#the proud thin dying

[words-and-coffee]

Long ago, among other lies they were taught that silence was bravery.

Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit: The Proud Thin Dying

#Charles Bukowski #Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit #quote #quotes #poetry #The Proud Thin Dying #poetry excerpt #poetry fragments

[schadenfreudich]

Our moustache if very slowly gaining hair and i don't know if those hairs are just too thin to have color or if we are going more blond hairs for some reason. Could be both, probably both. More so thin but still, probably some blond hairs.

#really funny that i have no idea who our closest relative with blond hair is #because i know we have at least one cousin with blond hair but all our aunts were old enough to have definitely dyed their hair #and i don't know our grandparents natural haircolors #this is barely even relevant. i am just so fascinated by the fact that both our parents have dark hair and we have dark hair #but our facial hair for some reason has some very blond strands. not even anything in between. just black and then blond #also very proud of the super thin moustache we have had for over a year before we started t. but it got a little thicker #-franz

[gender-euphowrya]

can someone explain why youtube recommends bl*ir white terf shit videos to me as a ''you might also like this'' thing when i don't even watch videos about trans Anything at all

like it can't even be a matter of it confusing pro-trans and anti-trans videos because i only watch videos about other topics

so why does it think i want to see a traitor sucking up to right wingers and throwing her own community under the bus for e-clout when none of the content i watch even remotely matches that

#anyway the thumbnail was straight up some random tiktoker's top surgery and like #very cool of you to make money off of belittling random strangers' bodies without their knowledge or consent ms white #with just a sprinkle of fatphobia in there because of course you didn't pick a thin transmasc to pick on #and Of Course you picked someone with dyed hair. because your hair's a natural color so #if you convince the bigots that they should only pick on brightly colored trannies maybe they'll leave you alone Or So You Think #they'll still chase you out of bathrooms you know #no matter which one you go in. and you're encouraging them. well done blair. so proud of you. #anyway i'm not saying youtube recommends terf garbo to people on purpose but Youtube Recommends Terf Garbo To People On Purpose

[hellish-sunsets]

Lucifer red string of fate soulmate au? Like, maybe he and Lilith originally got together despite the strings because Lucifers was Grey or something at the time; but eventually his turns bright red because turns out his soulmate was mortal and is now a sinner so they can actually be together? I think it would be cute since he's so depressed with Lilith leaving him; now he has the sparkle of hope that he can find the missing piece to his puzzle 😊 if you do end up writing this request could it be super fluffy??? (Also bonus points if Sinner Reader is not only shorter then him but also super kind hearted and sweet!)

I'm a sucker for soulmate AU's! This one got a bit away from me, I'll probably have to make a part two, but for now here's what I got!

Gray Dyed Red

Word Count: 1,912

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

The strings existed since the beginning of… well, existence. Every being had one tied to their middle finger, or the closest they had to one for the more animalistic ones. No one could see them but the owner of the string, thin things that could never tangle or be broken, either red or gray. And at the end of that string was supposed to be your soulmate. Well, as long as it was red. 

Lucifer’s had always been gray. 

And yeah, it bothered him at first, but he was quick to push aside and keep himself busy with creating with the other angels. He would lose himself in his work. But then, none of his ideas were good enough. They were too… different. He just wanted to make something he could be proud of. 

He was only allowed to watch when Adam and Lillith were made. 

Watching wasn’t as much fun, but he could still keep himself distracted. He smiled down at them as they started their lives on the earth they were given. 

Then they fell apart. He didn’t understand why. Surely the first man and woman would be soulmates, right? But no, they didn’t fit well at all. They’re relationship was a constant fight of who was in charge. He decided he had to help somehow, and in the process fell in love with Lillith. She told him her string was gray, and he thought that maybe they could make it work. They loved and supported each other! What did it matter if they weren’t soulmates?

Even after their fall to hell, they spent thousands of years in each other's arms. 

Then she left.

No word, no note, just an empty bed and an empty castle. 

And he knew he was falling apart, shunning the rest of the world, not even reaching out to Charlie anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted a distraction, something to put his mind on that wasn’t his own failures. 

The gray string of his was just a reminder that there was no one for him, not even the woman he gave all his existence to. 

But it was strange. All these thousands of years, it had never changed color before. 

He didn’t even notice at first, couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it happened. He was in bed, had probably been there far too long. He physically couldn’t sleep anymore, so he needed to distract himself with something else. Maybe he could make an actually good rubber duck today. He should probably shower first, or clean himself in some way. Showers were faster so they usually won out. Though, they didn’t usually end up being faster once he gets in there. 

Whatever, he just needed to get up, right?

With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, stretching his arms over his head. He avoided staring at the empty side of the bed, shoving the covers off to head for the bathroom, the wood floors cold against his feet. 

He yawned as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror. That’s when he saw it, a glint of red. He frowned and lowered his hand to stare, wondering what he had seen. It couldn’t have been his eyes, the shade wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t his cheeks. He went to scratch his chin but froze with his hand halfway up. 

The string was red, deep and bright and unlike anything he had seen before. He looked down at his hand with wide eyes, not quite comprehending what it meant, but for some reason his heart seemed to flip in his chest. That was strange…

So… he had a soulmate now? How? When? Were they just made, or perhaps they were born somewhere? Were they from Earth? Heaven? Hell? Could he find them now? Maybe it turned because they just entered hell. But then, how good of a person could they be if they were down here with the sinners, perhaps a sinner themself? Was that even the type of person he wanted to interact with? But he had seen so many find their soulmates on the other end of their string and, good person or not, they were always perfect for eachother.

His heart does another flip in his chest.

He forces himself to undress and get in the shower, but his mind kept racing, going over the same questions over and over again.

His shower was much shorter than usual. He wanted to get out as soon as possible.

It had been a very long time since he bothered walking or flying through the city. He didn’t much like the sights or the people. Lilith was the one who dealt with them. Every single one of those sinners was just a reminder of what he had done, a never ending punishment. He preferred avoiding it all together. The last thing he ever wanted was to see how his gift of free will was abused by so many.

But that didn’t matter now. As much as he hated the people and the crowds, he was going to follow this stupid string until he found it’s end. 

—-------------------------

A few days passed. 

Pentagram city couldn’t be that big, and yet here he was, still searching. He did rest. Occasionally. Sometimes. Probably not enough. The only reason he did rest as much as he did was… well, he wanted to be at his best when he did finally find the end of his string. He wanted to make a good impression!

He narrowed it down to the edge of the city, a more rundown section where new sinners tended to congregate.

So they had to be new to hell. That's why his string suddenly changed color. They must have been a human who recently died and manifested here. He… wasn’t sure how he felt about it. What if she was just as awful as every other sinner? He feared that the most, that he was destined for some terrible person, that he didn’t deserve someone actually nice…

His string went straight down to an alley below. He could avoid the crowd, thank God. He swept down into the alley, feet landing with a quiet clack against the cracked concrete. He withdrew his wings, glancing around his filthy surroundings with a scowl of disgust. Surely there wasn’t anyone lounging in the muck here, right. But no, there was someone here, a sinner in tattered clothes, standing with their back pressed against the brick wall, head bowed as they took deep breaths, like they were calming themself down from something. 

A frown tugged at his lips. He glanced down at his hand, eyes tracing the vibrant red string towards this sinner, the other end tied around their finger.

It was them. 

He wasn’t entirely sure when he started walking towards them, just knew when his hand clasped around theirs. They jumped, trying to pull away at the sudden contact until their eyes met. They almost immediately relaxed, eyes widening with understanding as they gazed down at their clasped hands, then back up into his eyes. It was odd. No one had looked up at him since Charlie was still young.

He was usually better with words. They would normally come so easily to him, even if they may not always be the best or a bit rambling. But for once in his life, he wasn't sure what to say.

“Hi.” They said, smiling up at him ever so sweetly.

“Hey.” He smiled back, a flush rising in his cheeks. “What, um, brings you… here.” He motioned vaguely to the filthy alley with a slight frown, but the smile returned when he looked down at them.

“Ah, you know, just trying to collect myself and not freak out.” They said with her cheery voice, chuckling a little at themself. “I, uh, I never really thought I'd end up down here. I guess I thought sometimes I'd end up in hell, but honestly I just didn't think about it. But it's okay! I think I get it now.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion, but that giddy smile never did leave his face. “What do you mean? You know why you’re down here?”

They nodded.

“Yep! I'm here to be with you! That must be it!”

Warmth didn’t bloom in his chest like he's felt in other circumstances. No, it was more like being hit by a freight train face first. In an instant he had them in his arms, savoring their surprised giggle as he squeezed them tight, burying his face in their hair. They happily hugged back. 

It could have been only a moment, it could have been hours, but he didn’t care. He didn’t dare let them go until he was sure this wasn't some sort of trick or dream. Only when he was satisfied did he pull away, eyes looking over them intently, committing every contour of their face to memory, every scratch, every scar, those sparkling eyes, that smile sweeter than apple pie. Shit, they really were perfect for him, weren't they? They could confess to murder and he would forgive them instantly.

“My name's Y/N, by the way.” 

Even their name was perfect.

“Lucifer.”

“Like the devil Lucifer?” They didn't even look that perturbed, just curious. He chuckled and gave a little bow. 

“The one and only. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

‐—-------------------

It was strange, having someone in his quarters again, sitting in bed with the sound of the shower running in the back. It felt… right. It was proper he wasn’t alone anymore. How things were meant to be. Nice.

He sat up straighter when he heard the shower turn off. A few long minutes passed before she came out, dressed in a simple white sundress he provided. He wasn’t very good at making clothes, he preferred creating animals and things similar, but at the very least it looked like it fit, accentuating her sweet smile. 

He could feel his cheeks heating up, but he ignored it in favor of exaggerating the smile she brought to his face.

