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s-brant · 9 months

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With his pregnant wife with ordered to rest by the maesters until her labors begin, Aemond must find new ways of entertaining her.

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Warnings: smut, p in v, hair-pulling, come swallowing, strong language, and pregnancy. this can be read as a stand alone or part three to Judas.

Pregnancy has coaxed out a new side of Aemond.

Of course, he had always been protective and caring, even when he was trying to stifle his feelings for her in the first few months of their union, but once she was with child, it intensified. From having the handmaidens tend to her every minute of every day to insisting upon following her around as though he is one of the royal guards assigned to protect her. It is always toned down in the presence of others due to his general discomfort with public displays of affection, but everyone noticed his constant proximity to her whenever he wasn't attending to his duties as a prince.

"You needn't breathe down my neck, I am quite capable of doing this myself," she said when he had once insisted upon helping her bathe once she got into the late stages of her pregnancy.

Truth be told, she did appreciate his incessant caregiving, but when caregiving shifted into being treated as though she was weak, that positive mindset soured slightly. Still, she rolled her eyes and allowed him to help her into the sunken tub filled with steaming hot water and bathing oil that gave off an aromatic lavender scent. He could tell that underneath it all, there was a part of her that enjoyed being looked after. A part of her that reveled in the protective nature he allowed to take control once her belly began to swell noticeably with his child.

The maesters suspect she will go into labor at any moment and insisted upon her getting bed rest during the day in preparation for it. So, that is what she has been doing all day long, and it threatens to drive her mad.

"Truly, how much more needlework and reading can I do? I have read nearly every book in the library at this point. Can you not escort me to the Dragonpit to visit Vermithor?" Y/N asks Aemond from where she lays back against the headboard with a hand cradling her round belly.

Clad in nothing but her shift to keep herself from sweating in the summer heat, she is left with nothing to do, and in her ill-tempered mood, she has resorted to begging her husband for his assistance. Unfortunately for her, Aemond is equally as cautious regarding her condition as the maesters. The very last thing he would do is encourage her to exert herself with a trip to the Dragonpit.

He offers her a stern look as he dresses for the day in the morning light that shines on his half-nude figure. The eyepatch he wears in the presence of everyone else sits on the table behind him, allowing her to admire how the sapphire eye glitters in the sun. While he cuts her a commanding stare, she trails her eyes down the length of him. The shade of his skin is strikingly pale against the warm colors decorating their shared chambers, only shadowed in the areas where skin dips into muscles to emphasize the strong lines of his abdomen. And, of course, he notices the hunger that is present in her gaze but says nothing about it.

"I cannot escort you anywhere outside these rooms, ābrazȳrys." Wife. "Tis my babe inside of you. If the maesters order you to rest, your duty commands you to listen."

He doesn't miss how her eyes follow the movement of his hands as they button his trousers. Filthy little thing, she is. His suspicions are confirmed by the smirk she gives him when she next speaks.

"Perhaps you could distract me some other way?" She hooks a finger around the hem of her shift to lift it slowly up her thighs. A muscle in his jaw tightens at the sight of her baring herself to him without anything to protect her modesty. "You know, I heard the strangest thing from Nyla"—one of their handmaidens—"a day ago. She said that a healer she once met told her that coupling with one's husband can induce childbirth."

Aemond stares at her with predatory intent, as though he's considering it for a moment, then shakes his head. Although they have pleasured one another in other ways, they have not had sex since her bump began showing. It was already scandalous for them to continue their marital duties after the pregnancy was confirmed, to do so when she's heavily pregnant would be even worse.

"We have been through this," he says. "It is not proper."

She does not miss a beat.

"Says who?"

Neither does he.

"The maesters, along with every other upstanding person of noble birth such as ourselves." He pauses, then says before she gets the chance to, "Aegon excluded."

A wry laugh escapes his dear wife at this, and she can't help how the beautiful sound is cut short by the feeling of the babe kicking her palm. Those pretty eyes go wide as she reaches out with her other hand in an invitation for him to come to her. Based upon the panic that flashes across his face, though, he must mistake her excitement for fear. A fraction of a second later, he's already at her side before she can hear the heavy footfalls on the floor.

"What is it?" he asks, throat constricted with terror.

She smiles at him. It's a lovely, placating type of smile, and it washes away every worry present in his head when he sees it. Wordlessly, she takes his hand, calluses and rough from sword fighting, in hers and places it on the top of her bump where the movement can be felt.

"Feel," she whispers.

Her fingers mold overtop of his to keep his flattened palm pressed down on her. Beneath both the linen fabric of her shift and her warm skin he feels it.

"He must be coming soon. He's in the right position for birthing."

Then, her head tilts back to allow her to look up at him in on. It's unfathomable to her— the fact that a child is dwelling within. Not only a child but their child. She can't help but wonder what they will look like or which one of them they will favor. It's all too easy to picture what she may see as soon as a few days or weeks from now. Aemond, half-dressed as he is now, with their newly-born son resting against his chest as they lay together in the quiet of their rooms. The babe will look so small, so fragile and new, when cradled against his Kepa's larger body. And when she pictures that, she feels complete in a way she never has before.

It seems that he is having similar feelings when his eyes light up at her hopeful declaration. What she doesn't know is that he is imagining the very same thing, yet reversed. His mind conjures the image of their days-old daughter suckling at her breast, making soft coping noises throughout. Although he has never known himself to be the tender-hearted type, that thought warms him to the bone.

He rubs the spot where the babe kicked as though to soothe it in the only way they'll understand at this point in their development. No spoken words or language yet, just the communication of touch. The same instinctual form of communication animals use to soothe their children. The touch is firm yet soothing. Constant in a way that one's father should always be yet rarely ever is. It says, "Kepa is here. Don't fret. We will meet you soon."

"She," he starts, meeting her gaze with a stoic face, "will come tomorrow. Helaena told me so when we dined with mother last night."

Her eyes narrow.

"Helaena, I believe. However, you, dearest, are not a dreamer. You cannot know the babe is a girl. I, on the other hand, can sense it. We will have a male heir. One whose birthright will never be disputed as mine has been."

The part about wanting a male heir out of fear for their claim to the throne being challenged causes his mouth to shift into an imperceptible frown. Most people do not know how to read those changes in his expression, but she can. Since her pregnancy began, she has become well-versed in his non-verbal cues. For now, he bypassed the worry she so vulnerably laid before him. That is a matter they can discuss later.

He asks, head tilting slightly in curiosity, "You can sense it?"

"Yes, of course," she says and weaves her fingers into his to hold his hand. "There is such a thing as motherly intuition."

To this, he hums quietly, and it's such a distinctly him thing to do that she finds herself fighting a smile.

"If motherly intuition does, in fact, exist, why would my intuition as her father be any less accurate?"

She stifles a laugh at this, easily recognizing from his tone that he is merely teasing her. Something he never once pictured himself doing with his eventual wife. A marriage of duty was what he anticipated, yet this is far from it. He realizes right now that he would do anything for her. He would die for her if it came to that, but not just because their wedding vows brought her under his protection and Daemon would hunt him to the ends of the earth should anything happen to her. It's because he cares.

Y/N cups the bottom of his chin in her free hand and forces him a bit closer to say, "Because I am your very pregnant, very ill-tempered wife, and I said so. If you dare to question my authority, I may be inclined to use your knife on you again." There's a pause. "Also, while I have your obedience, I would like to dine with the family tonight one last time before our son arrives."

Although they both know they are jesting, Aemond's eye darkens the second she calls him obedient.

"If you were not carrying my daughter, I would bend you over my knee for that."

It's wholly true, and she knows that. He did it once before but knew the whole time she was simply allowing it to occur as a result of her own sexual gratification. He knew that if she wanted, she would break free and have him fleeing her wrath on Dragonback.

She smirks and pulls him closer until their lips nearly brush.

"Don't say those things if you are refusing to fuck me. It is cruel," she whispers. "It arouses me, and you know I cannot satisfy myself the way you can."

His body goes still in the wake of her brazen confession.

Knowing she has him right where she wants him, she decides to hammer the idea home. The strap of her shift has "accidentally" fallen from her shoulder as she kisses him just long enough to entice but not satisfy.

"Lest you've forgotten, the maesters told me to wait two moons after the birth to allow myself to heal before taking you to my bed again." The tremble in his exhale brings a triumphant gleam to her eyes, and she pulls her mouth back out of reach to tease him as he leans in to kiss her. "It would be a pity to waste such precious time, would it not?"

Their lips brush, and the hand that holds his chin breaks away to palm at his half-hard cock through his trousers. It swells eagerly beneath her touch after ages of restraint and self-pleasure, growing harder by the second until he is fully, painfully needing her.

"Come," she says and spreads her legs in invitation. "What the maesters tell you is largely myth and outdated theories. The babe will remain unharmed."

At last, the patience of her devoted husband runs thin, and he is unable to stop himself from kissing her with an unashamed lust that indicates she will be getting what she wants. The suspicion is proven true when he kneels on the mattress between her legs to crawl onto her without breaking the passionate, open-mouthed kiss shared between them. But before he can try to settle his weight atop her and prevent her from reaching for his trousers, she finds the waistband with fumbling hands. This halts him for just the right amount of time—long enough for her to undo the button and push the clothing, along with his small clothes, down his slender hips.

The disappointment he feels at her refusal to allow him to bury his fingers or head between her thighs in hopes that she will be satisfied without penetration is visible on his face. Yet he says nothing. In truth, he cannot do anything to stop this. If he truly did not wish to fuck her, it would be easy to deny her. The issue at hand is that he does wish to, and now that his cock is being pumped in her hand as he stares down at her pleading eyes, it no longer matters to him what is proper or not.

It's when she starts to guide him to her sweet cunt that he realizes that she would have had the chance to thwart his sabotaging efforts no matter how quickly she pulled his trousers down. What halts them in their tracks is the protruding belly, larger than it was the last time he took her to bed, preventing him from laying comfortably against her.

This would be the perfect opportunity for him to redirect himself back to his original intentions, but, instead, he says, "Turn over."

Her cheeks burn hot at this, at the sheer commanding nature of his words, before she obliges him. She turns over cautiously to avoid falling on her stomach and settles into a semi-comfortable position on her hands and knees, back arched just so to present herself to him. Though she cannot see it, he smiles.

His voice is soft yet stern when he next speaks.

"Down onto your arms," he says. "It will feel better that way."

She stares daggers at him over her shoulder and asks, half jesting, half jealous, "We have never done it this way, so how would you know, husband?"

Aemond rolls his eye at her dramatics.

"You already know, now do as I command."

He isn't wrong. They've been quite honest with one another about their past transgressions with members of the opposite sex, although hers was little more than a shy peck on the cheek while his were, well...Aegon took him to a brothel on his thirteenth name day, that much she knew before they were wed due to her eldest uncle's loose lips, but what no one else knows, save for her, is that he had a few lovers. Likely a result of the time he was taken to a brothel, he never sought his pleasure out with whores.

It began accidentally. He didn't intend to fuck a widowed lady in court, but it happened, and he was glad it was her. From then on, he followed the rules unintentionally set by his first time after the brothel. The first rule, of course, was to never lie with a maiden to prevent ruining her reputation and being forced to marry below his station as consequence.

The second was to never go back to the same woman more than a few times. This kept his time with them to a minimum and prevented any of his lovers from forming delusional attachments. Another rule was to never kiss them, and, the last, most important one was to never finish inside them. Though she was overwhelmed with jealousy upon first starting this conversation with him, his explanation for the last rule did well to soothe her.

It did not matter whether he chose to fuck whores in brothels or older women of noble birth, no one but his wife deserves the seed of a dragon prince. He would not dishonor her by fathering a bastard, he explained. Not like his brother did many times to poor, sweet Helaena.

So, she does already know that his skill at pleasing her comes from his experiences with the older women who now have husbands again, who sometimes try to meet his gaze as they pass to no avail. Still, it doesn't make her less jealous, nor does it make teasing him any less fun.

Y/N hardly has the time to shift her weight down onto her forearms before he nudges his cock into her with his hands gripping her full hips until his knuckles turn white.

"Aemond!" she cries out in surprise at the sudden intrusion, but it soon gives way to a soft giggle. Her explanation comes seconds later, once she has regained her composure. "I will hear no complaints of me forcing myself on you later. You are just as responsible."

