them to join the union.” plus, you know, the high of doing something, surrounded by other human beings, at a time when that sort of thing had been in short order for the work-from-home crowd for months, and i personally had recently been confined to my bed for several days.

leaving the site that night, entering my twentieth consecutive hour awake, i felt this weird mix of spiritually rejuvenated and psychologically worse. i had just lived through this physical proof of how doing things is both not that scary and kind of awesome, i had spent a day living in alignment with the kind of person i wanted to be, i felt a fresh rush of love for my city and its people — and i still couldn’t imagine sending the fucking email! it was like i was looking at the thing i wanted most through a pane of glass, and the glass was actually really easy to break, so the only thing stopping me was that i was too much of a baby to do it.

and the thought that i had then, i fucking swear, was: i would be such a fucking hypocrite if i wrote quentin coldwater into a happy ending i’m too cowardly to give myself.

which is, first of all: SOOOOOOOO corny, like omg. unbelievably cringe. embarrassing as hell. but it was also my truth at that moment in time. i had no faith in my own ability to change, but i had spent five months and counting thinking about almost nothing else except the story i was writing in which quentin also has no faith in his ability to change but is brave enough to do it anyway, and i really felt like — i could not live with myself putting these ideas out into the world and refusing to integrate them into my own life. i could not write this promise that something better was possible for quentin if i wasn’t even going to try to make it possible for me. i could, apparently, live forever with my constant self-sabotage, but i couldn’t live with myself making this story a lie (this story being, again, fanfiction for a TV show that was, at its best, so great, and also, at its worst, so, SO stupid).

and like… that worked. i emailed the documents the next day; i attended my first monthly zoom meeting that weekend, during which the election was officially called, which felt like a good omen. i summoned the idea that had presented itself to me that night — don’t be a hypocrite! do what you would want quentin to do! — again a while later when my email got lost in the shuffle and i had to send a check-in following up, and again every other time something came up where my fear had to war it out with my desire. (or, well, most other times — it's a work in progress, and yes, i do still find myself calling upon this logic to this day.)

my life now looks more like the happy ending i wrote quentin into than it did almost four years ago, when i started this story, or even three years ago, when i finished it. it looks more like that future than i ever imagined my life could look when i was writing it, and not just because, as i have mentioned before, a few weeks after my election night revelation, i did do as quentin did and befriend a community-minded extrovert who invited me to join a book club. even the fact that the final part of the epilogue has taken me so much longer than expected is a funny case of life imitating art, because while i have had work and illness and travel and general life stress, i have also had many days in the past few months where i was not very productive because i was simply too busy doing something fun — the kind of never-quite-solved balancing act quentin was set to deal with in the epilogue back when i first started kicking it around, well over two years ago at this point, but which was not really applicable to my own life until basically now. and it sounds even to my own ears so, so, so insane to say this, but it’s true: i can trace every aspect of that shift to the fact that i wrote this story, and that writing it fundamentally changed something inside me for the better. (shout-out to the people in the comments who noted that the story was, in a meta sense, my own version of quentin’s coffee maker; i knew you were right, but i don’t think i knew how right until this recent bout of reflection.)

i don't really know that there's a take-away here, because "quit your job and write four hundred thousand words about a weird TV show with a niche audience" is not exactly universally applicable advice. but if i were to try to find one, i think it would be something like: i felt really crazy and kind of embarrassed the entire time i was writing this story, not because i was writing fanfiction, or because it was incredibly horny and wildly self-indulgent, but because it mattered to me so, so deeply. it was one thing to have a fun goofy hobby, even a fun goofy hobby i took semi-seriously and poured a lot of time and effort into, but it was another to actually, like, care, and to care a lot, which i did. but if i hadn't accepted that this story mattered to me, i don't think it could have been as personally transformational as it wound up becoming. the heart wants what it wants, and you're only going to find out what that is if you're willing to listen to whatever rhythm it beats.

i solved chapter five on the way home from the poll site, by the way. i knew there needed to be some problem with quentin’s first semi-successful attempt to mend the coffee maker, but i couldn’t figure out how it tied in thematically with where he was in his life. on the bus it hit me: quentin and the coffee maker were both trying to remain unbreakable. an appealing idea if you’ve been broken, but one more conducive to stagnancy than to growth; you can stay there for a while, but eventually you need to let yourself want more.

#writing tag #the magicians #isabel 2k24

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baby-jaguar · 2 months

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Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.”

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically.

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

“You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.”

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.”

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him.

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality.

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of-

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra.

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.”

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together.

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours.

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him.

There.

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

#captain john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #tf141 #cod mw2 #captain jonathan price #john price #f!reader #cod fanfic #captain price mw2 #captain john price x reader #lust by nature #task force 141 #captain price x y/n #captain price

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y-rhywbeth2 · 3 months

Note

Hello I love bane totally normal amounts, so do you have any favorite fun (or fucked up) trivia facts about my emotional support god of tyranny?

I might've mentioned some of this before, but here's some trivia (and sometimes my musings upon it):

He has absolutely no indoor voice when he's excited. -

If you're invited to pray with the Banites and refuse, expect Bane to curse you with constant debilitating pain that prevents you from being able to cast spells (too much pain to concentrate) or fight, or walk very fast. This doesn't go away until you get a cleric to cast remove curse on you. If you do join them in honouring the Black Lord then your alignment will magically switch to lawful evil and you basically convert to Banite on the spot (if you're a priest then your god fires you immediately and won't take you back); this is either 1e nonsense or a sign of Bane brainwashing you, and either is just as likely. -

He - in his own words - has an "ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder". He also has 10 levels of wizard, which might tie into that. -

He seems to have a monster making hobby. There are so many monsters and monster variants that have been copyrighted by Bane it's ridiculous: banedead, baneguard, baneliches, banelar nagas... I'm pretty sure that Bane is actually credited with creating the beholders ("eye tyrants") of Toril, though I don't have the time to go looking for a source on that.

Either way; he has a lot of beholders in his service. -

I'm pretty sure I remember something about his inventing his own traps during his stay at Zhentil Keep, so there might be an engineering hobby in there somewhere. -

He's a nerd about human biology and geeks out about blood cells and neuroscience - not that he'd admit it because the idea of being thrilled by mortality terrifies him (also I think he just hates positive emotions in general). Before the Time of Troubles he used to enjoy possessing mortals as hosts instead of manifesting avatars, which would presumably allow him to experience what they did and geek out about it while pretending he wasn't (although he didn't look after them very well and inevitably ran them into the ground - basic human needs are beneath him). -

He seems to like using black and red lightning of some sort as a kind of signature. -

(...I think this guy would be very happy as a supervillain living in his secret lab somewhere, performing mad scientist experiments as he plots to take over the world.) -

His domain can be annoying to pin down, because technically it started off in the plane of Acheron, but he's also supposed to be rooming with Loviatar and Bhaal in the Barrens of Doom and Despair in Gehenna, so who knows! -

He has a pet raven called Koravis, who he has a mild telepathic connection with. This raven is actually a fiend in the shape of a raven, but that pretty much just means he has an evil pet raven.

It's been stated that in his mortal life his character class was Blackguard - or an evil paladin, in 5e terms, dedicated to the service of evil powers. I suspect his patron was his master, the primordial Maram, who he served as a battle slave. As the evil pet raven is a Blackguard class feature (fiendish servant) I suspect he had Koravis when he was mortal. The bird/fiend was likely given to him by Maram (much like a warlock's pact familiar comes from their patron) and I guess the bird stuck with the winner. -

He managed to piss off the earth goddess Chauntea at one point, trying to destroy her sacred pools/portals in the Moonshaes. I can't find the sourcebook for the details at the moment though (it was successful enough that his followers still have the moonveil spells though). Bhaal was also trying to kill her over there at some point, so I wonder if that's connected?

#lore stuff #the idiot three #asks #long post

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readychilledwine · 9 months

Text

Broken

Part two- Nyx and Aelia have spent the past 4 months in the Winter Court, and ever the clever son, Nyx has noticed the decline in his mother's health despite the shields and masks she wears, leading him to call in for help.

Warnings - alcohol use, indications to poor mental health and an illusion to a panic attack, the mention of child death (we all knew that'd come up between Rhys and a winter court OC), mentioned SA

Part One Part Three

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Nyx hated The Winter Court.

He hated the constant politics.

He hated the constant cold calculated looks his uncle gave him when he'd walk into a room. As if he was studying him, evaluating him, deciding what to do with him.

He hated how loud his aunt was, especially when Mor was around.

Nyx missed home. He allowed the shadow Azriel had following him to weave between his fingers before it moved to caress his cheek. It had been four months. He knew he had come willingly, made this choice willingly, but he missed his family, he missed the smell of the Sindra, he missed training with Cassian and Azriel.

To his biggest surprise, though, he missed his dad. He missed going into his dad's office, curling up on the couch as Rhysand worked, only to wake up to his head in his lap as his father drank whiskey with his uncles and they spoke quietly. He missed the feeling of his dad's constant presence in his mind, tugging when he'd start doing something he shouldn't be. He missed his voice as they would go over lessons for the 100th time to ensure Nyx was ready to take over his court.

