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dark-and-kawaii · 5 months

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༺ 𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 & 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐮𝐩 ༻

Raphael

Self-indulgent Oneshot: You were desperate at this point, your body moving on its own searching for sweet release, but only a release a certain Devil you know could give.

Pairings: Raphael x Tav/Reader

NSFW | You’re On Top Fucking Raphael

Raphael stood at the edge of his bed, observing as you approach him with a determine gleam in your eyes. As you reach the devil, your nails dig into his top, forcefully tearing it open from the front, the buttons of his top falling to the floor. He can't help but chuckle at your audacity.

He’s about to speak, but you have no time for words so instead you interrupt him, pushing him onto his luxurious bed. How could a devil look so appetizing, his shirt undone, exposing his chest solely for your visual pleasure. He laughs, amused by your eagerness. "Such an eager little pup," he exclaims. You crawl on top of him, your lust for him overpowering any rational thoughts. Yes, he is a devil, someone you should never trust, but in this moment, all that matters is him.

Straddling Raphael, you lean forward, your tongue descending upon his chest, a wet tail moving up towards his neck, playfully nipping at it. His moans resonate like sweet music in your ears. Your hands glide through his silky, chocolate-colored hair, its softness exceeding your expectations. His hips subtly arch at your touch, you know he has Haarlep but it leads you to wonder if he's starved for actual physical contact. The thought only fuels your desire to continue ravishing him.

Before the night draws to a close, you reduce him to a disheveled mess, pinning his hands above his head. Biting your lip, your pussy burning with ache, the wetness trickling down your thighs as you eagerly ride his rigid cock.

Raphael's fists clench above his head, trapped in your grip. Your body moves with unrelenting fervor, bouncing up and down on his throbbing cock, your mouth agape with pleasure each time it hits your sweetest spot. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air as each forceful bounce hits your sweetest spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your entire being.

With his eyes closed, Raphael savors every sensation, fully immersed in the pleasure of your body and the vice-like grip of your tight cunt. Keep this up and he’ll have no other choice but to chain you and keep you as his dear little pup for all eternity. A vision of you on your knees with your head resting on his lap has his teeth clenching.

Sweat cascades down your bodies, both of you drenched in pure lechery. His cock pulsates and throbs inside you, as you surrender to the intoxicating feel of his body. You can feel your climax building, a tidal wave of ecstasy ready to crash upon you both.

With a low growl, Raphael forced his wrists out of your hold and pulls you close, your bodies melding together, his strong chest providing a safe haven for your pleasure-addled mind. The intensity swells within you, reaching its breaking point, as his devilish seed surges deep into your drenched and insatiably hungry pussy. You can't contain it any longer, and with a scream that echoes through the room, you call out his name, your body convulsing with the force of the third orgasm that ripples through you, leaving you utterly spent and completely satisfied.

As you catch your breath, you gaze at the devil known as Raphael. His mouth hangs open, his harsh breaths attempting to regain composure. It dawns on you that he allowed you to have your way because you lavished his body with the attention it craved. You lick your lips, captivated by his delectable appearance in this vulnerable state. It makes you never want to leave his side, and it hits you- fuck... Have you fallen in love with the devil?

The realization hits you like a fireball, causing goosebumps to run down your arms. Love for a devil? It defies all reason and logic, but the intensity of your feelings cannot be denied. You find yourself captivated by Raphael, drawn to his dark allure and intoxicating presence. The way he submits to your desires, the pleasure he bestows upon you.

You lean your head against his chest, your breath mingling with his as you whisper, "Raphael, I think I'm falling for you." His eyes meet yours, a mix of surprise and satisfaction dancing within them. A wicked smile tugs at the corners of his lips, revealing his delight in your confession.

"Ah, my sweet pup," he murmurs, his voice laced with a seductive purr. "Love is a dangerous game, especially when played with a devil. But if you're willing to surrender yourself to me completely, I shall make you mine in every sense of the word."

And he meant it, he’d make you his… Body and soul.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #bg3 smut

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libby-for-life · 18 days

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what about yandere Lucifer holding Lute captive during an extermination and promising to release her back in Heaven’s safe arms so long as Adam takes her place and agrees to become his queen. And Adam agrees

Adam was having a grand time shooting all those vile fuckers. They were certainly dropping like bugs. He sighed as he heard the bell toll signaling that Extermination Day was done. He watched as everyone gathered up in the air.

Adam counted, paused, and then recounted. "Lute?" He called out. When his ladies looked around and at each other in confusion, Adam began to get worried.

"Lute?!" No answer.

"I thought I saw her near...the devil's palace. She was chasing some Imp...."

Adam felt his heart thump in his rib cage. Shit. "Go without me, girls. I'll find her."

They all looked at each other before nodding and taking off. Adam dashed for the biggest building in the Pride Ring. He landed heavily, breaking the ground below him. He scanned the surrounding place with his eagle-like eyes, desperately trying to find his right-hand woman.

"Ah. I was wondering when you would show up."

Adam whirled around and almost tripped at what he saw. Lucifer himself was sitting on a stone chair, his legs crossed and a smug smirk on his face. His red eyes held smug power but it was mixed with...something Adam couldn't name.

And by his feet was Lute, bound and gagged in angelic chains. "Lute!" Adam screeched as he flew towards her only to stop when Lucifer produced an angelic sword and pressed it to her neck.

"Ah. Ah. Ah. Stop where you are or the pretty little angel gets it."

Adam fisted his hands, glaring hatefully at the devil. "What do you want?" He said, his voice dripping with malice.

"I'm glad you asked." Lucifer's demeanor changed to someone who was pleased. "I want you."

Adam paled. "You want...me? Like, my head or something?"

Lucifer laughed. "Oh, nothing like that!" He smirked again. "I want you. I want to own you, Adam. In exchange for this angel's freedom, you take her place."

Adam glanced at Lute who was struggling and shaking her head, clearly against him even thinking about the deal. But how couldn't he?

Lute was like a daughter to him. She came from him. She was made out of his essence. Adam would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't do this.

"Fine. I'll trade places with her."

"MMMMF!" Lute screamed, fear for his safety written across her face. Lucifer chuckled. "I figured you would do it. You care far too much." He produced a glowing gold scroll and quill. "Sign on the dotted line, Adam."

Adam could feel his tears coming up as he signed his life away. Suddenly, chains wrapped around his body and he was pulled to the ground. Adam cried out as he was dragged into Lucifer's arms and hugged tightly.

"Leave, bitch. Before I find someone to kill you." It was then Adam noticed that Lute was free. She stumbled into the air and yelled. "I'll find a way to get you back, Sir!" And she was off, flying for Heaven.

"Aw. She thinks she can help you." Lucifer mocked as Adam shook in his grip. His face was gripped harshly and Adam whimpered. He gazed into Lucifer's eyes and saw just how crazy the devil looked.

Adam flinched when the devil kissed his cheek. "Let's get you inside. We have a lot to make up for~!"

#hazbin hotel adam #yandere lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #adamsapple #send asks

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yujo-nishimura · 7 months

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Red Hair or Red Nose? - Part 5

This is the last SFW part of the story - depending on your decision I will continue with either all three of them being very infatuated by each other or Y/n choosing one companion for the night. ;) We can also make her strong and independent and let her go back to the ship - I am open to any suggestions.

Enjoy the 5th part of the story! <3

PS. Sorry for being too lazy to put the link to the other parts and thank you all again for reading.

"Yeah, what if...?" After what feels like an eternity, Shanks finally responds. He abruptly halts the movement of the three of you, tightening his arms around you and creating a barrier between you and Buggy. In the midst of the stumble, he guides you gently but firmly against a corner of a nearby building.

"I can assure you, I'm a better kisser than the clown over there..." Shanks whispers, his words resonating close to your face, intentionally loud enough for Buggy to hear. Your heart races in your chest as the unexpected turn of events unfolds.

With Shanks now in such close proximity, he leans in and begins to kiss you, his lips pressing gently against yours. Caught off guard by the alcohol-induced haze and the surprise of his actions, you find yourself momentarily paralyzed, unable to react as the warmth of his lips meets yours.

In that electrifying moment, you find yourself reciprocating the kiss with equal fervor. Shanks' tongue delicately dances along your lips, his movements both cautious and resolute, ensuring that he doesn't cause any harm. He is convinced that this intimate exchange will make you feel as if you're melting away, and he's proven right.

A rush of sensations floods your body, weakening your knees once again, while a fiery heat ignites within your stomach, mirroring the intensity visible in Shanks' eyes. Your excitement is palpable, making it difficult to catch your breath. Grateful that he has you pressed against the wall, your arms raised, you desperately restrain yourself from fiercely embracing him, fearful that you might reveal just how much you crave for him and his body.

Immediately Buggy's outrage flares up, and his disconnected hands, empowered by the devil fruit, find their way back to you. With a forceful grip, he cups your face, abruptly halting the kiss and pushing your head to the side. Before he forces you to meet his gaze, you catch a glimmer of satisfaction in Shanks' eyes. It becomes evident that he not only enjoyed the kiss but relished Buggy's jealousy even more.

"I'll be damned if this monkey can kiss better than me," Buggy exclaims, his voice laced with determination. "Normally, I wouldn't touch anything that his lips have touched, but I believe it's time to prove a point...!"

Now standing beside both of you, Buggy positions himself as an active participant. Shanks willingly releases his hold with a grin, as if he's thoroughly entertained. Caught between these two captivating figures, you feel like a playball, too weak, intimidated, and excited to move. The tension in the air is palpable as the dynamic between them intensifies, and you find yourself drawn deeper into their entangled game. You cannot stop smiling, somehow you are still enjoying yourself.

Buggy forcefully pushes Shanks away, retracting his hands back to his body. With a surge of determination, he takes control, pressing his body against yours. In an exhilarating moment, a mixture of surprise and excitement escapes your lips in a shrill shriek before Buggy's mouth meets yours.

His kiss is passionate and fervent, though slightly sloppy. The intensity of the moment eclipses any lack of finesse, and his stubble grazes against your skin, adding an intoxicating sensation. Lost in the embrace, you surrender yourself to the magnetic pull of this man. The heat emanating from his body envelops you, their closeness creating an irresistible connection. The taste of heaven and rum lingers on his lips, leaving you longing for more, captivated by the sensations coursing through your being.

Breathless he draws away from you, leaving you breathless just as Shanks did. "So, sweet cakes, who was better?" he playfully inquires, his eyes gleaming mischievously, leaving the decision in your hands.

#buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggytheclown #one piece buggy #one piece #red haired shanks #shanks one piece #shanks x reader #shanks x you #red hair shanks #akagami no shanks

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whumpofalltime · 8 months

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whump of all time

SEMIFINALS!

Find links and propaganda under the cut. Quarterfinalist and later match-ups are untagged, so your votes and reblogs matter!

Once Upon A Time:

(gifset 1, gifset 2)

"There's blood, wounds, captivity, bondage, a slow-dipping-mechanism, a big rescue, and excellent acting by Colin O'Donoghue - who delivers the tiniest whimper and the most delectable of trembles for our whump-loving eyes to devour!" ~ @killian-whump

"[...] Killian was BROKEN. Absolutely and heart-wrenchingly devastated. He was tortured within an inch of his life (… or death, I guess) and practically left to slowly drop into a pit of eternal despair.

Killian was not easy to break. He would get injured and get back up with a sneer and an "I'm alright love you should see the other guy".

But to reach that point? The point of telling Emma she should have kept herself safe instead of saving him from this torment, to hold on to her like she was his lifeline, to SMILE that small smile from the first bit of hope he'd gotten since he ended up there?

The relief upon watching this episode for the first time was visceral. For two episodes we knew Hook was being tortured, we saw him try and fail to limp to safety, we saw his resolve and defiance desperately hold on, we saw him accept his fate, we saw him preferring to be tortured further than hurt his friends… And then he got saved! And he had no witty comeback, no effort to hide his pain. He just fucking collapsed in the arms of his beloved, of his saviour, and held on for a moment to realize that it was real, she was there, he was finally safe.

