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solxamber · 9 months ago

Note

Hi hi solxamber!! (Is that spelled right?) I hope you’re having a lovely day/night! if you would allow me too I’d like to make a request/ask, ignore this if you wish!

But freshwater stingray yuu! She’s so sweet with everyone (even though she may be such a quiet person) and super calming too! But she’s so misunderstood (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ). Kinda like how a lot of humans now treat wild stingrays, they think she’s dangerous and always aggressive! But really she just wants a friend (；へ：). Oh! And she’s also very tall too! Like Floyd tall, since freshwater stingrays are some of the biggest known rays in the world! She also has a long, whip-like, stinger (tail) that she can’t control even in the water! Maybe this in a small one-shot form (if you do that!) with Octavinelle and Diasomnia? I feel as if specifically Malleus and her would relate to each other very well with them both feeling isolated and feared because of something that they really can’t control!

Please feel free to ignore this if you wish! You are under absolutely no obligation to respond to my request! Sorry if it was really long (I’m severely hyperfixated on any form of marine life) 人(_ _*)

And do you do anon names? If so could I be a 🪼anon?

Octavinelle, Diasomnia with Freshwater Stingray! Reader

hi! yeah you can be 🪼 anon! and don't worry about the length at all, the more detailed, the more fun i have writing it! thank you for waiting and i hope you like it <3 and it's spelled right! you can just call me sol tho!

Azul Ashengrotto:

You sit in the quiet corner of the Mostro Lounge, sipping tea and trying to keep your long tail from accidentally knocking anything over. It’s always the same—people giving you wary glances, as if you’re a threat just waiting to explode. Your tail, with its unpredictable movements, has always been a point of misunderstanding, and despite your calmness and sweet demeanor, most people steer clear of you.

Azul has been watching you for a while now, his sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses. He finally makes his way over, that ever-confident smile in place as he sets a fresh cup of tea in front of you.

"Everything to your liking?" he asks, voice smooth as ever, but there’s a hint of something more—genuine curiosity, perhaps?

You look up, startled. "It’s fine," you mumble, trying not to let your tail twitch in nervousness. But of course, it does, brushing lightly against the floor. You freeze, pulling it in tightly to your side.

Azul’s eyes follow the movement, and instead of the discomfort you usually see in people, there’s only understanding in his gaze. He leans in a bit, resting his elbow on the table. "It must be difficult," he says softly, "having to be so aware of your tail all the time, when people can’t see beyond it."

You blink, surprised at how easily he’s put it into words. "Yeah," you admit, glancing down at your cup. "People think I’m dangerous. But I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone." Your voice trails off, soft and sincere.

Azul chuckles, though not unkindly. "I understand more than you think. People often mistake strength for malice. They forget that control takes time." He gestures vaguely toward his own carefully controlled smile, his smooth façade of confidence. "And patience."

You tilt your head, meeting his eyes for the first time properly. "You... you don’t think I’m dangerous?"

"On the contrary," he says with a smirk, "I think you’re someone worth knowing. Dangerously misunderstood, perhaps, but aren’t we all?"

You can’t help but smile a little at that. For the first time in a long while, you feel like someone is seeing you, not your tail or your height, but you.

Floyd Leech:

You’re wandering through the courtyard when Floyd spots you, and of course, he makes a beeline in your direction, grinning like a shark who’s just spotted prey.

"Heyyy, Shrimpy!" he calls out, stretching his arms over his head lazily. You brace yourself, knowing that Floyd isn’t exactly one to respect personal space.

"Hi, Floyd," you say softly, still trying to keep your voice friendly despite the knot of nerves forming in your stomach.

As expected, he immediately slings an arm around your shoulders, oblivious to the way your tail twitches nervously behind you. "Whatcha doin'? Lookin' all serious. You plannin' to sting someone with that big tail of yours?"

You blink, startled by how casually he brings it up, but you know Floyd doesn’t mean any harm by it—he’s just Floyd. "No," you say quickly, "I don’t sting people. It’s not like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone."

He gives you a curious look, then laughs. "Aw, I know, I know! I’m just messing with ya!" His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But y'know, if anyone’s ever giving ya trouble, just say the word, and I’ll help ya take 'em down. Sting 'em, punch 'em, doesn’t matter!"

You blink again, unsure how to respond to Floyd’s unique brand of... support. But something about his carefree attitude puts you at ease, and you find yourself smiling despite everything. "Thanks, Floyd," you say quietly.

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "No problem, Shrimpy! Let’s go find someone to mess with, yeah?"

Jade Leech:

It’s in the depths of the Coral Sea when you first meet Jade properly. He’s calm and composed, as always, but there’s a calculating gleam in his eyes that makes you nervous. You’ve always been wary of people who observe more than they say—those are the ones who usually misunderstand you the most.

"Ah, you must be the freshwater stingray everyone’s been talking about," Jade says with a polite smile, his eyes scanning your tall form, lingering on your tail for just a second longer than usual.

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. "Yes. And you must be Jade."

"Indeed," he replies smoothly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard quite a few interesting things about you."

You wince internally, imagining all the rumors about how "dangerous" and "unpredictable" you are. But Jade doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "It must be difficult," he muses, "being constantly misunderstood because of something you cannot control."

You blink, caught off guard by his words. "Y-yes," you stammer, "it is. But I try not to let it bother me."

Jade’s smile widens, and for the first time, you see a genuine warmth behind his usual calculating demeanor. "That is a wise approach. I believe there is much more to you than others realize. Perhaps we can... learn more about each other."

You feel a flicker of warmth in your chest. Maybe this encounter isn’t so bad after all.

Malleus Draconia:

You’re floating near the edge of the lake when you sense someone watching you. You turn slowly, and there, standing by the water’s edge, is Malleus, his dark eyes focused on you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

You’ve always felt a strange connection to Malleus. Both of you are feared for reasons beyond your control, and both of you know what it’s like to be isolated because of it.

"Good evening," he says softly, his voice deep and soothing.