He knew his mom missed his dad, too. He had been watching her bury herself into the Winter Court, helping his Uncle with his high lord duties. She hardly ate, slept, relaxed. She smiled constantly for the fae of the court at the countless dinners and parties being thrown, but it never reached her eyes.

She is stuck in a state of mourning. You will understand some day when you love someone and they hurt you that deeply, Kal had told Nyx gently. Nyx knew his mother loved his father, that she still did. That she would have given anything to any God willing to make a deal with her to switch places with him. He could hear her crying late at night sometimes or whispering his name when he'd sneak into her room to hold her.

They couldn't stay here, not with this gaping wound in desperate need of repair. He moved inside, sitting at the desk, and took a pen into his hand. He wrote on the parchment before using magic to send it. Then he just prayed. He prayed to the Mother that his mom would forgive him for the one sentence message.

Dad, send Uncle Az.

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Rhysand was miserable.

He lifted the heavy glass to his lips, drinking the whiskey he had picked for the night in large gulps instead of soft smooth sips.

He missed his wife and son. His wife ran through his mind day and night. The scent of her soft snow hair. The feeling of her skin under his fingertips. The intoxication of her soft plush lips on his. He missed the song that was Nyx's laughter as he'd watch Cassian or Azriel spar him. He missed catching his son in the kitchens late at night, flirting with the shadow wraith twins. He missed his soft snores as he'd fall asleep in the office.

He realized quickly Feyre would never fill the void Aelia and Nyx had left him with and that they were not compatible. Feyre would have been better matched for Cassian or Lucien. A male whose ambitions weren't based on pressure, politics, and responsibility, but instead on freedom, adventure, and embetterment. A male whose job would have allowed her to travel, help fae in need, and see the world.

He was watching that silently start. The longing stares between her and Cassian. The playful banter and constant flirtation. The way Cassian was healing her through the one thing she had been begging for. Rhys sighed heavily. His brother was clearly falling for his mate, and his mate in turn was falling for Cassian. And the part that had his jaw clenching was how little he cared. He had told Cassian it was fine, to pursue her, to court her. He truly did not care.

Especially when he saw how happy they were. In the month since she'd be rescued, they were constantly together. Her curled into Cass' side, her in his room, him in hers. The two were inseparable.

The soft thud of paper landing near him, pulling him from his thoughts and making him groan and roll his eyes. He used a tendril of darkness to pull the letter to him. The handwriting sobered him immediately. He was calling for Azriel as he read it over and over.

"If I have to carry you to your room again, Rhys, I swear-"

"Nyx wants you to come to Winter." Azriel rose a singular brow, having just finished writing notes back and forth to Aelia. He read the note from the young heir before sending shadows to check on his high lady. "Azriel, please."

"She just told me she was fine, Rhys. I have the shadows checking in case she was lying. Kallias has her distracting herself with work. Viv is constantly taking her shopping. Her and Nyx are exploring-"

"No." Rhysand interrupted softly. "I can feel something is wrong, Azriel. I have been able to feel it for months now, and you and Cassian have ignored me at every turn. Go. Get. My. Son."

Azriel's jaw twitched and his eyes met Rhysands. "Is that an order, brother?" The blow landed exactly as the spymaster had intended. "What would you like me to say to my High Lady as I kidnap her child?"

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut. "He's asking for you to go the-"

"But not to be brought home," Azriel interrupted. "I will go there on his request and speak with him and Aelia. I will not force them to come home, Rhys."

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Aelia held Nyx's hand as they walked through the Mountain House. She was ignoring the steady ache in her heart by showing her son the magic of this side of his heritage. Kallias was walking ahead of them, happy to lead his nephew down the halls of their past family members and the Court leaders.

Nyx, to his credit, was taking notes, nodding to his uncle on ways Winter did truly have their taxation, barter and trade, and armies set on very successful , profitable, and mutually beneficial systems. He was asking Kal questions that had the high lord beaming with pride, and his mother smiling fondly as she listened.

It was almost enough for her to ignore the growing hole her husband had left. Rhysand haunted her. He was her dreams, her nightmares, her day fantasies. She could hear his voice in her ear, praising her as she did a task as simple as brushing her hair instead of wallowing.

She had even awoken one night from a nightmare, only to be in a dream where he was right there, shushing her gently as she whispered what she had conjured in her own mind to him. She confided in Viv one day she could hear his heartbeat in the dead of night. Viv had chalked it up to her missing him, to her mind playing tricks on her to comfort her. Aelia could have swore she woke up to the soft scent of citrus and sea fading in her room almost every morning, though.

Aelia was brought back to reality as she ran into her brother's back. Kal had gone silent and stopped walking. The high lord's shoulders grew stiff as he sniffed the air. "Did you call for Azriel?" Aelia shook her head before turning to Nyx.

Guilt was etched into his perfect face. Blue siphoned hands turned the heir, wrapping him in a tight hug as Aelia backed away to be closer to her brother. "Are you okay?" Azriel's voice was muffled by his nephew's hair. Nyx nodded quickly, hands fisting Az's armor like he was feeling safety for the first time in years.

Aelia and Azriel held eye contact, blue eyes meeting hazel. He knew she was upset by the flick of emotion that ran through the icy coloring. She wasn't allowing the sense of betrayal to set in yet. She wasn't allowing herself to hurt at her brother in law's sudden and unasked for appearance.

Kallias broke the silence of the halls. "There are laws, Shadowsinger, regarding outside court visitations. Laws your high lord pushed for. Did you forget them or does the Night Court find itself above those laws we all signed and put in place?" His tone was cold, hiding how bothered he was to have the male that stood in a place of honor next to the High Lord of Night in his home.

"I called for him," Nyx felt small with the frozen expression Kal had finally stopped wearing around him met his skin again. "I missed him." A truth and a lie, mixed together perfectly like Azriel had taught him.

Aelia looked between Kal and Azriel. A look of anger graced her brother's face, and a look of conflict was on Azriel's. "I will deal with it," she offered before attempting to move to the Illyrian. A hand shot out, grabbing her bicep and pulling her back into her older brother's chest.

"Nyx, come here," the tone of his voice was desperate. "Please. I cannot protect you if you go without him. I will explain everything lat-"

"You will fill his head with lies, you mean?" Azriel interrupted, putting Nyx behind him. "It was not him." Azriel held a scarred hand to Aelia. "Sister, come. I just need a few moments of your time."

The grip on her bicep tightened. "Aelia," her brother began softly, "Do you remember me telling you about the children slaughtered under Amarantha's orders?" Azriel growled loudly, shadows beginning to pose around his shoulders like snakes waiting to strike. "Your husband was her executioner."

The hallway became still. Nyx felt himself stop breathing, Aelia stood there in shock. Azriel closed his eyes slowly. The only noises between the four of them was the soft sound of the Lady of Night's breath becoming faster. The sound of it reaching an uneven state as she shook her head at the accusation. Her chest grew painfully tight as thousands of thoughts boomeranged.

Rhys would never, her mind screamed. He'd never. "No," she said. "No. No. No. No. No." She felt Kal lowering her to the ground before the soft pleads became full on screams. Azriel and Nyx were still, watching as she began crying. Begging Kal to tell her that he was lying.

Azriel watched silently, his grip on Nyx never faltering. "Take me home," the heir's voice was devoid of emotion. "Take me home so I can get the truth from him." Shadows surrounded the two of them as guards came and rushed to the siblings sitting on the wooden floor of the home.

The last thing Azriel saw was his high lady, a female he loved more than anything, weakly reaching her hand to him and her son with a look of fear etched into her face.

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Nyx was out of Azriel's arms in seconds, prowling towards Rhysand's office where the spymaster knew he and Cassian were waiting.

The heir didn't knock, he didn't open the doors gently. He slammed them open, splintering the wood as an intense stare down started between him and his father.

"Did you do it?" The look of confusion on Rhysand's face made the heir angrier. "Did you fucking do it?!"

Cassian stood, moving to his nephew and trying to calm him in whispered sentences. "Nyx, he can't give you answers if he doesn't know what he's answering."

Nyx shrugged out of Cassian's grasp. "Did you kill the children in the Winter Court?" Rhysand sighed heavily, sitting back down in his chair and motioning for his son to sit. "I will stand if it's all the same to you, High Lord."

A visible flinch graced Rhysand's normally stone face. "No, I did not harm them. I had no part in that. Please sit down so I can explain my side of things."

Nyx shook his head. "So she had another one of your kind down there?" He said it like it was a slur, like his father had a disease. "Or you just sat there licking her cunt while she used your powers-"

The High lord stood, hand slamming down on the desk as the room grew cold and dark. It was a reminder to Nyx of his father's power, of the command and control Rhysand could quickly take over a room. "I had NO PART in what that bitch did, Nyx. I was trapped in her bed like I was no more than a toy to her, and the only reason I ever entered her bed was to protect you and your mother." His voice broke, anger and frustration turning into heartbreak and grief. "I only ever wanted to protect my family."