Add to that some amazing, jaw-dropping, emotional acting by Colin O'Donoghue, how can you get any better than that?

Anyway vote for ouat. Because this whole torture mini arc existing is probably what caused a chain reaction of me understanding and accepting I love whump, so. I wouldn't be here torturing blorbos if it weren't for it 🤣" @piracytheorist

"god tier acting" ~ @caliburn-the-sword

The Young Blood Chronicles (Save Rock and Roll's music videos, Fall Out Boy):

(link)

"Everyone gets bloodied, bruised, beaten up, tortured, rescued, limbs are amputated - it's brutal. Alone Together is particularly strong."

sorry for being late, but you want YBC propaganda? then you're getting YBC propaganda. I know you're a FOB fan, but I will be writing this for the benefit of those who don't know what YBC is, for better propaganda purposes! and yeah this is gonna be LONG. sorry.

So! The Youngblood Chronicles (shortened to YBC) is a series of 11 music videos made by the band Fall Out Boy, for their album Save Rock And Roll (you know this album, it's the one with My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark on it). The whole thing is quite short, less than fifty minutes long (even shorter if you don't count the uncut version's credits!!), and every single music video has some element of whump in it. This propaganda is gonna break down each individual music vid, and at i'll also talk a little bit about the irl context the album was written in, and why even THAT can be a little bit whumpy if you're insane like me!

(note: i'm going in the original release order over the uncut order, hence why i'm starting with MSKWYDITD instead of The Phoenix)

My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark: Arguably the least whump-y out of all of them, but man, seeing all of Fall Out Boy's discography and memorabilia be burnt while people are dancing around the destruction? Man, when you know the real life stuff (the reception the band had in 2009, leading to them to take a three year hiatus)... and at the end, you see four guys bound in the back of a van!! And that van is getting burnt!! Burn everything you love and burn the... ashes.

The Phoenix: NOW here's the first of MANY whump tastes you'll get. Patrick Stump, the singer/cutie of the band, gets kidnapped, tied to a chair, has his hand CHOPPED OFF and mailed to his bandmate/best friend Pete Wentz, then gets tied down and utterly tortured by women who are laughing at his misery the entire time, getting prodded and stabbed by tools for... well, you'll see. By the end of the video, Pete and the other two members of FOB (Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley) have been kidnapped by these mysterious women too, with Pete specifically getting kidnapped by the blonde woman he was in bed with when Patrick's hand got delivered to him. If you enjoy cute boys getting tied down, covered in blood, and writhing around like worms while getting tortured... well you'll enjoy all of YBC but specifically you'll enjoy this!! I did :D! The war is won, before it's begun, release the doves, surrender love...

Young Volcanoes: Good news, FOB has been reunited! Bad news, by the women who dismembered Patrick! And now all the band members are tied to chairs, hooked up to IVs full of god knows what types of drugs, and blindfolded (all except Patrick). They are then forced to drink, snort hard drugs, and are force fed Patrick's organs! Yep, all four of them are forced to eat their lead singer's guts, and are so fucking drugged up they don't even realize what's happening (and now you know what the women were doing to him in the last mv, and you even get a nice little shot of the hack job of stitching him back up)!! Patrick hallucinates everyone having fun, but of course, at the end, all of them are knocked out because of the drugs. Americana, exotica, do you wanna feel a little beautiful baby?

Alone Together: This is the song the OG propaganda mentioned, and for good reason. All four of them are shipped off into little personalized torture rooms, and, well, tortured! Pete is able to break out and even steals the hook from the girl who was torturing him, but little does he know that'll be his own undoing... also, in general, this song has some whumpy elements, specifically the line "my heart is like a stallion/they love it more when it's broke-in"... but notice how easy it is to hear "broke-in" as "broken"! At the end of the video, Pete is at least able to find Patrick (Joe and Andy have NOT been having a good time, either!! But sadly, they aren't found by Pete, but Pete DOES find Big Sean), and is even able to attach the hook to the stump (ha!) where his hand used to be. But something is clearly wrong with Patrick now. His eyes are yellow, and as the song ends, we hold on him, sneering and twitching. This is the road to ruin - and we're started at the end...

The Mighty Fall: First off if you say this is the worst song off of SRAR I will hunt you for sport. OKAY ANYWAYS, chronologically this comes after MSKWYDITD, and yeah, the four guys are the members of FOB. Pete is able to free himself with Patrick's new hook hand, and is able to get the other three out while Pete is hacking up a lung from the fire they just barely escaped. But they're not done getting their shit rocked yet. A gang of children show up (the leader being the kid Patrick waved at right before he was kidnapped back in the Phoenix MV), and proceed to separate them and beat the living shit out of them. The leader kid who's chasing Patrick plays something on a boombox... which triggers Patrick to go yellow-eyed again (from here on out i'll call it "going Youngblood" or "Youngblood self"). It was confirmed in the commentary track that ANY music would cause him to go Youngblood. And knowing Patrick IRL fucking loves to create/compose music... yeah! Take something he loves and turn it into something that drives him insane!! I'm normal!! And also the irl parallel you could draw to his solo career doing the same thing to him (on a less uh Dramatic level but you know)!!! Ouch!!!! Big Sean is able to save Patrick, but at the cost of his own life (and a killer rap verse... HELL YEAH I'M A DICK GIRL, ADDICTED TO YOU). Oh, how the mighty fall in love...

Just One Yesterday: The last vestiges of comfort you're gonna get for a WHILE. The four are separated, getting even more beaten up, Pete vomits up a snake, Andy gets his shit rocked by a homeless guy, Joe has to use white sheets as a makeshift tourniquet bc his leg got fucked up in The Mighty Fall MV, and Patrick is picked up by a kind stranger (hi Foxes! you have a very pretty voice! PLEASE KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL!). And finally, finally we get a hope spot. Fall Out Boy is reunited (the part where Andy just grabs onto Patrick's arm, in disbelief they're both alive... augh!!! AUGH!!!!), and for a moment, it seems they've been delivered to a hospital... before Foxes' eyes go completely black, looking at Patrick... and turns on the radio. She's able to trigger the Youngblood. And now Patrick is gone. The other three scramble into the hospital, Patrick not far behind, determined to kill them to stop the noise in his head. If Heaven's grief brings Hell's reign, then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday...

Where Did The Party Go: Patrick, now fully consumed by the Youngblood brainwashing, is now stalking his bandmates in a hospital. Patrick is seeing visions of the hospital as an abandoned party, Andy has to painfully disinfect the wounds he's gotten, Pete is able to call for the police, and Joe... oh, poor Joe. He barricades himself into a room, but not well enough. Patrick finds him, and kills him, slitting his throat with the hook hand, showing no remorse at all... until Andy and Pete find them. The Youngblood wears off, and Patrick looks to what he's done, and is horrified at what he's done to his friend. And, bad news for him, the police are here, ready to arrest the murderer. All Andy and Pete can do is watch as tears roll down Patrick's eyes. And for the extra IRL context, this was the first song written for the album that made Pete and Patrick realize they had to get FOB back together... so lets match that with a music video where the member who helped get the band together in the first place dies. By the hands of the kid he found. Let's fade away together, one dream at a time...

Death Valley: Joe gets... uh, a little comfort? I mean, he thinks he's getting sent to heaven but goes to hell, buuuuut I think doing drugs in rock and roll hell with Tommy Lee is actually a pretty sweet deal, better than the deal the other three got! Pete and Andy are being interrogated while Patrick is in a jail cell. We find out that the cult that kidnapped them, Silence the Noise, is lead by Pete's girlfriend from WAAAAY back in the Phoenix MV, Courtney Love. And at the end of the MV... Patrick is bailed out of jail by Silence the Noise. They have him again. And this time, they're not gonna let him walk out until he's fully under their control. 'Cause tonight it's just fire alarms and losing you...

Rat a Tat: Silence the Noise has Patrick, and they utterly brainwash him, A Clockwork Orange style, with electroshock stimulation to keep him from looking away or closing his eyes, until there is nothing left. Patrick Stump does not exist anymore. Only the Youngblood, pliant under the control of Silence the Noise, tasked to destroy what he once loved; music. Andy dies at the hands of the cult, and now Pete has to protect a briefcase, the thing that got them into this mess, and keep it away from Silence the Noise, all while his best friend hunts him down. Are you ready for another bad poem?

Miss Missing You: THE WHUMPIEST OF THE WHUMP. What if we were best friends but you've been driven insane and I know the only way to stop you is to kill you and it was my fault you got into this mess and I was the one who gave you the weapon that will be my own undoing. What if we both died at the same time. What if we died, both of us failing the mission we had before us. What if that was a reference to one of their first music videos. What if this song was originally written for Patrick's solo album but he realized it was more of a Fall Out Boy song so it was scrapped until now. What if there's a legit argument to be made that half the lyrics for this song was written by Patrick. What if we were both boys. Grips walls, yeha i'm normal. If you don't watch ANY other music vid, watch Miss Missing You. Sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger. The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger.

Save Rock And Roll: And our final track gives us a final bit of comfort. Patrick is able to overcome the Youngblood, and gets into heaven, where all of FOB is finally, finally reunited. God (aka Elton John) gives them new instruments and brings them back to earth, so they can do what they love; play music together. Which just so happens to release people from the control of Silence the Noise! But, because we can't have nice things, a cult within Silence the Noise got a hold of the briefcase, and summoned a spirit that starts to kill everyone. FOB stands together, and blasts the evil spirit, the blood coming up to the gates of heaven and covering Elton John in it. And... that's how it ends. No true resolution. Just Elton John covered in blood, as the song fades out. Oh, no! Wherever I go, go! Trouble seems to follow! I only plugged in to save rock and roll!

UH. AGAIN I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LENGTH. but i really wanted to express just how much WHUMP they manage to fit into less than fifty minutes, all backed by an amazing album colored by the three years they were apart. colored by how they grew, colored by how bad the hiatus was for Patrick specifically, colored by how Confessions of a Pariah got Pete to reach out to help him, and this album came out of it, Fall Out Boy came back out of it, and now here we are, ten years later, with the title track being performed every night for their concert, with all the band singing the final lines together, and the line you are what you love, not who loves you hitting every single night.

SORRY. LISTEN TO FALL OUT BOY. thanks for letting me rant.

#extremely long propaganda on this one #semifinals

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undercat-overdog · 9 months

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Do you headcanon that your Sauron went back to Morgoth after his failed encounter with Luthien and Huan, and so maybe fought in the War of Wrath? Or do you think he hid away as much as he could because he was afraid of Morgoth’s anger?

The latter! I don't think Sauron went back to Morgoth after the Luthien Incident, no. He may have supported Morgoth, but I don't think to a large extent (definitely not lieutenant and military commander levels). And I definitely don't think he physically returned to Angband, chiefly because of his canonical strong fear of Morgoth's anger.

My thoughts on this spring mostly from the relevant bits in the Leithian, which I'll quote here (from the Silm):

[Sauron] thought to make [Lúthien] captive and hand her over to the power of Morgoth, for his reward would be great. [...]

But no wizardry nor spell, neither fang nor venom, nor devil's art nor beast-strength, could [Sauron] overthrow Huan without forsaking his body utterly. Ere his foul spirit left its dark house, Lúthien came to him, ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth; and she said: 'There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.'

Then Sauron yielded himself, and Lúthien took the mastery of the isle and all that was there; and Huan released him. And immediately he took the form of a vampire, great as a dark cloud across the moon, and he fled, dripping blood from his throat upon the trees, and came to Taur-nu-Fuin, and dwelt there, filling it with horror.