"Good evening, Malleus," you reply quietly, moving closer to the shore. "What brings you here?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he gazes out at the water, his expression thoughtful. "I often find solace near the water," he admits. "It’s... calming."

You nod in agreement, understanding exactly what he means. "It’s the same for me. People seem to think we’re dangerous just because of how we look. But the water... it doesn’t judge."

Malleus turns to look at you then, his eyes softening. "Yes," he murmurs. "We are not so different, are we?"

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable silence, sharing an unspoken understanding that words could never fully capture.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he glides through the air, catching sight of you as you swim quietly near the edge of the lake. He lands gracefully on a nearby rock, grinning widely. "Ah, my dear stingray! How does the evening treat you?" he calls out, his voice filled with playful energy.

You blink in surprise, unused to such cheerfulness, but you offer a small smile in return. "It’s... peaceful," you reply softly. "I like the quiet."

Lilia chuckles, sitting cross-legged on the rock as he watches you, his eyes glimmering with curiosity. "You always seem so quiet and calm. Yet I hear rumors—some people say you're dangerous!" He laughs at the absurdity of it, as if the idea is nothing but a joke to him.

You sigh, glancing down at the water, your long tail swaying gently beneath the surface. "They think I’m dangerous because of my tail. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but… it’s hard to control sometimes."

Lilia hums thoughtfully, leaning forward a bit. "Ah, but isn’t that the way with most things in life? The most wonderful, powerful things are often the ones most misunderstood." He winks at you, as if sharing a secret.

You can’t help but smile at his words. There’s something so comforting about Lilia’s playful wisdom, and you feel your usual anxiety melting away. "Maybe you’re right," you say quietly. "It’s just… hard."

Lilia nods sagely. "Hard, yes. But don’t let that stop you from being who you are. Strength and kindness aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. You remind me of myself in my younger days!" He laughs again, the sound bright and infectious.

You chuckle softly, feeling a bit lighter. "Thank you, Lilia."

He winks again, standing up with a flourish. "Anytime, my dear! Now, shall we play a game? I bet you can’t catch me!" Before you can protest, he takes off into the air, leaving you laughing quietly at his endless energy.

Silver Vanrouge:

Silver is resting under the shade of a large tree when you spot him, his eyes closed as he naps peacefully. You hover nearby, not wanting to disturb him, but your tail accidentally swishes too close to a branch, causing it to rustle loudly.

Silver’s eyes blink open slowly, his gaze finding you immediately. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh… it’s you," he murmurs, his voice still soft with drowsiness.

"Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed that you woke him up. "I didn’t mean to… my tail…" You trail off, trying to tuck your tail away behind you, but it flicks out again despite your best efforts.

Silver shakes his head, giving you a gentle smile. "It’s okay. You didn’t wake me on purpose."

You feel a warmth spread in your chest at his understanding. Silver is always so calm and kind, never judging you the way others do. "Still, I’m sorry," you say, moving closer to sit beside him.

He watches you for a moment before speaking. "You don’t need to apologize for something you can’t control," he says quietly. "I know what it’s like to be misunderstood. People think I’m lazy because I fall asleep a lot, but it’s just… how I am."

You look at him in surprise. "I didn’t know that. I thought you just liked to nap."

He chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. "Maybe a little. But it’s more than that." He pauses, then turns to you with a soft smile. "I don’t think you’re dangerous. You’re just… you."

His words are so simple, but they mean more to you than he knows. You smile back at him, feeling a little lighter. "Thank you, Silver."

Silver nods, his eyes closing again as he drifts off into another peaceful nap, leaving you to quietly enjoy the moment beside him.

Sebek Zigvolt:

You’re swimming near the edge of the lake when Sebek marches over, his loud voice cutting through the peaceful air. "Ah, there you are! I’ve been searching for you!" he declares, arms crossed and chin held high.

You blink, startled by his abrupt arrival. "O-oh, hello, Sebek."

He stares down at you, his expression serious as usual. "You must stop hiding yourself away like this! It is unbecoming of someone with such... size and stature!" His tone is as sharp as ever, but you know he means well—he’s just... Sebek.

You glance down at the water, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I’m not hiding. I just like the quiet."

Sebek huffs, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "Nonsense! You should be standing tall and proud! You are far too... graceful to be skulking about like some common creature of the sea!"

You blink in surprise at his words, unsure how to respond. "Um... thank you?"

Sebek’s eyes narrow, as if he’s not quite sure you understand his point. "Do not mistake me! I am simply saying that you are far too formidable to let others fear you so easily!" He pauses, his voice lowering slightly. "It is... their loss if they cannot see that."

Your heart warms at his unexpected compliment. Sebek might be loud and brash, but his words hold a certain sincerity that you can’t ignore. You smile up at him. "That’s... really nice of you to say, Sebek."

He stiffens, his cheeks flushing slightly as he clears his throat. "W-well, I am merely stating the facts! Now, come! We must train! A creature as powerful as you should not waste your time in solitude!"

Despite his usual intensity, you can’t help but smile. "Alright, Sebek. Let’s train."

With a proud nod, Sebek leads the way, his loud voice echoing through the air as you follow, feeling just a little bit more understood.

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hollyhomburg · 10 days ago

Text

Prey Animals (14)

— Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Poly Ot7, eventual Bts x reader,

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 7.1k

— Warnings: Implications of rape, discussions of non-consensual pregnancy, Spousal abuse, Brief Discussions involving anorexia, verbal descriptions of sexual abuse, graphic depictions of physical violence, suspense, yearning,

— Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

(1 day before, Yoongi).

The night before the Gala, Yoongi just can’t help himself.

He haunts the city like a specter, feet dragging against the damp asphalt. Exhausted and soaked to the bone. Cold in a way that can’t be fixed by dry clothes or love or summer. He finds the grimiest payphone stuck between a bar that’s seen better days and a closed pharmacy. Shoves himself inside like a piece of garbage shoved inside a too full trashcan.

Yeah. He’s not feeling his best.

