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ann-writes-universes · 1 year

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Hell Hath No Fury (Eris x Reader) SMUT

A/N: First time writing for Eris, be kind <3

Based on this ask

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, Angst! (Slight mention of suicide at the very beginning)

W/C: 3k exactly

If you had known what this war would have meant for you, for your family, you would have killed yourself before it started.

Staring out the window of your forest home, wrapped in nothing but silken sheets as you awaited your mates return you wondered what it felt like to be a female like Mor, or Feyre, fighting alongside the people they loved.

You supposed Eris would never let you find out.

He was terrified of losing you, this much you knew. He often woke at night panicked that you had disappeared, desperately tossing in the sheets trying to get to your sleeping form not far away. On these nights, he would cling to you until dawn broke and he was sure you were real.

When war came, his fears only grew. Grew so immensely that he begged and pleaded with you to stay home. To let him fight for you this time as you had fought for him on those nights. This was different though wasn’t it?

Waiting on a soldier to return from war was a much more difficult feat than soothing him back to sleep.

Rain pelted the windowpanes and the sky beyond your forest home grew dark. The house was so quiet these days, so void of life, so void of love.

You had only seen your crimson haired lover once since the beginning of this mess with Hybern, and that night had been filled with fucking and sobbing so intense you were sure you would never recover.

That night was months ago, and his side of the bed had grown cold in his absence. He had written to you, of course. The letters were piled up on your nightstand, stained with tear smudged ink. From what he was allowed to write, the conflict (as he called it) was at a standstill.

‘There are no winners or losers in war Starfire.’

He had written to you once, and you supposed this much was true. Death and destruction would reside no matter the result of this war, you only hoped that your mate would return, outcome be damned.

As the sun began to find her home in the western sky you pealed yourself from bed. The emerald green sheet stayed wrapped around you as you exited your once shared bedroom and made your way towards the kitchen for tea.

You hummed a pleasant tune, one that had been played by Beron’s orchestra the night of your mating ceremony all those years ago. You stirred your tea, thinking of the memory fondly.

Perhaps a book would take your mind off of things.

Turning to walk back to your bedroom you let out a strangled scream. The mug you held fell to the floor and crashed against the hardwood in an explosion of scalding water and clay.

“Azriel, you frightened me.”

The shadowsinger was dressed in head-to-toe black leathers, a dark hood dripping with rainwater covered a majority of his face though his large wings and glowing syphons clued you in on who he was. Shadows swept across the floor and into each individual room of your home, seeking out any company you may have had. When he did not make a noise, you grew concerned. You tightened your grip on the sheet around you and stepped backwards.

“Azriel… why are you here? Is Eris hurt?” Panic seeped into your voice and at this the shadowsinger looked up, his honeyed gaze finding your wide-eyed stare.

“Eris is fine, if not a bit concerned on where his loyalties lie.”

“What do you mean Az?”

You sent a tug down the bond, a question to your mate’s health that was met with a loving stroke in return. Your heart rate slowed only minutely.

“I apologize for this (Y/N), this is the last thing I wanted to do.” Azriel whispered, his shadows retreating within him once more.

You began to sweat then and backed up further, the small of your back being met with the counter behind you.

“Azriel you’re scaring me, what is going on?” You choked out. The next tug you sent through the bond was blind panic, like a drowning man grasping for a rope. Azriel didn’t even respond, just surged forward and slammed your head into the upper cabernets so hard that your vision blurred and faded.

“I’m so sorry.”

And then the world was spinning into nothing.

You awoke in a room that was entirely foreign. A window was opened somewhere, and the scents of jasmine and vanilla clued you in enough as to where you were. Gone were the familiar scents of pine and woodsmoke.

Your head was throbbing, a deep and painful throb that had you groaning and rolling over in the bed that did not belong to you.

White silk wrapped around your form and the fabric felt suffocating, too hot, too constricting, too foreign.

There was a forceful tug sent down the bond that had you gasping for air and sitting up stick straight in the bed. It was dark outside, the night sky lit with millions of stars that danced happily in their places.

In reply you sent down a panicked tug.

The effort to get out of the bed was excruciating, and when you were met with nothing but a locked door the fear you felt was beginning to be replaced with anger, thick and furious.

“RHYSAND. I KNOW YOU CAN FUCKING HEAR ME.”

Your screams were accompanied with banging on the oak door until your hands were bleeding and your nails were cracked. You collapsed to your knees and let out a choked sob. What the fuck was going on? These people were supposed to be your friends.

“(Y/N) you must know I am sorry. I have sent a healer to the palace. They should be there soon. This was a last resort I am so sorry.”

Rhysand’s voice filled your head and you snapped up your guards instantly.

“Fuck you Rhysand.”

Was the only reply you offered before effectively cutting off any further communication.

War was effectively driving you all mad it seemed. That was the only excuse you could come up with for the High Lord of the Nightcourt. Despite that possibility fear and anger had tight fists on your heart.

As promised a healer came, winnowing into the room as though you would have killed them for opening the door. As if you would have known how to escape if it was opened.

You let the pretty, pale haired healer do her work, it was not her fault you were here.

Sometime during her work a great series of screams began to filter down the hallway beyond your prison. Men, screaming and fighting, throwing things and hitting one another.

The healer (her name had been Tea maybe?) grasped your hands tightly and made to stand in between your frame and the door as though her lithe body would have been able to protect you from any incoming harm.

And then you felt it.

Anxious, fearful, tugs pulling on the bond growing stronger and stronger by the second.

You let out a strangled laugh and ran to the door, resuming the pounding and screaming, effectively destroying all the work the healer had done on your hand’s moments before.

“ERIS, IM HERE.”

You were crying again, desperate to lay your eyes on him, to go home. Frantic footsteps sounded beyond the door and the next tug on the bond was enough to bring you to your knees.

“Move away from the door.”

And oh, gods it was him.

You stumbled away from the door. The healer herded you in a corner, as if the fae that would enter was going to bring the two of you harm.

With a great slam of his shoulder Eris was tumbling into the room, followed shortly by Azriel who’s face had seen better days.

Eris looked frantically around the room and when his eyes landed on your form huddled in a corner his shoulders relaxed. Rushing to you he pushed past the healer and fell to his knees before you.

His hands cupped your face and his jaw tightened when he noticed the nasty bruise forming on your forehead and the blood that was caked into your fingernails. A low growl left his throat but was quickly cut off when you threw your sobbing form into his arms and clung to him desperately.

With no further words the red headed male lifted your body to his chest and stood, cradling you to him tightly. You tucked your head into his chest and inhaled the earthy musk that was solely him.

“Tell Rhysand I will be back later to discuss this bullshit.” Eris growled, presumably to Azriel. “Touch her again and I will not hesitate to ruin this alliance. I will fucking kill you.”

And then he was winnowing you away. To Home.

He didn’t hesitate when you were safely in the walls of your home. He fell to the floor of your living room, still cradling you, and began to sob. His hands stroked your hair and ran deftly over your body, terrified that you were not really there, just a trick of the imagination.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He repeated over and over, his face buried in your hair, his tears dampening the strands. You were shaking, clinging to him with every ounce of strength you had, terrified that he would leave the moment he knew you were alright.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, a teary-eyed mess on your floor. He only moved when the sun began to rise, and your body had stopped producing shuddering sobs. Gently, ever so gently he carried you to the bedroom you had been sleeping in alone for so long. And gently, ever so gently he lowered you into the sheets, retrieving a new comforter from a closet somewhere. After removing his leathers, he slid into the sheets beside you, pulling your frame into his with one arm.

The two of you slept that way for what seemed like days. Your bodies exhausted from fear and anxiety thicker than mud.

When you finally peeled your eyes open, it was pitch black in your room, and the only sound was Eris’s breaths coming in short and fast, a sure sign he was deep in a dreamland. You rolled over to face him and found comfort in the delicate image that was his sleeping figure. Sleep was one of the only moments where your mate’s features were relaxed. The curve of his jaw was slack, and his mouth was not set in its signature straight line. His brows were lowered and the furrow in his brow had dissipated entirely. You ran a thumb over his lips and curled further into his side, desperate to have him closer.

The hand that was slung over your waist tightened its grip and began to rub soothing circles in the exposed skin.

“I am so sorry Starfire…” He whispered; voice groggy from sleep. His eyes were still closed when he pressed his forehead into your own. The furrow had returned to his brow and his jaw was tight once more.