Nyx had never witnessed his father crying. His mother? Yes. The soft daughter of Winter cried frequently with her son present. She'd cry in sadness, anger, stress. She'd cry when she was overwhelmed by joy and love. Seeing his father now, tears welling his eyes, hands shaking as he tried to hold in and control his emotions, had Nyx standing in place with his eyes wide. "Everything I did, I did because I love you, Nyx. Because I love your mother. Because I love Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor. I did it because I love this Court, our home."

Rhys looked up, taking a few deep breaths before he continued. "I never would have harmed a child, Nyx. Because if I had, I would have only pictured you. I would have sooner fed myself to whatever beasts Amarantha would have allowed me to than harm a child when you were all I thought about every day down there. The guilt of not being able to stop what happened eats me alive every day. I think about those families every day, and how that could have been you."

Nyx took a tentative step towards his dad. "Dad-"

"If you do not believe me it's fine. But do not sit there and act like I was not as trapped as everyone else was. Do not sit there and ac-"

"Daddy, I believe you." That simple sentence. Those 4 words. That was all it took for Rhys and Nyx to meet the distance between each other, embracing tightly and the father and son cried together. "I believe you." He whispered again. "I want to be home. With you. With momma."

Rhys pulled away nodding before kissing his son's forehead. "I want that too, Nyx. I want you two home more than I can put into words." Rhys wiped tears from his son's face, studying it as if he was looking into a mirror. "We will get there, little star."

"Don't give up on momma, please." The break in Nyx's voice caused a phantom tug to come from a string Rhysand only wished was attached to his heart.

He pulled Nyx back to him, hand finding the back of his son's raven curls. "Never. I will never give up on her, on you, or on us." Nyx felt his eyes flutter shut, breathing in his father's scent deeply. "You two are all I've ever wanted, all I ever dreamed about. I will wait a thousand years if that's what it takes for her to come home to me."

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Aelia woke up in a dark room, the windows open and curtains drawn to allow her to watch the fresh snow falling gently and reflecting the lights below like glitter.

She was completely alone, at least she thought, as she stood and walked to the vanity on unstable legs. She brushed her hair quickly, undoing the braids the healers had not, and removed the soft makeup she had worn to countless meetings that day.

The sparkling blue gown had grown heavy on her frame, and she stood again, walking to grab something more comfortable to sleep in.

She was numb. She felt like she had bathed in the frozen rivers of this Court. Her husband stood accused of slaughtering innocent faelings. Her son had left with the male who'd promised her their safety. She reached behind herself, struggling to get to the laces of her corset before sighing and giving up.

Aelia allowed herself to fall onto the couch in the sitting area, crying softly. It wasn't until familiar hands ran up her arms and fingers danced between her shoulder blades that she bothered looking up from the pillow she was crying into.

"I already shielded the room. No one will come if you scream. We need to talk." He had her trapped, his own body blocking her ability to get up.

She was no match magically or physically for Rhys. She didn't respond as he began to unlace her dress. "I was wondering where that sweater went, darling. I should have known my wife would have stolen it." He chuckled lightly watching as she sighed in relief as he unlaced that last row of strings. "I do not like it when they dress you so tightly you cannot breathe. You would be perfection in a potato sack. I have never understood the obsession with corseting you this tightly."

He moved, allowing her to sit up and put some distance between them."I did not do it, Aelia." He finally said as she stood to remove the dress. Her back was to him, but his eyes still trailed the lean muscles of her body and every inch of her pale skin. "I swear on my life, and Velaris itself, I had no part in that."

Aelia felt her brows go up. "You would put it in a vow to me?" She turned to Rhysand, not hiding a single inch of herself from him. "You would swear to me in the old magic you did not kill those children?"

Rhysand's eyes never left her face, refusing to take the bait she was using. "I would." His tone left no room for argument. It was a sentence that sealed the conversation with finality. "I would allow that bargain to mark you in plain sight if I had to." Another statement that made her eyebrows raise. He had not allowed a single promise or bargain to touch her skin in visible areas before.

"You are so beautiful," he finally said into the silence. "I forgot how stunning you are in the light of this court, my precious snowflake." Her cheeks heated at his words. He moved to her, hands finding her face as he tilted her gaze to him. "I have never found a single female or male I find more ethereal than you, Aelia."

She remembered now why she had fallen for Rhys so quickly. It wasn't the golden words, the strength of his muscles, the beauty of his perfectly carved face.

It was his eyes. That deep blue that leaned to a soft violet in the right lighting. She could lose herself in them, drown in them like the Oceans of Summer. She knew at all times, even if that mask of indifference and cruelty was on, she alone could look into his eyes and find comfort in them, she could find the truth in them.

And right now, he wasn't lying.

Her own hands moved to his chest as silence fell between the two. Her fingers brushed over the expensive fabric of his jacket before grabbing the lapels and crossing a line she had promised herself she wouldn't when they reunited.

Aelia pulled Rhysand down to her, locking his lips with hers and leaning further into his touch. He joined without hesitation, and quickly took control of the kiss. He tilted her head more to give him better access. He groaned at the taste of her as her lips parted enough for his tongue to swipe across hers. The hands on her face moved, one finding her waist, the other tangling into that snow white hair.

It was everything they had both dreamed of for 50 years now. Passionate. Safe. Gentle. Years of longing poured into that kiss. She gripped his jacket harder, not wanting to take it any further than he'd allow, but refusing to let go.

He pulled away, resting his forehead on hers as his hand refound her face. "When you are ready, I want you to come home. I will take you in the dead of night. Your brother already wants my head ." Aelia nodded, quickly kissing him again. "The bond is rejected. I am getting help. You need to know I never wanted anyone besides you, Aelia Darling." She nodded again, having already known that truth deep down inside. "You are my salvation, Aelia."

Rhys kissed her this time, backing her up to the bed and gently laying her down. They were looking at each other, their bodies softly illuminated by the dying faelight. "Rhys, we don't-"

"I want to." He kissed her again. "Let me show you how much I love you."

Tag list:

@we-were-beautiful

@daedriclys

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #multi part fic #rhysand acotar #rhys fic #rhysand x oc

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

Text

Unexpected 40

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Numb. All your life, you strived for that state. To not feel a thing. It only took the sacrifice of your independence and body to achieve it.

Your mind is spent, you just can’t care about anything. Not the man suddenly missing, not the baby attached to your tit, and certainly not that dull tugging in your pelvis.

“Dear, are you hungry?” Dottie asks as she appears in the doorway, “little thing must be takin’ it out of ya.”

You grumble. Your stomach clutches but your appetite is almost nonexistent. Everytime you see yourself, everytime you get a glance at your body, you can’t help but cringe. No wonder he’s gone. You were no prize before and now he’s ruined any semblance of attraction.

“You have to eat,” she chides, “‘specially if you’re gonna keep this one well fed.”

She comes to you as you finish feeding. You look down at the baby. You’re still waiting for the light switch to flip on. That magical moment everyone mythologises when you’ll feel that motherly yearning. When all common sense is wiped up by the primal instincts of maternity. You got nothing.

The baby gets no reaction from you. Not disgust, not fear, not love, or joy or anything else they say you should feel.

You hand her over to Dottie. She burps the child and lays her in the rolling bassinet nearby. You lean against the pillows and stare at the room. You refused to stay in the one you shared with Lloyd, instead you took one of the guest beds.

If he ever shows up, you doubt he’ll want anything from you. You can’t offer him anything. The doctor says at least six weeks. If it’s up to you, never.

Dottie leaves you. She tries to get you to do more than grumble and sleep but there’s nothing else you can do. She is Marion’s mother. She hasn’t said a damn thing about him running off and you haven’t seen Harlan since the delivery room. You can’t tell if the are ashamed about their son or merely stuck in an awkward situation.

You close your eyes. This is what you knew would happen. This is what you yelled at Lloyd. And as always, you’re right and he doesn’t fucking listen. For as unpredictable as you believed he was before, you see through him more and more. You know who and what he is.

For a moment, you miss the life you had before. The one you thought was a prison but now you see was freedom. Working nights, coming home, sleeping on your own hours, eating on your own clock, coming and going wherever you liked, even if it wasn’t often. If you could go back, you would.

You would pretend like Colin loved you and just forget about Ally. At least he kept the act up. Your eyes burn and you wiggle your nose.

You will not cry. You are numb. You don’t feel. You don’t want to feel. You don’t even want to be.

💎

“A walk will be nice, dear,” Dottie says as she lays the baby in the stroller.

You sit on the bench near the door. You feel weak and worn. It’s only been two weeks. You have a lifetime left of this. You won’t survive it.

Dottie can’t stay forever. If you were her age, you’d already be off enjoying your retirement. When you are her age, you’ll still be stuck here.

Unless… he decides to throw you out. The kid will be grown by then. You’ll be old and ragged and useless. With any luck, you won’t find out one way or the other.

“The doctor says a slow walk is good. Keeping active will help you recover.”

You nod. You don’t argue. In a way, you are humiliated by her constant doting. More like pestering. She knows you can’t do this alone, just like you do. She does a good job of hiding her anger. If you were her, you’d be livid at your son for pulling this shit.

“Right, well, let’s get going,” she chirps as she opens the door and wheels the stroller through.

