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her-satanic-wiles · 7 months

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October 1st

Pegging, Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 2.2k.

Warnings: Pegging; established relationship; praise kink; anal fingering (m receiving); anal sex (m receiving); fellatio; use of sex toys; sub!Copia; soft dom!Reader (but you’re still a little mean to him); gender neutral!reader (but reader does have a vulva); mild humiliation kink; hella fluffy because Copia deserves the world; premature ejaculation; overstimulation; tears; happy ending.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

It didn’t take much to get him all worked up. Depending on the kind of day he’d had, it could just even be a look that got Copia ready and waiting for you to do whatever you wanted. He was an easy mother fucker, especially for the right mother - or rather - person.

Which is how he ended up spread-eagle on his bed, one of his pillows in his mouth as your fingers went deep inside his tight hole. His cock was rock hard and bounced a little every time you touched a sensitive spot and made his hips buck. Although his eyes remained tightly closed and that was something you couldn’t abide by. Not only was he keeping his desperate whimpers to a minimum, he refused to let you see the needy look on his face. You tutted and removed your fingers from him.

Immediately, his lids opened in terror and his gaze snapped to you. “No! Per favore! Don’t stop, ti scongiuro!” In his need, he sat up and began peppering kisses all over your face. “Amore mio, per favore non fermarti. I need more, please.”

“But your eyes were closed, baby.” You responded, your tone somewhat condescending especially for a man twice your age. “You were quiet. I didn’t think you were enjoying it.”

His kisses became more ferocious but his hands were clinging onto your neck. “Non è vero! It’s not true. I love it. Ti amo. Please, dolcezza. Please give me more.” This was so far from the Papa you’d grown to know - this was exactly how the Cardinal acted. Touch starved and desperate. Yet here was the head of the Satanic Church fumbling his words and begging for release.

He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. While he was still sat up a little, you moved your hand sneakily towards his hole and began rubbing over it once more. This earned you a loud yet surprised moan. With a little extra lube, you slid a third finger in and felt one of his hands clasp your forearm. He wasn’t whimpering as much, but he was breathing heavily, as though he were trying to stave off an impending orgasm.

Taunting your Papa was the most fun thing to do, especially when he was all spread out in front of you at your complete and total mercy. He didn’t expect anything from you, especially when you were knuckle deep inside of him. So when you leaned forward and ran your tongue up his cock from base to tip, he screamed and bucked again. “Merda.” He whined. “What are you try-trying to do to your Papa? Do you want to kill me, dolcezza?”

You chuckled a small, evil laugh before responding. “Of course not, Papa. But when you look so deliciously tempting, I can’t help myself.” Finding that spot inside of him now that you had three fingers working at him was easy. Combine that with what your mouth was doing and he was convinced he was going to have a heart attack. Your mouth, now quiet had taken the entire head of his cock into your mouth, and was gently sucking on it.

“Amore mio, if you keep doing this Papa will not last.”

You removed your lips from him and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “You don’t want to cum?”

“I do!”

“In my mouth?”

He shook his head so you stopped moving your fingers. “NO!” He replied when he realised what you were doing. You continued your ministrations, rewarding him for his words.

“On my fingers?”

“No, dolcezza, please.”

“Well, where would you like to cum, Papa?” Calling him Papa while he was submitting to you felt criminal. Papa was for the strongest of leaders, Papa was for the leaders who bent others into submission. Papa wasn’t for the shy, clumsy and awkward men who willingly spread themselves for their partners. But here yours was - ready, willing, waiting, and humiliated beyond satisfaction.

“Non farmi dire questo.” His hands now were covering his face in embarrassment.

“I can’t make you feel good if you don’t tell me where you want to cum.”

He muffled something only his hands caught. So you gently prized them apart gently with your free hand to see his bright red face, and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Tell me, my love. Where do you want to cum?”

He took in a deep breath. “On your cock!” He exclaimed quickly.

“Good boy.” Your praise affected him more than he would like to say, but his hole clenched around your fingers as it registered in his brain. “Do you think you’re ready for it?”

“Sì.”

You kissed his lips softly before pulling your fingers out of him. He whined into your mouth at the lost of you, and as you tried to break the kiss he kept following you. He was clingier than usual. “I won’t go far, precious. I promise.” You said when your lips were finally free.

He chased you to the edge of the bed and watched you strap yourself into the harness. His hands were aching to get hold of you again, but knew he needed to be patient for you. You went to the bedside drawer and pulled out one of the dildos you’d both selected online months prior, and his eyes were completely fixated on it as you attached it to the harness. It wasn’t overwhelmingly big, but big enough that it would stretch him out more than your fingers would.

Knowing how clingy he was feeling, you went straight back to him and immediately wrapped him in your arms, his head falling on your chest. His hands gripped your waist tightly as he took in your scent. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He said.

“Do you think you can lube it up for me?” He nodded and leaned across to the bedside table to grab the lube and poured some onto the toy. “Make sure you get it nice and wet for me, yeah?”

He nodded again. Both of you were transfixed by his hand touching the dildo, wrapping around it and spreading the lube up and down as though he were stroking a real cock. You were both silent as you listened to the squelching of the liquid in between his hands as he rubbed, losing his mind to the thought of it finally entering him. As soon as he thought it was ready, he nodded and lay back eagerly. His legs spread once again, and you watched him deposit the leftover lubricant into his waiting and stretched hole. You waited until his hand was removed before you climbed over him.

You kissed his sensitive neck, and travelled all the way up to his mouth, where you gave him a deep and gentle kiss - another touch that made him whimper. He bucked up one final time, and groaned at the feeling of his cock rubbing against yours.

“I’m ready, amore mio. Per favore. I need it.”

You lined yourself up with his waiting hole. “Tell me when you need to stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

As you breached his walls, his mouth fell open in an ‘o’ shape, his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. You were slow with your movements, almost maddeningly so, and his hands flew to your biceps and gripped tightly. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed, a lot more loudly than he intended.

You stopped. “Are you okay?”

He could barely breathe. “It feels incredible.” He propped himself up enough to reach your cheeks and began kissing you again. “More. More, please.”

You obliged and continued to push into him until the dildo was all the way inside him. He kept kissing you as you paused, waiting for him to get accustomed to the feeling. He, on the other hand, had different ideas. As he was kissing you, he also began to slowly rock up and down, feeling your cock move inside of him. “I take it you want me to move, hm?”

“Please!” He begged.

And so, you did. Gently at first so you didn’t hurt him, but as his moans became louder, you understood he was ready for a bit more handling. So, your thrusts got faster and faster.

Until you watched him spasm beneath you, his breath knocked out of him and his mouth wide open. You looked between you to where you were connected, and watched as the remains of his seed spilled out of him. Much faster than both of you had hoped, but he was so worked up you were surprised he lasted that long.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated that over and over again, tears forming in his eyes from his overwhelming emotions.

You were still inside him. “Can you give me one more, Copia?”

He seemed shocked at the sudden use of his name. He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Words, please.”

“Yes, amore mio. I can give you one more.”

“Good boy.”

He keened at your praise but hissed when you pulled out. You were gentle, tentative, but you wanted to wreck him a little more. So, when you were sure he could take it, you didn’t hold back.

His grip on your arm returned but this time much harder, fingernails digging in and holding on for dear life. Your thrusts were almost brutal, but you knew he was living for it. Each one punctuated with his sounds - whether they were outright overstimulated screams, chokes, or even the sound of his hole sucking the toy back in. He was practically singing. Your moans would occasionally join the cacophony of sounds, not because you were feeling particularly good, but because you knew he appreciated them.

You stopped once more to pull out and hear his groans of disappointment. “I want you to ride me,” you told him, “let me see you take my cock.”

Copia gulped but nodded. He had never allowed himself to be so exposed before, and he certainly had never been the top in this position. He felt himself getting shy again, and if it wasn’t you he wouldn’t even attempt it. With a hiss, he climbed onto you and lowered himself down. His cock was red and angry, and dried cum stained his stomach from his first orgasm and had been forgotten about until just then. He looked positively sinful, sweaty and blushing red.

