#must be the tasteful skull decor

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

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

The wine coats your empty stomach sourly. You mourn the forgotten protein bars in your glove compartment. You suppose ten minutes can’t hurt. You prefer the brief venture to the headache nipping at the base of your skull.

You take the room keys with you and slip into the hallway. Without that big lug to distract you, you can’t help but admire the decor. It isn’t entirely outdated. Your heels click along and you turn at the top of the stairs, looking down on the airy lobby.

You descend, a hand on the railing, and recall the directions issued by the front desk agent. You glance over as she smiles and flutters her fingertips at you. You spin and march past the lion statues, the savoury aroma of food drawing you in.

It isn’t what you expect. At the most, you thought it would be some steaming buffet where you could scoop up what you want and retreat to your bedroom. Instead, there’s a long table set with plates, glasses, and the full breadth of cutlery. There’s no one else there.

There’s a sign in delicate calligraphy; Take a seat. You peer around and strut along the table, claiming a tall-backed chair from the bunch. Before you, there’s a printed menu. Beside each course is listed a time. You check your golden watch; you’re early.

You instinctively reach for your phone before retracting your hand. It’s next to useless here where the reception wavers in and out. Even on the hotel’s network, you can’t get a proper signal.

“Excuse me, miss,” a dulcet drawl interrupts your inner griping, “would you like some wine?”

You look at the man, buoyant in a white jacket and gloves; like a pig in a suit. You look at the bottle in his hands. It isn’t inexpensive. And it’s red. 

“Thank you,” you tap the base of the glass by your plate. He pours and takes a step back, “I’m Gavin, if you need anything else. Dinner’s almost ready.”

You nod and stare at him until he fidgets. He walks away and you reach for the glass. You taste the nearly black wine and give it a swirl. You admire the dregs sticking to the crystal. 

“Ah,” a birdlike tweet carries across the room and you look over at the new arrival. A woman in beige and pearls. Her golden hair is silver at the roots and her lips are painted coral, “you must be the guest.”

She claims the seat next to you, of the dozens lined on either side. You sit up stiffly and put the glass down before you succumb to the urge to empty it. She’s unexpectedly elegant as she crosses one leg over the other. She signals in the air and Gavin appears to fill her glass in kind.

“Welcome to Hammer Ford,” she trills, “how are you like it, dear?”

You look her up and down. She has an aristocratic air to her. You exhale and turn your head straight.

“Passing through,” you answer.

“Yes, my son mentioned you had some car troubles,” she tuts, “not to worry, Vol is a saviour.”

You try not to cringe and plant your elbow on the armrest. Your stomach rumbles as if to drown out your doubts. You need to eat. You’ll have the appetizer and retreat.

“Frigga,” she offers her name and a lithe hand, “I believe my son, Thor, helped you with your bags.”

You face her and reticently pronounce your name, giving a quick squeeze of her hand. She seems to mean well. You can assume these backwoods people have a rather keen sense of etiquette.

“He didn’t lie, you’re very pretty. I adore that necklace,” she praises and touches your sleeve, “is this Chanel?”

“Givenchy,” you correct her.

“Oh yes, I have a few handbags,” she chimes.

You squint at her. She does share the same fair colouring with that brute but you fail to see any further similarity.

“That was your son?”

“Ah, the eldest, yes,” she grins, “my other one may be slinking around. He takes after his father.”

You nod and look at your empty plate. Your stomach gives an unattractive grumble and you rub it lightly. 

“Oh my, you must be starving, you’ve had a long day I’m sure,” she gestures again, “why wait? I’m sure the rest will be late.”

Gavin rushes out and you flinch. There’s something eerie about it all. So refined and precise. In a village like this. As if the palatial hotel was plucked out of a different time and place.

“The crab is fresh,” Frigga offers as she glances down at the menu, “our chef makes fabulous cakes.”

You nod as if you care. You will eat anything at this point. Were it an option, you’d gladly take a Big Mac to go. You’d prefer the greasy mess if it promised privacy.

“Mother,” the booming voice jars you and you bite down on your cheek.

Thor strolls in as your lips seal in a tight line. Is there anything this man does that isn’t entirely irritating? He nears the table across from you and drags out the chair, the feet scraping loudly.

“I see you’ve met our guest,” he proclaims as he drops unceremoniously into the seat, the frame creaking dangerously beneath his weight, “ma’am, I must say, this light looks well on you.”

You merely stare at him. He isn’t as charming as he thinks. You’re certain the country girls, like the one behind the desk, find him rather endearing but you can hardly bear the sight of him. 

“She is so lovely,” Frigga chirps, “and just as gorgeous as you mentioned.”

You grab the glass of wine. They are so stupid. What are they expecting, you to gobble up their redundant compliments eagerly? You put yourself together in a very particular way and you know it. You don’t need their bumpkin reassurance.

“Ma’am,” Thor tilts his head coyly, “how do you like your suite?”

“It is adequate,” you answer dully.

He laughs, thoroughly amused. 

“Where did you put her? Not in Isaz, I hope?”

“Berkano,” Thor corrects.

“Oh, yes, lovely,” Frigga says, “I’m certain you’ll love it, darling.”

You hum and empty the glass. It swishes in your stomach with the first you had up in the room. If you don’t eat soon, you might just vomit from their boorish company.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #drabble #series #backwoods au #au #the detour #mcu #marvel #avengers

[octuscle]

I've always been a well put together scrawny guy. Never really got along with other guys who were more masculine. I'm eager to see what's on the other end of life. A bear, hairy, with a big belly and a deep belly button. Can fart among other men openly, freely, and, most of all, proudly. The kind of guy who can fix a car with one hand while the other hand is scratching my belly button or drifting the stench of my farts up to my nose. I want to be as filthy of a man as can be, and I want to be proud of it!

As they say in an old Hollywood movie, life is like a box of chocolates… Do you like chocolates? Here's a box.

The chocolates are made of very dark chocolate. They smell of wood, leather and tobacco. Masculine. The first one has rings as a symbol and melts in your mouth. It tastes of whiskey. Very tasty. As the saying goes. A moment on your lips, a lifetime on your hips. You can feel your belly growing a little. And the piercings in your nipples feel great.

You can't really tell what's on the next chocolate… An eggplant? Maybe. It tastes… Musky? Your boner is growing in your pants as your belly swells over the waistband. Your foreskin grows back. You run your hand down your pants. Yes, that's good. You smear the precum. With your other hand, you take another chocolate.

It's a bear or something… Also filled with alcohol. But something different, tastes like beer. You have to burp. Your shirt stretches across your stomach and chest. You're growing fur. Everywhere. That was really tasty, you need another one of those. Hehehe, the burp was even better. Phew, how it stinks. Male! You have to take your shirt off before you tear it to pieces. You pull your hand out of your pants, the waistband is getting too tight. You smell your hand. Sweat and musk, sticky from the precum. You rub it clean on your hairy chest and then unbutton your pants. Your cock pops out like a jack-in-the-box.

There's another animal head on the next praline. Could be a bull. Your belly doesn't just swell, it bloats…. Brffffffffft! Phew, you can still put up with your own farts. And here comes another one. You take a deep breath. Yes, that's what a really good fart must smell like. You rub the bulge in your leather pants… It feels great. And the leather can tame a bit of your farts if necessary. If you want…

You haven't tried any of those yet. They have a geometric pattern on them. Your pecs have become man boobs. Big, powerful but soft. And decorated with tattoos that look like you've had them for decades. You get another one with an eggplant on it. Your balls and cock swell up. Your cock is rock hard. Shit, you have to cum. Your cum flies all the way into your beard. A deep puddle forms in your belly button. You rub it all into your fur with your calloused hands.

You've never had one with a wheel like this before. It tastes of oil. Kind of disgusting. And somehow hot. You put your heavy motorcycle boots down on the coffee table and adjust your muir cap. Shit, chocolate pralines don't really fit in your motorcycle workshop. But they do taste good. You have to fart again. And burp immediately afterwards. You hope no customers come in now.

The appetite comes with eating. You take two with a bear on them at once. The leather sofa groans under your weight. The muir cap feels great on your bare skull. The remains of your tobacco still cling to your mighty beard. Yes, you actually feel more like a good portion of Copenhagen or a cigar than a chocolate. But there are only two left anyway. One with a ring on it and one with a bull.

Shit, you can feel a hurricane brewing in your guts. You rub your belly and your tits. Your huge piercings in your nipples and glans are impressive. The leather strap stretches across your upper arm. One of your boys comes into your office and wants to ask you about the Fatboy that's due to be finished this afternoon. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Brbrbrbrbrffffffft! Shit, a bison would be proud. You take a deep breath. Your coworker turns pale. "Get used to it, boy!" you growl.

To apologize, you have given your employee an extra-large box of chocolates. He is to share it with the other boys. His questions are all answered. Now you need a midday nap. Your boys know that. For the next half hour, all they'll hear is snoring and farting coming from your office.

Pic found @musclefetish77

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #leather tf #bear tf #age progression

[sseniita]

i'ma leave the window ooooopeeen

It was dark, stormy, and the villain was still an hour away from home. Her car had broken down (the police chase was its final straw), her phone was dead (it was run over during said police chase), and the rain was mercilessly pounding against her thin jacket. Coincidently, she had found her way to the alleyway of the Hero’s apartment. She wasn’t supposed to know where the hero lived, but after one day she surprisingly appeared in her apartment and stole her food and stayed the night (she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that night) she rationalised that it was only fair that the hero let her crash on her couch for a night. Despite her better judgement, she climbed on the fire escape and made her way up. 

The hero didn’t lock her windows, she was practically begging the villain to raid her fridge. The villain made her way in through the small window, slipping off her shoes being careful not to track in mud on the couches under the bay window. This was to no avail, once she was finally standing in the apartment she was dripping wet onto the hardwood floors. She took in the dark apartment, cosy. She was sure that in the daylight it followed a pleasant palette of pastel pinks, blues, and greens, but the only lighting was the occasional lightning that burst outside, allowing only for speculation of the hero’s taste in home decor. She did however, make out the crocheted plushies and framed watercolour paintings scattered throughout. It was a small apartment, the one main room cramping the kitchen, dining, and living room all in one. A quick glance to a door left ajar confirmed the hero must be sleeping soundly. Her cautious steps made their way to the fridge, hoping to find leftovers she could eat cold. Before even opening the fridge she felt a blunt pain to the side of his skull, a force with enough strength to toss her onto the checkered flooring of the tiny kitchen.

“Who are you! How did you- oh. Ith’s you.” The hero stood above the villain, bat in hand, wearing a tiny tank top and even tinier night shorts. Good lord. The villain’s hand quickly came to the side of her head to feel for any bleeding or swelling. 

“What the hell?” She screamed. The hero turned on a light, revealing her messy bun and retainer smile. 

“I’m thorry, I thought you were an inthruder” The villain brought herself up, supported by the countertop. The hero had put down their weapon and seemed unconcerned at her own indecent appearance. 

“In your defence, I am an inthruder.” She said, way to smug for someone who couldn’t stand up without the floors moving. The hero rolled her eyes at the jest at her lisp, without shame, she spit out her retainers, returning to her room to put them in their little case. 

“What are you doing here?” She said on the way, “How do you know where I live?” 

“Same way you knew where I lived.” 

“By being an obsessed stalker?” She yelled from her bedroom. The villain finally opened the hero's fridge, finding nothing but a few apples, a loaf of bread, and three heads of cauliflower. 

What is wrong with this woman? 

“Yup. You got any actual food?” 

“Nope. Get away from my cauliflower!” The hero threw a towel on the villain, a towel she considered an invitation to stay. 

“You stink.” she sneered. 

“Running around this city’s alleyways on a rainy night will do that to ya.” She winked. 

“Ya well, take a shower or something.” She yawned.

“Sounds heavenly, care to join me?” 

“You wish, Beautiful” 

The villain made their way, oddly excited to find out what shampoo the hero used to make her hair always smell so good. 

Cotton Candy Raspberry Explosion. Got it. She thought as she stepped into the shower.

The hero seemed to yawn the tiredness away, once the villain was finished with her shower she found the hero watching mindless late night tv on her extremely plush couch. The hero cradled a pillow close to her chest, the mess on the floor cleaned and a plate of grilled cheese still warm on the coffee table. She didn’t seem to notice when the villain appeared in the bathroom doorway with nothing but a towel covering her. 

“Uh, you wouldn't happen to have some ex-boyfriend’s stolen clothes around, would you?” 

The hero’s vision quickly moved from the tv to the villain’s arms. The villain's body had been laden with scars throughout the years, causing an annoying insecurity within the villain when on display, but something about the hero’s stare made her ego rise dangerously high. 

“You look fine like that” she smirked. 

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s a bit chilly.” 

“I can give you a blanket?” 

“Clothes. Please.” 

The hero laughed, as she stood from the couch, motioning the villain over to her bedroom. Being naked in the hero’s bedroom with only a tiny pink towel that had ‘beach babe’ written on it was a humbling experience for the villain. As the hero rummaged in her closet the villain found herself hoping she didn’t actually take out some ex boyfriend’s ivy league sweater for her to wear. Instead she pulled out a huge snuggie, which she initially thought to be a comforter. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Really? Cause it’s pink?”