You don’t move as she rolls it down to even ground and she kicks the brakes down on the wheels. She comes back in and offers to help you up. You slide to the edge of the bench and grunt as you stand on your own.

You feel her gaze on you and you refuse to meet it. There’s something unsaid. Staying active. You have a lot of weight to take off. Yeah, you know.

You follow her slowly across the entry way and come out into the sunlight. You lean on the railing as you descend after her down the few steps. You keep your head down, shoulders slump, and keep your hand from meeting your stomach out of habit.

She flips the brakes up and she slowly sets off. You do your best to keep up, watching the toes of your speaker. The sun beats down hotly. Summer still blazes hotly. The loose hoodie you wear fills with heat and has you sweating.

She goes through the gate and turns onto the sidewalk. You lean against a pole to catch your breath. She stops patiently, cooing at the baby as you push yourself away. You apologise and press on. It is easier to be outside. It doesn’t feel so stagnant.

Dottie comments on the houses you pass, the pretty flowers, and the trimmed hedges. She likes the neighbourhood. To you, it looks like a circle of hell. You turn back at the end of the street and head back to the house. You’re drained entirely.

“Any ideas for lunch?” Dottie asks.

“Not hungry,” you answer.

“Aw, well, you do have to eat, just like Luna,” she says gently.

“Yeah,” you utter.

You’re startled as your name comes from behind you. Before you can reach the gate, you pause and face the speaker. Andy jogs towards you and stops before the stroller as Dottie turns it with her.

“Uh, hey, I saw you passing by,” he smiles and gives a nervous look at the other woman, “I haven’t seen you around, I just wanted to say hi. I… I didn’t know the baby was here already.”

You stare at him. You see the doubt in his cheek, a small twitch. You can’t just let him see how defeated you are.

“Two weeks,” you inform him, doing your best to keep your voice light, “she’s doing well.”

That’s the thing you noticed. Now that the baby is born, people don’t ask how you are. Not until they ask about the baby.

“Wow,” he says, “um, I’m Andy,” he says to Dottie, “I live next door.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she steps around the stroller to shake his hand, “I’m Dottie, the grandmother.”

He looks between you and the older woman. You squint. He doesn’t think…

“Oh, she’s not mine, the daddy is,” Dottie chuckles, “still, she’s a good daughter. Couldn’t be luckier.”

“Mind if I…” he points to the carriage.

“Go on, she’s a cute thing,” Dottie allows, “name’s Luna. Like Moonlight.”

He nears and hunches to see into the stroller. He aws and wiggles his finger at the baby. You watch him. He smiles at the child so easily. Every time you look at her, you just want to cry.

“Great, er, so just wanted to put it out there, if you need anything I’d be happy to help out,” he offers as he retreats to stand across from you, “you know, I’ve done it all before. I probably have some toys and stuff still hanging around.”

“You got kids?” Dottie asks.

“I had one,” Andy’s veneer falls just a little, “he had an accident.”

“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t imagine,” she preens, “you are so kind. I’m sure we could use some company in that big house.”

“Lloyd will be okay with that?”

“He’s away on business,” she dismisses quickly and your muscles tense as you try to conceal your chagrin.

“That’s too bad. How about I come over and make some dinner? Tonight? Tomorrow? Give you two some time to relax.”

“Ah, wow, you are gallant, ain’t ya?” Dottie says, “how about tonight? The weather’s supposed to be fine, we can eat outside.”

“Works for me,” Andy announces triumphantly, “I’ll be over at five, does that work?”

“Sure thing,” Dottie affirms, “now, we should get the little one down, she’s starting to fuss.”

“Of course,” Andy grins and your eyes meet his. You try but can’t muster a smile. “See ya then.”

You nod as Dottie returns the sentiment. You turn and continue towards the gate.

“What a nice man,” she says, “beautiful eyes… oddly familiar, don’t ya think?”

“I guess,” you mutter as you drag your feet.

You really wish she hadn’t accepted the invite. You just want to be alone, or as alone as you can be with a child attached to you.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #unexpected #sequel #series #drabble #au #the gray man

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ksnfangz · 9 months

Text

COOL WITH YOU ★ SIDE A !

★ ₊˚ paring: Cupid!Ni-ki x Human!Reader

★ ₊˚ Genre: Fluff , angst(?) , unrequited love

★ ₊˚ Warnings : None?

★ ₊˚ word count: 1.2k

★ ₊˚ A/n : my brain turned off for like a month but i randomly decided to write this! hope it isn’t to shitty lol. Enjoy <3 ( yes there will be a part two aka side B !! sorry for any spelling / grammar errors.

Couples. Ni-ki hates couples, which is pretty ironic since he’s the reason half of them currently exist. Thought it was not like he had a choice seeing as he was born as an angel a cupid at that.

At first, it was fun being able to make two people fall in love and watch how some relationships blossomed while others fell apart, but over time it grew repetitive The constant matchmaking and shadowing had taken a toll on the boy.

When he first told his mother how he felt she just brushed it off as the boy not liking the idea of love… which wasn’t surprisingly not that rare writhing cupids but what she got wrong was that Ni-ki does want love.

He’s just tired of helping everyone else with their love lives when he can’t even help himself. As he continued to trail behind his new match he couldn’t help but wonder when would cupid shoot him with an arrow if that were even possible.

“ Don’t you ever get bored?” Ni-ki questions looking away from the couple-filled streets “What do you mean?.” Jungwon asks looking over at the boy.

“ Of watching people fall in love, of being invisible, stuck in the shadows.” the younger explains, jungwon simply shakes his head.

“ Not I think it’s quite amazing actually…” Jungwon replies smiling as a couple walks past holding hands. Ni-ki scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“ It’s okay to not like your job Ni-ki Lots of cupids hate their job.” Jungwon says

“But this is a job that I can’t quit I’m stuck doing this until… I don’t even know when.” Ni-ki whines slamming his head down onto the table. Jungwon softly patted the boy's head.

“ I mean you can quit…” a new voice spoke causing Ni-ki to sit back up. It was Jay another angel.

“But there’s consequences, have you heard about Heeseung?” Jay asks, Ni-ki shaking his head.

“Who is that?”

“ he was my friend, and once a cupid like us… a few years ago he gave up his wings to become human, all for some mortal he’d fallen in love with.”

“But isn’t falling in love with a mortal forbidden?” Jungwon says confusedly. There were a lot of things angels couldn’t do.

“Yes, which is why he’s no longer here It’s been said that he is still human… but his lover was taken away,” Jay replies causing the younger's eyes to widen. “They killed the mortal?” Ni-ki asks loudly.

“No of course not they just wiped heeseung from their memory, I heard they ended up falling for someone else.” Jay states the two boys letting out sighs. “ Heesueng tried to come back and beg for forgiveness but a fallen angel never regrows their wings.”

“So what was the point in telling me all that?” Ni-ki questions. “To show its better to be an angel and live in the shadows than be a mortal and have everything about your life out in the open.”

“But what if I’m tired of the shadows?”

“That's on you Ni-ki, since only you can stop yourself from stepping into the light.”

Walking along the busy streets Ni-ki mindlessly trailed behind the latest couple, who were making their way to an art museum.

Normally when Ni-ki grew tired of one couple he’d leave and find a new one but despite his boredom, he knew these two were a good match and wanted to make sure they’d succeed.

Their names were Eunjin and Daesoo and they’d been friends for years now silently crushing on one another. Well, that was until Ni-ki stepped and in used his magical powers to get the two idiots to confess. Now his job was to protect their relationship until it was stable enough for them to handle on their own.

Upon entering the art museum Ni-ki watched as the couple showed their tickets and joined the crowd of people waiting for their tour guide.

The crowd seemed like your average group of people couples here and there, a few college students and critics. However, one person stood out quite a bit. Or at least in Niki’s eyes, though he couldn’t see his face the girl seemed much brighter than everything surrounding her.

While everyone else seemed to wear more Dark attire the girl wore a bright blue cardigan hanging loosely on her shoulders, paired with a white skirt matching the headband on her head.

Ni-ki watched as she stared up at the painting as if she were in a trance her curious eyes shining under the museum lights.

Neither of them realized that the crowd had now moved on to the next piece. Ni-ki also eventually found himself staring at a piece of art but it wasn’t the painting on the wall.

“ Y/n.” called out a voice pulling the girl— y/n out of her trance.

“Come on before you get left behind.”

“Okay coming! Heeseung.” she replied voice bright and cheerful as she skipped off toward her … friend?

wait Heeseung? Lee Heeseung, the fallen angel.

Watching as the two walked off and joined their group, Ni-ki averted his eyes from the painting that the girl had been captivated by moments ago.

He could see why she stared for so long. Psyche and Cupid.

But Psyche can’t see Cupid.

So what’s the point?

It was now a few days later and it was safe to say he still didn’t get the point, even after days of following the pretty human around, The boy could probably tell you every detail of her face from how long he’d stared hoping she’d eventually look back at him. Though it never happens he still hopes.

Sometimes he finds himself thinking of what Jay said. “Only you can stop yourself from stepping into the light.” he repeats to himself as he watches the girl read next to her window, The soft taps of rain hitting the glass echoed over the soft sniffles coming from the girl.