The first few motions of his hips pushing in and away from her are tentative, holding back when his fingers brush her belly to remind him of her condition. In spite of his guilt for doing this, it feels too good to stop after months of nothing but his hand and, sometimes, her mouth when he wakes to the sensation of her sucking him deep into her throat. That is good, always, but this is incomparable, and it has been so long that he almost forgot. But, it's impossible to forget now. Not when he feels her rocking her hips back against him, meeting his thrusts at a pace that encourages him to keep up.

The pillow is soft on her cheek where it sinks into it with one of her hands gripping the corner for dear life. Soft noises leave her without realization as Aemond finally lets go of his reservations and surrenders to the primitive instinct that tells him to fuck her. He cannot wholly allow his instinct to take over, however. If he did, he'd get far rougher than he's comfortable being with her in this condition. It's a constant battle to keep himself from unleashing the full extent of his lust, ages in the making, on her the way they both enjoy.

Although he's holding back, she reacts with an enthusiasm often reserved for nights when he brings her to release over and over again. Anyone else would think she is exaggerating, but he knows her well. He knows that all this time they've abstained has made her ravenous, and from the times he has brought himself to his peak alongside her with her fingers trapped between her thighs, he knows pregnancy has made her a touch more sensitive.

He lets one hand leave her hip to clasp over her mouth and muffle the lovely little gasps and moans. His cock plunged into her harder as if in punishment for being too loud, hitting a spot that makes her squeeze her walls around him and whine into the hand over her mouth. His other hand uses its hold on her hip to tug her back to meet him stroke for stroke, quickly forgetting his internal promise to be gentle. It isn't nearly as intense as usual, but she can sense it. She can sense that he's starting to give himself over to the pleasure and allow himself to enjoy it.

"Quiet," he snaps and presses his palm harder against her lips to force them shut. His words seem to have the opposite of the intended effect, if the way she cries out has anything to show for it. "If the servants hear and gossip about me defiling you like this, Aegon will never stop talking about it."

The hand over her mouth leaves for an instant to reach for the belt looped into his undone trousers. Her body jolts with every hard thrust, and she cannot help how she moans now that her mouth is uncovered.

She yelps in surprise when he pushes the leather between her teeth and says, "Bite on this."

There's nothing else for her to do but listen.

It does a satisfactory job at keeping the sounds confined to their chambers. Not as well as his hand, but it will have to work. It allows him to hear her and revel in every sound without worrying too deeply about servants overhearing. If anything, he is the one who now risks getting them caught with how he groans and sighs with every smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her.

The physical sensation is so overwhelming and euphoric, it almost feels torturous to him. Knowing that he cannot live in this moment forever is the cruelest form of torment he's endured, even above Lucerys blinding him and Aegon encouraging his nephews to bully him for lacking something they were all born with the privilege of having.

They made him feel inadequate, small, and he cannot deny the truth in what she said to him once before, in the midst of their coupling, regarding him deriving a sick pleasure from having stolen their sister away and making her his own. Fucking her full of heirs and taking solace in the fact that it is his blood, not the blood of the Strong bastards, that will continue their family's great dynasty. It's invigorating. Vindicating, even.

The muffled sounds of her moaning as he watches her, transfixed by the urge to wrap his hand up in the curtain of white silver running down her back like a flash of shooting starlight, brings him so close, he can almost feel it. His eye squeezes shut to allow him to focus on preventing himself from coming before she can, and it's only when he feels he's regained control over himself that he warns her.

"I won't last much longer," he says, breathless.

She knows that the words in and of themselves are an apology, so she shakes her head and murmurs, too far gone at this point, "Don't care."

There's a groan from behind her, then a harsh snapping of his hips against her ass as he says, "I do."

The feeling of the rough pads of his fingertips rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs has her writhing under him. She's grasping onto the pillow with one hand and braces the other on the headboard to keep her head from hitting it with the force of how he fucks her. Teeth biting down on leather, she cannot do much else than take it. She cannot call his name or warn him of her imminent climax, but she does not need to. By now, he knows when she's close to her peak by the feeling of her cunt spasming around him.

It's an addictive feeling. So much so that he doesn't quite enjoy his peak if it doesn't involve feeling, hearing, and witnessing hers first. It never fails to drag him under.

Another brush of his fingers against her, along with a well-aimed thrust, is all it takes to send her careening over the edge.

Her jaws goes slack and allows the belt to fall onto the pillow as she cries out for him at the intense crest of the wave that overtakes her. It's a mumbling, incoherent mixture of expletives, as well as his name, that pushes him closer to his satisfaction to hear it. To think that the beautiful creature beneath him, rendered useless in his hold and swollen with his child, is solely his and his alone is a fact he can hardly comprehend. All he can think as he chases his release is that he loves her. They have yet to say it, but he feels it. It's the kind of love that starts wars and ruins lives, and that is the most startling revelation he's ever had.

It takes little time—seconds, actually—for Aemond to succumb to the near-explosive feeling he has tried to stave off for the sake of satisfying his wife first. He is careful enough, even in the blissful reverie of climax, to not let his weight go on top of her and risk making her uncomfortable. Or injuring her or the babe in any way. Although exhausted from the relentless exertion, his body finds a way to hold itself up after he collapses onto her back and continues to rut into her as he fills her sensitive cunt with his seed until there's nothing left to give.

His softening cock slips out of her after he's taken the better part of a moment to come back down from the heavens she sent him to, and Y/N whines at the sudden emptiness. It isn't uncommon for him to remain inside of her long after they've finished sometimes. The first time it occurred, it was a result of mutual exhaustion, but the next time, it was a conscious choice.

His chest rises and falls rapidly with his panting breaths as his eye flutters shut for a second as though to take the time to burn the image of her now into the back of his mind. When he opens it again and moves back to see his come leaking from her hole, he has to keep himself from flipping her onto her back and kissing her sweet cunt until she's licked clean and lacks any evidence of the sin he committed today. But, he can't. He was already meant to be meeting Criston in the training yard, and nothing would be worse than the knight searching for Aemond only to find out he's been locked away in his chambers with his wife.

To pacify himself, he swipes his middle and forefinger between her slick folds to gather some of the dripping fluid on them. His other hand wraps itself up in her hair as he wanted it to moments ago to gently pull her head up from being buried in the pillow. Her head turns to the side only enough to allow him to see the side of her face, and he doesn't need to say anything to get her to open her mouth for him. All he does is bring it to her lips as he waits for her to obey his wordless command, wrapping her lips around his fingers and moaning at the salty taste on her tongue before swallowing it all.

When he watches this, he can't stop thinking to himself that he's lucky. Not only does he have a rare jewel of a woman as his wife and future Queen, but he also has a wanton whore who is quick to comply with his every wish and begs him to fuck her even when she is far along with child. Desperate for him and him alone.

"Mmm," he hums in approval at how she sucks his fingers clean and loosens his grip on her hair until it falls loose around her shoulders again. The hand that held back her hair slides down her back and rubs in soothing strokes up and down the length of her spine. The next words are barely a push of air, spoken so quietly that no one else in the world could overhear. "Sȳz riña." Good girl.

With his fingers falling from her lips, she sinks back down into the bed and rolls onto her back to allow herself the pleasure of looking at her husband. The adoration visible in her gaze never fails to catch him off guard. No one ever looks at him like that. With such fondness. Not even his own parents or siblings.

"Umbagon lēda nyke tubī, ñuha jorrāelagon?" Stay with me today, my love? "Jikagon udir naejot Criston bona iksan tolī va naejot ñuha sikagon syt ao naejot henujagon ñuha paktot. Umbagon kesīr, sagon iā sȳz valzȳrys, se qogralbar aōha ābrazȳrys ēva se tubis iksis toliot." Send word to Criston that I am too near to my labors for you to leave my side. Stay here, be a good husband, and fuck your wife until the day is gone. Her bold request draws a scoff from him. A second passes, then she says softly in the common tongue, "You have been quite protective of me as of late. I am sure people will not think anything of it."

There's a second of contemplation during which he weighs the costs and benefits. On one hand, he does need to train and maintain appearances in court. On the other...Well, he would very much like to spend the day in bed with her, testing out the theory the handmaiden presented to her about sexual activity inducing childbirth.

Screw Criston, he thinks.

"Sagon careful skoros ao epagon yno. Kostā jiōragon ziry," Aemond says to give her one last chance to rescind the offer. Be careful what you ask of me. You may get it.

Her expression turns stony as she asks, looking up at him through her lashes like she once did as a demure little cocktease of a newlywed, "Ao kivigon?" You swear?

And in the midst of the night, after a day of laying together—reading, fucking, talking, and giggling like little kids—they discover the theory regarding sex and childbirth to be true, and it's in the late hours of the morning that their little dragon finally decides to greet them in the form of a wailing infant girl.

Tag list: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction #wrote most of this in my notebook at the psych ward last month ✌️

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genderqueerdykes · 1 year

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I hope this is alright to ask. I am a perisex trans person and I want to learn and understand. Would you be willing to talk about your identity as a transfeminine person, and why that label speaks to you? So often I see the term being used synonymously with AMAB, and I want to try and break out of that mindset.

hello! i really appreciate you stopping by to ask, that's awesome!

while a huge portion of transfeminine people are AMAB, there are lots of other transfeminine people of varying agabs & intersex people make up a sizeable portion of the community! I'm glad you are trying to expand your mindset, in general, it's important to consider that intersex can and do identify as any queer identity you can think of, and exist in every queer space, so there are always going to be trans men who are not afab and trans women who are not amab!

the reason why i began identifying with the label transfeminine was because of a breakthrough moment i had while hanging out with several irl transfem friends and while i was listening to them discuss their relationship with womanhood and seeing people who loved being women and generally speaking just exuded feminine and female energies without it feeling stifled or forced, it helped me get past a lot of my deep rooted internalized misogyny and helped me stop hating the parts of myself that are a woman

they helped me realize that i never hated being a woman or a girl- when i was in middle and high school, i loudly and proudly identified as a girl, then woman. i never realized that it wasn't me who hated being a woman, but rather, it was society that hated me for being a woman in my body. before puberty, people were relatively okay with gendering me as a girl, though some didn't bcus of how i acted. however, once i hit puberty, it divided people.

some people would come up to me and say "you're not a real girl, you can't wear makeup," or "you're not a girl, why are you carrying a purse?", things like that. i also got "you're not a real boy, stop dressing like that", "you dyke/butch/bulldyke"'d a lot as well, because people just could not decide on what my gender was, if i even had one.

it took me years to cope with the fact that i was heavily targeted by transmisogyny, however, and to realize that i have been treated like a trans girl my entire life due to my naturally masculine features from living in a high T intersex body. i wasn't rly allowed to cope with the fact that i wasn't allowed to be a girl, because i had started associating myself so heavily with misogynistic men at the time that it made it harder.

i've realized now i do not have a cisgender relationship with womanhood, and i never will. i have always existed in a high T body, once puberty happened, my gender became an anomaly, and a point of distress for others. i have had to fight tooth and nail to be seen as a woman or feminine in a way that is respectful and flattering. i have a feminine deadname and people still give me trouble.

anyway, hope that answers some of your questions! it's very hard for intersex people to easily define our experiences, as we often time experience numerous types of oppression or violence and don't realize that we have internalized a lot of hatred because of other people's prejudices. if you have any more questions, feel free to ask! take care!

#asks #answers #transfeminine #transfem #about us #intersex

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mythicamagic · 2 years

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Sukuna's Roommate (Sukuna x reader fic) chapter two

Summary: The rent is cheap, that's the only reason you're moving into apartment 167 on such short notice. The rent is cheap, you remind yourself again, staring up at the four-armed monster you would be living with. (Female reader x Sukuna)

Warnings: some dubcon moments and general Sukuna stuff i.e: murder. Will eventually feature smut.

Chapters: One

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

~Chapter Two~

It proved difficult to decide on what to react to first. The spiked up pink hair with the dark undercut? His strikingly attractive bold, black tattoos? The fact that he was very obviously almost naked and standing right in front of me? The twin sets of eyes sitting just below his regular ones that stared at me in growing boredom? My eyes chose their target and flicked down to the series of arms, two of which had now perched on his hips, claws- yes- clawed fingernails tapping impatiently. My mouth felt dry. I swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“P-put some clothes on!”

Ah, it seems my mind was more modest than concerned about the fantastical.

The man rose an eyebrow. “Hah? I’m dressed enough.”

“You are not!! That- that thing barely covers everything!” I thrust a hand over his image as if to shield myself from the sun's glare, specifically blocking out his lower half. “Put on some decent clothes!”

“Your volume is already grating on my nerves, woman.”

