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take-taker-taken · 9 months

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New fic!

This one is a result of an ask from @k-s-c90 - as usual, it’s become a leviathan and so rather than keep her waiting forever, it’s going up in parts.

Quick note - the Latin is all yoinked from ‘O, Fortuna’ because, well. Everyone yoinks from O, Fortuna. What’s being said fits loosely with the plot / what’s occurring but quite honestly it’s there because I needed something. It’s a Medieval England vibe so that’s the setting, if you’re interested. One trigger warning is that this part does include drugging but it’s via magic potion shenanigans.

Call of The Dark

You’ve never known anything but the castle, really. You’ve been told that you weren’t actually born here, but arrived when you were three or four - not sold into slavery but taken due to a debt owed by your father to the ruling Lord. You don’t remember your parents and were raised instead by the other domestic slaves that kept the castle running and they became your family. The head cook doted on you and you even had the privilege of an education via the steward, Jonathan Kemp; normally quite a severe man he had a soft spot for you, telling you once that he lost his own daughter to sickness when she was three. He taught you to read and write, arithmetic and even Latin; you weren’t quite sure what you’d ever be able to do with your knowledge - you were just a slave, after all - but it was nice to have and you absorbed it all like a sponge.

The dreams began to happen as you reached your late teenage years. Noise and violence, shadowy shapes moving in purple mist and a low voice chanting something you could never make out. Every few weeks you would awaken with a start, a feeling of foreboding pressing down on you; a creeping sensation that something was coming. You confided in the steward about them after the fourth or fifth time and he just smiled and said something about your age.

Six months later, the siege happened.

They came in the middle of the night, as you slept in the cellar quarters that you shared with the other female slaves. The attackers were small in number - no more than a dozen in the initial raid party - the Lord’s men-at-arms were no match for their swift and almost silent attack. The first you knew of it was when you were roused from sleep by one of the strangers shouting, commanding you all to the great hall. You went along while an icy feeling of fear washed over you, arriving in the hall to find everyone else already there and looking similarly frightened and concerned. The marshal was held off to one side along with a handful of his men and when you saw the blood that was splashed across their faces your stomach began to swirl…

~*~ FLASHBACK ~*~

“Your Lord is dead,” A man with dirty blonde coloured hair addresses the crowd, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Defeated by the head of our own Ministry, who will now take possession of the castle and of all of you.”

You hear a muted cry that you recognise as the Steward at the news of the Lord’s death but you just feel… numb. Almost as if you knew this was going to happen.

“Your status remains unchanged,” The man continues, looking more closely at those towards the front of the throng, making you feel glad that you’re not stood there. “You will remain slaves, in service to your new master. Any dissidence will be punished.”

You glance to your left, noticing how close the door is… you’re right on the edge of the crowd and at the very back. You look around carefully and then make a split-second decision to take just a couple of fast, silent steps to put you through the door back into the hallway where you came in, though still facing towards the room. You continue to take small steps backwards, gradually increasing your distance from the Great Hall until finally you turn and run, though you keep looking back over your shoulder as you start to move, fearing at any moment that someone will raise the alarm.

If you’d been looking where you were going, you’d have stopped short. As it is, you slam straight into a wall that shouldn’t have been there. A wall that to your horror reaches down and grabs you by the arm, making you realise that it’s not a wall. You look up and freeze in sheer terror at the sight that greets you. A giant of a man dressed all in black, a cloak with high shoulders, making him look bigger still. Black hair flows down his back and a carefully groomed black goatee beard frames a cruel-looking mouth. Cold eyes scan you up and down and you lower your head to stare at the floor, too scared even to scream.

He says nothing, just proceeds to walk briskly towards the great hall, dragging you with him. The crowd parts at the sound of his approach and he passes straight through the middle. He’s about six yards from the blonde man when he flings you forward, sending you stumbling to fall at the front of the crowd. He quickly catches up to you and as you make a move to scramble away he steps on your wrist and for the first time, you cry out. You look up, but he’s surveying the crowd and as he does so, he eases the pressure from his foot slightly but doesn’t remove it - you’re held firmly in place as he begins to speak.

“I’m sure this is quite a shock to you all,” He says, folding his arms across his massive chest. “I am the Undertaker and as you’ve been told, I defeated your Lord and you are now in the service of my Ministry of Darkness.” A murmur ripples through the crowd at the second mention of the Lord’s demise and the big man glares. “Silence!” He shouts and the whole room goes still and quiet. “You are all to remain here in the castle - especially you,” He adds, rocking his foot briefly on your wrist and you hide your face at being singled out and bite back a further cry of pain. “My guards will see you all back to your quarters for now - you’ll continue with your duties as normal.”

In hushed tones people start to move and leave the hall but he doesn’t let you up. He orders his guards to take the men-at-arms to the Keep and the blonde to seek out the Steward. Upon hearing this, Mr Kemp bravely steps forward and announces himself before moving closer.

“Let the girl go, my Lord; she’s just a child.”

“You seek to command me, steward?” Undertaker’s voice is quiet now, though it’s clear he’s not impressed.

Jonathan boldly continues, though drops to a more conciliatory tone. “Of course not, my Lord. She’s but a mere slave and not worthy of your notice.”

“And yet you speak out on her behalf. You will go with Christian now; the girl stays with me.”

~*~ END FLASHBACK ~*~

And so this is where you now find yourself. Huddled on the floor at the feet of a giant - your new master - as everyone else melts away, leaving you all alone. A few seconds pass and then he finally moves his foot away from your arm, but any relief you feel rapidly disappears as he hauls you to your feet. You wrap your arms around yourself and stare at the floor, trying not to shiver because after all, you’re dressed only in the shift of rough cotton that you wear to bed.

“Not so much of a child as the steward made out,” Undertaker comments. “I see rather a womanly figure.” A cold, hard ball of dread settles in your stomach as he adds, “Tell me, slave - why was he so eager to protect you, hmm?”

“I - I don’t know, master.” You whisper, wanting only to run away from him because you know he won’t believe you.

“I don’t take kindly to being lied to, slave; you’d do well to remember that. And so I’ll ask you again - why was the steward so eager to protect you - what’s so special about this little slave?” His voice is still calm, almost hypnotic, but you’re fairly sure it won’t stay that way unless you improve your answer.

“When I was small he - he told me I reminded him of his daughter, master. She died when she was very young. There’s nothing… I - I’m not special, master.”

“You were running away when I arrived.” It’s a statement, not a question and so you say nothing but then he reaches out and jerks your head up, making you whimper in fear. He holds your chin in a tight grip as looks you over carefully and so you’re able to properly take him in, too. His eyes are green, his skin pale and when he speaks you see strong, white teeth. “Nobody else ran, slave… and so I wonder why you did. Tell me.”

You’re out of your depth, here. You’re just a slave - why is he conversing with you? His grip on your jaw relaxes slightly, because he’s expecting you to speak now and if you don’t then goodness knows what he’ll do.

“I - I was scared, master.” You whisper, fixing your eyes on his goatee. “I’ve s - seen you before.” You don’t know what makes you share that information with him but it certainly piques his interest.

“Where have you seen me, slave - where are you from?” As he speaks his hand slides down to your throat where it rests while he awaits your answer. His icy stare bores into you, the blood still pounding in your ears and your heart is racing. You’re cold and frightened and your throat starts to feel as though it’s closing up and then he moves his hold down, bunching his hand in the front of your shift and lifting you up to your toes. “Answer me!”

You screw your eyes shut and try to shrink away as you force out a reply. “Please, master… it’s when I sleep. There’s all purple mist and - and it’s dark… there’s a voice…”

He begins to speak and your eyes fly open because that’s the voice from your dreams. Low, nothing musical about it as the words are delivered in a monotone. You watch in horror as the giant’s eyes are now white as he recites,

“Ludo mentis aciem… egestatem… potestatum… dissolvit ut glaciem… sors imm-”

“Stop, please!”

To your relief he does stop, his eyes returning to normal with a blink and he laughs. A deep and cruel sound that makes it clear he finds your distress pleasing.

“How intriguing that I’ve visited your dreams, little slave. Clearly I was right - you are special.” He releases his grip on your clothing and unhooks a length of rope from his belt. He contemplates you for a few seconds as he manipulates the line and then he tosses a loop over your head and draws it closed around your neck. Instinctively, your hands move to the noose in panic but he barks out a warning, “Leave it!”

Your hands drop to your sides instantly and he continues, “You know your way around this castle, I presume, slave.”

“Yes, master.” You’re staring down at your feet again, but when he pulls on the rope it jerks your head up and you have to stop yourself from reaching for your neck again.

“Show me the way to my chamber.” He wraps the rope around his arm a few times, shortening the length to a few feet and then you hesitantly begin to walk, taking the same exit as Mr Kemp when he’d left with the blonde man. It only takes you a few minutes to reach the Lord’s private chamber and you begin to feel nervous about what’s going to happen next. Sudden footsteps draw the attention of you both and a man rounds the corner towards you, also with flowing blonde hair, though he’s heavier set than the one that did the talking earlier. He comes to a halt and gives a small bow.

“All rooms have been checked, my lord. Everything’s clear and the whole place is under your command.” He pauses and looks at you with a leer. “Is there anything else you require?”

Undertaker gives a brief tug on the makeshift leash and so you take a couple of steps backwards, stopping yourself just before you bump into him but you feel his long coat brushing against your bare calves. You decide in that moment that close proximity to your new master is preferable to that of the other man.

“Gangrel - I’m pleased that you’ve worked so quickly. Go to the cellars and find some wine; bring it back here. And send someone to guard the door.”

The man nods his assent, bows again and then strides off down the hallway. As he disappears from view, Undertaker slackens off the rope again and reaches around you to push open the chamber door. “Let’s go inside, slave.”

You don’t move at first but he doesn’t comment, just walks past you and through the doorway whereupon you’re forced to follow as he tows you behind him. Once inside you go where you’re led as he explores the room and you can’t stop your head from swivelling side to side, taking it all in. You’ve never set foot in here before - the only ones allowed into the Lord’s private chamber are people like his valet and the Steward; people of standing within the castle.

He pauses in front of a large portrait of the now-deceased Lord in all his finery and snorts in disgust. “Such arrogance,” He mutters with a shake of his head. “Decorating the walls with his own image - and in his own chamber, no less.” He reaches up easily and wrenches the picture down before simply throwing it out of the window as you look on, wide-eyed. As he continues to look around, you edge as close to the fire as you can - while it’s no longer roaring there’s a low flame and it’s wonderfully warm. As you enjoy the heat you scrunch your toes into the deep pile of a rug on the floor; it’s very different from the thin reed mats that you’re used to.

As if noticing the warmth himself, Undertaker reaches for the clasp at his shoulder and unfastens it before neatly swirling the cloak up and off, depositing it on a stand nearby. You stare in rapt attention at what the absence of the garment has revealed - huge arms that seem as big as oak branches and on each one there are drawings… you’re sure they have a special name but you can’t recall it. He still hasn’t let go of the rope, though it hangs slack and you wonder whether he might allow you to leave soon.

“Clear off that table, slave. Just drop the things into that box.” You look round at the sound of his voice and see the surface he means and so you quickly move to obey even though it feels terribly wrong to be touching the items. A few small bottles, a comb and even some jewellery; you deposit them all into a small wooden box on the floor, leaving the table bare apart from the dark purple cloth that covers it.

There’s a movement at the open door and the man from before - Gangrel - knocks and then enters. “My Lord - I’ve brought the wine you requested.”

Undertaker is rummaging through a large chest and doesn’t even look up. “Put it on the table and then you can go - what about the guard for the door?”

“On their way now, my Lord.” He sets the bottle and a silver goblet on to the purple cloth and then gives you the same leering smirk as before. “What about the girl?”

You swallow nervously and try to make yourself as small as possible when Undertaker turns around and looks from you, to Gangrel. “She’s staying here. Make sure the guard knows that; the only way she leaves is with me. Close the door.”

Gangrel looks disappointed and casts a sneer in your direction. “As you command, my Lord.”

Your heart rate picks up as the heavy wooden door thumps into place and you’re now shut in with him. He finally drops the end of your leash to the floor and turns his attention to the wine, removing the stopper and pouring a generous amount into the chalice. His hands move to a buttoned holster that’s strapped to his leg and he takes out a black leather pouch. You watch as he removes two small bottles, like the kind you’ve seen from an apothecary, and a little medicine glass that he sets on the table along with the wine. Displaying care and precision, he pours a few drops from each of the bottles into the glass, adds some wine and then uses a silver spoon to mix it all up.

He takes some chalk from the pouch and appears to be drawing something on the purple cloth, but you can’t see. The glass is positioned carefully and then he lights a couple of wide candles and sets them on the table before extinguishing a few of the lamps, casting the room into shadows.

“Kneel down, slave.”

Of course you obey instantly, swallowing down the whimper that tries to escape and bow your head as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. The tears are chased away though, to be replaced by fear as he stands at his makeshift altar and spreads his huge arms wide before beginning to chant.

“Vana salus

Semper dissolubilis

Obumbrata…

Et velata…

Michi quoque niteris…

Michi quoque niteris…”

As frightening as it is, you find that you’re transfixed but you let out a small scream when the candles suddenly spit and flare up and it looks like the liquid in the glass is releasing some kind of vapour. He picks it up and then advances until he’s towering over you like a vengeful god before holding out the glass.

“Drink this.”

You don’t move; you make no action to accept the glass and he frowns. “Either you drink it, slave… Or I’ll make you.”

Your body’s fight or flight response kicks in and you fall backwards, scrambling to get away as still you shake your head ‘no’. He steps on the rope, an action which brings your movement to an abrupt halt though still you strain against it, striving to escape this sinister giant. He growls in displeasure and grabs you by the hair before pulling you close against his body, your back against his chest. “I said drink, slave!” You try to twist your head but it’s futile - he’s so much stronger and his hold is crushing you and when you open your mouth to take a breath that’s it - he pours the liquid straight in and then clamps his hand over your jaw until you’re forced to swallow. It’s not much, a couple of mouthfuls at most, but you cough and splutter as your body gets over the assault and he drops you to the floor again.

You lay there on that same rug you’d been luxuriating in earlier, too scared this time to appreciate its sumptuousness. Your throat is burning but you don’t know if it’s from the rope around your neck, the wine concoction that’s been forced on you, or from the coughing. You curl into a ball and expect to start crying, though no tears come. You want to ask him what he put into that wine and it occurs to you that maybe if you’d done just that, then he might have told you. On the other hand, do you really want to know? You panic for a few seconds that he’s poisoned you, but rationally you understand that’s unlikely. After a while you turn very slightly so that you can peek out from under your arm and see the room. He’s sat in a chair by the bed with the goblet in one hand and a book resting on his lap. You watch for a while and then he speaks.

“Not asleep yet, slave?” He looks across at you and your first instinct is to hide your face again but it’s as though his gaze has you held in place. He sets the book aside and stands up and you suppress a whimper as he approaches. He drops something next to your head and you shrink back as though it was a rock before realising that it’s a small pillow. He hauls a blanket from the bottom of the bed and throws it over you as you lay there, stunned. “I tire of waiting. Sleep now.”

Inwardly you frown in confusion but just reply, “Yes, master. Th-thank you.”

“Do not try to leave this room, slave.” He picks up the other end of the rope and loops it into a knot around his wrist. “Sleep and let the medicine do its work.”

He’s obviously referring to the mixture that you swallowed but why would he give you medicine when you’re not sick? You want to ask but it’s not your place to question him and so when he turns away you position the pillow under your head and draw the blanket around you. You’re starting to feel sleepy now and before long exhaustion takes over and you slip into rest, your last conscious thought being that why does he care whether you sleep or not?

———

He watches from the bed as the air around you changes after you pass into unconsciousness and he doesn’t have to wait for long… He sees your dream, playing out before him like a living diorama. He watches as you stand there, purple mist swirling around your legs, looking nervous.

“Hello?”

The mist climbs higher and seems to get thicker - he observes silently as you pull a hand through it and then wrap your arms around yourself.

“What do you want?”

He smiles as he hears quiet chanting - the same words that he spoke earlier when you had implored him to stop. It has a similar effect now as the incorporeal version of you covers her ears, shaking her head.

“No… no, stop it. Please, I don’t know what you’re saying!”

Not taking his eyes from the scene, he gets quietly to his feet and comes closer. From this angle he now sees you asleep on the floor, curled up beneath the blanket with a small frown on your face. If he wakes you then the spell will be broken and so temperance is required… he needs to influence just enough.

“Michi quoque niteris…” The whispered phrase unlocks the proverbial door and he’s now in the dream - could touch his little dream-slave if he wanted to, but that could spoil things.

“Who… are you? I keep seeing you…”

He tilts his head; closes one hand into a loose fist as he resists the urge to touch. “You know me now, little slave. You’re the reason I came here - it’s the Higher Power that has brought me to you.”

“You’re my master,” There’s less fear in her voice now but then a look of distress crosses her face. “It’s my fault that the lord died.”

He offers no comfort, just gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “That was simply necessary, slave. You’re not to give it another thought.”

“Why did you come here for me?”

He regards her carefully - she’s much bolder inside her head. “Ask me again when you wake up,” He says and then before she can react he adds, “Discedo.”

The air in the room shifts again as the spell ends and he looks down at your huddled figure; the frown has smoothed from your brow and you look peaceful. He nods slowly to himself as a satisfied smile creeps across his lips and then he slips your leash from his wrist briefly while he undresses, replacing it before climbing into bed.