You stroked his hair, drawing your hand down to cup his chin and force his gaze to yours. Despite the darkness in the room, you read his face easily. He was terrified, angry, and confused.

“You have nothing to apologize for Eris, those actions were not your own, but the actions of a man crazed by war and desperate to keep his people safe.”

“Do not defend him lover. His actions are inexcusable.”

“I know, but I don’t want to think about it. Please.” You swallowed thickly and found the hand that was still rubbing circles into your waist. Locking eyes with your mate you took his hand in your own and guided it to the dampened apex of your legs. “Not when I have not seen you in months.”

When his fingers made contact with the wetness there, he released a low growl and captured your lips in a kiss. It was gentle, a silent promise that harm would not reach you again.

He did not hesitate in giving you what you want. Slowly, he began to rub circles into your clit, sliding his fingers through the wetness there.

You released a breathy moan into his mouth and the male swallowed it greedily. He guided you onto your back, stripping you of the remaining clothes you had on before continuing his ministrations.

His lips found purchase on your neck and began to trail downward, his free hand stroking your side, eliciting the most delicious shudders he had ever felt.

“Eris… please.” You whispered, fisting his auburn hair in a hand and urging him downward. The male chuckled but did not fight you, and when his lips finally made contact with your aching core the only thing you could do was roll your head to the side and gasp into the silk of your pillow.

He hummed at the wetness he found there and began to suck and lap at it greedily. Each sweet little moan you emitted urged the fiery male further, and by the five-minute mark he was grasping your thighs so hard his knuckles were turning white and your legs were shaking.

You were grasping and pulling for purchase anywhere the sheets, your skin, his hair, anything to ground you to this moment as he inserted a finger and began to stretch you relentlessly.

“I- I cant…” Your words were like smoke in the wind, completely lost against the work your mate was putting in. The coil in your core was beginning to tighten deliciously and your breaths were labored and short. You could feel him smiling against your sex, coaxing that moment of bliss from you greedily.

“Give it to me Starfire, just one and I’ll let you sleep.”

And the sound of his voice, gruff from misuse, sent you over the edge with a scream. You were convulsing, thighs trapping his head between them, though he didn’t seem to care. He pumped his fingers into you slowly through your orgasm and shifted until he was hovering over you, watching your pretty little face scrunch and pant.

He kissed the bruise on your forehead, fading now from that tricky little gift of advanced healing. He drug his lips across your shut lids and pressed gentle kisses behind the shell of your ears. His hands had left your aching core and were rubbing soothing circles into your hips. Your own hands were tracing his spine, playing with the soft locks of hair at the nape of his neck, and drawing constellations in the freckles on his shoulders.

“I don’t wanna sleep Eris.” You whispered into the skin of his throat before pressing a hard kiss into the junction of his collar. He groaned lowly and settled in between your legs, pressing his length firmly against your core.

“What do you want then? Tell me and its yours.”

But you didn’t want to tell. You wanted to show. With deft hands you reached into the blankets and guided his lengthy member to your core, and with a heel you shoved his hips roughly until he was sliding into you with a groan. Caged between his arms you had no choice but to watch as his face contorted, and his eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of you around him for the first time in months.

“Wicked little minx you…” He shuttered, dragging a hand through your sweaty hair. Your only reply was a soft moan and a smile as he began to thrust slowly.

The sun was rising and it painted your room in a sweet light that allowed you to see him fully for the first time since the debacle at Rhysand’s home.

“Youre so pretty.” You whispered, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. And he stuttered. His hips stopped momentarily as he watched you below him, practically glowing in the soft morning light. There was a gleam of sweat on your skin that made you shine and your lips were parted ever so slightly, yet you had called him pretty?

“No no. I am lucky. Incredibly lucky.” He replied, and much to your pleasure he resumed his ministrations and leaned down to kiss you feverishly.

It was overwhelming how good it felt to be joined so intimately after so many months apart. So overwhelming in fact that you were approaching your second orgasm rather quickly. Eris knew this, felt your legs tighten around his waist and felt your heart rate pick up through the bond. He smirked slyly and slid a hand between your sweaty bodies to rub quick circles into your clit, a sharp contrast against his torturously slow strokes. You bucked against him with a mewl and he chuckled, nipping gently at your ear.

“I’ve missed your pretty little noises.” He muttered into your neck, sucking marks into the skin there. You searched for some witty response, but one roll of his hips and your eyes were in the back of your head and your jaw was slack.

His rhythm was becoming disjointed and his pants were growing into groans and growls so deep that his chest vibrated against your own.

He thrusted once more, hard and deep, and you reached your peaks together in a symphony of moans and pants and sweat slick skin.

Eris didn’t even bother to pull out, just rolled to his side and pulled your back into his chest so that he could spoon you and play with your hair. You released your breath and intertwined your fingers with his own.

“I love you.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his hand. His fingers gently squeezed your own before he wrapped his arms tightly around your midsection.

“I love you most, Starfire.”

And as you began to drift off into that blissful slumber once more your auburn-haired lover began to plot.

There was a score to settle with the High Lord of the Nightcourt, one the Vanserra son would not soon forget.

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blade-that-was-broken · 4 days

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"There is someone here," Branch grumbled.

"Do you think they are Bergens?"

"Probably not. Bergens don't really wait and watch to attack. They just grab."

"Even if it isn't," Holly added. "We'll be gone before they open tomorrow."

"Right," Darnell agreed. It wasn't even five minutes later that the silence set in. "Does anyone...?"

"Feel like we are being watched?" Holly finished. "Yeah."

"WHAT ARE YOU D-"

"Circle up!" Branch barked and his friends did, covering each other's backs and flanks, forming some semblance of a circle. Each of them brought up their hands or other small weapons for defense. "Show yourself!"

"What are you?!" The booming voice repeated.

"Not until you show yourself!"

"Are you... trolls?"

"I'm not tell you anything. You could be a Bergen!"

Distantly, someone screamed.

"I'm not...what?"

"We aren't looking for trouble. We are just passing through," he added, confidently.

"You passed on sacred grounds!" the voice tried to sound spooky but he could hear the tremble and awkwardness.

"This is an amusement park, newsflash!" Branch snapped.

"Branch, my dude, don't antagonize," Darnell muttered.

"Wait... Branch?" another, different, voice echoed.

"Biscuits and Gravy," Holly yelped, pulling Branch in and closing him behind all of them. "Inside."

"Wait..." Branch tried but he was pushed inside the circle, his friends protecting him on all sides.

"You won't touch him!" Synth yelled to the void.

"Wait! No!" the voice shifted. "I'm a troll too! He's... he's my brother! I'm his brother!"

Wait what?

"What?"

Branch pushed his way through the group. A troll in a green sweater romper and crazy green hair, stared, wide-eyed. "Branch?" B moved forward but Holly stepped in front of him.

"Whoa there, cowboy. We..."

"That's my baby brother!"

"Not a baby," he grumbled.

"Your name?" Darnell asked.

"Branch, c'mon. Tell..."

"You're name," Darnell insisted. Branch let him.

"Clay," he finally said. "Bitty B, who are these...?"

"It's Branch," he replied, flatly. "Not Bitty B or any childish nicknames you gave when I was a baby. Just Branch."

Clay paused and nodded. "Uh... okay, yeah. Wow... you're... taller?"

"That's what happens. People grow over sixteen years."

"Who are these people?"

"My friends."

"What are they?"

"Excuse me?" Holly snorted.

"They're trolls, obviously."

"They look... different?"

"Well yeah, they are different types of trolls."

"Types?"

"I don't think he knows about the other genres," Minuette frowned.

Branch paused. "Maybe not."

"Dude, I have so many questions."

"I imagine."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I didn't know you were here. We're just passing through to get back."

"Get back? Like home?"

"Yes? There's..."

"Wait? So other trolls survived?"

"What?"

"Have you seen my sister?" another troll ran up next to Clay. She looked familiar.

"Why would I have seen your sister?"

"You're with the other trolls, right? More survived the escape?"

"The escape? What escape? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Clay stared. "What do you mean? Didn't you escape the troll tree during the escape?"

"Trolls escaped the tree?" Branch asked, surprised.

"Wait... Branch, how do you not know about this?"

