#and then it all descends into pure chaos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princesscait26 · 16 days

Text

Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

———————————————————————

Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

700 notes · View notes

zapreportsblog · 8 months

Text

❝army of ivarrsons❞

✭ pairing : ivar the boneless x reader

✭ fandom : vikings

✭ summary : ivar has always thought of himself to be a failure of a man, his legs did not work like an normal man, his prick did not work. The only thing he was good for was being a prince and a warrior though he wasn’t all that good at being even those in his eyes, but then along came a woman. One so pure, so beautiful she looked to be a goddess amongst men. And with those sweet words she spoke “I will bare you many sons ivar the boneless.”

✭ authors note : I have requests closed as y’all seen but it’s only temporarily, haven’t really been up to writing and seeing as how I had many ideas in mind for stories I thought fuck it let’s try again

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the great hall of Ivar's family estate, illuminating the long wooden table laden with bread, cheese, and freshly caught fish. Ivar sat at the head of the table, his older brother Sigurd to his right. As usual, Sigurd couldn't resist testing his patience.

"Good morrow, brother," Sigurd teased, a wicked glint in his eye. "Have you finally learned how to eat without spilling half your breakfast on your tunic?"

Ivar clenched his jaw, determined to keep his composure. Their sibling rivalry had existed for as long as he could remember, and it showed no signs of waning. He forced a strained smile. "I'm making progress, Sigurd, unlike some."

Before the exchange could escalate further, the heavy wooden doors of the great hall swung open with a thunderous crash. A thrall, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, stumbled into the room. The hushed conversations ceased, and all eyes turned to the intruder.

Ivar rose from his seat, ready to reprimand the thrall for her lack of decorum, but before he could utter a word, she dropped to her knees, her head bowed low.

"Forgive me, my lords," the thrall panted, her voice trembling. "I bring urgent news."

Ivar exchanged puzzled glances with Sigurd. Urgent news was a rarity in their peaceful corner of the world. He gestured for the thrall to continue.

She raised her head, revealing wide, terrified eyes. "Freya herself has come and blessed us. She walks among us."

The words hung in the air like a spell, and a collective gasp swept through the hall. Ivar's skepticism wrestled with the growing sense of anticipation. Gods did not simply descend from the heavens to walk among mortals.

Before he could question the thrall further, the great hall erupted into chaos. The guests and servants rushed toward the entrance, shoving past each other in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the so-called Freya. Ivar, however, moved reluctantly through the crowd, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

And there she stood, in the center of the throng, an ethereal vision that defied belief. Freya, if that truly was her name, had luscious hair that billowed in the wind, eyes that seemed to hold both otherworldly wisdom and untold mysteries. Her face was mature but agelessly youthful, her features mirroring the very essence of a Viking legend. It was as if the stories of the gods themselves had come to life.

The hall was filled with awe-struck whispers as people fell to their knees, proclaiming that the gods had indeed come to pay them a visit.

Amidst the reverence, Freya's gaze found Ivar's, and she offered him a serene smile. A shiver ran down his spine as their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them.

"We have much to talk about," she said, her voice carrying a mysterious weight that left Ivar both uneasy and captivated.

As the crowd continued to kneel and worship the divine presence before them, Ivar couldn't help but wonder what secrets this so-called Freya held and how her arrival would reshape their world.

Ivar stood alongside his older brothers, Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Ubba, each of them caught between awe and skepticism as they gazed upon the enigmatic woman who claimed to be Freya. The hall had fallen into reverent silence, save for the murmurs of those who dared to question her divine presence.

"Are you truly the goddess Freya?" Sigurd finally ventured to ask, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Freya, or the woman who bore her name, smiled, but her response held an air of mystery. "My face holds many names, Freya may just be one of them."

The brothers exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of her cryptic words. It was Ubba who stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the ethereal figure before them. "Why have you come to bless us, then?" he inquired, his tone respectful but inquisitive. "If I may ask without sounding rude."

The woman, who had introduced herself as (Y/N), let out a melodic laugh that echoed through the hall. "Rude? Not at all, dear Ubba. You see, I am here for Ivar."

Ivar's heart skipped a beat as all eyes turned toward him. He had been prepared for many things this day, but not for such a direct and unsettling revelation. He struggled to find his voice. "For me?"

(Y/N) nodded, her enigmatic smile never faltering. "Yes, for you, Ivar. If you were to accept me into your home, I would bear you many healthy children."

The words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning and implications that Ivar could hardly fathom. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, as if she could see into the depths of his soul. It was a proposition unlike any other, one that would reshape not only his destiny but that of his family and people as well.

Sigurd couldn't suppress the unease that gnawed at his heart. He looked from his brothers to (Y/N), his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why him, and not one of us?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

(Y/N) met Sigurd's gaze with an unwavering serenity. "You are all favored by the gods," she began, her voice carrying an air of wisdom. "But Ivar, he is favored above all. The accomplishments you will face, the children you will bear into this world—they will be great, but not as great as his."

The revelation left Sigurd and his brothers exchanging troubled glances. It was a difficult truth to accept, that their destinies were preordained and that Ivar's path would surpass theirs. But even in the midst of their uncertainty, (Y/N) offered a glimpse of hope.

Ubba, ever the one to voice the unasked questions, spoke next. "If you are truly Freya," he began cautiously, "then how come you are here with us and not your husband, the Allfather? I do not wish to be rude, but you are married to Odin, are you not? Yet you speak of carrying my brothers' children."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes holding a mixture of fondness and sadness. "Odin and I have long since split," she explained. "But for the sake of the other gods, we remain faithful to one another—just not in the way one would think."

The brothers exchanged another set of glances, their minds trying to grasp the complexities of divine relationships and the implications of (Y/N)'s presence in their lives.

Amidst the questions and uncertainties, Ivar felt a wave of insecurity washing over him. He couldn't help but voice his doubt, his voice laden with self-deprecation. "You should choose one of my brothers or someone else," he said, his tone laced with a mix of humility and resignation. "They are able men and can do all the things a woman would need in a man. You don't deserve a cripple like me."

(Y/N) turned his head gently, making him meet her gaze once more. Her smile remained, unwavering. "But yet I chose you."

The words held a weight that Ivar struggled to comprehend. In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if he truly understood the depths of the path that lay ahead, one where gods and mortals intertwined in ways he had never imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Ivar found himself giving in to the uncharted territory that (Y/N) had brought into his life. The same night they met, they wed an impromptu ceremony all of Kattegat’s members and held a extravagant feast of celebration.

Now, in the dimly lit chamber, amidst the cheers and laughter, the newlyweds were about to partake in the bedding ceremony. Ivar couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he apologized, his voice tremulous. "I'm not very good at this," he admitted, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in close, her eyes holding a comforting reassurance. "You'll do just fine," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "I've seen how your first time went, my dearest ivar. It is normal to be nervous, especially when it's not the one you truly want."

Ivar felt a surge of relief wash over him. Her understanding words eased his doubts, and he let himself surrender to the passion that simmered between them.

Throughout the night, their love-making was fervent, passionate, and filled with a longing that transcended mere physical desire. The hours blurred together, and the dawn found them entwined, their bodies and souls intimately connected.

The next morning, Ivar awoke with a grin that was unusually happy for the stoic prince. Ubba, his older brother, noticed the change in his demeanor and couldn't help but inquire, "Did something happen to Sigurd, brother?" He assumed that Ivar might have witnessed their brother's misfortune or a rejection.

Ivar chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nothing of that sort, brother."

Not long after both brothers had been joined by Floki - a member close to their family especially their father and seen as another father figure to ivar, for breakfast, the trio exchanged casual conversation, and Ivar's newfound happiness was hard to conceal. In the midst of a seemingly mundane conversation about the weather, Ivar couldn't contain himself any longer.

"I must share some news," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence. "Last night, I performed well in bed. Every round, to the very end."

Ubba, caught off guard, nearly choked on his mead. Floki raised an eyebrow, intrigued but nevertheless proud by the sudden announcement. "Is that so, Ivar?"

While Ubba struggled to contain his astonishment, he managed to offer a hearty congratulations to his brother, even if a tinge of bitterness lingered. The doubts that had plagued Ivar, the assumptions made by his brothers, had all been dispelled in the passionate hours he had shared with (Y/N).

It had been just a week since Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, but the news that swept through the village was enough to send everyone into celebration. (Y/N), still affectionately referred to as Freya by the villagers, was pregnant with the heir of Ivar, the prince of Kattegat.

Upon hearing the news, Ivar wasted no time in throwing a grand feast to celebrate this momentous occasion. The great hall was adorned with banners and torches, and the long tables were laden with the finest foods and meads. It was a joyous occasion, and the entire village turned out to celebrate the impending arrival of their future leader.

Throughout the festivities, Ivar's attentiveness to his wife was unmistakable. He was by (Y/N)'s side at every turn, anticipating her needs before she even voiced them. If she desired a drink, he would fetch it for her or have a thrall pour it with haste. When she wanted more meat, he ensured her plate was overflowing with it. And when she complained of stiffness in her shoulders and back from the long hours of celebration, he was there to ease the tension, his strong hands working wonders on her weary muscles.

Everyone could see the happiness that (Y/N) brought into Ivar's life, and it was evident in every glance, every gesture, and every tender touch between them. Despite the brevity of their marriage, their connection was undeniable, and it had only grown stronger with the promise of a child.

As the night wore on, and the revelry continued, Ivar found himself in a state of contentment he had never known before. With (Y/N) by his side and the prospect of fatherhood on the horizon, he couldn't help but look to the future with hope and excitement. The people of Kattegat watched their prince with admiration, knowing that he was not only a formidable leader but also a devoted husband, eagerly anticipating the arrival of his heir.

The months had went by swiftly and soon the long-awaited day had arrived. The air in the room was filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as (Y/N) prepared to give birth to Ivar's heir. The labor had been long and exhausting, pushing (Y/N) to her limits, but she persevered with unwavering strength and determination. Ivar stood by her side, providing constant support and encouragement, never leaving her sight.

As the hours turned into eternity, the cries of pain echoed through the room. The midwife worked diligently, guiding (Y/N) through each contraction, offering words of comfort and reassurance. By her side, Ivar held her hand tightly, his eyes never leaving her face. He could see the strain etched upon her features but admired her resilience in the face of such intense pain.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the moment arrived. The cries of a newborn filled the room, and tears of relief streamed down (Y/N)'s face. Ivar's heart swelled with joy as he looked upon the tiny face of his firstborn son. The room seemed to glow with an ethereal light, as if the gods themselves had blessed this moment.

"I am truly blessed by the gods," Ivar whispered, his voice filled with awe. "For I have a wife, the fairest of them all - the goddess Freya herself - in my arms, with my firstborn son, an heir. I never thought I would find such happiness, but I am grateful that I have."

(Y/N) smiled weakly, her eyes shining with love and exhaustion. She reached out a trembling hand to touch Ivar's cheek, her touch filled with tenderness and gratitude. "And I am blessed to have you, my dearest Ivar," she whispered. "You have given me strength and love beyond measure."

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, overshadowed by the miracle of new life. Ivar and (Y/N) found solace in each other's arms, cherishing the precious gift they had been given.

The midwife gently placed the newborn in (Y/N)'s arms, and Ivar marveled at the sight. His heir, his legacy, lay peacefully in his mother's embrace. There was a newfound sense of purpose and responsibility that settled upon Ivar's broad shoulders.

As he looked upon his wife and son, Ivar knew that he would protect and cherish them with all his might. He, a warrior feared by many, had found his greatest joy in the form of his family. With a heart filled with love and gratitude, Ivar vowed to be the father his son deserved, and not the man his own father had been.

Six years had passed since the day Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, and in that time, Ivar had become a force to be reckoned with. At the age of twenty-four, he had accomplished more than he had ever dreamed of. He had conquered lands, brought riches to Kattegat, and solidified his reputation as a formidable leader.

But it wasn't just his conquests that defined his success; it was the growing family he had built with (Y/N) by his side. Their firstborn, Arvid, had been a source of immense pride for Ivar, carrying the weight of being the heir to the throne. Following Arvid, twin boys named Audun and Axel had joined their family.

Their blessings continued with the birth of a daughter, Astride, who brought a new kind of joy into their lives. And after Astride, more sons had followed: Ase, Bodil, Dane, Ebbe, Eir, and Inge, each one a testament to the love and connection between Ivar and (Y/N).

Now, with the passage of time, the couple found themselves on the brink of another exciting chapter in their lives. (Y/N) was expecting once more, and this time, they had received the news that they were to welcome another set of twins into their growing family.

The prospect of more children filled Ivar with a deep sense of pride and fulfillment. He had not only achieved great success in his endeavors but had also created a legacy that would continue to shape the future of Kattegat for generations to come. With (Y/N) by his side, he looked forward to the challenges and joys that lay ahead, knowing that their love and the family they had built together were the greatest treasures of all.

824 notes · View notes

arkhammaid · 6 months

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ "ME AND YOU."

fandom. formula one

pairing. oscar piastri x fem!reader

content warnings. none

notes. oscar should be just named 'overlord of chaos' at this point...

previous. series masterlist.

yourusername and oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris and 352'491 others

In hues of gold, the sun descends, Upon the sea, a palette blends. Waves embrace the dying light, A sunset at sea, a pure delight. -☀️

a canvas of love, the sea's embrace, sunset whispers in a warm grace. colors dance, a radiant plea, in the twilight of a love-struck sea. -🌊

landonorris photo credits??