————

You awaken, stretch and then in less than a second the memories tumble into your head and you sit up, surprised to find yourself alone. You raise your hand to your neck and run the tips of your fingers across the rope, confirming that what happened last night wasn’t a dream. You look over at the closed door and for a brief moment you consider running before you remember that there’s a guard outside. You pull the blanket around yourself and stand up, seeing that the other end of the rope has been looped over the bedpost. It feels surreal to be standing alone in the Lord’s private chamber and you take a few steps towards the bed before gingerly placing a hand on to the thick mattress. It’s cold, so you deduce that it was vacated a little while ago though his cloak still hangs over the rail on the other side of the room. Your eyes settle on the small table that he used last night and you make your way carefully over to it - as close as the rope allows, that is, because you don’t dare to unhook it and move about freely. The purple cloth still bears evidence from whatever ritual he performed last night, though the chalk symbol seems to have been deliberately wiped through so you’re unable to see exactly what it was. You shudder as you remember his rough hold and being made to swallow the mixture - the ‘medicine’ as he’d called it. Perhaps it had just been to make you sleep… but that wouldn’t have needed any chanting, surely.

A sound outside the door takes your attention and then it opens and Undertaker strides through - he’s even bigger than you remember. He sets a carafe and a plate down on the table as the door closes again as if propelled by an invisible force and you drop to your knees with your head bowed as he takes the rope from the bedpost.

“Come here, slave.” He tugs on the leash as he moves to sit in the armchair by the table and as you’re on your knees you crawl over, leaving the blanket behind. You stop a short distance away and he pulls the rope again, indicating that he wants you closer and so you obey. Staring at his heavy-looking leather boots, you’re busy quelling the desire to beg him to let you go back to the others when his hand dips into your line of sight. He’s holding a small piece of buttered bread and you glance up, curiosity outweighing your fear for the moment.

“Eat,” He says, but when you reach up to take the bread he moves it away. “Open your mouth.”

After last night you don’t dare refuse - plus you’re hungry - and so you do as he says, closing your teeth delicately around the morsel and being careful not to touch his fingers at all. You chew and swallow quickly and then he’s right there with another piece… and another. As well as the bread there’s fruit, cheese, some meat - and bit by bit he feeds it all to you. You get so caught up in the quiet rhythm of it that you forget to be scared and when the plate’s empty you whisper your thanks and he strokes a hand over your hair.

“It’s time to get you cleaned up, slave.” He claps his hands twice and you glance over your shoulder as two figures in brown robes enter the room. Large hoods cover their faces but you can see from their hands that they’re women. “You’ll go with them and allow them to carry out their duties.” He leans down and unties the rope from around your neck but then uses it to pull you in towards him. “If I learn that you’ve misbehaved in any way little slave, I will not be happy - do you understand?”

You’re so close to him that you can see the pores on his skin and when you breathe in you smell leather and incense. His deep green eyes are unblinking and you nod fearfully. “Yes, master.”

He stands up, using a hand underneath your arm to lift you to your feet and then casts you gently in the direction of the robed figures. “Return her to me in the solar chambers,” He orders and they both bow low as he sweeps out of the room.

The women take an arm each and lead you out of the door, along the corridor and then into the Lady’s private chamber - at least, it would be if the old Lord had ever married. You spend the next two hours in a gentle whirl as they bathe you in a tub in front of the fire, wash your hair - twice - trim your nails, rub exotic-smelling lotion into your skin… They don’t speak to you and just diligently complete their work, doing a ‘finger to lips’ motion when you ask them why this is all happening.

Eventually, once you’re clean and dry with your hair combed through, one of the robed women produces a purple tunic-like dress which they help you into and of course it fits perfectly. You revel in the feeling of the luxurious fabric on your skin and wonder if perhaps it’s silk. A pair of soft black slippers are eased on to your feet and then you’re encouraged to stand. Nerves return because you know that they’re going to take you back to him but mindful of his warning you remain docile and cooperative as they again take an arm each and lead you to another room quite close to his private chamber.

The one at your right hand side knocks at the door and then pushes it open without waiting for a response from within. You’re led into a large room and then you realise that there are shelves and shelves of books - a whole library! A fire burns in the grate and he sits beside it in a large wooden seat, looking rather like a king atop his throne. There are thick rugs and animal skins on the floor, just like in his chamber and on the opposite wall, a large window with picture-glass depicting a scene from a fairytale brightens the room. You can’t help gazing around in wonder at all the books but inevitably your eyes come to rest on your new master as the two servants quietly melt away.

He barely looks up until your two escorts have left and so you stand there, feeling awkward. He gets up and walks over to you and for the first time, you don’t drop to your knees - mainly because you’re cognisant of the new clothing you’re wearing and you don’t want to risk ruining it but also so that he can inspect you. You had caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the Lady’s chamber and think that you actually look quite alright, though when he walks around you in a slow circle you start to worry that he’s unhappy with something.

“Better… Much better.” He says, coming to a halt in front of you. You blush, wondering what he thought of you before and then the blush deepens as you recall the colour of the water in the tub after you’d been bathed. You must have really seemed like vermin to him…

“Come and sit with me, slave.” His voice interrupts your thoughts and you realise that he’s already returning to his chair and expecting you to follow. As you approach you notice that there are several pillows on the floor to one side of the armchair, like a little nest. You think that’s where he wants you to sit, but you don’t want to be presumptuous. Fortunately, he notices your predicament and says gently, “Down there, that’s right.”

You place yourself as directed, get comfortable in the pile and stare fixedly at the tassel on the corner of one cushion. You’re positioned very close to his legs, which are encased in the same long boots that he was wearing when he pinned your wrist to the floor last night… feels like a lifetime ago now. You reach out and twirl the tassel through your fingers as you try to make sense of everything that’s happened. He’s been quite kind, really - apart from the medicine thing… he let you sleep by the fire with that huge blanket, he fed you some good food - more than you’d have had otherwise - and then he’s arranged for you to be bathed and given this beautiful dress… and now you’re comfortable in a little area that has obviously been created especially for you.

But why?

“Why did you come here for me?” The words just slip out, unbidden, and you have no idea where they came from. You see one of his legs shift and start to panic, fearing that he’s going to discipline you in some way, but he seems unperturbed.

“You’re mine, little slave. The Higher Power has decreed it.”

The answer puzzles you - you have no idea what he means by a ‘Higher Power’ and you find yourself speaking again.

“But… everything here is yours, master. The castle, all the slaves - everything.” He shifts in his chair and you feel him looking down at you and then he snaps his fingers and you raise your eyes and then your head, wondering if you’ve overstepped.

“You are mine in a much deeper sense,” He says as he smooths his goatee beard. “Surely you realise that, given the dreams you’ve been having?” You look off to the side, unsure of what to say to that and then he goes on. “I saw your dream last night, slave. I spoke to you; do you remember?”

You look down at the floor and frown as you try to replay the events of last night. There was the medicine, he threw the blanket over you and then you went to sleep… You look up at him again as the dream comes back to you. “I asked why you came here, master… and you said to ask you again when I woke up.”

He smiles, though it’s not exactly friendly, more self-satisfied. “Which you just did. Good girl.” He tucks one long finger under your chin so that you continue to look at him. “You will drink that medicine a few times each week.”

You swallow nervously but reply softly, “Yes, master.” Feeling a little braver you decide to venture a question. “Please, master… what’s in the medicine? What’s it for?”

“It will allow me to see your dreams, little slave. You’ll sleep better for it.” He moves his hand and so you lower your head again. He still hasn’t told you what’s actually in it but you’re more concerned with what he’s just said he can do if you drink it - he’ll be able to see your dreams!

“When can I go back to the others, master?” You ask, hoping that he doesn’t think you ungrateful.

He laughs softly and then you cry out in shock when he unceremoniously and with no difficulty at all, scoops you up from the nest of pillows and sits you on his lap. One powerful arm encircles your waist and with his free hand he strokes your hair to neaten it. He smells vaguely of woodsmoke and of leather and there’s something else there - maybe his soap. You freeze in fright as he murmurs next to your ear.

“I have told you, girl - you are mine. Your place now is by my side.” He gives you a very slight squeeze and you bite back a whimper. “Do you think I had you scrubbed down and dressed nicely only to send you back to the cellars?”

Despite your fear at this entirely new level of close proximity to him, his words make you turn your head to look at him in shock. Your eyes suddenly fill with tears at the thought of being trapped here all alone and he frowns.

“Why do you cry, slave?”

You blink back the tears before they can fall and swallow thickly before replying. “My… my friends, master.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “You will see them from time to time, I expect.” You make a small move as though to climb down from his lap but in response he merely tightens his hold and to your horror, pulls you in even closer to his chest. “Perhaps once we are married you can choose one to attend you as a - what do you call it? Lady-in-waiting.”

What? Fear all forgotten, you struggle away from him and jump off his lap, backing away until there’s a few feet between you. “Married?!”

To be continued…

#the undertaker #undertaker #this character lives in my head rent free #taker smut #Ministry Taker #Ministry Undertaker #undertaker fanfic #the undertaker fanfic #undertaker x reader #the undertaker x reader #The Undertaker au #No smut yet but there will be #TTT Tumblr Asks

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phoenixcatch7 · 10 months

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Just finished playing sb ruin!

STEEL WOOL YOU HAD ONE JOB how did you make the plot holes worse.

Three characters have just EVAPORATED two were just environmental hazards at BEST and only two got any sort of character development!!!!

Literally the only new characters were a) the protagonist (expected, wanted) and b) the antagonist (CONTEXT??? LORE?? HELLO?!). 'Oh it's been down there for a really long time' HAS IT NOW?? HAS IT?? BECAUSE IT SURE WASN'T THERE BEFORE. WE WENT THERE AND IT WASN'T THERE.

The voice acting was great, I will say that. Every actor gave 110% and it really brought the whole thing to life. The set building too. And the glitchy effects!

Unfortunately the story completely fell through again.

At the start, it felt pretty clear where it was going to go. 'Gregory' was directing us down to the old afton fight area, there was rabbit/vanny graffiti everywhere, there was a strange rabbit mask that turned the world purple and glitchy and let you walk through solid objects occasionally, instructed by a gaslighting little AI that knew more than it was letting on.

Given the way it lined up with the gargantuan plot holes in security breach, and it was free dlc for the game marketed as fixing those holes, it was fairly obvious it'd be a story with vanny as the final boss, having not given up on her goal and possibly still kidnapping children. Cassie would potentially face mind control or sensory brainwashing from the mask, we'd get attacked by the broken animatronics, maybe put them to rest or cure them enough to escape the pizza plex, and at the end we'd find out how Gregory was being impersonated, a boss fight almost certainly in vr against whatever weird blue robo bunny kept staring at us (it doesn't even do anything???) and vanny irl, Cassie would stop their plans and/or burn the pizza plex down the rest of the way. Meet up with Gregory again at the end, possibly with a freddy head, I wasn't picky.

You know, closure.

Instead, the plot was... Essentially nonexistent, just as much a run quest cycle as sb despite the linear progression and lack of teleporting animatronics, somehow. The boss 'fight' was completely divorced from the rest of the game, all but roxy and the da were entirely absent of any character development, both of which were relevant for about three seconds.

The lift ending was a cheap shock value ending which only left more questions than answers. The other two, which we googled, were equally free of things like 'explanations' and 'filled plot holes' and 'context' and 'closure', and all of which were dependant purely on random actions in the final scene we were given no hints to knowing about, unlike sb. By the end we were left in shock, fury, confusion and betrayal, which isn't a great note to end your game on.

All in all, while eclipse was a pleasant surprise and roxys five new lines of dialogue were sweet and a bit sad, ruin managed to be like security breach in all the worst ways, and didn't even have any funny glitches to laugh at. Loading screens were insanely long, enough we once ate a full meal during three back to back ones and went on our phones instead of waiting patiently, AND regular. All deaths were to the slippery catwalk in gator golf or frustration making us reckless, and we had to get out the walk throughs just to navigate certain areas. Though we were told we were invisible to most animatronics in the mask no one had told any of them. Bar the endos every single one could spot and chase us in the mask. We got softlocked several times and had to restart. The weird robot rabbit never got any context or explanation and didn't even do anything to our knowledge?? Summoned the animatronics maybe but even if you didn't take the mask off and walked through him he wouldn't do anything. Got jumpscared ONCE and then we continued on our merry way.

Also the game crashed twice.

#fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb ruin #security breach ruin #fnaf ruin #One job!! One job!! It was an easy job!#So annoyed. Like what was the point of the dlc then?? If not to fix the problems of sb?? It's free so it's not money!#Finished the game annoyed confused frustrated. Too many things thrown at us like we're excpected to magically intuit the truth #Like yeah the mimic thing could have just been a really bad callback to a previous game but the Gregory thing??#What we're supposed to trust his voice after the mimic reveal?? HELLO are you MAD?!#He brushes off any 'prove its you' and has 'a friend' who knows how to get her out and sees her live location despite no cameras #And then tries to kill her. Are we supposed to believe that's Gregory?? RIGHT after the reveal?? No chance! No way!#But the game plays it completely straight like that's what we're supposed to believe.#Insane. I really think steel wool has lost the last of the fandoms faith with this. They were so close to a good game. It had POTENTIAL.#But they learned nothing.

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thefirstknife · 2 years

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The part that can frustrate me when people go off about "they retcon too much" is just... I mean yes rectons can be annoying (but not always, some are great!) but also this is a 12 year old series with a CONSTANT influx of new lore (much of it fluff to pad out the world, but plenty of it actually character or plot relevant). I'd honestly be more shocked if there weren't at least a few retcons given all that, it's pretty normal for a series running this long with new stuff added frequently.

True! A lot of it really is incredibly small details as well, so things that can easily be mistaken or accidentally swapped during production. It's genuinely not that important.

And most of all, sometimes it's deliberate. A lot about "retcons" is always boiling down the writing team being oblivious to their own story, but that's not what retcons always are. Sometimes the writers 100% know what they said before and they want to change it. And as you said, this series is so old that there HAS to be things that writers would want to change (even without the baggage of horrible working conditions). Which is why I will always prioritise new information.

One of the examples that I hear most often is the whole business about warminds. Originally, it was stated that there were multiple warminds and Rasputin was just the main one. However, it was later stated that no, Rasputin is the only warmind and all others are subminds. I've seen many versions of crying about this "retcon." Some think that all other minds were entirely erased, which they weren't. Some just decry the idea that "suddenly" only Rasputin is the most important one.

A lot ignore that this is directly addressed in the game, shortly before the release of Warmind expansion:

“You got all that from some fragmented files? Is this going to be like the time you thought you’d identified a second Warmind? We spent a decade searching for Charlemagne’s vault.”

“I was correct about Charlemagne existing, just not about what it was. If we hadn’t done that research, we wouldn’t know anything about subminds.”

This is a conversation between Ghost and Tyra Karn. Her Ghost (called Ghost) is telling her about how they spent too much time searching for something they thought was a second warmind and Tyra replies that they were wrong about thinking it was a second warmind, but that Charlemagne still exists; it's just not a second warmind as they initially believed, it's a submind and they didn't know anything about that before research.

Warminds have always been a pretty complex topic because most of the knowledge about them was lost in the Collapse. So in-universe, characters had all sort of theories about it, not all of them correct. Naturally, they initially made mistakes which they later corrected with research.

I don't know if this was made to clarify the confusion or to retcon something. And it doesn't matter, because it makes sense in-universe that characters didn't have all information initially. Whether it's a retcon or not makes no difference because it's consistent with how the setting works. Knowledge about warminds was lost, humanity had to piece it back together and sometimes they were wrong. This is directly discussed in the same lore:

"We are the descendants of a lost civilization. Only by understanding what was can we understand what we are now. How the world we know came to be. And each artifact we find helps us interpret what we already know. Adds layers. New identities. We are experimenting in the laboratory of time, testing each observation through a crucible of evidence. Sometimes our conclusions change. And with each shift, we learn more of where we came from."

So, even if this was a retcon, which I can believe it's possible, it was explained through in-universe means that make sense. So ultimately, it doesn't matter why this retcon happened behind the scenes. I feel like a lot of the time people are just repulsed by retcons as a concept, which is really weird because, as you said, they just happen. It's normal that they happen. It's a part of writing any long-format media.

#destiny 2 #lore #rasputin #warmind #ask

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milkywaymd · 2 months

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Who is Ekaterina? Or pornography, violence, murder, and hardcore in the history of Russia.

Not long ago the series “Ekaterina” was released, a series of several episodes, about the second one. The series is interesting, glamorous, the heroine - performed by actress Marina Alexandrova - is sexually attractive, elegant, almost the entire film is busy with her love affairs. An English series starring Anne Fining is about the same thing. The series are glamorous, interesting, but like everything in our cinema, they have no relation to reality. Personally, I am more interested in the fate of Catherine the First. In the history of Russia, if anything, there were two Catherines.

After watching enough videos on the Internet, I came to the conclusion that previously there was one civilization on earth. With the center of power, or capital, located on the territory of modern Russia. This can be supported by the same architectural structures both in Africa and in the territory of modern Europe. This civilization was constantly under attack from some other race. Constantly waged war. And in the end it was captured by aliens from outside. Well, her people were almost destroyed by a great flood. As a result, for example, we now have buried floors, or “Venice”. If you are interested, watch a lot of videos on this topic on the Internet? The invaders saved the lives of some representatives of the captured, calling them “nobles and kings.” There are two reasons for this: the first is that they were the keepers of the scientific knowledge of this civilization, it is no coincidence that it was the nobles who created science and culture, and the second is that the remnants of ordinary people were ready to obey them. By right of their blood superiority. Although later, of course, the nobles degenerated by mixing with the newcomers, but those that remained were finished off by the revolution. By that time he had managed to convince us of the legitimacy of such a government. The fate of Catherine first seems to me an incredibly fascinating, albeit hardcore plot for a film. That’s why it’s a shame that they filmed a farce about the love of Catherine the 2nd, and not the first. So. Imagine there is a beautiful, pure young girl who has experienced the trauma of a flood. In which everyone she knew died, including her parents. Maybe younger sisters and brothers. And she herself lost not only her home but also the world in which she lived. Your homeland, your rights, and maybe memory. Wild, anxious barbarians are running around her. Shitting out of their windows. Unwashed and evil. Their entertainment is orgies, drunkenness, torture. People like her are caught by the Holy Inquisition, and after many days of terrible torture they are sent to the stake. She washes dishes in one of these barbarians' taverns. She has been oppressed and humiliated for many years. And in the end it all ends in gang rape. Which completes the trauma to split and process her consciousness. Since then, Catherine becomes two in one person. The first is the one who constantly suffers from what is happening, and the one for whom everything is the norm, and in the future she will even build an installation for a cupcake with a horse. She becomes subject to the influence and control of the representatives of the Kaganate, who come for her just in time. Not earlier, not later. It is clear that for recruitment they send to her the same processed Peter 1 and Menshchikov. Seeing in them “kindred spirits” and representatives of her Aryan people, she first falls in love with Menshchikov, but he then shows her his other self at orgies with Peter. Menshikov “hands over” it to Peter. Well, the rest of the story is known. The story is dirty, tragic, scary. Subsequently, the Kaganate’s processing of representatives of the nobility, and especially the kings, was put on stream. Moreover, by “Kaganate” I do not mean Jews. They are just one of the tools in my opinion. If I were a director or screenwriter, this is what I would make an interesting movie about. But housewives and their interests are more important, so we admire Alexandrova and Ann in ruffles ...