In order to help him find a rhythm, you held onto his hands and pinned your elbows to the bed, giving him the leverage he needed to work his hips over the dildo, expletives in Italian being mumbled in between his whimpers. Once he found a rhythm and forgot how exposed he was, he let your hands go and began bouncing on his own, using you to get himself off. Your hands were now free, and one clutched onto his bouncing cock and begin to stroke it.

“Tell me how you feel, Papa.”

“Si se-sente bene.”

“Bene?” Your voice was back to condescending. “Only bene? Poor Papa, struggling to pull a decent sentence together.”

“I-”

“You’re so tight and desperate for cock, aren’t you, Papa?” He nodded emphatically. “Do you feel good riding me like this? Taking me for your own pleasure?”

“Dolcezza, per favore!”

“What, Papa? What do you want?”

“I need more.”

“More what?”

“Y-your hand… please.” You stopped stroking his cock. “No! You can’t do this - your - Your hand, stroke my cock, please!” Your hand gripped him again. “Tighter, please.” You obliged now that he was using his words. “Merda! F-feels good. So good. I can’t stop.” He was riding you harder now, his own words egging him on and sending him closer and closer to the edge.

“Do you want to cum, Papa?”

“Sì.”

“Cum for me, Papa. Cum all over me.”

Sure enough, his second orgasm spilled from him. His hips twitched erratically as he covered you in his seed, gasping for air as though he was suffocating. He couldn’t make any noise even if he wanted to - he couldn’t even hear you talking him through it. All he could feel was your tight hand wrapped around his sensitivity and still pumping him until he was completely spent. Not to mention the dildo still in his hole, keeping still while he wiggled and providing him with aftershocks that could bring his sanity crumbling down. He collapsed onto you, completely unable to move himself, and it fell upon you to make him come back to reality.

You stroked his hair and kept talking him through it, waiting until his ears stopped ringing enough to listen to your instructions. Eventually, he came to, and lay on his side after he’d painfully dragged himself off of you and waited for you to remove the harness and come back.

His eyes were closed from exhaustion and he jumped in surprise when he felt your hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry, I have to clean you up.”

“Va bene. Grazie, amore mio.” His voice was weak, but there was a lazy smile on his face.

As soon as you were finished, you came back to bed and wrapped him in your arms. “You were so good for me, Copia.”

He moved his head level to you. “You’re always good to me.”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VII: For: Before

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Fate and irony make for strange bedfellows.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: canon typical violence; explicit descriptions of injuries; gore; PTSD

A/N: Art is Cupid Making His Bow (detail) by Parmigianino (c. 1533-1535)

Word Count: 5.3K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII: For: Before

Grief is an amputation, but hope is an incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed. -David Mitchell, Slade House

You come to in increments, taking stock of your body, each limb, slowly, as consciousness re-enters your mind. The taste of iron sits heavy on your tongue, thick and viscous in your mouth, and your side is on fucking fire. Your breath starts to wheedle in and out of you quickly, each gulp a stoking of the flames, but you can’t control it – can’t seem to hold onto composure as you regain your senses. Your left shoulder is a sharp throbbing mangle of searing agony, and you can immediately tell from the way you’re laying on it that it’s been dislocated from your fall. You try to shift your legs, make sure you haven’t hurt your back, and yes, yes there, they’re moving, thank God. You stretch your left knee, shift your ankles slowly. Not broken, that’s good.

Your eyes flutter open – you’re laying in a small pool of your own blood, and the woman from the forest is sitting directly across from you; rifle propped up on her bent knee and pointed straight at you. Her abdomen is ripped open, savaged, the gleam of her entrails peeking through her clutching fingers, the edges of torn skin shredded as if hacked at with a serrated knife. The sight makes your stomach turn.

“Fucking finally,” she spits. Her voice is a guttural whisper.

You swallow several times, try to find your voice again. “Where’s Noah? Vero?” You tilt your head up, searching for them, only to be met with Vero’s open, empty stare inches away from you. You jerk back, scream caught in your throat, the abruptness of your movement makes your injuries howl in protest. A hoarse, mangled sound, half groan, half scream claws its way out of your throat.

“Yeah, she’s dead,” the woman deadpans. “You’re the girl from last night, aren’t you? From the woods?” You can’t answer, your voice is gone. The sight of Vero’s empty eyes – what will you tell the others? She clicks her fingers at you. “Hey,” she snaps, “Boy here said you’re a doctor. That true?” The gaping hole in her head – there’s chunks of her brain and skull splattered in the trajectory of the bullet behind her prone body. What will you tell the others? What will you tell the others? You should have never asked them to come out here. This is all your fault. “Noah. Where’s Noah?” You move to sit up fully.

“I asked you a fucking question,” she spits. “Is it true you’re a doctor?” There’s a small trickle of blood coming from her mouth. Her color, gray and ashen, breaths coming in short, gulping pants.

“You killed my friend…” your voice is hoarse and grating “You killed her.”

“Answer me!”

“I– yes, yes– I have some training. Where is he?” She jerks her chin behind you.

“I thought you all were with that group from last night – the ones that attacked us. Didn’t know it was you. And look what the boy’s done to me,” she looks down at her savaged abdomen, there’s such resigned disappointment in her voice. As if this is the greatest inconvenience in the world. You shift to turn, but she snaps, “Don’t even think about moving. My daughter – she’s six months old. I need you to take her.” Noah’s lying face down a few feet away from you. From here you can see that there’s a large laceration to his scalp, the flap of skin hanging grotesquely – exposing the slick bone of his skull beneath – bleeding profusely, a bullet wound to his left shoulder and his left leg is bent at a sickening angle. What the fuck did this woman do to him? But you can see the small, subtle rise and fall of his back, and there are no protruding bones from his leg, a good thing. The pool of blood beneath him is significant, but not a call for hopelessness. At least, you think so, from here, from what you can tell with just your eyes. But then her words penetrate the haze of your mind, the small grasp of concentration you’re tenuously hanging on to snaps to attention – the baby, the baby she had with her.

You turn back to her. “Where is she?”

“I’m –” she gasps, her words pain her – she’s losing time, “I’m not going to last much longer.” She lifts her arm, looks down at the brutal wound marring her belly, and a gush of dark red streams from her. “Seems to be more than just a little scratch, huh?” She lets out a small hysterical huff of laughter.

“Where is she?” you say again, more forcefully.

“There’s an abandoned cabin – about fifty yards in that direction,” she jerks her chin, “I hid her there.” The rifle is starting to slip off her knee.

“Alone? You left her alone?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Her father was killed. Those fucking animals last night, they found us – killed him. Couldn’t wait around like a sitting duck, couldn’t hunt with h– her on me. Doesn’t matter–” Her words are starting to slur. “But if you’re a doctor y’can take her. No one she’d be– be better off with. Please, please, you have to take her.”

“You don’t even know me. What I do means nothing–”

“I saw your face last night. I recognized you…”

“Recognized me? What do you mean you recognized me?” A terrible sense of premonition begins to churn deep in your gut, and the words out of your mouth are hysterical because she’s right, and you know exactly what she means. Somehow, somehow, it was like you’d known her, even though you’d never laid eyes on this woman or her child before in your life. But there was something, some sort of preternatural call you’d heard from her. As insane as it sounded, you’d recognized her also.

“Don’t know… just– just did…” her head lolls over the hill of her shoulder, and you watch her glazed eyes stare off into the distance. She mumbles something else you can’t make out.

Your mind feels broken, your body just as mangled. You have enough foresight left to register that if you don’t stop the bleeding in your side soon, reset your shoulder – restore the blood flow you can tell is disrupted by the tingling numbness that’s starting in your fingertips – that things are going to get very bad and very complicated for you, very soon.

“Her name is Kate,” she says with the last of her strength. That snaps you back into focus.

Kate.

“Yes– yes, I’ll take her.” Because there is nothing else to say. Because there is nothing else to do – no other choice. You’d known, since last night, since you’d heard that high pitched cry of terror, that this was what you were moving towards. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to leave this morning, despite everything else. Perhaps that was why there was no doubt, no thought for the concern you’d leave behind because you knew, somehow, in some preternatural way, that this was what was waiting for you. She seems to almost deflate at your agreement. All the urgency and fight leaving her eyes like you’d just pulled the string of a lamp. “That– that’s good,” her eyes flutter shut, finally resting. “That’s good,” she whispers.