So he wants to capture Luthien for the reward he'll receive from Morgoth, loses to Huan, and surrenders to Luthien rather than be separated from his body, be forced back to Morgoth, and endure the torment of his scorn. Sauron immediately after goes to Taur-nu-Fuin (formerly Dorthonion) and he dwells there for at least a couple decades (in WotJ, he's said to be there when Turin and Gwindor meet).

My thought is that at first he intended to sulk recover his strength and find some prize to win him favor from Morgoth, not scorn. He's so scared of Morgoth that he'll surrender and hide away rather than face him after losing Tol-in-Gaurhoth (a very strategic and useful outpost), so after Beren and Luthien won a silmaril, Sauron must have become even more frightened of returning - if Sauron would have been tormented before, how much more torment if he failed to stop the people who stole that silmaril!

So he hangs out in Taur-nu-Fuin for a while and, due to that fear, is probably laying low. My guess is that initially his plans are to find some way to curry favor again, but it would take something really big to do so (see, loss of silmaril). I don't think he did much outside of his evil forest.

Now, there is one line about Sauron possibly helping Morgoth, from the Grey Annals: [FA] 509 Maeglin captured by spies of Melkor (Sauron?). So S gets a question mark but is potentially involved in Maeglin's capture. I think this works well with what I laid out above: geographically Taur-nu-Fuin is right next to Gondolin's Encircling Mountains, and Sauron feels he needs some prize to be accepted back into Morgoth's favor. The prince of Gondolin, and potentially the location of Gondolin, is a good one! Sauron originally aimed to capture Luthien for a similar reason: he thought to make her captive and hand her over to the power of Morgoth, for his reward would be great, so it's not a new idea for him.

Note, however, that this is just one version and in all the other ones Sauron isn't mentioned at all: I don't think it's dispositive or undisputable, and while I don't feel strongly about it either way, I'd probably not go with Sauron having anything to do with capturing Maeglin since not only is there a question mark but he's not involved in all the other mentions of Maeglin's capture (there's a fair number too).

After that, there is to my knowledge, nothing more about Sauron in the First Age. (He's not actually a major character in the First Age and imo is overemphasized in First Age fandom, though he does play a prominent role in the Leithian, one of the zoomed-in stories. Morgoth's the main villain; Feanor might not have known Sauron existed.)

This isn't to say he's being nice or good - filled Taur-nu-Fuin with horror, after all - just that he's not actively working as the lieutenant of Morgoth, rather playing vampire lord in a haunted forest.

My headcanon is that Sauron was still stewing, thinking black thoughts 🖤, when the hosts of the Valar arrived and the War of Wrath began. He sat it out initially, waiting to see what would happen (and probably seeing if it looked like Morgoth was winning, when would be a good time to join in, maybe save the day at some battle - Sauron is quite good at being patient). Which never happened and Morgoth is defeated, in this telling without Sauron fighting or doing anything.

One of the benefits of this interpretation is that it gives Sauron an excellent case to make to Eonwe: he hasn't been helping Morgoth for the past century or so, at least not in major and obvious ways and it has given Sauron a chance to reflect and consider that maybe just possibly he might have perhaps not made the very bestest of life choices. (I do think he genuinely repented and that canon strongly supports it, but even if his surrender was all a ploy, I don't think that invalidates what I said above.)

So my Thots on Sauron in the late First Age! I hope that rather long post answered your question, and thank you!

#ask #anonymous #sauron #meta

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mxdavies · 3 months

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i finally redesigned my one piece self insert! :D more info under the cut!

BASICS

name: julian age: 19 (pre timeskip) -> 21 (post timeskip) birthday: march 05 height: 5ft 6in (both pre & post timeskip) gender: transmasc nonbinary pronouns: they/it/neos orientation: abrosexual

PERSONALITY

pre timeskip: julian is sarcastic and nonchalant, coming off as careless due to their flat tone and dismissal of most serious discussion. it's an attempt to keep people at a distance; they do not like forming close bonds in fear of losing them like they had suffer in their past. they keep their emotions under wraps, but to those who are able to break through that wall, they are more empathetic and emotional than they lead on. one emotion that they have trouble hiding however, is rage. this rage and hatred is targeted towards marines who've made their life the living hell that it was before meeting the strawhats. they are impulsive and rash, acting before thinking to their fault. post timeskip: julian has mellowed out, growing to be their ideal self during their time away from the strawhats. they are more open, and noticeably far more happy. optimistic and borderline idealistic now that they have a weight lifted off their shoulder from their past burdens. they now openly show more compassion for those around them, and their rage-filled heart has been soothed. though they still hold disdain for the marines, they don't let it affect their state of mind as it used to. they're relaxed, almost to a fault as they still hold the habit of seeming nonchalant, though now it seems more from a oblivious / air-headed point of view rather than one of carelessness like before.

SERIES

pirate crew: strawhats epithet: stowaway bounty: 820,000,000 (current) - bounty disclaimer: alive only devil fruit: rock rock fruit (iwa iwa no mi) - abilities: the rock rock fruit allows the user to create layers of rock on their skin, acting as a tough armor for most weapons to pierce through. also makes the user pack stronger punches and the likes due to the weight of the rock. - flaws: over usage can lead to terrible skin rashes; use in heat for long periods of time can lead to heat stroke. makes the user slower due to the heavy weight of the rocks.

RELATIONSHIPS

romantic partners: strawhat pirates (excluding chopper, ofc), yamato crushes: shanks familial: pa (adoptive father), chopper (seen like a little brother) enemies: marines & any other enemies of the strawhats

BACKSTORY

julian grew up on a winter island orphaned and homeless, that was until they were adopted by a homeless older man whom they affectionately called 'pa'. they were raised by pa and taught all they needed for survival. with how corrupt and rich the island is, they needed all the help they could get. in their early teens, pa was wrongfully convicted by the cruel marines of the island for the theft of an island important artifact; a compass, which myth tells was made to locate the one piece. after his conviction, julian did everything they could, breaking into people's houses and rummaging through their stuff, all to prove pa's innocence. and that they did, finding the compass in a fellow marine's home. presenting the evidence, the marine was arrested and julian was praised, though rather passive aggressively given the fact that someone like "them" were able to show the truth while the marines did nothing but discriminate and aress pa. but they refused to give back the artifact until pa was officially released. the marines revealed he died in their captivity. knowing he was shown no compassion or love for all that time, harassed by the ones who were supposed to protect them, in their fit of rage, julian smashed the compass onto the floor, shattering it to pieces. they managed to grab the little bit they could before running away, hopping onto a nearby ship to hide while the marines searched for them. the ship took off without them knowing; and from then on, they'd become a stowaway, hopping from ship to ship, stealing resources such as water, food and money to keep themself alive. on of these ships, the rock rock fruit was present, and without knowing it was a devil fruit, they ate it and gained it's powers. for as long as they can remember they'd been jumping from ship to ship, not only scraping by for themself but still mourning the loss of their pa, and holding hatred for any and all marines. they're often never found by the crew of the ships they sneak onto. that was, until the strawhats found them...

TRIVIA

general - julian is posic (perception of object sentience) and forms bonds with various non sentient items. they've bonded with a plank on the golden merry, and have varying feelings and opinions about each of zoro's swords - pre timeskip julian smokes whenever they can get their hand on cigarettes. they quit in between pre and post timeskip. questions for oda oda has done a little series where he answers trivia questions about the strawhats, so i figured i would answer those questions here for my s/i! --- associated animal: rat; mouse associated color: peach scent: smells like coffee favorite island & season: summer on an autumn island favorite food: "can't afford to be picky", but enjoys coffee nationality: italian associated flower: dandelion blood type: x bathing habit: once every three days least favorite food: grapefruit (grapefruit gene) typical hours of sleep: 1am - 11am, plus naps (9 hours) career choices: volunteer worker cooking specialty: eggs ice crunching: crunches who would win a race?: scores 9th place nickname for sanji's secret identity: sexy fried egg preference: over easy, slowly cooked, with soy sauce favorite food from wano: onigiri

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 1 year

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Between the text of the first three Locked Tomb books themselves, the back matter in Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth, and a few interviews, I think that Tamsyn Muir has provided us with enough information to semi-confidently predict at least one major plot element in Alecto the Ninth. It has to do with Harrow, the Resurrection, and what’s beyond or underneath the stoma.

In the Gideon the Ninth back matter Tamsyn says that Harrow is “named very specifically for the harrowing of Hell” (GtN p. 468 in the paperback). The harrowing of Hell is an event in the traditional Christian theology of Jesus’ death and resurrection where He descends into hell and brings salvation to righteous people who died before His time. As Kate Mary Warren’s “Harrowing of Hell” article in the Catholic Encyclopedia of 1907-1912 puts it:

This is the Old English and Middle English term for the triumphant descent of Christ into hell (or Hades) between the time of His Crucifixion and His Resurrection, when, according to Christian belief, He brought salvation to the souls held captive there since the beginning of the world. According to the "New English Dictionary" the word Harrowing in the above connection first occurs in Ælfric's homilies, about A.D. 1000; but, long before this, the descent into hell had been related in the Old English poems connected with the names of Cædmon and Cynewulf. Writers of Old English prose homilies and lives of saints continually employ the subject, but it is in medieval English literature that it is most fully found, both in prose and verse, and particularly in the drama.

The Biblical citation for this is I Peter 4:6, which describes Christ preaching “even to the dead.” Historically the way this was understood was that people before Christ who had died without “deserving” hell but for whom Jesus Himself hadn’t died yet went to a morally and hedonically neutral underworld space like we see in Ancient Greek religion. It was this particular space in hell that was harrowed. More recently the view has been advanced that He just emptied the place and gave out salvation like Oprah giving out cars, and there is some early evidence for this understanding too (Paschal Homily of St. John Chrysostom; I Corinthians 15). In the interview that Tamsyn did on the Nona the Ninth release day, she tells us bluntly that “Harrowhark is in Hell”.

So that establishes--in my opinion--that Harrow is, is or is going to go, beyond the stoma and release someone, or something, trapped there. One might think based on what we’ve seen of the stoma so far that this would be a very bad thing. “[W[here the things are that eat us,” as Ianthe puts it (GtN p. 382), seems like an awful place filled with awful people, or beings--the thing that possesses Colum in the climax of Gideon the Ninth, the horrifying-looking stoma itself, and of course the devils that the Empire is fighting on Antioch and that have made it to the Ninth House by the end of Nona the Ninth.

But hell is by definition a weird and horrible place with weird and horrible things in it. What if, in the case of at least some of the “things that eat us,” that isn’t their fault, and isn’t how it’s meant to be?

I’m indebted to my IRL best friend and Locked Tomb pusher @mayasaura for pulling these quotes and page numbers for me, as well as realizing a certain numerical discrepancy in the first place:

Twice in the first two books, “ten billion” is given as a figure of people being “avenged” by Blood of Eden (and a certain evil cougar well-known to us all). Cytherea declares herself the “vengeance of the ten billion” on GtN p. 405. Wake gives the same figure on HtN p. 465. Yet suddenly in Nona we get a figure of eleven billion as the capacity for Jod and the OG Lyctors’ cryo ships (p. 13), and ten billion as the figure that The Trillionaires “le[ft]....behind to die, having stolen financing and support and materials” (p. 395). There are a few possibilities here: either The Trillionaires took a billion people with them in their own fleet, Jod is very bad at math for a scientific and medical genius, or the eleven billion capacity for the cryo fleet was supposed to give extra room just to be safe (this is what I think is likeliest). Either way there’s a slight ambiguity about the pre-Resurrection population of the Solar System in general, which, when I noticed it, got me thinking about the other big ambiguity with population figures in these books: the fact that the Nine Houses ten thousand years in the future do not have a population in the high ten digits or even close to it; even the mid-sized individual Houses only have a few million people each (NtN p. 30; the Seventh and Eighth Houses sum to nine million), and the total population is maybe a hundred million at the very most.

So where is everybody?