Big men with leather jackets linger outside the bar blowing smoke into the nighttime air, but Yoongi doesn’t recognize them so they must only be playing monsters. He draws his hood up against the freezing rain regardless, ever mindful of wandering eyes. The rain covers the city like a crusty film, turning to glass the second it hits something solid. Like icing sugar your voice in his head reminds him. When he closes his eyes, he can see you showing him. Powdered sugar like snow, lemon juice and zest mixed together until it drips slow like honey. Yoongi had been so worried about you nicking your finger on the grinder.

But a papercut is the least of your problems now.

Funny. He only used to hear the pack’s voices inside his head but now he hears yours too. It’s not the real thing- a memory isn’t the real thing. Yoongi’s not really sure if he’s going crazy if it matters that he’s hearing voices. Is that his conscience or is it just Namjoon?

The payphone is graffitied on the inside and out. Tags overlapping and nearly unintelligible. Something white and a used condom crust the floor along with cigarette butts and a torn-up phone book littering little yellow names everywhere. There are numbers scrawled on the inside of the windows begging for a good time and for God’s salvation. Who knew heaven only cost 5.99 per minute? How much will this call cost?

Yoongi can’t remember. He can try. He can imitate it in his head, but as much as he wants to try and remember it seems he’s forgotten. The sound of their voices; not how they sound normally, but the way that they sound wrapped around an I love you, the sound of Namjoon’s laugh and Hoseok’s snort, Jungkook’s giggle, Taehyung sigh at night, Jimin’s little chuffs and growls when he’s asleep. Little things like that, that are so much more special than simple ordinary words.

Sometimes he thinks he forgets what Namjoon smells like, only to realize he doesn’t, nose deep in a cup of coffee.

The neon bleeds into Yoongi’s hands and he turns away from any people who pass too close by the payphone. The weather might be shitty but it’s still a Friday night. He turns his head, a routine movement. Second nature to hide his profile from anyone who would look inside and recognize him.

This is dangerous. Yoongi knows it but can’t resist. It’s like picking at wounds and calling people you know won’t come home.

Yoongi is the one who can’t come home. The one who left and the one who can’t stay away.

He had to look up their numbers. He contemplated it only briefly- calling the gym where Jungkook works or Namjoon’s hospital and asking for them. Both of them require speaking but. Tonight’s a Friday. Taehyung works one Friday night a month.

The quarters feel slimy in his hands. He pops them home and listens to the buzz buzz buzz, rain drumming out a rhythm on the leaky roof.

“Hello?”

Yoongi almost sags against the box, almost forgets about the cum on the floor, breathing ragged, swaying. Shoving his knuckle between his teeth to keep from saying anything stupid. Like blurting out everything that’s happened and asking if it’s okay for him to come home. He can’t handle not knowing if he’s welcome anymore. If he turned up at the packs apartment tomorrow, would he be invited in or turned away?

Yoongi isn’t sure.

Taehyung’s voice sounds husky like he’d maybe nodded off at his desk a little or perhaps he’d been bent over a good story for a good few hours. Taehyung has always had the prettiest voice, a voice like old jazz music and whiskey on the rocks. Like cotton clothing and homemade food. Earthy and familiar, like Ink and crisp black velvet.

A car honks loudly and Yoongi flinches, almost dropping the phone. The plastic slick from the rain. He almost misses Taehyung’s second quieter, “hello?” softer and a little annoyed “I can hear you breathing you know.”

Yoongi’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears. Just say one thing, just say something else. Please. Yoongi pauses, savoring Taehyung’s presence on the other side of the phone. It’s a simple relief and not an entirely fulfilling one; the knowledge that someone who loves you, or loved you is close enough to hear your hurts if you’d only said them. Sweeter still, because without speaking Yoongi can pretend for just a moment longer, just a minute more that they don’t hate him already. That this is not all for nothing.

Yoongi waits another breath and then reaches out, putting the phone back on the receiver.

Yoongi doesn’t hear it, but seconds before the dial tone rings out, Taehyung breathes. The question, two syllables and so soft it’s hardly even spoken. Worried. Nervous.

Almost Hopeful.

It’s been so many months, but Taehyung will always remember the rhythm and beat of Yoongi’s breathing. Yoongi (like Hoseok) has a rhythm to his being. Taehyung’s not 100% certain, but the hitching breath is so similar and all too familiar. He hears it in his rose-colored dreams, writes his name on the corner of newspapers with his green pen. Recalling everything from memory. As if writing people down makes them less likely to disappear.

I’m trying that too, I guess.

"Yoongi?”

Yoongi leaves the phone booth, keeping his hood up and his face directed down. Glad for the poor weather and late hour to be his disguise. Glad it was the alpha and not the others. If it was Jungkook- if Yoongi had decided to call his gym- Yoongi doesn’t know if he could have resisted temptation. If it was Seokjin too, or their pack alpha. Let alone Hoseok.

If Hoseok had picked up- Yoongi might have made promises he couldn’t keep. He might have told secrets that he shouldn’t tell.

Yoongi slinks past no vacancy signs and couples in alley ways, people half dead or half alive it’s hard to tell.

Home is on the other end of the line. Home is right there on the other end of the payphone. But Yoongi is still here in this city, right where he belongs. Freezing.

~-~

(5 hours before. Yoongi.)

For the lunar new year gala, the Don’s residence is decadently decorated. Speckled with lanterns, red, white, and cream that cast a warm glow over the sprawling gardens, fountains, and terraces. Music and liquor run thick and sweet. The night is a cool 45 degrees, uncommonly warm for January, and Min Yoongi has officially run out of time.

Maybe three hundred people are here, each head of house, each family are all in attendance, every grannie and pup alike. Dressed in their best satins, silks, and charmeuses. Necks sparkle, ears weigh down with whispers and diamonds. The whole lot of them ferried to and fro in the revelry by a small army of trusted staff all armed to the teeth. There’s barely a single person without a bulging suit coat, a knife tucked into a hip, a thigh sheath below a billowing skirt, Yoongi sees more than one ankle holster flashing above a stiletto heel.

