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WREN (she/they) — 22, black, pinterest board warrior and supreme overlord of fuckery. recently dubbed “most likely to be sexually repressed and make it everyone else’s problem.”
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𖦹 play nice -> price x fae!reader x simon
on the docket
𖦹 by the weakness -> feyd rautha x reader
𖦹 from bright shadows -> simon riley x reader
𖦹 leave the bones -> simon riley x reader, twd & a/b/o au
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wip wednesday means i get to do my unceremonious return to society with the feyd-rautha snippet i've had cooking with the rest of my 200 drafts for the last like. two years. enjoy!
You turn a corner.
Light succumbs to the dark, and the darkness becomes darker still. A silent corridor awaits—ceilings stretched high, bracing themselves against the outside elements. A glorified cavern. You pretend that it welcomes you into its embrace as the final dregs of the night’s festivities finally quiet down to a murmur at the small of your back.
You inhale. Exhale. Recall your training, though it may very well be the last time you use it.
“I…must not fear.”
But you feel ashamed, for more reasons than one. Geidi Prime is not known for its appeal, both on and off-world. Entertainment is bloody, and light is manufactured. Even their fireworks shimmer with the intent to inflict harm. They slam their palms against the windows of the hall as you walk, pleading for blood to spill.
Under no circumstances should you feel so magnetized by its innate horror.
Your feet take turns determining the proper rhythm. Timid? Confident?
“Fear is the mind-killer.”
The air has calcified around your robes, rendering them stiff and useless in your attempts to keep pace.
“Fear is the…is the little-death that brings…that brings—”
What follows? Speak now, child—quickly.
Your steps falter. Your mouth speaks for you.
“...Total obliteration.”
Yes. Obliteration. That’s what this uncharted road will lead you toward, regardless of whether or not you succeed.
The weight of your sins hang heavy on your bones.
Heavy enough to distract you from the terror nipping at your heels.
His dagger is halfway across your throat by the time you realize he’s behind you. The press of his body is cold and lifeless. His mouth emits no sound, only resting slightly ajar against the crown of your head with the impression of an inhale. You will the muscles in your neck to go lax beneath his grip, and the blade rasps against the skin there, almost gentle. It's only after it snags that the Na-Baron deigns to speak.
“You’ve changed,” he mutters, angling your jaw upwards until your tendons begin to strain again. “Why?”
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I do not force xreaders to be blank slates. I do not leave hate comments if a xreader character behaves in a way I wouldn’t. I don’t demand part two’s. I let the writer take me on a journey and enjoy the fic as they intended as it is their labor of love. And if I don’t enjoy the fic? I EXIT THE FIC AND SAY NOTHING TO THE AUTHOR!!!
somehow stumbling back in time to aftermath of the first crusade and being found by a traumatised, battle hardened knight who is convinced you're some vision of evil tempting him outside of the holy land, and it's his moral duty to "purify" you.
(and then, subsequently, keeping you a cute lil pet for himself as he uses the land he was given for his service to build a prison home for his newfound family.)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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early access + nsfw on patreon
monster!AU masterpost
a couple of things here:
Gaz's eyes are red as a symptom of gorging on blood. It's also evidence of Graves' control over him.
Valeria's paralysis stare doesn't work on Rudy's spectral dogs because they aren't technically living organisms, just spiritual extensions of himself, so he can look through their eyes at her with no repercussions.
Soap hasn't been shown yet, but he does have a role in all this.
they will never convince me to take fuck out of my star wars fics. i'm fine with throwing in some kark and kriff and osik and shab whatever that's all well and good but they will have to pry the real life swear fuck from my cold dead hands. kark simply does not hit the same and canon can eat dirt when i've decided it's time for commander cody to say "what the fuck are you talking about sir" or some shit equivalent
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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a fragile star burned out in its prime fits right in with the ebb and flow of new york city. you’re content with your self imposed exile, but the sky reaches out to you every now and then. they propose a return to form.
(the peace offering they extend this time around doesn’t belong to them. he says he belongs to no one.)
cw: black f!reader. dj! simon. set in nyc. fluff + angst. random dance jargon. discussions of body dysmorphia. eventual smut. slow burn (?). tags to be added.