#conspiracy theories #alternate history

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thxnews · 6 months

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Empowering Dreams: Levelling Up Home Building

The Levelling Up Home Building Fund is designed for housebuilders based in England, that are struggling to access finance from traditional lenders. Loans can be tailored to your individual circumstances and can be used to meet the development costs of building homes for sale or rent. Financing is also available to support community-led housing projects, serviced plots for custom and self-builders, off-site manufacturing, new entrants to the market, and groups of small firms working in consortia to deliver larger sites. Our flexible approach, along with our in-depth knowledge of the housing sector, makes us uniquely placed to support businesses of all sizes to deliver new homes. The Levelling Up Home Building Fund can help if you: - are a UK-registered corporate entity or limited liability partnership - plan to build five or more homes on a site in England - have a controlling interest in the land, with outline planning permission in place More information about the fund can be found on our guidance page, and you can also arrange a call with one of our regional specialists by: - calling 0300 1234 500 - emailing [email protected] - completing a short online form

Read about some of the schemes we’ve supported

How a £1.5 million development loan from Homes England helped a regional housebuilder deliver an outstanding Waterfront scheme.

V A Homes Yorkshire Ltd., Waterside, Knaresborough. Photo by Homes England. Developer: V & A Homes (Yorkshire) Ltd Scheme: Waterside, Knaresborough V&A Homes is a family-run SME developer based in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Waterside, a stunning nine-home scheme overlooking the River Nidd, was their second Homes England-supported development. The brownfield site, a former abattoir, is located on a steep waterside location which required complex groundworks to complete the build. Homes England worked closely with the team at all stages to provide both financial and specialist support. Today all three three townhouses and six semi-detached homes are occupied, with residents benefitting from spectacular views and outstanding design. Following the success of Waterside, V&A Homes is now completing a scheme of homes opposite Thirsk Racecourse and is working on their next scheme which will deliver 60 new homes in Sharow near Ripon. Victoria Denman, Managing Director of V&A Homes said: We first worked with Homes England after agreeing a land deal to bring our first development to market. From the outset I found the experience of working with the team extremely supportive. I was guided with care and consideration through the process and given reassurance at all stages. We are now working on a scheme which will deliver 60 homes - our biggest project to date. We wouldn’t have grown as we have without the great partnership we have developed with the agency. How the Levelling Up Home Building fund enabled a first-time SME developer to achieve their development ambitions

Developer: Windyridge Property Investments Scheme: Sienna Way, West Bromwich In March 2022 Homes England supported Windyridge Property Investments, a new developer, with a £1.4m development loan to deliver Sienna Way, a scheme comprising of 9 homes based in West Bromwich. As a first-time developer, Windyridge had experienced numerous funding barriers before receiving support from the Levelling Up Home Building Fund. Funding was legally contracted in 54 days from credit approval, demonstrating Homes England’s ability to provide SMEs access to much-needed funding at pace. Our regional team worked closely with the developer to design a flexible funding structure that incorporated possible delays in build completions and generous timeframes to sell the homes. Completed in July 2023, Sienna Way meets the latest energy efficiency standards and provides a high-quality living environment for first-time buyers, key workers, and young families. Features include private courtyards, electric car charging points & underfloor heating. The scheme uses locally sourced, sustainable products, minimising waste in the construction process. Jatinder Singh Gakhal, Managing Director, Windyridge, said: As a new SME housing developer, we found securing development funding particularly challenging given the macro-economic factors affecting the construction industry. However, thanks to the team from Homes England, who provided exceptional support and guidance throughout the application process, we swiftly secured a development loan to fully fund our scheme. We look forward to delivering our first sustainable housing development to meet the needs of the local community in the Black Country and strongly recommend SMEs consider Homes England funding to help unlock their future development sites. How a £4.5 million loan helped a Birmingham-based SME developer deliver 72 high-quality independent-living apartments

Developer: Michael Blanning Trust Housing Association Ltd (MBTHA) Scheme: The Shires, Birmingham In 2021, Homes England supported the Michael Blanning Trust Housing Association (MBTHA) Ltd, an established SME retirement home operator, in the delivery of a new purpose-built retirement village near Birmingham. MBTHA had already secured funding with Barclays but required additional financial support in response to market challenges. The flexibility of the development finance Homes England offers meant that we were able to work in partnership with Barclays to provide mezzanine funding to unlock the potential of this outstanding scheme. Today the scheme has achieved practical completion and is now in the sales stage. With its contemporary design, exceptional build quality, and emphasis on green communal spaces, The Shires aims to transform the lives of residents by building a sense of community and providing a welcoming, inclusive atmosphere. Rob Kennedy, Co-Chair of MBTHA said: The need for exceptional accommodation for senior independent living has never been greater and our scheme in Moseley answers this. The project was many years in the making, with many challenges along the way and we are grateful for the shared vision and support of our funding partners, Barclays and Homes England, to enable the scheme to come to life. Sources: THX News & Homes England. Read the full article

#BiodiversityNetGainImplementation #Community-LedHousingFinancing #EnvironmentalImprovementPlanProgress #HomesEnglandFunding #HousebuildersFinanceEngland #LandscapeRecoveryProjectsFunding #LevellingUpHomeBuildingFund #NationalParkCreationInitiatives #SMEHousingDevelopmentSupport #SustainableDevelopmentLoans

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feztooth · 1 year

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Book Review: Sufficiently Advanced Magic, by Andrew Rowe: 3/5

Quick Review: This fantasy book has a great plot, the magic is fun and the setting is awesome. Unfortunately, it REALLY needs to be edited. I’d say around 25% of the book can be removed and it would be better for it. I finished the book and the ending was fun, but I tried to start the second one and just couldn’t do it.

Long Review (with some spoilers): I really wanted to like this book. It is honestly really cool. I like the world building, the magic system is cool, the fighting and puzzles are so much fun, and the characters are all like-able (for the most part, but I’ll get into that later). The story revolves around Corin, who comes from a broken family. In this world, when you are 16 or 17 you take a trial in a Tower, which holds deadly traps and monsters. Pass the trial and you get magic, fail and you die. Corin’s brother went into the tower 5 years ago and never came out. He is presumably dead, and instead of dealing with the trauma Corin has pushed all that aside and has now made it his life goal to reach the too of the tower and wish his brother back to life. In the meantime, his mother left and his father is an asshole. Corin passes his test, but gets an enchantment different from what his father wants. This causes his father to disown him and make Corin’s half sister the new heir to the house. Corin has not seen her in years, but they used to be best buds. After the test they go to a magical school to learn in order to get better with their magic. The school is…. okay I guess. Nothing special, and while it is important to show where Corin is learning all this junk from, it was rather boring. This book really shines whenever they are in one of the towers. The traps and mobs are a lot of fun. Ive seen some other people criticize that the author goes way too in depth explaining the magic system, and while I certainly see where they are coming from I wasnt bothered by it. I also saw a bunch of people complaining about this book because it had some diverse representation (mostly sexual diversity). This complaint it moronic and is only worth mentioning to point out that people who do not like a book because a character in it is gay or asexual should really fuck off. For my criticisms, they mainly center around our main character Corin. Instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, I run through every time Corin says something along the lines of “I’ll have to look into that later.” I’m usually knocked out by number 20 or so. He says it so often it’s insane, and he never looks into them throughout the book! Corin comes across some high level magic he has no idea about, cant replicate, and has never even heard of, better look into that! It gets very repetitive, and also never comes back to affect the story. My second problem with this book is Corin. He is both the smartest and dumbest character in the book. All of the most basic magic ideas need to be explained to him, which I get. The audience needs to know how things work, so make the mc ignorant of them. That would be fine, except it contradicts the fact that Corin has been training for the past 5 years ti do well in the tower so that he can save his brother! Even the other students know more than him! Also, while he makes lots of mistakes and has plenty of gaps in his knowledge, he has an incredible superiority complex. He assumes he knows more than all of his teachers, and thinks he can improve any idea it concept he comes across. And its not like he has some sort of brain blast and can see an actual improvement - rather, he’s not the one what came up with it, therefore he MUST be able to improve it. It gets rather tiring, and what sucks is that when he’s with his friends he’s a great character. While he seems to think his teachers are morons, his friends are all geniuses in his eyes. If he was consistent in his appreciation of people’s knowledge and power, he would be a fantastic character! Instead we get laughable situations where he takes offense to something a character much stronger than him does, and he spends the next 3 pages thinking of ways he can beat them and in a fight (hint: he cant!) And that’s what’s so frustrating about this book. In some parts of the book I would give it 5/5, but in other areas it just sucks and I would give it 1/5. There’s a lot of really great ideas here, and the author is obviously has a great vision. It just needs a really thorough edit.

#book review #booklr #books and reading #books #fantasy #fantasy books

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: one allusion to sex

A/N: me and @samuel-de-champagne-problems are doing a 500 follower co-celebration that you can find here! we would love to hear from you <3

Masterlist

Chapter 34

You came down the stairs in the morning to see Spencer staring out the window of the sun room.

He occasionally sketched something in his journal, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, before glancing up again.

“What’s up, love?” you asked him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind so you could peek into his journal full of sketches.

“I want to build a treehouse for Jo to use and the twins eventually. Maybe even grandkids,” Spencer smiled softly.

“I like that idea but please tell me you are having someone help you. I don’t want you up on a ladder by yourself,” you warned him.

“Derek was more than happy to help,” he kissed the top of your head.

“I’ve got to go to Lowe’s to get the wood planks. Do you want to come too or I can bring all the kids with me?”

“I am not going to miss alpha-male Spence,” you bit your lip, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“I’ll get the kids up if you make coffee,” he bargained.

“Deal,” you gave him a quick peck before sending him up the stairs.

Spencer came back downstairs with the two twins in the double carrier and Jo holding his hand. He was dressed in jeans with a measuring tape hooked to his belt and the leather brown doc martens you bought him on his feet.

“I was not expecting to be this turned on at 8 in the morning,” you whispered to him with a giggle which caused him to blush.

“Can we get donuts on the way, Mommy?” Jo asked.

“Of course, Baby J. Let’s go.”

You had Ollie and Ophelia in their portable car seats in the shopping cart while you and Jo were eating your donut munchkins and watching amusedly as Spencer pretended to know what he was doing.

“It’s okay to ask for help, love,” you reminded him.

“Fine,” he huffed, “Let me go get an employee. I have all the practical knowledge of how this should work but believe it or not, I was never a big handyman. I would just call my landlord when something broke.”

After getting the wood situation settled, Spencer brought Jo to the paint swatch section.

“Princess, you can pick any color you want for me and Uncle Derek to paint the tree house,” Spencer told her.

Jo took her time, carefully examining each swatch and considering her options before deciding on a pale lavender.

“Excellent choice,” Spencer smiled, kissing her cheek, “You got your love of purple from me.”

“I’ve got it!” Jo announced at the knock at the door.

“Jo!” Derek smiled as she opened the door.

“Uncle Derek!” she jumped into his arms.

“Long time, no see, kiddo. You’re growing so fast.”

You walked into the entry way with Ollie and Ophelia in your arms.

“Spence is already out back. Please be careful, you two. I don’t want to drive to the hospital today,” you cautioned.

“I’ll be out in just a second. I need to see my two godbabies first,” Derek extended his arms, taking Ollie from you and giving him little kisses on the cheek before doing the same to Ophelia.

“They still keeping you up at night?” Derek asked.

“Not as much nowadays, it’s a little harder with twins because as soon as one cries, the other follows. But Spencer always insists on getting up so I really can’t complain,” you smiled.

“Alright, I’ll head out there and get to work so Jo can have her new treehouse as soon as possible,” Derek waved.

“Hey, man,” Derek greeted Spencer as he walked outside.

Spencer looked up from his journal, “Oh, hey! I have got some preliminary blueprints sketched out that you can take a look at. Thank you so much for your help today. I really appreciate it and the kids will too.”

“Of course. You know things between me and Savannah are getting pretty serious so maybe my kid will be playing up there one day too,” Derek smiled.

“That’s so great to hear, Morgan.”

“I have you to thank for that. Seeing this life that you created outside the BAU inspired me. It made me realize I want more than to be a travelling single man my whole life,” Derek stated.

“I’m happy you’ve found someone you can see yourself settling down with,” Spencer smiled, “You and Savannah are welcome over any time for dinner.”

“When did you know Y/N was the one?” Derek asked.

Spencer couldn’t believe the Derek Morgan was asking him for girl advice. But then, he remembered he had everything. He had managed to win over his dream girl. His soulmate. His everything.

“The first time she laughed at an awful joke I made. I just knew from that moment on, I wanted to hear it over and over again and I would do everything in my power to keep that smile on her beautiful face,” Spencer admitted.

The sliding glass door of the sun room opened.

“Sorry to interrupt but Jo and I just made some fresh lemonade and I don’t want you guys to get dehydrated out here,” you said as you placed the pitcher and cups down on the table, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Spencer’s lovesick gaze was laser-focused on you.

“I asked him when he knew you were the one,” Derek informed you.

“Oh,” you smiled softly, reminiscing, “For me, it was on our first date when he held every single door for me and would even run ahead to make sure it was open. I knew I had found myself the perfect gentleman.”

You gave him a quick peck before heading back inside.

You woke up already crying. You cuddled further into Spencer’s chest as you teared up.

“I don’t want to go. Please, Spence, I want to stay home with you and the kids,” you sobbed.

“Love, remember, I asked you last week if you wanted to go back or if you wanted me to find a job instead and do you remember what you said?” Spencer cupped your chin and gently forced you to look up at him.

“I love teaching,” you sniffled.

“I completely understand if you change your mind but I think you should give it at least a day.”

“No, you’re right,” you kissed him before getting up and heading to the bathroom to get ready, “Besides, it’s spring so before you know it, the semester will be over and I’ll have all summer with you and the kids.”

“That’s my girl,” Spencer smiled.

“Okay bye, my beautiful babies,” you kissed Ophelia and Ollie’s heads, “Be good for Daddy while Jo and I are gone.”

“I will text you pictures of them every hour on the hour and you can facetime us at lunch if you want,” Spencer assured you, giving you a goodbye kiss.

“Ready, Jo?” you asked, extending your hand for her to grasp on to.

“Yes, Mommy,” she grabbed your hand.

“Have fun at school and work!” Spencer called out, crouching down and moving Ophelia and Ollie’s little arms as if they were waving goodbye.

Your day had gone as well as could be expected. You felt like eventually you would be able to adjust back to your regular work schedule. Spencer’s constant texts throughout the day and the multiple framed family photos that he got you for your office desk definitely helped.

You got home, setting your keys and bag down on the counter next to a takeout bag. Of course, Spencer got you takeout from your favorite restaurant on your first day back because he’s just that sweet.

You hadn’t heard any noise from within the house since you got home so you headed out to the back porch.

You saw Spencer in a hammock tied between two trees in the yard, soaking up the sun. Ollie and Ophelia were sprawled across his chest with a protective arm draped over them and Jo was curled up into his side with his other arm wrapped around her.

You quietly walked over and snapped a picture that definitely would be added to your office desk’s collection before laying down on Spencer’s other side.

He awoke from the rustling you made trying to get yourself settled.

“Why are you crying, love? During our last check-in, you seemed fine,” he whispered concernedly.

“Nothing is wrong, my family is just too cute and my husband is too sweet,” you smiled softly, “Now pass me a baby. You can’t hog them all to yourself.”

in case you missed it, i posted a stand-alone smut one-shot of RF titled ‘All Clear’ but it is not necessary to read to continue the plot of the story and it is strictly 18+

taglist (just ask to be added or removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @doctorreiding @reidsfish

#spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #cm fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #dr spencer reid #cm fic #reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader

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cotton-tails · 3 years

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So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

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defdaily · 3 years

Text

Arena Homme+ Magazine September 2021 issue featuring JAY B: Nature, Dreams and Music

Translated by defdaily.

That day, JAY B’s world was filled with grass that came up to his knees, sunset that briefly peeked through the dark clouds, and ghosts of the silent campsite. Insects flew about in the intimate conversation of creation, dreams, and the future. An interview with JAY B amidst the passing seasons.

So you are working on an album?

The album is almost finished. I couldn’t release it at the beginning of the year, so I’m releasing it now in the second half of the year. I’m thinking of preparing things early on for next time so [we] are preparing for the production of another album.

There was a big change this year, you moved from JYP Entertainment to H1GHR MUSIC, right? What did you expect before becoming a part of H1GHR MUSIC?

At first I was worried. and was concerned over what to do if I couldn’t adapt. My goal for this year was to adapt to the agency and its artists, but everyone has made me feel comfortable. I thought I would have to do a lot of adjusting to the new agency staff, but I was surprised by how understanding they were of the system I had experienced. The way there has been no problem in our communication has far exceeded my expectations. Things are flowing smoothly.

It must feel like a fresh start. You must be looking forward to getting to do what you couldn’t do previously, but on the other side you must also have hopes to learn more. Is there anyone that could provide you with blunt advice?