⤷ yourusername for one photo?

⤷ landonorris yes?

⤷ yourusername ... i will not edit the post

⤷ landonorris mean :(

landonorris you two are so sweet it's almost disgusting

⤷ oscarpiastri No one said you had to look.

⤷ landonorris that's it. i'll never make photos of you two again

⤷ yourusername no one said you had to.

⤷ user lando should just shut up at this point LMAO

user MOM AND DAD

⤷ user KING AND QUEEN

mclaren 🧡☀️🌊

user gosh they're so sea x sun coded

⤷ user i wonder why..

⤷ user it's as if they wrote the greatest love story of all time themselves...

yourusername i love you 🫶

⤷ oscarpiastri I love you more 💗

⤷ yourusername not possible

load more comments...

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri , landonorris and 281'083 others

yourusername it's so amusing to me that you all think i've shared everything i've ever written for him.

oscarpiastri I really liked that poem you wrote for me 901 days ago ☺️

⤷ yourusername of course you did

user THERE IS MORE??

⤷ user of course there's more

user oscar: first one to like and comment

⤷ user true love fr

⤷ user more like whipped fr

landonorris please don't ever share, i once made the mistake to read his poems and to this day, i regret

⤷ user that's kinda sus 👀

⤷ user oscarpiastri what did you write???

user will you ever share?

⤷ yourusername no, some things are meant to be private.

⤷ user what 🧍‍♀️

⤷ user don't tell me...

user her handwriting 😩

taglist.@lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @swissboyhisch

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask or leave a comment to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

ARKHAM MAID 2023

#oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri instagram au #oscar piastri x reader #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations

651 notes · View notes

dev1lm4n · 10 months

Text

all glory

masterlist | kofi (support me here!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel has been feeling insecure, finding it hard to come to terms that he's indeed aging. tommy suggests a clever solution: a post-apocalyptic glory hole

word count: 4.8k of pure filth

warnings: minors dni (18+), post-outbreak, joel is 56 here hehe hot old men, insecurities, glory hole, fingering, unsafe piv, slight breeding kink, no pregnancy stuff tho cuz im terrified of that, reader calls him sir, pet name (darling)

note: i decided to create a kofi bcs im a broke college student lol. anyways hope yall enjoy this, do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :)

Joel Miller had always been a man of confidence.

Being left as a single father for Sarah at an early age, he’s been through thick and thin, trying his best to make ends meet so that they wouldn’t have to end up in one of those run-down shelters. But never once did he question his ability to attract women.

He’s always had it in him. With a mere glance from his expressive eyes, he can ensnare hearts and leave an everlasting impression on anyone fortunate enough to encounter him. Rugged masculinity and striking refinement; a deathly mix that kept girls swarming after him like bees. After the world descended into chaos, he’s not much different either. Perhaps the bone-deep trauma had left him looking eternally exhausted with sunken eyebags, or that gray filaments started becoming a welcomed addition to his beard, but all in all he’s still charming.

He didn’t have to seek, because people seek for him. Joel had plenty of erotic rendezvous in times where society crumbled and the rule of law eroded, more so now that everyday could be his last and he didn’t have the privilege to take it slow like a true Southern gentleman. He’s done it everywhere. Inside a stuffy closet while hiding from a clicking monstrosity, behind a thin wall while her husband sat cluelessly on the other side, and even taking sexual compensation for his little business. Joel Miller wasn’t a saint. Neither he one for God and he’d like to make it obvious.

Nowadays though, within the tall foreboding walls of Jackson City, that type of attention has faded away. He’s no longer getting those longing stares from across the floor, no longer being begged to corrupt just for some extra wad of cards, no longer being flirted and fawned over like a goddamn stud. Joel didn’t have any problem with it at first. He’s growing old. Instead of those naughty strands of white peeking out of his head, he’s now a complete mix of salt and pepper. Instead of just having a fun smile line, forehead rolls and crows’ feet are now imprinted deep into every crevice. Joel wasn’t the man he used to be.

He’s weathered away, he thought, unsuited for fun and adventure.

Perhaps it had something to do with his daughter as well. Even when Ellie’s not from his actual blood, everyone in town viewed her that way. He’s her father. Thus, everyone seemed to perceive and treat him as merely a father and not as an actual person that has his own needs and wants. Joel loved his daughter. Terribly so in ways he couldn’t decipher. A part of him has made up his mind that this would be how he should spend the rest of his life: in celibacy. Though the retirement of his sexual and romantic life has slowly taken a toll towards his self-esteem. Tommy, who’s always known to be rather slow and imperceptive, was surprisingly the first one to take notice of his gradual change.

“Maria told me you might be here.”

Tommy’s gruff voice brought him out of his trance. Joel looked up, meeting the familiar figure crouch to get into his little workshop. It was his newfound hobby these days, becoming a hermit and isolating himself from the community. He’d craft a wooden figure or two each night while he relived each and every one of his memories. Good and bad. Of death and of birth. Then by the end of the night he’d feel mildly satisfied with a wooden sculpture shaped like memorabilia from the old world. Joel couldn’t admit it outloud, but insecurity had taken over him. It festered deep into his soul that he couldn’t even bear looking at himself in the mirror anymore or present himself to society.

“Yeah, just..” he paused to ponder on a better way to answer. “Just doin’ my own thing.”

“You skippin’ dinner again?” Tommy’s curiosity sounded oddly suspicious, enough that Joel already knew he’s about to say something obnoxious or entirely uncalled for. The older quirked his thick eyebrows in return.

“Made myself my own plate,” Joel cocked his head towards where a lone plate sat. Judging from the crimson stain smeared on top, it must’ve been one of those canned pastas that he picked out.

“Brother..” Tommy started out, visibly nervous of how his brother would take it. “Is there something wrong?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No, not that I could think of,” Joel hummed. “I ain’t bitten or anythin’, why are ya asking such a dumb question anyway?”

“You’re just different these days,” Tommy reasoned with a small frown. “You barely come out of your house and if you do, you’re huddled up in this place, carving things for hours on end.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to be alone. Is there?” he challenged.

“No, but you’re.. different. Almost like your mind’s troubled for once.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Tommy,” he insisted.

Joel was actively avoiding the accusations. He stood up from where he’s been perched upon for hours on end, bringing his half-carved wooden slab with him to set it on one of the displays he had. He’s grown quite the collection. It’s been going on far longer than he’d expected, the crippling fear of being undesirable and hideous, and it brought up an immense feeling of embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly admit such things to Tommy, could he? Tommy was different from him. His first child was on its way to be birthed, but girls still chatter about his charming smile and strong figure. They’d still gossip and make dirty guesses about his size. How long he endured such activities, the position he enjoyed best, and how sweet he was to his partner.

Tommy couldn’t possibly understand his fear.

“You can’t help me even if I told ya,” he grumbled.

“Put some trust in me, will ya?” Tommy chuckled as he spun around his seat to follow Joel’s every move. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, big brother.”

“They don’t look at me the same way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The ladies,” Joel muttered.

His words were barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as if he saw the phenomenon as something humiliating, up to the point where he couldn’t even look Tommy in the eye in fear of having him laugh. He’s never talked about this with anyone else. It didn’t help that he truly didn’t have anyone to talk to in general aside from the few acquaintances his brother introduced him to and well.. Ellie. But none of them seem to be the right person to talk to regarding this.

Regarding his failure in masculinity. His unspoken worries that he didn’t have any of the strong, chiseled jawline or any of the tightly packed abdomen with six separate squares to admire. He’s grown old and weak. Five years ago, he could’ve probably still sweet-talk his way into a woman's heart, but now he couldn’t even look one in the eye without the fear of being put to shame.

“They still do, Joel,” Tommy assured him. He’s telling the truth. Joel knew that Tommy didn’t have it in him to lie, he’d have sounded like a strangled bird or a squeaky dog’s toy if he did. But his mind couldn’t believe it one bit.

“I don’t know, Tommy..” he muttered. “They don’t look at me the same way. They don’t look at me at all even.. and I’m fine with that I 'spose. I ain’t a whorin’ bastard who couldn’t accept that he’s agin’..”

“But they do, Joel.”

“I’m old,” he sucked in the air. “Lately there are these moments where I.. where I’d look a girl in the eye and all I could feel was humiliation.”

“Humiliation?”

“Like they’re lookin’ at me as if I’m some.. some sort of repulsive creature,” he whispered. “I feel like I could hear ‘em gigglin’ with their girlfriends on how shameless I am.”

Tommy was deduced into silence. Time ticked by as he cranked up his brain to figure out the best way to aid his older brother out of his misery. It’s all in his head, Tommy knew that Joel knew that as well, but it’s easier patching up an oozing wound than a troubled mind. He brought his hand together on top of his jeans as he waited for the younger to make another comment, whether of comfort or of a harsh reality.

“I’ll offer you a solution,” Tommy spoke up. “But you gotta promise not to lose your head over it.”

“It ain’t drugs, is it?”

“No, no..” Tommy chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m open to anythin’” Joel dropped his arms to his side as he curiously eyed Tommy.

“Have you ever heard of a glory hole?”

Joel’s expression contorted in such a way that the younger Miller couldn’t possibly read what he’s thinking any longer.

“I ain’t goin’ outside those borders just to go to some sketchy brothel, Tommy. That’d be pathetic.”

“Well, the thing is this whole operation ain’t sketchy,” Tommy reasoned. “The girls were tested and approved by the local doctor before..”

“Local doctor? You tellin’ me this is happenin’ within Jackson?”

“I operate it, Joel,” he sighed, knowing he’s about to be bombarded with a handful of questions. “And before you ask, no this ain’t considered prostitution as there’s no material exchange.”

“You mean..”

“Yes. The girls do it for free. Volunteers. They do it for their own pleasure and I help make their dreams come true.”

Joel looked at his own brother as if he was a mad man. Who wouldn’t? When he’s just told him that they had an actual glory hole installed without most of the public knowing. Or perhaps they knew, they were just not talking about it in front of Joel.

“Ten to twelve. There’s a small house across the sheep field. One girl every Friday night.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Maria knows about this?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

“No, but it’s better off she doesn’t.”

Joel felt his morals set askew for a second. This sounded like a terrible idea, despite the fact that he’s confirmed it himself that it’d be the safest a glory hole could possibly be. He scratched his beard and took it into deep consideration.

In the quiet stillness of a winter’s night, the world was wrapped in a soft, white blanket of snow. The moon hung low in the dark sky - a beacon towards those who chose to travel in the deepest hours of nighttime. Joel blew puffs of warm air onto his gloved fingertips, hoping it’d satiate the coolness that made his joints ache and his skin itch. The air was crisp and biting, each breath producing a frosty cloud which quickly amalgamated into the air. He watched as gentle snowflakes, alike to elegant ballet dancers, fell from the heavens up above and twirled and swirled into an intricate pattern. He’s been waiting for way too long.

“So what are ya sayin’? Are you gonna let me take you tomorrow night?” Tommy broke the silence.

Tommy promised to meet him on the edge of the sheep field, where they’d herd livestocks all throughout the warmer times of the year, but he’s yet to see his tall nose and dark hair from any of the cardinal directions. He’s been waiting for too long to keep the same mindset Tommy’s trained him into, that this was simply a beneficial exchange for every party involved and that he shouldn’t feel shameful for something so instinctive. Waiting gave him time to weigh out the cons, how this was naturally an act of debauchery that wounded both his moral values and beliefs. He ain’t a God preacher, but he’s sure to keep some of those Southern manners.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

None of Tommy’s ideas are ever well thought out. Starting from his sudden gravitation towards the military, to his desires to hand over his entire life towards the Fireflies, and now this. He knew his younger brother wasn’t the brightest of men, but creating an entire glory hole to keep the town’s morale up might be the stupidest one he’s heard yet. Especially when Maria’s not aware of it. He feared for the day when the beans spilled out of its jar, but tonight wasn’t that day. During the time in which he contemplated his decisions, Joel didn’t notice the crunching of snow against thick boots. Tommy was here and he looked far too calm for a self-made procucer.

Tommy beckoned him to follow the path his boots had made. Joel sucked in some of that painfully cold air into his lungs, before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started trailing along. There were a few street lamps across the field, a ruddy glow emanating from them as they were adorned with a light dusting of snow. He kept his guards up while he scanned through the whistling field of crop, that traumatized part of him always keeping in check of abrupt movements and unsettling sceneries. After a quiet walk for a good three minutes, they finally arrived. The house fronts looked dark enough, and the windows even darker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs.

There was snow piling up outside as well, dirtier ones whose last deposit had been plowed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons. He scrutinized over the tracks, wondering if this was meant to be used as a makeshift grain tower. If it was, then Tommy must’ve been a great scheming asshole to turn such a place into his own little heaven. Not one soul was around, which confused Joel even more. Wasn’t this supposed to be a public glory hole? Weren’t it supposed to be disgustingly packed with sweating men, adorned with walls covered in left-over spurts of cum and other bodily fluids, and smelled like sex itself?

Joel continued to pursue Tommy even when he’s overly skeptical about this entirely new scene. His boots were scuffed as he was dragging his feet through the front door, a fight against his defense system that’s begging him to flee out the door at the unfamiliarity. The establishment consisted of a long narrow hallway that eventually led up to an imposing door. Wooden, large, and mysterious.