‘This is not normal. None of this is normal.’ My face flushed scarlet as my mind screamed, forcing myself to inch stiffly out of the doorway.

“D-do I even have the right place? This must be some mistake.” I leaned back to check the numbers on the door hopefully.

“No mistake. You wanted a room to move into and I have one spare,” the man drawled, largely unconcerned with the whole thing as if he did this all the time. “You may address me as Sukuna.”

My eyes flitted back to him at the mention of his name. He was unlike anyone I’d ever seen before. Blood was pumping so swiftly through my body, heart racing too fast for me to feel comfortable meeting his direct stare for too long. An uncomfortable intensity lurked inside it. Predatory, yes- but nothing quite so simple as that.

“…Heh,” Sukuna’s eyes glittered as if he was having fun. Red. A sense of foreboding assured me they were not contacts. “Gotta say, this is the longest a human has ever gone without asking about my arms. Are you shy or just cripplingly polite?” He leaned forward with a patronising air, the tenor of his voice lowering into an almost intimate purr. His hot breath fanned over my cheek like the ghost of teeth on flesh. “Ah, or maybe you’re afraid? Did I hit the bullseye? It's alright, I'll be magnanimous and allow you to be scared.”

Dwarfed by his stifling presence and reeling from- well, everything- I couldn’t hold back the urge to step away, maybe even run.

A hand snapped out as if he’d read my thoughts, grabbing me by the scruff and dragging me fully inside the apartment. The door soon slammed shut with a grim sense of finality.

Hot breath hissed over my parted lips, closer now. Something flipped in my lower stomach, tightening into a confused but euphoric heat. “Now, now. I didn’t give you permission to leave, human,” Sukuna grinned, tipping his head slightly to one side and assessing my face- no doubt frozen in terror.

“W-why do you keep talking like you’re not…one?” I managed to croak. A cold sweat had broken out at the back of my neck.

His eyes turned flat. “I’d have thought the four arms and extra eyes would tip you off that I wasn’t mortal.”

‘Let me go’ had been on the tip of my tongue. The normal reaction for any woman being held like a ragdoll would be to struggle and scream. I could feel it. The hysteria building inside me.

A mocking glint entered his expression- and the words abruptly fizzled into nothingness on my tongue. It was there in his bearing, the ego pouring out of him. In that moment, I could see myself in his gaze. Cowering, shying away from his intimidating aura.

Something stubborn straightened my spine. I glared, gesturing with no small amount of heat in my cheeks between us. “I’m dealing with a naked guy right in front of me. Give me some space and maybe I’ll think a little more clearly.”

Surprise flitted over his face, and I took the opportunity to slip out of his slack hold and duck around him, easing further into his den.

The distance had the desired effect and taking a few breaths, I managed to gather my bearings. Okay, this guy was clearly dangerous. ‘Not human’ lingered like a heavy reminder, mingling with the pungent odour of new paint clinging to deep red walls. A black couch and other belongings had been shoved to one side to make room. From what I could see, the space practically radiated ‘bachelor pad.’

A thought occurred to me and wouldn’t leave, so repressing the tremor in my voice, I met his gaze levelly. “I feel like we’ve slipped off track. You…did submit the request for a roommate, right?” I double-checked. A letting agent had confirmed everything, including the set up of rent payment.

Pleasant surprise mingled with frustration briefly in his expression, before it smoothed out. He nodded.

“If you’re done trying to scare me- or whatever it is you think you’re doing- could you maybe point me in the direction of my room?”

It was all talk. I was beyond intimidated, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it anymore- not when he’d looked so damn happy to see me squirm. It was obvious by now that being afraid accomplished nothing, and neither did trying to run- at least right away. Maybe I could slip out of the apartment later.

Sukuna gauged my mood a second longer, and seemed about ready to call my bluff- when his mouth clicked shut. His brow quirked, and he lifted a tattooed shoulder in a half-shrug, trudging away with long strides to the left of the living room and leaning against the threshold of an open door.

Taking the silent prompt, I awkwardly tugged my forgotten suitcase over and peered into the room while simultaneously trying to avoid touching the barely clothed menace lingering nearby. It was simple in décor, plain and with a single bed shoved in the corner like an afterthought.

“Let’s lay some ground rules while we’re getting acquainted,” Sukuna began conversely. The smile he shot down at me was anything but warm. “Don’t invite anyone else into my domain without permission, got it? That means no boyfriends or girlfriends can casually drop by- no pizza guys, technicians or those damn salespeople.”

A clawed black nail rose up, touching beneath my chin and sending a jolt of shock through my system. His skin radiated warmth.

“Oh and do the dishes,” he sneered, exposing a sharp canine. “Mess is a pain when it comes from someone aside from me. Pick up after yourself or you’ll be picking your limbs out of the trash.”

My stomach chilled. A shudder betrayed me. I could tell this wasn’t just an offhand threat. I didn’t even want to know what would happen if I invited someone over.

I somehow managed to stop my voice from shaking. “Anything else?”

Sukuna’s eyes danced. “Try not to bore me like my last little roommate.”

Had he killed them? I swiftly shoved that thought down and took a breath. 'Keep going. Don’t give an inch.'

“Alright. May I say my conditions now?”

“What?”

“You put the toilet seat down for one,” I ticked off my fingers. “But most of all- you wear some more uh…layers around the house.”

“Layers?”

“Clothes.”

He looked almost playful, gesturing down his torso. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you were wearing underwear.” I couldn't be certain, but under that thin layer of white material barely shielding his crotch- I almost thought I'd glimpsed two uh- ...bulges down there. Not that I was looking.

“Uh-huh," Sukuna drawled. "You got anything else you want me to not listen to, brat?”

I bristled and dared point at his smug face. “Respect is a two-way street, sir. How can you expect me to listen to your ground-rules if you don’t listen to mine?”

“The worst I get if I don’t listen is some nagging. The worst you get is death for annoying me. Doesn't give much incentive for me to heed you, now does it?” He leered, leaning just a little closer. “Has it sunk in yet? This isn’t a shared apartment. It’s my domain. You just rent a tiny space inside it.”

My temper flared hotly. The threat of death was the only thing holding me at bay from biting him on the nose. “If that’s the way you think- why bother trying to get a roommate in the first place! They’ll be nothing but a bother to you!”

“I like having a pet around.”

This guy was unbelievable. Putting aside whatever supernatural creature he was, his male ego was clearly in tact. Grabbing the door, I stepped inside my room, lugging my suitcase in. The door creaked as black nails latched onto the handle, preventing me from swinging it shut.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sukuna snorted.

I glared. "To bed. Talking to you is exhausting. I'll phone the letting agents tomorrow to arrange for me to go somewhere else."

"Heh, you still think you can leave just like that?" He pulled the door closer to himself, forcing me to lull forward along with it. My eyes widened as I drew in uncomfortably near to his face again. "You've seen me now, Morsel. The arms, the eyes. I can't just let you go wandering off. You might squeal."

"M-morsel?" I muttered, dazed.

Sukuna kept talking as if he hadn't heard me. "Get nice and comfy. You're going to be here for a while, provided you're smart enough not to tick me off."

With that said, he clamped his hand over my face. Before I could even panic about the pressure of his figures on my skull- a warm, wet sensation drew over my lips and nose like a slimy paintbrush.

It withdrew, only to thrust inside my mouth, wringing out a disgusted shriek. I'd kissed enough guys to recognise a tongue when I felt one. This wasn't a kiss though. It was a claiming. It dominated my mouth and choked me of air.

It licked inside, delving deep and thoroughly tasting me, to the point I felt tears prick my eyes alongside heat flaring in my gut. Despite my struggling, Sukuna only released me of his own accord, stepping away with a chuckle. I gawked in horror at the sight.

A mouth grinned at me from the very centre of his palm. "A pleasure," it spoke in his voice.

With that, Sukuna turned and left, wandering away as if pulled elsewhere by the caprice of his mood. I stood there, speechless, face wet, and utterly dishevelled.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

tbc

Chapter Three - here

#sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #jujustu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n

112 notes · View notes

ladylooch · 1 year

Note

Can you do a kempe fic with a lot of angst please.

A/N: Yes! Always yes. Thank you again for requesting this. I've already expressed this, but I am SO happy! I hope you enjoy!

Greener Side of That Fence- Adrian Kempe

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Angsty... like I was anxious writing this, there is a smidge of 18+ Content cause I can't help myself, multiple character points of view, swearing.

(Adrian)

It’s a hot summer day in Southern California. The temperature is above 90 degrees with no ocean breeze to offer reprieve. The heat is stifling and the black tux I’m wearing doesn’t offer any support.

A bead of sweat rolls down my hair line and collects in the stiff collar of my designer shirt. I shove my sunglasses over my eyes, buttoning my suit jacket together before shutting the door to my Audi. I turn, taking in the white church in front of me.

I shouldn’t be here.

But I can’t be anywhere else.

Tucked inside that church is the love of my life preparing to marry someone else.

My stomach tightens at the realization of how close I am to losing her for good. I push out a heavy breath, wishing I had knocked back that shot of tequila I poured myself earlier. The courage I felt on the drive here has dissipated watching Kailey’s wedding guests filter into the church.

“Damn it.” I mutter to myself, leaning against the back of my trunk. I run a rough hand over my face, scratching at the trimmed beard on my chin. My eyes scan the front of the church, working to the window overlooking the parking lot. Shock daggers through my body when I see Kailey standing at it. Her head is tilted as she secures an earring into place. I can see the white dress from here, filled with sparkles and lace. She looks so damn beautiful it hurts.

Her lips form an O as her shoulders raise indicating a big inhale. She places a hand on her stomach, shoulders deflating back into place. I can feel her nerves from here. Her fingers come up, settling in the corners of her eyes. She pulls them back, waving both her hands at her face.

Don’t be nervous, baby. I’m coming.

As I begin to cross the parking lot, I rehearse the words I want to say to her, thinking about when our story started four years ago.

To be honest, the meeting wasn’t too exciting. We were introduced by my teammate Trevor Moore. His wife, Monique, and Kailey were best friends growing up. Kailey moved out to California for a year long internship focusing on supply chain in the Fashion industry. It took 2 weeks before we were inseparable. We spent the whole year together, eating tacos, drinking mezcal margaritas, and soaking up the sun at the beach.

We fell in love quickly. Then life happened.

Her internship ended and her dream job called from New York. We tried to make it work but with the time difference, it was impossible to stay connected. Once she left L.A., we didn’t even make it a year. We mutually decided to go our separate ways, both convinced it was temporary and we would find our way back to each other in the future. I think that’s the hardest part of all this- nobody did anything wrong. We did the right thing by allowing each other to chase our dreams. When we broke up, we hugged at the airport and said we loved each other.

It would be so much easier if we had hurt each other.

We stayed good friends despite the distance between us. I’ve wasted the time dating a few others, but none of them compared to Kailey. She felt the same- at least I thought. We would joke back and forth over the next couple of years, through COVID even, that we were just biding time until she could transfer to the L.A. office within her company. We’d get married quickly and spend the off-season traveling all over Europe to soak in the Fashion scene. But after lockdown lifted, something changed. My texts and FaceTime calls were left unanswered or put off until days later. I chalked it up to her being busy with work after her promotion.

Then, Kailey moved back to L.A. without even telling me. I found out when I saw her at a game a few months back, sitting next to Monique like she used to. Except this time she wasn’t in my jersey. I remember flipping a puck at her to get her attention. She gave a head nod at me with sparkling blue eyes. I came out flying in the first, wanting her to see how much better I’d gotten since she was away. Then, as I was getting off for the first intermission, I saw him. His arm was around her while he wore the jersey I gave her. After the game, it was just Kailey waiting for me. She told me they were getting married in June while nervously spinning her engagement ring around her finger.

Despite the agony I felt in my chest, I lied and told her I was happy for her.

The problem is I’m not, and the regret I already feel about not telling her so then keeps me awake at night.

After we lost in the playoffs, I packed my shit and booked a one-way flight to Sweden to join my family. I had been waiting for the moment that I could escape L.A. and Kailey’s new future. But the day of my flight, I couldn’t get on the plane. Nor could I the next day or the full two weeks after that. Mario has been calling, wondering when I’m coming home. My niece misses me. So do my parents. All I say is I have unfinished business in L.A.

Trevor and I met up for lunch last week after a run along the beach. I told him I was considering renting a charter for deep sea fishing this weekend and asked if he wanted to come.

“Can’t. Mo’s in a wedding.” He told me around a bite of chips and guacamole.