"Branch lives in Country Territory," Holly piped in as Branch mulled this over. So there had been an escape and Clay knew about it. Which meant he was probably at the Tree. There and Branch spent the entire time thinking he was gone. He frowned. Holly continued. “We don't really know about other pop trolls."

Clay looked akin to horrified. “Where have you been?”

Branch didn’t say anything. Everywhere.

#feel I belong au #I’m still here au au #get wrecked clay #okay not really but this au kind of rips them a good one just TINY bit #look I know the writing itself isn’t great but I’m burnt out so it’ll probably be a while where there is anything that’s actually good we #good writing I guess it’ll be a while #so I guess if you don’t want to read this blabbering first draft burn out stuff lemme know

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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Killing Me Softly Part One: Livid - Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @ritasantosworld @bl4ckt00thgr1n @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @@oureternalbond @the-wandering-lunatic @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @theplacewhereallthedemonsgo

There are two things that neither you or Tig will compromise on and that is Luann and the club. Everything else has a degree of flexibility. It’s why the two of you work so well. That is until something forces an impasse, such as Clay’s decision to keep Georgie Caruso alive when he re-enters the country.

Tig has never seen you this furious, there’s a fire in you that blazes like the fucking sun. He can feel the rage emanating from your skin as you stand in front of him. He’s infuriated, aroused and livid all at the same time because you’d gone behind his back and taken matters into your own hands, pointing a gun in the face of the man that had murdered your friend. The only thing that stopped you from pulling the trigger was the fact that Clay had left him babysitting.

“You are fucking killing me here darlin,” He’s yelling when he hauls you outside. “…killing me.”

You wrench yourself out of his grasp, twisting to face him with a fury in your eyes that he thinks would be at home in the seven circles of hell. You look wild and untamed, a beautiful force of nature. You shove him hard, he falters a step, so you do it again and he lets you because all of that rage your feeling, it has to go somewhere.

“I’m killing you?!” You snarl at him, your palms smacking on the leather of his jacket. “I just walked in there, to find the man I love cuddling up to the man who murdered my fucking friend. He’s a fucking animal.”

“Cuddling?” He hisses, grasping you under the arms and drawing you close. “You think we’re sitting in there taking turns with that fucking blow up doll? It is taking every single fibre of my self-control not to wrap my hands around the little fucker’s throat and choke the life right out of him.”

“That feeling you have…” You tell him, jabbing him in the chest with your fingertip and it feels like a fucking railroad spike straight to heart. “…is what I live with every single day, knowing that bastard is sitting comfortably on his throne of fucking cocks, jerking off while Luann lies in the ground rotting. Give me back the fucking gun.”

“I’m not giving you back the fucking gun.” He snaps, meeting your ferocious gaze with one of his own. “I’m not letting you do twenty-five to life for killing him, I’m not letting you sign your own death warrant because you know that’s what will happen don’t you? He dies and Clay comes after you, is that what you want?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” You snarl, tearing yourself out of his arms.

It’s like you’re screaming into the fucking void, and no one can hear you. All the agony you feel in your chest, it surges through you until it becomes almost unbearable.

“Of course, it fucking matters.” He tells you, his voice cracking as his hands come to rest upon your shoulders. His eyes are fucking stinging because he senses that the inevitable is coming, the two of you are at a crossroads and he knows there’s no turning back.

“Fuck you Trager.” You spit, tearing yourself away before retreating back to the shelter of your car. “Fuck you and fuck your club.”

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alexander trager x you #tig trager fanfic #alexander trager x reader #tig trager x reader #tig trager #alexander trager soa #alexander trager

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george228732 · 9 months

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Fylass In Wonderland - Chapter Thirteen - Hollow Sorrow (TW: MENTIONS OF MENTAL ISSUES)

Fylass tried to scream, but their voice was muffled by the cacophony around them; blinding colors that had no pattern, nor meaning, along with voices and screams that went in all directions; it was a miracle that Fylass didn’t go deaf.

Fylass tried to see the hole they fell in, but there was only a world of darkness below, as the rest of the areas of Wonderland that fell in this void shattered into more shards of glass as they disappeared in thin, nonexistent air.

Singularity was also falling, but they didn’t seem to react in the slightest, like if they didn’t care at all; the fall seemed endless, but Fylass tried to reach them, to try and do something, since Fylass didn’t have much to do now that they were falling to who knows where; and even yet, this seemed familiar…

"HEY! PLEASE! HELP ME!" Fylass yelled as much as possible towards Singularity for their voice to be heard even with the cacophony of sounds and the bizarre area of colors and irregular items surrounding both people.

"...Oh. You did not shatter. That was… expected."

"WHAT?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU CLEARLY!"

"I know you can’t do so. I think it’s somewhat surprising that you can’t control the one world you’ve created." Singularity started to crack like glass, and yet, he didn’t seem scared at all, let alone concerned.

"HEY! YOU’RE SHATTERING, PLEASE COME HERE!"

"...Oh well. It was bound to happen… You are on your own, Fylass; make this story not have a disappointing ending." Singularity cracked even more, and at one point, they shattered into more glass which was consumed by the void itself.

Fylass was devastated, but tears weren’t able to form themselves, as they evaporated into thin air; this area had no logic; and yet, Fylass seemingly knew what this place was, and they didn't want to accept it.

At last, Fylass found the floor; or rather, the nonexistent floor that seemingly was there, even though they could see that the void kept on going, but at the end of the day, Fylass finally found the floor to their nightmare. The area was confusing; Fylass wasn’t the only living creature down here, since there were living doodles, creatures made of clay, or even people that Fylass knew, but they hated; like the Ancients, although these always were far away from them. Among other things, there were mirrors, broken glass, empty jars of medicine, and even nooses that were hanging what seemed to be plushies resembling Fylass were floating in the middle of the whole scenario.

"...P-PLEASE! GET ME OUT OF HERE! WHERE AM I?!" Fylass cried for help, but no one was there to help them; Fylass was all alone, in a world that they didn’t belong to, with people that didn’t belong here, with all the fears that they had. Why though?

"WHY ARE ALL OF THESE THINGS HERE?! I DON’T UNDERSTAND! I DON’T UNDERSTAND! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!" Fylass finally was able to tear up; they were lost, and didn’t know if they were going to be able to see the light of day, or feeling the warmth of their lone bed, or hanging out with their real friends. They sat down on the nonexistent floor and closed their eyes, yelling how they didn't understand anything that was happening, until…

"...You don’t understand?" Suddenly, the cacophony of madness that Fylass was trapped into suddenly stopped; there was no sound - not even the sound of the wind was heard; although Fylass knew perfectly the one saying that, for that voice was the same as theirs.

They opened their eyes, and they saw themself, standing right in front of them, with a sad face, and wearing their normal clothing.

"AH! W-What?! What are- Who are-?!"

"I am the truth you hide, I am you."

"W-What sense does that make?! Are you one of the people living here?!"

"...You are already the one living in your own head." This new Fylass said, with the original Fylass, seemingly hurt by those words, closed their eyes with a gloomy sadness in their eyes.

"I know that you know what this place is, but you’re just denying it… I am not mad at you, for we are one and the same; and I know your reasoning."

"...You do?" Fylass said.

"...Yeah. This place is all of your intrusive thoughts, repressed memories, among more things, after all; being covered by a world where you have the things you want; a life in a happy world of fantasies."

"...I know I am a horrible person by doing this, I know… I just don’t want to give burdens to my friends…"

"...And that’s why you placed them in your head, right? Even in dreams, you’ll still have them on your side; friends, family, among other people that you might or might not know. You love your friends; and so, they live in your head too." Fylass was feeling so guilty. Deep down, they knew why everything was happening, but they didn’t want to believe it, just to believe in that fantasy that these people aren’t figments of their imagination, and rather, real people which they could befriend.

"...Y-Yeah…"

"...You even tried to repress that medical report about you, saying how you needed medication for your… issues. You thought that if they would notice that would make them stop being your friend, and leave you alone, right?" They said.

"...Who would care about an ill child though? Why would they want to waste their time with someone that is mad, and will probably just burden your life further? I just don’t want to be anyone’s burden…"

"...You are not a burden for them though; you only became a burden to yourself, and so, you created a world in your head that would make you think you don’t have that said burden; a world that is fragile though; fragile as glass. That Club Brooch that Archie gave to you was only the catalyst to send you here, but at the end of the day, it always existed inside your head, every time you dreamed."