To his surprise, what was beyond that door wasn’t some tacky sex dungeon with rattling chains and leather whips, it was a modest looking box. Square, he’d assume one meter wide and half a meter tall. He took in the wood it was made from. His pointer finger slowly traced the circumference out of habit. Oak, he concluded, making it sturdy and cool even in the warmer weather. What he failed to notice from the get-go was a pair of legs that were stretched open, chained onto the wall from the considerably-sized gap. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach, he forgot for an entire minute what he was planning to do, and he’s starting to get cold feet.

“Darlin’, I’ve got someone for you,” Tommy cooed.

“You do, Tommy?”

Normally, people acquire hobbies in order to soothe their brief but occasional boredom, though you have discovered a unique way to tackle long hours of the night. This brilliant discovery of yours was birthed from a fated moment. One where you accidentally stumble across the conversation Tommy had with one of his patrol friends. It began a fantasy in your head. One you didn’t believe could come true until you overheard a passionate storytelling session one of the barmaids gave their friend. Only then did you gather enough courage to talk to Tommy about it. Despite his initial disapproval, saying things like you look too good and gentle to be doing such things, you managed to convince him with a week's worth of nagging.

“Mhm, one of my good friends here,” he hummed. “You’ll let him use you like a good fucking girl, won’t you?”

Goosebumps trailed from your backbone down to where your legs spread wide. Your nervousness made you flinch, effectively causing your legs to rattle against the metal restraints.

“Yes, I will, Tommy.”

When did you get so.. obedient?

“Alright then. I’ll see you in um.. twenty?”

“Thirty,” the foreign voice spoke up, masculine with a twinge of accent.

“Thirty it is.”

The entire room went quiet for an entire minute, only then did you finally hear the door slammed back shut. You swallowed back the throbbing fear in your heart, pushing back those persistent thoughts constantly warning you of the dangers. Even if you trusted Tommy with all your life, you didn’t trust the random strangers Tommy’s picked out. How could you trust them when you didn’t know who they were for sure? They could’ve been someone you see on the daily. The friendly guards, the cafeteria guy who’d always beam a sweet smile your way and give out more bread than standard, or even.. Tommy’s hunk of a brother. The same one who wouldn’t even spare you a look when you’re obviously sending heart eyes his way.

“Darlin’ is your name, ain’t that right?”

There was something so.. alluring about his voice. The type that makes your knees buckle inevitably, despite your best efforts to push it apart.

“That’s right,” you squeaked out.

“Darlin’, it’s been a long long time since I’ve done this, so let me indulge in you alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out unsurely.

Your eyes instinctively followed the direction of the hushed voice, but all you could see from the dim box was a piece of dark fabric that was hung from above the hole. It was to keep your identity a secret so that the patrons across from you could only see you from the belly button down. Though now you felt more inclined than ever to pull on the draping and meet this man’s eyes. Your thoughts soon diminished when you felt a large hand over your inner thighs. Nowhere dangerous, just resting below where your kneecaps sat. You closed your eyes to try and envision the kind of hands touching you.

Were they soft and unsullied like a baby’s bum? Or were they rough and ridged with years of work?

That large hand traveled down South, inching with an irritatingly slow pace down towards where you ached the most. He was a fair man. He treated both of your thighs in the same manner before the two gathered together in a v-shape over your cotton panties. You wondered if you should’ve worn something more enticing, something which suited a person like you - someone willing to spread their legs for a true stranger. But the man on the other side didn’t seem to have a problem. He didn’t seem like he was bothered by the simplicity of your presentation, instead he was keen on pressing his thumb down the center.

They were the latter.

His fingers were textured and it felt too good to be true. At the briefest touch, you followed after his movement, hips reaching further up to chase after his departing touch. You whined. Frustrated that he’s cruel enough to press your sensitive clit and leave you all hot and bothered. He let out a deep chuckle, one that came out from the depth of his stomach as he placed his thumb back where it belonged. Your hole clenched and unclenched at the stimulating sensation. Your cotton panties seemed to be a great aid for your needy clit. It felt similar to grinding over a pillow, just this time, it felt a lot more real and animated.

“How long have you been doin’ this, darlin’?”

��Doin’ what, sir?”

So polite. It’s laughable the fact that you’re so soft spoken. Your lips spilled out a gentle moan as his thumb dug deeper into that sensitive spot.

“Lettin’ strangers fuck you,” he was frank with his words that’s for sure.

“This is my first time.. in the box that is,” your voice cracked almost immediately under pressure. “Been thinking of this for a long long time though.”

The gruff man hummed noncommittally as he continued to please you with his thumb. You used to be shy when it comes to being reactive during intercourse, but with the box, it almost felt like you could finally be your true primal self with your utmost carnal desires. He slowly eased your stained panties to the side once he saw an increasingly growing wetness, knowing that it’s time to move on to his next way of torture. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air immediately, it felt like the air was nipping at the sensitive skin all around. He took his two fingers - his middle and pointer finger being his favorite choice despite the controversy - and slowly dragged it atop the slick canal.

“A pretty girl like you gettin’ all wet from a little touchin’,” he chided. “You haven’t been fucked well or somethin’?”

What a considerate man. He called you pretty when he could barely tell what you look like.

“No, maybe, I-” you were flustered. You’ve never had to exchange proper talk when someone’s touching your dirty, wet cunt. “None of Jackson’s men did good. That’s why I hoped..”

Your voice trailed off into a garble of nonsense when he teased at your entrance, trying to decide whether you’re soaked enough to push a finger in comfortably. You whined, louder this time, as your legs fought against the uncomfortable metal cuffs wrapped around your ankle. He decided to play nice for once and made your dreams come true by inserting that thick finger of his. Fingering has never felt good for you, it always felt like an intrusion rather than a welcomed feeling, but he’s making it feel like heaven on earth.

“Hoped a stranger would fuck me well enough,” you took awhile to finish that statement.

He let out one of those noises of disapproval, at your skewed moral direction perhaps or at the tone of desperation your voice must’ve let out. You could only suck in a shallow breath when he started making proper, continuous motions with his finger. He pushed upwards to poke the tip of his finger onto that squishy part, playing around to find out where exactly made you react the most. You loved how he’s patient. You’re half-expecting the men to just stuff their cocks in you like you’re some sex doll instead of taking their time, which you don’t mind either. Half the pleasure was from being treated like nothing.

“Dirty gal,” he degraded, which you found both surprising and exciting. “Just wanted her pussy stuffed with any cock she could have, hm?”

Your hips thrusted up at a larger interruption. This time, the man managed to insert two of his thick fingers inside your eased cunt. He twisted it one-hundred-eighty degrees to the left, then back to the right, before he curled it in a come-here motion. The motion had left you dumb. A combination of ah ah ah’s and unfinished pleads for him to keep still. The man never once fully removed his fingers out of you. He’d slowly pull back to only have a single knuckle stuck inside before pushing it all the way in once more. For once, someone didn’t finger you like you’re a pizza dough waiting to be pounded.

“A-ah, sir. I really.. mmh- I really like that,” you moaned out shamelessly. “Feels really good in my.. in my pussy.”

“You like what, darlin’?”

“Like your fingers.. fingers in my ah- ah pussy!” you whined when he deepened his reach by rotating his wrist upwards. “Something- fuck- something’s coming! Please.. Please don’t sto-”

You warned him like a goddamn virgin and there it was, you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the way your pussy squelched around his finger at the new wave of sticky fluids. The noises were filthy and lewd that you were embarrassed for the first time that night. It coated your throbbing cunt and slowly ebbed out of your hole, dribbling down onto the wooden floor boards under. Strings of almost translucent thickness proof of his success. It’s pretty. The way you gaped around his fingers, tightened and relaxed at his fingers that still kept you full.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

He must be experienced, because he was quick to rub your clit precisely as you went through the throes of orgasm. His broad palm never missed where that bundle of nerves were, until you’re dripping all over the place. Only when you’re right towards the end did he land a small smack atop your pussy, keeping pressure where your womb is to maintain the pleasure for as long as you could. It felt like this wasn’t a shit place for once. It felt like this stranger could surely turn the flesh-eating monsters into a field of rainbows and flowers from how good he’s making you feel.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered. “Someone ever told you that?”

It took you a while to notice that his fingers weren’t there to stuff you full. He was busy tasting you. You could imagine him on the other side of the room, rough fingers deep in his mouth, drenched in your arousal. The thought made you squirm, growing wet once more. You shook your head as his hand slid back up. His fingers ran over your clit with one long stroke before they stayed there. His thumb sat right atop the throbbing spot, unmoving.

"Perfect little thing, ain't ya?” he asked, and you nodded, your muscles tense as anticipation ran high. "Gonna fill you up real nice."

As soon as the dull tip of his cock prodded against your entrance, your whole body convulsed. Tears slowly crept into your eyes, frustrated, you might as well cry out a pathetic plea if he kept on stalling. Your palms banged flat against the side of the box. Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he purposefully missed your weeping hole. His length slid upwards, the warm tip rubbed against your clit from below before it shied away once more. Your toes curled and he must’ve taken the hint from behind the curtains.

The perfect stranger pushed himself up to where his mushroom-like tip ended, allowing you to adjust to the dimensions of his cock before he eased himself deeper.

You let out a strained moan.

You almost bump the top of your head on the oak boards when he forced his way in. His cock was fully inside you at last. You were ecstatic. Eyes shut close as you bit into your bottom lip, flesh tearing beneath your canines. It was too much all of a sudden. Too good. Too large. Too full. You could hear the loud squelching noise your spongy hole made as he pulled back and stuffed himself back in.

“Fuck,” he groaned silently. “Don’t squeeze around me, darlin’. You're gonna get me in big trouble.”

He chuckled and fuck did it sound so hot.

You felt his fingers gently reach for the width of your hips. His grip was tight and harsh as he guided your every movement with them. He thrusted like a man on a shooting range, with much precision and prowess. You liked this. Liked feeling as if you’re just a doll for people to use and dump their loads in, especially when it's for someone like him. His cock made you writhe and fight against the metal cuffs holding your legs up. Eager to have him speed up to meet your desires yet he was persistent in keeping a stable speed. The sensation was growing. Slowly but surely.

“A-ah.. mmph.. oh God!”

“God ain’t here to save you, darlin’. It’s just this old man right here,” he cooed crudely.

He made sure to keep you full at all times. Never once did his perfectly-sized cock leave your sloppy hole, it just kept on twitching and growing in size with the help of your warm embrace. “You like this, don’t ya?”

“Oh- oh yes. I like it. Love your..,” he stopped your lewd confession by placing his thumb back atop your once neglected clit, drawing lazily with what’s left of your wetness. You could feel him starting to seep. A tinge of his own arousal mixing in with yours. “Cock! Love your c- cock.”

His heavy pants started to intensify in volume, such a lovely melody when combined with your pathetic whimpers. He’s close.

“Gonna cum in you, darlin’” he muttered out breathlessly. “Gonna make sure you’re all fucked out with my cum.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when you’re on a highway to heaven. Your little hole tightened, so eager to milk him dry.

“Yeah, you’d like that, won’t you?”

“O-oh.. oh yes. Please.. fuck,”

“Please?”

“Please fill me up.”

His tip started oozing out ribbons after ribbons of cum, quickly filling you up relentlessly. Though he hasn’t stopped bottoming himself up into you. His load sloshed around, coated his length a perfect milky shade, and dribbled down your rear deliciously. Did you really just let a complete stranger fill you up to the top? Did you truly just let him pour his seed up your needy hole?

Maybe you did.

And maybe it’s reckless.

But oddly enough, you don’t feel too bad about it.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #tlou fic #tlou #the last of us

930 notes · View notes

the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 7 days

Note

I apologize in advance, but the brainworms did a heckin screech and I felt the need to share the chaos.

Imagine, if you will, that our Creator let's it slip that they've interacted with other worlds before reaching Teyvat. (Played other video games) Imagine having to explain that in these other worlds, they may or may not have been interested in the denizens of those realms...sometimes in the romantic sense, which led to wedding bells and/or children.

Cue the uproar from the Genshin cast. The Creator, Blessed Maker of All...you have courted others? Have been married?? You have had children??? Their image of you being pure and untouchable, blown apart into tiny little pieces of confetti. 🎉

Though many loathe to admit it, they are curious...who are these people, what are they like? Is there a common factor in your selection of spouses? You would only pick the very best of a realm to choose as a potential partner, surely another being of creation...or perhaps a demigod?

It leads to the proverbial red string board getting made, the Archons trying to find out who is your most likely pick from their regions. It's all for your safety, your Benevolence! If you insist on having a partner, they must find the perfect match for you! You deserve only the best of the best, after all.

Bonus points if the Creator was a fan of games like the Harvest Moon/Rune Factory series. They're gonna need to make a list of all their partners, there are so many options to choose from. >>_>>

I'll admit I never played any of those games so I skimmed through the harvest moon wiki and chose one of the bachelors and chose some other game characters lol. Plus a game for all of you, guess the characters.

Though I do think that the reader having children before causes a bit of whiplash because it's totally unexpected, mostly because there were no records of you taking spouses or kids, even knowing you ‘have’ (play) other worlds is a surprise that causes a bit of a crisis. Either way here are some head cannons.