You begin to shift, get ready to move, pushing Vero’s dead body from your mind, you can’t dwell on that right now – shoulder first, you think. “Knew – knew last night,” her words are stuttered, almost incoherent. You sit more firmly on your bottom and bend your knees to find purchase with your feet spread apart on the hard ground – slowly you begin to slide your jacket from your back. “S– Some– something in your ey– eyes.”

You keep your sight on her as you fold the sleeve of your jacket into your mouth to bite down on. She’s going to die soon – minutes, seconds, is all she has left. The pool of her blood surrounds her completely now, a macabre barricade for the place of her death. You lay back, flat on the ground, shoulders level, feet planted, knees bent, and slowly start to pull your left arm up with your right one – it really, really fucking hurts, and your stomach heaves, bile stinging in your throat, vision wavering, tears burning. You swallow a cry, bear down harder on the jacket, press your feet hard into the ground, as you straighten the arm with your other hand. Slowly, slowly, you can feel the joint making the painful shift. You can’t pass out, you can’t pass out, please, please, you can’t. You hear Joel’s soothing voice in your mind, my brave girl, the feel of his palm enveloping your cheek. You have to be brave now. Noah needs you, there’s a baby waiting for you. Kate. You focus your mind on the thought of her, what she might look like, trying to dissociate from the feel of the rotating ball of your bone shifting back into place – muscles screaming with fire, your flesh shooting bolts of pain down the lines of your back and up into your neck and head. Your movements are gentle but firm, and you feel the joint settle in place. You open your clenched eyes, she’s staring in your direction, eyes starting to take on the far away look of death, like a small light being snuffed out.

“Good job,” she whispers it like she’d laugh a little if she still had it in her. “I really loved her…” A single tear makes a slow track down the side of her face. You watch her hand laying on the ground twitch, “My name’s An– Anna.” And then she’s dead. That feeling of premonition comes to a screeching head, makes your heart drop into your stomach.

Fucking irony. If you had it in you right now, you’d cry for them all. Anna.

You find that Noah has another bullet wound low to the right side of his abdomen, besides the one through his shoulder. Both seem to be bleeding steadily, but thankfully, slowly. The one in his belly, low and lateral enough for you to guess, based on your approximated path of trajectory, is not life threateningly concerning, at this moment, if you can get them closed soon. His head is bleeding much more profusely, and poses the greater concern. You quickly realize that the leg is pulseless and will need to be reduced as soon as possible. You need to get out of the open before you do anything, though. You’re too vulnerable here.

You manage to coax one of the horses down to the ground for you to pull him onto its back. Doing it one handed is difficult, but you have to avoid using your hurt arm as much as possible. If you make it worse you run the risk of losing function in the limb forever. The pain and exertion is making you delusional. You keep hearing Joel’s voice through the trees. Beth’s dying screams. Fucking concerning that you’re already hallucinating. Vero’s body will have to be left, there’s no other option. You need to get to the baby and tend to Noah as soon as possible. A constant litany of prayer is running through your exhausted mind, that she’s still in the cabin, that you’re even able to find the goddamn cabin, that she’s okay, that no one’s found her, that no one else finds you, that you can save Noah, that you don’t pass out. You wish Joel was here so badly.

But he’s not. The only one here right now to help Noah and that baby is you.

You start to move.

You find her in the cabin, exactly where her mother said she’d be. And as you take her into your exhausted embrace, as you take in her little face, the big blue eyes, dark lashes, wet and clumped together, the little cherub mouth, it’s like everything around you is screaming: the wind, the trees, your heart.

Your choice to leave, your choice to go after this baby, your choice to walk away from him, even when you would rather die than do such a thing, to risk the tragedy of him not following – it feels worth it in this second. You’d thought once that nothing would ever be able to take you away from him, but as you look down at Kate’s little face, you realize, she is worth it. Coming out into this hell alone, if only to find her, this is worth the possible loss of everything else. This is what I was meant to do, you realize.

Anna had left a pack of supplies with her, fairly well stocked. Shockingly, with several canisters of formula, God knows where she’d found those. You set water to boil while you prep your supplies.

Stitching the slash of the bullet wound to your side proves more difficult one handed, than you’d imagined, but you manage it – thanking every higher power you’ve ever heard of for the fact that it’s only a flesh wound. The blood loss you’ve experienced will pose a problem soon, you need to work fast before it catches up to you and the adrenaline wears off. You inspect your butchered stitch job once you’re done, not your best work, but at least it’s closed and doused in the alcohol you’d packed in your kit – albeit minimally. Noah needs it more.

You reduce his leg first, which restores pulses to his foot – good sign. The muscles are malleable, the color of his skin normal, another good sign. You’ll have to watch for stiffness, though. You say a silent prayer of thanks that the fracture hadn’t pierced the skin. That would’ve been something you’d worry you’d not be able to save him from. Next are the two bullet holes. Both are through and through, and the trajectory of both are optimistically positioned. You douse both in alcohol and stitch them up. Then you shoot the both of you up with penicillin from your pack. Over-preparedness is truly the gift that keeps on giving. You give your past self a metaphorical pat on the back. The laceration to his scalp is closed quickly, as well. No obvious fracture to the bone underneath.

He mumbles a few slurred words, but other than that, he remains unconscious. Kate is sleeping peacefully after her bottle, and you know you need to rest too. Although, it would be incredibly shortsighted to fall asleep right now, your body isn’t giving you much choice. Your aches and pains and the blood loss are all catching up to you, and you’re fading incredibly fast. You fashion yourself a makeshift sling, and then pull the lone table in the room in front of the door, barricading yourselves in. If anyone tries to break in, you hope you’ll hear the jostling of the piece of furniture, and then you drag Noah’s body to the farthest corner of the room and place Kate’s little bundle between the two of you. You lay down between the two of them and the door. You’ll just rest your eyes for a while, rest your body, you won’t fall asleep. You only need to lay still for a few moments, you’ll feel better after that.

You told Maria you’d be back tonight, promised not to be gone after dark. When she sees the three of you haven’t returned she’ll send someone out. As soon as Joel realized you’d gone, he’d probably come out to search. You hope. His words from last night ring in your ears, but you can’t think of that now. Despite what he’d said, despite wanting you to go, he can’t have wanted this for you. You hope last night’s damage isn’t irreparable. That he hasn’t decided to be completely done with you. And that thought jump starts your anger. If that’s what he’s decided, well then fuck him. You feel the small warm press of Kate’s little body up against your back, and despite the position you now find yourself in, you can’t regret your decision to come out here, to come find her. You have bigger things to consider now. You press your hand to your belly, to the fear you’ve carried with you these past few weeks. Much, much bigger things to worry about now.

You dream of him. Over and over. His face swimming through the dark lake of your unconscious mind. There’s a house somewhere, shrouded by trees. You know somehow that there’s water near, and you think that this must be his home. You know he’s somewhere near, but as you walk through the lonely house, you can’t seem to catch up to him. He stands just outside the scope of your dream vision. You want to ask why he’s here, if this is his house, if you live here with him too. But he won’t answer your questions. His omniscient voice keeps telling you to not forget, over and over, he repeats it. Don’t forget, Birdie, don’t forget, don’t forget. And you want to scream that you don’t know what he’s talking about, that you don’t know what it is you’re not supposed to forget, but suddenly your voice won’t work anymore. All you can do is continue to follow the possibility of him, around another and another corner of the house.

You come to a room suddenly, with an old couple within. They sit alone, side by side, looking out a window that faces upon a wide, green field. You wonder if perhaps they’re his parents, but something tells you that’s wrong. His parents? No – they’re someone else. Someone you know but can’t place in your mind just yet. You’ll think on it, you’re sure it’ll come to you eventually. They sit quietly, holding hands. You can ask them no questions either, so you sit on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, slightly behind them, watching them look out the window. Their silence is so comforting, as if they’ve been sitting here their entire lives, as if they will always be sitting here.