I’m not the demanding type. And I have never strongly demanded anything from the company either. But that doesn’t mean I accept anything the company makes and provides me. The difference is that my opinion is reflected in my work more than before. If I was going to lead everything at work, there would have been no need to join an agency. Joining the agency means communicating with their staff. I also think we should listen to other people's opinions a lot. And you have to give feedback too, of course. I am working well with the company. Be it a push or advice as help, I learnt a lot from my previous company. Since I have learnt a lot from there, I should trust myself a little more now. I try to relay what I know and learn about things I’m not knowledgeable of. I rely on Jay Bum hyung a lot. I contact him right away when there’s something I don’t know, and we have a lot of conversations.

Is it important that an artist is stubborn? Do you feel the need to emphasise your own music and personality?

Artists have different personalities, just as people have different preferences. I don't want to diss an artist who is stubborn, nor do I want to tell anyone who isn’t stubborn that they are not an artist. I acknowledge everyone. I, personally, want to express the way I live. I like making music. An artist should be clear about what they want to do. Whether it be to become a star, or to express themselves through music or to earn money, it has to be clear.

What is your clear stance as an artist?

Whether it’s fiction or reality, I want to make stories. I’m the type that wants to tell a story. It was like that too in my GOT7 days. I believe one should create and establish their own path in life. I think that's fun. It's hard, but it's worth it. It adds more meaning to my job and I think it becomes more valuable. If I didn't do it myself, I would feel less attached to it.

There’s nothing more fun than one’s own work. Showing your work and waiting for the response must also be thrilling.

Exactly. I love hearing that my music is good. I’m very shy so I cannot express it very well but I’m very thankful and proud too. And it reassures me that I’m not going down the wrong path.

It does feel like all the hard times disappear when you hear good feedback. But feedback isn’t always good. There are even people who avoid them because of fear of criticism.

To be honest, when it comes to unpleasant feedback, it kind of makes me feel… “ouch!” But I accept it because it is still an evaluation. It also gives me a boost. It’s fun.

You are a solo artist now. Do you feel a burden or pressure?

I don’t feel pressured, but I do feel the burden. I joined H1GHR MUSIC and I feel a sense of belonging. I gain something from this company, but I think this company should gain something from me, too. I have worries about things like whether I’ll be able to benefit the company or not. I feel slightly uneasy about possibly not meeting expectations too.

You feel a sense of responsibility.

There's always a reason and a purpose to start anything. Everyone starts music because they like it, and if they start, there must be music they want to make. So if there is criticism, one would feel down, but if the final product is good, the people that worked on it would feel good. That’s what I hope for.

You uploaded a bunch of your Def. songs onto your YouTube channel. There was quite a lot. Are you the prolific type?

I used to be but… I guess I’m still the type to make many songs. (Laughs). But compared to back then, my production has decreased a lot. My stamina can’t keep up. (Laughs). I used to be able to start and finish working on a song at dawn and when I felt like I could do more, I made more. Nowadays, even when I’m working on only one song, not only is it hard for my body, but I also feel drained so I can’t make many songs.

Isn’t it really fast to make even one song at dawn?

Ah, that’s true. I used to work like that three or four times a week, but now I work once or twice a week. Come to think of it, I don't think I'm the prolific type anymore.

Being able to make a lot of things means you have a lot of ideas.

Having run out of ideas is also a reason for having less work done. There are five mixtapes I’ve uploaded onto YouTube with four to five tracks each. At the time, I not only worked on those but music for GOT7 too. After hustling so hard, I feel like I’ve run out of material. I look around wondering where to find inspiration. When I finish making the melody and want to write lyrics, I feel lost.

In order to be prepared for those situations, creators keep a collection of material. How do you collect resources?

I often read or use my imagination. These days, I often put myself in others’ shoes. When watching a movie, one would empathize with the protagonist. It’s only natural since the plot revolves around them. But I would pay attention to the supporting roles or passerbys in the background and think about the story from their point of view. I would think about what I would do if I heard those words and if I were in that situation. I also pay close attention to any words that might be a good source of inspiration. In the past I would focus on how the plot developed, but now I look at the words that the author uses repeatedly. When I think of any useful words or ideas, I jot them down.

Observing the supporting roles instead of the central narrative is such a novel idea.

I suddenly thought of it while watching a movie at home. The protagonist had said some harsh and rude words to a supporting role. It was something like “Get out of my way.” I thought “How would it have felt to be the one moving out of their way? What would they feel?” These were the thoughts I had.

Has anyone told you that you have a unique perspective?

I’ve often heard that my personality is very unique.

People can say they don’t like something despite others saying they like it. That could come off as unique and fresh ideas come from an uncommon perspective too.

I think it’s 50/50. There are times when something might not feel like much for me while others like it, and times when everyone else seems quite indifferent while I like it. A song I recently liked the idea of is “Smile, Wait for the Flash” by Giriboy where he used the ‘kacha’ shutter sound as gunfire. Using ‘kacha’ like a gunfire as a metaphor for wrapping up your feelings after a breakup was a refreshing idea. It was great.

Do you also often use your instincts?

I try hard to. I don’t naturally use my instincts, but I try to look at things through a different lens. I tend to have random thoughts, and I had one today during the shoot too. This is a camping site, but there was no one camping. So I imagined how it would look when full of people moving about. Also during the shoot, there was a long blade of grass under my feet on a field of grass. I should have avoided it but I accidentally stepped on it. I felt sorry for the grass that got stepped on and out of instinct I said “sorry…”

Seems like you have keen sensibility.

I wish I could be sensible. I’m too cautious to say that I am sensible, though.

I think you would be considered a sensible person because you make music. But I noticed that the comments are disabled for Def.’s mixtapes on YouTube.

The songs that I make under “Def.” are 100% music that I personally wanted to make. I didn’t want to receive feedback, so I disabled the comments. If I release an album under “Def.” in the future, I probably won't be able to disable the comments. I don’t know. The reason I have disabled the comments is because I don’t want to see any praise nor criticism. I don’t look at the comments for my SoundCloud tracks either. Because they’re very personal projects, I’m worried I could be swayed by it so I don’t look at it on purpose. I don’t want to be swayed by anything when it comes to my personal projects. I guess that’s my way of being stubborn.

So it sounds like you’re saying the songs that are made under the name Def. are like a part of you. I can feel your sincerity towards your music.

I would pretend to be indifferent to evaluations, but I’m really scared of receiving negative comments. Not the criticism but I’m scared to look at comments that decide something as ‘not good.’ If they say that it’s not their style, then it’s just personal preference. There may not be songs that match their preference within my discography. But it’s difficult for me to hear people say ‘this is not good, bad, or meh.’ After all, those songs came from me and are like my children.

I remember many tracks with gentle melodies and discovered JAY B’s delicate side. Is this surprising to hear?

This is the first time I’ve been called delicate. I do have several sensitive/vibey songs. I want to try something like a pop, hip-hop, or smug and cocky vibe but I’m not good at that. I don’t think it’s my personality.

What is considered a good melody to you?

Something that feels good at the first listen. My music taste has been so diverse recently that even when I talk to my friends about music, the songs that we all like are different. It’s hard to reach a consensus. In the creator’s perspective, even if something doesn’t sound good to others but it does to the creator, I consider that to be a good melody. I used to stress over how to write a good melody, how to sing it, and if the company would like it. As I move on step by step, I found a standard where at least the melody should sound good enough to me to not abandon the song since everyone has different preferences.

Personal preferences are important but it must be an important job to cater to the general public too. No, I mean, a difficult job.

That’s right. I think I still lack the ability to create melodies that the general public would like. I will have to learn step by step. One thing I feel is that there must be a part that sticks. I can’t exactly describe what type of melody it would be, but to set a minimum standard, it would be ‘a melody that I’m satisfied with. If it’s one that I’m not satisfied with but the public likes, I should follow that.

Do you tend to use many tracks when making music? There’s lot of songs these days that use dozens of layers of tracks.

We used a lot of harmonies with GOT7. Because there were so many harmonies, there was a crazy number of tracks too. These days, I try to be minimal and reduce harmonies. I don’t layer many tracks. I usually have the main track with a few harmonies and some adlibs.

K-Pop in particular mixes many genres and harmonies to create complex music. They are very flashy. What do you think of this phenomenon as someone who prefers to be minimal?

I see it as a good thing, because it means that the general public’s preference is expanding to a variety. It’s rather better. Of course, the basics are also important and I do feel the necessity to study them but we also need to agree with change. We should accept change. Who knows, I might grow old to be someone that can’t accept change and wonder, ‘what kind of music is this?’ But I feel that now is a time to open our eyes to change. When I find that a song is difficult to listen to, I will purposely listen to it repeatedly.

It’s been 10 years since you’ve debuted. How much have you changed over these 10 years?

In the past I was ambitious and had high expectations, but now I am more relaxed. With age, I think my sensitive side is becoming more and more dull. When I let go of some desires, I get to be accepting of more things. The scope of my activities also seems to have widened. I used to have a stubborn side to me in the past. Now I’m like ‘don’t expect too much, don’t anticipate too much,’ just do my job diligently!

There are many artists that use other creative hobbies to ease the burdens of their main job. What do you do to cope with your fuel for creativity?

My hobby is photography so I take many photos. I also learned how to draw at one point but nowadays, I don’t have time to draw since I’m busy. I also make records of things often. I write down my thoughts, even useless things. I also use an audio recorder to record my mood, thoughts, and things I’m currently doing. I also write letters to my future self. Things like ‘this is why I’m struggling, this is what would be good for me now but how it would be for my future self?’ Wondering what I will be thinking about and what I would look like. I write letters to myself about stuff like that. I put them in envelopes according to the year and on the envelope I write down the year the letter was written.

So It’s like an archive of your time. Writing, journaling, letters, photos, music, it’s interesting. A very organised way of saving your thoughts to not lose them. Having said that, is there anyone else you would like to show your records to besides your future self?

Ah! I can’t show this to people. They’ll cringe. (Laughs) It’s sort of embarrassing. I can show the photos to everyone but I want to keep voice messages to myself. I hope that when I am older, I can look at them as I laugh and reminisce about my life. They’re records for myself.

Do you also record everyday life in any way?

I record when I find it interesting the way I thought about something. Even looking at my journal from last year or the year before, my thoughts were different from now. I find it intriguing to see the way people can change like this. I think I tend to have many thoughts, so I record them every day.

From the position of a creator, I guess journaling can be seen as an activity to collect one’s senses and emotions to use them as material for inspiration.

That’s right. My brain isn’t good enough for me to remember everything. There are situations when I recall a memory and decide I could write this down.

What was the most fun thing you did lately?

It’s a bit dangerous, but it was when I rode around on my motorcycle with my friend. There was suddenly a heavy downpour. Since I needed to go home, I rode the motorcycle in the rain. I was completely soaked when I got home. The journey home was super difficult, but I was fortunate enough to not have suffered any injuries. It was a completely new experience so it was very fun. I don’t want to experience it again but it felt like an adventure.

Wearing the Burberry 2021 F/W collection in the pictorial today must also be a new experience. Slightly different from the refined and classic Burberry, the collection shows a lot of change. What were your usual thoughts on Burberry?

I thought of it as a clean and straightforward style. Ever since some time, I noticed their young and bold changes. Although today’s outfits contained many new attempts and changes, I felt that their style was still well refined. I felt that Burberry used their own unique perspective to cleanly interpret nature’s elements. Wearing the outfits, I felt like they had a lot of fun ideas.

Which outfit left the biggest impression on you?

Choosing just one is very difficult. There was one that gave off the feel of a medieval knight, and made me feel like a monarch. I’ve heard that in medieval times, people would also wear bearskin from hunting. I think that has some influence on the Burberry outfits that I wore today. Every time I put on an outfit, I always felt like a medieval knight or king. The fur on the clothes had a strong animalistic feel to it. The scenery, weather, and concept were all very harmonious with each other.

Going back to the topic of music, you said that you like to tell stories. Do you also create a universe with music?

Yes, I create a universe for each album. This album creates this universe, while that album creates another. The albums won’t connect to create one universe, though. Each album is its own world, nothing more. I can’t make them magnificently connect into a grand universe. I like to put my story into each album.

Can you use a keyword to describe the universe of the album you are about to release?

It would be “SOMO:FUME.” This is the first album that I made after joining H1GHR MUSIC. This album consists of my energy, feelings, and thoughts, so it contains the meaning of my hopes for people to consume (somo in Korean) this product and and my wishes for my emotions to smear on to you like perfume, which is why I combined [somo] with the [English word] perfume, and named [the album] SOMO:FUME.

In which direction will JAY B’s music flow from now onwards?

I’ve pondered about directionality for a long time, but I couldn’t come up with an answer. The important part is to participate enough for me to not have regrets and be careful. I may disappoint myself if I have too many expectations for the future. I need to work diligently to not be disappointed when I look back; so that in the future, I can see that I worked hard.

Translated by defdaily.

Please support JAY B’s 1st EP album [SOMO:FUME] coming out on August 26 at 6PM KST. jayb1stsoloep.carrd.co

#jaebeom #lim jaebeom #jay b #def.#got7 #got7 jb #interviewtrans #defdaily #defdaily:trans #h1ghrmusic #somofume #style of my own: fume #SOMO:FUME

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

Bloody Vengeance (Ivar x reader)

Summary: Reader wants vengeance and knows what Heathen Prince can help her.

So I decided to add a spin to the trope-Ivar takes over a city and reader is captured. Hope you enjoy!

Words:3500

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of past domestic violence, death and torture, plus some sexual tension cause why not?

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius

"Prince Ivar, there is someone who wishes to speak with you."

The youngest Ragnarsson looked up from the dagger he was sharpening. The Viking before him was one of his own, supposed to be guarding the entrance to the great hall of York. It had been a good fight yesterday, especially when all of his plans came to fruition in taking the city. The way his man had made his declaration, it was obvious the Viking only came to Ivar out of obligation, meaning whomever was seeking an audience was no one of importance. Though, it was interesting that this petitioner requested him personally as his two elder brothers also reclined nearby at a table, nibbling away at the food on it.

"Who is it?" He drawled, spinning the blade in his hand.

"It is a Saxon woman who speaks our language."

That intrigued the bloodthirsty prince. His eyes jumped back up to his man for a moment before glancing at his brothers. Even from where he sat, he could see the curiosity on their faces. There were only a few in England who knew their language, and none were ever a woman. Without hesitation he commanded, "bring her to me."

His man bowed his head before turning and retreating back towards the entrance.

"What do you think she wants?" Hvitserk asked from where he reclined, eyes towards the entrance as if that would provide the answer he sought.

Ubbe spoke first. "The better question is why did she ask for Ivar specifically?"

"Because I am more important." Ivar retorted without even looking at his two brothers. He leaned back in his chair, idly spinning his dagger as he thought. Perhaps this city of York would yield more interests than just a stronghold.

*****

Several minutes later, you were led before three of the most feared men in all of England. You were insane for asking for this meeting. Beyond insane. You planned on attempting to make a deal with the devil incarnate. But from what you had heard, if anyone understood revenge, it was the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Specifically, Ivar the Boneless.

Their eyes slid over your body like oil as you approached, leaving you feeling dirty and tainted without them even touching you. These conquering heathens had no decency. As if unbothered by the obvious lustful gazes, you kept your head up, eyes straight ahead and without fear. Though no one else knew you clasped your hands before you as to not betray the way they shook with trepidation.

Without stopping, when the Heathen guard who led you in did, you walked the few extra steps to stand before Ivar. For a brief moment, you thought you saw shock cross his face; for through your movements you made known, you knew specifically who he was, your gaze never wavering to his brothers or the other Heathens scattered in the room.

The two of you stared at one another for an excruciatingly long minute, his turbulent and piercing, blue eyes refusing to look away, demanding for you to relent and look away first. Though your knees threatened to falter beneath you, you met his gaze head-on, not letting him intimidate you yet. To your surprise, you thought you witnessed a corner of his mouth turn up in a barely-there smirk, but the image vanished just as soon as you thought you imagined it.

"How come you know our language?" One of the brothers asked in their native tongue, running a hand over his beard. He eyed you like you were a newly crafted tool, interesting but easily discarded if no longer serving a purpose.

You glanced over at the one who spoke, curious his name but not willing to ask. Continuing to speak in their language, the words felt coarse on your tongue but you had excellent tutors so the words poured from your mouth with ease. "I learned it while being a ward at the court of King Ecbert."

The dark-haired Prince's eyebrows furrowed as he continued to eye you. His gaze shifted from your eyes to scanning your body as if to jog his memory. "I recognize your face."

"I would frequently watch you and Prince Alfred play chess."

"Mmm….so what do you want, Christian?" He sneered the title like it was a curse word, leaning back in his chair as if a throne. "Why did you ask for me? Are we to play chess?"

That earned a chuckle from those nearby. He smirked down at you, pleased by his quip and his attempt to demean you.

"If you want, my Prince, but I doubt you will find me a worthy enough opponent." You took a deep breath before continuing. "I came to ask two favors of you…."

"You are in no position to be asking for favors! Your city is overtaken, you are a slave no matter your birthright! Why would I care about your favors?" Ivar demanded, standing up and stepping closer with all the feel of a venomous snake ready to strike.

You refused to allow him to intimidate you, even if the sinister look on his face made you internally quake. Seeing him now only solidified all the horrifying stories you had heard, eclipsing your memories of him as a young man in King Ecbert's court. Someone who had intrigued you at the time, causing you to pursue knowledge of his language even after he left England's shores, in foolish hopes you may one day see him again. Yet before you now was the menacing, bloodthirsty warrior prince you had heard tales of that were enough to freeze one's blood….and you believed them.

"Come on, brother. Let us hear her out." The other brother with the kind face stated, eating an apple. "I am curious now." When he caught your eye, he gave you a flirtatious wink.

Ivar rolled his eyes and then gestured for you to continue with unconcealed contempt.

"Thank you, my Prince." You started, giving the dark-haired prince your undivided attention once again. "In exchange for my favors, I will forfeit my life to you to do with as you please, be that a slave or kill me in whatever way most entertains you. I will not argue or fight back. I will graciously accept your choice."