He spent more time than he should have looking at the handgun on his bed. He’s not sure what kind it is, boxy and black and stupid. A killing thing does not need to be beautiful. It does not need to be treasured (but oh, isn’t it better if it is?).

Yoongi doesn’t end up bringing it. It’s a shame. Things might have turned out different if he had.

Yoongi is mindful of the glances cast in his direction as he enters the fray. It’s hard to shut off the part of his brain that tracks the movement of the alphas in his periphery. There is a city of eyes following him however which way he moves. So, he walks slowly, his pace unhurried and easy. Through the red carpet and the photographers set up by the entrance to the compound. Not all of the family’s businesses are illegitimate, a few of them make their way into the tabloids every now and then.

The photographers quiet their shouting and lower their cameras when he comes near. Too nervous, too timid to snap his photograph. All of them except for one at the end who snaps a picture of his blurry profile.

He blinks against the bright flash. By the time he’s turned to stare, there is already a guard asking for the camera, Yoongi does not turn back at the sound of metal and glass crunching beneath a boot.

He meanders, unwilling to enter the house where the grand atrium and ballroom lay in all their splendor. As if his presence outside will prolong the ticking of a clock. Yoongi feels every second. There is a small shrine and photo set up on the spot where Jongho passed. Candles dancing in the breeze. Yoongi tips his head in its direction briefly before he moves on. The photos of the late Beta and Don are no longer displayed in the foyer. The scent of firecrackers lingers in the air. Smelling of sulfur and smoke.

Whispers all around follow Yoongi like air moving through grass, whispers rustle like secrets against each other. Almost hissing.

He lingers among his family, saying their hellos and sneering their love. Behind backs fingers get crossed and Hands stray low into long skirts and trimmed hanboks alike, careful not to tread upon the fine fabric in their Louboutin stilettos. It’s about a 50/50 split of modern and traditional wear. Yoongi didn’t feel like dealing with the knot of a gat under his chin tonight so he stands out in his plain dark suit, the same one he wore to the funeral, as he walks up the wide shallow steps.

Everyone else has forgone their usual black attire, perhaps a little early for the mourning period, but that won’t officially end until the clock strikes midnight (and Yoongi like some fucked up Cinderella, will turn from this enigmatic creature back into his fleshy gourd colored self. Neither mouse, nor pumpkin, nor man).

The atrium is a relic from the gilded age and like something out of phantom of the opera complete with gold chandeliers and 100k worth of florals and candlelight. They hang stem down on near invisible strings, a ceiling of White lilies and red roses.

Yoongi doesn’t think about the secession, he’s not thinking about which alpha to choose as he looks into the ballroom. He’s not thinking about secrets or any of it at all as he watches his family move in time to the music. Through the roman pillars and the throng of people, gathered like birds of prey.

Unlike usual they give him a wide berth, in the days before tonight he’d been constantly assaulted and badgered over who he was going to choose. Scheduled for endless meetings, pulled aside from tea to coffee to dinner at 5-star restaurants. He hadn’t had a second to himself. But by now the family knows better than to try. Of course, the beta has already made his decision. Wise beta. Prepared beta. Beta monster. Whispers follow him wherever he goes.

He’s probably chosen already. Did you hear he met with the Moon family over the weekend? Do you think Moonbyul’s trying to court him? A scoff, a blush, a sneer. No, she prefers women. He’s been spending less and less time with his brother. That can’t be good news for Geumjae. Wouldn’t you be angry? If your own brother didn’t choose you?

Yoongi isn’t that way, he’s a beta, you can’t expect ties of any kind to mean anything to him.

He’s a beta, but he’s also a man. Geumjae’s omega is very very pretty, don’t you think?

She’s an outsider, what are you thinking? We shouldn’t be talking about him this way.

The chandelier glitters, casting rainbow shadows onto the carved ice rabbit statue. It’s the year of the rabbit, kids in fluffy dresses dart around it, picking their red fortune from the table and giggling at what they get. Someone has dyed its eyes red. The rabbit stares at all of them, keeping track of the predators as they move about. Always a prey animal, never a predator. All things must eat.

Around the room, Yoongi spots them. The members of the family that are not important enough to earn an official invitation but attend in different ways. The young alpha’s around the room stand with their backs to the wall, tracking anyone who sticks out in the crowd through the beady eyes of their masks. Usually- only the family’s assassins wear the Tal masks but for tonight with the added threat of violence there are extra allowances made. The people around the room armed to the teeth ensure that the family will not break out into war before the time is up.

The seconds count down to the selection, but it also counts down to Yoongi’s freedom. After he makes his choice for Don, he’s free to go. He could be back to the pack by as early as tomorrow evening. If he leaves tonight after midnight, maybe earlier. He could be on their doorstep. Inches and feet from them, not just a world away. This is the end of Yoongi’s absence- it could be- if he plays his cards right.

If he leaves.

If he leaves without you.

Somehow- he knows he won’t be so lucky. That this won’t go that way. It’s going to be a long, long time before he gets to go home. Yoongi knows it in his bones. Call it a premonition or simply a bad gut feeling.

Yoongi’s been having a lot of those recently.

He lingers outside as long as he can manage. He’d been hoping to corner you here before being under the magnifying glass of so many people. But that hope is dashed as he hears the beginning speeches and dinner announced.

It’s been exactly four months since his grandfather’s funeral and now the real war for Yoongi’s attention begins. He knows it will be just as bloody as the word ‘war’ necessitates. After tonight, killing is on the table. The other heads of house are allowed to put pressure on him and they’re allowed to murder their competitors in cold blood in order to secure the title of Don. This is the last chance he has to do it bloodless. Yoongi should make the choice now before it gets to that point and spare them all a lengthy series of funerals.

The heads of house are ready to have a leader again and in a few short hours they’ll descend on Yoongi like a flock of vultures, maws open and red, primed for carrion and convincing.

They’re tired of waiting and Yoongi is too; not for the choosing but for the end of all this pressure. If he’s being honest with himself the only reason why he’s taking so long to choose is because he knows once he does, he’ll have no real concrete reason to stay.