“I must admit, your grace is awfully attached to Qiqi” Zhongli hums as he blows on his white tea, a small cloud of steam leaving.

Qiqi doesn't pay him much mind, her head coddled under your chin like a little puppy, between her hands there is a small bird plushie “Well, I must admit she does kind of remind me of one of my little ones” Your hand softly pats her head, a few strands of hair moving as you do.

He stills as you spoke, eyes fixated on his cup “your… little ones?”

“Mhm?” Without looking up from the braid you were giving to the little girl you just nod “yep, she is quite soft spoken like Milenoe”

“... I wasn't aware your grace had sired children” there was never any mentions about holy spawns or spouses taken by you in any manuscript he got his hands on.

“Well, I never chose a couple from this world, so there wouldn't be any descendants” the comment slips airly from your lips as Qiqi slides off your lap towards baizhu who had finished checking the books from your bookshelf. “Do you want to see her? She started elementary school a few weeks ago” without waiting for an answer a screen appears displaying a tall man with black hair and horns standing regally behind you and a child with emerald eyes and horns.

“She looks rather shy”

You hum nodding “she is as shy as her father when he was her age. There aren't many children her age she can play with so she was pretty lonely her first 50 years”

“50 years?”

“her dad is a slow maturing species” so it should be 10 times the life expectancy than humans. Not that long for him but certainly longer than usual.

•°•°•

“It's a wonder to see how you manage to get Klee to change her mind about going fish blasting,” albedo scribbles some data half mindedly as he watches you hover next to Klee, who showed you a new drawings every few minutes “she is so stubborn even with Alice”

“Well I do have experience with headstrong children, Pardine is as focused on her goal as her father” one of your hands fall on her blonde hair, bright but still darker than Pardine’s almost champagne blonde and her red eyes polar opposite to her icy ones, a carbon copy to her dad. Even if your genetics rarely showed up on any of your kids it was uncanny how similar she looked to her dad and aunts “but I will admit she does annoy many guards asking to train her”

Albedo just laughs it off, listing the few loose characteristics of one of her spouses. Venti has been annoying him about his nation almost getting no information so he hopes a few spare tidbits and Klee’s rough drawing of a blond blue eyed man with a big shield works for whatever weird thing the archons have going on.

•°•°•

“Your Grace has married before?!” Ayaka gasps as you take a stroll around the nature surrounding her home. Her hand had swiftly unfolded her fan in front of her face.

“Mhm, I don't know why people get so surprised, after all it would be weirder if I spent so much time somewhere but took no lovers” you laugh at her slightly seeing her slightly flustered “it's almost a tradition at this point, to wed someone from each world. Want to see some family portraits?” She nods fervently looking at the tablet like thing that appeared on your hands, first a white haired cowboy like man is kneeling on the ground holding a baby by the armpits surrounded by three wolves ,seemingly playing with an older child, by the time the next imagine passes Ayaka is almost hanging by your shoulder, asking things about the siblings and begging to see more photos of your babies.

“And who did you take from teyvat?” Ayaka looks up sweetly at you, she has always held you in high regard and now that you are in Inazuma she can't help but get giddy thinking about how you decided to spend the stay in her state and most of your time with her.

Feigning surprise you tap your chin with your index finger “now that I think about it I didn't choose anyone yet... maybe it's about time”

“Then that means you could pick my brother!” She wraps her hand around your own, smiling as if she got the best idea ever “I could even call you older sibling!... If you wanted so of course”

“Big brother you remember how you told me you would find me a proper bachelor”

“If this is about wanting me to rush it won't work”

“It's not about it, I found you someone”

“Fine, as you please, need I remind you my standards are quite high”

“It's their grace!... Why are you choking on your tea!?”

•°•°•

“There isn't one damned coincidence…” Raiden slaps her head against the table with the rough drawings and some information about them “a king, a captain, a cowboy, a damned sorcerer…”

“Maybe there isn't supposed to be a coincidence” Nahida guesses “maybe they just look for someone who catches their eye”

“It doesn't help out as much as you think it does” the tsaritsa crosses her legs and leans against the back of the chair “if we are doing people with very clear characteristics maybe Ajax could fit nicely? Redheads aren't very common”

“Mhm, maybe but don't they have a liking for smart men? Then Alhaitham would be closer to their past couples”

“Well if we are going by that logic they should like the geo archon, as one of them has dragonic features” the tsaritsa side eyes Zhongli from the other side of the table.

Sighing deeply Furina, who came in place of Neuvillette, chimes in “It is their decision who they want to marry and even if they wanted to!”

"obviously you would be so calm, after all they are very close with your iudex. Don't get so cocky, I heard the commissioner Ayato is interested in the idea"

#genshin impact #gi #sagau #genshin x reader #self aware genshin impact #genshin sagau #x reader #gn reader

238 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

Text

Little Warrior

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdom) x F!Reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault, sexual tension, coercion, corruption kink, talk of religious beliefs, female masturbation, loss of virginity, smut. Word count: 4.6k

Summary: When Sigtryggr and his men seize Winchester he takes a special interest in one of their captives (I have essentially yeeted Stiorra from the story and adapted the storyline of how her and Sigtryggr become an item to suit my own). Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

They come in the night. As Winchester sleeps, the Danes descend upon it.

She is woken by the blood curdling shouts and screams of the townspeople, accompanied by the acrid stench of smoke from nearby burning buildings.

Her heart lurches in her chest, panic causing bile to rise in her throat as she acts purely on instinct, scrambling from her bed and out of the house wearing just her nightdress. The only thought in her mind is that she doesn’t want to die trapped in her home as it’s burned to the ground.

Once she is outside, she watches wide eyed with horror at the destruction around her. Buildings are ablaze, people lay dead and dying upon the ground, the thick coppery scent of blood makes her want to vomit.

It’s only when the coolness of the night air begins to chill her skin that she realises just how perilous her situation is - a thin layer of cotton is all that separates her flesh from the horrors around her. She worries about what these Heathens will do to her if they see her in such a state of undress.

She trembles at the thought, dread gnawing at her insides. It’s too risky to go back inside, her only option is to hide. She takes her chances beneath an overturned farmer’s cart, crawling beneath the gap and cowering, waiting for the chaos around her to die down.

Clutching the cross around her neck, she sends up a silent prayer to God to keep her safe. Her destiny is in his hands now.

The aching in her joints for having been crouched for so long is beginning to become unbearable when the noise eventually quietens. She wonders if the Danes have left, if King Edward will return to rescue Winchester or if they have managed to capture it in his absence. Where are the Wessex guard?

She freezes when she hears the sound of approaching boots upon the ground, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage when they come to a stop in front of the cart she’s hiding under.

“I can see your feet, Christian”, comes the voice of a man. He speaks softly and quietly, and it sends shivers down her spine.

Too paralyzed by fear to do anything, she remains as she is, her breaths coming quick and shallow, a rapidly dying hope in the back of her mind that he might give up and leave her alone. But there is no such luck.

“You will come out,” he commands, “or I will drag you out, the choice is yours.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the frightened whimper that escapes her, attempting to force herself further back against the wooden confines of her misguided hiding place.

A large hand appears beneath the cart, reaching towards her before wrapping itself around her ankle.

She shrieks, thrashing against the hold it has on her as she’s dragged out. She lays wide eyed on the cold earth, her breathing erratic, as she looks with terror upon the Dane that towers above her prone form.

His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, half of it pulled back, and a ragged scar runs the length of the left side of his face. He regards her with mild amusement and she becomes aware again of her state of undress.

The thought that he might rape her sends her senses into overdrive, pure adrenaline driving her decision making. She knows she’s in no position to run, her only other option is to fight him, so as he crouches down towards her, she lunges upwards, slapping and scratching at his face and shoulders.

He is quick to overpower her, pulling her to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.

“A fearsome little warrior, she is,” he chuckles, keeping her arm taut behind her as he gently urges her forward.

He guides her towards the front steps of the King’s estate, where several people are kneeling before a group of Danes. As they draw closer she recognises a few of them; King Edward’s sons and a few of the Wessex guard.

She is certain she’ll be killed. The man presses on her shoulder, urging her to kneel beside the other captives. She takes up her position, the stone step is hard against her knees, and she is all too aware that she is the least valuable of everyone gathered there.

“Send them to where they keep their dead King,” the man says, looking at Edward’s children and then nodding towards the chapel.

“We need to send a message to Edward,” a dark haired, heavily pregnant woman says, as two of the Danish men pick up the boys and carry them off. “We must force him to yield Winchester to us.”

It makes her shudder to think that this woman will be a mother, when she is capable of such atrocities.

“And what do you propose, Brida?” He responds.

Brida regards her with a look that makes her blood run cold. She has never seen anyone look at her as though she is worth less than nothing, her brown eyes are filled with utter contempt. “Send him her head,” she tells him, “it is more shocking to Christians when you are prepared to kill women and children alike.”

She gasps audibly, stricken by terror at the notion that they intend to behead her, until she feels his hand upon her shoulder.

“You will not touch her,” he says cooly, “slaughter the men, but she stays with me.”

“And what will you do with her?” Brida asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That is for me to decide,” he responds dismissively.

He makes a cut throat gesture at the Danes that flank Brida, then nods towards the kneeling guards, before pulling her back to her feet and directing her inside of the King’s estate.

She winces as she hears the sound of blades making thick, wet impact upon flesh, followed by dying screams of agony. Despite her shock and disgust, she cannot help the twinge of relief that lightens the feeling in her chest that that is not what destiny has in store for her, at least not yet.

The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.

As her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings, she’s startled out of her reverie when her gaze settles back upon him. He is standing so close, silently observing her, his expression unreadable.

Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.

“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.

He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”

She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.

Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”

She draws back quickly in disgust - not at his words, but at the reaction they elicit from her. The way warmth pools in her lower belly fills her with immense guilt. This man has invaded her home and killed people she knows, people she loves, she should despise him.

Swallowing thickly, unease prickling at her, she elects to change the subject. “What have you come here for?”

“To take what I am owed,” he says simply.

“And what is it you believe you’re owed?”

“Land. Your people drove me from mine,” he explains, anger lacing his tone, “your boy King will give back what he stole, or I shall keep Winchester and send him the heads of his children.”

She inhales shakily, feeling like she wants to cry. “A-and…how do I factor into all of that?”

He softens, shrugging slightly. “You don’t, but I can’t imagine your King will yield quickly, and it is always nice to have company. You are brave, for a Christian.”

“So I am your prisoner?”

“No, little warrior. You are free to leave any time you’d like, and take your chances with Brida.”

The implication is not lost on her. Her freedom is an illusion when the alternative is death. Sigtryggr is her only guarantee for safety.

“Shall we find something else for you to wear?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

She looks down at the thin material of her shift, seeing how dirty it is from having been crouched beneath the cart, dragged out and then forced to kneel on the steps of the estate. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

He nods. “Wait here.”

Sigtryggr leaves her alone in the study, not bothering to lock the door behind him - a sign of his confidence that he knows she won’t try to escape.

He returns a few moments later with a white cotton shift that is similar to the one she is currently wearing, She assumes it belongs to Ælflæd, something he has found within a bedchamber.

“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.

“What do you mean? It’s the same as what you have on, and it’s clean,” he says simply.

“Yes, but this is meant to go under–” she sighs, “nevermind.”

She takes the shift from him and begins to change, noting the way that he turns from her, keeping his eyes fixed on the shelves of books that line the walls of the room. The small mark of respect makes her smile. She had not anticipated such manners from a Heathen.

He pulls a book from the shelf when she is finished, flipping through its pages. “Can you read?”

She nods and he hands the tome to her.

“Read to me.”

“Can you not read?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I can,” he says with a smirk, “but where’s the fun in that?”

She sighs, settling into the chair in front of the writing desk, while Sigtryggr sits upon the settee a few feet away, and she reads to him.

Over the next few weeks their days are spent much like this. She reads aloud to him, though none of the books are particularly interesting, mostly religious texts and historical records of Wessex. She’s not convinced that he pays any particular attention to the words, but he seems to enjoy the sound of her voice.

They find a Hnefatafl board and Sigtryggr teaches her how to play. They while away hours strategising ways to remove each other's pieces from the board. He has a sharp mind, is calmer and more analytical than any other Dane she’s ever met. He bests her with his cunning multiple times, until she finally begins to get the hang of it and he begins to lose to her.

“Another game?” She asks. “How many have I won now?”

He shoots her a sideways glance, a faint smile upon his lips. “I am not keeping count.”

She giggles. She is beating him, but he does not seem to mind.

They sleep upon furs and blankets that Sigtryggr has brought down to the study and fashioned into a makeshift bed. Her stomach flutters at laying in such close proximity to him, but true to his word he never touches her. Shame blooms hotly in her chest as each of the days pass and she finds herself yearning for it.

He brings her food, and the hopelessness of the situation looms over her as with every meager meal the bread tastes more stale.

“Read to me, little warrior,” he requests, reclining on the settee, his forearm slung over his forehead.

She grouses, hunger pangs causing her stomach to rumble painfully. “I cannot concentrate,” she whispers.

“What is the matter?” He asks, sitting up to look at her.

“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”

He nods, stepping towards her and offering her his share of the bread.

She looks from his outstretched hand to his face uncertainly. “What will you eat?”