Jod did not resurrect everybody who lived in the Solar System when he and Alecto “went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar” (NtN p. 409). We know this for a fact; this is where the neo-Niners came from when he fulfilled his promise to Harrow to repopulate her House (HtN p. 35-36). As Jod puts it, “I set many aside, for safety.” Whose safety from whom?

Here’s Jod describing what’s beyond the River in Harrow the Ninth (p. 340-341):

"A genuinely chaotic space--chaos in the meaning of the abyss as well as unfathomable...located at the bottom of the River. The Riverbed is studded with mouths that open at proximity of Resurrection Beasts, and no ghosts venture deeper than the bathyrhoic layer. Anyone who has entered a stoma has never returned. It is a portal to the place I cannot touch--somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless. You'll find very few ghosts sink as far as the barathron. If I believed in sin, I would say they died weighted down with sin, placing them nearer the trash space. That's what we've been using it for, in any case. That's where we put the Resurrection Beasts. The rubbish bin...with all the other dross."

Note the deeply dehumanizing and condemnatory language. Rubbish, dross, trash. “Very few ghosts” are down there, supposedly--but do we really think John Gaius would do that? Just pontificate to his Lyctors and tell lies? Lies about the number of pre-Resurrection people whom he’s hated and dehumanized for ten thousand years, the proportion of the human race that for whatever reason he thought couldn't or shouldn't hack it in his brave new thanergy-powered world?

I do. And I came away from Nona the Ninth with a more sympathetic view of his original intentions than did most of the fandom!

I think that at least some of what's on the other side of the stoma is, or are, the souls of the people Jod in his infinite wisdom decided not to resurrect. The world below the bed of the River is directly associated with hell both in the text of the series and in interviews with Tamsyn, and furthermore I think that Harrowhark is going to replicate her namesake's "triumphant descent” and free at least some of these souls, who are in turn at least as likely--probably likelier--to wreck up Jod and impose real consequences on him as Alecto is. I think that this fits the plot, the themes, and The Locked Tomb's overall structure as a story from its cosmology and theology right down to the names of its main characters.

In ten months we’ll see if I’m right!

#the locked tomb #meta #theology #tlt theories #tlt predictions

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jovesstudyroom · 7 months

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In That Room (Chapter 1)

Ghost COD x Reader

Slow burn love not for sauce (though it still might take a little)

TW: Gore, violence, sexual stuff (later), and abuse/torture

Y/N is a former army recruit turned investigator trapped by a mysterious and weirdly fatherly war criminal, Morinda. You are locked in a room for three years, in a state of weakness. Task Force 141, with the help of others, breaks in to find Morinda and rescue their men. Ghost breaks down the door to your cell, finding you in chains...

The dark mud-cemented walls around were your home. Time passes so liberally without including you in its ticks. Your captors fail to give you enough food and water, a sick game of keeping you weak yet conscious enough to be used for whatever information they crave. Your hair sticks together in dirty bits, though Morinda would come in sometimes to brush it as you fought against your chains, well when you used to fight. His perfect captive-made daughter, Mira, seems to be your destiny now. Drops of water fall into a plastic bucket in a corner.

“One, two, three, four…”

Before, however long ago that was, you would pull your chains and let the metal bite into your wrists and ankles just to kick over that stupid red bucket. It’s a devil roommate you can’t ignore or stop. Now you count them in groups of four like a song. Your head aches with the beat. All a game from some unknown group. You lay on the floor facing up at an incandescent light that never falters overhead. No point in huddling in a corner. You just want to be free, to murder everybody in here. You imagine the sky, the stars and the moon; the sun on your skin. All you can do is close your eyes and dream… until he comes with more questions that won’t be answered. Why did they think you had all the answers? Electrocution is just a day in the sun now. Something that reminds you you’re alive, though one time your heart stopped. You came to with Morinda over your body, a devilish look of worry spread over his face, you were still his. Morinda never offers death. He “likes your face too much.” The face of his Mira. Your thumb and pointer fingers are bandaged, the nails growing only to be harvested again. Soon they’ll have to kill you.

"No one is coming, so please let them kill me."

The static of silence disperses into heavy footsteps. Maybe this visit… A dream of eternal peace washes over you in preparation. Gunshots. You quit counting. You quit coping. Fear ricochets through your brain like electricity, but you stay down. Eyes closed. Whatever is going down, you can at least be an easy target if lucky.

The sound of doors being busted down sounds around you in tandem with incoherent yelling from two men never heard before. Let them be killers, just killers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

They reach your door. It falls inwards. Someone enters. Their grave footsteps crunch while more banging takes place down the hall.

“Come in Price,” a deep voice grumbles, softened by a British accent you can’t place.

“Found a prisoner, only female so far, looks about early to mid-twenties. (Y/H/C). Maybe, (Y/H).” The footsteps draw nearer. “Do we have any records?”

He speaks but you can’t comprehend. Everything in your mind is in a frantic fire while your body is useless. Nothing makes sense, you just repeat prayers for release.

Opening your eyes slightly, you are sure Death truly has come. A hulking skull-masked figure towers over you. His head and body are covered in thick fabric, armour, and a large tactical vest. Light shines in behind him. Sunlight.

“Finally,” you murmur. “One, two, three, four…” You keep on in whispers.

“Oh, so you’re alive then?” He looks over his shoulder before crouching down over you.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you rasp and smile.

“That’s quite the compliment, darlin’. Do you have a name?”

“You should know. It took you enough time to find me on your list.”

“List?”

“If Death is a proper physical being, then what other stories are true?”

“Hell,” he sighs. “Call me Ghost. Just a guy here to get you out.” Ghost quickly brings out a knife from his waist and then grabs your hand, unscrewing the bolts that keep the metal clasped around your wrist. “You’re not dying yet.”

He moves on to the next hand as you speak. “You’re taking me outside? One, two, three, four…” The drips continue, and so do you.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“I want to be outside.” You want to live in the woods in a burrow under a tree, far away from any person.

“You will be. Now what’s your name?”

“Did you kill them all?” The man moves to your ankles.

“That I don’t know. I've answered your lot of questions, now your turn.”

“Mira…no…no.” What was it again? “Y-Y/N” Saying your name feels awkward, your mouth has lost the feel for it. “One, two, three, four…”

“Come in Price,” Ghost speaks into his earpiece.

“I’ve got a name, (Y/N). She’s in pretty rough shape.”

“Let’s get you up.” A firm arm, thick with tactical clothing, lifts so you sit up. He offers an arm, which you take slowly. Dense muscle gives good support. You can’t help but gaze at his face. Death trying to keep you alive after being so near all this time. Stark white eyes, surrounded by black paint dig into your own as he wraps his arm around your back. You both begin to hobble out… till you see that stupid red bucket. Something snaps in you, maybe reality. It feels animalistic and real. Maybe it’s what you’ve been keeping down so you didn’t fully lose your mind. However, you’re getting out now. You can act. The real world stood out there, and you- you were in here for an eternity being branded, ripped at, and groomed by a man and his overzealous posey. You push yourself away from the man, Death, and shriek.

Your knees crash down onto the cement, and the thin pants give you little help from scrapes. You grab the bucket and start thrashing it at the ground, water exploding.

“Fuck!” You scream and hit the bucket over and over into the ground. You wail like your mother must have when she heard of what happened to you. You wail like the first time you felt chains around your limbs. Crying and heaving till the bucket is nothing but shards of red plastic. Your hand seeks out the sharpest one, it comforts like nothing has in a long time. Quiet resumes in your countenance. You both just need to get out of here.

“Go Price.” Ghost pauses, listening to a short version of your folder they must have at base. “Two years? Fuckin' hell." He looks me up and down. "We are going to extract. I’ll leave the rest to the team. We’re pretty much done over here anyway. Over.”

A giggle escapes you as you go to leave the room. This has to all be some absurd dream. Two years? Ghost makes his way to you, grabbing your arm with his firm hand, but you shrug him off and lean against the wall.

“Listen to me, alright? I know you were trained in the army before going investigator, remember that training. Stay silent, you already caused enough racket to get us killed… and take my fucking arm.”

You grab it and hang on this time. You both go on quickly. Ghost holds his large M4 Carbine, checking corners. Gunshots ring out, but you keep going. The building has broken-class windows and is dusty with sand and wartime fallout. Footsteps your way. Ghost grunts as he pushes you into a side room, shutting off his radio. You two press behind an open door. Ghost towers over, arms on either side of you. You clutch your weapon. He smells like metal and sweat. People pass by, shouting in a language often heard, but never understood.

“Deep breaths,” Ghost whispers. You can see his eyes behind the mask, they are unnerving but calm. A deep breath is forced, in and out.

“One, two, three, four.”

“Move on,” his husky voice commands.

You leave the room and can’t help but look outside. Outside. It shines brightly like a mirage. You count your steps in four quietly. Ghost practically drags your broken body through the clay-coloured hallway. A flash of metal glints outside behind a broken-down car. You pull him down.

“What the-” Gunshots ring out from over us as you both kneel on the floor, looking both ways and at each other. “Quick eye.”

“Lucky,” you respond.

The two of you crouch-walk along the floor, a movement hard on your tired body. You pant, already exhausted. “Come on just a little way further,” he says.

Windowed walls end and it's a straight shot to the stairs. You go for it but are stopped by two men. Ghost quickly shoots one. The other man charges him, grabbing the barrel of his gun, and readying his own small pistol. It all happens quickly. You know that man’s face, clear in the background smiling while shocks rippled through your whole being. He doesn’t even pay you any regard now. Your hand tightens around the sharp piece of plastic from the bucket. This violence is quiet. You move swiftly from behind Ghost as he pushes the attacker off. You raise your arm and jump on him, toppling him to the ground. A bullet goes off from his gun. The large shard in your hand comes down and punctures his neck with all vengeful strength. The man's eyes go wide. He grabs at his throat while you remove the piece. Blood spurts out, spraying everywhere. You’re in shock for a short moment, but everything snaps back like an elastic band. Warm liquid runs over you as you wipe your mouth. Metal can’t help but be tasted.

“Jesus Christ.” Ghost stares at you. You wait for ostracization, but Ghost cuts the tension with: "I can’t judge too hard, you saved my skin… though I didn’t need it.”

“I need a fucking cigarette” You rasp while wiping your face. Why would you ever care what he thought? A wave of dizziness succumbs you as you collapse. The moment of adrenaline is starting to pass, and that last pounce took all you had.

“Common,” Ghost tries to pull you up. You try, but find your limbs in a state of cold sleep. You shake before collapsing again. Without a moment to waste, Ghost scoops you up in his arms. Your head rests against his bulky vest, vision slightly blurry. “Stay with me (Y/N).” The smell of him, of the earth you have almost reached is the only sense intact. You feel your body beat against his chest as he moves. Ghost rushes down the stairs to the entrance.

Light fills your vision, you didn’t even realize your eyes were closed until now. You see Ghost's concerned eyes look down at you before scanning the environment. “Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He ducks behind a car, breathing heavily now that he also has to carry you. Beyond him is a light blue-grey sky with sparse clouds. Dusk or dawn? you can’t tell yet. The wind picks up, it's fresh and cool. From there it’s a blur until you both meet up with an armoured jeep with a gunman on top. We made it, hopefully.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #female reader #fanfiction #canon is dead this is my mind reality

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balder614 · 2 months

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Pacts Are For More Than Devils

Here’s the next one shot! This time, we’ve got Durgetash and a couple shenanigans. Warning for mentions of harm and blood, you have been warned.

Not remembering who you were was a hard thing to go through. Not remembering who you had loved and who was family was even worse. Especially when that family demanded a very bloody reunion.

Orin had the somewhat short male tiefling trapped in the dungeon below Enver Gortash’s home. A tiefling that had survived a Nautiloid crash. Survived Moonrise towers. Survived defying the gods.