“Oh.” I say, taking a sip of my margarita. I lick my lips, squinting out across the glittering ocean to my right. “Kails?” I ask, trying to seem nonchalant. Trevor looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but he eventually nods. “In Hermosa?”

“Yeah, at that church off Monterey.” I nod in understanding, sitting back in my chair. “You’re not going to show up, right?”

“No, I’m not going to show up.”

This agreement is probably why my teammate isn’t happy to see me walking up the steps right now.

“Shit, Adrian. You can’t be here.” Trevor snaps at me, halting me from entering the church.

“I can’t let her marry him without telling her I’m still in love with her.”

I have to tell Kailey how I feel before it’s too late. Maybe she’ll tell me to fuck off. Maybe she’ll tell me she feels the same. I don’t know. I just know I have to try.

“Dude, I should have never told you about it. Monique is going to kill me.” He groans, stopping my pursuit again with a firmer hand in the middle of my chest.

“Trev, I’m going in. Let me pass or I’m going to drop you on these steps.”

For a moment, fear grips the back of my neck. Trevor stands firmly in front of me. His gaze is unrelenting from beneath his sunglasses. Finally, he relaxes, dropping his hand from my chest.

“The only reason I’m letting you in is because it’s obvious Kailey still loves you.” My stomach drops to my feet at his admission.

“How do you know?”

“Because despite the multiple offers from my wife to come with her, she can’t walk back into our arena knowing she’s not yours. Go through the door and to the left.” He pats my shoulder and walks away. I’m frozen on the steps as various guests move around me to enter the church.

I came here not sure if I had a chance. Now, I have the most crushing feeling in existence: hope.

I get to the bridal suite without being stopped or interrupted again. My knock is hesitant and I resist the urge to sprint back down the hall when it’s done. Kailey is alone when she opens the door. She startles backwards, then glances quickly in both directions before focusing back on my face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Now? It can’t wait?”

“No, baby.” I shake my head at her. Her eyebrows tug together in distress at the pet name. She senses what I’ve come here to do. I prepare for her to shut the door in my face. Instead, she opens the door wider. She bites her lip, gripping my forearm to pull me in. My skin is electrified at her touch. I grip her arm back, allowing myself to get a little lost in her softness. She let’s go first, crossing the room to provide distance. For her or me, I’m not sure.

“You look… amazing.” I finish, truly lacking the words in both English and Swedish to describe her. Her blue eyes fill with uncertainty. I can see her breathing increase, her breasts pressing tighter against the cups of her dress. “The only thing I’d change is who you’re marrying.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know he’s not me.” I stuff my hands in the pockets of my dress pants, leaning back against the door. I want to be considerate of her personal space with how conflicted she seems by my presence.

“You were right. This suit is better than the tan one I was considering.” I try to lighten the mood, gesturing to my blue suit. I was so adamant about the other one, but she made the clerk ring me up before I could protest further.

“Blue is your color. Brings out your eyes.” She smiles at me, tilting her head to the side and trialing her gaze along me. I’m feeling less like an unwanted visitor.

“Yeah. I know you like me in blue.”

“Used to.”

“Still do.” I insist, watching as she rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “What do you need to tell me?” She changes the subject, crossing her arms over her chest.

“A story. Once upon a time…” I trail off cheekily. Her gaze remains unwavering on my face. I drop my nervous smile and get serious. “There was this hockey player who fell in love with a girl on their second date.” Her eyes close as she listens. “And he loved her so much that when New York called, he knew she had to go. He helped her pack. He drove her across the country. He even convinced himself that letting her go was better than fighting for the love he believed in with her.” Her beautiful eyes open and she has visible tears. “But he never stopped loving her. Not when she moved back to L.A. without telling him. Not when she brought her new fiancé with her. And definitely not when she was dressed in white, about to marry someone else.”

“Adrian.” She whispers painfully.

“I love you, Kails. I never stopped loving you for one moment of the last few years. And I just.. need you to know that before you do this.”

“A, it’s been over for years.” She tells me.

“Bullshit.” I scoff at her, crossing the room. Fuck, her personal space, this is my moment. I reach for her, expecting her to pull away but instead she steps closer. “There is no way you and I are over.” I lean our foreheads together. “It wasn’t over when we broke up in New York and it still isn’t over just because you’re about to marry someone else. You didn’t tell me you moved back for a reason. You want to pretend you don’t love me anymore? Go through with this and live the rest of your life settling? Come on, Kails. That’s not you.”

“Adrian.” She’s gritting her teeth through the tears now, gutting me with the way her voice shudders. “I love him.”

“That’s okay.” I tell her honestly, feeling my hands shake. I know I can’t actually stop her from going through with this, but maybe if I keep my hands on her face, she’ll cave. She’ll lean into my touch instead of resisting the pull of me. “I understand you love him. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. But, you’re it for me, baby. You’re it.” She licks her lips in distress, sighing heavily. “If you tell me you don’t feel anything anymore, I’ll leave.” I whisper to her, giving her an out I know she won’t take.

Her silence soothes the twisting knife in my chest for a moment.

“Of course I do.” She finally admits to me. Relief rushes through my body and renews my pursuit.

“If you need me to say it, I will. Don’t marry him.” She shakes her head no at me, soft hands coming to grip my wrists holding her face. She stares at her hand wrapped around the tattoo I got with her last time I was in New York. Her thumb brushes my skin as her eyes close, a tear sliding down her face.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I love you, Kails. You love me. It is that simple.”

The door opens after a fast knock.

“Don’t come in!” Kailey yells out, but it’s too late. Her mom and dad step in, shocked at seeing me with my hands on their daughter’s face.

“Kailey.” Her mom snaps, clearly displeased. Her steely gaze rests on me and I know I better go. Kailey will need time to consider. I don’t need her to walk out of this church with me right now. That’s too much to ask.

“I’m going to the beach, baby. Our spot right by the lifeguard tower, where we planned out the rest of our lives together. If you’re not there by sunset, I’ll know your answer. If you don’t show, you’ll never hear from me again. I promise.” She stares back at me with tear tracks down her beautiful face. She says nothing. But she won’t stop looking at me. “I hope you’ll meet me there when you’re ready.”

It takes everything I have inside of me to release my grip on her and step back. She seems to crumble within herself without my touch. She looks out the window. I nod in understanding, stepping back and walking towards her parents.

“I’m sorry for showing up uninvited. But I love your daughter and I had to tell her.”

“Did you?” Her mom squints at me. “Seems selfish.”

“Yeah maybe. But at least now I’ll be able to look myself in the mirror the rest of my life knowing I tried.” I hear Kailey sniff and gasp in breath from behind me. “I love you, baby.” I call to her before I step around her parents.

As I get back into my Audi, I know the easy part is over. The hard part will be what I’m about to do.

Wait.

^ ^ ^

(Kailey)

With my arms holding me together, I stare out the window to the parking lot. I watch as Adrian slides into his Audi. It’s an upgrade from the one he had when we were together. When my eyes close, I can remember loudly singing songs as we drove down the coast together. The salty wind blowing my hair around my face as the demands of the world disappeared. The last time I truly felt alive was sitting in that passenger seat with his hand on my thigh, his silver rings sparkling in the California sun.

“He is absolutely unhinged.” My mom balks, fluffing her hair in anger. “Coming here and attempting to ruin your day after everything he’s done.”

“What he’s done?” I snap at my mom. “It was a mutual decision, mom.”

“Well, it didn’t feel very mutual when you were crying on the phone to me every weekend. And don’t even get me started about that pregnancy scare he couldn’t show up for.”

“He doesn’t know about that.” I say, using the tissue she handed to me to blot at the tears rimming my lashes.

“Regardless, Matt knew you were the one and did something about it before the last possible second. He’s the one, not some summer fling.”

“Hun, let’s give her some space.” My dad breaks in, leading my mom to the door. “I’ll be waiting for you outside when you’re ready, honey.” I nod my head at him, turning my back to them as I attempt to hold another sob back.

I fall onto the couch, not caring about the bunching of my dress or the pressing of my shoulders into the perfect curls I had. My mind is back in New York sobbing at the thought of being pregnant with Adrian’s baby. The two different sides of me: the one that yearned for a reason to reach out and the other that knew the regrets I would have for not pursuing this dream. When it turned out to be negative, I felt so empty and alone. I should be happy, I remember thinking. I called my mom, knowing her words would give me the grounding I needed. She told me I might be best of Adrian didn’t know. “Don’t reopen the wound.”

I still wonder what our lives would have been. If that test had been positive, I would have told him. I would have left New York and flew back to L.A. He would have taken care of us. But it wasn’t. Instead, the reality was that we lived on opposite coasts and slowly drifted into long-distance friends who joked about ending up together like it didn’t hurt. After lockdown, I met Matt at a social-distance bar where he soothed the aches in me I’d felt since Adrian left on that western bound redeye.

Until three months ago when I moved back to L.A. for Matt’s job. Monique begged me to go to a Kings game for old time sake. I saw Adrian, purposefully waiting after the game without Matt. Adrian had hugged me, congratulating me on our upcoming nuptials. He seemed sincere. It mattered to me that he was happy for me. But It was a mistake seeing him. Adrian was right. I didn’t tell him about coming back because I was hiding from what I still feel from him. Now, every time Matt touches me, I feel nothing.

I can’t shake the feeling that this is the real mistake.

Marry Matt and he’ll give you the entire world. That’s what my mom said after our engagement party when I felt unsure. That’s what my brain has said every morning leading up to today. But right now, my heart yearns for tattooed arms soothing the ache within my chest. I press my left hand there and my large engagement ring catches the light ahead.

“Matt deserves better than this.” I say out loud to myself. “He’s the one who takes care of you. He cooks and cleans and is home every night to comfort you after a long day of work. Adrian can’t be that safe space for you every night. He’s always gone.” I press my flattened palm to my head. “Follow through on your commitment.” I suck in a deep breath, shoving it out forcefully, then stand.

I’m going to marry Matt. That’s what I came here to do.

The resolution seems final and gets me through the last few minutes of preparation. The procession song begins. I step outside of the suite with the large bouquet of light pink tulips in my hands. I glance down at them, admiring their beauty. I love pink tulips because of Adrian. He bought them for me at the farmer’s market on the second date he talked about earlier. He showed up every week to my apartment with a replacement bouquet until I moved to New York in the Spring.

I loop my hand through my dad’s arm, biting down hard on my lip as unwanted tears fill my eyes. The wedding planner tells us we can begin walking whenever we are ready. Out of seemingly nowhere, my throat beings to close up. My chest collapses in on it’s self as I contemplate taking a step forward, going through with this, and not showing up at our spot on the beach. I cry out at the thought of Adrian waiting there all night for me while I share a first dance with my second choice because I’m just too damn scared.

“Dad.” I whimper, large tears blurring his face. “I don’t know…” I trail off, thinking of the thousands of dollars both our parents have invested into this day.

“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”

All there is left to do is decide.

^ ^ ^

On the same date, five years later, I awaken to sunshine streaming into my bedroom. When I see my husband’s bare back, a coy grin stretches my lips. Faint, red claw marks line his skin from last night. He is barely at arm’s reach, so I maneuver a few inches closer. I reach my pointer finger out, tracing the lines I made and the divots of his muscular back. He begins to shift slightly, leaning into my touch. I can get all my fingers on him now. I trail my nails, gently, along his back, watching as goosebumps pebble along his tan skin.

“Feels good.” He mumbles to me.

“I got you good last night.” I confess to him, biting my lip.

“Worth it. You always are.”

I inch forward again, placing my lips on the angriest red line. I ghost my mouth over it, loving the way he softly hums at my touch. I reach a hand around, gliding it beneath his shorts to grip his hard shaft. I stroke him as his head falls back.

“Kails.” He moans. I press my smile to his shoulder, increasing my tempo. My thumb dips into the slit of his head.

Tap. Tap.

We both pause when we hear the sound of feet on the wood floor from the hallway.

“No.” He whines as I remove my hand from his shorts to prepare for our guest.

“She’s coming.” I whisper, hiding my face behind his shoulder as we both look towards the door.

Little feet patter their way to the entrance of our bedroom. Our daughter, with wild blonde hair like her dad, grins behind her purple blanket.

“Pannkakor?” Pancakes. She asks her dad in his native tongue.

Adrian, who hasn’t told her no since the day she was born, sighs happily.

“Okey, sweets. Does mommy want pancakes too?”

“Yeah.”

“Chocolate chip sound good, love?”