Geumjae doesn’t pay Yoongi much mind for the beginning of the night, smirking at him sometimes when his brother catches him watching. But he seems to relax like he already believes his title is as good as won. Tonight, Geumjae celebrates. Yoongi knows you must not be far. Already his heart is beating quicker. Is it anxiety? Fear of a different sort? or something worse- sweet anticipation.

There is one person who he seeks out in the crowd, just one person. He scans the room as he descends the stairs. For what it’s worth, the band only subtly stops playing when he enters. Fingers faltering on their instruments. Breath hitching, fingers hesitating before they pluck strings.

If he chooses Geumjae, Yoongi knows that his brother won’t try and keep him here. In this city, shackled to his post. He’ll be able to return to the pack and grovel and remain uncalled upon for at least a few more years, perhaps only periodically summoned for the rest of his life. That much Yoongi he could deal with, however unpleasant it might be. He could craft some sort of lie and let his pack believe that he had another, smaller pseudo pack and deal with the ire that would come. That future he could maybe handle.

If it wasn’t for you.

He thinks about it. About coming back to see you every once in a while. He imagines you in a few years, small and quiet with the life worn out of you if you even last that long. He imagines yours and Geumjae’s pups. Would there be many to ensure succession or just a precious few? Yoongi would be uncle Yoongi then. Would you let your children fear him or would they fear their father more? Geumjae hardly has the patience for parenthood, whatever children you have would not be spared your fate.

Yoongi has no doubt that Geumjae will eventually inflict that upon you. Regardless of what you might want. Yoongi has never asked you about your opinions on children. He doesn’t know you that well yet and he might never get the chance too either. He has so many questions and only a few hours left to get answers.

Yoongi thinks about seeing you over the course of a few years, and somehow, he knows that won’t be the case. Call it a premonition or a gut feeling. Yoongi tends to have a lot of those. He’s not sure if that’s just him or if that’s what it means to be a beta.

Yeah. Yoongi definitely isn’t making it back to the pack tomorrow.

The other possible Don’s might not let Yoongi sink back into his life as a civilian. They might demand that Yoongi be their daily advisor until they adjust. And that would only prolong his absence longer. There are only a handful of things Yoongi wants to happen less than staying here. Only a handful of other worst-case scenarios he’s let himself imagine.

Geumjae is here, already at the head of the biggest table. You are absent from his side. Moonbyul lingers at the opposite end of the table. She has not let her other packmates out for this evening either. Many of the heads of house have just their mates here or no one at all. It’s too volatile of an evening for people you care about.

Not for the first time Yoongi wonders about Moonbyul’s and Hyejin’s other 2 packmates. Yoongi has never even seen them, although he understands the impulse to keep them safe and hidden away, keeping them cooped up in whatever golden cage Moonbyul has decided is safe enough for a special occasion like this seems a little severe for his tastes.

Only Hyejin is here, as normal. Her mating mark on her throat, small and pink, an accessory just beneath her ruby necklace. Standing next to Moonbyul wearing violent bloody red, a dress that dusts the floor in airy tendrils of peacock feathers. Half a hanbok and half a dress. Neither strictly modern but reserved enough that she only gets a disapproving glance from the grannies and not an outright scolding.

Yoongi wonders if Hyejin misses attending these sort of functions without wearing one of those masks. It would certainly offer her more anonymity than she has now- but anonymity was never exactly Moonbyul’s goal either.

Picking an assassin slated for the chopping block isn’t exactly the most conventional of choices.

Omega’s of low familial standing have few options. Yoongi knows this. Either become a secondary packmate, a plaything, or find another way to be useful. Most of the assassins the family employs are outside the family (outsiders- sort of like you). They’re easier to dispose of that way when they inevitably start to become more of a liability.

Had the mark been a part of a greater agreement and deal gone right or just instinct? Moonbyul is a little famous in the family for her deals, promising a steep cost and an equally as visceral reward.

Hyejin hadn’t been an outsider, she’d almost been lower in ranking, as the pup of a pup, not directly related to a house by more than the faintest trace of blood. She’d chosen the path available to her and climbed the ranks from hired help to curated killer. One of a dozen of them at the time. Yoongi was spared the particulars when it happened because he’d been with the pack at the time. Was it a failed mission or a series of them that made Hyejin fall out of favor? Yoongi’s not sure. Regardless, the choice to mate Moonbyul must have been for survival as much as it was for love.

Moonbyul’s choice of mate wasn’t exactly conventional. Was Hyejin a diamond in the rough or just a diamond in need of further sharpening? It’s hard to tell. A head of house needed someone capable of doing dirty work, of knowing when to let blood or keep it. Moonbyul’s unscrupulous choice of mate had drawn many an eye and back handed compliment back when they’d first been mated and Hyejin had retired from killing to a life of luxury. He’d been sent notification of their mating, had sent back his congratulations. But that was it.

She still has her tattoo, the mark of one of the family assassins. It’s a blurry smudge of something on her collar bone. Too old and blown out for Yoongi to tell what it was properly. Each tattoo is a little different. If Yoongi didn’t know any better, he’d just think it was an ordinary tattoo. If Yoongi saw something similar on one of his packmates, he wouldn’t even bat an eye. But Yoongi knows that the choices you make for survival’s sake leave their mark, even when you don’t want it too.

Yoongi wonders if Hyejin had been a logical choice for Moonbyul or a purely romantic one. It’s hard to tell. Probably a bit of both.

Yoongi chooses his seat at the table carefully. Ending up between two of those same grannies who are only too happy to dote on him and pass him more bites to eat, mooncakes and dumplings, sweet bundles of bamboo wrapped rice. He chews carefully and slowly. Keeping one eye on either end of the table. One on Moonbyul and the other on Geumjae.

You are not here, you are absent. Where are you? What has Geumjae done to you? Yoongi can think about little else. Mind chasing its tail around the idea of you, Man turned dog. Staying quiet even as the table is a flurry of voices around him. Stomach lurching every moment the worry has time to build.

Did Geumjae…? Are you…? No, Yoongi won’t let himself even think it.