She had infiltrated the camp and kidnapped him with ease, much to his surprise. Kilil’s sleep had been more restful than in years…had she somehow put a sleeping draught in his drink while at the Elfsong Tavern? His mind flitted in search of memories from the night prior. A handsome, tall human male had bought him a drink. After that…he couldn’t remember much.

Kilil groaned quietly, pain and anger coursing through him. Anger at his own foolishness and pain from the lashings all along his back and cuts all over his body.

Orin had left him there for the night, intent on bringing his memories back before crushing him like a bug. He couldn’t remember anything from his past. Not even if Orin had been a kind sibling, which he severely doubted.

Footsteps slowly sounded down the nearby stairs, making Kilil tense up. His arms were raised above his head by chains and his stomach was to the wall. He had on only a set of blue, bloodied boxers to cover his most intimate places from the view of whoever had just come downstairs.

“I had a feeling she was doing something down here. No doubt trying to get the Flaming Fists or Harpers to investigate. I can’t even be away from home for a day.”

Kilil felt goosebumps raise all along his sensitive blue skin. That deep voice, the sigh, he knew who it was. Enver Gortash himself. A low growl rumbled in his chest, despite how his body reacted strangely like he wanted to be held by the dark knight.

“You expect me to believe you didn’t order this?” he sneered, voice cracking occasionally due to pain.

Enver let out a deep chuckle. He walked closer to the Mephistopheles tiefling, looking him over to examine the damage.

“If you believed me, I would normally say you are a fool. However, if you wish to return to your camp, I suggest an alliance~” Bane’s chosen cooed.

“Alliance?” Kilil panted, “what sort of alliance?”

Enver uncorked a bottle of healing potion that he kept in his pocket for emergencies. The mouth of the bottle was held to the tiefling’s lips, coaxing him to drink. And drink he did, feeling immediately better as the potion took effect to heal his body.

“An alliance where we team up. I join your camp, help protect it from Orin’s intrusive followers and Orin herself, and you help me gain the netherstone from Bhaal’s chosen. I’m sure your father wants you to kill her and take your inheritance, yes~?”

Kilil let his head hang, tears welling in his eyes. “I need to kill her, but I don’t want to be Bhaal’s son. Not at all.”

Enver carefully unlocked the restraints before pulling the tiefling close to his chest, enjoying feeling the muscles in Kilil’s back tensing against his clothed body. He brought his head down to nose against the warlock’s ear, watching as each exhale made it twitch.