“Yes!!!!!!” Our daughter cheers, rushing into our room and tossing herself onto our bed. Adrian swoops her into his arms, smooching her cheeks loudly and tickling her sides. Her legs flail towards me and I rush backwards to avoid a kick to my belly where her little brother grows. The baby kicks back in response. I place a hand on him to soothe his motions. Adrian watches, turning our daughter.

“The price of pancakes is kisses for mommy and baby brother.” Adrian tells her. She puckers her little lips at me. I press mine gently on hers, placing a hand on her back to tug her into a hug too.

“He’s right here.” I point to where I felt his kicks last. She leans forward and gives a loud kiss to my swollen skin.

“Now pancakes?” She turns to her dad hopefully. He laughs at her impatience, which she also gets from him.

“Yes. Go brush your teeth first. And no TV.” He calls after her as she rushes out. Her giggles tell me she’s purposefully not going to hear that last part. Adrian’s hand comes to our baby boy. His blue gaze works up my body to my eyes.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, his thumb brushing comforting lines along my skin.

“For?”

“Showing up at the beach in your white dress, late enough that I thought you had chosen to live the rest of your life without me.”

“I told you there was traffic. I wasn’t late on purpose.” I shove at his shoulder, rolling my eyes.

“It’s okay. It was my fault. Should of never let you go.”

“I should of stayed in L.A.” He shakes his head at me, leaning down to kiss our son.

“No, you absolutely should have gone to New York."

“Why are we doing this?” I groan playfully at him, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck. “Just kiss me and go make your girls pancakes.”

“We are talking about this because I know you could have chosen something different.” He presses his lips into mine and we share a deep kiss. He relaxes into me, lips tightening to prevent a smile.

“A, I’ve never thought about the other road I could have taken. Not one second since I fell into your arms on the beach.”

“Mmm, when you were in labor there was a moment.” He jokes with me.

“Oh my god.” I giggle before rolling out of bed to follow him. “Well, your daughter came too fast for me to get the good drugs.” I press my nose into his back, wrapping my arms around his waist and bumping us forward with my belly. “I think some sass was warranted.”

“Sure, baby.” He muses. We walk into the open concept kitchen and living room space, finding our daughter perched silently in front of the TV. “This looks like the opposite of what I said. Dd you brush your teeth?” He asks her, tilting his head at the giggles she lets loose.

“Yeah.” She doesn’t take her eyes from the TV.

“Okay, we can watch TV but we are going to watch mommy’s show.” I tell her. “Come snuggle with me.” I slowly lower myself to the couch, arranging the pillows along my back so I can feel supported. She crawls onto the couch next to me, burying her face into the side of my chest. I change the channel to the Food Network, smiling as the opening of The Kitchen begins.

I can hear Adrian behind me, grabbing the ingredients and the skillet for pancakes. I turn to watch him over my shoulder, admiring the way his back muscles tighten with each movement. He catches my eye when he turns, lips tilting up at me.

I can’t believe I almost married someone else, believing it was right, when all along, this was the greener side of that fence.

#adrian kempe #adrian kempe fic #la kings #hockey writing #NHL fan fiction #nhl writing #writing request

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egg-emperor · 1 year

Note

You're very right in the tags of that one post. Toxic positivity is just as bad as toxic negativity, sometimes worse due to the handling of constructive criticism because of can-do-no-wrong attitude that stifles growth and creativity.

That ever-growing toxicity combined with this weird form of puritanism that has people harassing and dogpiling on others if they dare have an independent thought outside the hivemind is what's forcing me away from the Sonic fandom and never returning again, despite how much I love Eggman. I've already stopped reblogging Sonic art on my main blog and interacting with the fandom at large outside of a close circle of trusted friends across social media, they're the only thing even keeping that dying flame for this series stoked. I'm almost ready to delete it all and revamp my main blog theme to distance myself further. It hurts to know I'm no longer welcome in something that has been a major part of my life since I started gaming, something I've seen grow from literally nothing as I grew.

I still enjoy so many things about this series, and I had so much fun with everything up until this point, but being pushed out and treated like you're worse than trash for disagreeing with one thing feels like a knife being twisted in my heart. I don't want to go, but at this point I feel I have no choice to leave it all behind.

I'm sorry to sound whiny with this all, but I guess I just needed somewhere to vent. Should I consider this my goodbye letter to the Sonic series? Maybe so.

Thanks, Julian. Again, sorry for the vent.

Nah don't apologize, that's exactly how I've been feeling too. There's a big problem with both toxic positivity and negativity in this fandom and I'd say the former has been a much bigger one lately. I wouldn't say any of my criticisms of the latest media I'm not a fan of has been that harsh, aside from the occasional rants where I've been especially worked up and upset.

Most of the time it was just calm criticism that I was being asked to talk about in my inbox, it's not like I was going onto other people's posts and inboxes trying to be negative. But it's just blown up out of proportion because people take offense merely being something they don't want to see, because I see it as anything less than perfect and amazing. And that's where the toxic positivity comes in.

What I do always comes from a place of deep passion and my boldness in expressing true feelings is dismissed as nothing but hatred. Just because again, it's not highly positive endless praise without question or criticism. There's a lot of toxic positivity and also puritanism especially when it comes to my views and creations of Eggman compared to what people would prefer I think and do instead.

I've stepped away from fandom massively too because there isn't much out there that appeals to me anymore. It's a hivemind where you're not allowed to voice different opinions or even state facts as it's immediately taken as an attack. It's full of high praise of everything and intolerance towards people that don't feel the same, they accuse me of being horrible and hateful and trying to attack specific people with things I make on my own blog.

I don't think I'm ever really going to come back either beyond interaction with the small amount of people I still follow that aren't with that crowd and their mindset and either feel the same or accept I feel differently, like I can with them as long as they respect me too. I don't seek out content from anywhere else aside from heavily filtered Tumblr search. I'll never search Eggman on Twitter again for the sake of my sanity lol

While it does help me feel better to not surround myself with things that make me uncomfortable and avoid it as well as I can, it does hurt to leave almost everything behind and not feel welcome amongst the masses just because we can't agree on everything and are open with criticism, no matter how sensible and calm we are about it. I'm going to miss out on the small amount of stuff out there I would like as a result which is sad too.

But then when I'm at my worst after all recent events, I've contemplated deleting everything and leaving because even though there are a few reasons I have to stick around and it's not all bad, it still feels like I don't belong and do everything wrong in some people's eyes and am hated by many and it just makes me miserable with all the constant reminders. It hurts that something that's been so special and important to me almost all my life is now attached to this pain.

It was fun up until this point for me too but now I feel pushed out because of how many places I've been kicked out of and how many I've been blocked by. It really does hurt a lot, how it feels like everything can go wrong just for being yourself and being open and honest about how you feel. It does stifle growth and creativity a lot when different perspectives and ideas are immediately shunned and looked down upon and responded to aggressively.

I don't really want to go either but I've accepted I need to take a step back, as big of a part of my life it was for so long. And I've been considering that I might have to leave official media behind soon as it just feels like there might not be anything for me anymore. Even before shit really hit the fan fandom wise, I started pondering it. Leaving that will hurt even more but I'm trying not to hold on to what hurts or discomforts me and just doesn't bring me the happiness it did before.

If I do have to leave both fandom and official media behind entirely, it will hurt a lot but I still appreciate for the people I still follow, old official content, and sharing my analysis, headcanons, fics, gushing, etc. I'm still passionate as ever about Eggman and love to create from it and share it, that's why I care so much and have such strong opinions and bold ways of expressing it in the first place. It's sad that it had to come to this but I appreciate the good times and memories and I won't let all this stop me from doing what I love.

But yeah you're not alone in this, I feel exactly the same way and I'm saying my goodbye to most of the fandom too and possibly the entire series itself soon with the way things might be going from here.

You're welcome and no need to be sorry 💜

#asks

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baeddel · 2 years

Text

Suddenly, however, there arises the voice of the worker, which had previously been stifled in the sound and fury of the production process:

‘The commodity I have sold you differs from the ordinary crowd of commodities in that its use creates value, a greater value than it costs. That is why you bought it. What appears on your side as the valorization of capital is on my side an excess expenditure of labour-power. You and I know on the market only one law, that of the exchange of commodities. And the consumption of the commodity belongs not to the seller who parts with it, but to the buyer who acquires it. The use of my daily labour-power therefore belongs to you. But by means of the price you pay for it every day, I must be able to reproduce it every day, thus allowing myself to sell it again. Apart from natural deterioration through age etc., I must be able to work tomorrow with the same normal amount of strength, health and freshness as today. You are constantly preaching to me the gospel of “saving” and “abstinence”. Very well! Like a sensible, thrifty owner of property I will husband my sole wealth, my labour-power, and abstain from wasting it foolishly. Every day I will spend, set in motion, transfer into labour only as much of it as is compatible with its normal duration and healthy development. By an unlimited extension of the working day, you may in one day use up a quantity of labour-power greater than I can restore in three. What you gain in labour, I lose in the substance of labour. Using my labour and despoiling it are quite different things. If the average length of time an average worker can live (while doing a reasonable amount of work) is 30 years, the value of my labour-power, which you pay me from day to day, is 1/365 × 30 or 1/10,950 of its total value. But if you consume it in 10 years, you pay me daily 1/10,950 instead of 1/3,650 of its total value, i.e. only one-third of its daily value, and you therefore rob me every day of two-thirds of the value of my commodity. You pay me for one day’s labour-power, while you use three days of it. That is against our contract and the law of commodity exchange. I therefore demand a working day of normal length, and I demand it without any appeal to your heart, for in money matters sentiment is out of place. You may be a model citizen, perhaps a member of the R.S.P.C.A., and you may be in the odour of sanctity as well; but the thing you represent when you come face to face with me has no heart in its breast. What seems to throb there is my own heartbeat. I demand a normal working day because, like every other seller, I demand the value of my commodity.’

Marx, Capital vol. 1, pg 184-185, the Limits of the Working Day

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scribbly-bear · 11 months

Note

Owen, #15

15: "My mom used to do that."

Okay, I tried my best to fit the prompt in, however, Owen doesn't remember his mom (no one does, actually) until later, but that part is so underdeveloped that I can't write anything for it, so I did my best, but it turned out that Owen was not getting hurt then comforted, unfortunately. But anyway.

Owen held his scarf out in front of himself and sighed. A cat had torn it in an attempt to rip his throat, he liked his scarf…but there was more important things to worry about now. He slipped it back on with another sigh.

"Are you alright, your majesty?" Owen asked Sebastian.

Sebastian didn't answer he stared blankly off towards the Mouse Kingdom, or whatever was left of it. Bruce glanced at Owen. Owen glanced back. Bruce put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"Your majesty." He said quietly.

Sebastian broke out of his trance and looked at Bruce, pain, regret and guilt showing plainly on his face.

"I left them…" He said, choking on his words, "I left them to be slaughtered."

Bruce didn't answer immediately. There wasn't much to say. They had left them, all the mice, to be slaughtered by the barbarian cats.

"Your majesty," Bruce said quietly, "we will avenge them, and you will sit on the throne again, I promise you."

"No," Sebastian said, "I'm a coward, I hate myself, I'll never deserve my father's throne, I'm sure he'd be disappointed in me."

"No. Of course not." Bruce answered.

"Your majesty," Owen said, "if I'm not mistaken, your father gave his life for the kingdom-"

"And I didn't." Sebastian said, his voice grew increasingly more emotional as he tried to stifle the tears. "My father sacrificed himself for the kingdom, and when it was my turn, I ran away."

"He sacrificed himself for the kingdom, and you." Owen went on, "So that you could live, he wouldn't want you to die a few days after."

Sebastian bit his lip.

"I think he would be proud," Abigail said, she slowly walked up, "Proud of how you've been ruling, and I'm sure he would understand-"

"I left my mother!" Sebastian screamed, unable to hold them back any further, the tears streamed from his eyes, "How could I leave my mother?!"

"There was no other option." Owen said quietly.

"What will Moon do to her? I left her." Sebastian sank to the ground, "What have I done?"

Owen crouched down in front of Sebastian. Sebastian sat with his arms resting on his knees, his face was buried in his arms, his shoulders shook.

"Your majesty," Owen said, "your right, you ran away." Sebastian looked up.

"Your father died, your kingdom has fallen," Abigail stared in horror at Owen as he went on, "your mother, a captive of Moon, chief of the barbarians, and you, free."

Sebastian hung his head.

"I know." He answered quietly.

"But if you didn't?" Owen asked.

"What?"