"I could do that already, Christian." Ivar interrupted with a sneer. "Or have you forgotten who decimated your army yesterday and bathes in the blood of your people."

"Brother…." The bearded brother groaned. He tapped once on the table with his hand, giving his youngest brother a pointed look.

His upper lip raised in a snarl at his brother before turning to you again, "Speak! I grow weary of your presence."

You could not help but flinch as he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the once pristine great hall. Swallowing thickly, you pushed onward. At this point you had nothing left to lose. "There is a monastery not far from here, it is hidden well for it holds many sacred treasures for my people."

"So?"

"I can show you where it is located."

He openly scoffed, disdain leaching into his voice. "Why do I care? We have taken York. I can send my own men out scouting to find it. Why do I need you?"

"You speak truth. Though I can show you the hidden passageways into the monastery."

"Why would you tell us this?" The brother who winked at you asked, not in a condescending manner but what seemed to stem from curiosity.

This was it. For so long you had harbored this…. this secret revenge. You had spent many nights awake, plotting how you would fulfil your unspoken vow. When the heathens took York, instead of being terrified, you saw an opportunity. Especially when you glimpsed Ivar. Now admitting it out loud, it almost felt surreal.

You glanced over at the flaxen-haired brother for a moment but returned your gaze to Ivar. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but not from fear. No, it was from barely suppressed rage you finally allowed to escape from your chest where it had festered for too long. "My first favor is, if I tell you of this place, show you how to enter without being seen…. I want you to burn the monastery to the ground."

Silence hung in the room for a long moment, all eyes from the three brothers and others scattered about were glued to you as they absorbed your sharp words and harsh tone. Without waiting, you continued to lay out your favors…. your demands.

"My second favor is that you swear to me on your gods and your arm ring that Bishop Cerdic will die a slow and painful death. I don't care how he does, just that he dies screaming for the mercy you will never give him."

Ivar tilted his head to the side, staring as if seeing you for the first time. "That is not a very Christian thing to ask for."

"I never said I was a good Christian."

"Mmm….and what would your God think of your favors?"

"Truthfully, I don't care."

Ivar moved closer; the pounding of his crutch echoed with each step until he hovered over you. You could feel his breath on your face as he pierced you with his eyes. It felt like being confronted by an apex predator, and you were chained with no means of escape. Heat radiated off his body, warming you in more than one way. Death danced in his eyes but instead causing you fear, it excited you.

"Why?"

You blinked rapidly, surprised and brought out of your inner thoughts by his question. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you want us to kill your bishop and destroy the monastery?"

"You are Northmen, do you need an excuse?"

He smirked, tracing a single finger along your cheek and down your neck. An involuntary shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his unusually gentle touch. "I am intrigued. I accept your offer and favors. You will be my personal thrall, no other may touch you."

"Thank you, my Prince."

"Tomorrow you will show us where this monastery is." He stated as if speaking to you alone. His thumb hesitated over your pulse point for a second making your heartbeat accelerate. His lips twitched in a barely-suppressed smirk. Abruptly, he released you and took a step back. "Leave us now."

After a proper curtsy upheld by your station, you started towards the exit, feigning ignorance to the many pairs of eyes on you.

"Thrall!"

You paused at Ivar's call. Curious as to what he could want now, you turned around to meet his intense gaze, sending heat down your spine even from across the great hall.

"Do you wish to be there when we attack the monastery and kill your bishop?" He asked, sitting down and with his dagger out, spinning it casually in his hand.

"Nothing would bring me greater pleasure, my Prince."

He easily matched your shark-like smile and in that moment, you knew you had made the right choice to seek him out. Your long-coveted revenge would finally be appeased.

*****

You stood alone in the courtyard of what had once been a simple but beautiful monastery. Now flames greedily consumed everything except for the stone walls. Bodies of the helpless monks lay scattered about, their blood painting the dirt and stone beneath them. A few hung from rafters, their bodies still twitching as life drained from them and spilled on the ground below.

You wondered if this was what hell looked like- unrelenting fire, excruciating screams of the damned, the taste of iron and copper and ash drenched in the very air that now threatened to suffocate you.

Through the carnage you stood unwavering, even surprising yourself. Hate and revenge kept you strong in the face of so much destruction and annihilation, allowing you to witness the slow death of the man you swore to kill one day. To others, the bishop was a man of God, someone to admire and aspire to be like. To you, he caused the death of the one person you cared most about in this world.

Standing on the other side of the courtyard, you watched the bishop hang from a cross as some of the Northmen took turns shooting arrows at him, but always making sure it never hit anything vital. His screams and cries for mercy reverberated in your ears.

Behind you came the distinct sound of a slow walk, led by the pounding of a crutch hitting the ground. You knew who it was without turning around, there was only one man whose gait was so distinctive. As he slowly drew closer, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. So far there had been no malice, no concern for your personal safety, but that does not keep the field mouse from fearing the elusive snake. His body heat radiated across your back as he stopped just behind you. Each breath he released made your hair flutter, he stood so close.

After several silent moments, you finally spoke, the weight of your revenge lifted. "Thank you, my Prince."

He made no sound to accept your thanks, not even a grunt of acknowledgement. To your astonishment, one of his leather-bound hands brushed your loose hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck to him. You held perfectly still, never removing your eyes from the bishop even though all your senses felt inflamed by his touch alone. The prince's fingers traced patterns over your exposed skin, creating goosebumps in the wake.

"Tell me…. why?"

"Why what?" You knew what he was getting at.

Harshly, he wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling you against him until not even air could squeeze between your pressed bodies. "Do not play coy with me. You will answer my question."

"My….my father is a powerful lord with great wealth, land and influence in England." You paused, the words, the truth, sticking to your throat, almost suffocating you even more than the Heathen's tight grip on your throat or the death-saturated air. "He is not a good man though. He uses his family, the women folk to…."

The rough hand around your throat loosened to a faint touch as your words sputtered out. After a second, his thumb gently rubbed along the column of your throat as if to coax the words out.

"My father hates the fairer sex; I am not even sure he knows why." You continued, loathing and pain dripping from each word. "So, he used my mother to take his frustrations out on. On more than one occasion, she almost died from his abuse. But he was powerful so no one could stop him. Finally, my mother became desperate enough, she decided to leave. Under the cover of night, she brought myself and a couple servants to this very monastery to seek sanctuary. She begged the bishop to grant her a divorce for fear of her life and mine since he recently started to turn his rage onto me also. But he refused. The bishop said a wife was a servant to her husband in all things, for the Bible commands her to respect him as he is the head of the household. He said God would give her the strength to endure her trials."

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you remembered everything.

"We were forced to return to my father. In his fury, he beheaded the servants who had come with us, declaring them traitors for helping my mother and I to leave him. He locked me in my room without food for three days and during that time…. he killed my mother, his wife."

"How did you escape him?" Ivar whispered into your ear. His hand, no longer a cage holding you to him, but an enticement, still caressing the column of your throat with something akin to tenderness.

For the first time in years, if not your life, safety eased your mind. Which was so wrong, something you would certainly go to hell for if the priests spoke truth. Surrounded by fire and carnage, all due to you and now practically in the arms of a blue-eyed devil, you should be praying and repenting. Yet there was a lightness in your chest, a sense of freedom even though bound for life to a bloodthirsty heathen prince. You struggled to make sense of the conflicting thoughts.

"He, um, he betrothed me to another lord here in York…. so, I moved here several months ago."

"Do…. did you care for your…. betrothed?"

You chuckled, turning your head slightly to meet his fierce gaze, only to find your faces a hands-width away from each other. "No, he was an old, ugly man who snorted like a pig when he breathed."

An arrogant smile curved his lips, making your heart flutter. "Ah, I think I remember him. My brother, Hvitserk, sliced his belly open. Does that please you?"

You shrugged. You knew it should bother you, the mention of the gruesome death of your betrothed, but you felt nothing. Instead you were beguiled by the man who held your life in the palm of his hand. Who you sold your soul to for vengeance otherwise unattainable. Your faces so close, you could taste his breath on your tongue. You could not help but be in awe of his savage beauty, with the most expressive and vivid eyes you had ever seen before.

"What will become of me now?" The question slipped from your lips before you realized it. "You have fulfilled my favors, my life is forfeit."

Slowly, as if to gage your response, he leaned closer to rub his nose along yours. Seeing that you did not pull away, he then slid his nose to nuzzle your temple. Your breath hitched at the feeling it invoked. Butterflies danced in your belly. Unconsciously, your hand reached out to grip his arm that now wrapped around your waist, either to keep you pinned to him or to steady you, it did not matter. The thought of him letting you go brought anguish to your yearning heart.

"You are mine. No one will lay a hand on you or harm you again. You will come with me." He growled against your temple, searing the words into your mind. "Does that please you?"

"Why are you being so good to me?"

He pressed his lips to your skin, letting the touch linger. Finally, he answered, his voice soft like he divulged a great secret for only you to hear. "I like your spirit, the fire that burns inside of you. It calls to me."

You could not help as you tilted your neck to the side, allowing him access to more skin. If the rumble in his chest and the way his grip tightened slightly on you, he greatly approved of your actions. His lips trailed down from your temple to your neck, both to reassure and to claim you.

"And then what?" You asked breathlessly, your thoughts hazy under his branding touch.

"Only the gods know." He whispered. After a sharp bite to your neck that made you squeak, he released you and moved to fully face you. "Come."

You looked back over at the bishop once more. Now seeing his dead form, it was the lid on the coffin you needed. Years of hungering for revenge finally sated. You could move on.

Without a word, you turned away from the grisly sight and took the offered hand of the Heathen prince next to you. The two of you walked out of the courtyard and towards his chariot, hand in hand.

"How far away is your father's estate?"

You glanced at him but his face remained expressionless. "Perhaps a three-day journey if the weather is pleasant."

He hummed with a single nod of his head. Once the two of you reached the chariot, you took your spot by his side as he sat. He called out to Hvitserk that they would leave this place soon. His brother, covered in blood and grinning like a madman, raised his sword in acknowledgement before starting to give out orders. You stood there, watching the organized mayhem of the Northmen and the fires still engulfing the monastery.

"Your father has great wealth, you said." Ivar leaned forward on his seat to watch you with a smirk on his face.

"Yes."

"Three days is not too far. Perhaps we shall pay him a visit, mmm?" With a devious wink, he clicked his tongue and gathered the reins. The chariot jolted forward as the horse began trotting away from the destruction.

Without a second thought, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His answering smile sent the butterflies in your stomach a flurry. He called out to his horse, picking up speed and moving faster through the dirt path in the surrounding forest. Silently, you stood next to the man whose name alone created panic and fear in all of England. But to you, all you could taste was freedom.

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #ivars heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x you #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk #ivar ragnarsson #mzwrites

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moonctzeny · 3 years

Text

Cygnus

pairing: royal!ten x fem!reader x villain!doyoung

genre: angst, smutty elements but not anything too much

word count: 4,8k

warnings: ‘forced’ marriage, mentions of death, blood, stabbing (not too descriptive I promise), manipulation

summary: “When your father, the king, gets brutally assasinated in his royal quarters, you realise how big of a threat the opposing Indigo kingdom really is. In order to further protect both your kingdoms, prince Ten proposes a unification by proposing to you. Amidst your duty as his queen and your inappropriate meetups with your royal advisor, Doyoung, you’re not sure where your heart really belongs”

a/n: This fic has a lot of referencing of the past. Just to clarify: if a part is written in the past tense and is inside the separators, it’s y/n recounting past events

requested by/written for my dear French Anon ❤️❤️ I hope you like it 🥰

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The starry night spreads like a veil over the kingdom. Your kingdom, ever since your head was adorned with a veil of your own. The moonlight, pale and bright, illuminates all the stories of the night. From the mothers that kiss their children goodnight, praying that the impending war doesn’t find them in their adolescence, to the whispering silhouettes of the King’s traitors, plotting with the opposing kingdom to overrule his reign.

Like the weeping willows of your royal garden, you sit alone in the dance hall’s balcony, gazing at the sky’s unknown that always felt so comfortable to you. How dull and drab you must look, even in the ornate gown you were in, amidst all the decorations and joyous music of your wedding’s one year anniversary. Maids, peasants, guards- they all congratulated you on your happy marriage, wishing the queen a long life of prosperity. Even Sirius, the prettiest diamond in the sky, seemed to shine like a spotlight for tonight’s celebration.

“y/n? It’s time for our royal dance.”

You recognized the silky voice to be that of the King’s, your longest companion other than the stars. In spite of all of your misery, Ten, the man you swore to hold in weakness and in health, till death do you part, was someone you valued deeply.

You first met the prince in your early teens, travelling to his neighboring kingdom with your father. He was still a young boy, bothered with the blemishes on his face and excited to play with the snow covering the windowsills of his room. The only person who could relate with the insecurities and troubles of an heir like yourself.

“Why are the peasants hungry while we throw away most of our food?”

"Why does the Indigo kingdom want to declare war on us when we both have enough wealth to live on?"

"Do you think that when we grow up, we will become just like our parents?"

The prince was thoughtful and gentle, a pacifist in the wrong position. Talented in the arts, in dance, in anything that is as beautiful as he is.

His beloved subjects do not know it, but the nickname Ten, was given to him by you.

It was probably the third time you met the prince, excited to spend time with your only friend just a day before your 15th birthday. He had been bugging you over what you wanted from him as a present, the beautiful jewelry and dresses his father gifted you seeming too impersonal to him. You shook off his offers, insisting that him being there with you, in your castle’s terrace, was more than enough.

You were gazing at your beloved stars and he was gazing at you, rambling on and on about the celestial objects in the sky.

“And what star is this?”, he asked curiously, eyes reflecting the constellations and sparkling in the night. Chittaphon, unlike the countless teachers insisting astronomy for a princess was useless, was endlessly entertained by your knowledge and always thirsty to learn more. His finger was pointing at Deneb, one of the brightest stars of the night sky.

“This star is part of a greater ten-star constellation, Cygnus”

“Cygnus?”

“It means swan in greek”, you explained and he squinted his eyes cutely, trying to find the resemblance to the bird.

“According to greek mythology, Phaethon, the son of Helios the sun god, demanded to ride his father’s sun chariot for a day. Unfortunately, he

was unable to control the reins, forcing Zeus to destroy the chariot with a thunderbolt, with Phaethon drowning in the river Eridanus where it fell. Phaethon's lover, Cygnus, dived into the river for days on end to collect Phaethon's bones, in order to give him a proper burial. The gods were so touched by Cygnus's devotion and deep grief, that they turned him into a swan and placed him among the stars.”

Chittaphon, intrigued by the story, stopped plucking out the roots of the grass you were sitting on, and decided to lay his head comfortably on your lap. His hair looked so pretty that you couldn’t help but run your fingers through its softness, the intimacy making your heart skip a beat.

“That is my greatest fear”

You were so lost in your contentment that you’d almost miss his whispered confession. Placing your hands on his cheeks carefully, you turn his face so that he looks at you, and it takes everything in you not to lean down and kiss his pout away.

“Hm?”

“What if, when I finally take the reins of my father’s kingdom, I end up ‘drowning’ as well? What if I’m too weak to control them and someone stronger than me decides to destroy me?”

With a sigh, you look back up to the sky. As an only child and therefore sole heiress, the worry of leading a kingdom was the main cause of your night scares as well. You were just teenagers, still figuring out yourselves, but Chittaphon wasn’t some ditzy child. He didn’t care about the lushes and gold, he wasn’t power hungry. His idealism and ethos were admirable, and you felt safe knowing that when the time comes, he would be your ally.

“You’ll make a great king one day”

He smiles up at you, his happiness lighting up the night sky. He always shone the brightest.

“You really mean that?”

“I do. And if you don’t, I promise to collect your bones and bury you properly”

He laughed heartily at your joke, and you continued to braid his locks, counting the freckles on his face until your heartbeats synced with the other.

You just laid there, thinking the prince had fallen asleep in your arms, when he spoke again.

“I don’t know how, but one day I’ll gift you those ten stars. And it will be the best birthday present you’ll ever receive”

That’s how you got through adolescence, holding on to Ten’s promise, and dreaming of whatever life might offer you. And life seemed to be gentle on you, up until a couple of years ago. Up until the incident.

Ten takes your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles tenderly with his thumb, and leads you to the dance hall. The skin is scabbed and rough from you compulsively scrubbing it every time you take a bath. You’d watch the water endlessly run through your fingers, yet no amount of soap could flush the memory of the deep red of your father’s blood staining them.

It was a Friday like any other, a walk in the royal gardens at 6 and then your waltz dance class at 7. You replayed the new choreography over and over in your head, drunk in your instructor’s praises and wanting to show off. Skipping the steps of the stairwell leading up to the king’s room, you wish you had taken a jacket with you. Goosebumps started appearing on your arms, both from the cool night breeze and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Your father was the reason you started waltz lessons. “One day you’re going to marry a man to queendom and you’ll better be able to keep up with me on our father-daughter dance”. You’d just giggle and tell him you had plenty of time till that day, you were just stepping on your twenties, no reason to step on a dancefloor too! But alas, one dance recital from Ten and your father was sold on the idea of getting you to take some lessons. You chuckled to yourself. Come to think of it, your father just really loved Ten.

You reach the heavy door of his suite, opened by just a slice. While there was light coming from the room, illuminating the hallway you were standing at, there was no one guarding it. You found it a little strange that the guard’s huge frame didn’t block your way from your father like he like always did, yet you were happy. Your father always acted colder to you around him.

“Dad, dad, look what I learned toda-“

The sight of his cold, lifeless body brought you to your knees. The cause of death was obvious, with the dagger shoved deep inside his guts, but if you asked anyone in the kingdom, they’d tell you he died from a bad heart. He loved heavy food, and alcohol, the meals suited to a king. No one other than a select few could know that the king was assassinated in his own bedroom.

But that was not your only secret.

You don’t know how, but Ten has managed to finally drag you in the middle of the dance hall. Your shoes clack against the marbled floors and the music brings you momentarily back to the now that you want to escape so badly. The music sounds familiar, you think, and you stay still for a second, trying to identify the song.