“ If I give up my wings will you finally see me?” Ni-ki asks and of course, receives no answer. He sighs having an internal battle with himself.

“ I don’t wanna give up my wings if it means I can't have you.”

He thinks back to Jay's story about Heeseung, how his lover was taken away from him when he left. Was Ni-ki willing to risk it? Was he ready to risk losing something he didn’t even get the chance to have?

As he watched the girl climb into her bed and fall into a peaceful slumber looking effortlessly beautiful despite the dried tears on her cheeks, he realized he’d do anything to make sure he’d be there to wipe away her tears. Whether she loved him or not.

“ Jay! You idiot I told you not to tell them the story about heeseung!” Jake shouts shoving Jay's chest. Jay stumbled back confusedly shocked by Jake's aggressiveness.

“ What are you talking about? What’s going on?” Jay asks. “ The story about turning human to peruse love” Jake reminds. “ You told Ni-ki and jungwon about it right?” Jay nods

“ Well Jungwon found a letter from Ni-ki this morning and it says that he’s going to give up his wings for some girl from a museum,” Jake explains, all the color drains from Jay's face.

“ As long as the higher power doesn’t know why Ni-ki is giving them up he should be fine.” Jay states.

“ Yeah but what if they find out?”

“ Another cupid will be sent down to make her fall for someone else.”

“ and what about Ni-ki?”

“ he stays human but will not be able to have a lover unless a cupid uses their powers to form a connection”

“ Shit…”

as always likes and reblogs are appreciated but not required thank you for reading ily <33

label tags 🏷️ : @k-films @k-labels

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moonmaiden1996 · 10 months

Text

Summoned Part Three

Discretion Advised 18 ++

Warning smut of minor characters.

In total, eight golden apples had been given, including your own. None of your fellow beings hung around, either insulted by their lack of an apple or not wanting to outstay their welcome. Lord Morpheus had not always been known as the most hospitable of Gods. For most it was the first time that they had be graced with a visit to the dreaming.

Without the crowds, the palace was empty, isolated. In the distance, the vivid prairies of the Dreaming seemed almost magical, like the time before the first war and every so often, the winds would carry to sounds of the visitors, the pureness of humanity as it had once been. Yet it gave you no comfort. You were trapped out on the edge of billions of dreams, trapped by wolves, vipers and vultures, ready to attack in one swift movement.

After all, that is what you would do. You had been a Goddess long enough to know how it worked. The King wanted that; of course, he did; how better to discover his new consort than in a thinly veil battle between his chosen candidates. Why you, though? You prided yourself on your skill and knowledge but were humble enough to know you could not compare to the others. So why was it that you received one?

The apple still tasted sweet in your mouth; even after a few bites, the taste lingered, swelling magic within you. Yet, trapped here, the apple seemed so insignificant. What use of magic against an Endless being? Before you might have used your cauldron to poison the whole court or to bring about the humiliation of some of the snobby upper-ranked Gods or Goddesses but being stuck here with the icons of war and nature was concerning. You had always prided yourself on surviving; it is why you were still here after all. For how much longer, though, was not certain.

For the most part, you could cling to the outside of the group. It was not too difficult, the others had a way of demanding attention, and when the King graced the assembly with his presence, it was partially easy. Though he never spoke without good need, he seemed content to simply listen to the gushing's of the other deities. And they sort constant attention from the King.

Tired eyes scanned the current assembly, all dressed in finery.

Kratos was a figure you had only known by name before this; he was seven feet of God, his face a stoney canvas of cruelty, which certainly lived up to the rumours. Tonight, his outfit covered very little, it was a low toga, which left little to the imagination, but it dominated the room with his bulging muscles. Much to Indra’s chagrin. The King of Davas, Indra, whose dark skin glistened with the rain that followed him; his physical was not as impressive; yet his power made the skies shiver as he sent lightning bolt after lightning bolt into the air. Much to the dismay of the God of Sparta.

Aphrodite was Aphrodite; even in her previous demised state, she still retained that air of beauty that allowed her a degree of trespass that no ordinary creature might take the liberty of. Olive skin shinning out against the baby pink of her gown, wrapped in a gold lifted crown, but now she had consumed the apple, she gave off a blinding shine, as was the shell she had been draped over. Which was dangerously close to the throne. You did have to give it to her, though; she had to position her just so that it gave her a rather wonderful outline.

Next to Aphrodite’s shell Bastet, sat tall, will all the regal bearing which one would expect from a cat, slender and aloof, just as you would expect from a God of the Old Kingdom. Unlike their Greek and Roman counterpart. Bastet exuded royalty, much like the Spring Goddess Ostara.

Ostara was the most well-known to you; after all, she had many guises, like most deities. She had been known as Eostre and often sorted the knowledge of the cauldron from you or your mother. That was after she had been Persephone, of course. She had finally become sick of Hades and his many nymph lovers, Leice, Minthe and, of course, Theophile, the stupid girl who claimed that Hades loved her better than Persephone, which was the finally straw before she completely abandoning the underworld for life as her own goddess, as the Spring Equinox.

To see all five of the supreme gods together made the remaining choice all the more questionable. They at least had carved a mark on humanity; they had prestige, power and a pedigree. The rest of you did not.

Spriggan was the strangest choice, stranger than you; they had spent their entire life in the remote lands of the British Isles. It preferred to peak out from one of the pews, and closets to the King, never talking, just watching. A tree spirit that was neither man nor woman or at least gave the impression of it. Moss covered its skin, making it impossible to tell its age; wizened like an old man or woman, but what skin you could see was smooth like a child.

Like you, Puck lingered at the side, or as many knew him, Robin Goodfellow. His dark, mischievous eyes darted from side to side as he strummed lazily at his lute, occasionally stopping to tune the strings. You had been travelling through the pit of desire that had become London when you stumbled upon the sprite teasing Shakespeare. You had been friends; you even helped him make his name with a simple one of your potions. After all, how better to immortalise yourself by putting yourself in a play by the bard himself and becoming the epitome of fairy kind. That had been before he betrayed you.

You really wished Puck had kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he wished to deliver you some favour with the King, or perhaps he saw this as an opportunity to direct the other god's attention away from himself and onto you so he could make his move. Either way, it would bring you no end of trouble. You did not like how the burning eyes of Lord Morpheus fell on you so intently they seemed to pierce right into you, more so the way the others glared at you.

"... it's true...little witchy, tell them it's true," Puck giggled as he twirled around, the material of his ridiculous costume fluttering in the air around him.

You bristled at the nickname. Narrowing your eyes at this little fiend as he twirled around you.

"...did the fae really trick this John Dee to allow another man to bed his wife and father her children?" Bastet's voice purred, whiskers twitching in the air.

"He was only meant to pretend to let the pompous old fool believe he was talking to the angels... but like always, Puck took it too far." You hissed as the fairy pirouetted away.

"And the meany witch put a stop to it...but I got you back! Did I! I got you back good." You hated the child like glee that filled his voice.

"If having me hanged as a witch class at that." you snapped.

"Hung by humans...how quaint." Bastet perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, amused.

"That's not the best bit, Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble..." he cackled "I made her and her silly cauldron the centre of Shakespeare's best plays."

"And in doing so spread the propaganda that condemns many.' You snapped.

'So, a few little humans died. They breed like rabbits, kill one, and seven more take their place."

‘’A few....’’ You growled. 50,000 people, men, women and children burned, drowned or hung. 50,103 to be exact.

‘’This is boring,’’ Aphrodite pouted, ‘’can't we have music? I adore dancing; Fae plays something! I wish to dance for My King."

The eyes shifted and you were forgot once again as the music filled the air and Aphrodite began to sway. Enticed b the way her hips shimmed. All eyes except Ostara’s, who abandoned her seat to stand next to you.

"Nicely played, but don’t think this aloof fair maid act will get you somewhere. But it will not work. Watch yourself; those here will not hesitate to get rid of a little thing like you. Watch your back, little one."

The gathering had long since broken up. Ostara's warning, or threat twirled over in your mind. Puck has put you in a stupid position. A dangerous one. One that made walking the halls alone a night dangerous. If they are though you a threat, one that could be easiest gotten rid off, your life would be in peril. But you had grown tired of staring at the four walls of your rooms. You did not want the companionship of the others, not that there was any to take, especially with Ostara and Puck seemingly disserting you. Puck, you could understand, but not Ostara; she had been once your surrogate mother.

"Good evening, My Lady." the familiar pleasant tone cut through the silence.

The dark skin elf from the gather stood at the side of the hallway dressed in the same immaculate dress suit. Buttons polished to a soft gleam. The flower still pinned in their buttonhole.

"What are you still doing here? Will not the King be annoyed that you have not departed with the others?"

You were aware that some of the Gods had disappeared into the Dreaming to revel in the pleasure of the place a bit longer, but if the King found an unwanted being still lingering in the castle, there might not be a pleasant outcome.

"I fear he will be even more annoyed if I leave, My Lady; I am Lucienne, the chief librarian and guardian of the Dream realm. Forgive me; I should have introduced myself earlier but did not wish to trespass on the gathering." She smiled.