“That’s not the problem here.” 

“Well I have nothing else for you! You’re huge-” 

“Sure am.” She interjected.

“-and unless you wanna wait around naked for an hour while your clothes dry, this is the only option.” The hero threw the snuggie at the villain and she almost caught it before realising that would require both hands, one of which wasn’t available for it was busy gripping the towel for dear life. The towel was so damn tiny it couldn’t even wrap around her completely. She let the snuggie fall to her feet and admitted defeat.

“A little privacy?” 

“You, alone in my bedroom? No way. Use the bathroom.” 

The villain used tiny kicks to get the snuggie into the bathroom all while the hero’s laughs mocked her from behind. 

The hero was lucky her grilled cheese tasted so good; so there she was: pink snuggie, pink towel on her head, eating a grilled cheese and watching family feud reruns with her arch nemesis at 2 in the morning. She was half hoping the hero to offer to cut her cuticles. 

“So what are you doing here, anyways?” 

“Police chase.” She said through bites. “Phone died. Awful storm. And you just happened to be close by. Thought I could crash on your couch tonight.” 

“Why would you think that?”

“Hmm?” 

“I’ve been trying to arrest you for four years.” 

“Well, I’m taking the grilled cheese as a truce.” 

The tv continued for a while as the both women got comfy, the villain had long lost any tiredness, but the snuggie was proving comfortable to the hero at her side. It was 3 AM when the hero’s head had finally fallen onto the villain’s shoulder. It was 15 after when she started snoring. The villain had to remind herself how much of a pain in the neck the hero was to resist pulling back some hairs from her cheeks. They had gotten too comfortable. To buddy-buddy the villain's superior had said. The villain vowed to never fraternize again after they went a tad bit too far once. But god was it good to look back. 

They had both anticipated awkwardness or total avoidance but it seemed neither of them wanted it. Opting to ignore the fateful encounter and pretend it never happened. But it happened. It really happened. As slowly as she could she turned off the television and began to scoop the snoring hero into her arms, she tossed a little, murmuring something about her cauliflower while lifting her up. She ignored with great strength the soft skin of her thighs against her fingers and the way she cradled her head into her neck as she carried her to her bed. The crocheted plushies never ended, a bee, a dinosaur, a plushie that looked strangely like it was wearing the villain’s suit. She ignored the heat in her cheeks and set the hero down on the squishy mattress. 

“This is a terrible mattress for your spine.” She whispered, tucking her in. 

“Mhhrrm” she responded. 

She was about to leave and rummage through the hero's closets for a blanket when a hand softly gripped her wrist, with eyes stilll closed the hero mumbled something almost incoherent. 

“Stay,” she whispered. 

“We shouldn’t, hero.” 

“We won’t do anything. It’s just cold.” 

“You have like 14 blankets on your bed.” 

“It’s still cold. I have no more for you to cover yourself with.” 

“Ever the sacrificial type, hero.” She allowed himself the pleasure of finally getting the hero's hair out of her face, resting her hand on her cheek. She sunk into it, releasing her grip on her wrist. The villain couldn’t help it any longer, she made his way to the other side of the bed. 

“It’s my job”

“Just tonight, hero.” The second she was under the blankets she was met with the hero’s warm presence gripping onto her. 

“Ya, you’re not my type anyways. I just want you for your body.” She muttered into the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around her, shocked at how perfect they felt together. Before the hero's quiet snores reappeared, the villain felt a smile against her skin. 

“Your bosses suck by the way.” 

“So do yours.”

“Hmm.” She readjusted herself. “I should start locking my window.” 

The villain chuckled. “Nah.” 

#hero x villain #villain x hero #writing #original fiction #hero and villain #enemies to lovers #women #i love women #i also love bruno mars #graah #fluff

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prev./Next (WIP)

Chapter 5 This couple, coffin talk

cw: flashback lesson 16 OM

The first time you died was during your first school year in the Devildom. 

You have felt bad for him, being stuck in this stuffy attic all by himself. He had reached out to you early on, a whisper in the night, urging you up the stairs. That Lucifer tried to stop you only fueled your curiosity.

The big bad brother who locked the youngest up after an argument. Of course, you made pacts with the other five brothers to break the magical lock to the attic. 

He was so grateful, pulling you into a warm embrace.

He hugged you tightly.

“You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”

Tighter. 

You couldn’t move.

“Hehe. Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I’m sure it must be very unpleasant.”

Tighter. 

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh. Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it.”

Tighter. 

“I hate humans. I hate them more than anything in the three worlds-”

Your ribcage cracked, puncturing your insides.

“And I hate you!”

Why this particular scene flashed before your eyes, you didn’t know for you had already forgiven him. The time you sacrificed yourself for Lucifer or several other instances you had put yourself in immediate danger would have left a better taste in your mouth. 

Now, a scythe's polished, pointy tip was millimeters away from your face. It would have pierced through your left orbit if you didn’t bend backward the time and way you did thanks to Luke’s blessing no doubt. The sharp edge of the death dealer ominously glistened in the candlelight. 

“Didn’t you know that curiosity killed the cat, my dear?” a voice croaked to your right, amusement resonating within. From your peripheral vision, you could see his dark boots that had no business having this many belts (nor him having legs this long).

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you breathed out, voice shaky. A bead of sweat of fear trickled down your temple as the rapid beating of your heart continued.

Undertaker chuckled and pulled the scythe away from you, lovingly grazing the smooth side of the cutting blade. You stared at the tool that was not designed to cut grass or harvest grains. It had the shape of an elongated bone structure; the edge of the blade ended in a skull that was decorated with thorns around the forehead and the shaft went directly into the skeletal thorax with all its components. 

He held out his free hand for you to take, pulling you upward. His skin felt weird to the touch, neither warm nor cold. Just like Thirteen’s. Undertaker gently turned your hand, thumb striking over the seal on the back before letting go, making you wonder if he recognized the sigil that proved your affiliation with the Sorcerer’s Society or the ring of light around on your finger. He eventually took a step backward, giving you a moment to ogle him.

Actually, without being fully veiled by his black overcoat, revealing a matching dark robe, and without his crooked top hat Undertaker even kind of looked … attractive there and then. His choice of clothing and jewelry was interesting for his time, if not ahead of it.

Moreover, with the murder weapon at hand, he didn’t look like a demented oddball anymore but the personified harbinger of death. A grim reaper, a Shinigami.

Oh.

Oh.

Now you knew he recognized you as a sorcerer and some other things about him started to make sense.

Undertaker stored his scythe away, locking the closet with a satisfying click. His lips were curled upwards when he turned back around. Since his bangs covered the upper half of his face, you couldn’t read his true emotions. 

/I wonder if he has phosphorescent eyes, too./

“Heh, be more careful when snooping around, unless you’re dying to experience my coffins firsthand,” Undertaker said, snickering at his own little pun at the end.

“Err, it’s definitely not on my bucket list for 1888. Dying ain’t fun,” you quickly denied, mumbling the last part. You awkwardly rubbed your sweaty neck when you felt him staring from behind his long bangs. 

Wait, he couldn’t know what a bucket list is, couldn’t he? 

“A bucket list is a to-do list before ‘kicking the bucket’,” you quickly explained. 

The mortician hummed “Interesting choice of words. Although, even if it’s the basis of my work, I understand death is undesirable - but - maybe such topics should be discussed over a cuppa and biscuits, don’t you think? You’re still shaken.”

This is how you ended up sitting on one of his coffins across from him, a measuring beaker with black tea in hand. 

Undertaker, who sat cross-legged on another death box, held out a black urn toward you, silently instructing you to take whatever was inside. Having lived in the Devildom for so long nothing food-related should and could surprise you anymore. 

Still, you must have looked baffled when you fished a biscuit in the form of a dog bone from the alienated cookie jar because the silver-haired man let out a little cackle. “Go ahead, they’re delicious, I promise~”

He was right, they were! The sweet taste was welcomed after your near-death experience. 

“Gosh, you need to give me the recipe for these. I’ve got some baking-loving friends back home.”

“Hmm, I might, if you pay me with a good laugh, of course,” he answered cheekily, bouncing his crossed-over leg.

“Wait, for real? … Let me think about one…”

Undertaker waited patiently, munching on his treat. 

“Okay, you see, my favorite childhood memory is building sandcastles with my dear grandfather – well, that was until my mother took his ashes away.”

…

Turned out that simultaneously eating and laughing was not a good idea. 

The silver-haired choked on the cookie as the laugh got stuck in his throat, bending over, battering his chest with suppressed giggles (why) while you shot up in a panic, refilling his cup. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

He made a gesture of refusal with his hand, knocking the beverage back.

“That was a killer, young Miss,” he said once you two calmed down, acting like nothing happened.

“I have yet to ask what I owe the pleasure. I assume you're still busy with the murder case, hm?”

You lowered the recipe Undertaker gave you beforehand, regarding him with a mirthful grin. “Nope. I was gift hunting for the family and ended up in front of your store by chance. Maybe it was fate? For the article, well, I don't think the Queen's cute little watchdog would let us publish anything remotely true once he finds out who Jack the Ripper is.”

Undertaker’s lips curled into a grin as well “Oh, you figured it out?”

“Yep. Yesterday's event confirmed our suspicion. Not that you sound surprised at all, tho.” 

“I had a feeling you’ll succeed. I’m sure the young Earl won’t be far behind for he is the good lapdog of Her Majesty.”

You made a face “Never have I imagined a child being responsible for resolving the disruption of the general society. Seriously, putting himself in danger like that.” 

“And that collar will choke him someday,” Undertaker said, his voice dropping an octave. “If not for his self-imposed duty, his butler will certainly be his undoing.”

“Well, if the Earl can’t find a way to circumvent his contract, that is, even for a certain amount of time. Employers tend to find a way to go around their agreements, so it’s technically not impossible.”

The mortician tapped his lips with his index. A grimoire - he hadn’t considered this possibility for they are seldom found. It would require Sebastian Michaelis’ true name and free access to Hell. However, different matters solicited his attention; exempli gratia Karnstein, so he would keep your words in mind. An interesting human you were; just maybe …

A low vibrating sound broke his thoughts. 

“Shit, I hate to cut our talk short but…” you said, eyes fixating on the screen of the D.D.D. you halfway pulled out of your dress pocket “...look at the time. Sata- err, my husband is expecting me soon and I still have to make the way back.”

You pushed the phone back and walked up to him.

“Thank you for the tea and cookies. I don’t know how long we’ll stay in London but I hope we meet again before we leave.” 

You gave Undertaker your brightest smile, surprising the Shinigami but he gently held your outstretched hand. Hands he had taken souls with.

“Likewise, young lady. Be careful on your way back. You never know what lurks around the corner.”

“Noted!”

You took your bag from where you nearly met your untimely end and walked to the door. Grabbing the knob, you turned your head backward. 

Feeling bold, you let a slight gust of wind whip around his face, revealing his odd green eyes that widened slightly at your display of magic. Proud of yourself, you winked and waved goodbye, your smile branding itself into his mind.

Laugher filled his empty store.

“What an interesting sorcerer~”

Hello folks! Writing this chapter was really hard for some reason and I struggled with the decision of putting a scene in or not. As you can see, this chapter is rather short, meaning I cut a scene out. It involved the harassment of MC. (In Victorian London some men were pathetic and walked up to unaccompanied women, even from higher ranks, assuming they were streetwalkers. In this case, the reader would have been approached by Grell with the idea in mind to make the case more personal. I'm not sure I handled this well enough in my draft, so here we are)

#this couple is unusual #crossover #kuroshitsuji #obey me shall we date #obey me #black butler season 1 #black butler #obey me satan #satan x reader #om satan x reader #undertaker #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #alternate universe #female reader #warning: historical inaccuracies #wip #fantasy #obey me nightbringer #time travel shenanigans

[fatkish]

Hi hun!

If you’re still doing requests could I ask for a Dabi x reader fluff hcs?

Like she’s got adhd and autism and is kinda goth (this is self indulgent lol). By kinda goth I mean she loves the music, culture and has some eery home decor like fossils and skulls etc but doesn’t necessarily look the part (most of the time).

If you have any questions please lmk!!

Thank youuu xx

Dabi x ADHD and Autistic Goth reader

Reader runs a small cafe and bakery. The reader creates bento boxes that you can buy for relatively cheap but taste really good and are made with nutritional ingredients. Some heroes, office workers, first responders and other people who don’t really have the time to make food or stop for lunch often order ahead and pick up food to go.

Reader lives in an apartment above their cafe and has a few employees who are either college students, high schoolers, people with disabilities or any other person who has a relatively small work window and needs money. Their employees are all highly respectful of them.