You pass out for longer than you’d intended. Startling awake out of a dead sleep, scrambling on the cold ground at the sound of Kate’s sharp, piercing cries. You can feel her little wiggling form at your side, and you wrap an arm around her to pull her up onto your chest, her squirming settling as your warmth seeps into her. The inside of the cabin is freezing, and your mind is so hazy, your entire body screaming in pain. The sun coming through the murky window is bright with the light of afternoon. Fuck, you’d slept much, much longer than you’d intended, it’s probably the next day now. You turn your head towards Noah, passed out, but still breathing.

“Noah,” you croak, and his head shifts a tiny bit at your voice, eyelids fluttering. You need to move, need to get up and feed the baby. Try and get the three of you home. You need to find the strength to do so.

You manage to force your body into moving, slow and painful. You give her another bottle and examine Noah one last time before leaving. His wounds are holding up well, pulses still present in his leg. He’s strong, you know he’ll survive. You force yourself to eat something small from your pack and load the horses. The exertion of doing everything with half of your dexterity compromised is excruciating, but you manage it.

The real issue now’ll be finding your way back. Plagued by a lifelong poor sense of direction, you’re hopelessly turned around after last night’s struggle, but you think that if you keep east you’ll find your way eventually. If someone else doesn’t find you first.

Dawn creeps over the horizon, the sky a meld of pinks and blues, orange streaked, as if smeared by the fingers of a child. Your rational mind seems to have abandoned you miles back. Your blood a bread crumb trail leading back to the site of death, of catastrophe, you’d left behind. Vero, Vero, I’m so sorry. Your haphazard stitches popped a ways back with the exertion of getting Noah’s unconscious form draped onto the back of his horse again and yourself on to yours. Your body sways with the cadence of the horse's pace. You’ve tied your left hand loosely to the pommel, in case you lose consciousness and fall off again. But despite all this, the baby is tucked into the front of your jacket up against your breast, sleeping and warm, and Noah is still breathing. You’re still breathing. That’s all you can care about, all you can focus on now. You pray no one you don’t want finding you comes upon the three of you. You’re certain there’s nothing left within you to fight anyone if you need to. You keep hoping you’ll miraculously come upon Joel. That he’ll find you somehow. That whatever connects the two of you, whatever has always prevented the two of you from staying away, leads him to you now.

For the first time in years you’re able to recall the exact cadence of your mothers voice. Keep going, sweet girl. Just a little longer, you can do it. She was always gentle and understanding of your sensitive nature. Always understood that you were the child who liked to color inside the lines, follow the rules. That your heart was soft and easily hurt, but that there was strength and steel within you, as well. It only needed a little coaxing to be lured out. Sometimes Beth and your father, for all he liked to exploit your obedience, made it seem like this was a weakness, but not your mother. Never her. She always reassured you that it was your greatest strength, your greatest asset. That a soft heart never meant weakness, if anything a wealth of patience, of tenacity, of understanding and care for the world around you could only ever bring you good things. She always encouraged you to push that heart to greater lengths, greater realms of understanding, but to never let anyone take advantage of it. You hoped you’d done as she wanted, so far. That she’d be proud.

The mountains in the distance look so terrifying. They whisper at you that you’ll never make your way back. That the three of you are going to die out here. That you’re not strong enough to find your way home. That you’ll never see him again.

Your mind flits from place to place, like a butterfly nursing on the nectar of a sea of flowers. You think of your mother, the feel of her soft hair. The years of study – you’d tried for so long to be perfect, you’re sure you never achieved it. Connie’s familiar scent of peppermint and mothballs and paper. I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again. Beth, your last night together. Your shared childhood room, the drawings of stars you’d glued to the ceiling. The two of you would lie on the floor of that room with the soft pink walls and look up at your pictures, imagine constellations connected between the lines of your made-up heavens. That last night she was alive, lying together under the open sky, you’d connected the real stars in the hanging darkness, mapped the constellations out. Planned for a future together you’d never have.

Why do non-reasons sometimes feel so much more urgent than actual reasons? Like the things you really want, the things that are truly important to you, get pushed to the back burner in favor of things that never really mattered in the first place. Joel. The two of you should have just figured it out. Been more open, more honest, less afraid. The feel of his hands on your skin – you wish you had them now. You can’t help but wonder if you’d done anything different, even a single thing, if the outcome would have changed. If you could have eased his fears, if you could have helped him be a little braver. If you had been braver, if you’d had the courage to just ask for what you wanted out loud, if he’d have readily given it to you then. You’re terrified you’ll never see him again, never make it back, never hear his voice again, never get the chance to tell him all the things you need to.

You think you get lost several times. Too delirious to properly navigate your way back home with any real sense of direction, the sun sets and rises more times than you have a mind to pay attention to, it seems like. You feel like the three of you ride aimlessly for days, years. You get to a point where you can’t even soothe Kate’s desperate, hungry cries, and eventually the only thing keeping you balanced on the horse is your sheer force of will, the thought that if you fall, you’ll crush her.

Eventually, you assume it’s her cries that draws them near, that helps them find you. Because suddenly, out of the dead quiet of night, you hear shouts of what you think you remember your name to be. It’s a little lost to you now. Who you are. You don’t know if Noah’s still alive – haven’t had the mind or strength to even turn your head back to check if his chest still moves. The only thing that exists anymore is the sway of the horse beneath you, Kate’s wailing.

And then your name, being shouted out of the yawning darkness, and you think you hear him. The deep cadence of his voice, so familiar to you. You think you could recognize it even if you weren’t yourself anymore – through anything, time, space, death. The sound of his voice is like the sound of your own beating heart – it lives inside of you now.

You hear a pounding, pounding, pounding – the sounds of war, and you flinch away, curl your screaming arm around the baby. Even if you’re dead, you still have to protect her. And then there are lights and movement surrounding you, and it’s too much for your broken and exhausted mind, and you’re falling, melting off the side of the earth.

Gravity overtakes your body, takes you away with it, and you brace yourself for the agony of your injuries screaming against the hard earth, but then he’s there. You recognize the strength of him immediately – his scent, the pressure of his touch, before you hear his voice pressed against your ear. The precious bundle clutched protectively in your arms screams at being jostled, stolen, starved, frozen, traumatized, and the wound in your side writhes with fire. You could howl into the frigid night air if your voice still worked. You grit your teeth together, jaw clenched so tight it feels on the verge of fracture.

You press the baby tighter to your breast as you feel Joel’s arms lower you slowly to the ground. Your head is a two ton weight, unbearable to sustain. You’re bleeding heavily. You can feel the hot, slick warmth of your blood pool and mingle with the cold, wet grime of your clothes and the dirt beneath you as he settles you between his legs. You’re fading fast, and you have the sudden, jarring thought that if you die, this little girl will be alone. You promised her mother you’d take care of her, and now you’re bleeding, and your body won’t fucking listen to you, won’t get up and do what it needs to – to take care of her, protect her. Joel’s voice is a panicked buzz in your ears, you can hear your name on his lips. His hands gripping and pressing along your body checking for injuries. You cry out in pain as he comes into contact with your wound, and you’re gasping out his name then – a pleading litany you need him to recognize. His horrified gasp comes as his hands find the dark vermillion of your blood. “Come on, baby, please.” Your moans are high and pleading, and his panic answers yours, clashes and twines with it. “I know, baby, I know.” He clutches you tighter against his body, and you want to say that you’re sorry. That you didn’t mean for this to happen. That you never meant to make him go through a hurt like this again.

“I know it hurts – you’re gonna be okay. Listen to me, I gotta get you up. I gotta get you up, alright?” he says over and over again in your ear. You wish you could just be quiet together for a moment. That you never had to move again. Just the two of you here together, just for a little bit.

“Tommy, help me!” He’s shouting. He’s afraid again. You can hear it. You wish you could open your eyes, look at him one more time.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

No other words matter in this moment. The encroaching darkness echoes with his confession, soothes your blistering agony. You will hold on to that, you decide, hold on to him telling you he loves you. That will anchor you.