Now that was something unexpected. Many creations graced the place, attending to the gods that currently had taken up residence. But not one that was trusted enough to be a Guardian. Now that might be useful information.

You returned the smile. "You still wear my flower. Has it bloomed yet?"

"Yes, my lady, it is rather beautiful, and I cannot bear to take it off."

Pride blossomed within you; you had made it yourself nurtured, tended it, till it was just right before picking it. It was appreciated.

'Well, with such praise, I hope it inspired you."

"Indeed, My Lady...it inspired me to start my own account of the King."

Information that was defiantly intriguing and could be helpful. Any information on the King could make the difference between making it back home or being scavenged for a bit from the vultures that circled above.

"I am glad; perhaps you can tell me about it again. I do so enjoy seeing the fruit of my inspiration." Even more, if they get me out of here.

"While you're here, My Lady, could I tempt you to a book? The library is just down the hall, and it has been years since I have had a visitor."

"I would be honoured."

xxxxxx

When you returned to your room sometime later with a book. The missing Shakespeare plays seemed worthy of your reading and apt.

The leather creaked as you opened the page, your eyes finding the formed ink before a moan halted you. It was not the haunting noise of the wind. Instead, it was gruntal, deep and masculine. Waiting, you heard it again, this time longer, louder, tilting you heard as you listened intently, other noises now filling the air. You knew those sounds, the deep moaning, the rhythmic thud of skin, the groan of furniture bending to the force of thrust.

Staring out of the balcony, it was dark, as it often was at the palace; even with the shining white stone it was made of, it was hard to decipher where one body ended, and the others started. Your view from your room was obscured by the thicket of ivy clinging to the balcony column, but you could see enough, the giant frame of the Greek god, face twisted in pain and pleasure as he was being pounded from behind. The dark locks of the King Morpheus were just visible in the light. There was another, maybe, it was so hard to tell, thin arms of women, maybe even a sprite, dipping between the two male bodies, roaming and squeezing, and from the shuddering roars that filled the space, they seemed to know what they were doing. As in jerked the God of Strength back and wrapped slender fingers around the thick cock that swayed in the air, jolting with every thrust of the slender but powerful hips of the Dream Lord himself.

You knew something like this was going to happen. This was very bad. Very. Very. Bad. Gods were jealous beings and power hungry. If the others found out, there would be bloodshed, or God forbid Kratos, and this other being saw you. It didn't even bare thinking about.

The slick sound of flesh slapping against flesh jolted you directly into the eyes of the Dream King himself; how long the King had his eyes set on you didn't know; his eyes had this strange ability to not be on you but see right through you. His eyes stared across the balcony to where you stood behind the pillar. They were bright but different.... paler somehow than usual.

His thin lips curved up at the side as his moonlight fingers curled around the thick hips of the Greek God, jolting his back against him, allowing the King to push him down, shoving the war-beat face down and renewing his thrusts with an almost punishing vigour. The muffled cries of the Kratos were all you could hear, and the simpering sighs of the other who wrapped tight around the King’s shoulder as it sucked on his neck.

You gasped at the sight. Gulping as the eyes shone across at you, you waited for a second for something to happen. You are to be smitted or thrown into the waking world for trespassing on something so intimate. Yet, nothing happened. Instead, the smirk grew to near wolfish proportions.

Cowering back, you fled down the hall and did not stop till you were safely away from your rooms, but not from those glowing eyes that followed you.

So what do you think? Got to love dark Morpheus playing games :P I know not everyone is into MxM but I only wanted to use it in this one chapter so to showcase the ambiguous nature of the Gods. Hopeful it was okay. More smut next chapter to come for the reader... maybe ;)

As always please let me know, your comments make my day.

Also- Claiming his Queen fans keep your eyes peels for an epilogue update....

@crispyduckpirate @musemaniac42 @aralezinspace @boofy1998 @cipher-needs-2-sleep @avatar4eva (couldn't tag) @sassenach-the-pie-maker @ella33 @suszanne @ladyredstar1991 @alexander-arcturus-black @maripositanoctruna @xushisuxi @imaginovator @dotieeee @honeybeezgobzzzzz @cryban6 @lonelyladyghost @isitstilldarkout

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #the sandman #dreams x reader #darkmorpheus #king of dreams #netflix sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless

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bitchliteraria1906 · 4 months

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The owl house magic tracks headcanons

Is actually a stereotype for abomination users to be neat freaks, stuck up, and fancy. Not only because they are one of the tracks with the best opportunities, but also because, if you're really good and have a goo form (like Darius) it's gross to just let dirt mix into you.

That makes Alador the odd one out with his simple clothes and constant dirty state.

Some bards have sensitive ears, Raine included.

It sucks, especially if they don't have their glasses on, because then they're hearing a bunch of random shit and don't even know where it's coming from.

This one is actually kinda canon, but illusionists are associated with arts, drama and flair. Theather kids, all of them.

Also it's possible to use illusion magic to lucid dream. A dream is just a giant illusion, after all.

However, it's difficult as fuck and can actually turn your dreams into nightmares if done wrong.

Oracles and illusionists are very likely to face mental turmoil because of their powers.

Healing and potion magic often overlap each other/work together (because of medicine)

If abomination users are expected to be neat and fancy, beastkeepers are expected to be the opposite. They do spend all their time around literal animals after all.

Plant magic users tend to connect deeply with their plants the same way beast keepers connect with their animals.

#the owl house #the owl house headcanons #headcanons #character headcanons #darius deamonne #darius toh #alador blight #toh alador #raine whispers #toh raine

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

Note

Wait so if we have all the NSFW what about poly? Nsfw? Like you've managed to catch attention and keep it? What would it be like? Please and thank you!

Oh man. Poly!LostBoys is my specialty. They would be... insane. It would be a borderline terrifying environment to be in. Here's my take on being in a poly four-part relationship with all the boys.

Poly!LostBoys Headcanons (NSFW):

First of all, consider yourself insanely lucky. AND horribly unlucky. Lucky because you didn't end up with your throat ripped out like most people. Unlucky because, well... now you're on their radar.

Somehow, if you've magically managed to catch the attention of all four of them? And intensely enough that they're willing to share? Oh man. Your life is over.

Because normally they care so little about human life. That doesn’t change when they find you. But you, you’re different to them. You’re “not like other humans.”

Basically, you belong to them now. Possessive and under-boundaried x 4. You will never know a moment of peace.

But if you're into that, congrats, you've won the jackpot.

In a poly relationship with the boys, there is always someone with you. Doesn't matter when you are: they're walking you arm-and-arm down the street, keeping tabs on you from their bike and glaring at you through your work window, standing out in the hall while they wait for you to get out of the bathroom. It's borderline intimidation.

"Whatcha doin' baby? Don't be like that baby. Come with us baby. C'mere baby." It's RELENTLESS. Someone's always got a hand on your hip or shoulder, or demanding a kiss or for you to sit on their lap.

Basically, you're a toy.

Because to them, you’re theirs, they are very protective. Nobody gets near you, not even physically. Marko hisses at people. David just stares murderously. Anyone eyeing you up will end up dead.

You're manhandled 24/7 because the boys don't know how to contextualize their strength. I'm talking being lifted up and placed on bikes, grabbed by the upper arm hard enough to bruise. Having arms slung over your shoulders and being crushed to their sides. Dragged over to dance so hard your shoulder nearly dislocated.

The attention is addictive though, holy shit. Their eyes are always on you, watching everything you do like it fascinates them. They point-blank tell you how hot you are to them, how much they like you, etc.

David can tell the second you're hungry and rallies the boys for dinner. Dwayne is your watchdog: he's always keeping tabs on you and your environment with that smoulder. Paul is constantly touchy and sensual: brushing your hair to the side and kissing your neck, holding you against his lap and grinding into you in public. Marko becomes part of the animal kingdom: winning you plushies, giving you trophies, not-so-subtly rubbing himself on you so you smell like him.

You get moved out of wherever you live immediately and have to live with them. You'll probably have to quit whatever job you have, too. Your life ends up revolving around the four of them.

So they never ever leave you alone, your personal space is constantly invaded, you are basically not allowed to have friends or family outside of them anymore... but hey? The sex is good.

The sex is so fucking good oh my god oh my GOD.

They’re a bunch of 20-somethings permanently stuck with their high sex drive, only now they all have several decades of experience.

For starters, you’re cumming every night. Probably multiple times. Like, the boys don’t understand that you need recovery time and it’s rare that you beg them well enough to give you a rest day.

Expect threesomes on a regular basis. Paul rutting against your ass while David smokes and fingers you, or maybe Marko demanding a blowjob and Paul wandering over and you jerking him off with a mouthful of dick.

Either way you are in, like, a constant state of having to wipe cum off of you lmaoooo it’s very sisyphus and his boulder

I think David gets the final say in most things, and sort of acts like a ‘director’ with the boys taking their cues from him. If David turns to Paul and says “Our doll is lookin’ a little lonely, don’t you think?” You’d better believe Paul is going to bend you over the couch in the cave and rail you asap

Dwayne is always last in line. Not because he lowest in the pecking order, far from it, really he’s the muscle and enforcement, but because he is hung. You really need to be fucked open before he’ll even fit inside you.