The cafe is open from 5:00 am to 9:00 pm. The reader spend most of the hours doing the cooking and making bentos, budgeting, paying bills and other tasks that are done behind the scenes. The reader has a quirk that allows them to heal people via food (kinda like the mom from Encanto)

The cafe has a very quiet and calm atmosphere and is very popular among the anti-social groups and those who have sensitivities to crowds and stuff. The decor is very soft-core/comfort and homey styled

The booths have partitions that can completely close with tatami mats and pillows, there are steps leading into the booth area where you remove your shoes and put slippers on. The tables with chairs are in the front of the cafe and the floors are mostly hard wood.

Those who work full time are often quirkless employees who need a stable job and a kind and understanding workplace environment

You met Dabi one night when an employee found him collapsed outback by the dumpsters during closing. When they told you about him, you had them help you move him to your upstairs apartment where you treated what you could of his burns and began preparing food for him

When Dabi woke up to a dark gothic room with Victorian antique furniture that looked like a vampire owned it, he had no idea what he was in for. Expecting some grungy punk ass emo person, he nearly got mental whiplash when you walked in, wearing some cute soft clothes with a smile on your face holding a plate of cutesy food

I picture the reader having a personality kinda like Mitsuri from Demon Slayer. Your cheerful and loving albeit kinda ditzy personality was not what Dabi expected.

“Oh goodie, you’re awake, I was so super worried about you when my employees found you. You looked so hurt and sad, my heart nearly broke just thinking about how much pain you must be in. Oh, here, I made you plenty of food so eat up! I already changed your bandages earlier so just rest, call me if you need anything, I’ll be just around the corner in the living room<3”

You left before Dabi could even get a word in. He looked down at the plates on the tray in his lap that you placed. Seeing all the cute food and your personality made him think you’re either a roommate or you’re some psycho killer with a split personality. But he was hungry so he ate the food.

While he ate, Dabi noticed his burns healing and even his scars disappearing slowly but surely until it stopped. When you came back to check on him and clean up his dishes, he asked about it. You told him your quirk lets you heal people by having them ingest the food make.

After collecting his dishes you asked if there was or is anything he doesn’t like or is allergic to. He told you he hates fish and that he prefers his food cold. You gave him a soft towel for him to shower with and told him where the bathroom was. After that you asked for his clothing size and went shopping for clothes for him

After bringing the clothes for him to his room you left them there. After he took a shower he saw the clothes but didn’t see his clothes/villain getup anywhere. He left the room and entered the living room and asked where his clothes were

You where watching Molang on Netflix and eating tangulu (I hope I spelled that right, it’s cut up fruit on a stick that coated in a layer of melted sugar giving it a hard candy like coating)

You turn to him and after being asked you tell him that you’re washing his clothes and then you’re going to repair them. You offer him some tangulu to which he surprisingly accepts and sits down and you both decide to watch a creature feature movie. You both enjoy seeing the asshole people get eaten by monsters

“Yeah! Get munched, asshole! Oh, sorry, I kinda tend to get caught up in the moment when watch these movies”

“It’s fine doll face”

Dabi chuckles quietly seeing you get so excited about things. He notices how you’re easily distracted but is still wondering why you haven’t said anything about him or why you aren’t seemingly afraid of him, so he asks

“Alright, be real with me for a minute, why the hell ain’t ‘cha afraid ‘a me huh? I mean, I’m covered in nasty burns and yet yer here makin’ me food, takin’ care ‘a me and shit, so what’s up?”

“Hm? Oh, well, just because you look different doesn’t mean anything, everyone hits rough patches somewhere or at some point in their life. I think it’s horrible to kick someone while they’re already having a rough time. You’ve clearly been having a rough time so it’s only right for me to help you out, that’s what people are supposed to do. People should be kind to others no matter what, I might not know you, but everyone deserves to be treated with kindness.”

“Ya’ know, that kinda thinkin’ is probably gonna get ‘cha killed sweetheart. How do you know I’m not gonna kill ya’ ‘er somethin’? I could hurt ‘cha and yer just sittin’ here?”

“I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. I think you’re a good person who’s just going through a rough patch. I’m not gonna ask what you’re going through but just know that my door is always open for you.”

You smile at him and he just sits there dumbfounded. He gives up and eventually you guys go to bed.

Over the next few days you continue to make him food and wait for it to cool down before serving him. He eventually tells you his name is Dabi. You guys get along rather well

When he leaves you tell him to make sure to come back and you even hand him a wrapped up bento. He waves you off and leaves through the back but takes the bento with him

When he meets back up with the league at their hideout he opens the bento to see a bunch of cutesy things. Toga and Twice both notice it and bring it to the attention of the others

Twice is jealous that Dabi has someone who makes him food. Toga wants to meet you and (stab) befriend you. Compress is delighted by the creativity and how well plated the food is. Kurogiri wants to exchange recipes and learn a thing or two from you. Spinner couldn’t care less and Tomura is just frustrated but makes fun of Dabi

Dabi will never admit it, but he loves that you take care of him and he makes sure that you’re safe and that other villains and heroes don’t bother you

(I hope you enjoyed this. The pictures aren’t mine I found them on Pinterest)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi todoroki #dabi #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi touya

[bakafox]

Just... a brief case study of how the Death Penalty cannot trusted to be fair

The false conviction and execution of Cameron Todd Willingham in Texas has lived rent free in my head since I saw an investigative reporting show talk about it- and y'know, I may have seen that show while he was even still appealing it on death row, IDK at this point, it's been a LONG time since I saw it, and the dude was killed in 2004.

But like, the dude was not only convicted in 1992 because of inaccurate arson forensics that had been debunked, but there were clips of him being painted as a satan worshipper and bad dude by law enforcement and prosecution because of a 'satanic' poster he had in his house.

Which the investigative journalists identified as a Led Zeppelin poster.

But it had a skull on it. And in a conservative area of Texas, to people ACTIVELY INVOLVED in investigating and prosecuting people, a scary skull meant it must be Satanic and meant that the person who had it on a wall was severely mentally disturbed and immoral. People were clutching their pearls over a Led Zeppelin poster and it helped get an apparently cis, definitely white man executed after a house fire killed his three kids.

Now, he may have been an unpleasant guy. There were reports of domestic abuse- but that is not what he was convicted and killed for. He was convicted and killed for murder and arson.

And his home decor and music taste was used as evidence against him along with outdated scientific theories about how fire spreads.

...And there are people who probably have never seen such a case of investigative reporting, (I hope,) or heard of groups like the Innocence Project, who somehow are certain that LGBT people or people who help with medical transitions have nothing to fear in Florida, and that the only people who will die are actual sexual predators and pedophiles.

When really, anyone who is inconvenient and easily blamed or is a little odd for the area or not conservative enough will have more to fear.

(On top of how the death penalty has never been proven by data to reduce crimes it applies to, and will yeah, actually put victims at more risk of being killed to silence them, and make people less likely to report possible cases of abuse, etc.)

The long list of other people that have very likely been murdered by the state for crimes they didn't commit is mostly black, with other POC- but even some cishet white dude can die, where conservatives hold sway in particular, and in some small but meaningful part the death can be because he liked a classic rock band that apparently no one in the local sheriff or police department heard of or approves of.

#this just has a bee in my bonnet

[nyxronomicon]

nyx just wanted to tell you how that art reminds me of probably an ordinary priest being possessed by sukuna (the long nails, the look, he really does look like a demon) and the idea is more appealing to me than it should 😵‍💫

Omg... OMG. V BB I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ughh I always loved the idea about Yuuji being possessed but none of the brain worms have caught me BUT HELLO YES THIS IS PERFECT

.

You start going to AA or something at your local church. You're not really religious, but you know something needs to change. You meet the priest, Yuuji Itadori in passing the first night. Strangely attractive for a man of God. He's overly friendly and remembers every detail about you, even ones you wish you could forget. Maybe he'd be good for you. He's not dangerous like the usual type of guy you go for.

So you let things continue. You spend time with him outside of church. He makes you laugh. It's not quite romance though. He's a little too sweet. Too loveable. Too perfect for a broken person like you.

Still, you knew this was good for you. If nothing else, he kept you from indulging in your hedonism. Late one Friday night, you bring him home with you. He's acting a little different, his temper seems thinner. You figured he must be tired, the two of you didn't usually go out this late.

"Hey," he tugs you into his lap, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Would you still like me if I was something... Else?" It was a little odd for him to be physically intimate like this. Still, it wasn't unwelcome.

"Yuuji?" You ran your fingers up his back, feeling the soft ridges of the muscle under his clothes. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he hungrily kissed your neck, a wide hand at the base of your skull to hold you steady. It was unexpected. The way he desperately groped you, bit you, leaving marks on your skin in a way you'd never dreamed he would. And god, it was hot. It wasn't long before he had you pinned beneath him and you got a good look at his face.

His face, suddenly decorated with tribal tattoos. You thought you saw an extra set of eyes, and watching them blink confirmed they were real. He grinned, showing off sharp fangs you'd never seen in Yuuji's mouth.

This was definitely something else.

He pushed his hair back and licked his lips with a serpentine tongue. A dangerous glint in his eye sparked the thing that was always missing between you and Yuuji. The danger.

"Glad you're not one of those god-fearing bitches." His voice was different, too. It was a lot deeper. "Yuuji has shit taste in women. Finally went home with someone interesting." He chuckled.

"Who... What are you?" You shrink back as best you can with him between your legs.

"Ryomen Sukuna. Demon." He brushed his lips against yours, grabbing your wrists to hold them above your head. "You looked like you were about to die of boredom, so I thought I'd rescue ya."

.

umm ngl I been into pairing Sukuna and megumi lately so I also mentally put them in this scenario and I'm a big fan lol

#usually i default to catholicism for the aesthetics #but this would have to be one of the denominations where priests are allowed to date and get married lmao #if there are any?? I'm so stupid about Christianity lol #I've gone out of my way to keep God out of my life is fanfic going to be the reason i learn about Christianity??? #anyway I'm really tempted to make this into an entire au omg this thought is so yummy #please don't judge me for being a sukufushi enjoyer btw bc i do hate almost everything I've seen of it #it's not about feminizing megumi. it's about the masculine desire to love violently. in this Ted talk i will- #i am leaving the tags before i say more lmao

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- Night at the Opera

His plans were focused on entertainment, on relaxing among people. He would later insist this was for my benefit, incorrectly believing me more at home in crowds—more comfortable than he was, perhaps, but I preferred the quiet of our room and a novel than bustling streets.

We found his entertainment in the rowdy cacophony of an open theater, which I held him back from as he made to enter, the pulse of so many veins too loud against my skull. Never mind their scents, heady all; from the tang of their sweat to the salt-sweet nectar beneath...

“We must attend, treasure, no one ever holds shows like these at night,” giddy his voice, bubbling with an excitement rarely seen outside of wanton bloodshed, and I delighted in it—sight and sound alike, his eyes wide, smile joyous.

But I had to disrupt, “I can’t be near so many, my dream...not now.”

Hands on me, gripping my shoulders, he studied my face with that slight tilt of his head—an amused gleam in his eyes—and smiled, “Is my treasure hungry?”

In truth, I had been for some hours, and I wondered then if it were my heat. If, perhaps, I needed more than he did.

Ever in my thoughts, and those far louder than what I hid, he kissed me quick and soft before addressing what worried, “Could be your heat, my love,” standing taller he teased my ear, whispering, “or your size.”

Gasping as I tried to scoff, to mock his tease, I kept a wary eye on the crowd ahead of us and answered his question, “Yes, I am...hungry.”

Keeping at my ear, he cooed, “then let’s find you someone to eat.”

Much to my dismay, Lucient didn’t walk passed me, out into the less busy streets. Instead he took my hand and lead me deeper into the crowd, through enchanting stone arches that even the ache of my veins couldn’t tear my eyes from. Elaborate murals decorated every strip of the walls we passed, and mixed into them I spied sigils glowing ever so.

Magic, I wondered, certain to address the giggling leading me, my love do you know what they’re for?

Sound, treasure, he answered, squeezing me through a group of boisterous men shouting at one another in Spanish spoken far too quick—pulses too loud, singing to what burned in me—and Lucient’s grip tightened, that is what the sigils say, anyhow. I imagine they amplify the performers.

I had visited theaters before, in trips to Rome with my parents, but they did not employ magic. Nor did their seats stretch quite so wide or deep into the earth as those of the one I stood in then. Tapering toward the stage, those seats were yet too numerous...and full, each pulse playing a litany in my veins. My hand in Lucient’s ached with how I gripped, Wherever we are headed, love...we must reach it soon.

Giggling louder, he ducked under a couple absently dancing in the hall—forcing me to break them up—and rushed behind a towering column. There he stopped, pressing me up against the stone and I looked up for the first time since he pulled me through the crowd. Open, the theater, void of ceiling to welcome all the wonder of the stars above. And it was a perfect night for it, not a cloud to disrupt.

Chill hands took my face as Lucient whispered, “We lure here, my love, dine without eyes to catch...and then take in the show.”

I stared at him, studying eyes too like the stars above us—distant and glittering—and that ever-sharp grin before hunger overtook any sense they should have mustered, “Which of us is the lure?”