“I will manage, and you will read to me,” he tells her, as she takes the offering and he settles back down.

She smiles to herself at the gesture, warmth spreading throughout her. So she eats, and she reads to him.

Sigtryggr disappears each day, leaving her alone in the study. She only leaves to bathe and to relieve herself, but she is perfectly happy to stay put and await his return, especially when she is all too aware of the alternative.

Each day when he returns he brings news of the continuing siege. King Edward and the Wessex guard surround the walls of Winchester, but will not attack as his sons are being kept captive in the chapel. They have yet to yield to Sigtryggr’s demands for land.

She fiddles with the cross around her neck, eyeing the Mjölnir that sits around his carefully. “Can there not be a peaceful resolution?”

"It is more difficult to live peacefully with enemies than to fight them,” he tells her.

“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.

“We are not enemies, little warrior.”

The sentiment makes her heart flutter, though there is the lingering question in the back of her mind; what are we?

He leaves her alone again as usual one morning and she busies herself poring over maps to pass the time.

She turns when she hears footsteps, expecting to see Sigtryggr but instead it is a man she does not recognise. He appears Saxon, so she cannot understand why the Danes have allowed him to move around the estate so freely.

The stench of ale upon him as he draws closer is nauseating. His eyes hold malicious intent as he advances towards her, and her blood runs cold at the sight.

She stands, backing away from him. “Whatever you are planning to do, please reconsider,” she pleads, “Sigtryggr will punish you if anything happens to me.”

“I have allied myself with the Danes,” he slurs, “but at what cost? They treat me like a dog, while Sigtryggr coddles you. Tell me, whore, is your cunt really that good? Perhaps I ought to find out for myself.”

She yelps as he lunges for her, grabbing her and pinning her against the desk. Fury flashes through her as she struggles against him, attempting to free herself from his hold.

“Whatever treatment they give you, you have brought upon yourself, traitor,” she spits.

Her head snaps to the side, a sharp sting spreads across her cheek as he strikes her.

She barely has time to adjust her focus before she feels him forcefully being pulled off of her.

“Eardwulf!” Sigtryggr snarls angrily. “Fucking coward!”

His fist makes impact with Eardwulf’s face knocking him to the ground, before he is dragged away.

She curls up on the furs, shaking as tears stream down her cheeks, waiting for her heart rate to calm. What could have happened to her if Sigtryggr had not returned when he did doesn’t bear thinking about.

She is unsure of how much time has passed when he returns.

“Are you alright?”

She turns towards the sound of his voice, gasping when she sees he’s covered in blood. Rushing towards him, she places her hands upon his face. “You are hurt…”

Softly he grasps her wrists, keeping her hands where they are. “This blood is not mine, and Eardwulf will not hurt you ever again.”

Her lips part in shock at the thought that he has killed for her, saved her life twice now. She studies his face, taking in the stormy blue of his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

She allows her gaze to linger there for just a moment too long, embarrassment making her hot, eager to distract herself. She traces a finger over the scar that runs the length of the left side of his face.

“How did this happen?”

“A man tried to take my eye during battle,” he explains softly, “so I took his life.”

“But you were hurt.”

“Injured, yes. Left with a scar, yes. But very much alive.”

“As am I, thanks to you.”

She drops her hands from his face and he steps away from her, pulling off his blood soaked light armour and clothing.

She feels her throat run dry at the sight of his bare torso, all lean, lithe battle hardened muscle, adorned with scars. She longs to trace her fingers over each of them.

Looking away, she feels ashamed for harbouring such thoughts and desperately tries to ignore the throbbing ache in her core.

As night falls and Sigtryggr lays asleep beside her, the feeling that lingers between her legs has yet to subside. It is maddening, robbing her of rest. Every time she closes her eyes the image of him stood bare chested before her enters her mind.

She has never touched herself before, it is impure to do so, yet she needs relief or she is sure she will go mad.

Sparing a glance in the darkness towards Sigtryggr, she makes sure his eyes are closed before reaching a tentative hand between her legs. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers make impact against the sensitive flesh.

She is not quite sure what she is supposed to do, but finds that a combination of rubbing the area and bucking softly against her hand feels most pleasurable, so continues to do that, holding her free hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes.

There is a feeling that builds within her, a zenith that she feels she must press towards, so she continues in earnest, until finally she feels something within her release and her entire body shudders, a soft moan stifled against her lips as white hot pleasure rolls through her body.

Laying there afterwards she does her best to calm her breaths, feeling guilty for having done something so depraved.

She is startled by Sigtryggr’s voice beside her. “If only you’d beg, little warrior, I could do that for you.”

Her breath hitches and she quickly turns away from him. Not knowing what to say, she feigns sleep, clutching her cross and praying silently that he’ll forget.

She is grateful when he speaks of it no further, and life goes back to normal, or at least what normal is for them.

That is until a couple of weeks later when Brida storms her way into the study, clearly having grown impatient with the lack of progress being made.

“It has been more than thirty days since we captured Winchester, and your negotiations with the Saxon King are not working, Sigtryggr,” she glowers at him, “the time for talking is over. We are killing more captives.”

She does not miss the way that Brida’s eyes linger upon her as she says this, a shiver of fear causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.

“I will choose who we execute, not you,” Sigtryggr tells her.

“You cannot protect this Saxon forever,” Brida retorts.

“Oh, but I can,” he says, placing himself protectively between her and Brida. “She is mine, and I will decide what happens to her.”

Brida scoffs, turning and leaving. Sigtryggr follows, leaving her alone to ponder the fact that he has once more saved her life.

When he comes back several hours later, he looks so tired. The expression he wears is one of defeat and she feels her heart ache for him.

“Read to me,” he says softly, sitting heavily upon the settee.

She regards him quietly, she wants to comfort him. She wants to comfort herself. She has grown weary of denying him.

Before she has time to think about what she’s doing, she crosses the room, and places herself upon his lap, her thighs astride his.

“What are you do–”

His words are cut off as she presses her lips to his eagerly, before pulling away. “I’m begging, Sigtryggr, please. I–”

He surges forward, kissing her again, his mouth possessing hers hungrily as he grasps her hips, lifting her as he stands to deposit her onto the makeshift bed upon the floor, his body caging hers in against the furs.

“I knew you’d give in, little warrior,” he whispers against her neck, kissing his way down her throat to her collarbone.

His fingers toy with the hem of the shift she wears, a silent plea for consent in his eyes as he looks at.

She swallows thickly and nods, nervousness and excitement fluttering ceaselessly in her stomach.

He pulls the garment over her head, throwing it to the side before sitting back on his haunches to admire her.

“Gods…you were worth the wait. So beautiful,” he whispers reverently.

She squirms beneath his gaze, turning her head away at the intimacy of the gesture, feeling shy and uncomfortable.

“Look at me,” he tells her softly. His fingers grasp her jaw, turning her face back to him.

Slowly he undresses, until he is as naked as she is. She feels the familiar ache between her thighs as she drinks in the sight of him, chiseled and battle hardened.

“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.

He reaches for the cross around her neck, toying with it between his fingers, before giving a quick, hard tug, causing the cord to give way. “What we are about to do is no business of your nailed god,” he tells her, tossing it to one side.

He kisses her once more, slower this time, their mouths saving the feel of the other’s against it. Trailing featherlight kisses down her body until he reaches her breasts, he wraps his lips around one of their hardened peaks, sucking gently.

The sensation causes her to moan, a pleasurable sensation shooting through her body, pooling into wet warmth between her legs as she arches against him.

Sigtryggr repeats the motion on the opposite breast, before descending further down, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

She freezes up when he grips her thighs, placing them over his shoulders so that his face is level with her most intimate of parts.

“What…what are you doing?” She asks anxiously.

“I’m going to taste you,” he says matter of factly, making pointed eye contact.

“You cannot do that,” she protests weakly, “it is an unclean thing to do.”

He grins at her, shaking his head slightly. “Christian,” the word leaves his mouth as a half hearted insult, before he presses forward.

The first swipe of his tongue against her folds causes her to gasp, her hands burying themselves in his hair as he uses his grip on her thighs to pull her closer, his tongue moving against her firmer, deeper, faster.

A groan of satisfaction rumbles in his throat, the vibrations causing her insides to clench as she bucks against his face, chasing the edge of oblivion that his tongue is pressing her towards.

He sucks at her pearl, before laving his tongue over it and she cries out as she spasms against his mouth, ecstasy numbing all of her senses as he continues to lap at her.

Once she relaxes, he pulls away, sitting back between her legs, his chin slick with her juices. His fist runs over the length of his cock as he takes in her blissful state and her eyes widen as she sees the size of him.

He is thick, long and slightly curved. She has never looked upon anyone’s manhood before and she trembles as she wonders how it will possibly fit inside of her.

Sensing her trepidation, Sigtryggr caresses her cheek with his palm. “Relax, little warrior, I have prepared you well.”

He presses the head of himself against her entrance and she braces herself, but then he stops. Her eyes flit to his questioningly.

“Beg for it,” he whispers.

She whines, wanting to hide her face in furs that they lay upon.

“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.

“Please,” he pushes forward, aided by her arousal and release, “please,” he pushes forward again, more of her swallowing him up, accompanied by the sensation of stretching and the slightest of stings, “please,” he pushes forward once more, finally sheathed fully inside of her.

She realises as he settles on top of her, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him, that this was merely a means to distract her so that she wouldn’t focus on the possibility of it hurting and grow tense. She smiles, stroking the wild tresses of his dark hair. Always so cunning.

He withdraws his hips slowly, before carefully pushing forward again. He repeats the motion several times, watching her face carefully.

As her breathing quickens, her brow relaxing as her jaw begins to slacken, he increases his pace, hips snapping against hers faster and faster, their kisses frenzied as they pant into each other’s mouths.

She feels him throb inside of her, the sensation pushes her back towards the precipice she’d fallen over earlier, but before she reaches it he is pulling out, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend across her belly.

He wipes her clean with a blanket, discarding it before laying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. A satisfied ache settles within her, she feels she could fall asleep like this, but his voice lulls her back to full consciousness.

“I have released the King’s sons back to him,” he tells her quietly.

“What will happen now?”

“He is sending a warrior named Uhtred into Winchester to negotiate terms, if I accept those terms then my men and I will move on.”

Her heart sinks. She cannot bear the thought of him leaving, not now she knows what it’s like to be in his arms. “Oh,” is all she is able to muster, pressing tighter to him.

They fall into a quiet doze, until he gently squeezes her shoulder. “I must go and speak with Uhtred.”

She watches sadly, quietly, as he dresses. He leans down to kiss her before he leaves and she pushes her lips eagerly to his. If he is to abandon her then she will cling to every last moment until he does.

When Sigtryggr returns later, she is dressed in her shift again, though her cross remains discarded. She is seated by the window, staring listlessly out of it.

He carries a bundle of clothing in his arms and she looks at him curiously.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, deepening her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I have discussed terms with Uhtred and we have reached an agreement. I will leave Winchester, on the condition that you accompany me…not as my prisoner, but as my woman.”

She grins, running into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck.

As they ride away from Winchester, side by side on horseback, she does not feel as though she is leaving her life behind. On the contrary, it has just begun.

487 notes · View notes

enter-the-phantom · 18 days

Text

Okay, sit down, Tumblr. Let me get on my soapbox for a moment.

I want to talk about Windows95Man and Henri Piispanen and why we should all be applauding them. And no, this isn’t another “crown the pantsless Finn” shitpost.

I know I joke about my love for these two a lot, and I’ve kind of become the Windows95Man guy this week, but with all the drama and chaos going on, they really do deserve recognition for what they did. And I’m so dead serious about that. There is a reason I adore this stupid act so goddamn much.

This competition was a shitshow and was very stressful, for the performers as well as the audience. It was tense and hostile, and even when our favorites for the win were performing, we could never really relax because we wanted so badly for them to beat the team that should not have been there and that was turning this into a nightmare for everyone involved. We were so scared of the points and the voting at every turn, wondering if the EBU was going to pull another stunt. It was miserable even when our favorites did well. And we are all heartbroken for Joost. It was a disgrace and it wasn’t fun.

Now. “No Rules!” was the joke entry and it never stood a chance in hell and everyone knew it. I guarantee you they knew it and they never expected to get this far. But for a few minutes, everyone got to forget about the cruelty and the politics and the unfair treatment and the harassment, and just watch a crazy dude run around pantsless on stage. We got to be consumed by pure, unbridled joy and happiness for a few minutes, together, because this entry wasn’t a threat to anyone’s win and never set out to be. They did not come here to win—according to Teemu himself, they came to spread a few moments of joy to a world and an audience that desperately needed it. That is all they came to do. And that is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

It is such a deeply moving and wonderful thing to watch people laughing together with the people they hated only moments ago. The way the crowd roared when that stupid denim egg opened was a truly emotional moment in a way I can’t quite express. No matter what flag they were waving, everyone in that audience was singing along and cheering on these two madmen, united in the sheer hilarity and chaos of those few minutes. When that man’s shorts descended from the rafters and he lit those sparklers, we weren’t crying for Joost or worrying about the final outcome or panicking. We were laughing, and we were laughing together. Laughter is healing and it’s unifying. And it may have been only a few moments in a week that was bitter and stressful for all involved, but that is worth something to unite people in such a way.