He’s been here before. His panic is full blown, screeching in his ears, his heart a fist punching against his chest, his worst nightmares come to fruition again. Searching for you for days without success. It didn’t make sense, he was always supposed to be able to find you, always, always, no matter what. The most terrible, gripping fear he’s ever experienced in his entire life. And now finally, here you are, he’s found you, but your blood covers his hands. The sight so abhorrent to him it drives all sound, thought, understanding from his mind. Sarah, dead in his arms, again and again and again. The sick fucking vision of the person he loves slipping away from him eternally. Her big brown eyes, vacant, and her purple t-shirt, the one he never forgot, made dark with the gruesome sight of her blood. Never being able to stop it. Your head lolls back at a sick angle, your eyes flutter behind your closed lids. The skin tinged blue with the hue of your veins, stark against your shockingly pale skin. And then he sees the baby – tucked inside the zipper of your jacket, her wails not having registered in his mind until the moment his eyes meet her big, wet blue ones – and he freezes. “Birdie, who is that?” he whispers, tries to grip your jaw, but his fingers are slippery with your blood, leaving horrifying streaks of rust in their wake across your pale, frigid skin. It’s a baby.

“Joel… please,” you can’t open your eyes even though you so badly need to look at him, to reassure him, you don’t know if he can even hear you, “I promised her mother…” Your voice feels invisible, broken. You think of Ellie, what she must have been like as a little girl, her face comes into your mind. She’d told you once her mother’s name was Anna.

Anna, Anna, Anna.

Fucking irony. You want to laugh or cry or scream, but all you feel is the slide of a tear track back into your hair. The universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor. You think of how hard it is now for you to recall your own mother’s face some days. You hope she and Joel can forgive each other. You think about how fate robbed you of a sister but gave you Ellie, gave you Connie, Joel. You hope the world can gift Kate someone like that one day.

He’s still there, his voice begging you to come back to him. You don’t want to fail him. He loves you.

And then nothing. Darkness.

Chapter VIII

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #Pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller imagine #Joel Miller smut #joel miller x female reader

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multifandoms27-blog · 1 year

Note

Hello there!

I just stumbled across your blog and I love your posts! And when I saw that you also write for Creepypasta, I just had to send in a request, especially considering that there's barely anything there!

So may I ask for some general and romantic headcanons for Toby? I really love this guy!

I hope you have a wonderful day and remember to stay hydrated!

(Also, apologies if there are any mistakes, English isn't my native language ^^)

See ya! :D

Hi! Thank you, Vero, you stay hydrated and have a wonderful day as well! I'm so glad you love my stuff <3 I was just thinking about doing something for Toby, so you're in luck hehe

(Also, your English is amazing my friend. No worries <3)

• ───────────────── •

Content: Toby general and romantic headcanons with gender neutral reader

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, implied murder, implied violent bipolar episodes, obsessive behavior, toxic jealousy, toxic relationship, and implied familial trauma.

Notes: I come from the era of creepypasta where everybody believed Toby was very obsessed with waffles, and was horribly misinterpreted in fanfiction. That was about eight years ago now though, and from what I've seen the fandom has been getting better with representation of Toby.

I've put a lot of thought into this. Might use this as inspo to revamp my Jeff headcanon list.

• ───────────────── •

(art by Lynnarty on Deviantart)

❥General

I want to start by saying: I know almost nothing about Tourette's syndrome and don't know anybody who has it. If I get anything wrong, please please please correct me. I wanna get this right for you lovelies. Thank you <3

Now, what I do know about Tourette's, is that there are two types of tics: motor and phonic. I believe Toby has more motor tics than phonic. I know he's portrayed as stuttering and twitching/moving rapidly at the same time, but I don't think he has as many phonic tics as we think

I do however, think he has a natural stutter. He was bullied in grade school, and as a fellow bullied child, I can confidently say that he developed the stutter then. I will die on this hill.

His personality is also not at all that of a child, who spends all his time screaming and laughing just for the hell of it. He's unhinged, yeah, but not in the oblivious child way. More of the sadistic way for very obvious reasons.

He's more so reserved, just kinda comes and goes. There will be points in time where he decides to be super obnoxious and fuck with other pastas in the mansion, but that's moreso purposely picking fights and intentionally being annoying than whatever the hell fanfic writers wrote in the early 2010's.

He does have bipolar disorder, so he'll lose his shit when he decides to fuck with people and they fuck with him back. It turns ugly really fast.

With his CIPA (Cognitive Insensitivity to Pain), obviously he cannot feel when he gets injured on missions, or if his motor tics cause him any pain. He won't really give a shit if he finds an injury, and won't really take any steps to go to Eyeless Jack either to get patched up. Either someone else will have to bring him, or Jack will have to hunt him down himself.

Speaking of Jack, he was able to fix up the left side of Toby's mouth when he came to the mansion. Fixing Toby's injury and Jeff's face were the first two things he did.

Toby still chews on his hands and the insides of his mouth, just out of habit or if he's stressed/upset about something.

He doesn't have a reaction to fire, really. He doesn't like dwelling on the past + he's ready to just keel over and die at any moment, so it doesn't really matter to him.

Being called "Ticci Toby" angers him to no end. You will die if you call him that, no exceptions.

• ───────────────── •

❥Romantic

Toby didn't really look for love after joining the mansion

Like I mentioned above, he's ready to die at any point, so he finds it kinda pointless to get a partner if he's just gonna die soon

He noticed when you joined the mansion, but he didn't actually say anything to you until you'd been there for some months. He doesn't particularly associate himself with people in the first place, let alone people he newly "meets."

He's not very friendly at first, but being nice to him even through his obnoxious moments and horrendous mood swings and even going so far as to try to help him (he won't let you in the moment but he'll reflect on it later), it'll get you in his good graces

Being blindingly nice won't just get you in romantic territory. If he sees you being an actual person around others while just being super nice with him, it's going to make him think you're not genuine.

Just be yourself around him. When he sees you treat him the same as the others (with genuine kindness and respect) and not like he's some freak, it'll get you brownie points.

Toby doesn't realize he's insecure and thinks it's normal to get super jealous super easily. His parents didn't have the best relationship and most internet media of relationships is toxic in itself, so you'll have to be the one to sit down with him and lay out your boundaries. Even then, he'll frequently cross them.

It's not because he doesn't respect you or love you. He does. Just sometimes he wants to move the relationship a little faster, or he's impatient and wants kisses when you're with the others, or he's just plain forgetful.

Again on the jealous point though, he's going to get very upset if you don't notice he's jealous. In his mind, it's very obvious. Eventually he'll get so upset that he yanks you away from the people, cusses them out, then storms off with you and slams every door he goes through for extra measure. He's then going to cry as he holds you, apologizing and saying he didn't mean it and he was just scared you were going to leave him.

He doesn't let you be with your other pasta friends without lurking in the background, watching yours and their every move. He loves you and just wants to make sure you're okay. Happily accepts you back into his arms when you're done.

The only time you'll be able to hang out with friends outside the mansion (without him watching you) is when Toby is away on missions. If you befriend the right pastas, they'll cover for you. If he's not away though, he's very likely going to be stalking you and your friends in the background.

Toby doesn't care if you give him PDA or not, he just wants to be near you and do what he wants in the moment. Once he realizes he has feelings for you, he's going to be clinging to your side.

Loves when you show him physical affection and attention without him asking.

He also loves when you involve him in things you like. He might not participate in it, but the fact that you thought of him makes him happy. His favorite thing is eating some snacks while cuddling on his bed and watching some show you love.

Toby by himself just kinda exists. Toby in a relationship with you just kinda exists, but he wants people to know that you only exist with him.

For obvious reasons, Toby is a fucked up individual, and a relationship with him will always be toxic in some aspect. Everyone in the pasta mansion is fucked up, and very few will have healthy relationships. Yes, we love the pastas anyway, but we cannot fix them, so just keep that in mind lovelies <3

• ───────────────── •

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to request, or look for more of your favorite character!

#creepypasta #creepypasta mansion #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby x y/n #toby rogers x reader #toby rogers x you #toby rogers x y/n #god i love toby #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers #ticci toby hc #creepypasta headcanons

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yandere-fics · 2 months

Note

Trying not to scream at the cockwarming. But holy fuck. I was expecting it to be just 1 cock, not BOTH. And now I can’t stop thinking of it. Especially since Vero seems to see it as punishment and really wants to move, while darling is trying to read. It’s an interesting dynamic for the situation, getting used to the stretch. I do however feel for Vero to just want to start moving, let alone trying to hide her need to fuck as cuddling. Congrats. This is in my head now.