Chuckling low, he pet my beard, “With this crowd, treasure, it’ll have to be you.”

Shivering then from what growled inside me, I found room for snark, “and will my possessive dream be able to stand such a thing?”

“Of course, treasure, because I know what they don’t,” He said, gripping my cheeks and yanking me to his lips. But the kiss I expected didn’t come, instead he turned my head and whispered in my ear, “You belong to me.”

He did give me his lips then, and a taste of his tongue—chill and calming as was—and I pressed for more, ached for more, but he pushed me back. Pointing after, he indicated the very group of boisterous men we’d circumvented.

And I scoffed, “Them? They are too many, and too close, how do I get one to leave with me?”

“That delicious charm of yours, treasure,” he answered, hand slipping into my jacket to test the other layers hiding my chest, “and I do not mean your voice.”

Staring at him until he looked up at me, I waited for him to stop giggling at what I’m certain was a sour expression, “So you want me to go over there and, what, wriggle like a hooked worm and see which follows?”

His giggles blurted into laughter and it took too many seconds to control it—seconds I spent breathing deeper, trying to keep hunger from further blurring my vision.

Then he kissed my cheek and softened his voice, “My perfect treasure...just do whatever it is you used to, with the sailors.”

The emphasis came iced and I wondered what would come after, should it take more than a smile to lure someone to us. I shouldn’t have. Ever in me, as he so loved to remind, he heard my wondering and narrowed those bright eyes.

But he didn’t speak, he shoved, and I sighed, “Well, I did wish to practice my Spanish…”

Lucient’s eyes kept on me as I navigated the growing crowd back to the men he’d set me on. Chill his gaze, and not the sweet cool of his touch, it was sharp and ever-present. A sensation that did not aid what I’d been sent to do, nor did it lessen the gnawing inside me, or the twitch that took my lips. Still I found them, three men in a tight circle speaking far too loud—even with the noise of other voices all around us.

All of them were shorter than myself, and all fairly slender, though not so much as Lucient, and none of them terribly attractive to me—although by then, in all honesty, no one but he was.

And with his insistence I follow who I was, the heartbreaker I used to be, I entered boldly into that circle. Slapping my hands on the shoulders of two of the men, I polished rusting lessons, discarded them and referred to them as the true entertainment of the evening in the worst accent I could muster, “Bueno, parece que he encontrado el verdadero entretenimiento.”

The two I had my hands on eyed me before continuing their conversation, but the third tilted his head and smiled. A gesture I mirrored before letting the others go and slipping around to speak to him alone.

“Hablas inglés?” He asked me, ignoring the shared look of the other two—one that had a distinct flavor of, ‘this again’, to it, emphasized by the irritation in their thoughts, clouded as they were by their debate.

I laughed softly, feigning embarrassment, “That bad?”

“Not the worst,” he answered, his own laughter just as quiet, but he smiled wider—never taking his eyes from mine—as familiar heat sang through his words, “Are you new to the...area?”

Confusing that moment, able to sense so much—too much—and not want it. No part of me wanted this man in the way he already seemed to want me. Not seemed, did. I knew he wanted me, the very second he saw me in fact. The others’ thoughts were clouded with local politics but that one, he thought of the other men in the theater.

Then he thought only of me.

“Yes,” I answered, remembering my task—blinking and masking my breaths for the hunger that had become agony, “Very new, actually. Just docked.”

I wouldn’t need much to lead him from the others, as he approached me, taking my arm with effortless confidence to lead me toward the very column Lucient waited behind. And I followed, smiling as he spoke, “Where from, if you don’t mind? You don’t sound English.”

Laughing at his observation, while smiling at the bright eyes peeking from the column, I gave an honest answer, “Italy, southern Italy, to be specific.”

He stopped in front of the column, eyes firm on mine—though they wandered to take in all of me—and sighed, “Beautiful country...and, what are you doing here?”

Stepping closer to the column, I backed into the shadows, beckoning him with a finger. Still smiling, he followed, and without a word put his hands on my waist. I allowed it, careful not to notice the one sneaking up behind him as I set a hand under the man’s chin.

Tilting his head up, as if for a kiss—that he expected, closed his eyes for—I leaned for his neck and answered, “Grabbing a bite.” He swooned with my bite, hands tightening on my waist, but while his thoughts swam with heady visions of compromising positions...he said nothing.

Lucient watched us for less than it felt before he grabbed the man’s shoulders and bit into the other side of his neck. The moans he drew were almost as sweet as the blood, flavored as it was with whatever alcohol the man drank before entering the theater. And again came the lust with the salt and syrup; hot and eager, solidifying what his eyes and thoughts had suggested.

But no tease followed from Lucient of how that one lusted for me, no remark on how quickly I’d lured him. He only drank, pressing against the man hard enough to hold me around him, to make any who might spot us believe we’d fallen to our basest urges in public.

However, he did warn me, though not of that, Don’t take it all, leave him breathing.

I obeyed, pulling away—hunger not sated, but staved off—and leaving the man gasping and unresponsive, but breathing. Leaving the mess of blood on my lips, I stared at Lucient. We’d not left anyone alive—though I knew we could—and while I could function with the lessened hunger, it was out of character for him to suggest. More than that, however, was the matter of how I’d brought the man to him and how my jealous, possessive dream of a monster...would not be so calm in that situation.

Lucient laid the man against the column and turned to me, licking the blood from his lips too slowly before addressing my confusion, “You said it yourself, treasure, there were too many with him. They might come looking.”

“And you’re...comfortable, with my luring him?” I shouldn’t have asked, I knew the moment the words escaped but hindsight is what it is.

On me quick as he ever was, Lucient licked every drop of blood off my lips and dug for what lingered on my tongue as he spoke to my worries, Not in the slightest, my love, and you will pay for every smile, every laugh, every promise those big beautiful eyes made. Releasing me, he took my hand, chuckling at my ragged breath and wobbly gait—heady that tongue, always too sweet—as he lead me to the seats. Not until he sat me in one and snuggled up beside me, did he speak aloud, “After the show.”

“But, what of the,” I had questions, important ones I thought.

Lucient disagreed, putting a finger over my lips, “Chut, it starts soon and I want to know how those sigils sound.”

The man, my love, I tried quietly, what happens when he wakes?

I said chut, he returned as quietly, he’s of no consequence. Turning his ever-beautiful eyes on me, voice yet silent, he teased, unless my treasure wants to keep him?

Rubbing my forehead, I ignored the question, “Very well, my dream, I’ll be quiet.”

I can’t tell you what the performance was. I’ve tried to remember, dug as deep as I could for the specific purpose of putting it into this book—there are many things one can find with modern technology and magic at their disposal but a midnight showing of an opera three hundred or so years ago is not one of them. So, thanks to my lack of focus and inability to find a mage willing to dig into my mind, you’ll not get that experience.

I was lost to how strange Lucient was acting, and the oddity of my comfort. Not in luring the man, no, I was not comfortable at all with that. But the feeding, the willingness to drain him dry...and the disappointment that I wasn’t allowed to. Monster, that is how I felt, how I felt so often, yet in that feeding—luring on my own, behaving as the predator Lucient insisted we were—the word became less damning.

Less painful even, and I wondered, as a soprano silenced the theater with her solo, My love...was that a test?

He didn’t answer with words, but when I looked for them he smiled and he winked—tears glistening from an opera I wasn’t listening to.

#writeblr #snippet #writing #novel #before deluca #vampires #i dunno if there's a warning needed #tell me if you see something #i'll tag it

[sinfulpunishment]

✎ᝰ┆A Vessel

─❏ Warnings: none

─❏ Characters: Chuuya Nakahara

─❏ Synopsis: Some thoughts post corruption…

─❏ A/N: will user sinfulpunishment ever let these characters be happy? who knows!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

My mouth tastes of metal. Blood.

Knees locking because it’s the only thing keeping me from dropping to them, not that it’ll actually save me from tasting the rubble that I so carefully decorated the floor with. Muscles aching, throbbing, the worst coming from the one at my center. It feels like waking up from anesthesia, but if they put you under to let the storm roll over.

I cough into my bare, scraped palms and find more red than there was before I opened my damned muzzle. It’s the same red that stains the ground and the bodies of those whose lives I ripped away from them. It’s evidence of life; ironic that the same evidence comes out of my body considering how dead I feel.

Every part of my body aches, my skin stings and I wish I could rip it from my body and trade it in for a new set. My hands feel heavy and the blood in my palms only makes them feel heavier. I think some scars are invisible because I can still see the red marks that decorate my vessel, even if they’re not really there anymore and I’m still here. I’m me again.

I’m me but I feel like only a husk of myself for now. I know I’ll be back to my full self later—whoever that may be—but the moments leading up to that feel like an eternity. My head is pounding in my skull, it feels it should be a concussion, and I can’t tell if the pounding is my heart beating or something else. Is it even my own heart beating? Or can I somehow hear the life flowing through the only person who still stands by me at the end of it all, after the storm has passed. Though, sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s even alive either. Maybe we died together long ago and now we walk this purgatory—at least I wouldn’t be alone. We’re foredoomed to be together.

Looking around at the leveled land, for a brief second I wonder “What could have done such a thing?” Then I remember: I did that. With my own two hands, I brought about this much destruction and death, it doesn’t even feel real. How could any one person do so much in such little time? Why am I the one that can?

It’s not that any person can, because real people aren’t capable of this. This is akin to the stories children read about monsters, monsters cause chaos and destruction and death, that’s what separates them from people.

I am but a vessel—a carrier for a deadly plague. A disease so strong that I can’t even fight it myself, I have to rely on someone else to control it. It sounds pathetic, like I’m some damsel in distress. It makes my blood boil.

This thing that I must come to terms with as sharing a body with me. The thing that ripped my past away from me as well as my humanity. It’s funny, I don’t feel human and yet others tell me I am, it’s hard to believe them.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if no one stopped the process—if he wasn’t there to stop me. That would be the end for me. My body would destroy itself from the inside out. If I ceased to exist, would the beast within me awaken to new found freedom?

That’s hardly fair. Where’s my freedom? When do I get to be happy? When do I get to come to realize my humanity and accept my existence? When do I get to have a body of my own?

I’m tired of being some pretty little pattern on a furnace of pure rage and power. I want to be me, just Chuuya.

But I guess that’s mostly just wishful thinking. For now, I want to stop coughing up my own blood. I want to stop looking at the damage I caused.

For now, I just want to rest.

You need not wake me again.

— Chuuya Nakahara

a storm.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #sinfulpunishment #Spotify

[charmspoint]

Sanguine Friday 7

Potential intro scene of Prinn and Duchess meeting

-

It wasn’t a bad looking mansion.

Nestled in a sprawling garden, roses climbing its sides, ruby red apples hanging off the trees, fishes swimming in the decorative ponds, it would have looked like something out of a fairytale if the stonework of the building itself wasn’t so dark. Burgundy drapes sheltered the inside of the house from direct sunlight and the wood of the door was dark, clean cut, no visible irregularities.

Prinnsal refused to let the aesthetic trappings of the lair lull him into a sense of comfort. What hid inside was nothing short of a thirsting monster, one that would sooner drain him of his blood than invite him in for tea.

And still he approached.

Still, he took the knocker in his hand—Intricate, branching frame, the wear on the gold attempting to hide beneath an inadequate new coat of paint—and banged it over that immaculate wood.

Suicidal, the others might have called him, like he didn’t know so himself. Like he wasn’t perfectly aware that an angel knocking on a vampire’s front door is just a feast delivering itself to the doorstep. But he wasn’t stupid nor reckless nor quite done with his life yet. There were simply more pressing things that wanted to kill him than a bloodsucker with a pompous taste.

The door opened without so much as a creak. Through the narrow opening, a man stared out at him. An old, gray haired man with eyes almost bulging out of his skull, like an insect inserted into a human-like suit. His eyes darted over Prinnsal’s frame, before shutting the door again.

For a couple of minutes, Prinnsal wondered if that would be it. If he would he would simply be turned away without so much as an acknowledgment of his stupidity.

But no. His blood alone was too delectable of a lure. The man returned. He opened the door wide. He bowed deeply. He motioned Prinnsal in.

So Prinnsal stepped into the belly of the beast.

Walls of the hallway crowded around him oppressively, claustrophobically. Every few feet, a rose shaped candle gave its damndest to light up the dimness of the house, failing considerably in the battle against the rich black walls and the scarlet carpeting.

Prinnsal kept his back straight, his fists unclenched. Every rune on his body screamed at him to flee, to turn tail now, while he still could, while he still lacked a bite at his throat and death at his back. But he was made of firmer stuff than fear. He was made of the hardest steel tested under the cruelest lash. Hundred years of torture couldn’t bend his back and neither would this. Even if this turned out to be the thing that actually killed him.

The house opened up as he was led into the parlor. A spidery chandelier gave the room some much needed light, dripping red specks of light down onto the two couches positioned around a tea table. The frame of them was a dark cherry rosewood, the firm panels carved in the shapes of snarling wolves chasing a fleeing doe. Brought to life by a masterful hand, that was plain to see, each animal lovingly crafted with distinct fur patterns and lively posing. 