According to all sources, the Finnish team was nothing but kind and warm to everyone and did exactly what they set out to do. They can go home with their heads held high knowing they made people smile. I have so much deep respect for these two and their team for being the joy and fun this competition was so sorely missing. They never lost that spark and that drive to make people happy, because that was their only goal. And it’s probably melodramatic because I’m a performer myself. But they are my heroes for it. And I mean that with all the sincerity I have.

With all the drama and the horrible things happening in this organisation and the world at large, I just don’t want us to forget two of the unsung heroes just because their entry was never a real contender. They deserve better than that, because they more than succeeded in what they came out here to do.

All the love and all the applause in the world to Teemu Keisteri and Henri Piispanen, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. 🇫🇮❤️👖

#this is long but my god #esc #eurovision #eurovision song contest #esc 2024 #Eurovision 2024 #windows95man #henri piispanen #teemu keisteri #look if one entry made me cry? it was them.#helping people smile is not a small thing. it matters.#they truly are an inspiration and I cannot overstate how much I truly appreciate them #eurovision finland

144 notes · View notes

ossidae-passeridae · 6 months

Note

I'd be fascinated to hear more about gnosticism in tlt if you ever feel like writing about it.

I honestly don't know what's already been written r.e. gnosticism and TLT, so might be reinventing the wheel here, but I'll do a brief description of the overarching themes present throughout the books?

The uh, first layer of the gnosticism onion, as it were.

So to start this off I'm going to give a broad and at least partially incorrect overview of gnosticism:

Gnosticism is a tenth century mess that's loosely based off of Christianity, but then gets Weird. Thanks to some fun political situations in the Gulf, the Christians in the South were isolated from other Christians for decades thus spun off wildly from "mainstream" Christianity. We mostly have fragments left, and a lot of them contradict each other, so working out exactly what they believed/meant is Very Fun and also Somewhat Impossible. (Like the fragments of documents left in Canaan House, you could say...)

That being said, parts of their beliefs we do know better than others. They have the bible, of course, but on top of that they also have this pre-Bible creation myth regarding how God came to be in the first place.

It goes something like: In The Beginning there was a sort of primordial god-soup. This god-soup occasionally emits binary pairs of entities, also known as aeons and (later) twin flames. These binary pairs are two souls made for one another and with one another, and together they are balanced, and perfect, and full of Holy Light(tm). Each binary pair had one grammatically-masculine name, and one grammatically-feminine name. These names do not necessarily relate to perceived gender, and in fact the binary pairs are often referred to as if they are Beyond Gender Altogether. (*stares pointedly at the Lyctors*, *stares even more pointedly at Gideon's name*) [I could probably write a whole thing on this alone, honestly, they're sometimes referred to as like, the fingers on God's hand which, yeah.]

Anyway, in this pure and godly space, there is no matter, only Holy Light. But one of the entities, known as Sophia, goes off on her own and interacts with the shadowy chaos that exists outside of the godly soup. She's half of a whole, unbalanced. And through her meddling she (unintentionally) creates another half that's not pure and holy and full of godly light, but instead a dark reflection of what he Should Be. This is generally referred to as the Demiurge.

Unlike all these other beings, the Demiurge is made of matter. He is the first thing of matter to exist and he looks around the void that he's birthed into, bare aside from him, and concludes that he and he alone is God. (Hi Jod)

Then he makes earth, and heaven, and a bunch of other things besides, the things we know as the universe today. In the immortal words of Douglass Adams — this has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.

The problem is — all of these things that the Demiurge has created are made of matter. And being made of matter, they're cut off from the light of Godness (which is incorporeal and made of Pure Energy), thus inherently flawed. What's more, they're never meant to have existed in the first place. The Demiurge is tormented by his failure, but unable to create anything that is not inherently Wrong. (oh look it's the Nine Houses, I'd bet money that there's a link between being cut off from Godly Light and the Nine Houses being the only stable thanergenic planets here)

Sophia, who has watched these unintended consequences unfold and the suffering they've caused, cannot undo what's been done, but she can descend into the material world to share the light of wisdom and try to alleviate what suffering she can. So she does.

The story culminates with Christ being born and teaching all of humanity Gnosis — a special, mystical knowledge that can only come from the Divine, we are not really given specifics here — before he's sacrificed in order to make humanity's ascent beyond their material prison possible.

So that's the broad strokes of gnosticism as a religion, and also first layer of the TLT gnosticism onion. Just the really broad spectrum thematic *waves hands around* Stuff. I've refrained from speculating on the end because until Alecto comes out we really don't know.

If you want anything more specific anon, let me know?? I've been in the gnosticism soup for so long I can't always tell what's common knowledge and what isn't.

#tlt #the locked tomb #tlt meta #good evening I love these books also I am suffering #gnosticism in tlt #I'm not sure where the gnosticism onion came from but apparently I'm running with that metaphor so apologies for that

151 notes · View notes

carionto · 7 months

Text

How to beat Deathworlders

I don't know what I want to write and it's a little frustrating. So, to fix that, I'm just gonna throw this at me - Giant Ant Planet

The first call to arms Humanity has declared. They mobilize with unseen speed and precision seven of their mightiest Dreadnoughts, hundreds of transports, and amass fifty thousand soldiers, fully armed and trained on the target.

They are headed to a world Humans scouted as having great potential for life to flourish. How correct they were.

In orbit above the planet Chromathium-2-4, the station Truncated Crescent Ellipses was tasked with conducting experiments to test the viability of Human-digestible flora and fauna living on Chromatoff (as the scientists began to call it for short).

When the fleet arrived, the final message from the station turned out to be true - it had crash landed on the surface. From the chaos of the recordings they received, there was a containment breach and the systems were under attack by some unknown electronic waves and incomprehensible code. A hostile act, but by who?

This was two weeks ago. Whoever it was, they would know the wrath of Humanity. Once we find your traces, there will be no hiding for long.

Preliminary scans show the station was dead and only local creatures and plants appeared, in greater density than elsewhere, but no matter. Just some animals.

The first unmanned craft landed and began exploring the wreckage. All of the digital systems were fried, not a hint of power remained anywhere. Attempts to manually power anything up proved fruitless - the data had been replaced with pure garbage code. Then, the drone vanished underground and went silent. Connection failure.

Orbital sights showed nothing, all frequencies were monitored and were free of unaccounted signals. The next group of drones descended and shortly after touchdown they too were seemingly devoured by the ground, all power and electronic signals cut.

A deep scan showed the same dense biological activity, but looking closer at the data it was like a carpet just below the actual surface layer. And for whatever reason the pulse couldn't penetrate below a few meters. Scanning areas further from the crash revealed a much more detailed and sparsely populated map going down the expected three kilometers.

For the third attempt they kept several drones above the landed ones at different altitudes. The moment the drones on the ground were vanished again, a sudden signal struck the ones floating up to seventy meters above and cut them off as well, but didn't seem to reach any beyond that. The visual was not as detailed as they'd like, but it was enough - the tips of large pincers and antennae and beady eyes. Ants.

The fleet maintained a perimeter around the entire system just in case, and spent half a day consulting professionals and former colleagues of the deceased scientists to get a better understanding of the current situation.

Two experiments the team had worked on before and supposedly continued when relocated to the new station stood out - metabolic acceleration, and unassisted neural interfacing via modified brain waves. Far from the wildest here, such as the self-relocating giant sequoia, but ones that offered a plausible explanation.

Ants serve a variety of critical functions in the maintenance of an ecosystem, so naturally they are a part of most late stage terraforming efforts.

Here, however, something went wrong and they evolved alongside technology at an intimate level. Perhaps deliberately made to do so.

They are spreading fast too. Twelve hours ago the "carpet" of underground ants was roughly two square kilometers. Now it was close to three and a half. In mere weeks they may spread across the entire continent, perhaps make it across (or below?) the seas somehow and ravenously consume all life on this planet before succumbing to extinction themselves.

This world is bountiful. Also, we're here already. Hmm...

Eh, may as well. Plenty of us have seen Starship Troopers and only joined to hopefully one day shoot at alien bugs. Guess these are more like home grown critters, but whatever.

With that brazen attitude (and a quick orbital bombardment) the troop ships landed, well, were forced to crash land the final few meters, but whatever electromagnetic warfare these ants were throwing our way didn't account for reinforced alloy armor and hand-held rail guns. Their sharp pincers, acid throwers, and thick carapaces did however.

Actually, fucking hell, they move real fast underground. Uhh...

This isn't looking so good in retrospect. Did they add cockroach DNA in these bastards too? Some of them literally don't care about losing their head, what the fuck!?

Okay, holy shit, abort mission! Good thing we still install regular ignition engines as an added redundancy to the military ships. Not very fast or efficient, but screw you, burn beneath the thrusters. BURN!

*deep breath*

Okay. So. We lost 831 soldiers, and 4625 are injured. And the ant casualties don't matter cuz they're ants. Super mutant ants. Who are going to take over the world if we don't nuke them. Which might not work anyway because HUMAN scientists made them.

Hoisted by our own petard or something.

Right, let's just chalk it up as a... military exercise gone wrong and quarantine the planet. Wait, make that the whole system.

...so this is what it must've felt like to lose the Emu War...

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #story #scifi #carionto #ant #giant ants #you can really see where my brain process switched

224 notes · View notes

darkwolf989 · 2 months

Text

Outside the Office Part Fifteen

Hi All! Maybe a trigger warning for Valentino being himself and Hell being Hell?

Enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated!!

When I woke up, my cheek was pressed firmly against the middle of his chest. Every inch of me tingled, and I pressed deeper into him as the fire in my belly restored itself. Under me, he stirred and let out a yawn.

“Good morning, my princessa. How do you feel?” He asked sleepily as he ran his hand down my back.

“Energized and refreshed, Ready for round two.” I said eagerly. I rolled over and pushed myself on top of him. I sank my hips against him. Under the sheet that separated us, I felt his cock harden. He sat up, any sleepness he had left vanished as he sprung to life. He interlaced his fingers with mine and before I could blink, I was pinned under him, blankets kicked aside.

“Ready for round two, hm?” He growled as he kissed down my neck.

Enthralled by the feeling of him against me, I almost missed the surge of power that pulsed through the room. I missed covering myself with a blanket by seconds. Lucifer stood at the base of our bed, his arms crossed. The warm feeling of shame and embarrassment spread through me. He didn’t look surprised at our position, but he certainly didn’t look thrilled either. Valentino yanked the blanket over the two of us and I opened my mouth to tell Lucifer exactly where to go.

Lucifer cut me off before I could say a word. “Whatever kinky shit you two are doing needs to wait, I need to see all four of you in the living room, now!” He snarled. “And by that I mean, get dressed in the next thirty seconds or someone will die. Literally.”

With that he vanished. Valentino and I exchanged looks and quickly got ourselves dressed.

“You know, someday, I’m going to be powerful enough to just drop into his fucking bedroom,” I grumbled.

Valentino laughed and took my hand in his. Together we walked out to the living room where a sleepy looking Vox and Velvette also sat on the couch. Lucifer paced back and forth in the front of the room. He looked up when we entered.

“Took you long enough. You’re going to want to sit for this. Vox, could you put it up on the screen for us?” Lucifer asked.

Vox yawned and with a zap of electricity the screen lit up. Video footage of carnage and chaos, demons screaming as winged angel’s in masks descended upon the city, slashing everything that crossed their paths. Across the streets, bodies lay in heaps, crimson washing the streets.

“This is footage from last night. As you can see, my negotiation with the angels didn’t exactly go as planned. They came down last night, at midnight, in droves and slaughtered everything in their sight for approximately four hours before ascending back to heaven. At my last count, eight hundred and sixty three demons perished.”

A horrified silence washed over us as we watched the scenes taken from the camera systems set up throughout hell. Men, women, children- anyone on the street was free for the pickings, slaughtered without thought purely for angelic delight.

“Pause. Right there.” Lucifer snapped.

Another zap of electricity froze a face on the screen. I sat up straighter and stood up, red energy collecting at my fingertips. I knew that face.

“Fucking Adam,” I snarled. “That son of a bitch!” Around me, energy pulsed. Lucifer stepped closer to me and took both my hands in his.

“Stop. Control yourself, or all you’ll do is destroy this lovely building. A building that kept you safe last night. Take a breath and sit down,” he pushed me back next to as he let go of my hands. He shot Valentino a look. “You. Keep her calm before she inadvertently causes me a host of inconveniences.”

“Settle, mi amore. I’m upset too, but nothing you do at this moment will fix this,” he said gently. “Logic, and emotion combined equal control. Remember?”

I took a deep breath and slowly, the energy at my fingertips began to fizz out.

Lucifer nodded in approval. “Good. Now, onto the next point. If we want to stop this, we need to figure something out fast, and Reader, you’re our best shot. Tell me everything you know about this Adam character. From what I could tell, he was their leader last night.”

Oh where to begin? Adam, or as he called himself, “the original dick” was our Creator's first attempt at making a male specimen. When Eve took a bite of the apple of knowledge, offered to her by Lucifer, it caused them both to fall. Adamn, by default, ascended into heaven, free of sin because he never learned what sin was. He was the only being in that loophole. In addition, he was the leader of the group in heaven that rallied hard for the new order, and although I wasn’t sure, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had been the one who put the final knife into my father. He was a rotten, sexist, egotistical asshole who hit on me more than once and when I turned him down hard he told everyone in heaven that I put out for him. The wildfire that rumor caused was nothing short of a nightmare, and it took more than one invasive test to prove he was a lying rat. Of course, even when I was proven innocent, people still whispered.