Your king brings you closer, one hand steady on your waist, the other keeping your fingers intertwined. He hums to the tune and looks at you with those eyes, those dark eyes that always hold a certain sadness in them. And when he starts to lead, it finally hits you that this is the song you got engaged to.

It was Ten’s idea, actually. With the rumours of a murder travelling to the neighboring kingdoms, including the Indigo kingdom making statements of invasive strategies against you, a form of alliance was clearly needed to be made.

He showed up to the royal conference room, all dressed up and holding a bouquet of red roses. You could hear his heart thumping as he approached you, his hands sweaty and clammy when he held yours.

“My queen, there is no denying our kingdoms are in a crisis”. His familiar voice was comforting to you, yet the words seemed too formal to be leaving Ten’s mouth. “The Indigo kingdom has indirectly declared war on you. They are powerful, especially with the weapons they possess. And their men are notorious to be ruthless and as cold as ice.”

You gulped visibly, your mouth getting dry at the thought of your people getting as violently killed as your father. Looking at any place possible other than his eyes, you wondered why he took the time to pay you a visit, just to point out the things that you were already more than worried about.

“My kingdom has great soldiers, skilled and apt in martial arts, yet they miss one thing, one thing that your peaceful kingdom can offer mine. Your servants love you, my queen, and they are willing to do anything for you”. He stops and takes a breath, handing you the bouquet he had been holding in his other hand. “I know I would”

The sweet scent that hits your nose matches his sentiment, yet the glossiness in his eyes -that you finally picked up the courage to face- told you things would get bitter soon.

“Are you suggesting we form an alliance for the war? Our kingdoms might be on good terms now, yet our predecessors used to be enemies for hundreds of years. There is still a lot of mistrust weaved in the hearts of the people.”

“I know”, he said, his voice breaking lightly. A thorn from the bouquet pricked your skin as you saw him fall down on one knee, a drop of blood falling from your finger as a teardrop stained your face. “That’s why I am asking for your hand in marriage. Let our kingdoms become one”

You were the one who said ‘I do’, yet the decision was already taken for you. Your whole life, in fact, was painted right in front of your eyes, hues of marsala reds and hunter greens. Hues like the ones Ten put on his palette almost every night before you go to sleep.

You and Ten had never slept together. He insisted that it was never his intention when marrying you, and he’d completely respect your boundaries. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t had a thought of laying with him, as you helped him remove the drying paint off his fingers every night. You couldn’t ignore the twitch of your sensitivity as he saw you changing into your silk robe and nightgown, nor the heat of your face when he called you beautiful. His pretty voice was made for begging and teasing and singing out moans. With his flexibility and core strength, you could only imagine what he’d be like in the bedroom. Just the image of his feline eyes looking up at you from between your thighs sent chills down your spine.

That being said, you always felt a bit annoyed by his chivalry as he slipped through to the guest room to spend the night. Through his proposal, he had ridden you of the chance to choose your other half, doomed you to endless nights of loneliness and a cold half of the bed. He should’ve at least taken responsibility.

Not even the guards could know that the two of you didn’t share a bed, the alliance holding on the thin thread of facade you played out for everyone. Sweet kisses in the breakfast room, fake smiles and the silent mourning of your freedom. But that wasn’t your only secret.

You see a hand tapping lightly the velvet shoulderpads of the King’s suit, causing you to halt your dancing. A man, about half a head taller than Ten, successfully steals his attention from you.

“My king, may I steal the lovely queen for a dance?”

Kim Doyoung.

Tall, nice-mannered, lethally handsome. Your father’s trustiest advisor ever since he turned 18 and one of the most respected men in the castle. If the king is the jungle’s lion, then Doyoung surely is a jaguar, attacking his enemies unexpectedly, emerging from their blind spot. He is also your secret.

Kim was the one who found you crying over your fathers body, notifying the knights of the murder since you had no voice to scream for help. He offered you a shoulder to lean on during your grief, while helping you manage the kingdom in your inexperience. It was inevitable to come closer to the man you spent countless hours with at the royal meetings, who you wined and dined with daily, who led you through your duties and made everything make a little bit more sense.

The attraction you felt for him however, well, that was on you.

It started one night, warm like this one, when the diplomatic settlements with a new kingdom took way too long to figure out, and the pair of you were stuck in his personal office at the early hours of the morning.

Your hair was a frizzy mess, eyebags darkening the thin skin of your under eyes and all you could focus on was the ink slowly spilling from the metal tip of your pen. And Doyoung, though hardworking and diligent as always, showed the signs of exhaustion as well, stretching his neck from side to side to release the tension.

A crack from his joints grabbed your attention, or rather his skin that was glowing in the limelight.

He was wearing a beautiful silk shirt, the fabric matching his rich stature and highlighting the delicate lines of his body. His collarbones, sharp like him, peeked from the buttons he had been unfastening, one by one, all the while keeping his eyes on yours.

Your mind wandered under his stare that did nothing short of stealing all oxygen from your lungs. Every slither of your bare skin that landed on it was starting to burn up, and you assumed that’s what his touch must feel like as well. You imagined unbuttoning the rest of his shirt yourself, giving his shoulders a little massage to help him relax. You’d run your hands down this torso, marking it lightly with your fingernails, until you felt that little line of hair right over his pelvis.

The thought is too sinful, so you return to the document in front of you, yet all of your concentration dissolves when the advisor suddenly places the back of his hand against your forehead. His touch is cool and refreshing against your hot skin, yet the proximity only raised the temperature of your body more.

“My queen, you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping properly since the… incident?”

You wince at the memory and shove it down your subconscious again, shaking your head as if the dark thoughts would just brush off of you.

“Not really. I keep tossing and turning. I lay on my bed and I just feel so- so lonely.”

Immediately realising how suggestive your words sound you put your hand over your lips, but Doyoung removes them, taking your raised hand in his and kissing the top.

“My duty as your advisor is to rid you of your worries, my queen. Apparently, I’m not doing a good job, so tell me”. You let your eyes fall on his plush lips, holding your breath as his sweet talk leaves them. He mouths the next words against your wrist, and you can feel every movement of his mouth against your sensitive skin. “What can I do to relieve your stress?”

You can’t stop staring at the smoothness of the junction of his neck so you leave a light layer of your lipstick on it, the pink hue against his pale skin reeling you back to reality.

“Advisor, this is not right”, you try to excuse, “I cannot allow myself to take advantage of your duties like that”

Your eyes stay glued on his neck, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in a chuckle. He guides your hand, that is still in his grasp, and boldy places it over his thigh, your pinky finger grazing against a hardness that is most definitely his-

“Can’t you see what you do to me? What does a man have to do to be yours for the night?”

And that’s how he ended up tangled in your sheets every night, sneaking in your room silently so that the guards don’t notice him.

“It’s been one year, huh?”

You smell the citrusy after notes of wine in his breath, his lips slightly stained by the liquid. He looks just as addictive as the alcohol he consumed tonight, covered in the silk fabric that he loves so much.

“Have you been drinking again?”

“What else am I supposed to do when I see my queen dancing with that bastard?”

“That bastard is your king, yet you talk so lowly of him”

“And that king is your husband, but you were moaning my name on your wedding night”

You had changed into a white nightgown, the ivory dress discarded on your bathroom’s floor. The beads that were delicately weaved into the wedding gown sure were heavy, but that was not the reason you felt so suffocated in it. You had to sit there for hours, resenting everyone who made a toast for the husband and wife. The celebrations seemed endless, the wine abundant, their laughs maniacal. Your wedding ceremony was the image of luxury and opulence, yet you felt so poor.

Your feet led you to his room on their own, swollen and cut from all the dancing in heels. When Doyoung saw you, angry and choked up with all the injustice you felt, he offered to do what he was the best at. Distract you with his touches, his wet kisses, his sweet nothings.

A pang of guilt ran through you the moment your back hit the wall, his body trapping you between the cold surface and the overwhelming heat of his body. You wondered if Ten was still sleeping in your newlyweds’ suite, if he was pretending that he dozed off, what he was thinking. You knew you were selfish for only thinking about your feelings, as if you were the only one forced into this marriage. But then Doyoung’s fingers danced on the hem of your dress, and your mind would go blank with lust.

“This is wrong”, you said out loud, a statement directed mostly at yourself rather than Doyoung.

“You coming here?”

“This. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to come this close to you”

“Divorce him”

You blinked back at him a couple times, trying to register what came so nonchalantly out of his mouth.

“Out of all people, advisor, you know exactly why I can’t”

His hand slid upwards, following the heat of your core, yet his fingers never touched where you needed him most. Small indentations were formed on the softness of your thighs, caused by his rings, and you wished the marks would stay forever. The shirt he wore as his sleepwear was oversized on his small frame, the iris tattooed on his shoulder peeking out from the fabric, as if it flowered on his skin.

“Out of all people, my queen, you know I can give you so much more than him”

As if knowing you’d argue with him, he started to nibble the skin on the middle of your neck, forcing your voice to bubble out muffled and weary.

“But advisor-“

“Say my name”

He let the pad of his finger fick your clit, and you moan “Doyoung” out, the name addictive on the tip of your tongue. So you say it again.

“Doyoung, I need you”

You felt his grin clearly against your skin, you wetness dripping on his fingers and covering his rings. His next words came out with a gravelly sound:

“I might hurt you, my queen”

Your whole life was laid out in front of you, from the wedding ring that weighted down your finger, to you laying on your royal deathbed, looking back at a lifetime that was never really yours. A linear progression to unhappiness, but you hated straight lines.

“I want it to hurt”

Doyoung brings your body closer to yours, perhaps way closer than the etiquette allows, his hand on your lower waist sliding as near to your ass so as not to raise suspicion. He dips his head forward in a way that makes you think he’d leave a tipsy and careless kiss on your lips, but he whispers in your ear instead.

“Why haven’t you left him already?” The question is bold, especially between all these people, especially in the celebration of the wedding he asks you to break off. “I thought you said you’re mine”

“I am, but-“, your head moves towards the king’s direction, whose eyes are boring holes through the pair of you. You feel so small under his stare, suddenly feeling dirty.

“He doesn’t even love you”

There is a weird feeling bubbling in your stomach when you finally make eye contact with Ten, all his forms in which you’ve seen him through the years running in your mind. The innocent boy who became your best friend, the uncertain teenager who became your first love. The empathetic king, the mourning friend. The dependable spouse.

“But you do”, Doyoung concludes incredulously, his right eyebrow raised. It’s as if he tied together the pieces of a big jigsaw puzzle, the disappointment and anger and determination all trying to fit in his handsome features.

A hand draws your body away from Doyoung quite aggressively, and you quickly realise it’s Ten who has caught up with you. He intertwines your fingers together, pulling you into your previous dancing position but something is different this time.

“Times up. My wife’s too precious of a gem to let go of for longer”

Doyoung scoffs lightly, but hides it with a small bow to his king, leaving the two of you alone like he was asked. The tension between you and Ten is so thick it felt like all the lies you’ve told your kingdoms liquified into a thick substance that’s suffocating you now. His fingers are digging in your hips, in a possessive manner that’s a first for him, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Do you ever think of me when you’re having sex with him?”

The question catches you so off guard that you ungraciously step on his feet, wobbling on your heels until he helps you find your balance.

“Why would you ask that?”

Now, you weren’t trying to play clueless, you know Ten is smart. You see the way he studies you and Doyoung, how he catches your secret glances, the electric touches. He surely has figured out where you sneak off every night and whose cologne you reek off the next morning. What you don’t understand, is where all his dislike for your advisor stems from.

Ten just chuckles bitterly, letting a puff through his nose, with a face of almost disgust when he looks at you.

“I don’t understand why I feel this way. I don’t understand why I care about you when you’re plotting with him against me. Why I feel jealous every time I see his filthy hands on you, or why I still think you deserve better.”

Plotting against him?

You’re left with a mouth gaped open, his harsh words both hurting you and confusing you as his voice gets even more strict than before.

“I thought maybe if I asked you to marry me you’d slowly distance yourself from him. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you reciprocate a handful of all the things I feel for you. But you still stay by his side, hanging from his every word”, he says it all in one breath and his eyes are watery when he addresses you again. “How can you sleep soundly next to me when you’re fucking the man that killed your father?”

A buzzing sound rings in your ears and you realise that you’re one breath away from falling apart.

And just like that, everything makes sense.

Why Doyoung was the first to find your father’s body, why the assasination seemed like an inside job. His sudden romantic interest in you and his pleas to have him as your king instead.

The indigo flower that decorated his body.

Ten shakes you a little, worried now at your sudden stiffness and the loss of blood from your face. He didn’t expect this reaction from you, didn’t expect to see your body shake with anger like this. You seem even more shocked than he was when he found out about Doyoung’s true nature, but, aren’t you the advisor’s accomplice in the plot of his overruling?

“Wait, all this time- you didn’t know?”

Ten’s eyes widen as his body jerks forward, and you barely manage to catch him in your arms. A woman’s shriek resonates in the dance hall; the musicians halt their playing with a scratchy sound of the strings that stretch out of tune. And then you see the blood, staining the marble floor under Ten in small drops. You also see Doyoung emerging from behind him, with a maniacal look on his face, and a dagger in his hands.

All hell breaks loose. The unarmed guests scream in fear, urging outside the dance hall in flocks. Glasses of wine shatter on the floor, women leave their heels behind in their hastiness to save themselves. You see the knights running in your direction, creating a shield of protection for you and the king, yet you notice that not all of them have gathered around you. A good part of them stand next to Doyoung, his face distorted in a mischievous grin. The extent of the betrayal in your kingdom shocks you, but when the first knight launches forward with his sword, you know you need to get Ten out of there immediately.

Throwing Ten’s arm over your shoulder, you drag him with difficulty all the way to the balcony, desperately trying to mute out the shrill sound of swords clashing in the process. You manage to bring him to safety, laying him down carefully in the same spot he found you in before, his head on your lap. After unbuttoning his shirt, you inspect the stab under his ribcage, and you swallow a scream at the sight of the deep wound. The most you can do is rip a big piece of cloth from your skirt, tying it up tightly around his waist, and wait until the fight is over.

You see clear drops falling on his face that is turning sickly pale and you realise you’re crying. Holding his face between your hands, you get reminded of those days you went starseeing, of those moments of absolute peace with him that you wished would last forever. His body is cold and the cloth is turning burgundy, but he has the most tranquil smile on his face as he looks up at you.

“Stay with me, please”, you sob over his rigid body, hugging it tightly as if his existence will just slip right through your fingers. “Live with me, and I’ll gift you all the stars in the sky”

#neowritingsnet #nct angst #ten angst #doyoung angst #nct scenarios #ten fic #doyoung fic #ten smut #doyoung smut #ten scenarios #doyoung scenario #ten imagine #doyoung imagine #wayv angst #chittaphon #wayv #nct

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

Note

so since you're gonna do the avatar!mc au with the entities you think each brother would fear the most (SO excited for that btw, my friend can attest to the fact that i've basically been rambling about tma x om nonstop since the first post you made that put the two together), i'd love to hear your thoughts on which entity each brother would *be* an avatar of, if you're cool with sharing! personally i love the ideas of specifically vast!levi and dark!belphie but i'd love to hear your takes on the concept! <3

So because of how time works, despite receiving this ask on July 12, by the time you see this it’ll be August! So the entire Avatar!MC series should be out by now, which I hope you will/have enjoy/ed. I wholeheartedly agree with the concept of Vast! Levi, which I’ve talked about before (as you know ;) ), but I will happily ramble about it again!

These aren’t gonna be short fics though bc I do Yearn to save that energy for The Longfic, which is still in the planning stages because a) I can’t pick a timeline, and b) trying to match up the timelines of Obey Me and TMA is hard, especially when I tend to have a violent disrespect for actually paying attention to the timing of plot events in both. I already fucked up a part of the plotting because I forgot the order we get pacts with the brothers lmao

Content warnings: Mentions/allusions to tma-typical Spookies, yet another installation of my Cursed Crossover idea, lengthy debates about what makes someone choose to become an avatar of fear, spoilers for Lesson 16+ of Obey Me and S5 of TMA

What Entity Do I Think The Brothers Would Serve? (Cursed TMA x Obey Me Crossover)

Lucifer

So I put him as falling victim to the Eye/Beholding bc of his whole thing about Secrets and Pride being about wanting control over your own image

And he does have a creepy tendency in canon to always know when his brothers are up to some Dumb Shit

BUT! You know what we see in Lucifer’s character that we see in a certain Entity?

A simultaneous manipulation of others and submission to being manipulated by a higher power

That’s right, I think Luci would be a Web avatar

But Winter, Lucifer wouldn’t wanna take marching orders from someone/thing else! He’s too proud for that— You’re right! He doesn’t want to. But he will.

He willingly submitted himself and his family to Diavolo for eternity to get what he wanted (saving Lilith)

And from how much we see him work, it’s safe to say that he’s a pretty damn essential part of running the Devildom

If he really wanted to, he could probably successfully pull a coup on Diavolo

But he doesn’t, because he’s trapped himself by his own honour code

Thus, the sexual tension bromance we all know and love/insist is Deeply Problematic and blacklist (depending on how much you like/hate dialuci lol)

10/10, would fill with spiders again

Mammon

I put Mammon as falling victim to the Buried for pretty obvious reasons

But admittedly picking a fear he’d serve is trickier

I had to get a bit abstract with it, but I think the Hunt might suit him

Not necessarily the primal *cough* and police brutality *cough* parts of the Hunt tho

More like how Basira was considered an avatar of the Hunt in the fearpocalypse because of her mission/promise to Daisy

See, Greed can stem from fear

Fear of losing what you have, of no longer being able to support yourself, of being preyed upon by others

So people become greedy as a defense mechanism, to protect what they have

If they’re on the offensive, they won’t be targeted

Also, if you’re constantly pursuing more more more, there’s no time to think about anything else

Like consequences, or guilt, or Feelings

If Mammon let his little tough guy act go too far for too long, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say he could start heading down the path to avatarhood

After all, people pay big money for hitmen and bounty hunters…

Leviathan

As I said last time, I can see why people would associate Levi with the Lonely first: he’s a shut in, he acts like he wants nothing to do with people/would rather be alone, and I get it

BUT! All of that actually stems from the fact that Levi has terrible self-esteem and thinks he deserves to be this gross shut in loser

While envy can make you want to bring others down to your level, so to speak, Levi tends to just shun “normies”, not actively conspire to sabotage them

He actually does crave understanding and to have people in his life, he just doesn’t know how to go about it

Boy’s got Mega Social Anxiety is what I’m saying (funny how both the Lonely and the Eye can be real bad for that, huh)

But the Vast? Nihilism? Takes all the pressure off

If everyone is a small, insignificant speck in the face of an uncaring, unfathomably large cosmos, who cares what you do? Who cares what people think of you?