On the further seat, the one facing the door, sat the woman he had steeled himself to meet. And he could have prepared for a week more and still failed to suppress a shiver that ran up his spine that first time their eyes met. What greeted him from those eyes was visceral, raw hunger.

He tore his gaze away from her eyes, only to have it snag on her mouth instead. Tips of fangs poking out between her lips, two tiny pears in a sea of dark red. Panic pinched at his mind in a sharp burst, almost making him miss her actual greeting.

“You know, my dear, it’s usually customary that one should announce themselves before coming to visit. I must say I’m caught quite unprepared to receive such an esteemed company.” She looked at him like she wanted nothing more than to tear his throat open and gorge on the blood. She smiled like a hostess keen on entertaining exactly how good manners dictated before she did just that. “Nevertheless, we must preserve. Sit, will you not? Tea please.”

The last line was directed towards the wavering servant in the doorway and the man bowed before disappearing from sight. There was something strangely unnerving about being left alone with her. Prinnsal had never before been this close to a vampire. He never before felt so much like a mouse in front of a starving cat.

She must have seen it in his eyes, in the briefest hesitation before the next step, because her smile widened and her fangs flashed fully in the dull candlelight.

“Sit, little lamb.”

Prinnsal did what he did best.

He gritted his teeth behind a smile and approached like there was nothing to run from. She lounged on her seat, hair spilling over her shoulders in bronze waves, relaxed in that finicky way of cats that could lash out at any moment. He refused to break eye contact first. It set his nerves on fire but he wouldn’t allow himself to yield a second time.

“I’ve come to you with a proposition.” He said, every muscle in his body tense just to keep his voice steady.

“A proposition, how exciting.” She grinned, leaning towards slightly, her dress—all shadows spilling over a scarlet sea—leaving little of her voluptuous figure to imagination. The servant returned and set the platter down on the table, two cups of tea and a generous helping of sugar. The subtle scent of pomegranate wafted through the air as she waved the servant off before picking up her cup, gently blowing out the rising steam. “And what may be your proposition, little lamb?”

The teacup didn’t stain with lipstick as she drank from it, not even a hint of the dark red color that was too vivid not to have been painted on. His own throat felt dry so he reached for the tea too. Tried to enjoy the warm lull of it without thinking of all those stories that warned not to eat the food of the underworld.

“I know how much your kind values the blood of my kind.” His voice sounded steadier than he thought it would, and that fact alone gave him the confidence to continue. “There are rumors saying that our blood stops your decay and the dungeons are filling up because it must be true.”

Something glinted in her eyes, a sharp sort of light, like the reflection of sun on a polished dagger. She brought her tea away from her lips and set it back down on the platter. Rings glittered on her fingers as she folded her hands down in her lap.

“Interesting,” she said that word as if she meant to say foolish, “I thought you were far more ignorant of your position in the world to come knocking on my door. Did you fail to consider this visit might cost you your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream to.”

“And yet here you are?”

“I thought that perhaps you’d like to entertain the idea of me being more useful in the long term.”

She licked her lips. One long, slow swipe of her tongue that cleared away the pink stains left by the tea, but left the makeup unsmeared. “How quaint, I’ve never before had a meal come to my door and demand to be played with. You’re masochistic, for an angel.”

“I haven’t come here to offer myself as a meal,” he said, even though that was only partly true. “One meal means nothing. You eat me now and, in a week, you will hunger for angel blood again. But you keep me under your roof, in your care, and I will willingly let you feed off of my blood every day, for as long as you wish to have it.”

There was that glint in her eyes again and this time when she swiped her tongue, she trailed it over the sharp edges of her teeth. “And in exchange?”

“In exchange I ask for nothing but protection. I am to be yours exclusively. You shield me from others of your kind that may wish to harm me.” He hesitated a moment, the final confession briefly stuck in his throat, fighting to give her that much of a leverage on him so early on. “And you shield me from anything else that may come for me.”

Curiosity infested her smile, turning it into a butcher’s knife. “Poor little thing, is someone chasing you?”

“No one that could stand a chance against you.”

“Oh you flatterer,” she laughed, waving her hand at him dismissively, though her eyes shone with pleasure. “You come with a whole heap of trouble, I just know it, but…mine exclusively.” Her smile played over the edge of the words. “I like the sound of that. Do you have a name, little lamb?”

“Prinnsal.”

“Prinnsal,” she turned it over in her mouth like candy, hissed out the ‘s’ and curled her tongue around the ‘al as if she were savoring the taste’, “A cute name for a cute pet. Prinnsal then.” She reached down below the tea table and pulled out a knife. It wasn’t terribly big but it was sharp as sin, the ornate handle printed with shapes of thorns and wild flowers. She pushed the platter with the tea cups closer to him and laid the knife upon it. “Flavor my tea.”

Not once during his travel there did he actually consider how the deed would be done. There was no need to, he reasoned, vampires were cruel creatures, they knew how to let blood spill and at least that they could be trusted with, if nothing else. He hadn’t prepared for the possibility of her wanting him to do it himself.

But her eyes left no room for opposition, the words of refusal couldn’t even make it past his lips, and perhaps it was better that way too. He had come so far. He wouldn’t give up now, not at the final step.

The knife was light in his hand, barely more than a toy. His eyes reflected back at him from the blade, pupils blown wide in the silver sea, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was doing.

He did it anyway, pulled her cup closer, settled it under his arm. It wasn’t like he never bled before, but he was never one to inflict such suffering upon himself. Positioning was mostly guess work. Trying to remember where the others had hurt him, how to cut shallowly enough not to actually harm the system underneath. Divine blood still flowed through his veins and he had to trust it to keep him together. Not to let him bleed out upon her desk.

It hurt, but he wasn’t a stranger to pain.

He didn’t dig deep, barely a line, barely a small trickle of thick blood down into the rich sweetness of her tea.

A sharp sting, an uncomfortable roll of dread through his body that he tried to ignore.

The knife was well taken care of, polished to a shine and sharpened regularly. The teacups on the table all matched charmingly with the pot and the sugar bowl, black in color with the constellations painted on with delicate and precise brushstrokes of stark white. Darkness blossomed in her tea like a winter flower.

He didn’t let himself make a sound, didn’t let himself so much as wince, wouldn’t stand for the humiliation of it. He was the one who had chosen this. He would see it through. 

The trickle of blood eased and he pulled his arm back, leaving the knife down on the platter and pressing his palm against his forearm. The pain was a memory and a dream and the tea table was black walnut carved with wild roses. 

“You have strong nerves, I like that,” she said as she retrieved the cup, stirred the bloodied tea with her spoon, let that dark color spread and grow until it was the deepest shade of garnet.

She then brought the tea to her lips, drank in elegant, contemplative sips for a long time, every so often pausing just to close her eyes and sit still for a while, the smile unwavering on her lips.

By the time she finished the cup, he had stopped bleeding completely and his palm was stained red.

“I think we have reached an agreement,” she announced, extending her hand forward, giving him little choice before she was taking his hand into her own, pressing his blood between their palms, “Remain at my service, give your blood to me when I ask for it. In exchange the protection of Duchess Elizabeth will be yours for as long as you earn it.”

#lucy does a write #sanguinary waltz #sangunine friday #Prinnsal #Duchess Elizabeth #im once again real fuckin tired so dont mind mistakes

[yanban-san]

Submas Hydreigon Hybrids Headcanons

Submas twins but they are Hydreigon Hybrids living on a cool mountain, what are they like

2 Guys. Six mouths. Weird undulating tendril wing arms and other strange draconic features.

Need I say more?

CW: Polyamory, Blood, Hunting/Biting, VERY MILD NSFW mentions

⎊ They have normal human skin colors, but strange dark purple and blue and black markings on their bodies. The weird markings on their stomachs are strangely sensitive to touch as well, and they’ll keel over hissing and chirping if you start tickling them there.

⎊ The weirdest characteristic is the fact they have mouths on their hands- The mouths are not capable of eating anything, but they can taste and chew and inject prey with venom- that is also a convenient aphrodisiac to mates, and (in small doses) to humans.

⎊ They have fluffy black fur coating their bodies, and dramatic, sharp black markings around their beautiful silver eyes. Both of them have what looks like a mane of purple and black fur (Like the weird pruple crown thing around their heads) They have very sharp fangs and larger tongues than normal as well; their tongues are also a much deeper red/pink than human’s are.

⎊ Emmet has terrible control over the mouths on his hands, and wears thicker gloves so his hands can’t chew through them- Ingo just wears gloves because his mouths have a bad reaction of latching onto anything he tries to grab, and he hates getting “mouthfuls” of random stuff he’s holding- bark from tree branches is unpleasant, if he grabs at the ground he gets dirt in his mouths- and then has to fly off to rinse his mouths with water.

⎊ Their “wings” are prehensile and strong, and they will wrap them and their tails around their mates, especially during the night or when they are in heat.

⎊ Hydreigons are much more aggressive than other dragon hybrids and like to bite their mates aggressively, as well as hold them down- Their saliva is part poisonous, part aphrodisiac- a little goes a long way and can make pain feel pleasurable.

⎊ Hydreigon hybrids, and most dark type hybrids, live solitary lives, or dwell among their own kind away from humans and other hybrids. Dark types and Ghost types are seen as evil or terrifying beings- and given how aggressive Hydreigon hybrids are, those stereotypes are probably keeping some people safe.

⎊ Their main courtship method is through battle and hunting- In cases like Ingo and Emmet’s where they’ve taken the same mate, they get very aggressive with each other when they start experiencing heat, and typically both fly off from their nest and you to either beat each other up, or have a hunting competition- Taking out their violent urges on poor prey pokemon rather than each other. Emmet gets excessively whiny if you don’t like whatever he managed to catch you- He’s slightly smaller and more impatient than Ingo is during these times, and just wants you to praise him and hold him and tell him he won, okay?

⎊ Their nests are filled with bones and hides of previously caught prey. Ingo and Emmet’s nest is particularly spectacular, due to both of them taking up the same nest together; It’s large and decorated with silky and perfectly preserved furs of wild pokemon of all sorts, as well as random shiny treasures and trinkets they find while out hunting- And a lot of skulls and bones. Hydreigon hybrids like to make jewelry out of bones as well, and Mandibuzz will often show up to try to steal the well-preserved bones for their own nests, though they must be careful lest they end up the next decoration in the Hydreigon’s lair…

⎊ You will receive pretty bone jewelry and shiny rocks- Probably evolutionary stones they find or things like pearls or stardust or star pieces since they live on a mountain. They like seeing you wear them, though they think their bite marks on your neck and shoulders look infinitely more pretty than any jewelry or clothing ever would.

⎊ They seek a human mate because they like human’s comparitively gentle natures- If they’ve chosen you as a mate, you’ve probably cooed and awed over their strength, appearance, and prowess as hunters and generally inflated both of their egos to the point of bursting- And both of them adore it. They also want a mate who can cook. Hybrids don’t live near humans or have many human technologies/home comforts, and once as young Deino hybrids they were given roasted, seasoned meat from a human village- And they’ve been addicted ever since. If you can cook, they probably won’t let you leave- They’ll bring you anything and everything you could ever want, just- don’t stop cooking for them. Please.

⎊ Since they were Deino hybrids, they must have been Zweilous hybrids at one point, right? Do not ask how being a Zweilous hybrid works- Emmet and Ingo just shudder at the memories. Ingo will insist hybrids don’t grow the extra head, but Emmet will neither confirm nor deny such a statement.

⎊ Part of their courting rituals involves hunting for their chosen mate- If the mate accepts, she’ll eat the prey brought before her. If you’ve accepted some meat from either of the twins, congratulations- You now have a husband or two.

⎊  You were wondering why Ingo was staring at you with such rapt attention while you prepared and cooked the Bouffalant he’d brought you; After you took a few bites he was suddenly on top of you, his black wings wrapping around you like chains and grasping you tightly as he sunk his claws into you, a deep growl mixing with chirping noises leaving his throat as you felt the mouths on his hands licking and biting at your arms and sides-

Oh no.

Unfortunately, remembering Hydreigon Hybrid courtship rituals after you’ve completed one of their main ones is probably the wrong time to remember- and they’re very aggressive once they’ve chosen a mate, so have fun!

⎊ Emmet does the same, but his hands immediately jump to biting you very aggressively. As well as his main mouth- He just can’t help himself, he’s just so happy you’ve accepted his offering! By the time he’s finished with you you’re going to be really sore and heavily bite-marked, and in the worst case possibly bleeding a little- Unless you can start tickling him. He’s much more sensitive than Ingo is and you’ll be able to knock him off and have him keeling over on the ground in agonizing ticklish pain if you start jabbing at his weird tire-track markings on his stomach. If he does get you bloody at all, he’ll start licking at your wounds, soothing you and half-whimpering an apology- It’s a darn good thing he keeps those little pet Joltiks and Galvantulas for their silk. He’ll have you bandaged in no time, and even bring you some oran and sitrus berries for medicine until Ingo comes back; Ingo as a hybrid is always the one who knows how to make healing balms and medicines. Emmet never learned well.