"...Is that why they’ve shattered? My friends?"

"...Yes, but I don’t think you could call them your friends though, since those friends you have in this world are just pieces of yourself; pieces of yourself that you projected onto copies of your friends to make you feel less alone." Fylass knew this; always knew this, but was just so caught up in delusions that they couldn’t admit it. "...Maybe that’s why they were so out of character; all of them are you, or at least parts of what you could consider… "you".

"But that just meant I had to accept that I was someone cruel like that Somnia, or mad like that Chaos, or a coward like that Genesis…" Fylass said, silently sobbing.

"...But you are also wise like that Pleiades, loyal like that Wisp, a protector like that Lucid, or sympathetic, like that Dolly. Everyone has their little pieces of what could be considered bad inside of them, and trying to deny that will only hurt you further. Don’t focus only on the bad, or unreal things, and try to find your way towards a world that might be cruel, but will let you find happiness." Fylass was feeling slightly better, but that feeling of hopelessness still was in their lungs.

"...What if they don’t want to be my friend after they find out how ill I am though?"

"...Then you’ll find friends that will actually accept you for who you are. Even then, I don’t think that would be necessary; you know how they act, and you know more than anybody that they wouldn’t leave you in such a state of distress. They surely feel worried about you, since you are still dreaming, so that means that they love you." Fylass felt better at least, but they still had thoughts in their mind.

"...Even then, I don’t think I will be able to tell them all of that… I am stuck here, and I don’t know where to go."

"...There’s an exit right here; this is your mind after all. You just have to find the door… After all, doors serve as entrances." This Fylass said as they pulled out a golden key with a Club symbol on top of it, that resembled a lot like the keys they have in their house. "But also exits."

Fylass took the key, since it was clear that this other Fylass was offering it. They knew what they had to do one last time, and even with some doubts in their head, they hugged their other self. "Thank you."

"No worries. Now go and find your exit, for this is a path of healing that only you are able to go through. Good luck…" This Fylass said, as they also shattered into reflectionless glass, and the cacophony started to appear again.

Fylass made it through this distorted world, running in all directions to find that way out, so their denial can finally come to a close, however, this world was way too big for them to find it, but they didn’t give up. That was worth it though.

"Hey! Fylass, come here!" They looked behind to see Selene, Wisp, and Dolly; the ones that they remembered. They went towards a random direction, seemingly wanting Fylass to follow them towards the exit.

Fylass, after more walking, lost them, until they heard another voice. They looked behind to see Genesis, Pleiades, and Lucid, telling them to follow them into another direction, and they did as such.

Then it came Twilight Knight, Ava, Verin, Blossom, Dero, Artemeta, Casey, Celesta, Chaos, Fettuccine, Kurabe, Mikuto, Damian, and Somnia, all of them in groups, to guide their friend towards the exit of this dream, or at this point, might be considered a nightmare, or a delusion.

Then again, and again, with their friends, running like if they were playing a silly game, and after talking down more paths, Fylass could see it; a door with the symbol of the Club, standing in the middle of nowhere; it was the exit.

Fylass ran towards it, but right before they could open the door.

"Oh come on, Fylass." They recognized that voice. They turned back, and he was there; their father Cosmounse.

"...Do you really think they would care about you? The most likely scenario is just them placing you in a madhouse, where you won’t see the light of day. Why don’t you keep dreaming?" Fylass was astonished from what they were seeing and hearing.

"This world won’t cause you harm! Please, keep dreaming and you’ll never suffer again. As the King of Clubs, or whatever you want to be! Are you really going to waste that time you could use dreaming for eternity, on friends that will leave you anytime soon? Don’t be a fool."

Those words hit Fylass badly, but at this point, they had accepted that this world is not worth it, for them, and for their real friends.

"...If the price to pay is a world that is not real, I won’t let it be that way… And even if that happens, it would be a better fate than to waste time on friends that were never there in the first place. I was a fool, yes; a fool for trying to think that this world was somehow real…" Fylass said as they used the key to open the door.

"YOU ARE A FOOL FOR THINKING THAT! HOW MUCH OF AN IDIOT CAN YOU BE?!" Fylass didn’t listen to those words, and sure enough, they opened the door, and like that, everything went to white.

@galakianexplosion

@ilikesillythingswooo

@loaflovesdoodling

@kachikirby

@stardustshimmer

@wyverewings

@moon-mage

@that-fanperson-meg

@theflutteringdreameater

@monsterhatdoodles

@mossyriverrocks

@lostsoulau-ask

@the-chaos-axolotl

#fylass in wonderland

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stilljuststardust · 3 months

Text

Tools for emotional regulation

This is specifically things I do for end of day decompression. I take an hour and I do different things off this list till I'm relaxed.

I understand that alot of these are "basic" but it's less about what you do and more so about taking time to care for yourself and ne present in your body in ways that feel safe.

I've broken this down in to categories of self soothing.

Environment

A calming environment is beneficial for obvious reasons so here's things I do to feel more safe in mine.

1. Turn off over head lights and uses LEDs, candles, or lamps instead

2. Noise cancelling headphones

3. Phone off

4. Christmas lights for some reason

5. Someplace to sit that isn't your bed (you can put pillows and blankets on the floor if need be)

6. I usually cleanse (witchy, may not be your thing)

7. Protection spells on your room specifically (witchy, may not be your thing)

8. Stuffies

Stimming

If you don't know what stimming is it's stimulating your senses as a form of self soothing. It's ok to move your body in "weird" ways, make odd sounds, or look for sensory experiences you find comforting. Nobody is watching, there's no one around to judge you release the feelings! I usually windmill my arms, rock back and forth, hum/sing, jump, etc. Anything you want.

It's actually really important to set aside time for stimming! You don't realize how important it is until you do it! It's scientifically proven to be harmful (particularly for autistic people) not to stim. It's really hard to unlearn suppressing it, so giving yourself a safe place to do so where you don't have to worry about what people think is important.

Sensory Seeking

Using tastes, textures, sounds, and visuals you like as a tool for self soothing is extremely powerful. This can look like so many things. I personally use perfume. I find certain scents incredibly calming and when I have them on I take deeper breaths because of them so it's a win win.

Other sensory examples:

1. use slime/clay

2. Touch fabrics you enjoy (like ultra soft blankets)

3. Listen to soothing sounds like music, rain, or ASMR

4. Drink a hot drink like tea or hot cocoa

5. Take a warm shower

6. Heating pads

7. Compression (weighted blankets/stuffies work great)

8. Stim boards

Clear mind

Sometimes you just need to get your feelings out. Having an outlet where you just express how you feel without worrying how it's perceived is important!

1. Journal (it's important to write like no one will read it cause they won't, unless someone will lol)

2. Sit outside or by a window

3. Write your doubts on toilet paper then fucking flush that shit to the sewers where it belongs.

4. Draw your feelings

5. Scribble non sensically

6. Scream into the void

Inner child time

It's time to kick internalized shame to the curb. What does your inner child want right now? If you were a kid again what would you do? It isn't wrong to do things you would've loved as a kid. It's important actually. What can you now do that you wish you could've done as a kid?

This one is incredibly individual cause I don't know what your inner child wants I'm just giving out ideas.

1. Play with slime, clay, kinetic sand, or play doh

2. Draw

3. Play with toys (have no shame)

4. Color

5. Legos

6. Read

7. Write a story

8. Make a "potion" (don't mix chemicals though)

9. Play with shaving cream I know you want to

10. Build a fort

11. Fluffy pajamas

12. Dance

13. Preform for stuffed animals

14. Barbie soap opera

15. Rewatch comfort shows

#autistic things #shifting antis dni #shiftblr #self regulation

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ratinayellowbandana · 1 year

Text

imodna prompt fill

from @hellsbells-emptynight: “Imogen didn't work things out with Laudna between the rock and Otahan. Like got friendlier but Laudna just construed it as keeping the team together. Right before she was stabbed she said, ‘I'm no one's favorite.’ Imogen is even more desperate to bring her back.”