Yeah, you’d be kinda weird too if you stared into the infinite abyss of the ocean and realized it was just the maw of a gargantuan sea monster too, Karen, lay off

Plus aesthetically, the great Awful Deep most people fear in the ocean is a comfort to Levi

And again, THE VAST IS MORE THAN JUST THE SKY

I WENT ON A BOAT ONCE

LIKE REAL FAR OUT, SO I COULDN’T SEE LAND FOR DAYS

IT WAS JUST ENDLESS B L U E

AND I WAS ON A CRUISE IN THE CARIBBEAN

I SAW A FRACTION OF THE OCEAN’S S U R F A C E AND IT WAS I M M E N S E

Did you know we’ve only explored like 5% or whatever of our oceans? Think about that! Every Single Thing we know about what’s in there is just the tip of the iceberg!!! GOD KNOWS WHAT’S DOWN THERE!!! PROBABLY FUCKED UP FISH IS WHAT

*ahem* anyway, fishee

Satan

Another tricky boi

I marked him down as fearing the Desolation, as a reflection of what he fears most in himself

I probably could have also gone with Slaughter, but I’d say that’s more baby/early-Satan

Desolation is also about destruction of potential, and Satan has very carefully built himself into a non-rage-monster person

So tearing that all away from him is :)))

But what would Satan give himself over to?

Ceaseless Watcher, I want that twink OBLITERATED—

Satan clings to knowledge and erudition to distance himself from the rage he was born as

“Watch and learn” is literally how he became a person

I find it deeply funny that it could also easily be how he becomes a monster once again

Also if you think the avatar of Wrath wouldn’t have a use for supernatural blackmail you’re just straight up incorrect

Couple that with Satan’s various connections and he’d be a Force to Reckon With

Asmodeus

I put him as a victim of the Corruption bc I found it extremely fitting considering the duality of his romanticized image vs the “dirty” fluid-filled nature of Lust.

Lust can be really nasty, but as licentious as Asmo’s supposed to be, he’s surprisingly coy

(now part of that comes from the fact that Obey Me isn’t strictly 18+/full-on porn, but still)

There’s a lot of Interesting Ideas to unpack there with attitudes towards sex vs sensuality and idealisation vs reality

Now as for an avatar… I debated this for a very long time, tossing around Eye, Stranger, Spiral, even Web for like one second

But I think I’ve got it

Slaughter!

Specifically the musical/random outbursts of violence side (not so much the war side)

Why? Well for one, Biblical Asmodeus is said to “"transport men into fits of madness and desire [...] with the result that they commit sin, and fall into murderous deeds (Testament of Solomon, verse 23).”

But also, Obey Me Asmo’s affair with that portrait chick from the earlier lessons started a whole ass war

Like it or not, the boy is very good at instilling manic violence in people

They don’t call it bloodlust for nothing

Beelzebub

I paired Beel with an End avatar MC bc the boy fears losing his loved ones like he lost Lilith

You could argue that Desolation would fit there too but I liked how it fit Satan better

Now as for a Vibe…

I’m tied between Flesh and Corruption tbh

Though corruption is mostly bc buge :)

So I’ll talk about the Flesh

So uh, mass consumerism, meat is meat, cannibalism… see where I’m going?

Ignoring the Hans because that was super racist, the two Flesh avatars I remember best are Jared Hopworth and The Guy Who Stuck His Arm in a Spooky Meat Grinder To Feed His Buds

I think of Jared in relation to Beel not because of the gym thing, but because his very chill/apathetic attitude towards his patron is similar to how I’d picture Beel’s approach to all this

Like “well, guess I’m here now”

I love Beel as much as everyone else, but he’s not exactly apologetic about his… habits

Not to the degree that he’d actually try and change them anyway

So if he got started on the path to Flesh avatarhood, he’d be pretty fucked

Belphegor

I put Web for him as a fear almost entirely because of the concept of Uno Reverse Card, ngl

It does technically tie into his whole thing about being trapped in the attic, since he’d denied all agency and freedom in there, but… Uno Reverse

Dark!Belphie is an interesting concept, and MAG86 “Tucked In” is iconic, but tbh I don’t really… Get the Dark

Don’t get me wrong, put me in a dark place and I will be scared, I don’t like not seeing things, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around why one would become an avatar of the Dark

It’s not a very “primary” fear imo? Like, I’m scared of the dark bc I can’t see what’s there, ie. a threat could be there and I wouldn’t know, but intellectually I know it’s just the absence of light. That’s not really spooky on its own.

I guess what I’m saying is I can attribute spookier things related to the Dark better to other Entities, so I’m not sure what its draw is specifically

According to the Entity Sexiness Survey I did a while back, there’s apparently some Catholic stuff going on with the Dark so maybe that’s why i don’t get it lmao

Anyway I’d put Belphie down for Spiral

“What lies behind a smile” indeed cowboy

Apparently it’s getting choked

Is it because MC’s entire relationship with him is originally founded on a lie?

Is it because the Spiral deals with distortions in your perception, gaslighting gatekeeping girlbossing, as well as foggy liminal mental spaces like between sleep and consciousness, death and life?

Is it because I think Belphie would absolutely delight in driving someone bananas by fucking with their dreams until it bleeds into their waking life?

Is it because being a person or consistent being at all is too much effort, consistent internal geography is hard, fuck it, just be an endless twisting series of hallways?

Yes :)

#obey me #tma #cursed tma x om crossover #obey me headcanons #tma the entities #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor

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aspoonofsugar · 3 years

Text

The Maidens: The Cycle of Life and Death

This post is inspired by @hamliet’s alchemy metas... I know nothing about alchemy, but after discussing it with her, this idea came up and I am sharing it on her behalf too.

In short, in alchemical stories (which RWBY apparently is) there are 3/4 phases. Each phase is linked to a specific color:

1) Nigredo (black)

2) Albedo (white)

3) Citrinitas (yellow)

4) Rubedo (red)

That said, often the yellow phase ends up being fused with the red one, so in most alchemical stories there are only three phases. Now, for each phase there is a major death, so there are usually 3/4 key deaths, each one linked to a specific phase.

For example, in Harry Potter there is

a) Sirius BLACK dying

b) ALBUS Dumbledore dying

c) Harry dying and being carried by RUBEUS Hagrid

Let’s highlight that each one of these deaths is especially resonant and important for the story. Sirius dies when Harry discovers about the prophecy. Dumbledore’s death leads to Harry leaving Hogwarts to look for the Horcruxes and finally Harry’s own death leads to Voldemort’s defeat.

What I mean is that the deaths linked to each phase must be resonant and meaningful either in terms of plot or in terms of themes. They must have weight and be felt both by the audience and by the characters.

So far, in RWBY we have had two such deaths:

Pyrrha’s death is linked to Nigredo, while Penny’s to Albedo. Interestingly, both deaths happened to two (supposed to be) Maidens.

This is interesting on multiple levels.

First of all, I have been asked about the Maidens in RWBY here and here. However, Penny’s death helped me gain a new perspective of their overall meaning.

In the first meta I have written this:

In a sense, the story keeps repeating. Salem kills Ozpin, he is reborn and his daughters are victims of the conflict between them.

Because of this, the four Maidens have become one of the many symbols of this endless cycle, which is clealry breaking its protagonists more and more.

This is well conveyed by the Maidens having a season theme. Seasons are in fact linked to the repetition of time aka one of Ozpin’s motifs.

I still think it is a part of the truth, but as for now I think the framing of the series over the cycle is more nuanced. It is a cycle of death and rebirth:

Goodwitch: The Maidens have existed for thousands of years. But much like in nature, the seasons change. No two summers are alike. When a Maiden dies, her power leaves her body and seeks out a new host, ensuring that the seasons are never lost, and that no individual can hold on to that power forever.

Seasons live and die, but new ones are born. It is a death that leads to a new life and that protects life itself since the Seasons are supposed to be Guardians.

This fits with the actual cycle of seasons where “no two summers are alike”, but that also accompanies humans’ lives and makes many human activities possible.

Secondly, both Pyrrha and Penny’s deaths have to do with the theme of choice, which is central to the series:

Ozpin: Maidens choose themselves.

In particular, Pyrrha and Penny’s final choices are two different declination of this idea. At the same time, they are linked to the theme explored by their respective relic as well (in Pyrrha’s case it means that her link to choice is twofold).

1) As the (supposed to be) Maiden of Choice, Pyrrha is given a choice in the Vault of Choice:

Ozpin: You, Miss Nikos... have a choice to make.

(...)

Ozpin: Are you ready? I... I need to hear you say it.

Pyrrha: Yes.

Ozpin: Thank you, Miss Nikos.

She is given some time to think about it and in the end she chooses to accept her new duty. Still, the power is stolen from her and the choice she was given is negated to her:

Pyrrha: But I can help.

Ozpin: You'll only get in the way.

However, this does not stop her:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

Pyrrha’s death is about doing the right thing even if it comes with a high personal cost. She is able to make the choice to keep fighting against an enemy impossible to defeat an arc before our protagonists are strong enough to make it.

This is why... even if she never receives the powers.. Pyrrha is the true Maiden of Choice of the Vale arc. She does not need the powers because deep down being a Maiden is something deeper than that.

Pyrrha embodies the idea that Maidens choose themselves because she chooses to be a Maiden at Heart and dies true to her choice:

Pyrrha: Do you believe in destiny?

2) As the Maiden of Creation, Penny is created anew in the Vault of Creation:

As I have stated in previous metas Creation as a concept is linked to free will. Creations are free to develop and to change independently from their “creators”. This fits Penny’s transformation, who ultimately gives her back the free will that the virus had stolen:

Penny: I...I must...open the Vault. I, I do not want...Ah!

And in the end she uses her free will to make a specific choice:

Penny: Let me choose this one thing.

I have actually a lot more to say about Penny’s death and final choice, but I will write a longer meta about it, so for now let’s just say it has to do with self-actualization.

Penny embodies the idea that Maidens choose themselves because she chooses who she wants to be and how she wants to live.

What is more, her choice has to do with Creation because she saves Winter’s life and also (symbolically) makes her a whole person as well:

Winter: No, Penny, you were always the real Maiden at heart. I was just a machine. Just... following orders.

Penny: You’re my friend.

Winter: Perhaps, but I’m choosing it now. I’ve made it my own. And I take great pride in it.

Winter: You chose nothing. This was a gift.

At the same time, Penny’s sacrifice also saves the people of Atlas and Mantle who are stranded in Vacuo. If Cinder had stolen the power, they would have all died.

As a final note, we are directly told the themes linked to both Pyrrha and Penny’s death back in volume 5:

Ruby: When Beacon fell, I lost two of my friends: Penny Polendina and Pyrrha Nikos. I didn't know them for very long, but that doesn't change the fact that they were two of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. But that didn't save them. Pyrrha thought that if there was even the smallest chance of helping someone, then it was a chance worth taking. And because of that, she died fighting a battle she knew she couldn't win. And Penny... was killed... just to make a statement.

Pyrrha died to make the right thing.

Penny died the first time as a result of her being objectified, so the second time she herself chose how to end her life in a way she found meaningful.

In short, Pyrrha and Penny’s deaths can be read as the two deaths linked respectively to Nigredo and Albedo. What is sure is that they are meant to be compared and foiled.

All this leads to a question... will we have other two (or one) major death(s) that will be linked to (the yellow and) red phase(s)? Will they be other Maidens?

As for now, I think it is possible, even if not sure obviously.

First of all, I do not know if we are gonna have a death for Citrinitas since from what I understood usually the yellow phase gets conveyed as a part of the Rubedo one. Moreover, if we have it, it might not be linked to a Maiden. After all, another pattern one could find is that both Pyrrha and Penny died at Beacon and so did Ozpin, so maybe he will be the one to die (once and for all?) in the yellow/red phase. However, as for now, I don’t think so and I am gonna theorize that the yellow and red deaths, if they happen, will have to do with the Maidens and will be other declinations of the themes explored above.

As for now, we know nothing of the Maiden of Destruction, so I am not considering her.

Still, there is another Maiden whose arc was left unsolved and who needs to come back in the story:

3) As the Maiden of Knowledge, Raven is told the truth about herself in the Vault of Knowledge:

Yang: Oh, shut up!! You don't know the first thing about strength! You turn your back on people, you run away when things get too hard, you put others in harm's way instead of yourself!! You might be powerful, but that doesn't make you strong.

And it is possible that this self-knowledge will eventually lead her to make a choice, which is what she has failed to do up until now.

If she chooses to sacrifice herself, her death will be a redemptive one and it might come to embody that Maidens choose themselves because they can always change and become true Maidens.

Finally, there is the Rubedo phase, which is the last phase. If we are gonna have a red death, it should be a key one for the whole series and one which leads to its resolution. As for now, I think there is only one character who can pull it off:

4) Cinder is a key character for the whole story. Personally, I think this volume was a turning point for her, but she failed to learn the lessons she needed to learn. What she did was to take these lessons and to twist them in a hypocritical way:

Cinder: I suppose I have only you to thank for one last lesson… Sometimes, if you want to win…you simply can’t do it alone.

And this has made her even more similar to Salem:

Salem: Why....do...you...keep...coming...back?!

Yang: Why do you?!

Penny: Why did you come back?! Why couldn’t you just learn your lesson?!

I would also like to highlight that so far Cinder has failed to learn the lesson of each relic.

In the Vale Arc, it is implied her concept of Destiny and Choice is different from Pyrrha’s. She wants to be “worthy” and to be chosen. Moreover, her idea of agency is linked to stealing others’, just like she stole the Maiden’s power and Pyrrha’s destiny.

In the Mistral Arc, she receives a warning about her Shadow Hand:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm. You turned yourself into a monster just for power.

But she chooses to ignore it.

Finally, in the Atlas Arc she manages to make herself anew. She recreates herself, but fails to truly change.

I am expecting all these failures to come back at her with the Vacuo Arc, which is about Destruction and will probably lead to everything coming together to crush Cinder (the people she used, the Shadow Hand, Salem’s true plan).

Once this happens, I think Ruby will save her with her eyes and will offer her that pity she was never shown as a child. This will lead to Cinder’s final choice which might be a synthesis of all the choices made by the Maidens she killed.

It will be a selfless choice, like Pyrrha’s, in contrast to the selfishness she displayed throughout the series.

It will be a self-actualizing choice, like Penny’s, which will free her from Salem’s shadow and influence

It will also be a redemptive choice, where Cinder finally lives up to her name and becomes the true Fall Maiden.

I am also expecting this choice to somehow solve the conflict or to be a part of the reason why the conflict is solved.

It would also be interesting if the Maidens’ sacrifices become progressively more effective in solving the conflict.

Pyrrha’s death is the most pyrric (obviously). She did not manage to stop Cinder, but barely gained enough time for Ruby to arrive and wound the villain. Still, it is a choice who clearly inspired her friends and I think that in the end it will inspire Cinder as well:

Cinder: You know, Neo, someone once asked me if I believed in destiny. And I'm happy to say I still do.

Penny’s death is framed as a sad, but powerful conclusion to her arc and saved both Winter and the people of Atlas and Mantel. It still did not prevent Salem from taking the relics and did not save the Kingdom.

So, maybe Cinder’s death, if it happens, will be key in saving the world.

This would also fit with the idea that we are going through a journey where we are getting to know the four gifts the Gods gave humanity.

Pyrrha sacrificed herself even before our protagonists received Knowledge, Penny did so after both Knowledge and Creation, while Cinder perhaps will do so after the characters have aquired all the four gifts.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby vol8 #rwby meta #rwby theory #pyrrha nikos #penny polendina #raven branwen #cinder fall #my meta

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saphirered · 3 years

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I have a request! How about a pre!Caleb x reader with a runechild reader that has been with Caleb and Nott from pre-stream? What would their friendship dynamic be with the two and how does Caleb react to them being hunted for experimentation by various magic users.

I’m so sorry this took so long to write. Double shifts have been killing me but I’m still trying to get these requests out regardless in whatever free time I get. I hope this one’s to your liking. It turned out pretty long 😅 . Enjoy regardless 😘

Prison. How did it come to the point where being stuck in a jail would be both the best and worst place for you to be? At least those after you wouldn’t be able to get you without getting in a lot of trouble or jumping through legal hoops giving you enough time to plan your escape.

When word got out you were a runechild people praised you… and hunted you discovering your worth as a conduit for the natural magics as well as an arcane power source. You learned many before you were hunted and killed, or enslaved for just this fact so when people came knocking you weren’t going to stick around and find out their intentions and plans for you. You value your own life more than that no matter how curious you may be about what it means to be a runechild.

Being on the run has its good sides; new places, new people and new experiences. The down side, no stability, no security and no long term friends, always on the road with barely a moment to breathe but at least you’re alive and not held captive and squeezed for every bit of arcane juju in your body. Though, you have to say you do miss having friends. Luckily you’re not the only one on the run from selfish mages with ulterior motives and as they say, birds of a feather…

You’re sitting in the corner of your cell head leaning back against the wall and one knee propped up. There’s barely any light bleeding through the narrow window up high, the only way you’ve been able differentiate day from night and count how long you’ve been here. Time’s running out. You’ll have to make your escape soon. The guard schedule is the most difficult as you don’t see yourself overpowering all of them. Sure you can charm a few but brute strength isn’t really your thing and you’re kinda squishy compared to the armoured folks trying to keep people from escaping… You weren’t going to take your chances there and draw more attention to yourself.