Moonbyul has noticed his tentative glances, after the third she lifts her glass of champagne to Yoongi. After a second and a near imperceptible jerk, caught off guard, he lifts his back.

Moonbyul’s smirk wraps around the edge of her champagne flute.

People get up from their tables as the last course finishes, drawn to the dancefloor by the promise of a dragon dance. A traditional band dragged out for tonight. Yoongi makes sure not to flinch as the beast wags it’s tasseled head in his direction. Maw open, felt teeth glistening. It spends an awful long time in front of Yoongi, batting it’s golden eyes, dropping into a bow.

The wide windows of the atrium opened up onto the balconies that overlook the gardens, curling designs projected upon it tempting in a rare cold breeze. Yoongi will perhaps explore them later, will retreat to them and wait for the time to run out.

People take to the dance floor first in a regular waltz, then a fan dance, a Persian waltz, then tango. Yoongi watches the long dresses sway and move almost in a trance.

He should probably use that time to think through who he’ll choose. Yoongi hasn’t decided anything yet. Weighing the pros and cons. But Yoongi knows Geumjae will get violent with you if he doesn’t choose him, so it’s hard to linger on anyone else. To consider who he might choose if this actually were up to Yoongi.

Thoughts like that are too intimidating to consider. Yoongi is a coward through and through. So instead of thinking about succession he daydreams. Were this not a meeting of mobsters and men, if the pack were here- what would it be like?

Seokjin would be in something floor-length and glittery. Red is not Seokjin’s favorite color, and the omega abhors anything gaudy, anything that makes him stand out even a little. Seokjin would choose something that would only seem to make him demure. Silver instead of gold. A living breathing shooting star.

Jimin and Hoseok would probably forget a shirt underneath their suits in favor of showing off their miles of hard chests and honey skin, Jimin’s snake tattoo enough of an undershirt for everyone involved. He and Namjoon would have to deal with their cheekiness and their scents fluffing out onto open air like a pair of peacocks. Keeping them in line with long looks and gentle reprimands.

Namjoon would look so austere in plain black; probably matching Yoongi although he’d never be able to admit that he likes the couple’s outfits. That he likes it when they look like they belong together. Namjoon has always liked small moments of intent like that. Taehyung has always had the flare for the dramatic, probably something patterned and silky, paisley maybe, or brocade. Purple? Maybe something lavender?

And Yoongi knows their youngest would look just so.

Jungkook has always had this dichotomy about him, both hard and soft. Youthful and beautiful without looking too innocent. (Are any of us ever really innocent? Or do we all share just a little bit of the blame? How much guilt do you have to give away in the name of devotion? I fear I am not capable of loving you enough, of not being selfish even with this, even with love.)

Jungkook has always loved touches of obsidian and silk, at odds with the omegas’ bubbly personality. A sharp looking piercing glittering at one ear, lips rouged just a touch- just to make it look like he’s been kissed a little too hard. Jungkook likes playing to his physical strength and leave everyone wondering if he’s an omega or an alpha. Jungkook likes to make people wonder.

None of them would need to wear red to stand out, although they might need the luck.

He wonders how bad Jungkook’s seizures came back- if they came back at all or maybe he’d grown out of them. He hopes he had a lasting positive effect on the omega even though he doubts it.

He’s going to have a lot of apologizing to do when he comes back. He’ll have to find a way to make it up to them. Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t take him back at all, is sort of counting on it, because how do you even begin to say sorry for something like this?

They’d love a night like this, if only for the excuse of dressing up in something garish and fancy. They’d done that a few times for little picnics in their living room. Just for the sake of, it back when they’d been young and stupid and in love enough that everything felt like it was going to last forever.

(There is a time limit on everything, even this. How wonderful it would be if dreams didn’t have expiration dates. Even truth, like wishes, have time to spoil. Would the truth still matter if I told you I loved you? Does it even matter anymore?)

In all reality it’s just a pipe dream. The pack probably wants nothing to do with Yoongi now, it’s been just shy of four months since he’s seen them and the silence is deafening from this end. He still sees their faces behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. Like one of those shitty click through cameras you get while vacationing. One blink for every lover. Hitting the button round and round till you don’t remember your own memories, just what it might have looked and felt like.

Yoongi has a lot to make up for. Yoongi will beg on his hands and knees for them, would crawl to them on broken fingers, would press his forehead to the earth and leave it there until they told him to raise it, let trees and cities grow through his body before he disobeyed their order to stay put.

Maybe he doesn’t know how to grovel but that’s not because of pride. Yoongi already loves with such utter devotion it’s hard to give more. To not give them a gun and press it to his heart. Begging for hard kisses against the trigger. It’s hard to love more when he already needs them so completely.

They probably hate him for leaving- they probably don’t think about him at all. Yoongi hopes for a second that they’ve forgotten about him and moved on. It’s easier to imagine he means nothing to them rather than to imagine the hurt they must feel. Devastation is easier than feeling the guilt for doing the one thing he always promised never to do.

How could he ever properly apologize for being this way? A monster who learned how to man, made monster again by these people that eye him hungrily. Yoongi has no fear of being consumed, only worshiped. How lonely it must be to be a god? Always a lover, never an equal. Always the worshiped, never to be granted salvation.

These people at least- Yoongi will be glad to leave.

When Yoongi opens his eyes again. You’re standing at the top of the gilded stairs. You’re not looking at him but he’s looking at you.

Yoongi feels his breath stutter in his chest before he exhales. A thankful breath of cool nighttime air, cooling the panic he hadn’t realized was starting to consume him. Your dress is made up of crisscrossing panels of black fabric, speckled with glitter and diamonds that shimmer as you move, turning you into a living swath of the night sky. Your throat remains uncollared, your hair pinned back in simple waves. The closer you get to the bottom the faster his heart beats.

Your body is barely concealed by the dress. Yoongi can see the bruises on your hips. Yoongi sees more than one auntie shoot you a scandalized look at the revealing choice, sees an omega bend down to whisper to her companion who laughs as a head of house- old enough to be Yoongi’s mother- watches you with a singular sort of animalistic hunger.

