requesting
Provided I have time, I will be happy to write requests :) please ask away! As you've probably gathered from my intro… I like to write ( ._. )""
Requests are closed (please check pinned)! Please bear in mind that I have a very busy schedule (full-time uni), so I may take time to get back to you. When requests are closed, you may still send in asks, but please note that these will not be released until I open up my requests again.
I usually write fluff and smut, because I'm self-indulgent like that. This is also a DDDNE (dead dove do not eat) blog. As such, lots of kinks can go down, except for the ones down here:
no outright piss/scat/emeto (bladder desperation is OK)
I won't use the word “rape”, but I'm down for dubcon/coercion/corruption/gaslighting/intox. Any of the shades of grey
no wound-fucking, bloodplay is OK though. Even erotic stabbing is fine
no doctor x patient, no doctor x nurse
teacher x student is OK for uni settings, but not any younger
no paedophilia (age gaps are OK)
no bestiality (hybrids and monsterfucking OK)
You take a bite into the apple, feeling the juices run down your chin. Immediately, your mind starts to feel foggy. You stumble around the courtyard gardens, looking for anywhere – any fucking place – any reprieve from this nightmarish reality.
You hear the crunch of boots against worn rock. The gardener stands in front of you, pliers in her hand. The smile on her face is almost kind as she kneels to your level, inspecting her face.
“Ah, you bit so soon?” She turns your jaw this way and that, grip iron. You don't get it. How are her fingers not phasing through you. Sensing your apprehension, she laughs, sitting cross-legged on the moss-ridden ground.
“You see, this place has a strange way of sucking people in,” she explains. “It's captivating. For all that I complain about it.” Her gaze turns distant as she stares at the rose bush. “The princess comes back, the king makes his decrees… it's almost like the axe never even nicked them.” Her eyes gleam. "Shame."
She turns to you, still holding the apple in your weak hand. “As you walk around, taking in the scenery, consuming the fruits of this place's immense toil to exist… it remembers you. It becomes you. And you become it. So eat a lot more, OK? I'd hate to see the rose bushes try to find something to devour beyond the fertiliser.” Her grin widens, antithetical to that prospect, and you shudder. Looks like you're stuck here for good…