⎊ If they’ve gone hunting together to bring down something truly impressive for a courtship meal, it will be something like a Gyarados- and they’ll haul it all the way up the mountain to you as a show of strength- But don’t think they’re too exhausted to immediately embrace you if you try to cook and eat even a fraction of this behemoth they’ve brought you- You’ll have twelve wings and a bunch of mouths biting the shit out of you in excessive eagerness as they pin you down.

#Sethosover18 #pokehybrid au #Emmet X Reader #Ingo X Reader #Emmet/Reader #Ingo/Reader #pokemon hybrids #Hydreigon Hybrids #X Reader #hybrid Submas

[tarrenterror25]

thoughts no one asked for but my mind has no mouth and must scream

This is purely self indulgent.

Alfred Pennyworth (Batman 2022) x Soft/Romantic Goth F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.3K

Tags: established relationship, smut, PinV, fluff, mention of death/the macabre, body worship, petit/short reader, smidgen of brat behavior

Song referenced in moodboard is “For You” by HIM and song mentioned in blurb is “Until Eternity” by Blackbriar (Orchestral Version).

The two of you met through a chance encounter and it grew from there. At first, Alfred wasn’t sure what to think of your eclectic style, but your personality was so endearing that he was drawn to you. There was something humorous to him about your dark style with the contrast of your welcoming and almost bubbly personality.

You’re surprisingly shy and he can’t help, but say bold and sweet things that elicit a response from you like you trying to hide your smile behind your hands or turning away from him. Honestly, whatever comes out of his mouth, he’s just as surprised as you are!

“Are you always this brave when you flirt?” you ask.

“Only seems to be when I’m around you,” he replies.

Eventually he worked up the nerve to ask you on a date and then another one and another. He found himself falling more in love with you with each passing day.

Before Alfred says goodbye to you at your doorstep, he takes your hand in his. He had been nervous the whole night, but was ready to confess his love in a way that’s special to you. He was quick to learn your fondness for poetry and he’s no poet, but he wants to show you he is sincere.

“The night has a thousand eyes and the day but one,” he recites. “Yet the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun.”

The two of you are closer now, hardly any space between you as you look up into his eyes, hanging on his every word.

“The mind has a thousand eyes and the heart but one,” he continues. “Yet the light of a whole life dies-”

“When love is done,” you finish softly.

Alfred smiles. “My time with you has been some of the best moments of my life thus far,” he says. “I find myself thinking of you always and have come to realize that should our time come to an end, I would be quite miserable. Because I love you, dearly.”

Your lace gloved hand comes up to caress his cheek and he leans into your touch. “There are darknesses in life and there are lights,” you say to him. “And you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. I love you, too, Alfred.”

Your macabre interests are fascinating to him. There’s something magnetic about how you find beauty in the darkest of things. He’s not too put off by the decor in your home; the Wayne home has some rather dark decor as well so skulls and candles are not too out of the ordinary for him.

The two of you bond over books; exchanging titles is a love language between the both of you. He does blush a bit at some of the romance ones you hand him that have smuttier scenes and he’s smitten at how interested you are in his picks for you. Often the two of you just snuggle close to each other reading your own books or reading a book together.

Your music taste is your own, though. He appreciates it, really, but it’s not his thing. Artists like HIM, Apocalyptica, or Blackbriar he finds some enjoyment in and loves to dance with you to their songs. If you play more orchestral versions of songs you like, he’s very into these; brings out the melodies a lot more in his opinion.

A beautiful and haunting voice sings about a love through time. Alfred finds you swaying and singing to the music and holds out his arms to join you.

I loved you once I loved you twice I loved you in my previous lives I know your voice, I know your eyes You haunt me through my dreams at night

Your hand rests in his and his other hand is on the small of your back, holding you close, his eyes taking all of your beauty in. He gives you a spin and pulls you back to him. You didn’t know much about dancing before him and he enjoys teaching you. He loves seeing how happy it makes you that he indulges you in dancing to your music.

Oh, my love, we’ll meet again We always do in the end Our two souls destined to be You and I until eternity

Oh, the way you look at him, with such love and adoration. It melts him from the inside out. You are a romantic and you make him feel things he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling anymore. The way you love is something out of a novel. It’s something only seen in dreams and heard of in songs like these.

We live on and on and on Death is weak and we are strong On and on and on Time is weak and we are strong

“I’m very lucky to have you, Alfred,” you say as he expertly twirls you, his arm coming over you, spinning you outward and then pulling you back to him.

“It’s quite the opposite, darling,” he says before slowly dipping you so that your head falls back and your neck is exposed to him. You let your arms slowly descend as your body drapes over his arm. His free hand comes up to caress your neck, his thumb brushing across your throat right under your chin. “I’m the lucky one,” he says moving his hand to cradle the back of your head and to guide you back up so he can kiss you.

I loved you once I loved you twice I loved you in my previous lives And when I die just keep in mind I’ll love you in another life

Despite different tastes in music for the majority, you do share a love of opera and classical music. Alfred enjoys taking you to the opera, theatre, or to the music hall for a concert. Other dates include places like the museum, both art and history. You have shown him many new things he either didn’t know or never noticed before. Your favorite date, that Alfred has also become quite fond of, is afternoon picnics in the park. The prim and proper butler was hesitant at first, but soon became more relaxed with the idea. Of course, you have a black picnic basket complete with all kinds of morsels inside. You retrieve two gothic goblets and he smiles; you are unabashedly you through and through and he loves it.

In his time knowing you before you started dating, your more revealing or accentuating wardrobe definitely had him blushing, but now that you’re his, oh, it still flusters him, but now he doesn’t feel so bad about looking. He adores your fashion sense; there’s an air of elegance to it while still reflecting your bright personality. You are shorter than he is and sometimes your shoes make you a little taller than him, but he doesn’t mind it at all. He just smiles, feeling proud of you for dressing in what makes you feel beautiful.

Alfred loves how you dote on him, always complimenting him on what a gentleman he is or how sweet and polite he is. It makes his chest swell with pride and inspires him. He loves how you help with little things like helping put on his tie; his eyes watch your black nails gently situate it properly on his neck and adjust his collar and you help him put on a coat or jacket and smooth it out.

His favorite gift from you is the cane you got him. The handle is a silver knob with a bat etched onto it. It’s so thoughtful to him and he uses it all the time now.

The first time the two of you are intimate, Alfred is taken back by what you’ve worn for the occasion; all the ribbons and lace decorating your body have him filled to the brim with desire. Despite how your choice of attire is dark in color, it is soft and demure in nature. He’s soft and gentle with you, but will take on a more dominant attitude if you ask for it. He loves you riding on top of him with your lingerie in full view. It’s too beautiful on you for him to ask you to take it off. He loves running his hands over your stocking clad thighs and watching how the fabric pulls and stretches across your body as you bounce on him.

He has you underneath him. He holds onto one of your thighs wrapped around him, using his grip to help him drive deeper into you. The soft mewls and whines you make are music to his ears. He’s thrusting slowly into you, his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes shut as he tries to focus on not just pounding you mercilessly.

“It’s so difficult to not lose control, love,” he says with a shaky breath. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

With his face held in between your hands, you utter a wish from your black painted lips for him to let go and to fuck you.

Who is he to deny you? He’d gladly do anything you ask of him.

He sits up and bends your knees as far as can towards you head and fucks you harder, deeper, and faster until you can’t form a coherent thought and you’re a mewling mess beneath him.

Alfred has a hard time actually keeping his hands off of you; he loves holding your hand, having your arm looped in his, his arm around your waist, or his hand resting on your thigh. He just wants you close to him at all times and loves showing you off as his. He’s not at all bothered by the stark contrast of you and him together.

Sometimes he does want to be handsy in other ways, especially when you tease by bending over further than necessary or brushing up against him. He’ll return the favor once the two of you are alone.

In the car, you lied about needing something from the backseat and proceeded to twist your body to reach a thing that he’s sure you made up as an excuse to put your ass on display for him. Your dress riding up and nearly exposing your backside. He quickly grabs the hem of your dress and holds it down to honor your modesty.

“Darling,” he says, “surely this can wait?”

“I’m sure I left it back here,” you call out.

As you shuffle through some things in the backseat, he’s very aware of how close his hand is to your clothed sex and occasionally you keep pushing back onto his hand making him brush up against it. And then inside of your place, you kept brushing against him, your chest against his front or your backside against the front of his pants. He knows what you’re doing, he can tell by the way you bite your black painted lip and the way you look at him from under those long lashes.

You’re so shy, particularly when it comes to letting him know what you want him to do to you and just as you love riling him up with your actions, he loves putting you on the spot, making you say out loud what you want.

He tips your chin up, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Use your words, darling,” he says. “What is it you want?”

So when he gets you alone, he returns the favor. He gets you in your room and stops your roaming hands. He gently instructs you to sit on the bed and he kneels in front of you. He makes sure his movements are slow, his fingers barely brushing your skin as they trail down to the little buckles of your heels. He helps remove them and then lets his fingers ghost further up to where your garters hold up your stockings. He undoes these next and slowly peels them off your skin, trailing kisses along your thighs and legs. He glances up at you, watching how you squirm under his touch.

“Stand up, darling, and turn around,” he says softly.

He’s kissing your neck and shoulders as he undoes the laces of your corset. Your back arching and your head tossing back to rest on his shoulder begging for him to hurry up and touch you.

“Be patient, darling,” he says. “I want to savor you.”

Once you’re completely undressed and with him still fully clothed, he’s worshipping your body; planting slow and soft kisses everywhere while his hands caress your flesh. It’s a slow build before he’s finally inside you, but he makes it worth the wait.

Alfred is extremely protective of you while the two of you are out and about. He knows your style of dress isn’t widely accepted and sometimes the looks you get from people get to you. He’ll soothe you as best as he can to help you feel better.

“You look wonderful, darling.” “Would you like to borrow my coat?” “It’s perfectly alright if you wish to go back home, I don’t mind.”

If you go out by yourself, he’s just as protective, but does his best to not be overbearing. Sometimes you like to go out dancing to places, that he admits, just aren’t for someone like him; places like the Iceberg Lounge or Gotham City Olympus. He only asks that you send a text upon your arrival and departure from your destination. He also implores you to not hesitate to contact him if you need anything.

Sometimes he’s the one who gets self conscious. The thought that you might like someone more like you does creep into his mind at times. But then he remembers that not once have you tried to change him, you love him as he is.

“Sometimes I do wonder if perhaps someone with interests closer to yours might be more suitable for you,” he says.

“I’m interested in you, Alfred,” you say before kissing him.

You are definitely an unexpected surprise in his life, but he wouldn’t trade you for anything.

#thoughts no one asked for #Alfred Pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred x reader #Alfred Pennyworth imagine #alfred pennyworth headcanons

[chazz-anova]

Consecration

Fandom: Far Cry 5 Word Count: 2.1k Pairing: Faith Seed x Female Herald OC Summary: Faith is newly appointed as a Herald of the of Henbane, and has her first meeting with her new partner in Eden's Gate. Warnings: Brief mention of drug use A/N: kinda getting into's Faith's early days as a leader in the cult with this one and where her head was at! i enjoyed writing this from her pov too to really get in her head 🧠 i hope yall enjoy!

Read it on AO3!

The newly appointed Faith Seed paced in her cabin anxiously; bare feet on the smooth wood padding from corner to corner of her new home. After she’d been chosen by Joseph she’d been upgraded from the residence hall for the girls of Eden’s Gate. 

Walls of walnut wood surrounded her adorned with the country chic decor she’d become accustomed to. A mounted deer here, a cow skull there. ‘Charming.’ She thought sarcastically. Faith wasn’t one to pin down her tastes, but she knew this wasn’t it. At least now she had her own room. 

Things had been different before- equally as hard but in another way. Stuck living with cold parents, hooked on drugs and trouble. Now she had a gelid Father and was the most sober she’d been in ages. But being Faith was just another drug. People looked up to her more, listened to her. One facet of her life remained the same though- the loneliness. 

Faith completed another lap of paces as the object of her anxiety came to mind: Joseph Seed. In particular, her first meeting with him since becoming a Herald. It was only yesterday that she had been chosen from the congregation at the end of a sermon. As was custom, each Seed spoke at the dais; giving their own speech to prepare the flock for the Collapse. At the end- all was silent as the Father stepped forward. 

“Brothers and sisters, you have heard much from us today but I would beg your attention for another moment to make an announcement.” Joseph settled in at the pulpit at the center of everyone’s attention. The white paint of the church was illuminated by dozens of white candles, the creak of metal bird cages whispered from the ceiling; the congregation held their breath as they always did when their Father spoke. In classic fashion- this announcement was to be presented as an oration. Holy and eminent. “What is Faith?” Joseph’s heavy gaze looked out over them all reaching each person with his booming cadence. “Faith is what holds us together. What makes us different from the damned souls that will not walk with us in the Garden.” Answering his own question he eyed his flock- eyes filling with regret. “Our Faith, she was not ready. Not ready to do what must be done to help us survive the Collapse. When the Reaping begins, she would have led us to ruin.” Joseph spoke of the previous matron of Eden’s Gate. 