Thank you for your reply! This was perfect for dusting off some old skills. I don’t think this is exactly the angst you were looking for, but I had fun with it, so I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Word Count: 1106

CW: canon-typical blood and violence

~~~

The moment Laudna falls, the world erupts in a sheet of white.

A scream rips from Imogen’s throat, raw and ragged, and the earth shatters.

I’m no one’s favorite.

The last thought to escape Laudna’s panicked mind before–

The ground races up to meet Imogen faster than she is prepared to catch herself. Sand bites into her palm, her elbow, and she hisses.

Blood pounds in her ears, a steady drum against whipping wind and the howl of her heart wrenched open.

Buildings crumble, boulders shake, and stone grinds against stone. Bricks tumble from high walls, and clay shingles clatter in a cacophony of percussion that forces Imogen to clamp her hands over her ears.

She screams again, and then–

Silence.

Red dust envelopes her like a storm cloud, settling over the landscape like a blanket. Through the haze, ruined homes jut from the sand like skeletal fingers reaching from the grave. Heaps of rubble settle, small chunks of rock tumbling, tumbling, to lie motionless in the sand. The earth calms with a groan like a mountain disturbed from slumber.

Imogen pants, breathless. Her lungs burn like ash, and she chokes weakly, coughing into the dry air.

Otohan is nowhere to be seen.

Laudna? She reaches out with her mind.

Silence.

She senses the familiar presence of Letters, Chetney, though only barely.

Laud? She tries again, heart rising to her throat, desperate, searching for a sign. A whisper. Anything.

Unstable feet prop Imogen upright as she blinks the white spots from her vision.

A piece of a demolished wall lies in the spot Laudna once stood, impaled by–

Imogen is running, stumbling, heaving across the remains of the road. Her knees smart as they make contact with the stone. Scarred hands move frantically, digging, clawing at the rubble. A fragment of broken glass embeds itself in her thumb.

“Laudna?” She is shouting, murmuring, wailing all at once. The name echoes, resonates in the hollow space of her joints, driving her onward.

“Please, Laud, please,” she mutters fiercely, “Hold on. Just hold on.”

Blood from a gash she did not know she had drips onto her forehead.

Vaguely, she registers another set of hands helping her dig.

Ashton?

A scrap of black cloth peeks between two hunks of stone.

“There,” she gasps, “There.”

She is frantic, she knows. Out of control. Dangerous.

And yet, she cannot bring herself to care. Not now, at least. Not when Laudna–

The ashen skin of a bony wrist is revealed, and Imogen sobs. Ashton works quickly, removing more and more bits of dried clay and rock until the dust uncovers her face, bruised and trickling with congealed ichor.

At best, Laudna is haunting in sleep. Eyes closed, lips opened slightly to reveal teeth just a bit too sharp. At worst, she rests with eyes open, glazed over in slumber, twin voids against pale gray. This is different. This is far, far worse.

Her neck is crooked at a terrible angle. Black eyes are closed, lashes coated in a layer of dust and grime. The tension in her brow has vanished, leaving behind smooth skin marred only by a cut along her hairline. She is still.

Imogen lunges, gingerly placing lighting-marked, unsteady hands against cool cheeks. She leans in, lowering her ear until she hovers just over Laudna’s parted lips.

“Please,” Imogen whispers, “C’mon, Laud.”

She waits. Long enough that even her friend’s sluggish lungs should have moved. Her chest should have risen, even incrementally. A hicough catches in Imogen’s ribs.

“Letters,” she shouts, “Letters! Over here!” Then, to Ashton, “Help me… help me move her.”

They comply wordlessly, delicately removing the remaining material.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Imogen murmurs into Laudna’s shoulder, “You’re gonna be okay.”

She has to be. Too much was left unsaid for her not to be.

Too many things Imogen had been too afraid to say for fear of upsetting the delicate balance that seemed to be struck between them.

She was foolish. She pulled away. The rush of frigid fury that overtook her when Laudna opened her fist aboard the Silver Sun overwhelmed her, blinded her from reason, and she had turned away. Turned her back on the woman she considered more of a home than Gelvaan ever was.

She lay alone in their cabin that night, curled on her side as tears rocked her. The frustration and grief and vitriol shook the bedposts, rattling against the wall as she wept.

The cruel words–the simple truth, so Imogen believed–she had let fall at Laudna’s feet like feathers. Like shards of a broken gem. An accusation that seems utterly meaningless now, with Laudna limp in Ashton’s arms.

Now, excavated from the ruin, Imogen can see the details of Laudna’s blouse. The embroidery she had done by hand on the road is stained, nearly hidden beneath the tatters of a hole in the fabric. Her chest is a dark mess of blood-like ichor, and Imogen has to look away.

“Is she your favorite?”

Imogen doubles over, landing on already bloodied hands and knees. She hardly registers the sting.

Your favorite.

Imogen had yielded. Conceded in with a cry, a broken plea.

Anything to keep Laudna safe, even as Imogen felt the flare of confusion rise from Laudna’s position near the wall.

Go, Laudna.

Then–

A blink. A sword. A scream.

Imogen’s fault. All of it. Not strong enough, not quick enough, not clever enough, not enough.

Her fault for being a coward without the bravery to confess her regret. For pulling away. For withholding.

For making Laudna think she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

For making Laudna die thinking she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

Imogen’s body feels as if her bones have turned to straw, and she buckles to her elbows.

“Shit, Imogen–look, she’s not gone. Grass’s gotta have something. Just–come on,” he nudges Imogen with the toe of his boot.

“She can’t die, Ashton,” Imogen manages. She can’t die; she can’t.

“Fuck, okay. Okay.”

Imogen takes a shaky breath as Ashton tenderly lays Laudna’s body in the sand.

“Fearne and Orym are down, too. We gotta–fuck. We’re gonna save them all. Okay? No one’s getting left behind,” they grit out. “Letters?”

Distantly, a conversation is held, but Imogen’s sole focus is the agonizingly still form beside her.

Her hands shake, and she tries to still them as she tenderly maneuvers Laudna’s wrists to rest neatly at her sides. Restless fingertips sweep clumped black strands behind gilded ears. Trembling lips press a kiss to an alabaster forehead.

“You’re gonna be alright, Laud,” Imogen whispers, “We’re gonna get you back. We need you.”

I need you.

Don’t leave me.

Please.

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broz0neglitters · 1 day

Text

I gotta escape the void.

-We all know Clay was the Fun boy for Brozone; John Dory would do anything to keep Clay being the fun boy most of the time, but Clay didn't like to be the fun boy. He wants to be taken seriously by John Dory, but it never comes true. John Dory puts so much pressure on him, which leads Clay to have anxiety, and sometimes he develops a panic attack because of the amount of pressure John Dory puts him through even when the band had broken up clay still have panic attacks from time to time-

Warning: Panic attacks/Anxiety mention

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

-Putt Putt Golf course-

As Clay just had a panic attack, Viva saw that she had calmed him down, sat him down, and patted his back. "Mr. Clay, you really scared me. Is something wrong? You can tell me we're friends." Viva said, comforting him

Clay looked at Viva. He was scared to tell Viva, but he let out a big sigh. "I was in a boy band in the day, and my older brother John Dory kept pressuring me to be the fun boy. I liked it at first, but then it stopped being fun. He would not take me seriously and didn't allow me to do serious stuff." Clay said. Just by him taking about again, just send Clay to have another one of his panic attacks as Viva calms him down slowly

Clay was grateful to have Viva. She helped him through his panic attacks, and he wished John Dory would understand. Even back in their band, days before their performance, Clay would start to break down into a panic attack; only floyd was the one who helped Clay calm down, but John Dory screamed at Clay for being nervous john dory wouldn't even let Baby branch be nervous let alone have a panic attack.

Clay finally calmed down as he looked at Viva, who looked worried for him. "I hate who I was before. I fear I won't live to see the day tomorrow." Clay said as Viva held his hands in comfort. "I understand," she said softly

Clay was glad he was no longer in a band with John Dory because Clay hated being the fun boy. All he just wants is to be taken seriously and read books. Still, John Dory throws all his books away and forces Clay to be the fun boy who gives him significant anxiety because he worries he isn't fun enough not for the fans but for John Dory all clay ever cares about is being the fun boy for his significant brother approval it matters to him the most. Still, his panic attacks started all because of his big brother...

-Backs in his boy bands days-

It was Branch's frist show, and all of them were nervous, but they weren't allowed to show it. John Dory would scold them if any of them were anxious, even Baby Branch, as Clay was shaking and felt lightheaded, floyd noticed it

"I gotta escape this Void. There is no other choice." Clay said to himself. Clay flopped to the floor in complete panic mode to calm himself down. Floyd rushed over with water. "It's okay, bro. Take it easy," floyd said softly, claiming his big brother down. Clay got back up again with floyd still comforting him as he drank some water.