She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, running her fingers through the damp strands of her hair.

“Well…” She started, but wasn't really sure what to say, voice drifting off. She stared at her feet, unsure what else to do. 

He tilted his head to the side, just watching her for a moment. He reached out for her, hesitating for a moment before cupping her cheek, guiding her head to turn towards him. He just… he needed to see her eyes again. He needed to be sure she's real and in front of him and this wasn't some sort of trick. 

She smiled at him and leaned into his hand. His heart melted.

“I didn't think I'd ever find my soulmate.” She admitted in a whisper. “My string was always gray before, so I thought…” She trailed off and shrugged. He nodded his understanding.

“Yeah, me too. ‘Sorta assumed I just didn't have one since I wasn't human. I think it's more common for demons and angels to have gray strings.” His brows furrowed in thought, but whatever was running through his mind vanished as she turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand.

“... what do we do now?” She asked.

He gulped and shook his head, gathering his thoughts.

“I suppose I should introduce you to my daughter.”

#reader insert #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel reader insert #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #gray dyed red #soulmate au #hazbin hotel soulmate au

[phfenomena]

❝you’re my best friend. ❞ || tom blyth x f!reader

request- Could you do something for Tom based off you are in love by Taylor Swift??

A/N- girl i will do that and MOREEE

| WARNINGS- eating, mentions of dying, talk of ants being inside of toms underwear

tom decided it was a brilliant idea to go on a ‘nature walk’ after wrapping up all of his promos, but it felt more like a trek up mt. everest in 100° heat to you. tom had been one of your closest friends for a little over three years. you met one december afternoon after he had moved to brooklyn. you had accidentally dumped your entire cup of coffee onto his nice white shirt, an incident he still hasn’t let you forget.

you studied the profile of tom from behind of him, the way his muscles flexed when gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, the way he stops abruptly to try and make you run into him, and the way he just looks so damn perfect. the thin and airy blanket of sunlight carefully draped over him, making him look like an angel to you. a being sent down from heaven just for you to secretly dissect with your eyes.

you pick up you pace to walk side by side with him, you always liked looking at face, anyway. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were leading me deep into the woods to murder me. why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” you joke and desperately want him to smile at you. his lips curl up and he says “i’m not going to murder you, love. but if you trip and die then that’s your fault. i had no play in that.” he throws his hands up, acting innocent.

“you wouldn’t try to catch me? like a true gentleman? i thought all british guys were gentleman.” you say feigning disappointment. he throws his back and chuckles into the sky. “if i try to catch you and we both go down then you just killed both of us for no reason. better that i live on to tell the tale of your demise.” you narrow your eyes at him and playfully push him. your shoulders brush as you’re walking and you feel like you’re on fire. no proof, one touch. but you felt enough.

“how much longer do we have? we’ve been walking for hours, my legs are about to give out from under me.” you try your hardest to channel your inner karen to truthfully sale your complaining. “we’ve been walking for twenty minutes, and if you need to i can always give you a piggy back ride.” he says with that oh-so-smug smirk, the blood rushes to your cheeks. you hang your head and laugh, trying your best to hide the way you can’t breathe.

he quickly runs ahead of you and stops, signaling for you to stop as well. “i found this place a few months ago, and i just thought you had to see it in person.” he pushes away a wall of branches that meet the tall grass, and reveals a beautiful meadow with a lake nestled in between some trees. you mouth drops as you walk forward. “oh my god, tom. it’s gorgeous.” you mutter as you carefully tread onto the meadow. “yeah, it is.” he whispers, but he’s not looking at the meadow.

he squats down and drops his backpack, pulling out a white blanket you recognized from him linen closet, and an array of snacks and drinks that you both love. you bite your lip to keep from smiling. “a picnic, tom? how sweet of you.” you say sitting down on the blanket and waving your hair out of your face. he takes a seat next to you and just looks at you. “what, do i have something on my face?” “yeah a massive spider right there.” he says and pokes your forehead causing you to fall to the side laughing.

he pulls two small plates out of his bag and hands one to you. “for you, madam.” he says as posh as possible. “why thank you, kind sir.” you reply in your worst british accent you could muster. you both giggle and load your plates up. tom talks aimlessly about what he’s auditioning for and what he thinks he’d like to do, you just nod pretending to understand what he’s talking about. you’re just proud of him for being himself. “yeah, more blond roles! we need the blond hair to make a comeback, even the tiktok girlies say so” you could barley finish your sentence without laughing, knowing how much tom hated the blond.

“or maybe another cowboy thing, i really liked that one.” you shyly admit, averting your eyes back to the beautiful scenery. “why did you like it so much? you’re like obsessed with ‘billy the kid’.” he says laughing and popping another grape into his mouth. you hum and bring your gaze back to him. “no reason, i just love cowboys. you were really working it, don’t get me wrong. but daniel as jesse was just-“ you finish your sentence with a chefs kiss and a giggle. “i’m totally telling him you said that.” your hands cover your face “don’t you dare! he has a girlfriend! he just looks really good as an evil cowboy.” your smile is plastered across your face so hard your cheeks hurt. tom mirrors your expression.

you two sit in comfortable silence just listening to the birds sing their ballads, and the way the wind makes the trees play their own melody. you’ve never felt happier and tom just looks so content. you can hear it in the silence.

as you two, finally, round the corner back to your car you throw your hands up. “freedom at last! no more walking for me!” you squeal and run towards your car, waiting for tom to unlock it. “you know, you could just get your own car instead of using mine whenever you can’t take your bike somewhere.” he laughs while he’s putting away the remnants of your meal in the backseat. “why would i need to buy my own car when i have you? plus you love my bike.” he points out as he’s settling into the drivers seat. the setting sun has reached the horizon, and darkness is taking over the beautiful forest you were just in. you nod as you’re connecting your phone to the bluetooth and shuffle taylor swift for the hour car ride home.

the warm car and toms soft humming pushes you into a calm and tired state. a small smile still glued to your face. you just feel so warm and relaxed, it’s how you always feel with tom. you close your eyes and begin to drift off. tom looks at your empty hand resting on the middle console, and slides his own over yours. your heart beats faster than you can count but you still feign sleep. you can feel it on the way home.

after pretending to be woke up by tom you both head inside of his apartment and drop your bags by the door. you kick your shoes off and collapse onto his couch, groaning. “never make me go on a hike with you again, my entire body hurts.” you complain before he laughs and sits down next to you. “i’m sure you’ll survive. i also have atleast three more planned but i’ll let you recover.” he pats your back and plays a random show, but it acts more like background noise.

“fuck, i have to get home it’s already so late.” you tiredly stand up and stretch, tom puts a hand on your back and whispers “why don’t you just stay the night? it’s too late to driving and you’re tired.” you weigh the choices in your head and you know logically it’s safer to just stay. you nod and sit back down, pulling the blanket that previously draped over both of you back to its original spot. “sounds fine to me, your couch feels like clouds anyway.” tom nervously taps his fingers against his knee and mutters out- “we can sleep in my bed, if you want. you don’t have to, i just thought it’d be more comfortable. it’s a rather small couch.” you’re almost too tired to not freak out over the thought of being in a bed with tom. key word- almost.

your eyes are wide and your face is hot. you manage to stutter out a “yeah, that’s cool.” he smiles and goes to grab extra blankets for the bed, after he turns the corner you cover your face and kick your feet like a schoolgirl. he’s turns the corner right after you calm down and holds out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for you. “i’m gonna go get changed, i think a colony of ants found home in my underwear from our picnic.” you almost wheeze at his comment and throw your head back. “lucky ants, they are.” you yell after he closes his bedroom door.

you settle into his bed and notice how everything smells like him. you’re not going to sleep a wink tonight. he turns his main lamp off and the room is dimly lit by a small night light plugged into the wall. he’s clad in just a tank top and boxers. you felt that you died a little bit on the inside after seeing him, and more of your died at the thought of laying next to him. he offers a small goodnight and rolls over so his back is facing you. you stare at his ceiling and try to fight the massive shit-eating grin that wants to come out.

you laid there for twenty minutes listening to his breathing before he turns over and faces you, still awake. “you’re my best friend, you know? i’ve never loved being around someone more. jus’ make everything feel so easy.” he whispers into the night, and you knew what it was. he is in love. you turn on your side to face him and smile wide. “thank you, tom. i’d say you’re my best friend as well but i don’t think rachel would like that, but just between us. you’re my best friend, and there’s no one else i’d follow blindly into the woods.” you whisper back, all nerves being forgotten. you can barley see his smiling face in the light, but it warms your heart. you stare into his eyes, wanting to flip back over and ignore the tension you feel. his eyes dart between your lips and your eyes, as if silently asking for permission.

you lightly nod and he sits up slightly and meshes your lips together. it was short and sweet and it leaves you feeling giddy. you grab the back of his neck and pull him back in, pouring your heart out into the kiss. he falls towards you, laying on top of you. he pulls away and cups the side of your face with his hand. you both snap out of the spell you were in and start laughing, hysterically. “i’ve been in love with you since i like met you, tom! daniel’s not the reason i love watching ‘billy the kid’ so much, i love it because you look so fucking good in it.” you confess, still laughing.

his head hangs into the crook of your neck as he laughs. “i know! i’ve been desperately in love with you as well, rachel and josh have been hyping me up for months to do that. they’re gonna be so proud of us.” you laugh with him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“we’re so stupid. i should’ve just made a move the first day i met you.” you say just above a whisper. “when you spilled your coffee all over me then tried to wipe it off with napkins?” you shove him off and turn your back to him.

“stop bringing that up!” “you brought it up first!”

#billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fluff #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #william bonney smut #william bonney fluff #william bonney x reader #william bonney #tom blyth x reader fluff

[devildomsoup]

Silly little headcanons #1

Lucifer

Definitely has a favourite pen and everyone dreads the day he will have to change it.