I wondered what they would think of me sleeping with Valentino?

I relayed this information as concisely and accurately as I could, sparing no detail. When I shared his personal attack towards me, Valentino sat up straighter, and his hand took mine. Silence again fell over our group.

“Heaven is fucked up,” Valentino said finally. “That might be true, but they have power we don’t. At least, at the moment. That could change, and that’s where you come in. Reader…” Lucifer said. He looked me in the eye. “I need you to

start forming soul contracts. I need you to collect as many souls as you possibly can between now and their next visit. As a fallen angel alone, I don’t have the power to beat them but you being half demon hold the key.”

“How do you know this?”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Honestly? I don’t. It’s my best guess based on eons of knowledge. And it’s our only shot, otherwise I am out of ideas. The angels know they have the upper hand when it comes to power.”

“Wait, Lucifer. You said they would come again. Do you know when that is? Did you and heaven come to any sort of agreement, or….”

Lucifer looked pained. “Six months. I bought us six months in between exterminations. And on that day, they can come and kill as many demons across as many rings as they desire within the span of four hours. I tried, my reader. But I would not give them the one thing they wanted.”

I felt my anger grow. “What could possibly be more important than saving your own people?”

His expression changed for the briefest of moments. “You.”

Our eyes met.

“Send me your contract for review once it’s written.”

And with that he vanished.

I looked at the three of them. Despite the panic I felt, they looked relatively calm.

“Alrightly then I guess we’ll get you started collecting souls tonight,” Vox said nonchalantly. He yawned as he stood up and made his way into the kitchen. “I got here first so I’m making breakfast! What do you want?”

“Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee.” Velvette answered.

“You got it!” Vox called back.

From the living room, I could hear the sounds of pots and pans banging around. Inside, I felt sick. How could I possibly be hungry after watching the carnage on television? How could they possibly be so calm?

“Nothing we do or say is going to change the past,” Velvette answered when I expressed my frustration. “And not eating won’t fix anything.”

I considered her point but couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t right. Either way, sitting here wasn’t going to help either. The need to move overcame me and I stood up, pacing behind the couch.

Valentino watched me silently, a displeased expression on his face.

“I have a question.” I asked after a few minutes of his eyes watching me. “How many souls can I collect in a day?”

Valentino stood up and wordlessly moved himself to the table, spinning his chair so that he was looking at me. “There is technically no limit. But in taking ownership, you bind yourself to that soul and the promises you make. And doing so, especially the first few times, can be physically and emotionally exhausting. So I would limit yourself to one or two. We usually don’t do more than ten a night, right Vox? Vel? Any input?”

Velvette shrugged. “I’d rather go out every night and give myself time in between. That lets me make sure I’m carrying out the terms of the contract as I agreed, and ensure they are as well.”

“And I’d rather go out a few times a week and come back with a couple of souls each time,” Vox called from the kitchen. “Traveling is a pain in the ass. I just want to get it done all at once.”

“You won’t be alone either, reader. I will guide you, Valenitno said gently, “If of course, you decide to do what Lucifer has asked.”

That was the question. As much as Lucifer had posed it as a requirement, at the end of the day the decision to collect souls was my own choice. Maybe a few months ago I would have scoffed at the idea and taken what I perceived to be the moral high road. But knowing what I know now, and in light of the amount of deaths that would take place if I didn’t, I could swallow the uncomfortableness of owning a soul if it meant a better outcome all around.

“I will, I don’t see a better option and well…Velvette has shown me that offering a contract is the lesser of the two evils. Speaking of, do you have a contract I could use? Or well, anything I could offer them? Because let’s be honest, even with Lucifer being who he is, I’ve got nothing to provide for them.”

“You do…have things, mi amore. And talent,” Valentino said slowly. “Granted, it's more military based…what if we contracted these souls to be trained as you were- to battle for hell when needed?”

“Doesn’t Lucifer have his own army of demons?” I asked.

Even from the kitchen, I could hear Vox let out a snort as he answered. “I mean, yeah. Sort of. But he only calls on it to handle things like riots and keep his citizens in line. It isn’t organized, like I assume the angels are.” He walked out of the kitchen and stood behind the couch where

Velvette sat. “What if we created a dual contract? One that required them to spend a day or two each week training with you, and required them to be called on to fight any battles that may arise? We can house any souls you acquire and take care of them- that isn’t an issue. We can also add in something about how during their off days they will be required to work for one of us. The language on this might be tricky, but since Lucifer is looking it over I’m sure it will be ironclad and ensure that you are in no way, shape or form held accountable.” He leaned over and pecked Velvette on the top of the head before he returned to the kitchen.

“That feels a little tricky,” I said slowly, picking up the pace ever so slightly. “And more than a little dishonest. Shouldn’t they know what they’re signing up for? The whole consent argument?”

“I mean, mi amore, is it better to let them choose the fate of the sins? Or offer them a safe landing? At heart, what they do here doesn’t really matter. It’s more important to provide a better outcome for them where you can. And you can always say no,” Valentino replied. “The consent argument- I believe you’re referring to what my job entails- comes into play in a paragraph stating that we will come to a verbal agreement regarding their participation in my business. A verbal agreement that can be altered between the two parties as necessary.” He paused. “That isn’t the exact language of course, but the general idea. This way if I have an employee who requires an…unexpected rest period, we can verbally agree together on that, so no one breaks the contract.”

I considered it. They had a point, and as long as I was being upfront and honest with the souls I interacted with, and offered them the better of the two choices, I was still doing the right thing.

“Come on you guys, enough of this discussion. I’ll write something up and send it to Lucifer later today. Once he approves it, we can go from there- but for now, breakfast is hot. Come eat.” Vox said as he carried two big platters to the table.

I filled up my plate with pancakes and bacon and settled myself back on the couch. Velvette, ever so quick to change the channel, put on one of our mutually agreed upon shows. Valentino reached over and squeezed my hand gently, a silent reminder that he was there. I gave him a smile and set my fork down, leaning over a pressing a sticky maple syrup kiss on his lips.

When breakfast finished, Valentino and I made our way back to his room.

“Do you need to work today?” I asked as I sat on his bed. “If so, that's fine, I’ll go down and help Vox write the contracts.”

“I do, princessa,” he stripped his pajamas off and walked over to me and bent down, pressing his lips to mine. “But first, let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?”

Ah fuck. The red hot feeling of desire bubbled up in me as he slowly undid the buttons on my pajamas.

“God damn it, Valentino,” I groaned as he took his time with each unhook.

“Oh, mi amore. Are you eager?” he asked teasingly. He bent over and in the span of a kiss, my shirt was undone and my pants tossed aside.

“Eager is an understatement,” I said as I wrapped my arm around his neck. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”

A grin spread across my face as he pushed himself on top of me. “As you wish, my princessa.”

Two hours, one hot shower where I discovered the use for that tiled bench, and a visit to Velvette later, I walked into Valentino’s studio and took my place beside him.

“Ah, welcome mi amore,” he said softly, reaching over and squeezing my hand before turning his attention back to his work. “Angel! Where the fuck are you?”

I watched as Angel Dust strutted out of his dressing room and took his place on stage. Valentino looked at me apologetically, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. By the time he turned his attention back to the stage his expression had hardened, and the cruelness Valentino kept hidden from me showed itself in full form. Roughly, he stood up and strode across the room. He grabbed Angel and pushed him into the chair before leaning down and pressing his lips against Angel’s.

As much as I knew Valentino didn’t want to, the entire thing turned my stomach. and instead, chose to look away and focused my attention instead on the employees that scurried around as quickly as they could. Finally, I heard the click of Valentino’s boots come closer and I gave the scene my attention once more. I watched as he lifted Angel Dust up onto the chair, Angel’s eyes red from a mix of the pleasure and the high. Valentino took his seat, observing carefully as the demons tied Angel upright.

“And…Action.”

I watched as yet another violent scene unfolded, wincing with each slap and shout of pleasure that came from Angel. Not soon enough, Valentino called cut and sent the film to editing.

“Come, princessa. Lunch time.” He stood up and stretched.

Both on and off the stage, demons scurried around moving set pieces. Angel himself stood up and offered me a toothy smile before he disappeared back behind the door to his dressing room.

“I don’t think I will ever get used to the…cruelty.” I said once Valentino and I were safely in his office. I perched myself up on his desk and picked through the options housekeeping had brought in for lunch.

“Part of my job is to provide satisfaction for those who require a certain type of emotion or imagery in order to feel pleasure,” Valentino said patiently. “You cannot judge anyone based on their needs. As long as no actual harm is done, and consent is appropriately acquired, there is no harm in allowing fantasy to come to life on the screen.”

“I guess,” I said slowly, “but it's just so different from what we do.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve officially had sex twice in your life. We haven’t even explored other ways to make things fun, let alone all of the other…options your body has for me. You might find you like some of these kinks.” He reached over and chose a sandwich. He kissed me on the forehead and took his seat behind the desk. “So quit judging and choose something to eat, or I’ll make you.”

“Yes, Daddy..” I responded teasingly. Instantly, the vision of my father popped into my head and an icky feeling flooded through my body. I involuntarily made a face. “Okay, that one isn’t for me.”

“First of all, you’re not engaging in that kink in the correct context. And it’s fine if it isn’t for you, but you still don’t get to judge those who do enjoy that kink,” he replied. “Especially not in my studio. Understood?”

“Yes Valentino,” I rolled my eyes and reached over, picking up the container of pasta salad. “Do you have a fork?”

He opened his desk drawer and rummaged around a bit before handing one to me. “Here,” he looked at my lunch choice with disapproval. “You can’t just eat carbs. You have to have some sort of protein too.”

“You know what I read online? Cum is an excellent source of protein.” I answered nonchalantly as I unwrapped the plastic utensil covering.

His face went red and he coughed before he broke into a laugh. “Princessa. Where did you find time to read up on that?”

“I had plenty of time over the past few weeks. I learned a lot,” I leaned forward to kiss him and set my lunch aside.

His lips met mine and he sat back. “Oh? Like what, mi amore? Do share your studies with me.” He pointed to the open container of pasta salad, “and eat while you do. I’m on a time limit here and therefore so are you.”

I groaned. “Valentino. I am trying to be sexy.”

“You do that effortlessly, my princessa. And as much as I would love to tame that dirty mouth of yours right this very second, you’re just going to have to wait until we get home. Now eat, before I make you.”

“Oh? And how are you going to make me?”

He was on his feet and before I could react, he had me off the desk and against the wall, his body pressed against mine and one hand ever so lightly touched my throat.

“V-val?” My voice cracked as I looked into his eyes. The sharpness I had seen earlier shone through.

“You asked,” he breathed sharply into my ear. “And I’m answering. Now are you going to eat, or do I need to make you?”

Was it fear that flooded through me, or desire? In the moment, I couldn’t tell. It made me sick in the studio to watch him treat his employee’s like this but when it was me? Part of me was turned on in a way I could have never expected. But another part, a slightly larger part of me felt afraid, genuinely afraid that he would hurt me. I felt myself tremble.

“I-I’ll eat. I’m s-sorry.” I choked out after a few moments.

His expression softened, “that’s my girl.” He kissed my cheek and removed his hand from my throat. He watched me carefully for a moment before he pulled me into his arms and kissed me gently. “Mi amore, did I frighten you?”

“Yes and no?” I answered as honestly as I could as I tried to sort through my feelings on what just happened. “Some stupid part of me thought that was sexy.”

He kissed my forehead. “No part of you is stupid, my love. I proved my point- again. You cannot judge someone on what they like- especially if you don’t have any experience in the matter.” He lifted me up and popped me back up on the desk. He handed me my now unwrapped fork and the open container. “Now eat, before I make good on my promise.”

“You would never actually…hurt me though, would you?” I asked hesitantly. That would be the deciding factor- his dominance was sexy, but to be hurt by him was another thing entirely. I took a bite of my lunch and waited for him to answer.

He shook his head vehemently. “No. Mi amore, no. I would not. There are other ways to…convince you to follow my directions without inflicting punitive pain.” He took a bite and chewed thoroughly and then swallowed. “Though if that did turn you on- even a little- we should decide on a safeword now. So if we do get a little rough in the moment, we both have a clear cut way to stop if things get to be too much.”

I gave him a quizzical look. “What is a safe word?”

He grinned. “Ah. Something my little researcher hasn’t discovered on her own? The idea is simple- if you say a key word while we are in the bedroom, I stop. Instantly and without hesitation. The safeword in my studio is Parakeet. Anytime one of my employees utters that word, everything that happens on set stops instantly and the employee is let out of any restraints they may be in.” He paused and opened a bottle of water. He took a sip before continuing. “That’s also why I keep a doctor on staff at all times. Sometimes, accidents and emergencies happen. In house treatment prevents embarrassment and long term injuries. Which in the long run, saves me money.”

“But why wouldn’t you just stop when I tell you to stop?” I asked. “Isn’t that basic consent and respect?”

He shook his head. “Not always. Some people like to feel as though they are being overpowered. And for them, continuing to engage in the act despite begging the other to stop is a pleasure in and of itself. A safeword is something that has nothing to do with the situation and is unlikely to come up in a typical dialogue. It clearly communicates that one revokes consent and the other is to stop immediately. To avoid any confusion, I avoid using our safework in any of my scripts so there is never any mistake. Any ideas for ours, my princessa?”