“From this moment, in return for your freedom from Orin, you. Are. Mine.”

~~~~~

When they had first returned to the Elfsong Tavern, everyone was ready to kill Enver, deal or not. But Kilil quickly stopped them. They had all given him a second chance, despite what he had done to Alfira, which meant Enver deserved a chance to show he wanted to help Balder’s Gate.

The first thing he did to prove that was release Ulder Ravengard from captivity, much to Mizora’s dismay.

The second was to show how he could spot shapeshifters due to having known Orin for so long.

The third was to help Kilil learn about his own shapeshifting abilities. Of course, that led to Astarion nearly murdering the poor tiefling when he had accidentally taken the form of Cazador. He hadn’t known who Enver was describing to him as he changed forms.

It took time, but Astarion came around again and forgave them for the scare. Wyll was willing to participate in the alliance, but remained wary. Karlach, however, stayed as far away from the chosen of Bane as she possibly could.

Kilil had the group set up camp nearby a forgotten watch tower. His own sleep space was up at the top of the tower to keep everyone safe from his murderous tendencies he fought.

The sound of a scorching whirlwind sounded behind him and he sighed, turning to face the cambion he’s made a pact with. The devil sired by a human woman and Mephistopheles himself. Raphael.

“Well well, a deal with the black hand of Bane, hmm? How does daddy feel about that one~?” the cambion teased.

Kilil turned to him, irritated and trying to keep his mind in the present. It was hard to do when the call of blood circled around his mind.

“Just because you are my patron, doesn’t mean I must listen to your theatrics,” the tiefling quietly growled in agitation. “As for Bhaal, I refuse to accept him as my father. I am not a murderer.”

“An, but you once were. And quite a beautiful display you would make of your victims~”

“Which he still could, should you continue to pester my beloved,” Enver spoke from behind the cambion. He had been listening in on their conversation.

Raphael knew when he was beat…for a time. He quickly retreated with a whirl of sulfur and flames, leaving the two men alone.

Kilil turned to face the balcony. His body was tense and he quietly gulped. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he had once been. Murder made him sick to his stomach. Suddenly, arms wrapped around his waist. Arms that felt very familiar, yet foreign at the same time.

“You don’t have to return to those old ways if you don’t wish to. Truly, I rather like this you. Soft, sincere, and easy to tease~” he cooed in the tiefling’s pointed ear.

“E-Enver!” Kilil exclaimed in embarrassment. His name tumbled from his lips easily, a slip of the tongue he felt accustomed to, despite not remembering saying it before.

Enver gently cupped the warlock’s chin, turning his face ever so slightly, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ve missed hearing my name from your lips.”

Kilil turned his head to look away. It would take some getting used to, but perhaps he could become comfortable with Enver once more.

#durgetash #enver gortash #lord gortash #dark urge x gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #karlach #wyll ravengard #astarion #cazador szarr

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tigerspite · 7 months

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Would you believe me if I said I re-wrote this from scratch four times?

Anyway. Hopefully this gives a bit of context to the previous chapter. Remember that this is all being written out of order.

Read the rest of The Devil's Claw here

Next chapter

CHAPTER ?? / The Captive

Under blue pre-dawn light, a human staggers across a beach on the southern coast of England. His clothes are ragged and torn, hanging from his body after soaking up sea water, and his dark blonde hair is plastered to his head. He makes it no further than twenty paces up the sandy slope towards the cliffs before collapsing, crawling towards the shelter of a rock and slumping against it.

"He is already dead. This is a waste of our time," Varzis hisses, her glare ferocious. "Solkis has no use for specimens like this."

Wethraks lurks behind an outcrop with the rest of the crew, fixed on the unmoving body. So few humans remain around the steep and rugged cliff edges of the coast, with almost all viable land destroyed by dramatically increased sea levels and the natural disasters surrounding Earth's Collapse. His patrol ventured so far in search of any surviving colonies and securing the area, but the man is the first he has seen in days. A dim flicker in the back of his mind suspects he is a distraction, a decoy to start an ambush on his crew, but their scouting Shanks and Servitors are silent.

The human clinging to the boulder before them is utterly and completely alone.

"There is nothing of worth in a half-drowned human." she continues, turning away as if she cannot stand to look at him any longer.

""Humans don't come out of the sea," he counters. "Solkis will want to study him, even if he releases him afterwards. There has to be a reason why he's here."

Chuffing sharply at his rebuttal, she shoves a set of chains and cuffs into his hands. "Then he is your burden alone. Some of us have better things to attend, and a city to go home to."

He flexes his mandibles in protest, but Varzis stalks away before he can make a more coherent argument. The members of the crew who do not yet understand that he is the one in command, not her, follow with haste. Having authority over her while he is a Vandal, and she is a Captain who saw him freshly docked and joining her crew on Sepiks-Fel, is not an adjustment she accepts.

With an aggrieved sigh, Wethraks rises to his full height and slinks from his hiding place. Cautious, he circles from several feet away, scanning for concealed weapons or wounds on the human that might aggravate if he touches the wrong place. Provoking him into a fight when he has no backup is certain doom. Adult males particularly tend to resist capture, especially when alone, and Solkis's trappers have plenty of scars and stories between them to prove why they recommend specific care be taken.

While caked in sand and salt and draped across a boulder, however, he appears harmless enough.

Alerted to movement, the man stirs and lifts his head. Eyes cloudy with exhaustion, he stares without registering what is in front of him. Before he is able to spend any more time processing, however, Wethraks steps behind him and closes in to take his arms.

Mercifully, he does not resist the shackles. But the dead weight of one limb, colder than the rest of his body, steals his focus away. Rolling the cuff of his sweater sleeve up, he a wrist made entirely of metal. Through the rips in the fabric, steel plates shift over each other as he pulls his arm around to restrain him fully. It looks like a prosthetic limb - one at odds with post-Collapse human manufacturing, and unusually elaborate to be of Eliksni make. Dozens of wires and servos within work together to produce the most subtle movements, indistinguishable from a real limb, and he cannot help but feel along his back to find the seam where metal meets flesh around his shoulder.

For a moment, he wonders if he is one of the mechanical humanoids that are occasionally found in the wilds given flesh and bone, a monstrous experiment never meant to see the light of day. Casting him out to sea to be forgotten would ensure that nobody learned of what happened, but they must not have accounted for whether the tides would carry him ashore. Through that, he feels a pang of sympathy for the man. Solkis's anthropologists would be over him like flies, regardless, elated at the opportunity to investigate someone so unusual. They would take better care than whoever had him before.

Confident that he is secure and too exhausted to fight back, Wethraks takes the chain trailing off of the handcuffs and drags him from the rock, pulling him up the path towards the cliff face. His captive slides through the sand without resistance, weighing nothing compared to others he has taken. As concerning as it is, he finds he is thankful. A pliable, co-operative human is more accepting of their fate and more willing to be left sedated in a cell than someone who comprehends what is happening to them. Even if the agreeableness comes from a dangerous lack of energy.

It takes a few minutes until he reaches the top of the cliff, where the anchored convoy of Skiffs rests. At their edge, Varzis narrows her eyes to see him and chatters her mandibles in distaste. She heaves herself away from the ship she rests against with a growl, personally inconvenienced by his brief detour but already moving to the loading ramp.

"Wait there. We'll have to re-distribute the salvage to accommodate your prize." she calls, bobbling her head before disappearing into the circle of ships to unload.

Wethraks chitters back in return, choosing to ignore her vitriol and pulling his human to where a set of storage crates have been stacked. Propping him up to sit against it and lifting the crate to put the end of the chain underneath, he hums at the paleness to his skin. Cold like ice. Without intervention that he does not have access to, and although the Skiff is warm, he senses he may not survive the journey home unless extra care is taken.

Unbuckling his cloak, he settles it over the man and tucks it in around his body. The action rouses him, blinking up at his captor in a daze, and the recognition of his situation takes a few seconds to register. His breath catches and he jerks back, the metal limb twisting to try and pry free of his bindings.

"Stop, stop stop stop!" Wethraks trills, putting all four hands out to steady him. Careful to avoid touching him directly, he keeps him corralled against the box. "I am not going to hurt you!"

Breathing heavy and eyes wild, the fear scent emanating from him is palpable. There is no way it can be his first encounter with Eliksni, but Wethraks senses that it may be the first time he has heard one speak his language. That often shocks and disorients the other captives the most.

He crouches down to his level to seem as non-threatening as possible. "So- um, hello," He gives an awkward little wave with an upper hand and offers a smile. "I have to let you know that you've been captured for being on House Devils territory. You'll be safe, but my Captain is taking us back to London with you as our prisoner."

The human blinks hard again, staring for a heartbeat too long in the wake of his introduction. That, or he is attempting to work out whether anything in front of him is real or a delusion. He glances around, brow furrowed while he searches to make sense of any of his surroundings.

"My name is Wethraks, Vandal of House Devils," He leans over, back into his line of sight and blocking out anything that could confuse him further. "I need to ask you a few questions, unless you have any for me first?"

The man sighs, and a voice rough from saltwater and disuse comes out of him. “What do you want from me?"

“I'm afraid it's not really my business, my Baron makes those decisions," Wethraks shakes his head. "But we will take care of you, he may want to see you personally. He's friendly."

His affirmations receive nothing more than a grunt and another bout of broken eye contact. He shifts where he sits, wincing in protest of the movement, but offers nothing further to say.

Wethraks waits until he is done and settled, watching him expectantly. "Are you hurt?"

The response is short and immediate. "No."

"Okay," he trails off, and tilts his head. "Can I ask for your name?"

"Yami."

"Do you know how you got here?"

Silence. A mistrustful, sideways look.

"Do you know where you are, or where you were before this?"

No answer.

Wethraks understands then that it is going to be a very, very long trip back to London.

#destiny 2 #eliksni #destiny fanfiction #d2 #wethraks wednesday #tdc

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 23: Perfect Wife

Word Count: 3.5k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, domestic abuse, pregnancy, dry heaving & gagging, restraints (rope) but like not in a sexy way, blood, injuries, idk just a lot of gross things, dissociation, birth control sabotage, kidnapping, the yellow wallpaper by charlotte perkins gilman, mice, I promise everything will be ok, ok??

Chapter Summary: We check in with our hero to see how she's doing in captivity.

Notes: Chapter title from "Perfect Wife" by Amigo the Devil. Y'all this song though... please listen. It guts me. Which reminds me, this chapter is very violence heavy, just a heads up. Another thing: next weekend I'll be out of town Fri-Sun and yadda yadda the next chapter will be out on 10/10. If I'm able to get caught up on homework before leaving, I'll post it this Thursday, but I am a procrastinator so looool we'll see. OK THANKS LETS GO TEAM!

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???, Laredo, TX July 30, 1998

When Dan opens the trunk and releases the hot, dead air that’s been percolating with you for two hours, it’s probably the most excited you’ve ever been to see him. Your pupils are so offended by the bright blue sky that your eyelids slam shut in protest as you wince. Before you can crack them open again to see where the fuck you are, he’s blindfolding you.

“Really?” is all you can say when he yanks you out of the trunk by the bend of your arm. You hiss and your knees give out as he tries to so get you to stand on your own accord. Gravel digs into your legs when you crumble into a pile on the ground.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His hands tuck under your armpits and he pulls you up to your feet, but you go all limp noodle like a marionette. He growls now, clenching his jaw down harder, “Stand the fuck up, bitch.”

Finally you gain your footing and your knees lock in place. The darkness you’re enclosed in does not alleviate the way your brain is swirling around inside your skull. Last time you felt this dizzy, you drank about 3 too-many mixed drinks then tried to smoke a bowl. Medically speaking, you think it’s called “the spins.”

He pulls you along behind him, white-knuckling your arm as you stumble over bushes, rocks, and your own feet. You fight the urge to spew. It reminds you of when the Bakers guilt-tripped you onto going on some Alaskan cruise liner for 6 days and 5 nights, even though they know you’re prone to debilitating motion sickness. You spent the vacation locked inside the cabin and had to choose between “the spins” or that syrupy manufactured pill high from Dramamine.

The sloshy memory pulls out all the stops and you dig your heels into the dirt so you can dry-heave your empty stomach. He stops when you do, scoffing when he looks back to see what the holdup is. Once he realizes you’re puking a whole lotta nothing, he continues marching you forward towards… wherever. A house? Your death? Hell? A 6-day, 5-night all-inclusive* cruise to mother fucking Alaska (*does not include Dramamine) (*aka Hell)?

He finally takes your blindfold off after you trip through a doorway and fall to your hands and knees onto a dusty hardwood floor. You blink your eyes into focus. The place has to be at least one hundred fucking years old. There’s no furniture. You’re in an empty foyer with dingy floral wallpaper. A floorboard creaks behind you and he drops something onto the ground. All you can see is this tattered yellow wallpaper.

Did it come yellow, or is it stained yellow?

There are jangles and zips from right behind your head as he digs through (what you’re assuming is) a backpack. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, then gag when you recognize the very distinct smell of mouse piss and mothballs. It reminds you of this dumpy apartment your mom used to have.

You would spend hours tiptoeing around the living room as she slept on the couch: a snoring, disheveled blanket pile. It was the worst was when you were hungry. Breakfast time would pass, then lunch time, but you would never wake her up, because if you woke her up, she might get mad. You could have made food for yourself, but there were mice skittering around in the cupboards and you were scared to open them. That musty, woody, ammonia smell. The sound of tiny rodent claws navigating the kitchen cupboards. Your growling stomach. The nausea.

You dry heave again.

Once Dan finds what he’s looking for, he pulls it out, humming with satisfaction. His knees pop when he stands up, then pop again when he squats down to make his eyes level with yours.

Ocean blue eyes. You search each others faces, trying to find a trace of the person you thought you knew.

Nothing. They look flat.

Who are you?

He must decide the same thing, because his vacant eyes drop to the bundle of nylon rope he’s holding, and he instructs you, “Press your wrists together.”

You follow the directions. His slender fingers work away, wrapping the rope around your wrists, then ankles, then he starts on your arms. Squeezing the cord tight like a boa constrictor preparing you for consumption.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. You're bound so tight, you have to take shallow, metered breathes.

Breaking his silence, he fumes, “That’s a nice lil video you gave me, babe. It’ll be popular on the web. Shoulda installed them earlier. Coulda got a whole series, since you’n Javi obviously have no problem fucking in my house,” he yanks extra hard, digging the cord flush against your humerus, then grits his teeth as he spits, “How long, huh? How long you been fucking him?”

You say nothing, just stare over his shoulder at the wallpaper. There are no correct answers. He pushes his nose against your cheek and rasps, “Answer me, bitch, or I swear I will god I will wrap this rope around your fuckin’ throat-“

“June,” you whisper. You immediately regret telling him the truth.

He draws back and pauses. The silence and stillness with which he absorbs this information brings an electric panic to the surface of your skin. Your heartbeat is now in your throat, and you're afraid to inhale.