He once shrunk Cerberus and carried him around in a handbag because he had to go to the vet.

Joint pains (no, I will not elaborate)

Has a picture in his wallet of his brothers and MC. Luke is also there for some reason.

Mammon

Will turn off the lights and walk out of his room. Walks back a few moments later to check if he remembered to turn the lights off.

Boops his younger brothers on the nose when he says goodnight.

Considered dying his hair piss yellow at some point.

He swears that Luke is just an annoying little chihuahua that he doesn't care about. But the pictures of him accompanying Luke to the cinema suggest otherwise.

Leviathan

He forgets to throw out socks with holes in them. So sometimes he will just walk around with socks that are barely holding on.

Has a controller that only MC is allowed to use. He will not even use it himself.

Can touch his nose with his tongue

Accidentally called his brothers "Ruri" on multiple occasions.

Satan

Has an album on his phone with pictures of him and Lucifer. Will deny it if you ask him.

Once cursed the entirety of Lucifer's record collection. The curse in question made it so the only song on any of the records was Baby Shark.

When he wants MC's attention he will go "pspspsps."

Satan has put on his blue jacket normally a grand total of 6 times.

Asmodeus

Will wear heels with just about anything. Yes, that includes sweatpants.

A lesser demon once found out about MC's deepest insecurity and started using it to insult them. Asmodeus found out and sent the demon flying through a wall.

He either sneezes like a cat or like an old man. There is no in-between.

He reminds everyone in HoL to drink water and will make sure they do so one way or another.

Beelzebub

Not allowed to be alone in RAD's art supply room. He will eat the paint if left unattended.

He only had 4 shirts until Asmodeus forced him to get more.

Takes Luke with him around RAD when Simeon can't. Also scared of any demon that looks at Luke the wrong way.

He has carried every single one of his brothers to bed more than once. Lucifer is no exception.

Belphegor

Follows the cat rule. If it fits I sits.

Don't tell anyone but his favourite blanket is the jackets of his older brothers.

Will sometimes force people to take a nap with him. Does someone look tired boom it's nap time.

Pops his back really loudly whenever he wakes up

Simeon

Will show anyone and I mean anyone pictures of Luke like a proud father.

Got scammed once and now he's afraid of opening links.

He once accompanied Beel to a workout and ended up destroying a punching bag.

Do not under any circumstances let him be alone in the candle section of a store. Purgatory Hall already has a closet full of them.

Raphael

Tried to kill a fly with one of his spears.

When asked if he wanted anything special for his birthday he requested a cake made by Solomon.

Enjoys watching butterflies flutter around. He will stand absolutely still if one lands on him and stay like that until the butterfly leaves again.

Wins every staring contest.

Luke

Has gotten lost in stores, parks and RAD so many times that he now has a bracelet with the contact info of Simeon and Barbatos. Even though he has his own D.D.D.

Mimics Simeon and Raphael to appear like a mature angel.

He will never admit it but he makes drawings for the brothers.

Luke and MC have a secret handshake.

Solomon

Immune to the pain of stepping on a lego.

Once accidentally turned himself into a rat and nearly got murdered by Barbatos.

Enjoys watching romcoms with MC.

Can and will randomly appear in MC's room tell them a horrible joke and then vanish into thin air.

Thirteen

She has the most random things in her pocket. Watch her pull out a porcelain frog from one of her pockets.

She had a buzz cut at some point.

Will drag you out of bed in the middle of the night so you can test her new inventions.

Loves playing with people's hair. It doesn't matter what texture or length it is. Just let her play with it.

Diavolo

Has a rubber duck collection.

Was introduced to vocaloid and now he won't stop singing World is Mine.

Gives the best hugs. 10/10 would hug again.

Buys Barbatos flowers every week to show his appreciation.

Barbatos

Knows how to tap dance.

Let's MC call him Barbie.

He receives small trinkets from the Little Ds.

Will cradle MC like a little baby when he is stressed or just missed them.

Mephistopheles

He enjoys soup.

He says he hates hugs. But in reality, he might even shed a few tears if you hug him.

A master of building card houses.

Once took care of a bat until it was healthy enough to live on its own.

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me mammon #obey me mammon headcanons #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan headcanons #obey me satan #obey me satan headcanons #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus headcanons #obey me beelzebub #obey me beelzebub headcanons #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor headcanons #obey me hcs #obey me simeon #obey me simeon headcanons #obey me raphael #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me solomon headcanons #obey me thirteen #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo headcanons #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos headcanons #obey me mephistopheles

[lowtaperfeyd]

Jessica and atreides!reader angst? (Mother and daughter angst then yn slowly turns into evil which jessica slowly realise the pattern was repeating)

Metamorphosis

Lady Jessica x Daughter!reader

(Not beta read, we die like Feyd-Rautha)

author's note: If you guys can't tell I really like writing angst. This is also the longest thing I've written so far :). Also trying a new formatting type.

warnings: mentions of death, mommy issues, mentions of blood, mentions of Paul after drinking the water of life

wc: 1145

Lady Jessica did her job halfway right. To ensure she completed her Bene Gesserit mission, gave birth to twins. A boy named Paul and a girl named (Y/N). While the loophole was clever, the Bene Gesserit could not use the daughter she had given birth to. They said she had tainted her womb while bearing a son. 

Her father, the Duke Leto Atreides, was the only one who actually taught her important things. When she was little she would sit in a stool pulled up near her fathers desk and watch him go through paperwork and meeting notes. While he trained his son to become duke, he trained his daughter what to do in case something happened to Paul. He didn’t brush her off. 

Lady Jessica focused most of her time on Paul. His training, his skills, and his talent. While (Y/N) was taught how to use the Bene Gesserit ways by other members and not her mother. While those tutors did their job well, and she was learning quite a lot, (Y/N) found that her brother, a male, was progressing much faster than her. She was proud of her brother. It wasn’t her brother’s fault, it was her mother’s. 

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

A younger (Y/N) and Paul sat on the damp grass on Caladan on a breezy afternoon. They watched the sun lower into the sky and begin to graze where the horizon met the sea. (Y/N) took small daisies from the ground and started to make a flower crown out of them. 

“You know Paul, if you continue to improve at this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if you were better than our mother.” (Y/N) praised as she continued to pick and tie other flowers together. 

“No, no, no,” her brother replied modestly, “what she is teaching me is all of what she knows. Sooner or later I’ll plateau.” 

“You never know,” (Y/N) chuckled, cheekily, “Maybe one day she’ll go to you for advice.”

When (Y/N) finished the thin crown, she placed it onto Paul's head.

“There,” she said, “I now dubbed thy, Duke Paul Atreides of Caladan. Who will be an excellent and fair ruler.”

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

The only thing that (Y/N) had against Paul, was that her ability to use the voice was much better than his. Paul sounded like a dying horse and (Y/N) could command hundreds of people with her voice. (Y/N) found incredible joy from this. But this fact scared Lady Jessica. 

Lady Jessica was afraid of the power her daughter held. She knew of her hatred against her brother who took most of the time spent learning. Of course this all wouldn’t matter when the Duke died and they lived in the desert with the Fremen. Until Paul had a war forged in his name and (Y/N) had nothing but her brain. 

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

(Y/N) was standing in front of the giant pool of water, watching her reflection rippled and ebbed. As she stood there, she imagined a war that was fought in her name instead of Paul’s. Tons of water, from people who died while waiting for the ‘Lisan Al-Giab’ If this was my war, no one would die. She thought. After a couple of minutes a Fremen woman came by and poured the water of another warrior. If my mother and her witches hadn’t meddled, we wouldn’t have this mess. She stood there for hours, hours past when the sun went down, pondering her existence and her brother’s willingness to say he was the messiah. 

“Are you going to keep looking at your reflection or are you coming to bed?” She heard her mother say. 

“Does it matter if I stay up late? I’ve nothing to do on Arrakis.” (Y/N) responded, sounding completely uninterested in talking to her mother. 

“It does matter, you need sleep in order to thrive.” Lady Jessica declared. 

“Don’t try acting like you care now,” her daughter bit back, coldly, “don’t try acting like a caring mother. Go spread more rumors about Paul.” she sighed out. 

“They aren’t rumors, (Y/N),” She retorted, “It’s what he’s going to do. You and everyone else here realizes who he is and his potential. You need to help Paul.” 

(Y/N) bundled her hands into fists at her sides. Her knuckles popped at how hard she was squeezing them. Your son has changed far beyond what was expected. she thought, you barely recognize him anymore. 

“Would me dying for your cause be sufficient?” (Y/N) uttered under her breath as she continued to look at her reflection, “Should I stand out there and be a martyr? The loving sister of the Kwisatz Haderach…” 

Lady Jessica breathed in sharply and said nothing in return. She took her hands and put them over her stomach where her other child was. 

(Y/N) turned around to look at her mother, “You agree don’t you?’ she assumed.

Still, the Lady said nothing and just looked at her daughter. She met her daughter's eyes. The blue within blue encased her small pupils and her skin looking paler and deeper set than when they had left Arrakis. 

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Her daughter whispered, “Tell me what you think!”

“I think you as a martyr would do as much damage as if you were alive,” She voiced, “your death would be mourned. But, it would not change anything.” 

The sudden use of the voice surprised and startled Lady Jessica, “You imbecile, you using the Voice on your own mother.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind when Paul used it on your old reverend mother,” (Y/N) stated, “Paul and I did the same thing, use the Voice on a reverend mother.”

“You used it on your mother. Paul seized the moment so he could speak.”

“You were never a mother.” (Y/N) asserted, “you were a housemate, an incubator 

at best.” 