Then I have done my job very well.

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laferocia · 6 months

Text

10 minutes of Mike Patton insulting people in italian

June 2nd 2015, Milan. Mike is on fire. Metallica were the headliners at Sonisphere.

youtube

Min 0:10: Pirla! (It's a typical Milanese insult, and it roughly means "stupid". Plural or singular, it is always "pirla").

Min 0:20: Com'è che state? Tutto bene? // How are you guys? Is everything alright? ("Com'è che state": this sentence structure is absolutely native).

Min 0:29: ma vai a cagare! (Ok, I can translate it with "Fuck off" or "go to hell" but it literallymeans "Go and take a shit". We use it a lot).

Min 0:55: Cazzarola! (It's a term we use to say "cazzo" [=dick, but in the meaning of "fuck!"] but in a less vulgar way. It's not really a swear word; in central Italy, "cazzarola" means "pot").

Min 1:02: Mike is trying to get Roddy to say "cazzarola".

Min 1:18 Ma vaffanculo! // Fuck Off!

Min 1:25: Roddy tries again with his 'cazzarola,' but with poor results.

Min 1:34: ssshhhssshhh, giriamoci (?), un po' di basso // Turn around (I'm not sure about it, sorry), some bass.

Min 1:44: coglioni! (Here we go: 'coglioni' literally means 'balls,' and we often use it to tell someone they're a complete idiot. It's a strong insult but everything depends on the context)

Min 2:08: eh, minchia! (This word is Sicilian and it means 'cazzo,' but in Milan, it's used quite a lot).

Min 2:32: Mike was explaining that in Italy, June 2nd is Republic Day, in a way similar to the Fourth of July in the US; when Roddy said, "We don't speak Italia"n, Mike replied "Devi imparare, cazzo!" = you have to learn it, damn it!

Min 3:05: scusa(temi), devo tintarmi un po'! Milano style. Che dici? // Sorry, I need to tan, Milan style. What do you think? (Mike is using the second person singular form for most of the concert, but he should have said 'scusatemi' and "cosa ne dite?". 'Devo tintarmi' doesn't exist in Italian, but it's understandable. I'm almost sure that he took 'tintarmi' from 'Tintarella di Luna' by Mina, LOL. 'Tintarella' means 'tan' in an informal way, but we say 'devo prendere la tintarella' or 'devo abbronzarmi.' I guess 'devo abbronzarmi' was too hard to remember)

Min 3:57: He was amazed by those mirrors xD but at least this time he didn't throw it at people. And Mike... Don't you know that in Italy if you break a mirror, you'll have 7 years of bad luck???

Min 5:56: daje, daje milanesi! Zen. Ti chiediamo per favore di... zen. Meditazione. Pirli! Meditazione. Coglioni! Non iniziamo se non cantate. // Come on, Milanesi! Zen. We're kindly asking you... be zen. Meditation. Pirli! Meditation. We won't start until you sing. ("Daje" is absolutely Roman style. It has many uses, but most commonly, it's a way to say 'come on').

Min 6:53: siamo felici o no? Va bene! Se non siete felici dopo questa canzone... // Are we happy or not? If we are not happy after this song...

Min 7:23: bravi merdallari! (It's a way to poke fun at metalheads; it's a blend of 'merda' (shit) and 'metallari' (metalheads). It's a very colloquial term, and Mike has used it many times over the years. If you consider that most of the crowd was there for Metallica, you'll understand why he said that).

Min 7:28: sti cazzo di milanesi, ma va a cagare! // these fucking milanese people! (see min 0:29 for "vai a cagare!")

Min 7:44: Mike tries to get Roddy to say 'ma va a cagare,' but Roddy is still stuck on 'cazzarola.'

Min 7:53: lui sta dicendo che vuole un cazzone. È vero eh, un cazzone! // He is saying he wants a big dick. It is true huh, a big dick!

Min 8:21: A guy in the crowd says, 'che Dio ti fulmini.' He's probably from Tuscany because he used 'sfulmini,' which is typical of that region. By the way, he's saying 'may God strike you' to Mike.

Min 8:36: ah coglioni! (we already knew this LOL)

Min 8:40: ma chi cazzo sta a grida'? Who the fuck is screaming? (Okay, I'm from a small town in the south of Rome, and he has a strange Roman accent for most of the concert. I could honestly cry because of this, my accent on his lips. In proper italian it should be "chi cazzo sta gridando?")

Min 8:41: The same guy from the crowd: ah stronzo! // You jerk!

Min 8:43: Volete i Metallica? Anche noi, anche noi. Abbia(te) pazienza. Puttana di hippy di merda! Ti vedo, eh! // You want Metallica? So do we, so do we. Have some patience. Shitty hippie bitch! I see you, huh. (I don't know what happened here, he was talking to some people over there I guess. And Roddy speaking spanish with no reason makes me pee myself laughing).

Min 9:22: ah pirla! (ok he loves this one LOL)

Min 9:29: questa è l'ultima. Oh, finalmente! Sì, sto per venire pure io (looking at someone in the crowd). No, eh? Però il bocchino che fanno i mianesi (laughs) quasi quasi... Roddy, guarda. // This is the last one. Oh, finally! Yes, I'm about to come as well (looking at someone in the crowd). No, huh? But the blowjob the Milanese people give (laughs) I'm half tempted... Roddy, look. (another chaotic interaction, LOL)

Min 10: 08: Oh! Milano! Ci sono due frociacci in prima fila a petto nudo che mi... (ansima). Però lui eh (indica Roddy) No? Devi (far) crescere la barba un pochino, ragazzo mio. Insomma, grazie! // Oh! Milan! There are two shirtless fa*gots in the front row making me... (he pants). But him (pointing to Roddy), right? You need to grow a beard a little, my boy. Anyway, thanks! (That word is native and offensive, sorry Mike I don't like this one).

Min 10:40: Volete Vasco Rossi. // You want Vasco Rossi. (Vasco Rossi is a famous Italian rock star, but he is controversial because he hasn't done anything significant since (for me) at least 1998. Mike knows that metalheads hate Vasco)

NB: Min1:02, In the audience, you can hear 'porco D+o,' which is a blasphemy. In this video is missing but Mike said it while singing. You can hear him saying it at min 1:17 in this video: https://youtu.be/XXA4-MBDSqA?si=pCSMHqkBd5fCW4-4

In Italy, it's pretty normal to hear folks dropping swear words that target God, the Mother of Jesus, and the saints. This quirk in our culture might have something to do with the strong presence of the Pope and the whole Catholic thing, LOL. Anyway, despite these words being considered quite rude and definitely not for everyone, they've somehow become part of our everyday language. We use them for emphasis, to wrap up a chat, as greetings, or just as linguistic spice. Now, let me be clear, they're super vulgar, and plenty of folks find them offensive. If you use them, you might not make the best impression, but, unless you're talking to your grandma, most people won't raise an eyebrow. In that context, it doesn't sound all that strange. Coming from Mike, I admit it's quite funny. Oh, and when foreigners are learning Italian, the first lesson is often on swear words and dirty talk – it's like an unspoken rule or something.

In general, not happy about a couple of insults here and the way he involved Roddy in some jokes about his homosexuality that he couldn't understand. If he had called me a "puttana" I would have punched him in the face LOL. In this concert, Mike's Italian has declined significantly compared to the past.

#faith no more #mr bungle #mike patton #ad era mike #tomahawk #fnm

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eunoiaastralwings · 2 years

Text

characters celegorm x reader, celegorm, y/n and their daughter

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion

a/n @doodle-pops and i were talking about this and i really eanted to make it into a fic. here you are hun i hope you like it

notes (y/d/n) - your daughter's name.

You rolled your eyes at your silly pouting husband — it seems he lost yet another time in his attempt to pull your beloved daughter outside for a hunt.

But it filled you with immense warmth and pride when Celegorm never pushed past your quiet daughter's boundaries — he finally learnt.

It took many times to teach him about it and many more times to quote:

"Celegorm! Vero, just because our daughter inherited your hair and other features does not mean she is exactly like you!" (Husband).