Yoongi knows you can’t have chosen this dress, it has Geumjae written all over it. You move around the crowd easily. Face looking straight ahead, talking to no one, stopping for neither champagne nor desert. You do not ever lower your head, no matter how many people glare at you.

Yoongi feels ever so slightly impressed. When he has room to feel it, when the relief fades.

You’re still in black, still mourning something just like Yoongi is right now. Spring is just around the corner, and so is heat season.

Most omegas have one or two heats outside of heat season a year; similar to an alpha’s rut that hits every 3 or 4 months. Both sexes suffer through those periods of insatiable sexual hunger (that betas are thankfully exempt from). The other heats are shorter, only one or two days of frenzied hunger, unlike the spring mating season which stretches longer.

For most omega’s it falls anywhere from late March to early June. And most omegas find themselves itchy and scratchy in pre-heat, then consumed by it for a full week. Heats exist for mating and breeding purposes only. For an alpha to lie with an omega inside of a spring heat is to all but ensure conception of a pup. To lie with an omega in heat without mating them- giving them a bite- is something that few alphas can resist.

Namjoon and the other alphas have never had much trouble with Jin or Jungkook’s spring heats, often coinciding syncing with each other or triggering each other. There are contraceptives they take (thank God). But here with the family, things are a tad bit more animalistic than in polite society. Here, no one plays by the rules.

It stands to reason that after your next heat. You will find yourself mated to Geumjae; maybe pregnant even. And not even Yoongi would be able to save you then- it’s a race to see if he’ll be able to steal you away before your next heat.

If he’s being honest with himself, you should have had at least one heat while Yoongi’s been here. He knows you haven’t, and he can’t help but think it has to do with how fragile you look.

Your body hardly looks like it could handle a heat. A voice in his head says this is something worse, something too intentional to name. Is it illness or survival? Are you skinny because you have to be beautiful? Or beautiful because you have no other choice but to present yourself as desirable as possible? There is safety in being small and loved, how could Yoongi ever forget it. When it’s the love of the family that keeps him alive.

Other disorders have been known to stop heats from occurring. Your wrists look so scarily thin the same bracelets as always on your arms as you lift to brush a lock of hair out of your face,

And make eye contact with him.

A few weeks ago- Yoongi might have wondered why the sight of you makes him swell with concern. But now he knows. He doesn’t have to ask. It burns within him, lighting anger all the way to his hands where it melts. The yearning hurts so viscerally Yoongi almost checks his white shirt for blood splatters- fuck- just fuck.

He’s so fucking fucked.

Yoongi should wait on the blood splatters, he only has a few more minutes afterall.

The scar under your chin is healing, just barley. Yoongi doesn’t know if you’ve covered it up with makeup or something else because he can hardly tell it’s there. He mirrors your path and cuts around the edge of the dance floor moving quickly in your direction as you walk to him. But before you can meet in the middle someone steps up, crossing your path.

Moonbyul. Hair long and silver drawn behind her face out of the way. Holding out her hand as one song fades to the next.

Yoongi is maybe 20 feet away from you when Hyejin steps out and crosses his path as well. The feathers on her dress tickle Yoongi’s suit as he nearly collides with her, touching her elbow to stop from knocking both of them over or worse- into the dance floor.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to-” when Yoongi looks up again, Moonbyul is blocking your face from view. You’re not looking at him anymore.

“No, it’s my fault I-” Yoongi tries to step around her but she just steps closer. On the other side of the group of people, Yoongi sees Moonbyul hold out her hand. Sees you take it tentatively.

“Would you like to dance?” He blurts. Hyejin’s eyes widen in surprise, but Yoongi doesn’t believe it for a second. It’s too coordinated of an attack to be a coincidence. Yoongi is game, Yoongi will play ball and take the bait, he doesn’t mind if it gets him a little closer to you.

You can’t turn down a head of house, can’t turn down their request for you to have a dance, there is politeness and manners to consider afterall. Yoongi feels like a mouse caught in a trap, Moonbyul and Hyejin the cats. Playing with him.

The waltz is delicious and dulcet as you turn and turn and spin. Yoongi knows the steps, keeping you in his peripheries and at the forefront of his mind. Hyejin speaks in Korean, her voice low, hair chopped just to her chin in that same lethal edge. Yoongi’s head is a bit of a jumble with too many languages until he parses through it.

“You’ve been distracted, dear beta.”

“Dear beta now? I didn’t know you held me in such-” your mouth is moving, ever so slightly, you’re speaking, one-word answers to the steadily quickening words that Moonbyul spits. You haven’t glanced in Yoongi’s direction. Why aren’t you looking at him? He switches to English, tired of the mental gymnastics associated with speaking in something that is not his mother tongue, but the language of his father. “Affection.”

“We all do, you see all those people here, they’re here for you.” Hyejin leans in, switching too. “If only they knew who you’re really here for.”

The dancers turn bringing you and Moonbyul closer to Yoongi and Hyejin with a flare of music as you twirl past each other. Your skirt brushes his ankles, flaring out, and Yoongi can hardly hear Hyejin, hardly formulate a reply quick enough before she’s onto the next question. “Are you going to go home tomorrow?” She asks. Leaning close, leaning in.

“I’d like to.” He admits. It feels like something he shouldn’t.

She leans in a little closer, even though Yoongi leans back, her nose just a few inches from his chin. “Well, I hope for both your sakes you get what you want.”

Min Yoongi has exactly 3 hours and 27 minutes until he has to name someone Don. Hyejin steps away from him as the song ends. Yoongi’s steps falter in your direction as you look up at the crowd, eyes darting from man to man like you’re searching for him.

But before Yoongi can move even an inch, a big hand clasps him on the back.

“Come smoke a cigar with me.” The pinch of Geumjae’s hand over his scent gland is hard, one that he cannot ignore as Yoongi gets dragged in the direction of an empty balcony. He lets Geumjae puppet him but shoves off his hand the second they’re mostly out of view, putting several steps between them. Spitting.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Geumjae holds up his hands wide, eyes honestly surprised. “Alright alright, no need to get so aggressive bro. Jeez.”