This stunned the reverend mother. She had never heard her daughter speak so unrighteously and sternly. It was almost like she had never really known her. The (Y/N) she knew, the sweet girl who collected wildflowers that had grown on the cliff sides, had died when they landed on Arrakis and was replaced by someone cold and quiet. 

“I’ll help my brother.” (Y/N) expressed as she moved closer to her mother, “I’ll do as he says. No matter how much you go against it. It doesn’t matter if he asks me to burn temples or castles, or even destroy planets. As long as I don’t have to follow you.” 

As she concluded her announcement, she turned to hastily walk out of the dark, humid cavern. 

Leaving Lady Jessica on her own; to see what had become of her daughter who would burn down the world if given the chance and her son who slipped unnecessary blood in the name of war. 

#dune #dune pt 2 #dune x reader #jessica atreides #lady jessica x reader #house atreides #lady jessica #daughter!reader

[swimmpantyz]

LOSING NIGHT (pt 1/2)

fuckboy!gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: You and your boyfriend were on a thin line. Your break-up was inevitable... After a short-tempered discussion everything seemed to have come to an end. Luckily, your boyfriend's best friend was there to cheer you up. Even if he was a lot of trouble... He still knows how to have fun.

tw: alcohol use, slightly dub-con, unprotected sex, lost of virginity, virginity kink, porn w/ little plot, +

Plot inspired in Blair and Chuck's relationship from Gossip Girl.

Satoru's name was showing on your phone, and it was relieving.

You left your apartment, pacing around the elevator to finally meet him outside.

He was leaning against his car, a small smile on his face, you could see his blue eyes shine through his glasses.

Once you were right in front of him he looked at your sides.

"Where's Suguru at?" You sighed shortly.

Suguru and you were supposed to go and hang out in the place Satoru was sealing the deal to buy it tonight.

"We broke up." His smile left his face, his eyebrows raising, disappearing behind his white hair.

"What?" He asked confused. You shrugged, getting inside his car when he opened the door for you.

"What you heard, and no more talking about it." He didn't say anything as he sat next to you.

"You really have good timing, huh." You chuckled softly, getting one of the expensive bottles he left on the mini bar inside.

"I do... But tell me, I'm dying of curiosity." You rolled your eyes at his words, knowing what he was going to ask. And of course he was damn nosey. "You don't look surprised or hurt... I don't see any mascara staining your eyes for crying neither... Did you two really broke up?" He messed with you, you could see his smirk from the side.

"Oh, fuck you." He snorted at your words.

"At least buy me a drink first." You handed him a glass of Whiskey, and he couldn't hide his smile, taking a shot from it.

"Just get drunk, Gojo, so I can get drunk too." And until you headed to the place, the alcohol kept coming and coming.

The driver opened the door and Satoru help you out, a hand on yours and the other on your waist.

"I really need this." You said, standing in front of the club, sighing softly, a small smile on your face."No better place to escape, right?" Satoru followed you from behind.

"It's like my personal Las Vegas." He joked. "Feel free to get loose, no judgment, what happens here, stays here." You looked back at him, your eyebrows raising and a soft smirk increasing unconsciously.

"Well look at you, marketing manager, it has franchise potential." You stopped on the entrance, turning around and looking up at him. "All those years of underage boozing and womanizing have finally paid off, truly, I'm proud." He smiled brightly at your words, taking your hand again as if he was a gentleman to lead you inside.

"That's why I showed you first this place." He whispered close to your ear as the people gathered around you to get inside the expensive club. He knew you would like the place. And he knew you would support him.

"So tonight's it's really a victory's party, huh? you're truly gonna seal it?" He didn't say anything and just winked at you. You let out an amazed short laugh as he pulled you by your hand to get easily inside, being the owner had it's advantages.

You walked side by side, your bodies almost glued to each other... It was just like the last time he got you there, the only difference was all the people inside and outside.

The theme of the club was inspired in the old brothels, a lot of lingerie and classy furniture made it look expensive.

Satoru's reserved place was a small short table with silk arm chairs in the middle of the club, ten feet in front of the little scenery.

All the women were dancing and moving around as you two sat in the same couch, a martini on your hand and whiskey (once again) on his.

You were watching the show in front of you, your mood much better than minutes before meeting Satoru.

But of course, he and his big mouth have to ruin it.

He was leaning on the couch, playing with his glass while slightly looking at you. He was more serious.

"... I know you don't wanna talk about it but-" You interrupted him abruptly.

"Relief... I feel relief." He nodded in silence, drinking again.

Your eyes followed the women in front of you, a smile once again on your face.

"You know... I got moves too." Satoru almost chuckled, getting closer to you by just inches.

"Really?" He said incredulously, tease on his voice. "Why don't you show me then?" You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Show you?" He nodded, leaning back on the couch again, pointing at the scenery.

"Go up there." You looked to the front, leaning back just as he did.

"I'm just saying I got moves." He chuckled, one of his arms going to your shoulder.

"Come on, you surely move better than any women here." He encouraged you. "You're ten times hotter too." You huffed softly, drinking another martini the bartender just gave you.

"Gojo Satoru, I know what you're doing." You warned him with a smile. Until you realized the why of his words. "Wait... You actually don't believe I'll go up there." Satoru shrugged, not hiding his smirk.

"I know you won't." He said as if it was obvious. You let out an unbelievable little gasp, your mouth open in fake hurt.

You smiled as you got up, leaving your glass on his free hand.

"Hold my drink." He looked up at you in confusion, his smile coming back upon realising that you were, actually, going to do it.

He sat more straight, crossing his legs while staring as you moved.

Maybe it was the alcohol mixed with your spite, but you didn't care at all when you got in with all the other girls.

Little by little you started to take your clothes off, starting with your small thin coat.

Satoru stood up from the couch, getting closer slowly, you stared only at him, and and he stared only at you.

Your face had a bright smile, and he was speechless, the sound of cheering and loud music only encouraged you more.

You couldn't even hear your heels clicking against the floor.

Your hands roamed around your body, playing with your dress and your hair... Moving your hips slowly and softly.

Finally you started to unzip it... And thank god you had your short satine and lace night robe below your dress, it wasn't really different from the lingerie the other women had.

And the heat of the room could have been because of all the people pressed against each other or because Satoru's gaze was burning every inch of your skin.

You turned around, moving your hair and looking back with the softest eyes you could make, batting your eyelashes innocently as you started to unbutton your robe, playing with the little lace from the shoulders.

All you could do was keep moving and staring at Satoru, until he couldn't stop smiling dumbly at you.

mueheheheh

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #satoru gojou #satoru gojo #satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #satorugojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo satoru x you smut #fanfic

[emptyjunior]

I'm rewatching Starstruck in the break, can I say I DESPERATELY would have loved to have seen this intergalactic chase across the stars from the Other Side😭

Like okay, campaign where you're a crew of kooky spacers on the run, classic, fun, oh the adventures we had.., can you Imagine what this story would have been like from the pursuers side? From Lucienne and UFTP?

You're Lucienne and you just got SCREWED on the corporate ladder and are already dealing with some rich trust fund kid DYING yet also leaving you in Charge of an insane company.

And during that you find out oh my god the world might be destroyed?? And there's a Princeps who has a super special computer that will decide the fate of the universe? So you stash them away to keep them safe and go back to covering up the murder you might be to blame for, because universe destroying computer is like priority TWO right now.

And then you find out?? Your ex lover friend has become a pirate???! And has STOLEN the princeps??! AND THE WORLD ENDING COMPUTER??! And quit??! And posted Nudes to the world??! And they look amazing?

So okay okay new priority is FIND THEM right NOW so you send all the resources in the world to go snatch them up which should be easy enough because you've seen them run, they're literally a weak and flailing office worker in a pencil skirt.

Welp! Next report comes in and they exploded a building with sex putty??? And decimated a fleet of the best fighters you can hire? And had time to go to a dogshow in between???

Fine, okay, it's fine because you KNOW they'll slip up again and they do! They show up,,., in a live stream? Partying with the ceo of space uber?? In a casino? That they just OPENED? WHILE THEY'RE ON THE RUN?!

So you go to that planet and go to contact the sheriff and his Head is on a Fucking Spike because your Friend absolutely wasted him? And kicked every police officer out of town so the whole town could go super super hard for space burning man?

And have escaped Again.

So now you're in some kind of room with like 20 screens and probably two blackberries in each hand, going full manhunt. Face recognition software, algorithms, zooming in on photos and yelling Enhance.

And you find them! And they👏 are👏 at👏 Disneyland👏! What! The! Fuck!

You send your best guys again! (And also??! These 'best guys' maybe have a space slug in their skull that's going to end the world! Can't even focus on that rn!). And then when they get back, happy and proud they show you the Princeps that they've captured and it's god damned thin air! Because it was a hologram and this dumb sonuva bitch is zonked out of his mind from a fish psychic. Great, of course. Of Course.

You're being hounded by your company, you still don't know where your 'dead fiance' is, you're running out of time. How are you ever going to find them- You check your phone they are doing a hunger games at Las Vegas. And a rival company has made them influencers. And they're famous.

Of course.

But you do pull it off in the end! You get them! You imprison them! And their one fatal flaw? They decided to reunite one of their crew members with their birth mother while being wanted criminals.

So that's the chase you got them (they escape again of course they escape, and the birth mother turns out to be a Hell of a business woman and maybe just did a masterful corporate maneuver on you.)

And it's so important to know that this entire time you've been chasing a Big Hot Dog.

#dimension 20 #a starstruck odyssey #lucienne rex #margaret encino #d20 #dnd #stody #d20 starstruck

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — counselor!JACK HUGHES x counselor!reader word count — 1.4k

note — i was (and still am) super proud of how i executed this concept, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy re-reading it!

recommended viewing — friday the 13th (1980), fear street: 1978 (2021)

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

bingo squares — sex in water, risky location/exhibitionism, and fear play additional content warnings — a few jokes about death/dying and murder, rather short n tame ("vanilla") barely-there spice from me???, jack being a little shithead (and a little switchy omg), a smidge of angst, and spoopy ending... (kevin heimbach hive rise!)