The barred door opens, the sound pulling you back to reality to see a rather filthy looking man and a child? Halfling? being pushed into your cell. Great. Company. Not like that eliminates what few plans you had… The door is closed behind them by the guard that gives the small person a kick in the back for good measure. You don’t respond as they cry out about to turn back around and attack the guard but are stopped by the man. The duo sees you as the guard leaves and sticks to the opposite side of your humble abode sitting down together and whisper.

This would be the next few days; these new roommates of yours sticking to themselves barely speaking at all when not whispering. Not like you could blame them. You weren’t about to stick your nose in their business just like they hadn’t. Though, what you wouldn’t do for some warmth during the colder times like the small one, a goblin you learned, snuggled up with the raggedy man. When was even the last time you had a hug? It feels like ages. Whatever they had going on, you had to say you were slightly envious. At least they had each other. You were all alone and would remain alone for the foreseeable future. You’d give the world if that meant you could have something like they do.

It’s been a few days since you were given any food. You’re hungry and by the grumbling stomachs of the man and goblin, so are they. Then the guard came by throwing a single slice of bread through the bars. Both you and the goblin scurry forward diving for the slice and you get it.

“This isn’t enough for all of us!” You shout after the guard holding onto the slice.

“It’s all you’re getting. Share or fight for the scraps.” The guard calls nibbling on some piece of fruit or something. The goblin woman curses after the guard who stops in his tracks. You quickly glance between the raggedy man and the goblin as the guard walks over to the bars. Casting the spell with nothing but your mind as the guard’s distracted by the screeching cursing woman, the guard’s form relaxes a little bit and eyes turn to you.

“I’m so sorry about her, my friend. You wouldn’t be able to help us out, would you? It’s been a few days since we’ve eaten and we’re growing hungry. Could you be a dear and fetch us some good and proper food quickly? I’d greatly appreciate it.” You bat your eyelashes and smile innocently. The guard nods happily and hands you a pouch filled with what he was snacking on.

“I’ll be back with more but please take this for now.” The guard says before he’s off to find you more food. You let out a breath of relief that it worked. You open the pouch and see some fresh berries. The goblin stares at you in confusion as the guard went from asshole to friendly in a split second. You hand her the slice of bread.

“Now let’s hope the asshole returns within the hour.” You make your way back to your corner and sit down in your usual spot. While you do nibbling on the berries you feel the man’s eyes burn into you or rather a dimly glowing rune on your lower arm. You quickly shift hiding it, staring him down until he averts his gaze. You see from the corner of your eyes as the woman offers to share the slice of bread with the man with a slight hesitation. That amount of food is going to do next to nothing to sate an empty stomach for one, let alone two people. You look down at the pouch of berries while you pop one in your mouth.

Cursing to yourself you get up, walk over to their side of the cell and sit down a couple feet away from them. You think for a second, pour some of the berries in your hand and hold it stretched out towards the man.

“Look, we’ve seen you charmed the guard with your wiles to give you food but do you have to rub it in our faces too?!” The woman screeches petting the man’s shoulder in comfort.

“I don’t think they’re taunting us. I think they’re offering to share.”

“Take them before I change my mind.” You’re still half deliberating on eating them yourself with how hungry you had grown in the past few days. The goblin calms down demeanour instead turning to confusion trying to find some ulterior motive while the man takes the berries with a brief smile and shares them with the woman.

The room turns silent again for the next thirty minutes or so before the guard returns with some plates of fresh food. Bread, not stale, butter, a couple of cuts of meat and even some steamed vegetables and rice. You rush over to the bars a little quicker than you’d wanted but even the smell’s enough to make your mouth water. You take the plates offering the guard a charming smile.

“Thank you very much, my friend. We won’t forget your generosity. Now why don’t you be back on your way and we’ll keep this our little secret alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” The guard nods before leaving the three of you.

“You lot still hungry because this needs to be gone in the next thirty minutes or so.” The man pats a spot next to him and the goblin and you rush over handing them their own plates the three of you shoving down the food as fast as you can, to the crumbs, licking the plates clean. Not your finest perhaps but it only shows how long it’s been since any of you had a proper meal. After you return to your usual silence but remain seated with them.

The consequences of your spell usage came as you expected and resulted in some bruises for you but they were worth it. Since you shared the food and took full responsibility for your actions the man, Caleb and goblin, Nott had grown a little more open with you and the three of you came to a nonverbal understanding to share what you got and distribute fairly. In the mean time you’d still been plotting your escape but your stunt had put a bit of a dent in that as they changed up the guard schedule too. Time’s running out.

It’s afternoon and you’re laying on the floor curled up shivering from the cold facing away from Caleb and Nott. Your breath is visible in the air, the day unusually cold. A small hand touches your shoulder so you turn to see Nott giving you a pitied look. You sit up a little still shaking breathing into your hands and rubbing them together in the hopes of getting some warmth going. Nott grabs onto your hand and slowly pulls you in the direction of Caleb where she had been sitting before. You don’t resist as she sits you down right next to Caleb. You can’t help but cling onto him a little, responding to the warmth he brings and he does the same. While the difference is minimal, it’s better than none. Nott curls up in between the both of you on your laps using part of your coat to wrap around her, your own little heating pad against your stomachs.

Caleb snaps his fingers and you feel soft fur scratch your neck, weight of a paw shifting to your shoulder and settle down. Looking down you see a bengal cat cuddle up like a scarf between you and Caleb. You make eye contact with the man. While your knowledge of the arcane might be limited you put one and one together and recognise the cat to be a familiar. You scratch the orange fuzz-ball’s head a little making it purr.

“That trick you pulled a few days ago, you think you could do it again?” Caleb asks, voice shaky from the cold. You nod.

“Good. We’re gonna need it if we want to get out of here. Together.”

The next few days are repeated in kind, the cold sticking and freezing to death isn’t on any of your schedules. Caleb showed you a little trick of his to keep you warm when you were sure no guards would be near. The flame in his hands and cuddly cat Frumpkin, offered you some warmth and comfort when you most needed it.

One day you’re in Caleb’s embrace, Nott in yours and you’re huddled together, when you feel some kind of amulet hidden beneath the layers of Caleb’s clothes. Caleb notices you noticed and freezes up.

“Don’t worry I’m not going to steal it. Is it from your home?” You assure and while he grows a tiny bit less rigid he’s not back to his usual self.

“You could say that.” Caleb speaks absentmindedly, sounding a little stuck in his head.

“So not a good memory then. I won’t pry.” This puts him more at ease. He reaches into the neckline of his shirt and pulls out the amulet running his thumb over it. Curious what it looks like you’re slightly taken aback it matches something you’ve managed to keep hidden on your person too.

“Looks like we have more in common than I thought. People with those kind of trinkets usually intend to stay hidden from people with a tendency to stick their arcane noses where they shouldn’t.” You take out the similar amulet from beneath your robes and show it. You’d rather not go into the details of how you procured this object. What matters is you have it and it keeps you safe from more persistent folks.

“It appears so. If you don’t mind me asking, who would you be running from to need such an item?” You notice some wariness behind Caleb’s curiosity. Mistrust perhaps?

“No one in particular that I know of currently. It’s more of a precaution you see. The… origins of my abilities make me very wanted by those of arcane interests. They’d see me caged like some pretty songbird to be shown off to their friends or in chains, to be used as a power source for their spells and rituals without my consent. Certain powerful mages have been made aware of my presence in the Dwendalian Empire and seek to use me for their own plots. I prefer my freedom and staying out of their clutches.” You explain. You have no reason to hide this from Caleb. It just wasn’t relevant before.

“I think I have a feeling I know about these individuals and believe me when I say you’re better off staying far away from them. I intend to do the same.” Caleb puts the amulet back in its place hidden from sight and you do the same.

“A common interest then? Since we’re running from the same thing, perhaps sticking together after our grand escape until our paths diverge works in our benefit?” You deliberate as Nott listens along. You expected her to be asleep but apparently she had been listening too.

“You can protect us and we protect you. You can study and learn together and become more powerful. We’ll protect each other. Caleb?” Nott speaks as she grabs yours and Caleb’s hands in her small ones giving them a light squeeze.

“I don’t see why not.” Caleb mutters seeing the benefit in sticking together for the foreseeable future. He looks at you waiting for your answer.

“I guess. If you’ll have me, I’d very much appreciate the company.”

And so you decided to stick together. Your breakout, not without its hiccups, successful regardless. You did as you agreed and had each other’s backs leaving your prison days far behind. You make a great team swindling people, stealing what you need to get by. Life on the road is hard but much more bearable with these two at your side. Nott has very much taken the mother role when it comes to the two of you, making sure you’ve eaten enough, studied enough and sleep instead of sticking in the books with Caleb. She’ll cuddle up to your side even on the warmer nights wrapping her arms around your arm or sides. Caleb shares his knowledge with you, as much as he can anyway hence the two of you studying together. He’s taken up the role of tutor and friend very well. The three of you while a little rocky at first have a good thing going on. You’re more than just friends. You’re family. You look out of each other no matter what and you stick together until the bitter end through think and thin because at the end of the day; birds of a a feather, stick together.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critrole x reader #caleb widogast x reader #nott x reader

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ninjakitten1699 · 3 years

Text

More Oni headcanons that I wanted to add on

to @ambrosial-tea post but I forgot until now!

There are different tribes of Oni as stated in the last post. Aka Oni (Red), Ao Oni (Blue), Shiro Oni (Pale/White), and our Kuro Oni (Black/Dark).

We don’t know too much of the Dark Oni we got but we do know that Oni were originally intended to be guardians between Material Plane and Spirit World when the two began overlapping (possibly The Grasslands/Departed, and Cursed Realm before they began separating). Put a tribe of Oni on the Material Plane for a couple years and they’d splinter into subraces of Oni and become more corrupted by the years. Dark Oni became one of the tribes corrupted.

Aka Oni are the most common type of Oni with their dark red colors, large size, and toughness. They’re slightly bigger than the rest of their kin, more violent, unfocused, and pursue immediate satisfaction, disregarding long drawn out plots and schemes. They’re mostly known for strength too.

Ao Oni are known for their unnatural cunning and aptitude for magic, smaller than their red kin but larger than pale, and have different shades of dark blue. They’re the ones you’d catch calculating and meticulously pursuing lofty goals like power and knowledge.

Shiro Oni are known for their aloofness and connections to the spirit realm. They’re the smallest of the main three tribes and the fewest of members. They vary from pale white to light gray. (They may as well adopt other Oni who share their colors and hopefully teach them their ideals.) Pale Oni would rather keep things in balance between the material plane and spirit world as the ancient Oni intended. They guard their locations but will adventure for artifacts of the spirit world and mend balance. If we take that into account perhaps they are another reason why Realm travel is difficult to Oni who try to cross through the any of the realms involving afterlives.

While Oni have no concept of gender since they have both reproductive organs, they also have no concept of sexualities either. Honestly they just didn’t have a name for it when one didn’t feel the need to have sex or when another felt more attracted to the same sex aspects of their partner. (If anything, their type of relationships or way of thinking would be looked up upon because they felt closer to their spirituality and their true selves.) Again they sometimes don’t mate for reproduction but just for the vibes of their partner.

They probably didn’t have a name for having multiple partners at the time either. If one Oni wanted to be a part of what the other two had and they were content with the feel of them, then it was okay. Plus more hands to help raise the cub personally. (Essentially that’s what PolyGarm would basically be. They make Garm happy, they’re happy with him, and Lloyd would basically have more than two parents. At this point Lloyd would just have more dads and Koko is just the one good mom he deserves.)

The second Oni learn what kisses are and how they work, they find it just as addictive as they do with other acts of affection.

Oni are more closer to their family than they are to strangers because in most Oni’s belief, strangers brought suffering to the family. In turn they displayed their family’s name first before their own, showing pride in them and hoping to intimidate any strangers with ill intent towards them.

Speaking of Oni names, they don’t usually have any but when they do their names would be what positive traits the parents wish the child to take on. For example, a son could have “Akihiko”. “Aki” meaning “bright” and “hiko” meaning “boy/prince”. They could want him to be someone brighter than they ever hoped for. For a daughter, “Asuna” with “asu” meaning “tomorrow” and “na” to “greens” or “apple tree”. Maybe the parents are hoping the Oni daughter would lead them to a more plentiful day. And then there’s the family names. The most famous ones are “Hideyoshi” and “Ishikawa”. We’ve heard of these names and the history behind them, I wouldn’t want to come across any of their descendants that carry their name with honor.

Ironically “Harumi” is actually a name for a female Oni in some home brewing lore. One of her meanings is “govern/rule” and “beauty”. Goes to show how far she would take her name literally.

Shiro Oni/Pale Oni don’t have names, but it’s because they don’t want to be too close to the material plane while they guard the spirit realms. They would refer to themselves and each other as “that/this one” instead like how gargoyles in the old days would. If they come up with names, it’s for the sake of working with others on the material plane, but even then it only happens when they really trust the people around them.

Oni have a large appetite that could put the Pythor and the Anacondrai to shame. They could honestly compete against the Great Devourer and other wyrms.

An Oni’s pair of horns are a sign of honor. No pair of horns are alike, not even the closest siblings’ horns look the same. They all have their differences. Their horn length is their pride. Having them sawed off is quite literally shameful to the owner of them but they did do something to deserve it.

It’s possible that some Oni were confused at Garm’s horns not being there at first but they hear about the first time they grew out of his head he quite literally broke them off and bled for a good long while to the point of passing out. (Blood vessels actually go throughout the antlers/horns in animals which is why they aren’t busted right off easily. Why wouldn’t they to Oni horns?) Come to find out it was the FSM’s hate for Oni that made Garm hate himself and how he looked so Garm had them filed down to his scalp or small enough to hide in his hair. It honestly almost hurts the Oni’s look on the FSM even more but hey who hasn’t he hurt? It takes a couple more decades and some therapy before he finally let’s go of his internalized self hatred and trauma that he grows out his horns and finally has pride in himself like most Oni already do.

So it’s not uncommon for Oni to live among other races, whether secretly or not, due to their shapeshifting abilities, however sometimes they’re immediately shunned when their true form slips out. Unless they proved otherwise to the most accepting of inhabitants, they’re allowed to stay. By then they’d have a hybrid appearance with their horns out, either out of their kindness to ease the others’ fear of them or for their own personal benefit.

Oni that do live on their own choose to live in the wilderness or in the mountains. If living in society but still wanting some sort of solitude, they’d either be closer to the outskirts or deep in the downtown where you’d either have to ask directions to specific people to find them or already know where they are. Hence Mistaké with her small tea shop and Wu being able find her.

As stated before Oni have no problems with Half-Oni at all. They’re just welcoming another cub into the pack and it’s just the fact that they are a child of an Oni who fell in love with another humanoid. Although there are some cases of Oni being chased out by the other race with their cub in their arms and they just run until they find the closest tribe. They’d be welcomed into the tribe and the cub is basically adopted by them.

Again half Oni isn’t a problem to them, but they do have a problem with any particular wizards experimenting on Oni breeding with any other humanoids. The know it’s not the parents’ fault neither is the cub’s. If neither parent want nothing to do with them, then the half Oni cub is taken off of their hands by another Oni who was grieving at a loss of a cub (or the realization they couldn’t have any) or a pairing who wouldn’t mind another. The cub won’t have a terrible environment, the parents won’t have to unwillingly interact with the child until they resolve their own issues or they wish to visit and see them grow.

Meanwhile, those wizards will never know peace again until the day they die, even other tribes, who they could be at war with, will catch wind of what happen and help in taking them out. By the time those wizards die, even the Pale Oni who have no ties with Omega or any other tribes won’t be forgiving to them. They won’t do anything too harmful to them, but they will lead them to the terrible part of the Cursed Realm and those wizards proceed to stay there until they fade out of existence entirely.

Enough angst there and let’s go back to fluff. I bet Oni would love dice. Like not even for games but for the click-clack sound. (“Lloyd. They’re metal dice. You cannot have—.” “Shiny sparkly metal bits make pretty sounds! :D” “Garmadon please tell your son not— Not you too!” “Wha~ It does sound pretty.”)

Y’all know how like adult lions play with their babies? They pretend to be hurt and that the cub is super strong to help build up their confidence. Hear me out, Oni do that too. Big goddamn Omega really be taking hits from tiny little cubs, Mistaké be playing with little Garmadon and playing dead on him, then Garm just does the same thing for little Lloyd. (“Koko, sweetie, help. It’s the battle of the century in here. Help, save me. He’s too powerful!” “*tiny war cry*”)

Someone makes a baby Oni cry one time and boy it’s absolutely over. It’s on sight for that person. I’m telling you On Sight!

Oni can purr loud enough to the point where it rumbles in them like a motor and that’s how cubs feel their parents’ purring. Then there’s baby Oni just babbling and the adult Oni just pretend to have a whole conversation with them. Don’t get me started on them playing soft flute music to help the toddler Oni sleep.

We probably only got a few words out of Omega when they first appeared because we were hearing them through human ears. Lloyd’s Oni brain would click on and translates what he knows while Garm in full Oni form can get full sentences out of Omega.

Oni are willing to learn a different language if it helps others understand them and their intentions. Now let’s just think of Lloyd connecting to his Oni side of the family (since let’s face it, the Oni are going to be around longer than most of his friends are) through teaching them sign language.

They also try to teach him their Oni tongue but he can only grasp a few words at a time easily. When he finally learns the language, next thing you know he’s going to be cursing and only Oni will understand. Some (aka Mistaké) want to scold him and others (*cough*Garmadon*cough*) find it hilarious.

Garmadon’s Oni-Dragon hybrid brain wants him to decorate his significant others and now I think of Oni just sharing the precious items they hoard with their mate. Wait till they figure out they can make jewelry and have their significant other wear it.

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