So expect Marko to give you a mindblowing orgasm and leave you limp and panting and Dwayne will pounce on you and ease himself into you. He’s been waiting for this.

And sex with all of them at once?? Hoooo man. Strap in and bring a water bottle. They are demanding.

They’ll coo about how pretty you look even when you’re fucked-out and exhausted, lifting your head to ease their cock into your mouth. Those boys will make you cum. Probably to the point of passing out. And they’ll tease you and mock you, rubbing you till you’re overstimulated and crying.

Being boxed in by four horny vampires caressing you, playing with your hair, stripping your clothes off, is probably the most intimidating and sexy thing you’ll ever experience.

TL:DR it’s a lot. Is the poly relationship worth it? Who knows. It kind of depends on how crazy you are.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #david tlb #tlb marko #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #minors dont look #my writing #thanks for the prompt!

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 6 months

Text

Deathless Thoughts:

I only read this book in full once in 2017 and have only really paged through it a lot since. I definitely found it much more deliberate and thematically coherent this time around. I remember initially feeling like the surrealism and constant jumps ahead were disjointed but it reads very cohesively to me now. I’m very curious if that will continue past the latter 50% which I haven’t reread yet. I remember starkly disliking that portion and I have no idea if I’ll feel similarly this time around— because I already enjoyed the second act much more on reread and acknowledged its purpose, when up until now I did not lol

My initial thoughts were that the fantasy elements were too surreal to care about and that the relationship was too much of a nothing, with too little not unpleasant screen time to justify its centrality to the plot. But having read more classic surrealist Russian lit has familiarized me to the former and makes me actually understand what it’s going for. And for the latter I think I’m just more onboard with unpleasantness and abuse being the point. So currently, my perspective is almost wholly positive.

I enjoy the book’s use of its subject material— fairytales set in actual history— as many many metaphors. First folktales and fantasy specifically in the Soviet era, so rife with censorship, as a vehicle for allegory, their use and importance in literature itself being a motif. Then the metaphor for inexorable class hierarchies and unchangeable power structures before and after the revolution, the way only the branding changed, but the power structures remained. And also, most pervasively, as a way to examine gender roles and gendered loss of agency; the politics of a marriage.

I really liked the way the novel built up Koschei and how everything is about Marya’s relationship with Koschei (her relationship with agency and the lack thereof) even when he’s fairly infrequently on screen. From her sister’s bird husbands in the opening, and child Marya’s musing on the potential transformative nature of marriage— but also the inherently unequal power dynamic and resolving that she will do/be better because she knows more than they did. To the metaphor of her thinking that a secret will treat her well and then later the line where the personified secret is then likened to a husband who will be her ruin. Even that when Koschei finally shows up to take her away it’s compared to being taken away by the revolutionary government/the police.

Marya is herself highlighted for her knowledge and her desire for it. Specifically the ability to see discrepancies in the stories she is told whether that is the magical or ideological and political. The sisters in the opening marry into seemingly static unmoving snapshots of history. Meanwhile Marya’s singled out in her precociousness and open admittance of there being anything completely beyond the ideologies presented by each suitor in his human form [the power structure of the Tsarist state, and the Soviet Union]. She’s defined by wanting to see beyond dichotomies and limited scopes of propaganda. She sees it as a skill, and it is, but it’s also something that singles her out for misery, both by her peers (the scarf incident) and by the likes of Koschei who is specifically drawn to willfulness and a lack of adherence to a particular role with the intent of breaking that will.

The entire seduction segment that is turning all the food and her illness into an erotic power exchange is also just explicitly about breaking her will, and fostering perfect obedience and dependence on him. It’s also really interesting that, in going with him, she does somewhat lucidly give up and trade away her agency/ability to dictate a story/her own perspective in exchange for being physically well cared for. (But then even that is very thorny and with many strings attached)

So by part two, she is stuck in the dichotomy of “who is to rule” and either she can be a Yelena/Vasalisa or a soon-to-be Baba Yaga. Yet, either way, she is never good enough and it is still inevitably an exploitative and draining situation.

Marya being successful in her willingness to do degrading and cruel things to earn Baba Yaga’s blessing and Koschei’s favor being punctuated by all her friends— who without which she would never have succeeded at all— dying horribly illustrates that so well. In her success she is only further isolated. She will never repay their help, because being Tsaritsa of Buyan, and having any sort of power, is inherently antithetical to that.

The emphasis on Lebedeva’s girlboss magic makeup and the passage about Marya being told that girls must care only for vapid, pretty things, among other moments, might feel extremely dated. But I do think they’re intended to be employed in a way where traditional femininity presents a sort of deliberate and acknowledged safety? And it goes hand in hand with Marya, while never choosing to be a “Yelena” in traditional soft femininity, does end up choosing to try to leverage soft power and soft manipulation within deliberately gendered terms fairly often. But again it’s just presented from a very dated and particular context.

So far, the sheer dedication of the book to being an explicit Bluebeard tale and a story about abuse, and how there is no winning in that sort of relationship has been very fun for me.

I also enjoyed Koschei outright lying about the Yelenas and Vasalisas— and then later about the location of his death. I think that’s a character type you usually expect to deceive via omission but, no, he just outright lies a lot.

Another example is that Widow Likho’s book makes it clear that humans best enter into Buyan when ill, and meanwhile everything Koschei does is of course explicitly a repetition of previous stories. So it’s practically confirmed that he had taken every Yelena etc on that same long trip and made them ill on purpose. Even though in the moment he claims to be surprised by it, and spontaneous in caring for her through her illness.

Or the suggestion that he found a reason to put all the other girls in the stable when they got to Buyan as punishment for disobeying him. That the point is the punishment and breaking of the will rather than there being any sort of standard the bride could realistically meet where he would be happy with her and welcome her to her new home without that initial humiliation and fear.

It’s also incredibly funny and refreshing that this book buys into Koschei’s nonsense way less than any of its subsequent imitators. (The Grisha trilogy included!) I enjoyed Baba Yaga being like “Why is everything black, stop being dramatic 🙄”

He’s barely present in the book at all. His page count is truly negligible! And it’s great!

Like I mention earlier, that was actually something I was annoyed by on my first read, the relationship just seemed fairly thin, even though the snapshots of it that we get are fascinating. But after being inundated with so many books worshipping the ground love interests like him stand on, I love how much he doesn’t fucking matter and how little page time he has. How that itself allows Marya’s emotions and conflicted feelings to remain central. The narrative doesn’t care about him, it’s only what impact he has on her that’s relevant.

Anyway somewhat superficial but I really enjoy the goth love interest being the Tsar of Life, because authors typically go a more obvious and melodramatic route. Despite all of the goth mystique, him not being associated with death, darkness, night, etc was refreshing. But also I do generally just find the concept of life being equated with the lurid and demanding, the parasitical, something that is always in a personal sense at war with death— aka the mention of him always looking sickly or feeling skeletal initially when he kisses Marya— a compelling one. It’s death and the maiden wrapped up in a single person essentially.

Anyway I also appreciated the parallel of the Yelenas being trapped in eternity weaving soldiers while Marya’s first thought upon seeing Koschei is that if she had knitted herself a perfect lover he would look like that. There is the constant underpinning of Marya being wholly separate from them, the question of whether she is greater or more horrible than them, but at the heart of it she’s really not. She’s just another victim in a long string of them.

#cautiously hopeful that I’ll like the second half just as much despite my opinions on first read #deathless #koschei the deathless #marya morevna #book talk #i ramble sometimes #*writer’s cap*

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paragonrobits · 8 months

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thinking about how, given that the Scarab specifically taunts Fionna about her world being a little bubble in a way that implies nothing changing in her world in an impactful way is actually a specific problem it has and not just her perceptions or recollection of how it used to be magical

and that this ties into a possible interpretation of how every story told about their world has a dramatically different sense of character; it might be about the people WRITING the stories in-universe having their own perspectives (for example, Marceline doesn't like herself much and is implicitly very self-critical, so when she writes Marshall Lee as she does, it's her criticizing herself), but its ALSO that the world of Fionna And Cake is in a weird stasis where things and history area in constant flux, untethered and noothing really changing in a dramatic sense; they are in CONSTANT shift, without anything sticking. Everything is constantly moving and therefore nothing changes. It just... keeps resetting.

Fionna's intro song being all about nothing changing suggests that if this IS the case, it's still in place; its not just her own perspective or depression at work, though that IS a factor. Her world is literally noncanon and unable to really move forward, just keeping everyone stuck in circular arcs that remain static and in their own private bubbles, which even applies to Fionna's friendships; Marshall and Gary have apparently only met each other AFTER Fionna leaves (which could involve her allowing narrative momentum to intrude into the world?) which is EXTREMELY unlikely given how small her friend group apparently is, unless she's only met them very recently, which is unlikely!

Fionna and Cake can't move forward, no more than Simon is able to, not until the events of the miniseries.