“June,” Dan nods once and purses his lips, glances at the ground and shakes his head. When he looks back up, he stares at your eyes but you don’t return the favor, “I should fucking kill both of you.”

You flinch and swallow hard.

With added vigor, he finishes the knot he had been working on, then stands up and walks away. A screen door slams behind you.

He leaves you there for… a while. How long? Who fucking knows.

Long enough for you to start trying to wriggle your way out of the binding. Long enough for the abrasive fibers to ignite a white hot, festering burn in the places it rubs against your flesh. Long enough for the burning to start pulling sharper, cutting, wet feelings from the burns. Long enough to lose feeling in your hands and legs completely.

When you finally look down at your hands, you gasp. Your purpled fingertips in contrast to the red, broken skin of your wrists makes your stomach churn.

Trying to distract yourself from the foreign grotesqueness of your own body, you inhale as deep as you can, then look up at the wallpaper. This dingy, torn up yellow wallpaper, adorned with delicate floral bouquets, repeated dozens of times, all across your field of vision.

Squeak-bang

You jump out of your trance and blink. The golden sun setting into the windows behind you are casting long shadows onto the wall. Your shadow is a lumpy heap, vibrating with terror. Dan's is a towering threat.

The floor whines as he starts forward and his shadow grows smaller and smaller until his presence isn’t a shadow anymore. He crouches down in front of you, doused in golden light. Splatters and streaks on his clothing. Deep, rust red and viscous. In his blonde hair. Smeared on his skin. Blood. So opaque it seems to absorb the sunlight.

Your heart stops and your stomach drops like a rock as you exhale the words, “What did you do?”

He smiles. You want to rip it off his fucking face. A fucking smile.

“What the fuck did you do? Is that blood?” you repeat, louder now. Your face betrays you, crumbling to pieces. A rabid, aching panic started to inflate inside your chest. Inside your limbs.

Could I feel my hands before? No. What about my tongue?

Your eyes betray you next, filling with hot tears. The expanding balloon of terror in your skin wills you into a frenzy as you buck against the rope that's rendering you immobile. You’re frantic, losing control, “What did you do? Is it Javi? What the fuck did you do? You can’t- no no no no -“

Nothing that was making you hurt matters anymore. Not the bloodied abrasions the nylon rope is sinking into, not the bruises on your legs, not the deep pit of hunger. It’s all eclipsed by this new, more desperate kind of hurt.

He cracks a sympathetic smile, “Oh, babe, don’t tell me-“ a giggle escapes his throat as he looks down at the floor, then back up at you. The corners of his mouth turn down in a sarcastic frown, “Don’t tell me you have feelings for him?” His fingers, sticky with blood, brush your sweaty hair from your face, and he coos in a condescending tone, “Did you love him?”

Your eyes snap to his. He can see the answer on your face, but he wants to hear you say it. The demon is lurking in his eyes again. Dead and soulless as he clamps your face in a bruising grasp, growling, “Did you love him?”

“Are you just going to pretend you don’t feel this? That you don’t want this like I do?” Javier told you on the walking trail when you tried to end it at the beginning.

Your whole body trembles as you nod, holding eye contact as tears blur your vision.

“Well that was pretty fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

Dancing to Amor Prohibido at the bar with Gina as your audience, lighting your skin on fire as Javier guided you by the waist. A serenade only you could hear. Singing along to old country music on the radio while he tried not to burn pancakes on the best morning you’ve ever had. You felt at home for the first time. Kiss on karaoke when your love for him radiated into your bones. Dancing in your kitchen to Etta James, letting the melody slip from your lips as you sang along quietly, “ And my heart cried, ohhh- ohhhh- ohh, I love you so… ”

A noise like a gas leak, high-pitched and quiet, sounds from your deflating chest. It crescendos into a wail that sounds so foreign, so robust in its anguish, you don’t even recognize the sound as your own. Once it clears from your lungs, your chest heaves into a series of small sobs.

“No,” your voice wavers and Dan’s features harden into a warning, but you continue despite his tightening grasp on your face, “It’s not stupid, Dan,” you croak, shaking your head through your tears, “I am in love with him, an-and it’s so fucking worth it . You could never fucking understand.”

He releases your face and stands up, walking behind you. His hands wrap around your ankles and he yanks your legs out from under you. Your chin claps against the floor. An attempt to cry out comes out in a wispy croak. The foyer gets smaller as he pulls you down a hallway, opens a door, and deposits you into a closet. He slams the door shut, entrenching you in black.

Your shaky breaths echo back into your ears and you try to forget the sound as it happens. The purpled hands, the blood seeping onto the white nylon rope. Blood. The blood covering Dan. Whose blood?

A loud thud surrounds you in the darkness. And another. He drives his fist against the door over and over and seethes, “You’re really fucking testing me, babe. I don’t want to have to gut you, too. Don’t make me fucking gut you.”

I don’t want to have to gut you, too.

He doesn’t mean that. He can’t mean that. There’s no fucking way.

The blood. The fury. He was gone for so long. You imagine a thick, dark, scarlet pool growing. Blank, lifeless brown eyes. Not lifeless in the same way that Dan’s are. Lifeless as in gone.

You think about how Javier said, “I love you. I swear on my mother’s grave I will not disappear.”

Telling you he loved you in the park. Making out in the photo booth. Hand resting on your bare leg, fingers drawing sweet nothings onto your skin. Playing with your hair. Kissing your knotted wrist that was once a gaping wound.

A gaping wound. The blood on the white nylon rope. Spilling out your wrists as your father screams at you. Splattered across Dan’s clothing and hair. Deep, rust red and viscous. A pool expanding under Javier’s lifeless form.

You tip over onto your side and try to curl up in a ball, but the adrenaline pumping through you won’t let you sit still, so you writhe around miserably, voice hoarse as sobs rip from your throat.

You’ve memorized the way his lips feel against yours. Mustache tickling you. Velvet tongue. Tasting like cigarettes. Popular opinion dictates you should find the flavor appalling, but you would live in his mouth if you could. The slope of his nose. Dimpled smile. Puppy dog eyes. The potpourri of smells so uniquely him, you recognized it after five years of his absence.

All the memories that made your heart swell with happiness and love are tainted. You don’t have a home. It was ridiculous for you to ever think that you could. Gutted.

I don’t want to have to gut you, too.

The sorrow festering at the site of your emotional wound comes bursting open, and you ignore the ripping feeling in your throat as you scream out loud to the husk of a man outside the door, “I fucking hate you. I hate you, Dan. I will never fucking forgive you.”

Silence.

You always suspected this would end in some disaster. That Javier would leave, fall out of love, break your heart. It was too good. But this? This isn’t right. He can’t be-

You gag as the word passes through your mind. Then you shove it out, refusing it’s company. It’s not real. None of this is real.

Instead of grounding, being present in this moment, you hand yourself over to the comforting embrace of dissociation. Floating out of your body, settling outside yourself on a cloud made of static. Blank brain. On standby, staring into the darkness as the tears run dry. Staring for so long you forget your eyes are open, until you blink.

I wonder how many spiders are in this closet with me.

—

You don’t know how much time has passed when the doorknob rattles and the hinges groan. Air 20 degrees cooler than the stifling hot box closet rushes against your skin. A floorboard creaks and there’s a woosh as he crouches down. Blackness entrenches you. Finger pads on your shoulder.

Your skin crawls and you swallow a lump in your throat. The touch slides from your shoulder, up to your head. Mitts for hands dig into your hair. You whine when he closes his hand into a fist. He’s anchored.

His voice cuts through the silence, just a whisper, “Do you love him?”

“Even when I knew you before. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I swear to god… after I met you, almost every night while falling asleep, I would think of the beautiful woman I met in San Antonio who- who watched movies with me and made me smile and…”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He lifts your head and thrusts it against the dusty hard wood floor with a crack. Pain shoots through your face and you yelp. White fills your vision on impact.

“You fucking idiot. He would have left you. You know that, right? Guy like him?” he scoffs, “Bitches like you are a dime a dozen to him.”

You say nothing even though you want to scream that he’s wrong. He’s so fucking wrong. Crickets chirp in the distance.

“God, babe, you used a rubber at least, right?” his fingers tighten their hold. He waits for an answer. When you don’t give it to him, he growls, “Answer me.”

“She held my hand in one of the darkest times of my life. I would think about how being with her felt… like that’s how it’s supposed to be. I felt I could talk to her about anything. How the sex was fucking incredible, as if we were made for each other.”

“No,” your voice is monotone. You’re barely here. Who gives a shit. Do it.

He makes a guttural blegh, then sneers, “Who knows what kind of fucking diseases you’re riddled with,” he sighs, then softens his tone, “I was hoping we could have some fun, but… I don’t want to catch anything. Bad enough I let you suck me off a few weeks ago.”

The words “let you” ricochet around your brain, looking for you to react, but you’re still just barely here.

His mouth next to your ear now, asking quietly, “Does he know about that? That you sucked my cock? Hmm?”

You don’t answer him, so he slams your face against the floor again. A guttural moan lets itself out your throat without your permission. Tears prick your eyes and you squeak, “Yes.”

“He knows you took my dick down your throat like a fucking whore, and you think he still respects you? You think he loves you like I do?” he snorts, “If he cared about you like I do, I would be dead right now, not him.”

“I would think about how badly I fucked up by letting her go.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t have words. You’re crying because that’s your nervous system’s response to the pain. You’re on a different planet. This isn’t real. The tears you can’t wipe away stream off your face and pool on the floor.

After his comment is met with more silence, he sucks his teeth and murmurs, “That does being up another concern, though,” louder now, and with disdain, he admits, “See, I was under the impression that my fiancé would be fucking faithful to me. And I knew that you wanted to try for kids as soon as we got married.”

No. No fucking way.

“You know, it can take months for birth control to get out of your system,” he sighs, and the exhale tickles across your shoulders, “I knew you would be resistant to the idea of cutting out birth control right now, but it wouldn’t matter if you got pregnant, because we were going to have kids anyway. Turns out, I was wrong. Which puts us in a bit of a pickle now, doesn’t it? Since you’ve been taking sugar pills for 5 months-“

“What the fuck,” you whimper, “What the fuck, why?”

“I told you why,” he chuckles, then clears his throat and continues, “Anyway, any chance you have a little baby Peña growing inside you?”

All the air is sucked from your lungs. Your nostrils flare. The fury breaks through your resolve. You wait a beat before lying through gritted teeth, “No, you fucking psycho, I am not pregnant.”

He lifts your head and cracks it on the wooden floor again. You stifle a sob as the pain ripples across your face. A warm, wet feeling starts to spread across your cheek. Not tears this time. He growls, “I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that.”

Your throat trills and your body goes rigid as he lifts you by your hair again. This time, though, he stuffs a gag in your mouth and ties it in place, then releases his grip. You exhale a shaky breath of relief when he stands up and dusts his hands off on his pants.

The door groans as he closes it again. You listen to see where he is, but his footfalls are silent. Just the occasional creak from somewhere in the old house. A reminder that he’s there.

You remember, when Claudia was pregnant with Michael, each week she would call you with this big, thick pregnancy owner’s manual and tell you all about what was going on in her body and how big he was. Once she called and told you he was the size of a banana right as you were peeling a banana. You had to throw it away.

You wonder if the baby is really the size of a little jellybean like you picture in your head.

“We named our daughter Rosemary after my mom.”

Your chest aches as you think about how it shouldn’t be like it is. Right now you should be nestled into Javier, only worried about breaking the news to him. He would probably freak the fuck out at first. Smoke like a chimney, go quiet and stoic. He would come around, though. Once the news settled, he’d find one of those baby books. He would tell you every week on the morning of, how big she is.

“I like the name Rosemary.”

“I do, too.”

Instead, you’re lying in a cramped closet in the middle of fucking nowhere, wondering if Javier is alive. Wondering if you will be alive this time tomorrow.

Will you ever see him waiting for you at the end of a wedding aisle? Wearing a black suit, smiling that wide award-winning smile, dimples and all, as he sees you in a carefully curated white dress. When will be the next time you wake up next to him, tangled in each other, still groggy from sleep, cherishing the moments until you have to roll out of bed? Is it even possible?

Will I ever see him again?

[ Next Chapter ]

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 1 year

Text

Our Man Flint Part 2

TW: blood, gore, vampyrs, Christianity, spiders, captivity, threats, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize, brief manhandling, intimate whumper, whumpee-turned-whumper, whumper-turned-whumpee

Part one linked in my pinned

Flint paced back and forth in his cell. Time passed without any incidents to conceptualize it.

He searched his pockets compulsively every few minutes. Looking for something, anything he could use in self defense.

But he turned up with nothing but an iron pocket knife, effective against any human or beast, but not the undead.

Minutes. Hours. The suspicion that he had been left in his cell far past sundown crept through his mind.

He stomped down on a large bulbous spider, crushing it under his boot heel, taking a perverse pleasure in its death. Its splattered viscera coated the bottom of his shoe and dripped to fill cracks in the stone floor.

If only he could kill a few of the other monsters in this castle.

Dropping to his knees and clutching his hands together, he began reciting an old prayer he knew by heart, the same he had used to summon his courage during his first hunt.

His voice rang out loudly, reverberating against the stone walls of his newfound prison.

"By the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Through the power of His cross, His blood, and His resurrection. I bind you Satan, the spirits, powers and forces of darkness. All the nether world, and the evil spirits of nature."

His cross. Flint's own cross had been snatched from him as though it were nothing.

His blood. Calling upon the blood of Christ held a bitter touch of irony during this quest.

His resurrection. Vampyrs were also resurrected dead. By the powers of the Devil, not God, but resurrected all the same.

Flint pushed these blasphemous thoughts away and continued his prayer, louder still, fervent before the Alimghty.

"Lord, I take dominion over all curses, hexes, demonic activity and spells directed against me, my relationships, ministry attempt, finances, and the work of my hands. And I break them by the power and authority of the risen Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus, I stand in the power of the Lord Father Almighty."

Standing in the power of the Lord? What a joke.

He was kneeling in the dungeon of hell spawn he tried to slay in the name of God, who had quickly abandoned him.

No. God had not abandoned him. His courage and faith were being tested. God would deliver him.

"To end all demonic interaction, interchange and communications between spirits sent against me. Lord, send them directly to Jesus Christ for him to deal with as he pleases. Lord, I ask for forgiveness and renounce all negative inner promises that I have made with the enemy. I pray that Jesus Christ releases me from these vows and from any bondage they may have held in me.

"I request the shed blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of the Almighty God, over every aspect of my life for my protection. Amen.”

Flint crossed himself and stood up, facing the wall across from the door.

He felt...better somehow. Certainly a great deal braver. He had no idea what the prayer would accomplish. But God would protect him, He had to.

God could break his jail with a mighty earthquake as He did for Peter during his ministries. Or He could seal the mouths of the vampyrs, so like the lions King David was tossed to. Or His solution could be a number of other things.

Flint simply needed faith.

He closed his eyes, basking in the invisible light of the Lord cutting through the unholy darkness.

A low rumbling sound met his ears, an oddly soothing noise. After a moment of thought, he recognized it as a purr.

How had a cat gotten in here? Did vampyrs keep micers? There were more than enough rodents in the place to sustain a one.