“Y’know, for someone who is so paranoid about being caught, you sure scream like you aren’t.”

The lake smacks Jack Hughes’ chest just moments before the true expulsion of annoyance. The succinct burst of emotion is pre-packaged into a lame wave. One that only stokes his predisposition for button-pushing—hers being a personal favorite target of his.

“Y'know, for someone so desperate to get laid, you sure do everything to guarantee the only thing you'll be fucking is your hand."

Jack's jaw unhinges as if making ample room for whatever semi-clever perverted retort is bound to manifest, but it slams shut prematurely. His only response is a strained whimper accompanying an audible gulp.

Wide eyes bulging, his gaze never leaves the woody shore at your back.

"J-Jack, I'm serious. Cut it out. Right now."

Your blunt, conduct code-mandated nails slice their way through the sunburnt skin of his shoulders—the much-deserved consequence of brushing off the sunscreen you offered him prior to his afternoon shift at the canoes.

He hisses, mostly out of irritation, but keeps otherwise mum.

Unwittingly, further panic stirs in your gut at that, sending your tense face into his waiting chest.

"I-It's not funny—it never was. And it's absolutely not now, e-either. Please, Jack. Just, just knock it off, o-okay?"

"Or what, babe?"

His husky voice carries across the water and the trees rustle in response.

You loathe the way that innocuous noise shoves you deeper into his embrace, clutching onto his lithe, toned form like he isn't the instigator of your palpable distress.

"Stop pretending you see him, or I'll... I'll... —"

Any threat you could've come up with would've been hollow at best, you both know it. Even if you weren't strung out from a full day of covert teasing and stolen glances, your fear of what might lurk in the shadowy depths between you and the dock would be more than enough to keep you firmly planted.

Jack set himself up with yet another perfectly easy jump-scare, but as you helplessly cling to him like a soggy kitten at the mere implication of danger, he's presented with a better, more delicious opportunity to burrow under your thin skin.

Oh, how he lives to make you squirm.

Soft lips lower to your ear, "Is that really what you want? Because I don't think the lake's the only reason my dick is soaked."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Hughes."

You try and avoid his X-ray vision, but it doesn't matter. It hardly ever does.

"Really? Well, allow me to enlighten you, hm?"

His tone has you rolling your eyes even though he can't see them.

Jack holds you tighter, sharply bucking his hips until you whine, before he whispers, "I think you like when I scare you—or, at least, your pussy does. The poor thing, gushin' and squeezin' whenever you jump for me. Every damn time, babe. I damn near thought you'd squirted last time I got ya that good."

You grumble because he's right. Only about your physical reaction, of course. Definitely not the other things.

You definitely did not enjoy being scared shitless, and you definitely did not squirt when he pretended something—or someone—was pulling him under. You'd be damned if your first time doing that came at the hand of such juvenile flippancy.

"Quit talking and fuck me, Hughes. We don't have all night; Alice still isn't over the nightmares."

Every year, there was always one of those campers, and, this year, Alice was that one. A kid so freaked out by local legend that you have to wonder how their parent or guardian managed to get them up here in the first place. Or, why anyone thought sending them up into the mountains for the summer was a good idea to begin with.

It never takes long for the nightmares to start. Especially once the inaugural midnight bonfire passes and the sightings start making the rounds. Wind-carried screams, a flash of metal, the too-thick drip off of the leaves, torn flesh...

Everything in graphic detail, and every detail insomnia fodder at its peak.

If a camper lucked out, they had a counselor they could attach themselves to in the wee hours of the morning as they shook through waves of fear. Alice weaseled her way into your bunk every night this past week, bottom lip trembling as tears streamed down her face, always rambling about the same thing: a silent killer in a cheap mask wielding long, menacing blade.

Nightly, while you've donned a brave face, it's been as genuine as the plastic allegedly worn by the personified cautionary tale. Because, once upon a time, you had been that camper, too—and Jack had a front-row seat to your adolescent terror.

To this day, he finds your ardent belief in the legend a point of amusement.

He won't be laughing, though, when Alice finds your bunk empty and runs crying to the supervisor cabin, thinking you'd been the latest victim—the first in thirty years.

If you're going down, you're dragging jack hughes down with you. He can explain to your parents why you're home two months early—and unemployed.

His forehead falls to your shoulder, wafts of damp hair tickling the bare skin as he groans. Jack never bothers masking his ire. "That snot-nosed third grader is the last thing I want to think about when I'm balls-deep. Total boner-killer, babe."

"Jason Vorhees is the last thing I want to think about right now, but you never seem to care about that, do you?" you growl.

Your ankles tighten around his waist at just the thought of the camp's very own boogeyman.

If you were smart, you'd stop hooking up with the one person dead-set on sending you to an early grave all for a laugh.

The apparent inevitability of your trysts wasn't for a lack of options. No, every year there was plenty. But every year, Jack Hughes was the only peer you snuck out for.

After that many midnights, you would think his recycled material would lose its edge. Unfortunately for you, that's yet to happen.

You tug on a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck. He nips at your throat in retaliation; you don't have the confidence to tell him you like that, too.

"Fine, fine," he laments, eyes pinched shut and wincing. "Truce?"

"Truce," you nod and relinquish your tight grip. "Now, make me cum."

"Yes, ma'am."

"See? I told you it was fine. No wandering campers, no prying Visors," Jack hums, an arm looped around your shoulders. "And no hockey masks or machetes, either."

Your soft, grudging giggle harmonizes with the cicadas.

When you reach your cabin, he pecks your damp temple. "You should trust me more often."

You knew once you caved to the lake idea, he'd never let it go, but you'd be remiss if you said it didn't turn you on just as much as it did him. That, however, doesn't mean you're eager for an encore any time soon.

Next summer, perhaps. If he played his cards right.

"Yeah, right," you snort while eclipsing the two meager steps with him on your heels.

His ego is beginning to rub you the wrong way as your post-orgasm bliss fades. Still, you can't resist pulling him closer now that no one else is around.

Kiss-swollen lips ghosting over his, you whisper, "Over my dead body."

His eyes go dark; a rare flicker of concern. "Don't say shit like that, babe, you'll jinx it... And i've still got so much planned for your body."

"Well, it's a good thing you've got an entire summer, isn't it?"

"Only because you won't let me touch you outside of Camp Nightwing," jack huffs, mostly under his breath. His jaw is too tight, but his voice is louder, "Just think of what i could do with the other nine months."

He doesn't bother disguising the bitterness weighing on his voice or his conscience, and that alone is enough to make you skittish. It hurts to swallow, and the mounting nausea certainly isn't helping, but it's a necessary evil to rid yourself of the lump clawing up your throat.

Jack Hughes talks a big game, but that's all it'll ever be. A game.

You won't make the same mistake twice.

"Get lost before you wake my campers, Hughes." You wave your hand dismissively as you take a step back—and out of his magnetic field. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

He drops the complaint as easily as he championed it.

"I'm going, I'm going." Jack raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he backs away from the porch. "Wouldn't want to rob the little boogers of their last moments of peace before my reigning Color War champs kick their asses—for the fifth consecutive year."

Your reluctant affection glimmers in the moonlight as you shake your head. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't!" Jack calls over his towel-clad shoulder.

You're still smiling when the screen door smacks the dilapidated wooden frame.

As his jubilant footsteps fade down the path and you settle in your bunk, a large shadow slips between the moon and the cabin's front window.

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[neymiiie]

Eyes of the SEES members ~

I’ve always admired artstyles where every character has super unique and recognizable vibes, so decided to try it with the gang. Super fun, highly recommend!

In the process of designing these I developed headcanons for each of their eyes, kind weird but if you want to read me ranting about why I drew Yukaris pupils a certain way or whatever, feel free to click read more lol.

Makoto: I wanted him to look tired, so a lot of his eyelashes go downward instead of upwards, also eye bags because he has insomnia and you can’t convince me otherwise. I didn’t want his eyes to look hollow/empty, but I didn’t want to put super obvious highlights and I think it works? Idk. Also drew his eyes in a way that reminds me of the ocean at night (Atlus gave me a ocean/water motif and I run with it ok?). His eyebrows are kinda “messy” in comparison to the others but I think it makes his eyes prettier so it is in character to me.

Yukari: I wanted her eyes to look a little more intense and turned them a little to give them a slightly “angry look”. Yukari should have a light case of rbf imo. I feel like Yukari puts a lot of effort into her appearance, and she probably wears more makeup but I cannot draw that to save my life lmao. Her eyebrows are probably the least messy other than Mitsurus, for the same reason as the previous one. Also hard to tell, but I put hearts in her pupils because it’s cute. Really proud of these ones, they read like hers so well to me.

Junpei: Junpeis eyes were so fun to draw! I feel like he’d have pretty short lashes and slightly smaller eyes, but still very vibrant! I really wanted his eyes to look full of life but still pretty simple, and I think I did pretty well! They feel very expressive to me. Also I feel like he’d have naturally very thin eyebrows, so gave him that lol.

Akihiko: idk how I feel about these, but I guess they’re alright? Gave him a kinda intense stare ig. I gave him really long natural eyelashes because I feel like he’d have them (canonical pretty boy that he is) and I’m somewhat proud of them because I stuggle with making longer eyelashes look masculine so guess this is a win. Gave him an eyebrow slit because I was so sure he had one in p4arena only to find out he didn’t even have eyebrows in it. What.