"I'm Tryna turn off the voices, But the void ate me." Clay told floyd, "I understand John Dory always puts pressure on all of us, even Baby Branch is his first show. I wish John Dory was a bit more sensitive about our feelings." Floyd said

Clay's panic attack started to get worse as Clay was breathing heavily and his head was spinning he was losing balance as floyd held both of his hands.

"Look at the mess I've done; there is nowhere to run." Clay said, "You didn't do anything wrong, Clay. Trust me, let's just go out there and have fun, deep breath in and out. Trust me, if anything happens, we'll all blame John Dory." floyd said

After the concert ended severely, the perfect family harmony failed. Clay still felt terrible that he wasn't pulling his weight. John Dory was mostly blaming Clay and Bruce for their mistake; the three brothers were fighting, which made Branch upset. As Clay and Bruce walked out together, it felt like Clay's body had died, and now he could leave the whole Fun Boy clay behind and become Serious Boy Clay...

-Back in the Present day-

Clay was still managing his panic attacks. Viva always knew when Clay would break down in his panic attacks, but it was usually when he mentioned his brother John Dory. Still, Viva always kept an eye out for signs of potential panic attacks

Clay felt like a priest behind confession walls, constantly judging himself. It was like a body that had died, and it was Fun Boy Clay, who had died ever since the band broke up

Clay still feels like he is Tangled up in his own intestines even if brozone had broken up cause Clay gotta escape the void. There's no other choice for him...

---------------- I'm sorry if the story didn't come out well; I tried my best. I know I was rushing because I had stuff to do, but I hope you liked it anyway. I won't be opening requests due to time conflicts with my real life. I also have to tackle two jobs, and they do take time to write, but if you want to ask me any questions, feel free to private message me. I will respond to them :).

Like + Follow are very much appreciated!

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chou-de-chambers · 2 years

Text

Change of Heart

Content rating: Explicit (NSFW) Tags: Yoru x Reader, Yoru x You, fem!reader, reader is a Valorant agent, ex-lovers, slight angst, alcohol consumption, mention of smoking, smut with feelings, unprotected sex (consensual), happy ending, no beta we die like cinematic Cypher Next entry for Kinktober 2022! This one is a gift for my friend slash Valorant duo (best duelist in APAC for me btw) who simps for hair-down Yoru ♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Colorful lights seeped through the thin gaps of the cabinet's door, painting beams on both you and Yoru's tense bodies. It was already late at night; everyone in the party was tipsy from drinking beer (outside of Brimstone's knowledge) and celebrating Phoenix's birthday. Lofi beats hummed through the speakers of the basement garage, enough to set the ambience without bothering the older agents upstairs from their slumber or whatever work they were still busy with. Everyone felt brave enough to dare each other to a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, its players decided through a round of Spin the Bottle. However, you knew yours was rigged, judging from the subtle puff of air you had observed from Jett's fingers as the bottle pointed over Yoru then you.

As much as you loved your best friend, you couldn't help but feel betrayed by how she intentionally partnered you with your ex out of all the people in the room. Jett knew you were trying your best to move on from your recent breakup, your constant worrying and Yoru's stubborn behavior not blending well, yet she still challenged your will by subjecting your bodies this close to each other. You sighed out of nervousness as you and Yoru waited for any signs of life outside, like they're intentionally giving you more than seven minutes of torture inside the dingy garage cabinet. Not like any of them knew history between the two of you- only Neon and Jett had knowledge about your secret of having dated the riftwalker.

There wasn't enough room for personal space. Your hands were pressed onto Yoru's chest, clad in a black leather jacket, its decorative spikes digging into your palms. His hands were pinned on your sides, enclosing you in him. You could feel the heat from both your breaths gathering, causing both of you to sweat profusely. Yoru gulped as your hands slightly moved, him getting threatened by the idea of you noticing his heartbeat pacing.

"Sorry," you whispered, "I just wish we had more room."

"Yeah," Yoru mumbled back, wanting to scratch the back of his neck.

"What's taking them so long, though?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "No idea."

Then silence. Your head remained shifted away as you tried to pick up any activity outside. But in truth, you're just trying to avoid meeting Yoru's gaze. You could feel how his eyes were glued onto you ever since you entered the room. In Yoru's defense, he was longing to take another chance on you. Longing for you. He knew it was his fault your relationship ended, what with him constantly putting you on the edge for every dumb thing he did and refusing to introduce you to his vulnerability. He didn't even want to come to this party until Phoenix begged, just to avoid bumping into you. To avoid the guilt from hurting you. To avoid the pitting hole from not having you.

His efforts to catch your attention though were easy to tell, starting from the way he dressed tonight. Yoru donned your favorite apparel for him, the leather jacket he used to wrap around you during evening bike rides. His hair was even fluffed down, knowing full well that you preferred him that way compared to his usual spiky hairdo. He even wore the necklace with the little hamster pendant you crafted in clay for him. Everything about the way he presented himself tonight screamed for you.

"Uh," Yoru cleared his throat in an attempt to fill the void, "You look cute."

Well that's awkward. "Um. Thanks," you muttered as you eyed the graphic crop top and dark denim shorts you're wearing. You changed the topic though, "I swear they're just messing with us at this point. I'm coming out-"

"Don't," Yoru huffed as he pushed his body even closer to you, "Stay here. With me."

You gulped as his face inched closer until your foreheads were touching. Your fists balled in an attempt to force him away, but he remained as sturdy as a tree. The only thing you managed to do was turn your head to the side, avoiding the possibility of your lips meeting each other. You knew it was bound to happen, Yoru appearing to be more confident given the compromised situation. You didn't sign up for this shit, regret flooding your thoughts from attending this stupid party. How is this gonna help you in any way? You swore Jett was out of her mind. And you made sure she'll pay for this.

You toughened up, your face still away from his, "I don't see the point in staying here with you any longer."

"You hate me that much?" he snickered, playing the role of a tough guy.

"I guess you could say that."

"Give me another chance."

Your eyes narrowed, now crossing with his, "What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I mean."

"Ugh," you groaned in spite, "Your audacity, I swear. You haven't even apologized yet."

Your tone and volume amped higher, high enough for anyone outside to hear. Yoru didn't mean to start a fight from how he had trouble expressing himself. So he followed your advice, "I'm sorry, then."

"See?" you rolled your eyes in disbelief, completely dodging his attempt, "Like always. You had to wait for me to say it before you mean it."

"I'm shitty with social cues," he muttered with a crack in his voice, "You knew I had always been by myself until you came. You were my first."

"Doesn't excuse you from not listening."

"Please just-"

"Enough, Ryo," you answered firmly, the mention of his actual name hinting you're upset, "You're not helping me."

"Sorry." Yoru's sight fled down in shame. He took a few seconds to arrange his thoughts, giving you a moment for yourself, before pouring his feelings out, "But I'm serious: I really want to try again." His right hand fled to hold yours, squeezing it to where the beating of his heart was. Your ears perked from the emphasis in his tone. The riftwalker's voice was soft and enticing, "Just tell me what to do. I'll make it up to you."

Another cricket of silence. This time though, both of you were staring at each other, Yoru taking in this precious moment of being alone with you while you weighed how sincere he sounded. Before you had the chance to respond, the cabinet door swung open, putting you into flight mode and abruptly taking your hands off of him. Yoru did the same. Everyone cheered and teased from how both your faces were as red as a tomato, most of the girls giggling, including Jett who plastered a smirk while eyeing you. Engulfed by embarassment, you shot your best friend an irritated look and walked away.

"Ooh," everyone reacted, pressuring the left alone Yoru as he stepped out of the cabinet. Phoenix nudged him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, the smell of liquor radiating from his slurry speech, "So how'd it go, fam?"

"Screw you to shards, idiot," Yoru spat back, sinking on the couch as he reached for his bottle and swiftly downed what's left of his beer.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Yoru's heel dug onto the spent cigarette butt, distinguishing its flame. He took a few seconds to stare into the starry night sky before coming back inside, hands inside the pockets of his jacket. He knew how much you liked the stars, so he often snuck you out of HQ to a special spot beyond the city with his motorcycle. The way your eyes glimmered were brighter than the twinkling of the stars. He couldn't get the grin out of his face from how your fingers pointed to the sky, pretending to touch each speck. And most of all, your wholehearted laughter that echoed throughout the woods. He tried. Maybe he's just not cut out for you. Maybe he's that unbearable to handle. Like a teenage son, he remembered you call him before you told him it's over. A disappointed sigh escaped his lips as he reminisced the little time he spent with you earlier. Defeated, his foot kicked the dust off the concrete floor.