The purring grew louder. Flint turned around slowly, opening his eyes.

A cat would be a welcome sight.

Two pairs of gleaming eyes peered out of the shadows at him, not belonging to any feline.

The vampyrs had entered his prison while was lost in prayer.

Flint backed against the filthy stone wall, ignoring the cobwebs tangling in his hair.

As the vampyrs lazily cornered him, he realized the purring was coming from their own throats.

Truly surreal, two vampyrs ready to pounce on their prey, purring up a storm out of delight from their game.

Flint's victim, Ambrose, appeared eerily human. Its face seemed full of life, framed with locks of golden hair and painted with light blush. But its mutilated chest betrayed the deception.

Through its gaping wound, Flint could see the monster's half healed heart, slowly beating despite its dreadful condition, a gash revealing its chambers, but no barriers keeping the four separate.

Stolen blood still circulated through the veins and arteries, wildly misplaced in where in Ambrose's body it meant to travel to. Most poured forth from its body, increasing its hunger with every passing moment.

"So, that's it," Ambrose drawled to its companion, still purring. "I think I prefered it when it was keeling."

It effortlessly shoved Flint down by his shoulders. His bloodied knees blossomed black and blue under his jeans.

Ambrose gripped Flint's jaw with its claws, forcing him to look in its pale reflective eyes.

"So...you're the damned human who fancied itself a vampyr hunter hmm? A bit pathetic, really. I doubt you could have killed me, even if August hadn't woken."

"Your heart says differently," Flint retorted.

Ambrose grinned, showing off its fangs, akin to perfectly broken shards of porcelain, buried deep within its gums.

"Your fate is our decision, and I'm afraid things aren't looking up for you."

"I say we kill it," August hissed.

"Straight out?" Ambrose pouted. "That's a bit easy."

"It tried to murder you, Ambrose. Be reasonable. Its companions know where it is, they'll come looking. We need to prepare ourselves for the possibility of the church finding us. And we cannot risk it escaping to rat us out more thoroughly."

"No one knows where I am," Flint said recklessly, drunk on God's supposed protection. "I went off alone."

"And why should we believe that?" August asked.

"I didn't want to face the humiliation of failure, so I didn't tell anyone. You should just let me go, I'm not worth anything to you. It will only cause you trouble if you kill me."

"But, by your own admission, no one knows we have you."

"And we can always use more fresh blood," Ambrose added, its claws still gripping Flint's face. "Especially after you wasted so much of mine. Oh, but don't worry." Its grin grew with delight. "I'll let you drink mine in return."

Flint's heart quickened its pace, begging Flint to run. He yanked his head back, his skin tearing as he escaped Ambrose's clawed vice, warm blood dripping down his neck.

Ambrose inhaled sharply through its nose, panting slightly, taking in the delicious smell of Flint's blood.

"Oh, so that scares you, does it?" Ambrose breathed.

Flint stood up, backing further into the corner.

"Fuck off. You are not turning me. No way in hell am I going along with that."

"No one asked you to go along with it," August said pointedly. It glanced at Ambrose, an amused expression on its ashen face. "And you said I was the sadistic one."

Ambrose didn't answer, its eyes transfixed on Flint's shaking form. It leaned in and gently ran its tongue over the wounds gouging Flint's jaw.

Flint pulled back sharply, pushing himself further into the corner.

Ambrose descended on him, while August hung back, allowing its companion the perverse fun.

Oh, how Flint loathed the sound of purring. It gave off every impression of comfort, even while coming from the throat of a horrific enemy, relishing the pleasure of the hunt.

Ambrose nuzzled its freezing cheek against Flint's, its breath against his ear. It pressed forward, allowing the chill blood spurting from his heart to coat Flint's clothing.

"You're so warm," it whispered. "I adore that about humans."

Flint shivered.

Ambrose pressed its clammy lips to Flint's throat, just below his ear. Then it withdrew, before planting another kiss just below the last.

"Get off of me." Flint shoved Ambrose's shoulders with all his might, but hardly dislodged his assailant by an inch.

Ambrose ran its tongue over Flint's carotid artery, before pulling back and flicking it a few times, bringing it closer to the surface.

Flint silently begged for salvation. Why wouldn't God stop his tormentors?

Flint had always been a good Christian. He went to church every Sunday morning. He donated to charity and volunteered to serve his community. He was baptized.

He had never given God any reason to turn away from him.

But, as the horrid demon he was meant to have slain bared its fangs to his throat, he knew He must have.

Taglist @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @mx-arsenic @anomalys-taxonomy @devourerofcheesecake @whumpsday @echo-goes-aaa @itsmyworld98

If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list please tell me.

#Whump #Whumper #Whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #Vampire whump #Vampire whumper #Human whumpee #Nonhuman whumper #Creative writing #Whumpblr

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best-underrated-anime · 6 months

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Best Underrated Anime Group K Round 1: #K3 vs #K6

#K3: Space boy crashes onto Earth, learns about living

In the distant future, a majority of humans have left the Earth, and the Galactic Alliance of Humanity is founded to ensure the prosperity of mankind. However, a significant threat arises in the form of creatures called Hideauze, resulting in an interstellar war to prevent humanity’s extinction. Armed with Chamber, an autonomous robot, 16-year-old lieutenant Ledo joins the battle against them, but he loses control during battle and is cast out to the far reaches of space, crash-landing on a waterlogged Earth.

On the blue planet, Gargantia—a large fleet of scavenger ships—comes across Chamber and retrieves it from the ocean, thinking they have salvaged something of value. Mistaking their actions for hostility, Ledo sneaks aboard and takes a young messenger girl named Amy hostage, only to realize that the residents of Gargantia are not as dangerous as he had believed. Faced with uncertainty, and unable to communicate with his comrades in space, Ledo attempts to get his bearings and acclimate to a new lifestyle. But his peaceful days are about to be short-lived, as there is more to this ocean-covered planet than meets the eye.

#K6: Slice of life in the middle of nowhere

Hotaru Ichijou's lifestyle completely changes when she leaves Tokyo and moves with her family to the isolated Asahigaoka village. Her new school has only five students including herself, all sharing a single classroom regardless of grade level. There are no convenience stores in the area, and it can take up to two hours for a bus to arrive.

Nevertheless, Hotaru finds herself captivated by the countryside's charm thanks to her four unique schoolmates with whom she quickly forms a genuine bond. The most colorful of them is Renge Miyauchi, a first-grader who is often perceptive despite her age. However, no less intriguing are the three Koshigaya siblings: the quiet oldest brother Suguru, the petite older sister Komari, and the prankish youngest sister Natsumi.

Having someone from the city join their cheerful little group enlivens the ordinary days in Asahigaoka. Not only does Hotaru bring firsthand knowledge from the alluring outside world, but her fresh outlook on life welcomes a blossom of change to their usual routine.

Titles, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#K3: Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet (Suisei no Galgantia)

youtube

Propaganda:

I believe that this show should be considered for the running because of what it accomplishes with the character development in the standard 13 episodes. It lays out the uncertainties of life and situations while also having that exist in the backdrop of a massive conflict that would make this seem miniscule. The main character is also exposed to new ideas and concepts that are alien to him and are initially inconceivable, such as empathy and compassion for others. In other words, it is him becoming ‘human’ again. There are also certain aspects of creativity such as how the worldbuilding functions on a world that is all water and how the characters interact with the world around them via various means. For the time it was released, it was a very unique anime with interesting takes that was overshadowed by some of the bigger ones at the time (Attack on Titan, Kill la Kill, Devil Part-Timer).

Trigger Warnings:

At one point, the main male lead says something akin to ‘why isn’t he dead’ concerning a chronically ill child (eugenics). The main male lead is 16 at the time of the show, and the characters he interacts with the most are around the same age. Various things, which can be considered as child abuse, happen to them. The show also has sequences with flashing lights.

#K6: Non Non Biyori

youtube

Propaganda:

Non Non Biyori is a show that, at first glance, seems to be little more than a standard Iyashikei affair with above average background art and below average character writing. What the show lacks in surface-level complexity, however, it makes up for with its delivery of capital T Themes.

The first season serves as a foundation, where it creates a strong sense of place through gorgeously rendered background art. We’re frequently given long, wide-angle shots of the background as characters walk through going about their business. The characters, though simply written, are given strong interactions with each other in order to grant a better understanding of the sense of community within the town. This serves to establish the town itself as the single most important element of the show, allowing the themes to blossom come season two, where we can better see the underlying melancholy behind the show’s lighthearted tone.

Non Non Biyori is ultimately a show about good times that can never last. The town they live in and the lifestyle it represents is dying, and the kids will grow up someday and will probably leave in search of better opportunities, with the possibility that they will never return to their hometown. Even in the short term, the age gap between the characters means that high school and eventually college will separate them, and though they’ll likely remain friends things will have irreversibly changed. Though the threat of change looms over the narrative, importantly, it’s not something that’s ever lingered on for too long, and when it is, it’s delivered with a “less is more” mentality, where we’re given only enough information to infer how the characters are feeling ourselves without it needing to be explicitly stated. This approach delivers Non Non Biyori’s central message: that even though change is inevitable and all good things come to an end, the single best thing a person can do is enjoy the good while it lasts.

Trigger Warnings: None.

If you’re reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #animated show #group stage #group stage round 1 #tournament polls #group k #gargantia on the verdurous planet #suisei no gargantia #non non biyori #suisei no galgantia

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loveiatar · 2 months

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big muse infodump while i work on individual muse pages

abdirak

the alpha muse on this blog (i'm so sorry). we all know and love him. my special boy.

at a young age he was kidnapped by a hag and whisked away to the feywild, where his magic was nursed until he was 'ripe' enough to eat. abdirak is a wild magic sorcerer by birth.

he has the feylost background and the feytouched feat. because he spent such a significant portion of his life in the feywild, his eyes are an unnatural silvery-blue color, and his ears are slightly pointed. he has a naturally high charisma, and people often find themselves charmed by him, since he was raised by the fey. he returned to the material plane sometime after the events of the campaign the wild beyond the witchlight, and has ties in with one of the main plotlines. he was freed by the witch queen, zybilna.

time passes differently in the feywild. by the time abdirak returned to faerun, he was a young man. however, his human family had already died of old age. devastated, abdirak wandered for a long, long time.

he was found by a follower of loviatar, who took him in. she helped him release some of his pain through scourging, which awakened something in him. abdirak took a week-long pilgrimage with the follower to one of loviatar's few shrines, where loviatar touched his mind and claimed him as a cleric.

ever since then, abdirak has been one of her most beloved followers. not her chosen, but certainly someone who has a special relationship with her, given that he is able to give her blessing to those who perform well enough.

haarlep

haarlep was initially a member of mephistopheles' court. and by member, i mean they were mephistopheles' incubus before they were ever raphael's.

they aren't a devil or a demon, they're just a fiend. they original from the abyss and were taken captive during the blood war, several hundred years before being given to raphael.

they were spoiled in the way a lapdog is spoiled. they weren't surprised when they were handed off like nothing, but they were disappointed.

especially because raphael had them change their name and appearance.

haarlep does pretty much everything they can to scorn raphael at every corner. but they do have a soft spot for their brat. :)

dirk

dirk is a 322 year old eladrin beastmaster ranger.

he was a denizen of the feywild. once.

before he was dirk, he was faerunduil inawynn, the youngest son of house inawynn. the inawynn house are the guardians of the queen of the feywild, zybilna - the witch queen's rangers.

dirk was nonfatally injured during one of his patrols, though his leg was cursed to never heal. instead of acting like a normal parent, his father, who only viewed his offspring as disposable weapons, banished dirk to the material plane some 200+ years before the events of baldur's gate 3. dirk has been wandering faerun for that entire time, never settling down.

at some point, around 5 or so years pre-canon, dirk met millie while taking a stop in baldur's gate. millie stuck around and didn't stop bothering him, so dirk just gave up trying to dissuade them to leave him alone.

eventually, the two of them fell in love and became permanent travelling partners. they're very pda in camp. everyone hates them.

they're recruitable by the ruins by the nautiloid crash site, where dirk will be helping millie off of the ground. they will also be immediately suspicious of the player and any companions.

you can get into a polyamorous relationship with them. poly rep in camp, please.

millie

millie is a 104 year old cambion college of valor bard.

they are the only heir of the archdevil valec, who is asmodeus' head torturer. as a result, they were expected to take over their father's position.

however, their human blood ran stronger than their devil blood, and they plotted to escape and eventually did so. as punishment, the moment they appeared in the material plane, a failsafe that their father had enacted years ago triggered - a brand on their chest locked away all of their devil abilities, essentially removing all inherent cambion magic besides some weaker spells that most tieflings possess.

as a result, millie was forced to learn from the ground up. they became a bard, at first to relearn magic, but they grew a deep love for the craft.

for years they performed in baldur's gate, until they met dirk, a brooding eladrin. they pestered him nonstop. and then they fell in love and became travelling partners.

they disguise themself as a mephistopheles tiefling, their wings remain hidden and glamoured away.

deyemon

deyemon is a 19 year old human monster slayer ranger.

he is a member of a group of gur nomads, the starblade family, who are looked over by a literal star of an aasimar, known as the starblade.

he's been through some SHIT, man. he has a glass eye and a metal prosthetic arm crafted by an artificer.

you can recruit him in the druid grove, where he's recovering from his fall from the nautiloid.

mercutio

mercutio is a 25 year old half-high elf reborn phantom rogue. that's a mouthful.

he grew up on the streets of baldur's gate. at age 16, he was murdered in a wrong place, wrong time situation. his death was overlooked, since nobody would miss him.

however, he came back to life with no memories of what had happened to him. he walks the line between life and death. he does, however, have occasional flashbacks to the face of a white-haired man crawling the alleyways, luring away his friends at the dead of night...

mercutio can be found by the ruined docks just on the beach outside of the crash site, where he's getting his bearings. he will be very sympathetic towards a durge who shares the amnesia, but otherwise he will threaten a tav who approaches him.

durge

durge is a 32 year old half-drow half-tiefling path of the beast barbarian.

durge, contrary to popular belief, is NOT my dark urge. he is a bhaalspawn, but not the bhaalspawn.

he exists in my descent into avernus campaign as the chosen of bhaal. in the context of bg3, he is not a chosen and is instead the canon dark urge's friendly rival and can be an ally.

durge has two hands, and he's dating a banite (chosen of bane in-campaign), zenith ganthar, a shadar-kai cleric of bane, and a myrkulite (chosen of myrkul in-campaign), desdemona ventrue, a vampire half high-elf oathbreaker paladin/shadow sorcerer.

#out of character.#abdirak // about.#haarlep // about.#dirk // about.#millie // about.#deyemon // about.#mercutio // about.#durge // about.

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