Fuuka: I feel like Fuukas neutral expression would still look slightly confused/concerns so her eyes are a little droopy. Gave her short but thick eyebrows because I thought it would be cute. Her eyes kinda remind me of rain and I like that! Also sidenote love the fact that official art draws fuuka with teal eyebrows. The implication that she was either born with teal hair or is so dedicated to the dye job she even dyed her eyebrows is hilarious to me. I know blue is treated as a normal hair color in persona-universe but Fuuka is literally the only one with teal hair how is it not dyed but yosuke and chies is??

Mitsuru: I wanted Mitsuru to be pretty. I gave her thinner but crisp eyebrows and eyeliner. I was a little worried because before I started shading her eyes looked kinda evil?? Lol but they turned out better in the end. Didn’t do a lot of details in her eyes because it felt like it worked better that way, but gave her bright highlights in her eyes to make up for it.

Aigis: These are my least favorite, and the first ones I did. Not sure if thats awful, because I wanted them to be very different from the rest. I feel like Aigis doesn’t actually have this wide eyes but willingly widens them so you can see the whole iris. I feel like her eyes would look more normal at a distance, and most of her classmates just assume she’s got weird eyes because they’re an uncommon eye color (major “give her brown contacts please” energy). Made her eyes look like does target-thingys and slightly plastic-y.

Ken: I didn’t want his eyes to be to bright, but still lively and childish. I gave him round wide eyes + smaller and thicker eyebrows to give a more childish feel. His eyelashes are pretty short but made them point more downwards since they looked too cheerful when turned upwards.

Shinjiro: dunno how readable these are as shinji, but theyre fine. Made his eyes very dark and put bright highlights cause I thought it looked better than the grey he actually has. Also gave him major eyebags because man has not had a good nights rest since like. Last October (sorry)

#persona #persona 3 #p3 #aigis #makoto yuki #yukari takeba #junpei iori #akihiko sanada #fuuka yamagishi #mitsuru kirijo #ken amada #shinjiro aragaki #minato arisato #fanart #artists on tumblr #beating same face syndrome one body part at a time: #hopefully these are actually readable as the characters they are supposed to be to other people than me lmao

[darlingofvalyria]

An abandoned church made most of broken wood and whimpering winds becomes a momentary resting sanctuary for Uhtred and his men— Osferth finds himself with a crooked root in the shape of a hand, a gold ring, and a full, blue moon.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ COCK WORSHIP, ORGASM DENIAL ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,830 ] [ masterlist ] | Osferth x Ghost Bride!Reader

contains— smut, fluff, angsty-ish - corpse bride!au - this is not the N word okay, you're a ghostly being that becomes corporeal. it's monsterfucking, not that kind of filth - no use of y/n - mentions of christianity lol - dillusioned!reader (if you know the movie, you know) - mention of character death - nsfw: sort of dubcon, smidge coercion, cock worship, orgasm denial(?) - no betas.

a/n— ok, but i am actually very proud of this one!! i enjoyed writing this way too much, adding a bit of comedy aspect to it shdhs. i hope you enjoy it!! oh, also this is the vibe you want if you wanna listen. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

His pack rests behind him, the couple of bundled furs he uses for bedding has hardened into the cold ground, not at all aiding his sleep. Around him, his lord and the rest of the men had managed to fall into their dreams, almost as soon as they closed their eyes.

Even Finan, with a furrow in his brow and his arms crossed, has his head tilted awkwardly to one side that Osferth knows is going to be painful in the morning.

But sleep evades him, and though he scarcely believes in ghosts, resting in a church, no matter how abandoned, no matter that there's gaping, charred hole that has blown over the side of it, trickling the cold, winter winds and soft, wet snow— it feels odd.

It brings a restlessness and a comfort all the same, and with a few minutes more of staring at rotting wood and broken awning, Osferth sighs. Their small fire is dying, might as well get more dry sticks.

The church, though broken and ruined, offers warmth. Once he's out into the wintry night, the pale moonlight bright and full, glittering the wisps of fluffy snow as if you don't come out wet if you sink on it. It's cold. Much too cold to walk, to linger, but he continues. He winds to the other side, leisure in his pace, breathing in the cold whilst warming his hands with his mouth.

It's nice to find a rhythmic motion that empties his thoughts. It is nice to be out of Wessex, out of familiarity. Uhtred brought with him adventure and battle, honour and excitement. It quieted the wrought in his head... until night comes, and Osferth is left with the weight of all those he tries to bury.

He walks quite a bit, observing and carries a faint sadness for a few graves that are left. Some opened, unearthed by grave robbers, uncaring of the Christian faith. Wooden plaque holding no names, just crosses. He moves past, finding himself entering the forest before he could think through it until he comes across a clearing. It's surprisingly, perfectly circled, trees at the side adjusted like soldiers with a curled root at the centre.

Curious and kind of awed at nature, at the wonder of the existence this little tree root, curled and cold, he dips one knee as flutters his fingers over it. The thin spindles look like curled fingers, a hand reaching in a hooked angle.

When he pushes his hand forward, curling his fingers against the root, Osferth makes a surprised hum at how fitted, how perfectly it holds like a hand against his.

Osferth doesn't notice you, dancing between the shadows and moonlight. Hit by light and you fade with it, more air and light yourself than life and physical flesh. You had seen him and his men find the scarred church and setup camp. The four men had not been the first to find the abandoned place, nor had taken refuge.

And time is everlasting when you're dead. Meaningless when there is no end to days and nights.

But he is different, you muse, watching him unable to sleep and walk and walk until he reached the clearing and your cold, dead heart feels a tug.

Does he know you? Is that why he is so different?

You slink between trees, hiding behind a trunk as you watch him kneel where your body lies, curious and awed, watching as he holds your hand, curling his fingers around your own.

Your left hand flexes, a surprised giggle falling from your lips and disappearing with the wind as you feel his warmth. His hand as if he is holding your own. Human touch fades from memory in a span of time and it is a pleasant hold.

Look down, you try to say, excitement you've never felt before, thrums through your body. Look down and see the ring!

If he does, you know do not need to know who he is. You know who he will be.

Look down, look down, look down! Please! you are practically screaming, jumping in the shadows as his eyes, beautiful blue like your favourite butterfly, is entranced by the glint underneath the snow. You hold your hands to your chest. Oh, please! Please, Please look down!

You exhale, feeling life sweep back into your mouth. There. There you are, you say soundlessly as he picks it up. A gold band worn with age but gold it still is. He twists it around, and though others have tried to steal it, pocket it and sell it, you know he is different. His warmth is different. There is kindness in his eye that you like.

And God, is he pretty. You would not mind at all being his bride.

You're on one knee, now propose, you say, willing the vows of old and binding to reach his ears. He twists it and as if playfully entranced, he mutters the words that you echo back in the shadows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," Osferth murmurs, the words he's listened once as a young boy, hearing the priest anoint two lovers who had escaped to bond their love. "Your cup shall never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness."

He raises the ring and places it on your crooked, dried fourth finger— and you inhale air, wintry and cold and so, so alive for the first time in a very long time.

"And with this ring," he says.

"I ask you to be mine," you finish, startling Osferth as you glide toward him. Triumphant. He stumbles, falling on his bum as your arms widen around you in all your ghostly bride attire and glory. "My love! I have waited for you for such a long time. Good thing the ice and winters have been kind to my body and you still manage to find it!"

Though in truth, you had plowed against hard ground to at least unearth your left hand while most of your body had been abandoned. Your skull had cracked in three places, and there's a worm who made a permanent home in your dried liver. But your new husband does not need to know that.

He gapes at you, wide eyed and unblinking, and just as he starts you yell? Shriek— You stumble to him, falling on his lap as you press your hands against his mouth. When you don't pass through him, you let out an excited shriek.

"Oh, my apologies, I don't mean to scare you!" You pout, aged old sadness wisps beneath your eyes. "Please don't scream, my love. I have waited for you for so long. And you're so warm... and so real."

As shock permeates his face, frozen under the feel of you pressing against him— there is weight, he can feel you. You're not as warm as him, cold in fact, and he is able to see through you if his eyes adjust well enough. But you are there. He can see you and he can feel you. Your wide, unblinking eyes drinking him in, exuberant smile composed of pretty lips and a mesmerising happiness. Your hair cascades around a ruined, fluttering veil with dead flowers atop your head.

But by God, you are beautiful.

Your wedding dress— because you are a bride, are you not? Were a bride, Osferth's head is starting to ache from trying to look through and at you — are in tatters and holes, showing more of your skin than what your dress initially thought to show and he swallows. He can see a creamy thigh exposed through a slash. It doesn't help that you're bent over, resting between his legs, and he can see the top of your breasts.

On your end, your hands are just there, on his face, and you start exploring his pretty visage. His warmth is addicting, gliding your fingers through his nose and pretty cheekbones, tickling yourself on his lashes with the pads of your fingers and you giggle. The sound makes Osferth exhale shakily before you are cupping his sharp jaw and your fingers touch his lips, your own mouth turning into an 'O'.

Oh, they're soft and a little chapped, a little cold, but his exhale entrances you. His show of pure, breathing life is tantalising.

You lean in closer, nearly touching his lips with your own as you try to inhale his air. He smells of smoked meat and dried ale. Winter woods and burnt campfire. Your hands drift from his mouth to his neck, to his chest. His heart. There in your palms, you press tight. A quickened heartbeat nestles beneath and you exhale, smiling ruefully.

"My husband." Osferth's eyes widen at the pure adoration and lust in your gaze. "You are wonderful. My wait is worth it."

"Hold on, l-lady." He captures your hands in his, eyebrows furrowed. He swallows as he can feel you both corporeal and wispy. If shadows can be held, he thinks it would feel like this. "H-How am I your husband? Sorry, I've— I don't even know your name!"

What's more is that you're a ghost! But something in his head tells him not to speak aloud such a thing, for another, he isn't sure he hasn't fallen back in the encampment with the others. A bizarre dream of a very pretty, ghostly bride is for one an embarrassing topic to broach.