"What would you be if you hadn't run away?" Owen asked. Sebastian didn't answer.

"Dead." Owen said, "You'd be dead. And what is a kingdom without a king? The kingdom has fallen, but not the king, he lives, you live. You ran away, but you'll come back, we'll all come back. Moon will regret the day he began his war."

Sebastian sighed. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Yeah." He said quietly. He smiled, "Thank you." Owen nodded.

"One more thing." He said.

"What is it?" Sebastian asked.

"Even kings are allowed to cry when tragedy befalls." Owen answered. Sebastian smiled and nodded.

"I guess so." He answered. Owen stood up. Bruce sat down next to Sebastian as Owen turned and began checking their supplies, they didn't have a lot. Owen sighed and bit his lip.

"Hey," Owen turned to see Abigail standing behind him, "couldn't help but notice your scarf."

"Thanks." Owen answered with a smirk, "I'm quite fond of it myself." Abigail sighed.

"I meant that it's torn." She said, "What happened?"

"Eh," Owen said, "Cat tried to get my throat."

"Yikes."

"Yup."

"You know," Abigail itched the back of her neck, "I know a thing or two about mending clothes, if you want, I could stitch it up for you." Owen raised his eyebrows.

"Sure." He said.

Owen slipped it off and handed it to Abigail. She sat down on a stump and laid the scarf over her knee. She reached into a small pouch hung on her belt and pulled out a spool of thread and a small bottle, from the bottle she took a needle. Owen leaned against a tree and watched, something tingled in the back of his mind. Abigail threaded the needle and started stitching the tear.

"My mom used to do that."

Abigail looked up.

"What?" She said, in bewilderment. Was Owen actually going to talk about his past? He was always so secretive. She was a bit surprised when she saw a look of concern on Owen's face.

"What did I just say?" Owen asked quietly, his voice seemed uneven.

"Um, you said your mom used to do this?" Abigail answered.

"I did. How did I know that?" Owen asked, his voice shook, it scared Abigail. What was he doing?

"What do you mean?"

"She would mend my clothes, when I would tear it, no matter how many times I ran to her with a torn sleeve, she would always stitch it up for me…." Owen's voice trailed off, and it shook.

"Why do you sound concerned?" Abigail asked.

"I never knew my mom." Owen answered, looking up, "So where did all that come from?" Abigail shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't know." She answered uneasily, "Maybe…." But her voice trailed off, maybe what? She wasn't sure what was going on in his head.

"Oh well," Owen said carelessly, braking the tension, "probably just some lady I met." He shrugged and wandered off to Sebastian and Bruce. Abigail went back to stitching Owen's scarf. She glanced at him suspiciously. What was going on in his head?

Thank you for the ask!

#ask #answer #my story #my writing #owen #abigail #sebastian #bruce #squirrel #mouse #ferret

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duchesstopaz · 10 months

Text

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 2 6:32pm

Now, I introduce you to our new roles. I became the “golden child”; conditioned to get the perfect grades and carry out all orders timely and perfectly. I was the “nanny and pseudo-parent”; directed to take care of my siblings, provide food for them, get them ready for school, help with homework, and handle any misbehaving and report only the extremes. I was the “maid”; the only child in the house with chores, which meant I had all of them, even cleaning up after my “parents”. And, I was the “butler”; I had to deliver everyone their plates, eating last, and take James’ dishes after every meal and bring him a hot cloth to clean his hands. I became depressed, anxious, and extremely hyper-independent, curling in on myself and realizing this is not what “home” should feel like. I was “maturing” fast, and my adults took advantage of it.

Anthony was the “rebellious child”. He was more outwardly angry, picked fights at school, and sought comfort in his friends. He wasn’t trusted with responsibility, so he didn’t receive any. And, eventually, the rules and standards that were established with me, as the oldest, didn’t work with him. He gradually grew more and more distant with the family, as I was becoming the crutch for them.

My two little sisters, and soon-to-be youngest brother, were raised more graciously, still servants to the king and with the same emotional detachment. Thankfully, they never had to experience the abuse that Anthony and I had to endure. So, while they love their father, because that’s all they know, they don’t know the true terrors of that man, and I’m truly grateful that they won’t ever go through that.

My mother suffered as you put all of the parenting responsibilities onto her, as you forced her to attend to every need and want you spoke of, as you made her shoulder the finances to keep the house fed and taken care of. You, however, would go to your job (I can’t even remember which one because you job-hopped so much), come home, claim and monopolize the washer and the bathroom for hours, shut yourself in your room to watch “your” TV, beg and call for “your wife” to come spend time with you while asking her to do everything for you, ignore your kids and yell at them to stay quiet, and go to sleep. This is your daily routine, even now in the present.

I left my home because of you. I was 10, and my father had reappeared back in my life for the past 2 years. After visiting him twice, he offered me to come live with him, and I took it because anything’s better than here, right? WRONG. My dad is a whole other story, but I came back after a year. You would think that would be enough time for change to take hold, but it didn’t, and how could there when the space is constantly suffocated and stifled with immaturity, unintelligence, and vitriol.

The standard was to get all the chores done before you got home and without being told, which is normal, if you disregard the fact that you threatened to beat us within an inch of our lives if we didn’t do so. You did plenty of times before. Having to hide bruises with long-sleeved shirts, oversized hoodies, and pants in the summer, and excusing ones on my face with stories of rough-housing or accidental falling against a cabinet.

The standard was to watch the kids at all times, and make sure that they don’t get into trouble. Once, when Malia was learning to stand up on her own, she fell and hit her forehead on a vent, while I was changing a movie for Anthony and I. I was beat and blamed for that accident, and wasn’t allowed to watch anything because my focus should be on them. Once, Anthony locked both Malia and Jasmyn in the car with the keys as they were still infants, and I was inside putting on my shoes, my “parents” still taking their time to leave for church. After I tried calming Anthony down from a panic attack and telling James, Anthony was stomped in the chest against a fence, my mom barely getting him off, and I was punched in shoulder and shoved against concrete while you spat that I should have never let it happen. We were left at home that day.

Once, I was riding in the trunk with the top open, as we got home late, and a shooting happened right in front of me in the street, us kids still in the car in the driveway. You and Mom were in the house because we weren’t allowed out of the car until you said so. You were angry that I didn’t do more to protect my siblings, that I confided in my teacher what happened, and that I woke you up when police came banging on the door at 2am. I was 11. And I had nightmares for months.

Once, you threw Anthony against the washer and beat him in front of your two extended family members at Christmas because he took too long to take out the garbage. Then, your family decided to praise you for it and talk about it, as if it wasn’t brutal and my mom didn’t have to pull you off of him.

Things got better in their own way after my youngest brother was born. I was 12, almost 13, at the time. You magically stopped. I still don’t know what changed to make you stop.

But I still wasn’t your kid.

You started to refer to me and Anthony as “boy”, and nothing else. You made sure to tell us and show us that we were separated from our siblings. You would probably say that we had to earn our keep or that we learned some lesson, but that’s not the truth. You have other kids that are much older than us, and you never contact them or tried to do right by them. I think when my mom told me that years ago, I should have realized sooner the type of man you are.

Part 1 -- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

#tw abuse #tw parents #venting #journal #personal diary #personal post #physical abuse #verbal abuse #emotional abuse #mental abuse #mental health #healing journey #tumblr diary #public diary #child neglect #parental abuse

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aksm · 2 years

Text

You are a medieval princess that can turn into a dragon at will, and you also tend to spend most of your time dressing up and doing jobs under the guise of a knight. Through a complex series of complex scenarios, you are hired to save yourself, from yourself.

-writng prompt by reddit's u/Usual_Database307

I had made a promise to her. The woman that had protected me back when I was a hatchling. The woman that protected me from her husband. The woman who raised me. She had hidden me under her robes back then, as I shivered in fear and the cold.

When my mother lay slain at the hands of her husband, she had used her magic to stifle my mewling, to heat my scales as my mother once did. "You won't die by our hand." She had whispered to me.

Dragons were changelings by nature. She knew this. And when she fell pregnant only to have the horrifying injustice of a late term miscarriage, despite all her grief and sorrow and pain, she devised a plan to bring me to light. To better my life. To free me, in a sense. No longer would I be hidden. I would instead be the daughter that never was.

But I could not be the daughter forever. I could not be limited to this form that was not my own permanently. So, my mother gifted me her tower. A grand tower of an arcane build, made for mages and by mages like her. She was a sorceress, after all. In my childhood she would bring me there, and inside the deceptively large tower, I would be allowed to transform into my natural skin and stretch my wings, be myself.

And my mother would tell me stories of the dragons. Of my origins. Of why certain people like her husband would seek to eradicate my kind. Of our power, and the threat of it. It often sent me into a depressive spiral, knowing that the man who thought himself my father would likely kill me without a second look if he ever found out what I was.

I grew distant. I went from tolerating the man who killed my real mother to avoiding him outright. But I could not do so for long.

For despite the strange magic my adopted mother possessed, she could not use it to rid herself of a strange ailment that took hold of her.

And as she died, she made me promise I would continue perpetuating our lie. To keep living my double life. To hide the truth from my father. I hated her for making that her dying wish. With her gone, I had little reason to continue living in the wretched castle. I had little reason to perpetuate the lie. I would rather just leave one day without any notice and live out my days in the tower as a dragon.

But that, realistically, would not do. That tower belonged to the princess, after all. Word that a dragon took residence in such a place would irk the wrath of the king. No. I had to perpetuate the lie for now. And without my mother to escort me to the tower, I had to use my changeling powers to disguise myself as a knight of the castle, free to leave and enter the premises when I wanted.

It was also a very limitless form. I could truly do what I wished. It was no longer a boring thing, being a human. As a princess there were limits to where I could go, how I could act, how I could be. But as a knight, I could run errands, be yelled at, be a part of a group of others who valued me as a comrade. It was a social aspect I sorely lacked now that I lost my confidant. Being a knight made my heart less hollow.

But there were still times when even that was not enough. And in those times, I would leave the castle. Whenever I wanted time for myself to mourn my mother or free myself off the shackles of this human form, I would leave on horseback to the tower. And inside it, I would turn into the dragon and scream and rage and run amok. It was inevitable that the farmers in the nearby fields would notice the noises. And there were a few occasions where I unwisely took to the sky, something my mother bade me not to do.

The news spread like wildfire. The queen's tower was now home to a fearsome dragon. And the king was not happy. It had been a while since I had seen him. After my mother's passing, we had grown even more distant. He probably thought I kept myself to my room, leaving only to eat or walk the gardens. I only did the latter since the gardens could be seen from his study. So on the moments he might look out, he might see me, and would not grow too suspicious or too lonely.

But now, he had summoned for me. Not for the princess, but the knight. It was surreal, to put on a different kind of act with this man. I had spent so long pretending to be one thing, I thought it would be easy to pretend to be another thing. But seeing the darkness around his eyes, the puffiness, the tiredness. This was not the man that killed my real mother years ago. I shifted uncomfortably, the joints in the plates I wore clinking in the lingering silence as he studied me.

"My men tell me you're new. But at the same time you've bested most of them in combat." The king stated.

"My father was a blacksmith. I picked up some swordfighting from him. He was—"

"I do not care what your father was. I care about you." Those words felt like a stab to the chest. And I almost gasped. I tried to collect myself, but the surreal hilarity of the whole situation would not escape me. "The dragon that has taken my wife's tower. My daughter's tower. I am planning to send some of my best men there." The king continued. Of course. "But that plan can wait." The king said, his voice quiet.

My eyes, that were avoiding his out of respect of his station, rose to met his as he said this. "My wife... She... She was the best of us. I... I cannot do her memory wrong. That's why I called you here. She believed... She believed we could reason with them, the dragons. That we need not hunt them. I would not tell my more loyal staff what I am telling you now. They had been with me too long and would try to change my mind. That's why I'm telling you, a stranger. A stranger, yet a knight who is sworn to follow my word. So, would you? Would you follow my word?" The king asked. I blinked under my helmet.

"Of course, my liege. Your word is my command." I said, steeling my voice.

"Good, good. You will go there tonight. Alone. And you will speak to the dragon." The king paused, searching my eyes for a reaction, for fear or balking, and continued when I remained quiet. "You will tell it, kindly, to leave the tower. You will tell it that the tower belonged to a woman who fought for the protection of dragons. And that the king humbly requests that the tower not to be damaged more than it already has. That the king would pay any price for it to leave, and that he does not want any pain nor bloodshed." The king concluded.