To his surprise though, he found you outside his apartment door, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt you forgot to return. Your arms were hugging yourself, face flushed as you averted your gaze away from him. For a moment, he froze, itching to rub his eyes just to check if he was already wasted somewhere in HQ and dreaming, but the rapid beating of his heart confirmed that this right here is reality. Without warning, you were dragged inside his room as his lips crashed yours, your body pinned onto the other side of his locked door. His hands were quick to grab onto your ass, sliding down to your thighs, lifting you up so he could walk both of you to his dim bedroom. Yoru didn't stop wallowing in the passion of your kissing as he tossed both of you on the matress, sheets rustling from your hands hungrily exploring each other. Your tongues danced, tasting the same beer both of you had from earlier's party. Yoru was the first to pull away, peering over the silhouette the moonlight could draw from your pretty face.

"Are you drunk?"

You shook your head to deny it, your hands pulling his face onto yours. He gently brushed them off, "I still need an answer, you know."

You were too shy to admit it- even to yourself- that you still like him. That you still looked out for him despite promising yourself not to. You weren't drunk, but the beer somehow helped you become more honest with yourself. All you did was stare at his lips with your lidded eyes. He noticed, giving you a soft peck to satisfy your need, asking again, "Is this you giving me a second chance?"

You nodded. He gently smiled, something he rarely did, "Kawaii sugiru," and kissed you fiercely this time. This turn of events made it seem like a miracle. Yoru thought about finally thanking the gods for this. No questions asked; he'd grab this opportunity freely handed to him.

His lips remained on yours as he shook his jacket off of him, throwing it on the edge of his bed. You could feel his rough hands sliding up your body, his wrists lifting up your shirt to your chest, revealing your waist down. You bit your lip from how he grinded his bulge onto you, the friction from his denim pants rubbing between your legs. He whispered onto your ear, "Stop pretending like it's our first time doing this. You know you can let it out. Our rooms are soundproof, baka, " then his lips traced down the area underneath your jaw, one of your most sensitive spots, rewarding him with moans from you. His grinding onto your core sharpened, driving you crazier than you already are.

"Oh, Ryo-" you breathed out, gripping onto the back of his shirt.

"Fuck," he groaned through the curve of your neck before kneeling up. His beady eyes admired the tangled mess you became, his hands doing quick work on taking off his clothes. Yoru let out an exhale from the way your hands traced each one of his scars that adorned his torso- scars he earned from Shibuya gang fights in the past and some that developed from his riftwalking. He noticed the worry on your face once again, an expression he wouldn't want to gain at this kind of occasion, and attempted to distract you by pulling down your panties. He cursed in Japanese, thrilled from the sight of your wet sex and the image of his hard cock diving into it.

"And here I thought you weren't happy to see me," he smugly commented as the tips of his fingers grazed onto your wet folds.

You covered your face in embarassment with his pillow as you whined, "Ryo, stop..."

He chuckled, obviously winning from how you fed his ego with your reaction. The pillow on your face got quickly discarded and thrown on the floor. His other hand grasped your chin, averting your face towards his conquering figure and gifting you with a passionate kiss again. He loves the feeling of your soft lips on his. It's one thing he missed the most from you. You felt a calloused finger enter your craving hole, making you beg for a pause to moan. Yoru denied your plea by shoving his tongue into your open mouth and adding another finger pumping inside you. You whimpered from each thrust he did, your walls getting more slippery. Release felt so close. "Ryo, I'm close-"

Then Yoru pulled out, momentarily licking the sweetness of your juices on his fingers, then lifted you onto his lap. He smirked from seeing your brows knit together.

"You're cruel," you pouted as you squeezed on his bare shoulders. His hand held onto yours, guiding it towards his erection. Your fingertip caressed its head, feeling the warmth of his precum, drawing out a lustful gasp from him. Yoru's wish was clear and you complied by wrapping your hand around his thick shaft, stroking it up and down. He pulled you in for a hot kiss as you gradually paced your hand's movement. The low groans that vibrated from his throat were satisfying for you to hear, like he's under your mercy. This was enough to make it even.

When his lips parted from yours, his hands held your cheeks, and the tender look from his eyes relayed a familiar message: Yoru was begging you to go down on him. You kissed the corner of his mouth before descending onto his twitching cock, peppering it with kisses before flicking your tongue over the wetness of its head like a treat. He hissed at the pleasure, his hand gripping onto your loose locks. Slowly, you took his entirety in your mouth until its tip reached the back of your throat. You felt his hold on your hair tighten, urging you to move. You did so by bobbing your head up and down until it was Yoru controlling you. Your tongue ran underneath his shaft with every movement of your head, leaving him euphoric to the point that his hips began rocking. Yoru's head snapped back from the overwhelming bliss as he cried curses in his native language, and the sight of him all sweaty and lewd like this motivated you to pleasure him even more. He'd often act tough outside, but you've always wished that he'd share his weaknesseses to you.

You felt your hair being pulled. You willingly obliged, releasing his cock from your mouth then gently pushing him to lay down on the bed. You knew Yoru loves it when you're on top, so you straddled his hips and slowly sank onto his girth, eyes focused on his. Both of you missed this feeling of being connected to each other as you moaned in unison. His hands met yours, fingers intertwined before pulling you closer to him. While you were still relishing on the feeling of him inside you, he whispered in a husky voice, "Go on, move. Show me you deserve to feel good."

His sudden retrieval of power from you turned you on, coaxing you to rock your hips, eliciting deep grunts from him. Yoru's hands fled to your hips, sliding down to your ass, squeezing it as you lowered yourself again on him. His eyes lingered on yours, his senses swallowing every bit of you- from your beautiful body to your melodious moans and fragrant scent of sex that blessed his territory with your presence once again. Everything was at its place. You were with him, and he's glad that he was right where he belonged: by your side. Yoru did his best to intensify your pleasure by fondling your breast with one hand and thumbing your clit with his other hand. You swore your mind was going blank from the way his hands occupied you, especially with him rubbing your core. It kind of made your movement sloppy. A deep chuckle escaped Yoru's lips as he adored your heated expression devoid of any thoughts except for your lovemaking. This urged him to seize your hips and move his instead. The yelp you let out was sultry, and it further motivated him to thrust harder.

Your back arched and your fingers clawed onto the bed sheet, "Ryo, please harder, I'm almost there."

"Me too," he mouthed breathlessly, his thrusts going faster and harder. His release was triggered by the way your walls clenched onto his dick, his warm cum pouring into you as you climaxed along with him. Yoru's hips continued thrusting onto yours, ensuring that every bit of his semen was inside you as a way of marking you as his. He sighed in relief as you pulled yourself away of him, a sight of his seed dripping from your swollen hole. You smiled at him before laying on his chest, his arms enclosing you into a loving embrace.

"So we're back together, yeah?"

You huffed in playful annoyance, "Of course, dummy."

"Just making sure," he said, brushing your hair then planting a kiss on your temples, " Suki desu."

"Love you too, Ryo."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

#valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant smut #valorant x reader #valorant yoru #yoru valorant #yoru #yoru x reader #yoru x you #ryo kiritani #ryo kiritani x you #choudechambers writing #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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cyberneticlagomorph · 2 months

Text

"Now, Jack. I can't promise these words will go away. I can sear you again and again, I can take that void and share of it my own, but I cannot guarantee that it will fix this. I implore you to seek out something that can while you have the chance, my dear." Null says as they lock the door behind them

The snap of fresh gloves being put on mixes with the sharp chemical odors wafting from the supplies Null has fetched from their lab and it reminds you of Home.

"Poor little thing." The maw in your chest whispers, nearly toothless and very afraid. "How pathetic you must feel to be comforted by memories of abuse."

For the first time since it started talking, you ignore it.

"Now then, I trust you can keep still on your own, or shall I fetch some restraints?" Null tilts their head to one side and you smile at them, sweet and lopsided.