“I…no. Honestly, no idea, none.” I took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Not a clue.”

He grinned. “So talk it out with me. The goal is to bring attention to the fact that something isn’t right- and kill the mood, or the vibe. However you want to describe the heat of the moment. Some people use a stop light system of sorts- yelling yellow for getting close to needing to stop and red for actually revoking consent. Think about something that if you said- or even if I said- would stop you in your tracks. And of course, something that you would be comfortable shouting.”

I looked at him blankly and hesitated as an idea slowly formed. “How about the word safe? Cause you make me feel safe…”

He smiled. “Safe. A little generic, but I like it.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently. “If you ever feel uneasy, unsure or want to stop- just say the word “safe” baby girl. And I promise to stop right away. And the same goes for me.”

“I can’t imagine you ever needing a safe word,” I said, tossing my now empty container in the trashcan next to his desk.

He laughed, “I have some hard limits. We all do.” He stood up and tossed his own wrapper in the garbage. “Come on, I need to get back to work.”

I jumped off the desk and followed him out. I took my place beside him once again. The clock on the wall ticked three o’clock, and as much as Valentino was invested in his work, I had the distinct feeling that the next few hours would drag by.

#the vees #valentino x reader #valentino x wife #vox x reader #valentino x you #hazbin fluff #valentino #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin x reader #x reader

66 notes · View notes

teecupangel · 3 months

Note

IDEA: Desmond gets turned into a creature of your choosing, just has to be able to “write”. And yknow how we always go with the ‘his writing becomes illegible’ thing? What if all of his writing is unreadable except the word “Desmond”. Drop him in with Ezio and watch the chaos unfold.

I was thinking what creature we should go for and my brain just went ‘screw it, go with Slime Desmond so we don’t have to think if the creature can actually use a quill or if he’s using his hands to write’.

Then my next thought was “Wouldn’t it be funny if Desmond could write ‘Desmond’ but he can only write it in a specific language that Ezio doesn’t know? Like… the Isu script?” but you know what would be funnier?

Desmond had always been an intelligent creature.

He used his strange body structure to make creative shapes that Ezio would be able to decipher and understand. He was the best scout and planning partner to have.

His uncle believes Desmond was a descendant of the slime ‘companion’ the legendary Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad supposed had.

If he was, Ezio could see why everyone believed Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was the best mentor the Brotherhood ever had.

Desmond made everything so easy that Ezio knew he needed to not depend on him too much. He needed to be able to stay on his own feet. To show that he was a formidable Assassin in his own rights.

That was why he asked Desmond to stay in Monteriggioni while he went to the Vatican to finally confront Rodrigo Borgia.

He focused on the safety of his family, knowing it was Desmond’s soft spot.

And it worked.

Desmond stayed and Ezio went to Rome alone.

And then he heard Minerva’s message.

‘Desmond’.

She specifically said Desmond’s name.

Desmond wasn’t a usual name and…

It was the only ‘word’ Desmond could write.

So when he returned to Monteriggioni, he briskly walked towards Desmond and crouched in front of him. Desmond’s entire body seemed to be vibrating slightly and Ezio pointed at him as he asked in an almost panicky tone, “Desmond?”

Desmond created too slimey appendages and pointed at himself, waving the tentacle-like appendages furiously.

“Desmond!” Ezio repeated and Desmond began to vibrate more noticeably.

“Desmond!” Ezio said cheerfully and Desmond started bouncing in front of him in pure joy.

“Why is my brother repeating Desmond’s name?” Claudia whispered from behind them, looking both confused and tired already.

“I’m not entirely sure…” Mario answered as he rubbed his chin.

“Ah, of course!” Ezio grabbed Desmond midbounce and held him in his arms before turning to face his family and allies. He recounted Minerva’s message and what he had seen, making his allies wear different expressions on their faces.

When he got to the part where Minerva specifically said Desmond’s name, Mario’s eyes widened as he asked, “Nipote, are you saying…”

“Yes.” Ezio raised Desmond to his eye-level as he proclaimed…

“Desmond is a messenger like Minerva! He keeps writing the name Desmond because he is looking for him!”

Desmond’s happy vibrations immediately stopped and then…

WHACK.

A tentacle appendage suddenly appeared from Desmond’s body and smacked Ezio behind the head, making the Assassin yelp in surprise and let go of Desmond.

Desmond quickly hopped away from them and went straight for the secret door that would lead to the Sanctuary below.

“What? What did I do? Was it supposed to be a secret, Desmond?!” Ezio followed the slime, already knowing it would be sulking behind the statue of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

… leaving his family and allies back in the office who stared at the secret entrance.

“…………. well… who’s going to tell him that Desmond is angry because the obvious answer was he’s the Desmond in the message?”

“I will respectfully decline. For one, I don’t want to argue with Ezio about how that idea is foolish as this Desmond is meant to be alive centuries from now to save the world.”

“O dio mio, does that mean our Desmond used to be Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s Desmond?! Is Desmond immortal???”

“I’m going to bed. Wake me up once my brother stops being stupid.”

#desmond is turned into a creature subgenre #ezio is a bit stupid for the punchline to work #sorry #in ezio’s defense #he didn’t think desmond the slime is an immortal #or that he’s a time traveler #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot #ask and answer

98 notes · View notes

eijakushingomel · 4 months

Text

"...And Then There Were None."

(Title inspired from Agatha Christie)

They were the first.

The first five who descended from the Oven above, baked specially by the Witches to lead cookiekind to greater height. Salt was his key ingredient. Solidarity was his purpose.

The rest, each baked specifically by the Witches' taste. One was sweet for pure joy. Another was spice for new evolution. In the end, that was what they were. The first five cookies to lead the other baked goods in Earthbread.

Each of them led their tribe in their own specific way, in their own territory. He heard from the soft murmurs that Mystic Flour had been the leader their depended on, pointing their options and gently cared them with kind gaze. Eternal Sugar had been an optimistic type. There wasn't a single passing day without the blast of music and cheers from her side.

Burning Spice perhaps was the most chaotic. Brimming with chaos and thirst for change. For something new. For something exciting as those eagerness for burning spiciness. Shadow Milk was...eccentric in his own way. Always there to learn something new. Always there with questions in their minds and curiosity of their surroundings.

And his was solidarity. No voices would be unheard. All voices had a chance to speak up and raise their opinions. It was a teamwork community, and he had always prided himself on it. To his people and the rest, he may be silent, yet he was bold and loud at the same time. To his comrades, he was a walking phrase of 'action was louder than word'.

He didn't pay any attention to any of those. He could talk like any other cookies. He just chose not to. He didn't see the need to be seen. He was there for one thing, and that was solidarity.

The Earthbread was peaceful. It was a great time of living. He loved it, although only the closest to him would notice his adoration. He loved where he was now. And with the blade gifted specially from the Witches, he shall use it on his enemies. To those who dared to break the teamwork. To those who silence others. That was the purpose of him and hid blade.

It was peaceful.

Until—

Burning Spice came with a bloody axe and terrified grim. Ashes and smokes trailed after his steps.

There wasn't the need for words to tell what he had done.

"I–I was too excited. They wanted something—anything new and more! I–I tried to fulfill their request, I really did—but..."

He cuts himself off with a hollow gaze. So, so different from the energetic comrade he used to know. Shadow Milk was the first to comfort him. With an assuring smile and twinkling eyes, the blue cookie had told their hollow pal that he could handle it—and he will.

So he watched silently as Shadow Milk walked away. Confidence in his stance, intelligent backing him up. Eternal Sugar had wished him good luck, while Mystic Flour had told him to stay wise. Burning Spice had retreated to a corner, complimenting his unexpected actions.

He stayed silent.

Shadow Milk came back with the same confidence. He had declared that the problem had been settled. Nothing worse will follow after Burning Spice, and Eternal Sugar had thanked the Witches for the continuous peace. Mystic Flour nodded approvingly. Burning Spice had looked relief, yet there was still those that haunted him. His grip on his axe had easened, but he hadn't sheathed it.

And Shadow Milk, was grinning a Cheshire smile. But there was something off. There was uncertainty. There was doubt. He had asked his genius partner about it, but the other only shrugged it off.

"You're thinking too much, friend. And overthinking was Mystic Flour's speciality."

He earned a bark of wood thrown at him. The ever smiling cookie laughed, casually slipping away from him to teetered the pale gold robe cookie. Perhaps Shadow Milk had gone away rather too fast, but he stayed silent.

The peace continued, but it was never for long.

Eternal Sugar came one day, with tiredness in her eyes and less graceful flaps. Her wings were ruffled, no longer it was properly trimmed and brushed.

"I hope they just quit asking me for more! Do they really think I'm available every time? Give me a rest!"

She whined, she wept. Mystic Flour was quick to comfort her, Burning Spice loudly vocalising his ire. Shadow Milk had suggested a few things while slipping in some comforting compliments that they knew could lighten her up.

She was still upset, but she wasn't giving up. With their support, she went back to her territory, with their wishes of luck brought with her.

Then Mystic Flour brought in her troubled mind several days after.

"They should learn to choose their own choice. And went their did, they shouldn't expected me to take care of their action's consequences just because I was the one who gave them suggestion..."

Hers didn't end there.

What happened once, became twice. Then thrice, and so on.

More villages were burned, and more cookies were ignored in their path. No more songs and music without the echoing of shouts and screams. No more knowledge that lead them to genuineness.

He watched. He watched as his fellow comrades fell one by one.

The guilt ridden on Burning Spice had replaced with desire of destruction. Eternal Sugar rather chose, and was doing it, of her own slumber rather than strumming happy tune for her cookies. Mystic Flour became cold to the world, and she closed her eyes for every tears that had shredded around her. Shadow Milk had found fun in playing mind games, carefully crafted twisted plans that led others to deceit.

And he had stayed silent.

He watched as their fell into the pit, fallen down from their original duties and becoming something unimaginable. He had done many things to lift them back up, away from the pit, but their kept falling.

And falling.

The world had started to view them as monsters. As Beasts. No longer that they cheered their names with the words Heroes, but instead screeches of terror in their tone.

He watched, as they further became distant.

When their figures were nearly swallowed by the pit's darkness, under his helmet, he opened his mouth.

They halted.

Shadow Milk was the first to look back.

Perhaps there was desperation evidence in his stature. Or yearning. He wasn't sure, but all he knew that time was just the wish for them to stop moving. Stop going further and — just DON'T.

But they turned back. Mystic Flour was the last to turn her head around. They heard him, but they didn't listen.

Everything changed that day. The cookiekind no longer viewed them as their saviours. Cookies flinched and shuddered when their names were spoken. They cowered when they passed by. They prayed to never stumbled them again, and never ever.

He scoffed at how quickly those cookies turned away from them. Back then, they had been so desperate, so eager, so demanding. The ground Burning Spice stepped on, that they had been worshipped, had become the same ground they vehemently avoid crossing.

Where were those cookies who animatedly praised their saviours? Where were those who had been lost and been guided by his comrades?

Because of them, his comrades had been stirred from their original paths, and yet they chose to fled rather than facing it?

He stayed in silence, and everything began to unfold.

For he had chosen to stay in his own path (even if it felt bigger and barren) and be on his way. For he had chosen to stay silent.

But the others did not.

"Terrible, terrible!"

"Where did our leaders go?"

(He closed his eyes, and opened it again.

The pit was still there.)

"My home was destroyed..."

"That jester had caused us to fight each other!"

(Where was his friends? He can't see them.

He called again and again but never received a reply.

They can't hear him. He was too far away. And the pit was too deep.)

"He lied to us!"

"She thrown us into shambles so heartless..."

(He stood at the edge. Then he sat down. Then he stood back up again.)

"Look at how far they had fallen..."

"So terribly far..."

(Was all this worth it?)

"The heroes left us..."

"Can we still call them our heroes?"

(But,)

"At least, we still got someone..."

(The world may need them as heroes)

"Silent Salt Cookie is still here, right?"

(Yet all he ever wanted was his friends.)

"....right?"

Blade sheated out, and the sharpness became apparent under the moonlight.

He was silent. Not a sound ever coming from him unless he desired it.

(The pit was just a step away from him)

The other cookies should be as well.

(And fall in, he shall be)

(Fallen, they had been)

Strawberry jam dripped down from his sword. Crumbles every on the ground. The whistles of winds and swaying of leaves were what accompanied him that night.

Such quiet, such peace.

Perhaps this was what was best for him. Perhaps silence suits him best rather than solidarity. Perhaps this was what he truly purposed to do. Such loudness of betrayal and cowardice never belong to be in Earthbread.

Even when cookies begged him not too, he believed otherwise. Yes, it was the best choice. It was not perfect, but it was certainly better than before.

Even when the Witches witnessed their choice. Even when humongous forks were raised from the cotton cloud.

He closed his eyes, accepted his fate to be sealed away in a pit prison.

Yet silence had always been his choice.

(For he, too, had fallen.

But at least he saw his friends there.)

#i made my own silent salt headcannon #silent salt cookie #shadow milk cookie #burning spice cookie #eternal sugar cookie #mystic flour cookie #cookie run kingdom #headcanon

110 notes · View notes