I stood there, shaken at the words. "Did you get that, brave knight? Or do you think it unwise or unbecoming to beseech a beast this way?" The king asked, wearily.

"No, my liege. Not at all. This is... Most wise. This will prevent any bloodshed." I said, looking at the man in a new light. He had changed. Her death had not only changed me. It had changed him as well. And I was too wrapped up in my own sorrow, in my own loss of a confidant that I had not even given the man a chance.

"Well, keep this quiet. I wish you the best. You're dismissed." He said. I walked out of the chamber in a haze.

That night, I knocked on his door. I may be a dragon.

"Daughter!" He exclaimed as he saw me. But I was still her daughter.

"There is something you should know." I said, my heart pounding. It seemed silly to want his approval. I could raze him and his castle to the ground and leave if I so chose. But that was not me. That was not the way to do this. For my mother's sake, I had to try. Try to make this work. Try to see if my father would accept me. He was changed, but this would be quite the development. I stared into his tired but hopeful eyes as he smiled uncontrollably at me, and told him the truth.

His smile was still plastered on his face as I told him of our decades long deciet. The unabashed joy of me initiating contact with him reluctant to give way for my words to take hold entirely.

It was only when I raised my hand to his and shifted it's aspect to that of a deep red, scaled arm that ended in the four, black claws of a dragon did he recoil from me, and his smile turn to grimace.

And suddenly, I was taken back to the night he killed my real mother. And the night my adopted mother explained to me why there were many who sought to rid me from the world. And suddenly, I realised I was a fool. The man wanted to be peaceful only for the sake of his wife's memory. He may not hold any sort of affection for me or my ilk.

It felt like I was choking. It felt like someone poured winter water down my back and boiling oil down my front at the same time. Why? Why did I come forward like this. His reaction made me sink into the pits of despair instantly.

And then he rushed forward and hugged me tightly, pulling into his chest. I could feel him shaking. Almost sobbing.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He cried into my hair. I stood there, shocked. But my hands, almost automatically, wrapped around his back as well.

"You didn't leave. You didn't leave when she passed. I deprived you of everything, and yet you stayed. Oh, gods. I am the worst. How could I call myself a king?" He asked, and pulled away.

"What?" I balked.

"I'm sorry. Oh, you must hate me. Of course. In your eyes I must be the vilest creature. So much power I wield, and I came after your mother. Gods, I can't look in your eyes. This shame will forever haunt me."

"I never knew my real mother very well. But our queen was more than a mother to me. She was everything."

"She was the best of us. Cunning, but in the kindest way possible. She played the long game. She played us both." He started smiling again.

"What?" I was confused. I was trying to get a read on the man's shifting emotions that I could not even form my own to appropriately react with.

"How could I hate my daughter? How could I hate someone whom I raised as my flesh and blood? She knew. She knew when the truth came out I would be more accepting. I had to be. Oh, what a woman she was."

I wanted to tell him that I made a promise to her. That I would not come forward with he truth. But then, I realized maybe she knew that I would, anyway. Suddenly, I was giddy. My father. This was my father. I could finally think and say that without wondering if I could. The weight was off my shoulders. This man regretted his actions so much he had admitted he would live in lifelong shame. That was a testament. a testament that I had done the right thing. But...

"What happens now?" I asked. My father was the most important person I had to come out to, but that did not mean the rest of the kingdom would be as readily accepting.

"I don't know. I really do not know. But, for now, we have to visit her. Your mother. Together."

Tears welled up in my eyes. I had been to her grave many times. So had he. But we had never went there together. We had never shared out grief with each other. Our pain was separate. Our loss was unique to each of us. But now, now we would share this woe. We would express our residual, unending love for her, and hopefully I would learn to take some of that unexpressed love and give it to him.

In time. It did not matter what the kingdom thought. What mattered to me was him. My father.

#writing prompt #short story

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lepurcinus · 2 years

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Help, part 2:

-Chamomile? I thought I went with you and Ophrys to do the digging.

-But he's not here, Juniper and Figtree didn't see him in his burrow either. I've searched all around, through the ditches, tall grass and bushes. I even checked that little path leading to the field. No sign of him.

Alder noticed Lilium's frustrated look. She gave him a little nuzzle on the head and said:

-It's okay, it's not your fault. He shouldn't have gone very far, I assure you.

-Or maybe an eagle got him." Figtree climbed out of the hole with an insensitive face. - Don't go after him anymore, he's probably gone forever.

-No, I don't think so. Lilium said angrily, "He came here with us too, he's part of this colony and I'm not going to allow myself to stand here and do nothing about it. Even if something killed him, I at least want to know where it happened.

Lilium jumped up, tilted his nose in the air and after a couple of sniffs, looked back to the path that led to the field.

-We haven't gone beyond that path, I'll go investigate. I remember seeing a shortcut in the middle of some bushes, maybe it went that way.

-Then I'll go with you, let me come with you," Alder announced, as she took a small leap towards the path.

-All right, then. Figtree, I want you to keep an eye on Ophrys, I don't want him to go alone too, you know how reckless he can be. Tell Juniper to keep an eye out around the den. I won't be long.

-Figtree made an approving gesture and hid underground again in search of Juniper.

Lilium and Alder went in the direction of the trail, beyond the ditches. They crossed several weeds and stopped every now and then to inspect the place, there was still no trace of Chamomile, not even a hair or any smell.

-This is all my fault," Lilium gave a small stifled sigh, "I should have made him more vigilant, he was always so scary and even knowing it I did nothing to help him. What kind of leader am I, if I don't watch over my people?

Alder gave Lilium a worried look, she comforted him.

-It's my fault too, I should have noticed it. But none of us really cared about him, poor thing.

In the middle of his wailing, a couple of disturbances were heard in the distance, something was approaching from the other side. Lilium and Alder became alert, standing up on their hindquarters with their ears fixed towards the direction of the sound, completely still. The sound was similar to a rabbit's step, however, it felt that it was large and its movement was slippery and restless.

-I'll go behind me, I'll take a look - if I give you the signal, you run, no matter what. Lilium whispered.

Alder nodded without protest and hid behind him. As the sound slowly grew louder, Lilium struck a pose ready to pounce at any moment. Once the footsteps were just inches away from him, he leapt up and stood out of the undergrowth. His ears were pricked up and he raised his nose showing his teeth.

To his surprise, the individual in front of him was none other than Chamomile. He froze for a moment, but immediately recognized him. He was completely healthy, but noticeably exhausted. Chamomile wrinkled his nose a couple of times, recognized Lilium completely and his face expressed a joy he had never seen before.

-Lilium? It's you! It's really you!

Lilium was stunned, but immediately expressed joy - Chamomile! I can't believe it, I finally found you. You had us worried, I really thought a hunter had taken you, but you're here.

Both rabbits greeted each other with their noses pressed together and gave each other a cuddle.

In the midst of their reunion, a silhouette emerged from the undergrowth and hopped in the direction of the rabbits. A large figure stood behind Chamomile. It was similar to a rabbit, but its ears were long and its body was slender, like a branch. It was an adult hare, a female.

The two rabbits looked up at her in surprise. Lilium positioned himself ready to attack, but Chamomile stopped him.

-Wait! It's okay, she helped me get back here," he looked at the hare, expressing relief.

-Did she? Lilium gave a little look at the hare, confused.

-Let me explain it: when I went out to eat in the afternoon, I heard the leaves rustling in the distance and I swore I saw the silhouette of a hawk passing through the trees. Then I panicked and ran without thinking into the bushes, when I realized I was in who knows where. I was terrified and after trying to figure out where I was I gave up, I thought I was dead weight. But this hare found me and said she would take me back, I hesitated for a moment, but at that situation it sounded like the best option. But behold, she kept her word.

Lilium took another look at the hare, who was about to go back the way she came.

-Wait! - Lilium shouted and the hare stopped. If it's true what he says, then let me thank you for

- You have nothing to thank me for, rabbit," interrupted the hare". I didn't do it because we are friends or something similar, I just had compassion, because I hate it when rabbits don't know the least about survival - The hare didn't express anger, she just gave an arrogant gesture, as if she was bragging about her knowledge. - If you're really going to live around here you should start to know the surroundings and memorize every important place, this is a place where it's easy to get lost. I'm telling you, you can take this advice or not, but maybe you should start with the clearing in the forest, which leads to the river. Even a mouse would know that this is the place where the paths to the key places in this pasture are located.

The hare started to run and, like a flash, disappeared in a matter of seconds...

#iberia's wonderland #my writting #hare #rabbit #xenofiction #chamomile #lilium #chanterelle #alder #watership down inspired #im not giving my best here tbh this is just a test #im not feeling right for now

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hollowfaith · 1 month

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💭 + gods dying 💭+ venti 💭+ huey 💭+ lyney

Send 💭 + a topic and my muse will tell you what they think about it.

gods dying

"I've hardly heard of truly worthy gods dying easily."

"It would seem to say that a better one is ready to take their place." He should know from personal experience. "True, there are those who weaken and eventually wither away...but that is not their original nature. Weakness, either physical or mental, takes hold of them first, and rots them from the inside out. A true god is infallible. A dying one has already lost his claim to divinity."

venti

"A strange god."

"He says stranger things about myself which I can't pretend to fully understand. But the fact that he tried would have earned my respect and acknowledgment even if he wasn't divine. I find his presence soothing in the quiet moments."

"I understand he wishes to help me, though I'm not feeling any distress. Perhaps that's the nature of all good gods—giving away their bounty without asking for anything in return. If humans were a fraction as generous, I daresay I'd get along with them all."

"It is easy to listen and do as he says because he makes it all so pleasant. Maybe a part of me just wants to please him...how odd."

huey

"It takes active effort to make yourself so offensively unpleasant."

"This man falls into the category of those who get petty satisfaction from small victories over others. What does he gain? A fleeting moment of joy. What does he lose? Time better spent improving himself. I find no joy in being his target of insults, but that is his own problem to fix, not mine."

"It would be a waste of my time to try and improve him for the better. One might as well attempt to stem the flow of the tides."

lyney

"I find him very simple. He is a drowning man in the river, and I the ferryman on a boat."

"There's no shame in asking for help when one is too tired to swim. I don't push him to take action; I only allow him to drift without fear of sinking under. If the day comes when he wants to swim again, he is free to jump ship anytime."

"There are those who accuse me of stifling his independence; to them I say you are killing him worse by forcing him to stand alone before he is ready. Acknowledging one's weakness doesn't mean getting over it right away. Humans are fragile creatures. If I treat him more like a pet, it's simply because he isn't ready to order himself around in my place."

"I've promised to look after him, and so I shall. An angel always keeps his word."

#vulkashunaranger #𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔯𝔶 ࿐ answered #𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 ࿐ headcanons

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lady-laureline · 5 months

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Another ramblepost.

After mulling it over for a few months, I am ~97% sure I'm autistic. As this is the second neurodevelopmental label I've acquired after adhd, I'm somewhat more familiar with the whole revelatory process - i.e. the "so that's why I do that" and "no wonder this keeps happening" moments that are a significant part of why said labels feel justified (others have been explored & rejected).

I have all these little anecdotes about weird misconceptions that have kept me from spending time on the things I find worthwhile, such as feeling like I was too late to the party to be considered a legitimate part of a subculture, or taking my crappy memory as evidence that I don't care about this thing as much as I think I do. One notable moment was realising that I hadn't gotten myself a poster I wanted because of some subconscious narrative that personalised décor is for "real people".

All of this is to say that I've always been aware of several degrees of separation between myself and the general public, and not just because I wanted to be special.1 Growing up neurodivergent means you can never quite close that gap, and that shapes the way you interact with the world: studies on the social perception of autistic individuals basically say that being "a little off" is enough to ruin a first impression, which is, in turn, enough for most people to write you off as undesirable.2

And I'll be honest, I wasn't nearly as excited about figuring out my autism as I was about my adhd before I even thought to look at the evidence. The stereotypes are notably less palatable: at least adhd gets the manic pixie dream girl, but ask someone to describe an autistic person and there's still a good chance they'll default to a stubborn six-year-old boy with encyclopedic knowledge of the Cretaceous and zero interest in making friends.3

Even representation that is halfway decent tends to portray autistic characters without any inclination towards concealing their atypical traits, often lacking the self-awareness to even consider it, so people get confused by the thought of us operating somewhere between social grace and social oblivion. Then again, people also short-circuit when they see a wheelchair user stand up for 0.2 seconds.