So I submit to you a pair of ideas:

The first idea. Fionna's world is stuck in a state of narrative stasis, or it WAS. Characters were stuck in specific status quos, playing out particular stories or narrative ideas and unable to deviate from them, as with Fionna constantly having her job fall apart, and something similar applying to Gary and Marshall. It was like that to begin with when they were magical in nature, and while everyone except Fionna seems content with their mundane status quo, they were stuck in narratively mandated ruts by the nature of their world being a tiny capsule defined ENTIRELY by character dynamics; no progression or character growth allowed in any way, or even of meeting each other outside what those dynamics require.

The second idea doesn't have any grounding but feels oddly appropriate; that until the events of FIonna And Cake, their world was stuck in a time loop. Every year, things just reset, and the whole thing starts over, and Fionna and Cake are the only ones who really understand what's going on or have faint memories of how things originally were.

#adventure time #fionna and cake #fionna campbell #cake the cat #queued #meta #analysis

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thebennettdiaries · 1 year

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Inspired by this post

She contemplates finding a bucket of paint and laying a strip down the middle of their version of Mystic Falls. It seems like the easiest solution (albeit time consuming).

It is bad enough knowing that she is sharing this space with him --- she does not need him stopping by whenever he likes.

(which is nearly daily at this point)

Bonnie should probably thank her lucky stars that she is a witch. Magic got them in this mess, magic will get them out. He needs her alive and since she can’t kill him without hurting her friends, they are at a standstill. He knows this and therefore he delights in visiting.

She can only slam the door in his face so many times before he threatens to rip it off the hinges.

“You do know that this...” She indicates the space (or lack there of) between them. “...is not conducive to me figuring out how to get us the hell out of this place, right? I can’t do anything with you breathing down my neck.”

“Because I intimidate you?” He practically preens.

“The word is irritate,” she corrects.

He glowers.

Still, she has delivered a blow to his pride and he actually avoids her for a few days. She gets a chance to breathe, to take stock of their situation, to actually think without looking over her shoulder at the same time. It is kind of nice. For the first time in a long time, she isn’t in a constant state of worry. Oh, she knows it is not far off but at least she is getting a break from feeling like her heart is in her throat.

(part of her wonders if she had been here alone would she have just embraced the relative peace instead of trying to scramble for a way out)

By the fourth day, she feels the frustration creep in. She has gathered all the grimoires she can find and poured over them. Nothing. She is going a bit cross eyed and realizes she hasn’t slept in awhile. When she opens a new book and the words appear to the dance on the page, she realizes something.

Two heads are better than one.

Groaning, she gathers up a few of the books and stuffs them in a bag. Each step she makes helps her frustration build. She hates that she has to do this. She hates that it is him of all people but beggars can’t be choosers.

She finds Klaus in the biggest house in this town. Since his self built monstrosity doesn’t seem to exist here, it is the Lockwood mansion. She thinks there is something supremely wrong with him lounging on the furniture of a woman he killed but that is a conversation for another day. She pushes past her reservations, walks into the living room and ignores the way he smiles at her presence. Instead she drops the books on the floor, letting the echo fade before she speaks.

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight. There are a million other people I would rather be stuck here with but since it’s you, you are going to help,” she tells him firmly and he sits up, smug look intact. “We are in this together.”

He stands, his head tilting in just such a way that she wishes she could knock it off his shoulders. “Together.”

#klonnie #bonnie bennett #klaus mikaelson #tvd #the originals

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eveenstar · 2 years

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Is the request still open? Can i request for a dating hoodie hc? Thank you ☺️

Hello!! You can! I've developed a soft spot for this man and I blame my Marble Hornets rewatch for it.

Dating Hoodie would be like... (headcanons!)

Dating Masky Headcanons, Dating Toby Headcanons

How, how, and how did you do this? Was it a magic spell? I'm terrified. Definitely the hardest of the boys to date if he's in his Hoodie state. Which is...well, constantly now.

Post Marble Hornets Hoodie is, at best, a zombie. Not literally of course but this man is the definition of dead inside. He doesn't feel anything regardless emotion, touch, colour...He's just there, existing. But being in a relationship with you brought his old self back, the one he thought had died years ago. It's a constant conflict of Brian-Hoodie-Brian-Hoodie inside him throughout the entire relationship.

If you dated him during MH, you'd see how totally different they are. Brian is this sweet, sweet boy with a bright smile that gives off golden retriever vibes, and who would offer you a shop full of flowers if he could (and he would tbh he has his contacts!). After the "incident", however, he's like a shadow of his old self. Hoodie is...a complete different being.

If you date him post-MH, well, you'll only assume how Brian was like through particular actions or things Hoodie does. Brian was...a boy with a bright future but no way with the ladies. Outspoken. Funny. That man is still within Hoodie, that shell of a man.

Hoodie is a complete opposite. He's literally OG Michael Myers. Sometimes you might wonder if he's even breathing from how still Hoodie gets. Whenever he's not active, you will find him hanging around the house or outside watching the trees. That is, if he's not watching you instead.

He hates looking at himself in the mirror and it shows. He only likes looking at you. And he does, to a point it becomes uncomfortable. It's often when you wake up in the middle of the night, a chill running down your spine, and find Hoodie watching you from a dark corner of the bedroom.

Most likely selective mute when he can. He doesn't talk, even to you. Sign language all the way! His voice reminds him of Brian and it's too much for him. He's just broken beyond repair, the poor man.

Masky probably forces him to talk during mission planning or meetings. That's why he still uses a voice changer.

Speaking of Masky! Hoodie remains one of the tallest in the main group, second comes Toby and then Masky. He doesn't care about height whatsoever.

Back with the main group again. Hoodie still goes on particular missions with Masky, just not as much as before. He either works alone or in pair with other proxies. He might not be the best at stalking anymore, but hacking devices still remain one of his best assets.

Takes a few years for him to take his mask off around you, but with reassurance and love, maybe a few months tops. You can see the age affecting him, I mean, Hoodie's in his early 40s. Undone beard, dark eyebags, small scars splattered across his face, hair stuck in a small ponytail...You get what I'm saying. His eyes are the worst, it's like you're staring into a dead person's eyes. Brian's spark is gone.

I already mentioned it, but I'll say it again; Hoodie hates his reflection. Mirrors who cross his way end up broken. He hates what he sees in the mirror. Just a...lost future of what could have been, of wandering dreams and nightmares, staring back at him through empty eyes.

Hoodie loves your hands. They're so soft and innocent compared to his. Cup his face or hold it in your hands and there's a 50/50 chance he'll cry.

Surprisingly the only proxy of the main gang who would not train you. He feels like he'd turn you into a person of interest for SlenderMan and Hoodie would rather kill you than let you become a proxy. But you can watch him train :)

He's a very calm person. It's very rare if he has a meltdown or an anger burst. He's the living embodiment of "I'll keep my emotions right here, deep down, and one day I'll die." He'll never be angry at you unless you go against his boundaries or rules.

Speaking of rules, yeah, they're not THAT bad. Just don't call him Brian, or try to get into his past, or anything regarding the other proxies and the Big Man himself.

Actually I take it back, Hoodie does have his moments of anger and it looks exactly the same as his peaceful era, except that everything he does is ten times more aggressive. He only does it around you as a way to let you know he's upset. Don't ask me why he does it tho.

Look, Hoodie can DENY all he wants, and he'll die denying it, but he's still Brian. He's still that golden boy and no matter how much he pretends he's not, that boy always comes to the surface around you.

Due to this, he's the most likely to spear a few victims if he can. He has always hated unnecessary blood.

Playing with your hair or hands will forever be one of his de-stress methods. Or tracing your skin. It makes him feel at peace, like the world has stopped moving and it's only you and him. Stargazing is on the to-do list. Or reading.

You actually see other proxies with frequency. They come around often but most don't really talk. They drop by to give Hoodie Gods-know-what and leave again without a word. He doesn't let them see you however. The only proxy allowed to be within your presence is one called 'Prowler' and you have no idea why that is.

Like you can see, Hoodie doesn't trust anyone. You're the only one he trusts and that is if you prove yourself you won't do anything stupid like searching on YouTube what Marble Hornets is. Won't end well, trust me.

A curious fan fact; Hoodie loves corners. The bed is in the corner of the bedroom. There's a small spot to relax in the corner of the living room. He feels safe in them and hopes you do too. He just wants you to feel safe, as insane as that sounds.

Sometimes you'll find him hugging himself in said corner. Just. Sitting down, hugging himself, head lost in the fog. You need to bring him back otherwise he'll just...stay there until SlenderMan calls for him.

You've probably already seen how I could go for HOURS talking about Hoodie being a sad boy. I mean. Lives up to his mask ig??

Oh yeah! You can borrow his hoodies. He feels weird whenever he sees you using them around the house but he won't stop you. Unless you want to.

Back to what I was saying. Don't think Hoodie is this soft boy who went through traumatic stuff. This is a man in his early 40s who has lost count of how many people he has murdered. He banged open a man's head with his crowbar once. Said this, he's not afraid to do the same to anyone who brings you harm. Thinks that if you were to be killed or harmed by anyone, it should be him.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

#hoodie x reader #brian thomas x reader #hoodie marble hornets #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons

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