"Oh. That's right!" You giggle happily, offering your name and Osferth tests in his tongue. A pretty name for a pretty bride. "What's yours? Though, I'm afraid I prefer to call you husband, and would prefer to be called your wife. Or 'your love'."

At another helpless, tinkling laughter, Osferth blushes. Your eyes are distracted by the colour in his cheeks, so long ago contained your own but no more, that you take your hands from his and start petting the rosy tint again. He's so warm that you start nuzzling into him, your head burrowing into his neck.

"O-Osferth." He clears his throat to get your attention. "Osferth, lady."

"My wife."

"Sorry?"

You start to pout. "Call me 'my wife'."

Osferth starts to shake his head. "Lady, I really don't—"

"I am your wife now. See." You sit up, pointing back to your dead hand, gold ring glinting under the pale moon. "You've made your vows and given me the ring. We're married now." Your gaze darkens, your form shimmering and Osferth yelps as you had gotten ice cold. "You have made your vow, Osferth. Are you telling me you do not honour your vows? Are you a man without honour? Is there another... woman?"

Your hands on his face sharpened, like ice, digging through his skin as iff trying to embedded yourself into his skull. He cries out, taking your wrists.

"No, no! I— yes, I am your husband now. I am. There is also no other woman!"

You cock your head, still frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm wearing monk's robes, lad— wife," he says helplessly.

"But..." You cock your head to the side. "You don't seem too shock of a woman's body. You're very responsive to me, my love, I enjoy it quite so."

This time, he blushes deeply. "I— Goodness, okay. I've had practice... s'all."

"With... whores?"

He cringes, waiting for you to turn mad, pure ice cold and tear through his skin like you almost did, but you only hum when he nods.

"That is alright. That presents more of a challenge than an obstruction of our love."

"Challenge?" he asks as you gently push him on his back, straddling his hips. You slide your palms up and down his torso almost as if he is a campfire and you are warming your hands.

He swallows at your confident grin before you blow him a kiss and he exhales a laugh, his mind truly unconnected from his body because there is a ghostly woman on top of him, adoring him with flirtations, and he is stirring in his pants.

Truly, he must be deep asleep, in a more awkward position than Finan.

If I am, he thinks watching you with a blossoming attachment. Please, by God, don't wake me.

With a seductive intent, you slide down from his body, making sure you pay a special wiggle in his tenting manhood that he feels a lightning bolt from his cock to the ends of his nerves. He doesn't truly understand what you intend until you've unlaced him and paying special attention to his now, semi-erect appendage.

Osferth is red and sputtering, unable to find the strength to stop you.

You get your face impossibly close to his manhood, your unbridled attention makes his cock inflate until you test a teasing finger from beneath, circling his balls, up and up until you tease the slit and his hips jolt.

"G-God, Oh goodness," he spits, white knuckling his woolen coat. "Please do something. D-Don't just—shit." You test a tongue, laving the underside of his cock until pearly white essence beads from his slit and you lick it experimentally. It tastes salty, inexcusably human and alive, and you decide you like it, especially when you watch Osferth writhe, unable to decide what to do from such teasing little touches.

"Good thing for you husband, your wife made sure to serve a keen listen to gossiping wives behind the church after mass. Well before the raid burnt it all down." You got yourself comfortable between his thighs, loving how snugged you fit against his warmth here, as well as having a beautiful of view of your Osferth. "They spoke salaciously of what keeps their husbands to their beds."

You give him a wink as you enclose your hand on his cock, giving it a firm tug and he chokes. "To keep the whores away." You start slow and teasing, wanting to see what movements pleased him the most, what made him sigh and groan, jolt, hips chasing the feeling of your hand that started to warm and get wet, both from his excitement and the teasing licks you give.

When he started panting, you took your hand away. His head bobs back adorably at you, frowning. "W-Wife? Wha—" But you don't let him finish, sitting up on your hunches as you replace your hand with your mouth, feeling the stretch as he throws his head back again, neck arched. It doesn't hurt, momentarily uncomfortable as you test the feeling of it, the weight now so full in your mouth before you start moving up and down, eased by the slick and guided by his pretty sounds.

And Osferth has been on the brink of peak multiple times, but you kept stopping or slowing midway. At first, he surmised it must be your first time, unused to a man in your mouth but eager to give him pleasure, which he can't help but feel deep fondness for.

By the third peek he's been deprived off, and the little smirk playing on your lips, he realised the truth. But your mouth is a different story. It's hot and heady, just like a real mouth and his stomach is clenching, his pleasure tightening that he's got tears in his eyes, apologising as his hips chase his high in your throat but by the rumble that rocked his cock, it seems as if you were trying to tell him it was okay.

When you started massaging his stones, he was gone. White hot pleasure broke behind his eyelids that he grabbed your head, your veil and hair, dead flowers falling into light as he came, hips stuttering, before holding you down until the last drop of his spend is in your mouth.

He releases you with apologies, chest heaving with tears in his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, lady, I— inexcusable." He stared gently cleaning your face, unable to realise how much more solid you had become, how much more colour bled in your ghostly blue.

But as you sit back up, you're grinning, unmistakable pride in your gaze as he wipes the corner of your mouth tenderly. You take his fingers before he wipes it on his trousers, coated in him, and licks them clean, sucking hard with a little giggle.

"Good boy," you say. Osferth shudders, his cock already painfully stirring once more.

The Lord have mercy on him. Were there ghostly vixens? Did he marry the only ghostly vixen?

He can't say he's too mad about it.

"Hmm. So that's what it tastes like. I think I like it." You smile, rubbing his thigh. "I also think we are going to have a fruitful marriage, sweet Osferth. What we only need now is one thing..."

He blinks at you. "Hm?"

"Death, my love." You blink back at him owlishly, snapping the dagger strapped to his side. "How can we stay together when one of us breathes?"

Christ, I already have an idea for part two...

#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth fanfic #kinktober 2023 #osferth smut #osferth fluff #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk smut #tlk fluff #︶꒦꒷♡ elle tries kinks ♡꒷꒦︶ #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #the last kingdom #tlk #osferth scenario #ewan mitchell characters

[thefanciestborrower]

The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck. 

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right. 

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me. 

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!” 

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him. 

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me. 

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air. 

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist. 

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort. 

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

 How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home. 

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear. 

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever. 

#Alternate title: Victor Frankenstein and the terrible horrible no good very bad day #My man is going though it <3 #soft vore #safe vore #fandom vore #Half size vore #Unwilling vore #Cj writes #Tw mentions of death #vomit tw #Tw vomit #tw minor injury #classic lit vore #nsx vore #I have lots of thoughts on creature pov here #Do not take what Victor says seriously he is. An unreliable narrator #Just like in cannon lol #digestion mention #fatal mention #Doesn’t happen tho

[therrerium-valkryonia]

Birth prompt: While going to the hospital One baby coming early, clothing birth (on purpose), hiding labor and birth, birth denial. Quick labor with fast water breaks over the toilet. Birth is more grunting, moaning, while being orgasmic as well. Birth position can be sitting or on all fours.

Thank you so much! Sorry for any delay been busy with alot of stuff recently anyway!

The Relentless Dread

Warning: 18+ only, topics include:

"birth, birth denial, labor denial".

Death is an inevitable part of life but somethings are always going to hurt no matter what, as with the loss of the one you loved the most as she did with her fiancee dying in her arms on the line.

At his last moments, apologizing for breaking an unbreakable promise which they spoke ages ago but it would be broken at last, abandoning every bit of their future to be honorable at death.

Leaving her behind with their unborn child, she was nine months now a full two weeks after the tragedy and it hurt her so much but it was still what she would've let him do.

A friend, lover and now hero, she was proud of him even in death and memorial to the love of her life and devoted her time too, been through it all from thick and thin and rough, smooth.

It hurt to know he was gone, yet the amount of pride she was feeling from his sacrifice was an amount that left her satisfied with his decision.

(-------------------------------

There was three weeks left before she had to let out this baby from her round bump for a belly, a shiver of excitemnent but unease was rumbling through her head and wrestling with her mind.

Everything over the move was going smoothly, she was dressing in the guest room, glancing about her figure growing wider and thicker as she rubs her soft fingers over the taut skin.

A soft exhale blows through her lips, as she laid stood in front the mirror staring at her sleek-like figure with a plumpness growing over it, it felt to an extent, quite gratifying and rewarding.

Massaging around her midsection, she was very stimulated by her soft rubs and light pressures around her midsection, a low exhale escapes her lips with a deep intense huffing along side it.

She was reminiscing the days her fiancee and her were in the act and how rough the went at each other, how she was missing him greatly.

To be pleasures by his movement, so she let herself rub down her clit aggresively and the pleasures were electrifying and intense, low gasps of sharp breath were rapidly escaping with each pace she went and rubbed in hard.

Once she reached high up inside, tense and sharp aches wrapped around her abdomen forcing her to pull out then squeeze tightly around painful sides of her large bump.

Low groans emanatted from her voice, she began to spread her legs open as pressure crammed into her spaces as the weight all shifted downwards her cervix.

Moans kept escaping her throat, the sweat, intense pain kept rising and had made her a punching bag out of her muscles as she let gentle massaging around her belly to calm much of the pain and aching.

(-------------------------------

Moments after, she called a friend over to help her out and after they came the two had a chat over the recent upcomings and positive things at the present, even how much things changed.

"Man, I never thought i'd move here." as she felt a strange tightness in her belly, reaching a hand onto her middle and massaging across her taut belly growing harder and solid, her friend smiled at her words with a gentle expression.

Her voice gleeful and ecstatic "Yeah nor did I see this coming, it was a nice surprise" she looks at her with curious eyes and leans back as she lets a out a soft exhale as small pressures pop inside.