There had always been a ‘Faith’; it was a title more than anything, an identity to take on. Previously there were only two others to carry the mantle- the most recent having disappeared after a rather public disagreement with the Father. There were whispers in the female dorms, tinged with apprehension and fear as the women considered the immensity of being chosen, and the risk if one were to falter. 

“My children I am pleased to announce, after much deliberation we have found our new Faith. You all know her as a different name, but no longer. She has lent a hand to any she saw in need- she has held us aloft in hard times and flourished with us in good.” A pregnant pause as Joseph held a poignant countenance. “Rachel, if you’ll join me?” The woman startled as the last name she’d expected tumbled from his lips. 

Since then things had been a blur. There were official introductions to the Seed brothers, being introduced as their sister made her feel warm but unsettled. Like she just stepped into her dream and the world had started falling away. After an hour of mingling, the new Faith had been shown to the new cabin where she would reside.

These memories raced through her mind and she wondered what responsibilities she’d have now. Her mentation was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, making her jump. ‘Already?’ The woman looked down at herself; she wore drab white garb as was custom of the community, her hair hung lankly past her shoulders. Shame filled her as she opened the door, hoping she wouldn’t see one of the Seeds. She may be one of them now but she didn’t yet look the part. The heavy door was pulled ajar to reveal no one. 

The birds chirped as evening faded in and the trees hung high over the cabin outside, but no one awaited her. Confusion crossed Faith’s expression and she peered from the doorway. Though no visitors awaited she spied a simple white envelope on the doormat, addressed to her (with her new name of course) and emblazoned with the Eden’s Gate cross on a wax seal. 

Stepping back into the cabin now equipped with the correspondence containing her next step, Faith took a deep breath and broke the seal. As she pulled the letter forth the aroma of jasmines and rain filled the room. Faith smiled slightly, ‘Who perfumes their letters?’ She mused as the paper unfolded revealing flowing cursive script. “Meet me at Sacred Skies Lake. We have much to discuss.” 

It took less than an hour for Faith to fluff her hair, apply some mascara, and throw on a more put-together outfit before she found a ride to the lake. People were practically falling over themselves offering to drive the new Herald; she even spotted someone get tripped trying to get to her. In the end, Jacob had ordered one of his Chosen to escort her. 

The world was painted in pinks, oranges, and splashes of purple as sunset cloaked Hope County. The water of Sacred Skies Lake shined in the final vestiges of sunlight, inviting Faith to the shore. Halfway down the woman spotted sheets of lace and silk adorning the tree branches near the water. Her flats crunched into the sand and rocks on the coast as her gaze scanned for the Father. With a start, the brunette set eyes on a different figure. 

Tall with shapely legs and a flowing mane of red hair- a beautiful stranger met her eyes. The other woman was striking in an intimidating way: ruby red lips, towering in hills, and a piercing blue gaze. “Faith.” She spoke her new name and Faith rather liked how it sounded. 

“Hi… still getting used to the name I think.” 

The ginger appraised her silently before responding, “You’ll wear it well. Come, sit.” She gestured to a large blue picnic blanket spread under the swaying trees above. On the blanket was the most diverse spread of food Faith had ever seen; macaroons of every color, boards of meat from pancetta to smoked salmon, and bowls of veggies, sauces, and garnishes awaited. Gingerly the Herald took her spot at the edge of the spread. Her eyes lit up as she spotted a ramekin filled with sunflower seeds. “Yes, I was told you enjoyed those. Barbeque flavor?” The taller of them said the word as if it were foreign to her. Faith nodded with a smile and popped one in her mouth. “Of course, I’ve only seen these without the shell used as texture for salads and such but… I’m pleased if you are. My name is Antoinette.” As she spoke, she tucked the skirt of her dress politely beneath her and her lips bowed in a kind smile.

“I’m Ra…” She stopped herself, “Faith. I guess you already knew that though.” The brunette smiled sheepishly and looked down at her hands in her lap. 

“I’ll confess, I don’t know much more than yourself at present.” Annie settled back on the blanket lounging languidly like a cat in a sunbeam. “Joseph has only blessed me with crumbs of his plan, but I know both you and I are integral.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “And will be working quite closely together.” 

“Oh?” Faith urged her on, eyes lingering on Antoinette’s toned form for a moment. Muscles rippled under the criss-crossing white dress she wore. ‘Someone works out..’ With the thought she felt her tongue dart out to moisten her lips and tried to get her brain back on track. 

Antoinette nodded and reached for a slice of gouda, “Indeed- just as you were promoted tonight, I was appointed only a couple days ago.” She popped the cheese in her mouth and stared out at the water, “It was all quite sudden.” 

‘Two Faiths?’ Faith wondered and was about to ask when her companion continued.

“After the… unfortunate failings of the last Faith, I have been appointed as a guide. Someone to help and advise where needed. We have much to prepare for if Joseph’s predictions are correct, and he is not one to accept failure.” 

Silence ruled both of them a moment as they considered the consequences of ineptitude, a secret anxiety they each were too guarded to show. The new Faith looked to Annie and they shared a look of understanding; they were in this together. “Well,” Faith started as she wrapped some salami around a piece of provolone, “At least my partner in crime knows how to cook.” 

The ginger snorted brusquely but chuckled nonetheless, “That would be wishful thinking unfortunately. I have a live-in chef.” 

“In your cabin?” Faith asked, mouth open in surprise. Part of her thought this was frivolous- but part of her felt a bit in awe at the luxury. When Antoinette’s nose crinkled in distaste the brunette wondered what she’d said wrong. 

“My chalet, dear. I don’t know that I’d survive in a mere cabin.” Though Annie corrected her- she smiled light-heartedly. 

Returning the grin Faith chided, “Ah so I’ve been placed with the most opulent of the Heralds, I see.” 

“That you have, and don’t forget it.” The older woman scooted closer and Faith could smell her light perfume. It was airy and floral, making Faith want to bury her head in the other’s collarbone and lose herself in the scent. “It is you that is our Herald though, truly. Not I.” Annie watched her waiting for a response. When Faith said nothing for her confusion, Antoinette expanded on the thought- “Even if I carry the title of Herald for appearances, not just anyone can take the role of our Faith. You will keep us all on the path to the Garden, and in turn I will keep you safe.” 

The truth in her words rung out over the water, making the newest Seed feel more secure in her new role. Though she had been lonely among her fellow parishioners- she realized now that it was up to her to keep them pliant, to make them feel seen as Joseph had made her feel seen. Antoinette’s proclamation steeled her will and she felt more at ease with the title that had been thrust upon her. “I’m glad I won’t be alone in this.” She looked out over the lake- thinking this time she didn’t have to be afraid of her life changing. Not when she had the power now. 

“In light of our new partnership, I brought you something.” Annie revealed a present in the bottom of the picnic basket, pulling out a masterfully wrapped gift dressed in green paper and a white bow. 

Taking it quietly Faith’s expression was one of shock. She couldn’t recall the last present she’d received. “I don’t have anything for you though…” She intoned absentmindedly as she pulled at the bow, unraveling it between her fingers. 

“Don’t worry about that.. I’m quite hard to buy for.” Antoinette joked as she watched Faith intently. Though it was said in jest, the brunette figured this was most likely fact. 

Once all the wrappings were gone there was a white box with a silver swirling decal on top. There was a moment of apprehension where Faith glanced at the other and Annie nodded encouragingly, No more urging needed- she revealed the gift and discarded the lid. “Oh wow.” Faith breathed the words as she lifted out a white laced dress adorned with pink flowers. “Antoinette, this is beautiful!” Her hand traced down the front of the garment. 

Almost grinning at her reaction, Annie nodded- “It was a pretty penny- but well worth it. Our Faith needs to stand out.” With flourish Faith pulled out the dress completely and stood, pressing it to her body as a way to measure. “If you need any alterations simply let me know.” The ginger’s gaze took in every inch of Faith, a repressed hunger in her eyes. “We’re about the same size, I’d wager.” She reached forward to flatten the dress against Faith for a better look. A hand caressed her bare thigh as she did, making Faith shiver in a way she hoped wasn’t obvious. 

“You don’t cook but you sew?” She asked, changing her train of thought. 

“Occasionally. I know enough to get the job done.” Antoinette looked up at Faith and offered her an easy smile. 

In that smile and in Annie’s ocean blue eyes Faith’s heart fluttered and that dark shadow of loneliness loosened its grip on her for the first time in a long time. Her future was right here.

#fc5 #far cry 5 #faith seed #antoinette chambers #my writing #antoinette x faith #x: casting off old chains

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 01

“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | Swooning |

Hummingbird 01

The sensation under his hands was kind of grounding. It felt good, natural, polished wood. It's surface smoothened over years and years of hands touching it, bottles and glasses brushing over it until it was as soft as it felt. Like stones being rubbed round and perfectly smooth through the rough forces of water.

His fingertips were testing the wood, rubbing up and down just a pinch. His pinky and ringfinger felt sticky and wet. The beer to his right was spilled a bit. Fresh foam still running down that cloudy glass on the outside.

Why had he put his hands down on the bar anyway? It still felt grounding. He didn't know, but he felt like, he needed grounding.

Apparently everything started with that energy drink. Sam was so freakingly tired after 2 weeks on the nightshift. Now, he didn't know, why on earth he came to the club at all. No friendly faces and his drink couldn't wash down the sour taste of failure at all. It tasted awkward too. Great finish for a forthnight, that already sucked.

His heart was hammering and his chest hurt. It felt tight, but after the incedent at work that was probably no surprise.*

The smoothened feeling under his fingertips was gone. Now it felt like it actually was. His hands were touching a dirty counter, touched by countless others, spilled and decorated with who-knows-what. He felt disgusted all of a sudden and pulled his hands away. They went to his pants automatically and tried to get rid of the stickyness by rubbing up and down his tights heavily. The movement brought pain to his left arm again*, his right hand went up there for some support instinctively. He felt dizzy. The room seemed to be tilting a bit.

Actually, it wasn't a plain energy drink, he reminded himself. It was a drink with wodka and energy to flush down his miserable day and frustration.

He hadn't touched booze in over a month. Hadn't had the time or energy to spare. Nevertheless, whatever he was experiencing right now, wasn't alone from fatigue, mixed with energy and alcohol. Something felt off.

The room was spinning a hint too much. His legs were a nuance too unsteady, too fast, after just one half of that tiny glass, that had cost him about a fortune.

The music was just a note too loud. The movements of all these people dancing and pushing themselves through the crowds were really just too hectic. The smoke-filled air was actually much too thick. His chest was a bit too small and unmoving.

Sam felt his jaw tightening, a pinch in his stomach, a bitter taste on his tongue and suddenly nausea was creeping up. He left the remains of his unfinshed drink and pushed himself away from the bar. The urge rising constantly.

The room was spinning even more now without any support from the counter or was it just him swaying? He stumbled towards the restroom. Bodies blocking his way, shoulders touching. This space was just too cramped. Foreign skin, just too hot, touching his naked armes. Goosebums were running up and down those arms. A shiver ran down his spin, he almost lost his footing, if not for countless others keeping him pressed upright inside that crowd. The pinch in his intestines developed into a fullblown cramp.

At the same time, someone was probably trying to blow up a ballon inside his head and the ambient noise was cancled out by his own blood rushing through his suddenly pounding skull. Instantly he felt freezingly cold. In addition cold sweat was summoning under his hairline, threaten to run down his forehead, while the external circumstances should have let him sweat raindrops of hot salty liquid out of every pore.

Noise, smoke, bodies were mixing into a blurry colorful mass, he felt stuck in, as if wading through molasse. The static noise inside his ear canals must have been turned up now. Flashing lights were making him even more dizzy and the effects of a screaming boombox, screwed down to the floor, running waves through his whole body were favoring the sickening feeling in his stomach.

Finally he reached the restroom. His shoulder bumped into the wooden door, which gave path way too easy. His hand instantly flipped from the metallic doorhandle and Sam stumbled towards the nearest stall. He had hardly pushed the next door open, when his knees gave way. Clammy hands grabbed for the bowl to find just some kind of stability.

Two little burritos, he had for lunch this evening, resurfaced ungracefully.

He retched and heaved, while holding onto the ceramic for his dear life. Wave after wave of disgust and pain rolled through his shivering body. His head threatened to explode and he could only manage a desperate attemp to get some vital air in between his insides turning out violantly. Everything was so heavy, all of a sudden his extremities felt like being made out of lead. It actually felt like some vicious maniac had strapped addional weight to every part of his body. He wanted to break down on the spot.

When he found himself dry heaving for the fourth time, his knees, keeping him almost upright over the bowl, finally gave way. He slumbed against the partion wall, first with his right shoulder, than his back, completely drained.