Like you aren't afraid.

"I'll do my best, but no promises." You chuckle.

"Excellent! Now hold tight, this is very delicate work." You watch them crack their knuckles. They begin what is probably the easier part of the procedure, mixing chemicals together in orders and amounts known only to them. The fumes are heady and familiar, they remind you of Home of Home of Home.

You feel dizzy and light, laughter bubbling at the back of your throat, threatening to slip free, but you snap your teeth shut on your tongue and try your best to stay conscious.

Null dips their hands into the frothing chemical soup and for a second you expect them to dissolve right down to the marrow, but they don't.

"I'll do my best to be gentle, but this won't feel pleasant." Null looks at you with what might be worry or apprehension but the world has started to melt and swim so all you can do is nod. When Null's hands meet the raw and ruined flesh of your chest, all you can do is scream.

Stay still stay still stay still

You grip the sheets of your bed white knuckle, until your nails go through it and your own skin beyond.

You stay still, so fucking still.

You couldn't move if you wanted to, it hurts that much.

Null offers no words of reassurance, they just focus on their grim and grisly work.

Flesh burns beneath their touch, bubbling, hissing like fat on a griddle, steam rising from blood and ink that's started to boil where the chemicals have soaked in. Null dips their hands back into that hateful slime and applies more of it to your open wound like a balm.

The wound cries out in a tiny fearful voice, begging, screaming, crying as it bites down on Null's invasive fingers with what few teeth it has left. It pierces rubber, it rends flesh, it gets a mouthful of whatever gaseous substance serves for Null's blood and all it can do its wail like a dying thing.

Between the fumes and the pain, your body gives up and goes slack, your mind tossed into a blissful unconsciousness where none of this exists. Null pauses for just a moment, their hands finding your hearts buried deep under the yawning Nothing that came from this wound.

Still beating, stressed but steady.

Good, they can continue.

A maw is still a maw, even without teeth, especially one as afraid as this. It gnaws and gnaws and gnaws like the guilt it's made of, it tries to gnaw Null down to the bone but finds little purchase.

Null's gas mask comes off and they take a deep inhale of the potent miasma around them. More chemicals applied with steady hands riddled with bite marks and scratches, their life-blood is pouring out at a frightening pace but they don't care. They find the Nothing deep inside you, they pull it out and hold it close.

It hates them, oh how it hates them.

But that's ok.

Their fingers brush the edges of your wound and gently press them together the way one might do to clay. The chemicals have soaked in nicely, made the flesh malleable enough to cauterize itself without the need for outside heat or flame.

Even then as the wound is slowly beginning to shut, it refuses to die quietly.

Even toothless the maw is a terrible wretched thing wheezing and weeping as it is sealed by Null's skillful hands, its voice barely a whisper, almost inaudible over the hissing of gases and steam "She's afraid of you, you know… she'll always be afraid of you, she'll always see you as a monster, as something that came back wrong, someone that shouldn't exist."

"I am." Is all they say in reply as the last millimeters of muscle, meat and skin are joined and whole.

And the bleeding finally...

Stops.

#ic #ask to tag #gore #body horror #action post #art by bunny!

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itcamefrombeneaththeblog · 2 months

Text

Bad Dream House

Warning: This poem is fucked up. SA TRIGGER WARNINGS. Proceed at your own risk.

Every time it's the same.

A long flowing staircase,

Impossibly curved,

Leading nowhere. Screaming mother,

See your child taken.

See me ripped from your arms

Forever.

Feral panic.

A foyer of dark antique wood and purple

Velvet like adorments,

Where lies ruin and anxiety,

That will never leave me.

And they dress so well,

To hide the viscious, cruel beasts within,

Their smiles are like screams.

They smile like death.

I am with the dead things now.

Suckling at the breast of a long dead corpse

I venture forth into the tomb,

A verbose and elequent stream of

Conscious want and desire.

Sweet smells,

Like rot.

They kill me there, by the fireplace,

Over and over again,

Laughing as they stomp, kick, beat, rip, tear, rend with teeth and filling me with themselves.

They fuck my soul.

Black bile injected into my veins,

Make the suffering worse. I beg them to make it worse so I'll die.

Expert hands know exactly how far to take the meat so it doesn't turn.

There is a need

To be alone, forever. To die.

Because I'm fucking tired. I wear death's visage, and yet no souls can I reap,

For I only wish to be in void. Purposeless, not a doll to be fucked by greedy, uncaring hands.

Downstairs is true horror.

Pitch black presence, threadbare furniture.

This is a room for disgusting, vile acts of wanton misery and the ruining of innocence for dark gods.

Smashing into running shins and knees,

Falling, tripped in that slow dreamlike

State of being.

It's coming, in the dark, and its laughing.

The face is always the same, somehow to big and to small,

Fleshy like a ball of unformed clay,

Pink and yellow,

Rotting formless meat.

It rips me asunder, spreading my soul out for all the other creatures to take and rape,

As it consumes me.

And in the brief moments of agony I find a moments piece, as I no longer exist,

Until I wake up, on the doorstep

Of the bad dream house.

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historia-vitae-magistras · 9 months

Note

Hi! Do you happen to still have your headcanons about death? It was one of my favorite posts of yours. Thank you!

I don't have the post but this is a headcanon I think about a lot. I have two versions. The hard reset reboot and the soft reboot. The hard reboot is where the fantasy parts of my universe kick in and the soft reboot is something very much based in reality and biology.

Hard reboot:

This is only possible with the complete destruction of a body. Think getting ground to paste by the force of a glacier or going so far down in a ship wreck the pressure atomizes the body or getting turned into pink mist by artillery. Either the body is completely destroyed or otherwise the damage is unsurvivable. A beheading or certain kinds of spinal injuries for example are impossible to survive under any circumstances. This results in a whole molecular reset. Whatever was now ceases to exist entirely. No remains in the ground, no spare parts. Nothing left but the blood spatters and the echoing scream They are completely remade in a very mysterious process no one quite understands. And the results can be extremely dramatic when they reappear. They may be lacking scars they've had forever or they may reappear later on. Limbs may or may not regrow. Arthur may have lost the Danelaw scar for awhile and it may have popped up again later. Matt might lose some of the scars from the WW1 shrapnel eventually. While I do think that nation's have some built in abilities to cope just being what they are and a lot of trauma fades over time, trauma reactions can be variable and uneven. So while they may reboot and reset, it's still very circumstantial. They might feel better or different afterwards but it's still incredibly disconcerting.

Soft reboot:

The other type I call the 'soft reboot' or the biologically possible one, auto-resuscitation also sometimes called Lazarus syndrome. About half of doctors report seeing a case with their own eyes but data is still quite hard to come by. For most people that it happens too it shows up in their medical records vaguely and the difference between reversed clinical death and auto-resuscitation is not entirely clear to physicians, nurses or patients. But one possible theory is that it is the heart being restarted by pressure of some sort exerted onto the cavities in the chest. This doesn't have a reset. I am not dying today. It's fucking painful. I am not dying today. Coming back is terrifying. One moment the world is dark and cool and the terror of he medical environment is fading and any thoughts echo limply. Life and person hood trickles away but scrambling for a grip, something rolling into a void desperate for traction. No life flashing before the eyes. But Death is there. A sun bleached skeleton, the dried and decaying flowers of a funeral crowning an eyeless skull. Death offer's a hand and the falling is over. I am not dying today.

And then it does go black for a long time but then... life. The bones are a different temperature from the flesh. Every muscle has been strained every fucking direction. Half the ribs are broken because doctor's might have called it. The eyeballs aren't quite in the head right. A death has been declared, paperwork half filled out but the sun is rising, death kisses a bruised, warming cheek and asks, wryly.

"𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏?"

There's no magic reboot. The guts are bit rotted from sitting in a corpse for a night. There's a little brain damage but not as nearly as much as there should be. The joints are swollen, every vein in the face and neck and legs are pulling through muscle and flesh like cords through clay, held only inside by skin. Everything that was wrong is still wrong, and a little worse. But the sun is up. The sun is up and the heart still beats and the rest will heal. It has no choice but to heal. Because there is a heartbeat and breathe and the rest can wait.

#the ask box || probis pateo #The Personification of Death || did lazarus sing of love?#meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations

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