The sudden swift drop of weight ram through her cervix, she held her breath then let out a deep sharp exhale with a tighter grip over her midsection, she began to huff deeper.

"Yep, ho- ouuhhh man, this place is a dream that d- uuuuuuoo did eventually come true" as she looks over and sees her friend turn around and is staring at her belly with a smirk, she ponders a moment then closes the gap.

Quite close, she leans in on her solid belly as a quiet exhale escapes her mouth as the aching has returned and far more frequent and hard, "Well, If I may? Could I... rub your belly?".

Nodding, she rubs the solid womb and is very ecstatic as she taps around the skin, rubbing quite softly it helped lighten the pain but not enough, the baby then kicks with intensity.

"Active isn't he? So lively this one." As her hands rub around her bump progressing the baby with a gentle massage, then as her huffs tighten with the head squeezing her labia and stretching her through, she clenches her fists as it deepens.

(-----------------------------------

Moments later, she excuses herself and heads to the toilet while her contractions tighten and she fights through them and and sits onto the toilet while trying to keep silent.

Her hands clamped onto her belly, she begins humming in pain while she feels an abnormal piercing crown struggling to form and it does while she grunts loudly and a heap of fluid has spewed from her vagina and sprayed all over.

She stares into the ceiling and cries slowly, a pain ran her over as she bends over her thighs and silently screams with tears as the full head crowns into a sphere with a gushful of fluid.

Exshaustingly standing up, her hand gripped onto the sink while waddling to the door and leaned into it as she tries to hold it in, palm holding the head further as it burns like coal.

Opening the door, she head over to the closet and grabbed new clothes as the pain burst out into intense hot-white branding, sharp as steel.

Frozen with a low moan, she felt the head gush into her palm but she held it in further rushing through the pain as she grabbed tight fishnets, pulling her pants off as the head burst out.

Collapsing on her butt, she grabbed the tight panties and pulled it into the head as it slipped back, she put on the fishnets and wore a tight office skirt which was restricting.

She left the room, then her friend looked at her "You okay" she nods but her friend was suspect.

"I'll be back for you, hold on" As her friend leaves she leant over the table as the head burst out in to her panties, she groaned quietly.

"I knew it! Let's get in the car" she drags her out into the backseat and buckles her up, she drives off with worry "Alright! You could've told me!"

"It's just cr- mmmhh! cramps!" She begins to let out a loud moan as she felt the head push out, "It's not! We are headed to the hospital!" She had began to pour in tears as she groaned louder.

She felt her legs spread as she arced her back, the fluids gushed her arms grabbed the seat and the arms burst out, "It's just cramps I have two weeks left! Aoouuhhh!" Then her friend stops the car and heads into the backseat.

Holding her as she moaned, the baby shot inside her skirt while spurting in fluid and her friend came over and helped pull out the baby, she had begun crying "I'm to- too scared... No! I'm not ready!" Her friend replied "This is your only baby, only child you have no choice! It's yours"

Looking at the newborn, she reached out and cradled it into her arms as it fed onto her.

[violettduchess]

A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view. 

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof. 

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories. 

Sometimes she needs rescuing. 

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts. 

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace. 

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana. 

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze. 

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath. 

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls. 

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite. 

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain. 

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers. 

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence. 

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–” 

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip. 

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion. 

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating. 

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.” 

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then. 

“Together.”

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[thoughtsfromlayla]

Destined Dreams of Love: Prologue

Summary: As no stranger to arranged marriages, your parents excitedly marry you off to the king at his request. He is contradictory, cold yet caring, strict yet liberating, it's all too much! He could never love another for reasons you do not understand either, didn't he just meet you? Perhaps in time, you can learn to love him, too.

Warnings: ~1.3k words. Arranged marriage trope, slow burn, alternate universe, eventual smut, miscommunication, general palace drama, no i don't know the rules of royalty, ANGST (It's my specialty)

Tag list is open, just let me know!

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Next

Everything was too much.

Too much fuss, too much noise, too many smells, too many textures. Your mother stands beside you as she fluffs the veil one last time and smoothes your silken dress. The corset you wore was bone-crushing, making the already anxiety-ridden day even harder to breathe. With sweaty, shaking palms, you grab the bouquet of flowers, gripping onto the fragile stems tightly as your only saving grace. 

Your mother moves the veil over your face a few moments before the large doors open. She cups at your face through the see through fabric and looks at you with teary eyes. 

“Oh, my own daughter. Married off to the king at his request,” She gushes with love. “Now, make sure you make him happy, bring honor to our family.” Her last bit of wisdom falls from her lips. 

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes at her words. You’re no stranger to arranged marriages, it’s quite the normal in the higher social circles that you find yourself in. Your birth was that of an arranged marriage, after all. You are, however, a stranger to King Morpheus. 

That is to say, you have seen his portrait several times, and you would be lying if you were to say he is not of good breeding. He always eluded a sense of authority, even through the layers of paint. Perhaps it was the way he held his head, or his posture, or how lean and muscular shoulders meet slim waists. But then you’d be rambling - and a proper lady does not ramble, you can even hear your mother’s voice echoing the words. 

The music swells in muted harmony on the other side of the heavy doors and you hear the gregarious sound of people standing from the pews as the door slowly opens. Your mother leaves you side and it would be the last time you will feel her comforting arms around you. It takes everything in your willpower to not turn around and beg her to reconsider. But who would defy a king?

Your father stands on the other side of the doors and you walk a few paces to meet his awaiting arm. His face is as stern as always, only more groomed than normal. The crow feet and smile wrinkles are few, but some are discernable to you as you look at him one last time. You can recount each memory those wrinkles came from, few from joy. Perhaps today you will make him proud. To throw away your own dreams and desires for your family. 

He leads forward, your hand slotted to his arm, and your heart pounds louder than the choir. Each step you take, the closer you are to your future, to your soon to be husband. Each step another wish gets left behind in the vibrate but dying petals of fresh flowers. You will never know the warmth of your own bed again, nor the hearth that burns proudly in the drawing room where you like - liked - to spend your time, no more familiar faces to bother you. Your fingers will never dance across the same pianoforte’s glass keys, and they will never caress the old books in the library that talk about love. 

Your father lets go of your arm and you stand on wobbling legs to stare through thin fabric at the new outstretched hand. Pale skin is hidden by midnight black sleeves, trimmed with gold and flames. He wears a formal suit, an equally dark cape draped behind him that pools along the stairs like the night sky fell to the Earth at his feet. Your gloved hand takes his as he helps you up the last few steps. The choir stops, and it is just you and your heart against the world. You take a look at him, and the last of your breath is taken away. 

He’s somehow even more handsome in person, his portraits certainly didn’t lie about his facial structure. In fact, you believe his jawline to be stronger than the paintings. His eyes stare at yours through your veil, an enchanting mercury blue. Cold, but you think if you were to dig far enough, you would find warmth instead. 

A cough from the priest brings you back to the present and you jump slightly in your skin. His thumb runs a soothing finger over the back of your hand, but it somehow does the opposite. It makes him real, it makes the situation real. 

“Distinguished guests, esteemed family members, and honored participants, we gather here today to witness and solemnize the union between His Majesty, King Morpheus, and Lady (Y/N). In the tradition of arranged marriages, this ceremony represents the merging of two families…” The priest’s voice fades into a muddle, the monotone reading of the speech out of an old dusty book ornate with gold and jewels. 

You find your eyes wandering to anything you could see without moving. Yet they always returned to those cold mercury blue eyes. You knew nothing about this man, even the news articles the school boy brings every week never spoke of anything specific about the king. He wasn’t known to be the closest to his subjects, only ruling them from a six foot long pole. Would he be the same behind closed doors? Only calling you when he demands it? Or will he be something else, something different? 

All questions to be answered in due time, for sure, but is it wrong to ask now? Before you are tied to this man until your dying breath? 

“In the presence of witnesses and under the guidance of tradition, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” The priest finishes. 

You blink when the speech is over. King Morpheus takes a step closer to you and you think your heart is going to jump out of your chest and plunge itself into the nearby sea. His hand leaves yours and slowly lifts the veil, a slight smile is apparent on his face. A blink and you would have thought you imagined it. The veil falls behind you and you are completely presented to your king, the flimsy fabric the last of your defenses. 

His warm breath tickles across your glossed lips before he pushes forward with a kiss. Soft lips meet your own, tasting of sweet wine and berries and leaves you dizzy. You always thought your first kiss would be that of romance, something you read in your many books. Where you had run off into the forest and stolen a kiss with a forbidden lover, shared only between the two of you and full of giggles and promises to run away together. How ironic it is instead with the strictest setting possible, witnessed by the entire court of his kingdom. 

His fingers find their way to your cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. 

“I could never choose to love another,” He hums while he looks at you. It was hard to discern what kind of emotion he was showing as he didn't show any at all.

His declaration shocks you and yet… calms down all of your nerves and never ending questions at the same time. His voice was not what you had expected it to be. Somewhere in your head, you had convinced yourself that his voice would be harsh, cold, and rough like the oak trees that shaded the river. Instead you are lulled to him by his voice, it’s soft and deep. He speaks slowly with no rush in his tone at all. It’s a voice of seduction and authority, a voice that knows its importance and will be listened to. 

Your own voice finds itself as you respond. “Maybe one day, I’ll could learn to love you, too.” 

“I will wait, my dear.” He breathes out, yet he doesn't meet your eyes quite so.

“May I present His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen Consort.” The priest announces. The King drops your hands immediately as if you were made of hot iron and turns to the crowd, any sentiment the two of you shared, lost immediately.

Cheers erupt around you, flowers following their excitement as the marriage is sealed in golden ink.

☾ ✴ ๋࣭ ⭑․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․

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