Blood was still rushing through his ears and desperate breaths were his last resort to keep his eyes from closing and blackness taking him into a smoothing embrace. Sam felt more than exhausted, his hands were shaking, while he tried to calm his frantic heartbeat. The bitter taste in his mouth and the sourness in the back of his throat almost let him throw up again. He had turned a bit and his left cheek was now pressed against the hard but still kind of comfortable furface of the partionswall and prevented him from falling to the ground completely. It acted as an anchor, keeping him in the present. But he felt his grip on reality slipping with every - by now - halfcalm breath.

Over his bodyfunctions going haywire, he hadn't registered someone entering the restroom and approaching him. He was just too occupied with existing in this cruel moment.

Sam was slumped, his left cheek felt like sinking into that wall to the next stall. The fresh bruise on his arm or the hurt knee from his last shift this morning, were dull and slightly tingling, but they didn't hurt, like they should have.* He was facing away from the toilet and his legs were spread out in an uncomfortable angle, bearing witness of his misery. They were sticking out under the wall on the other side, feet partly in the next stall on his right.

One shaking hand was holding onto the wall and the other grabbing for his head. He was too weak to neither flush down the remains of his already eaten food, nor to even think about the hand mere minutes ago fingerdeep in fecal bacteria from countless people now touching his own face. Just his fingers pressing down on his skull brought an awkward kind of relief to the pounding behind his eyes. But still the room just wouldn't stop moving. At least the static noise in his ears had gone down noticable.

His heavy lids wanted to close on their own, when he registered a movement. The door to his stall was being opened slowly and completely soundless. Alone watching it move, brought his nausea back up again. The bitter taste intensifying mercilessly.

Lifting his head was too exhausting, but still his eyes followed just out of reflex.

A body came into view. He really couldn't make out more than a body. Figure and height made that shape a man, his head slowly puzzled together. But it all was too much and ultimately the events caught up to him. It was like the world had just stopped spinning and finally the room too. Everything was frozing in this awkward blurry still-life. It felt like his frame was brought to an abrupt stop after a rollercoaster ride. Sam felt his body just giving in, all tension leaving his muscles and shaking extremties, like a drain had been opened.

His face slid down the wall. Next thing, he knew, were cool tilts bringing a kind of heavenly stability, when all went black.

A distant voice reached his ears just before, he was lost into oblivian.

"I already feared, I'd lost you, my little hummingbird."

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

*explained later (05)

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” #Swooning #OC #drugged tw #vomiting tw #alcohol tw #hummingbird

[starboundanon]

IWM, Vader on Alderaan for the actual wedding

OHHH MYYY GODDD. I'VE BEEN HANKERING FOR THIS SCENE FOREVER. Imperial (Wedding) March by @trashikin is genuinely god tier, fuck.

Send me a missing scene!

As far as royal weddings on Alderaan go, this is a small and sad affair.

Not that he's an expert, of course. The opposite, in fact. He could care less how much money and manpower the Organas waste on this farce. A quick, professional, forgettable ceremony suits him just fine. The less time he has to spend on this grassy rock, submitting to his Master's bidding, the fewer messes there will be to clean up when he returns to his flagship.

The Organas, thankfully, seem to agree.

Very few are present for the wedding itself. The Queen and her husband, of course, as well as the officiant overseeing the exchanging of the vows — an Imperial officer their Emperor commanded them to use, who has spent the better part of this ordeal sneaking smug smirks at Senator Organa like a petty child.

Next to the Queen and her consort is her heir, the future Queen, Princess Leia Organa, who has yet to look away from Vader's mask for even a single moment. Her dark eyes bore into him from across the arch, earth brown irises wreathed in flames. A pity, that Bail and Breha's furious little spitfire is not Force sensitive. What a remarkable Sith she would make.

And then, of course, there's Vader's bride himself. The decidedly unremarkable Prince Luke.

The boy makes far less of an impression than his sibling. He is dressed, not in white, as some cultures might prefer, but in dull grey and drab robes, a wrap over his shoulders that gives his frame a stocky, uninteresting shape. His hair is braided and coiled against his skull so tightly, Vader hadn't noticed the uncommonly long length of it until Luke was right in front of him. Perhaps the boy wished to appear more masculine, standing between his regal mother and striking sister. A pathetic, useless attempt.

Beside Vader, his own required witness, Captain Piett, stands firmly at attention, eyes on the officiant. Beyond that, the grand courtroom of the royal family is cold and empty. No decorations, no throngs of guests. Vader is glad of the quiet, of the clinical nature. But the attempted insult to his Master's whims is irksome all the same.

"We will now exchange your vows," the officiant says, grinning wide at the disgusted expression that Bail Organa fails to hide. "Lord Vader, you may begin."

The words belt from his lips like wood on a chopping block, in quick succession, accentuated by the pure vitriol in his voice. This is as much a punishment for himself as it is for Breha and Bail, he knows. Words that were never meant to be meaningless, that had been sacred to him for over two decades, become tainted as he spews them at this dull-eyed little waif, to cherish and protect, to guide and support, leaving the taste of ashes in his mouth.

The officiant smiles when he finishes, the only person in the entire cavernous room to do so.

"Your turn, Your Highness."

The boy raises his eyes, but doesn't meet Vader's gaze. Few are capable of doing so through the dark lenses of his helmet, but somehow, it feels intentional.

He doesn't bother to listen to the droning recitation of the younger man's vows, until Luke drones his way through, "...to cherish and protect, to guide — " and the officiant suddenly raises his hand, halting his speech, mid-word.

"To cherish, protect and obey," he corrects, entirely too pleased with himself. "This is a lifelong commitment, Your Highness. I must ask that you take it seriously."

Something flashes across Luke's face then, just a spark, and then it's gone. Vader looks at him for perhaps the first time, really looks at him, noticing how white he's gone along the square curve of his jaw, the flame-blue chill of those wide eyes, narrowed into a glare.

Leia Organa's brother, after all.

"Pardon me, my Lord," he grits out, between clenched teeth. "To cherish, protect and obey, to guide and support, from this day forward, til death do we part."

The smile on the officer's face turns unmistakably cruel. "Indeed, Your Highness." He hands Vader a datapad, the certificate staring up at him mockingly, watches them both sign, their displeasure a matching set. "I now pronounce you wed. Lord Vader, you may — "

"No," he barks, snatching the datapad from Piett the moment the man scrawls his signature, shoving the offending object into the officiant's chest with the Force. "This ceremony is over. We will be taking our leave."

That flash crosses the young prince's face again, gone as quickly as it came. Vader braces himself for the tantrum, for the screaming retort, the wails of this beautiful, loving family ripped apart.

Instead, that curious expression flares and dies back into a familiar mask of neutrality, a face Vader now knows is as much a farce as this entire wedding has been.

"Lead the way, my Lord."

#herbie asks #ask game #tw darkfic #vaderluke

[angst-king]

The Jeweler

((This is a story requested by my BF @mydarlingisbloody for their OC, this is the first creepypasta I've ever written. It isn't an origin story.) CW this story will contain gore, a description of a surgical procedure done to a conscious person as well as drugging)

Ding ding “Hello? Anyone here?” Asked a woman as she walked inside the business. She looked around to observe her surroundings. It was a beautifully decorated romantically gothic aesthetic. The walls were black with fake candlelights and fully stocked bookshelves along the wall. There were two black and red dramatic sofas and a few chairs. There is a casing of unique jewelry pieces, from rings with sapphires with skulls and crossbones engrained to shining marbled tunnels and septum piercings.

The woman unknowingly allowed herself to be consumed by the jewelry in the casing. Admiring the craftsmanship and the selections, the ones that caught her eyes the most were the jewelry pieces that were completely white almost a pure milky marble in its color. Other sorts of jewelry were on the more grotesque side that fit the alternativeness of the store. Some earrings had teeth dangling from them, others had rings that looked to be made of bones and some had blood inside them.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home,” The woman shrieked and jumped back into the person behind them. There was a slight chuckle from the person who caught her and settled her back on her feet.

“Pardon me for startling you miss as well as for my slowness in greeting you. You must be Elizabeth” The woman turned around to see a person with green hair and amber eyes, the rest of their face had been covered up by a medical mask. The most noticeable feature about them was their leg. They wore slightly high-riding black pants that Elizabeth could see as some sort of prosthetic. The woman forced her attention back to the person to not make it obvious as to what she was looking at.

“Yes I am, you are the jeweler I spoke with over the phone correct, Malachite?” The person nodded and pointed to the casing.

“See anything you like?” Elizabeth nodded and went on about how she loved all the pieces even if she was going in for just a tongue and septum piercing. Malachite chuckled again and listened along to the woman.

“Well I think you would look beautiful for one of my blood rings, and if you plan to stretch your septum I do recommend the bone type, they slip less and may I say the color brings out those wonderful eyes of yours” Their compliment had brought on a lovely blush to Elizabeth’s face she confided that no one ever said such things about her eyes. Most thought black eyes were soulless and empty. Malachite shook their head at this and replied with a loving look to their own eyes.

“Oh no my dear, quite the opposite, your eyes are as beautiful as onyx. They have so much life to them I could get lost almost makes me feel dead inside compared to you.” This had Elizabeth flush harder at the jeweler's words.

After a minute of discussing options for the piercing Elizabeth wanted, Malachite guided Elizabeth to the room where they normally did piercings. They gave her a bottle of electrolyte drink before leaving the room to get the jewelry and piercing kit. As they walked away again Elizabeth tried to peek again at the piercer’s leg. Again being shined by colors of green, with now the pant leg a little higher, it truly looked like a prosthetic made of some sort of stone or crystal.

As she waited for Malachite to come back she swallowed down the drink she had been provided. The drink did have a slightly off taste that she wasn’t familiar with but assumed that it was just that she had never had this drink before. Thinking nothing of it she sat contently looking around the room again. After 5 minutes Elizabeth could feel her heart beating slower and slower, her vision blacking out and her body weakening. When she tried to stand up and call out for Malachite, it was already too late.

Waking up in a cold dimly lit room, Elizabeth saw a blurry image of someone standing over top of her with something in their hands. She tried to open her mouth but nothing moved, she tried to move her fingers but she couldn’t feel a thing. It was as if she was paralyzed, what was happening?!

“Oh good you’re awake, I was going to start the extraction whether you woke up or not but. Now that you’re awake this will be fun.” The familiar voice said with obvious malicious intent behind the mask. Elizabeth tried to speak but all that came out were muffled whimpers and mewls. Her vision was taking a while to normalize itself, especially in such a dark space. Then a large light lit up the room and her eyes went wide. There stood Malachite with a scalpel in their gloved hands, the mask still over their nose and mouth yet Elizabeth could still see the way the person’s cheeks pulled up. Malachite was smiling….

“You may feel a bit of pressure, maybe some stinging, burning, and crunching.” They said as they dragged the scalpel down Elizabeth’s bare body. The person started down the center cutting them open like a fish, each layer brought out such a horrific burning sensation that grew with intensity. First was the chest cavity the extracting of the ribs made Elizabeth wish she was unconscious. Each crackling and popping noise made her feel lightheaded, or it was the blood loss.

“You have an excellent set of ribs my dear, how beautiful!” Malachite complimented as they chipped away at what they wanted from Elizabeth’s ribcage.

“These would make great slim banded rings” Elizabeth couldn’t see much except for Malachite who was hunched over her lifeless body as they worked. Even if she wanted to she couldn’t scream, only cry as the burning sensation of Malachite cauterizing blood vessels. They did this for both sets of ribs, then placed them into a bag, before moving down. Crackling, snapping, grinding, pulling and cutting. Elizabeth remained awake as the jeweler went through her body. When Malachite brought out the bone drill she silently begged for the blood to take her.

Feeling the drill bit rumble to life the metal metal bone her vision began to go black as the pain turned to agony! The vibrations from the drill only added to the horrific pain. This person was treating her like a spare parts bin, going in carefree without the slightest bit of regret when they spoke. Even when Malachite would apologize the woman knew it was disingenuous. That didn’t stop Malachite from taking out Elizabeth’s tibia in two different pieces. Even when she finally lost consciousness Malachite continued.

Hanging her arm up by an arial contraption Malachite cut down the center like you would unzip a jacket. Pull out the radius and ulna before dissecting for the humorous bone. Next were the flanges and carpal bones. Once collected the calpula and the clavicle had to dislocated and fractured out of place. The sound of popping, crunching, and clacking of bones echoed through the surgery room. Blood was being collected in buckets and pans below the operating table.

The skull was saved for last. Grabbing a new scalpel, Malachite did a clean slice from the left ear, under the jaw, and to the right, degloving the entire face. The eyes were scooped out once they were disconnected from the retinas and brain, leaving empty bloody sockets for Malachite to dismantle. Taking the mandible was first, then the skull, the brain had to be separated from the brainstem, central nervous system, and spine.

“Phew that was long, fun but long, and good gods her body is magnificent. They’ll add to my collections nicely once I’ve decided what to do.”

#king's fanfic #king's requests #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #I hope you liked it #creepypasta story