It took many attempts — but he finally learnt to accept that your daughter was more like you — shy, quiet and insecure — rather to put yourself in creative and safe works of arts, such as writing, drawing or reading.

Many — including yourselves — found it surprising how the two of you two fell in love.

It seems the phrase of opposites attract really explained your relationship with Celegorm. As he was the wild hunting prince — with an aloof and chaotic nature, you were the quiet working maiden preferring the busy urban city's libraries and researching, than anything the forest had to offer.

In fact — the your first (and all) hunting trip and camping with Celegorm was filled with your screams every 3 seconds — not used the wild bugs and spider crawling the grounds.

More than thrice — you scared away all of Celegorm's hunts.

Now — seeing your beloved daughter was becoming another you, it disappointed the poor hunter.

To others — it was surprising to see Celegorm act so quietly and calmly beside his daughter — even sitting down next to her — interested in whatever she could be reading — and it could be the stupidest story in his opinion but in honesty he loved watching his daughter be in her own element.

"My love. . ."

You cooed — then wrapped your arms from his shoulders from behind. He stayed seated on his chair, but his hands came up to hold your hands — and drew soft circles on them.

Both of you were watching your daughter draw something on the piece of paper she had secretly gotten from her father's study.

Celegorm knew very well of the little thief that kept stealing of his blank papers and scrolls on his desk — sometimes little sparkles and little pieces of tinsel she accidentally dropped and left behind as evidence— whatever that was his mother had gifted her with.

Oh — but didn't he not have a fun time explaining to his brothers and father where they came from.

"She awfully quiet today. . ."

His narrowed — though not sharply but in concentration — at his daughter, who perched herself on the windowsill to draw.

"It's just one of those days — where she wants peace and quiet — you know I want those days too — but you rarely ever give them to me."

He turned his head slightly and smirked — you giggled like a little maiden finding love was for the first time again — at that his smirk only grew and he reached across to leave a promising kiss on your lips — controlling himself, not to left it slide past that.

But the sound of light talk perked up the both of you.

You turned back to see your daughter quietly chatting away with a blue bird — before she started petting him.

You almost let out a startled yelp when your husband suddenly stood from the chair — then stalking closer to the bird she was petting — before it flew away at the sound of Celegorm approaching.

Your daughter gleefully watched it fly.

For some time — you darted your eyes back and forth from your husband to your daughter.

"Tyelko-"

Before you got to ask anything — your husband was already the door — muttering something about coming right back.

You rolled your eyes again— and made your way to your daughter.

"Amal!" (Mother).

She smiled and happily wrapped her arms around you— eager to be picked up by you.

"My little dove. . ."

As you and Celegorm always fondly called her.

"Look— I drew the blue birdie!"

She said — very happily as she showed you the drawing.

"Oh — it's beautiful, (y/d/n). I love it."

You said — a little surprised in seeing it was a rare bird that barely ever associated themselves with any other spices — and your daughter was just petting one — maybe that explained your husband's abrupt leave.

"You must be hungry after all this hard work."

"Yes."

She answered — smiling up at you with her big pale eyes — the split image of her your father's.

By the time dinner was ready — you were just about to help the servants place the plates on the dinner table — when you heard a low whine followed by a howling sound.

Your servants and you exchanged odd looks — you set down the plate back on the kitchen counter and almost ran to the dinner room.

"Oh my, valar!"

Your eyes widened when you saw a huge wolf pup on your dinner table — his tail wagging very happily and your daughter petted and hugged him — her laughter soon echoing through the room as it started licking her face.

Celegorm was on the other end of the room — his arms crossed leaning against the wall beside the 9door — looking all too smug.

"Celegorm Tyelkormo Turkafinwë! Get that thing off our dinner table!"

You shouted at your husband.

"But Amal— he's my pet!"

Your daughter giggled.

"Oh, my love — a wolf isn't something to keep as a pet."

"Why not?"

Celegorm made his way over to you.

"Her father has a magic, gigantic hound— only fair his daughter gets to have something of a sort."

"But a wolf! Celegorm!"

You rubbed your forehead — feeling annoyed at your husband.

"You said she was exactly like you dearest — but she adores these creatures as much as I do."

"Then why didn't you marry of those creatures!"

You retorted back — your husband frowned down at you before he chuckled and leaned close to your ears.

"Because, one — that's a little outside of nature law — and because a sweet innocent maiden had caught my eyes and only she is capable of handling the beast that I am."

His whispered — his lips brushing against yours ears and hands possessively wrapping around yoour waist — sending shivers down your spine.

"Am taking her out hunting tomorrow."

He said — smirking again seeing how he turned you into a flustered mess.

"She won't come with you — (y/d/n) doesn't like it, Tyelko!"

"She will now."

The day Celegorm's hunt go unplanned would be the day he cursed his life as a hunter — and that's exactly what was happening.

From the minute, himself and his daughter entered the forest hand in hand — with Huan and the little wolf pup — something was . . . different.

It caused him to be on high alert — he had checked these parts before — making sure it was safe while he was with his daughter.

But something about the forest made him feel uneasy — he wondered if he should turn back — but sensing no actual danger. . . just that odd difference he decided to stay.

He had been teaching her how to set camp — and careful not to wander off too far — even if Huan was keeping a watch over her.

But by the time he returned to the camp with the firewood — he was beyond surprised and amazed to see the camp surrounded by little critters and his daughter in the center of it all.

For a second — he really thought his eyes would fall off from their sockets.

He spent amount the next hour or two trying to shoo away the rabbits, birds, owls and squirrels that nestled and gathered around.

Celegorm noticed how some would wander and follow the steps of his daughter — but he paid no heed and finally sat on a log to sharpen his arrow.

At least she wasn't screaming like her mother every 3 seconds when something crept up.

When his daughter quietly walked up to him — he discarded his work for a moment to give her his full attention.

She smiled at him — he recognized the smile — her mother smiled like that whenever she was hiding something. . . or trying at least.

"Atar!"

She spoke — despite gaining his attention already.

"Yes, little dove?"

"You wanted this deer, right? — Here you go!"

His eyes widened as his daughter stepped aside and revealed the deer walking up to them.

In all his years as a hunter — he never seen his prey so willingly draw near him and drop their head in submission and sacrifice.

Celegorm had to be dreaming. . . right?

When you saw your husband and daughter return rather quickly — you knew it couldn't be good.

"I told you – but you still dragged her out."

You crossed your arms at your husband.

"Oh no — we did hunt and we got a deer."

He said — and gestured to the deer strapped to Huan.

"Oh— that was fast. . ."

"Unusually fast. . ."

Your husband replied.

He was right — hunts and camping at least took him 3 days — the fact they returned by the evening of their departure was a surprising sight to behold.

"So what happened-"

Before you had the chance to ask — the sounds of those little critters and the giggles of your daughter caught your ears.

She talked to them — her animals friends and you never seen her so happily engage in a conversation.

With each step she took towards her parents — they followed

"Vero. . . Are you. . . — seeing this?"

You asked not believing your eyes.

"Those little nightmares were following her around the moment we entered the forest."

Celegorm sighed.

"Well they are certainly not getting into our house!"

You crossed your arms at your little girl.

Even though she pouted so much like her father — she still, turned around and told her little friends.

The low whines and groans made your heart ache— but you stood your ground.

The next few days — they were a nightmare more than anything else. You would find owls perched up on your door — or birds singing happily in the early morning by your window.

Sometimes frogs on your sink and squirrels in your tub— you screamed startling your poor husband awake.

If you weren't already so dazed and ready to faint — you would have hard time believing birds were — indeed— braiding your daughter's silver hair.

But you watched — defeated and accepting your fate as your daughter giggled and spoke softly to them — while you sat on the other side of your table.

Unfortunately — due to the silence your husband was pouring out — you knew, this was your job.

"Little dove, what did we say about animals in the house?"

You gently asked your daughter.

"They missed me, amal."

"I know, (y/d/n)— but they have to stay outside — you can meet them while out on hunts with your father."

That — definitely perked up your husband's ears and he instantly joined.

"Yes— and we will have plenty of hunts, so you can meet them all the time!"

You pushed down the urge to roll your eyes— but you were happy when your daughter agreed.