Some things you don't understand until you're forced to. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't listened to someone's lived experience with unfamiliar symptoms while trying to conceal my doubt. There was a time when I wouldn't have believed my own claims, what with my warped sense of time and my hyperacusis, is thAt even a tHing lol

There's something I really want to pin down about trying to exist while everyone around you keeps sending you signals that your very perception of reality is just wrong. It messes with your head, undermines your identity. I've been working so hard at unraveling trauma bundle after trauma bundle, and I'm only just starting to believe I'm even allowed on this planet, you know? Some people aren't so lucky.4 I'd love to be at ease with myself without needing to justify it to some imaginary audience.

This brings me to my next point: cringe.

I am one of many who treat self-censorship like a necessary evil for the sake of appearing adjusted enough. Whether it's self-soothing with the hand-flappy thing, going off on a tangent about a topic of interest, or feeling the overwhelm creep into my nervous system, there are plenty of impulses and reactions that I've learned to stifle so that people will be more inclined to talk to me.

What's the problem with that, you might ask. Isn't learning to adapt a good thing?

I hear you, but this isn't adaptation, this is assimilation. We don't get to choose how our bodies process information, no amount of discipline that will rewire our brains to be "normal". We have a natural way of operating, but most of us have been moderating ourselves for so long that we don't even know what that is. We only know that bad things happen when the mask falls, when composure is outpaced by stress. Looking at it this way, it makes a lot more sense that the world only recognises autism at its worst.

Setting boundaries would ease the pressure, but when it comes to voicing smaller issues the assumption is that we're playing them up for attention. For those unprepared to imagine having to live with chronic discomfort, calling it a lie feels rational - which leaves us not calling for help, but embarrassing ourselves for some reason.

As a cherry on top, we still don't know what autism is, despite decades of research. Autistic brains are characterised by both hyper- and hypo-connectivity in different areas. There is consistency in certain functional deficits, however studies keep getting conflicting results while trying to map these out.5

While elusive in origin, our differences put us at measurable odds with the scattered demands of a modern environment. Sensory sensitivities are a giant handicap when we live in a flood of sensory information, and without the ability to develop the standard tolerance it becomes a constant battle to just feel okay on a day to day basis. But if we can outmanoeuvre the bad stuff, we can focus; and if we can focus, we can excel.6

I mentioned beforehand that a lot of the behaviours commonly recognised as autistic are linked to distress. My hope is that, with the growing awareness we're experiencing, we'll be able to normalise happier traits as well.

× × ×

1 Which I won't deny, but my secret teenage wishes had a lot more to do with being whisked away to the fairy realm than being bullied at school.

2 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5286449/

3 It's the "lack of empathy" in particular that gets under my skin. There are a whole bunch of steps between feeling an emotion and expressing it in a way that translates well. We're not always good at those steps - doesn't mean we don't care.

4 The suicide rate of autistic individuals is roughly sevenfold that of the general population. (International Research Priority Setting Exercise 2021, "Where do we go from here?")

5 https://embrace-autism.com/autistic-brain-differences-connectivity/

6The other option is putting the bad stuff on hold - intoxication can offer temporary sensory reprieve to some. Without other accommodations available (as is all too often the case), this can easily turn into a destructive habit.

#ramblepost #i've got stuff to say ok #it was the x-files poster if anyone is wondering #i want to believe #to be cringe is to be free #neural signatures #fermented feelings #buckets of woe #social grace #social oblivion #social okayness #autism #adhd #audhd #studies #sources #rabbitology #spotify

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capsensislagamoprh · 6 months

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The Paper Army: Twisted Time

A Pathfinder Chronicle

Chronicler: Dela Lerias

Monday, 30 October, 2085 A.D.

I almost lost myself to the painful silence. So lost, I thought the clunking thwacks of humanoid feet against the black streets were simply the chaos in my ears. A nudge from Dutch gave me a moment's calm. I looked at Sorcha, her dragons eyes narrowed in thick concentration. Assessing my situation, I realized several important things at once. George could not shift. My first line of defense. Sorcha was warry. Dhampir was still really tall, and convenatly, wearing his cape. I hid behind it. It may seem cowardly. Please be kind to my child's form. I am small, and rather easy to harm.

Knowing I could not rely on Sorcha to carry me, nor Dhampir to balance my form on his shoulders, I caught Sorcha's eye. Touching the lance like hair stick my locks were twisted around, I asked without words: Was it safe? Should I? She nodded. I pulled my hair stick out, and spoke, "VAZAR!"

I felt something happen. I know it did. All of our eyes watched as colorful streaks of blue and purple light left lance I now held, flowed around a corner causing a flash of light, accompanied by a rather odd yelp. We shared gazes before Sorchia looked around the wall. Stifling a chortle, red painted talons calling Dahmpir forward, she shared a joke. Frustrated, I too looked, seeing a large, shaggy dog dressed in Erastilian armor, saddle shimmering and helm bright.

"I… that… where is my elk?" I asked confused, surprised, blanketed in terror muffled by disbelief. Wibble-Wobles is a magnificent steed. When in war from, he stands as tall as a grown dragon's knee. This… was a smelly, raggy mutt. I approached the dog anyway. A bow, a hesitant touch, and a very long held breath allowed me to mount the dog - once it stopped turning in circles, trying to figure out what was going on.

Sorcha waved her hand, causing a light wind to cyclone the dog, taking the stench away. Dhampir suggested that perhaps the range of magic - being from another time at the very least - meant that Wibbles could not be summoned here. The dog was the next animal in range who fit the values of Erastil, and so was chosen as a worthy mount. Despite the fleas. I very much intend to deal with that as quickly as possible.

Faced with this maze of stone and buildings, I looked at Sorcha for guidance. The sorceress told us the goal was to reach the towering wall. We almost made it.

Faced with beasts that seemed necromantic dreams, I cringed deep inside. They had skin chalked white, eyes sharp pinpricks of white in a sea of black icorr. One carried a pipe while another walked with a … dog? of some sort. It, too, was hairless, skin and bone sharply taunt. I barely had time to register pity for the animal before they screamed, attacking.

George struggled to shift, his little rat form racing from one shoulder to the next, puffing up, his squeaks of rage sharp. Dutch sat on high alert, ears tracking danger, as he used his basic ability to keep me focused. Dhampir was not having any of this 'zombies that are not zombies' nonsense. A flick of his hand sent two scorching hot rays of plasmatic flame towards one of the man shaped terrors. The flesh burned, holes dripping white instead of blood. "Well, that works," he said with casual ease.

Sorcha followed suit, tossing fire from her soul with masterful ease. Another monster fell, head obliterated by darts of dragons flame. I wanted to help as well. Fire, fire, and me? I was never good with flame. Not as good as they. But zombies have working hearts, but not minds. It's part of the magic that lets them 'live' without 'being'. How could I counter that? Suddenly I recalled the Heart Drum. Slapping my hands on slender thighs, I prepared to rummage my pocket when suddenly it appeared strapped into place. Sticks in hand, I blinked and, with nothing to loose, tried to activate the magic trapped with in. I felt nothing. It was just a soldier's drum. Frustration blushed my cheeks as I hurled the drum with both hands like the improvised weapon it had become, I startled as the drum smacked into the head of the same creature Dhampir had gravely wounded. The drum puffed out of existence as the monster fell, immediately giving off a rancid smell.

The not-dead dog jumped, ready to take a chunk out of my life, causing my mount to spin back, trying to live. George squeaked, eyes blazing green light as he managed to shift into his war-rat form, holy sword forming in his taloned grip. Before he landed, the weapon stabbed deep into the black walking path below the zombie-dog's belly, the beast's back snapped, stomach rendered. George poofed back into a rat, unable to hold his form for long, the sword disappearing when he changed.

As I scooped George up, cleaning his paws, we watched with curled lip as the not-quite- zombies turned into goop, wreaking, and fizzing like defeated ooze.

A second latter, Sorcha spun around, listening, her pointed ears twitching. Eyes flinging this way and that, she paused, ran to a busted door of metal, then called us over with a wave of her hand. "In here. Quickly!" We obeyed. We sat listening as what could only be a hundred, perhaps more, of those things came by. Hunting, searching for the source of the battle - short as it was. Once, a skin-dog-thing got close, but was quickly called away. We must have spent hours in that dark, damp place, waiting, daring to breathe.

When Sorcha gave the order, we slipped free, racing towards the wall. Several more times we had to take down a stray zombie or two, until at last, we were faced with something Sorcha called the 'Arcology Doors'.

Sorcha pointed to long tubes slowly spinning, then a pink lit tunnel with a metal plate to the side. "Bio scanners and turrets," she explained. I asked about the range on this city siege device. She simply answered, "Yes." It was then she spied danger. Pointing it out to the rest of us, I backed the dog up several paces. Quietly, Sorcha slipped from cover to cover, getting closer to the gnomish devices. When she ran out of cover, the turrets turned as one to her, a light grazing her form, red and ominous. It blinked, turning a sickly green before resuming their normal pattern of rotation.

Meanwhile, the danger noticed. It was a different type of ghoul. Long fingered, cloaked, eyes covered in some sort of device. It stood, tall and strangely thin, aiming at Sorcha with a bow made of metal. In an instant I called upon the Bow of Erastil, refusing to consider failure. My mind pictured a serrated arrow. As I drew the shimmering string, the arrow formed. I let loose, the enemy slipping back, the arrow grazing his flesh, leaving a jagged cut. The soft green light of spring growth, lit with holy hearth warmth, blazed with godly might. Sorcha, alert to the weak spot, threw bolts of force into the wound, opening it more. Dhampir followed suit. I was very sure this would be a quick defeat when the red light flared towards my position. My arrow called the gnomish devices! I unsummoned the bow, backing the dog up, trying my best to get away from that dangerous light. It stopped at a distance, turning green, leaving me exhaling a cloud of stress. Then Sorcha hissed.

The ghoul-thing let loose a long arrow, piercing her shoulder despite the chain shirt she wore under her gown. Despite her artful dodge. Despite her powerful deflection. The black bolt twisted, changing, bending until it caught her. It seemed to think, to follow her every move. I have never seen such an arrow not shot by Erastil, yet I saw no magic - cursed or divine - in that miniature lance. The pain on Sorcha's face etched a mark of agony between her eyes, lighting them with golden fire. Whatever else the arrow was supposed to do, her dragon's blood refused.

The monster dropped off the roof, cloak spreading like tattered wings as it glided towards the sorceress. I could hear George squeak mean things as he tried again to become large. Dutch readied his jump, prepared to harry the villain into submission, and I screamed. "No! Don't! Stay Where You Are!" I felt magic go off. I had no idea why. Something inside seemed to glimmer from that crack in the soul. What ever it did, I do not know. Sorcha stumbled back, missiles of pure magic blasting from her hands, putting distance between herself and the creature.

I heard music I had never known before. The slip of a sword, eleven made, drawn from a sheath in time with another. Dhampir moved as one with his Lady. In a feat of speed he closed the distance, sword sinking into flesh, cutting through to the other side, white icorr flying across the black streets. The thing screamed, swearing words I did not know. It spun with force, facing Dhampir, nails growing green and long, mouth splitting its face into a poisonous, sharp toothed maw. As its cloak fell I saw a missing ear, the other long and pointed, chinked as if chewed upon. It slashed, claws digging into Dhampir's biceps as it drew the arch mage closer for a bite. Lord N'Resh is no stranger to the Vampire's Kiss. He knew how to counter. But as he did so, the look of dawning horror on his face caused panic to show on mine. He couldn't move. I could see him trying. George raced across the dog, ready to leap into the fray - rat sized or not. Feeling my panic, Dutch licked my head, his little lagomorphic tong shifting my headband back and forth. I couldn't think what to do, so I called out. "Hit Him Real Hard!" I don't know why I thought that would help. Sorcha, seeing Dhampir in mortal danger, unable to defend himself, made quick work of the monster, spearing its heart with her blade. The body dropped, things falling out of torn and broken places. The eye covers fell off its face as the head bounced on the black rode. White pinprick eyes in a sea of unreleased black. It was a ghoul. An eleven ghoul.

I stared as Sorcha checked her shoulder, calling me forth. I was set to the task of finding my anti venom. A vile I searched for a long time to find. So long, Dhampir shook off the paralyzation himself. Where did all my stuff go? My pockets were all but empty. Even the one with the magic hole. As Sorcha tucked things into her bag of holding, I looked at Dhampir, his wounds having to bleed out the vile green stuff. Should I heal him now? Later? I looked at the iron snake about his waist, dangling limp like a belt, rather than a magical thing. If it did not activate, then it should be okay, right?

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