Thankfully — your daughter's little friends seemed to understand and took their leave— however not before giving both you and your husband some glares.

Wheh Celegorm and his daughter returned for another hunt — her animals friends never forgot her.

In fact— one or two steps into the forest, birds flew out the trees and instantly placed flower crowns on their heads — even the mighty Huan had a beautiful flower crown.

"In all my years. . ."

Celegorm groaned inwardly — thankful none of brothers were here to see this.

Sometimes it annoyed the hunter — he hadn't even began to set up his camp or weapons and his daughter had already brought forth the best kill, again, willingly!

It took away the thrill of hunting for him — and so the days came without his daughter — her little animals friends followed him throughout the forest — demanding the whereabouts of (y/d/n).

Sometimes — he would setting up camping or making his weapons and they would gather around him—just staring at him as if he could magically make his daughter appear.

Some rabbits even tried getting into his gear — wondering if he was hiding or storing her away in his bag.

"Alright— alright! I'll bring her next time."

He said— in the tongue of the birds and they happily delivered the message to rest of animals.

Celegorm even picked up how they were calling her — the princess of the forest — and he chuckled with pride.

"The princess of the forest — she sure is."

tags: @mslizziesblog @sorisooyaa (I know you love Disney) @doodle-pops @aeonianarchives @antares0606 (I know you wanted this too— I hope you like it) @spidergirla5

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namig42 · 1 month

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I had this writing prompt idea for something short involving my resistant Durge Vero that I still really want to expand on. It takes place in act 1 in the bg3 campaign and the Durge part of her is still very new and terrifying, and so it explores a great deal of that.

The idea is that the first time Vero sees Astarion die in combat, she is terrified. She screams and cries, hearing his cries mix in with the thousands that haunt her head, but she hears his most clearly. Wyll moves in to comfort her after the fight. Lae'zel is more stoic in her comfort, but they both try to reassure Vero that Astarion will be fine. They just need to get back to camp and talk to Withers. Vero doesn’t want to leave his body though, and so Lae'zel offers to carry the cindered corpse back to camp.

Back at camp, Vero revives Astarion, who is quite nonchalant about his first proper resurrection on this quest, though Vero is of the mindset that he shouldn’t have to endure that pain at all. She cries to him, and they talk until she’s calmed down. They haven’t declared any feelings yet to each other at this point outside of their one night tryst at the tiefling party, and Vero's durge thoughts are still very unclear to the rest of the party, especially after the Alfira incident. Astarion's reaction had been the one to stick out to Vero though the morning they found the bard's body. He was so nonchalant and didn't accuse Vero of being a monster, unlike the rest of the party. After their few interactions and especially that conversation, Vero found herself already caring deeply about Astarion. He’s a bit taken aback by her worry about this whole dying situation since he didn't realize how genuine Vero's feelings were, and so it's a tense but heartwarming conversation.

Hopefully I'll write this out sooner rather than later, but I wanted to share.

#bg3 #astarion #durge #mine #vero #fic idea

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empty-blog-for-lurking · 10 months

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so, lance and veronica like kuron- i think thats very fucking cool for multiple reasons- but does that extend to other members of their family? i think it would be funny if they just decided to adopt this weird fucked up guy into the family<3 though knowing your au, i have a feeling things arent that simple in this situation....

Honestly that is a good question, cause i didnt even factor in Lance's other family members. My instinct is, "obviously yeah Lance's family love strays, they'll see Kuron's pathetic little meow meow ass and bring out the adoption papers." However given the entire family is already a bit fucked up right now, i dont think that would happen immediately and also i have like 3 options.

1.Veronica doesnt say shit and is a lying liar who lies- pretty much everyone here is bad at communication and to be fair this is like a very weird ass situation to even process let alone explain, so when Veronica gets a call from her mom, she thinks back to when Lance was missing and everyone was having a really hard time and than the Galra came and then they were having even more bad time and Lance comes back and war ends and i think Lance and atleast his parents move to Altea¹ and while she wasnt around much things were fine? She guesses? And then Lance runs away and they were all having a bad time again and Christ alive Lance their parents are in their 60's their hearts cant take this anymore.

Anyway Vero remembers all this and she hears her mom asking if she found anything on Lance and she goes, "yyyuuupp in fact i actually found Lance! He's umm.....he's sleeping right now! Yup! He's definately fine! That is right! He just needs a little space and was uhhhh.....helping out a friend, he will definately call you if- When he wakes up!!! I will tell him to call you back, we are going to have a long chat anyway! Dont worry mom! He's ok :)!!!"

She'll definately tell them!! Eventually! The time is just isnt right yet!! The fact she is ready to full on "Weekend at Bernie's" this shit doesnt mean anything!! She'll figure it all out and then Lance will wake up and she'll fucking kick his ass for doing this and everything will go back to being normal!!! This will not come back to bite her in the ass and her family is Not getting Suspicious at all!!!

In this scenario Lance's family never meet or even know about Kuron. In case they do eventually find out he'll kind of go overlooked cause 1) they just found out Lance is in a coma. 2) they just found out Lance has been in a coma for a long time. 3) they just found out that Veronica knew and she lied to them! 4) they just found out that Lance is uhhhh not doing Great. Supernaturally. Kind of makes it hard to pay attention to other major elephants in the room. (This could be where Kuron can stand up for Veronica and be like "look none of you are ok! Veronica isnt ok! Lance certainly wasnt ok! And things are not ok and they have changed irreversibly and all of you are hurt! And you know what that is ok! But we all have to acknowledge that hurt!" And something else super cheezy along the lines.)

2. Veronica tells her family only like half truth- in this Vero still trying to process the situation kinda just tells her family that Lance is in a coma but not about Kuron or magical shit. So to the family Kuron is Lance and Vero's weird friend who is really all over the place but ultimately a good friend who is just trying to help and be supportive and is kind young man with good head on his shoulders 😊 (they do think he should stop with his self destructive habits like they arent going to judge but smoking isnt good for you :/). The option where Kuron is adopted the fastest. Meanwhile Kuron is kind of being crushed by guilt. Like logically he understands that Lance's condition isnt his (Kuron's) fault, but at the end Lance did drop into coma to bring him back so he does feel a bit responsible. So it's just Kuron screaming internally.

Obviously the family isnt doing great at all. But i also feel like few of them (maybe few of the siblings) saw something like this coming. It's either because Lance was very clearly not ok before he ran away and also they have gotten just so used to this bullshit that they are just numbed to it. It doesnt make it any better but man just tough times for area family.

3. Veronica tells everything- Basically Vero and Kuron tells her family everything they know. Naturally family has mixed reaction towards it. Atleast few members arent surprised that Lance went and did this for a friend. One of them is really heartbroken and angry and most definately lashed out on Kuron and i think Kuron lashes back. There are those who are a bit uncomfortable but more because they really do not get the situation cause like what do you even do? Atleast one of them is also angry at Lance for repeatedly running off and pulling this stunt and doesnt he know what everyone is going through because of him? Just all around fucking mess everyone. It's tearing the family apart.

¹ Yeah i think Lance and his mom did move to Altea. I did actually watch the last ep just skipped to it and in the ending credits he seemed to be in Altea cause of fucking course he is. It's not like he spent the whole fucking show missing Earth or the fact that him being a normal human of Earth was a fundamental part of his narrative, nooooooo he is A-ok with moving to Altea and not even to help in rebuilding the universe but to be a fucking farmer and "tell Allura's stories" or some shit, cause yup that's all his character is! And i am Definately Fine with This! Yup! Definately! Now if you'll excuse me i am going to walk into the ocean

#I think my favourite is the first one #Cause 1)it gives Veronica flaws and nuanced 2) parallels or something 3) objectively the funniest #Not to mention with the first one i dont have to deal with too many characters! Cause there are too many characters!#Too many side ones i know nothing about!!! With this i'll only have to focus on Lance's mom #(Maybe i'll even kill the dad or grandma. The final stone on the already cracking glass palace. Just a thought)#(Also sorry about the salt really i am)#Anyway all these options will end with Kuron getting lowkey to highkey adopted by Lance's family. Trust me #I think i will revisit this once i get better ideas #Anyway #thank you for asking!!!!#empty answers #post s8 au

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