They stand there for a second, but when Geumjae offers Yoongi one, he takes a cigar.

All that Yoongi can think as they lean up against the waist high marble railing is that he shouldn’t stand too close. Least Geumjae think it’s best to push him over the edge and into the garden below. Would Yoongi get tangled with the roses and become another thorn? Or would he slip through time and space and head in some other direction.

For what it’s worth (and Yoongi values it very little) Geumjae doesn’t mince his words.

“I know you tried to kiss her yesterday.” Geumjae taps on the end of his cigar over the edge. The ashes fluttering down down down slowly in the wind. Yoongi’s body goes riged. “She told me. She’s loyal at least. Don’t worry, I didn’t make her pay for it too bad.”

The bruises on your hips. Yoongi’s blood goes cold. And the cigar smoke burns his lungs as he waits too long to exhale. Yoongi turns his eyes on Geumjae. He doesn’t look angry, if anything Yoongi’s brother only looks contemplative.

“I’ll let you fuck her if you’ll make me Don. She’s not even a bad lay if you can get over the crying. It’s kind of nice when she fights too. I could hold off for a few weeks and let her get stronger again to make it fun for you, it might not do any good, you know omega’s- so fucking weak.” Geumjae’s laugh makes Yoongi feel physically sick. The smoke curls out of his lips.

“It really feeds your ego to conquer something like that. Especially because she’s so eager to please once you’ve been going for a while.” Geumjae puffs on his cigar. The ember at the end glows.

Yoongi’s heart feels black and the furthest thing from mild. Hair standing on end.

“It’s almost not fun with her anymore though, was better at the beginning. She doesn’t even beg now. It’s more fun when they’ve got hope. Before they’ve been broken-” Geumjae tosses the rest of his cigar. Grinds it out beneath his shoe with a sizzle of leather. “-But you never did have the stomach for that sort of thing,

“-At least I broke her in for you. You can even have her when you come home, if you even want to come home at all. I won’t need you if I’m Don. If you give it to me, I’ll make sure you keep your freedom and your pathetic pack back home. I know how much you fucking hate it. Being a beta.”

The end of Yoongi’s cigar burns, and he contemplates it, asking someone nearby for one of their firearms and shooting Geumjae point blank. Of pushing him over the railing or pressing the hot side of the cigar into his fucking face and scaring his other eye, gouging it out with his thumbs until Yoongi breaks the barrier between ocular nerve and brain matter. It would be so easy. Yoongi could do it.

Yoongi holds the cigar so hard that it breaks in half, the burnt ember end of it falling onto the balcony with a faint plop, rolling to the side, faint smoke spirals into the air. Yoongi crumbles the rest of it into his fist.

What’s sickening to consider is that 120 days ago, Yoongi might have taken Geumjae’s offer. Yoongi would never touch you unless you asked him to. Yoongi isn’t that sort of monster- but if he didn’t know you, Yoongi might have considered your relationship none of his business, turned tail and run. The world is full of bad people and the fact that his family is some of them has never bothered him. As long as he was guaranteed his survival.

But not anymore.

“Why stop there?” Yoongi lets the last of the smoke smoke curl out of his mouth, curling over his cheeks and across his eyes. Turning his hair ashen. “Why not just let me have her outright?”

Geumjae goes still. So still it’s frightening. He’s not even breathing. For a second Yoongi lets himself hope that he’s actually considering it.

But then Geumjae sucks down the last of his cigar, sucking air through it so that a flame starts to life, burning too close to his skin. Geumjae doesn’t even look at it. Just at Yoongi. Eyes empty.

“Sorry bro, that’s not a deal I’m willing to make.”

“Why not? She’s hardly worth anything to you.”

Geumjae grins, showing his teeth. “She’s my wife. I love her.”

Yoongi does not manage to bite back his dark scoff. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. You said it yourself at the beginning of this. Don’t lie to me.”

“If I remember correctly, I said that love makes you stupid.” Geumjae turns around, lean his back against the railing, looking inside. Looking for you. Yoongi can tell the moment he spots you. The moment his grin goes wicked. “But I never said that I didn’t love her.”

Anger makes you stupid, anger makes you stupid. Yoongi knows this and yet-

Yoongi backs Geumjae up against the railing. Geumjae’s hands fly out, grip his shoulders hard enough to bruise but Yoongi doesn’t stop until he’s nose to nose with his brother and Geumjae has more open space underneath him than solid ground. Yoongi grips his lapels, two inches from shoving Geumjae over the edge of the balcony, right there before that small part of his brain that is always concerned with survival reminds him where he is.

Yoongi holds him there, and for a brief satisfying second. Yoongi sees a flicker of fear across his brother’s face. The two story drop below would not kill Geumjae, not unless he landed on his head. But it would certainly hurt and get Yoongi’s point across.

Yoongi jerks him back at the last moment, and Geumjae’s hands violently come up, encircling his throat.

Just inside the people closest to the balcony go quiet. Yoongi watches someone, one of the minor family member’s hands go to his lapel. Yoongi smirks, grins at Geumjae, showing his teeth.

“Let me leave with her. Annul your marriage. Let me have her and leave us alone and it’s all yours, the family, the whole empire- all of it.” Yoongi shoves him back, away from him. Geumjae’s hands do not hold around Yoongi’s throat.

Yoongi straightens his tie, wiping imaginary dust off of Geumjae’s shoulder. “That’s my price for the empire, think it over. But remember.” Yoongi taps his wrist twice. “The clock is ticking.”

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

notes:

the line where tae is like 'He hears it in his rose-colored dreams, writes his name on the corner of newspapers with his green pen.' is a refrence to the fact that she's trans only in her dreams, but her actions- her real life- she's still a man. it's a sort of refrence to the title of the later chapters 'the many colors of kim taehyung"

i do not like the beginning of this chapter, so many parts of it feel too clunky and too poetic for how high stakes it all is. i think i'll have to come back and take a lot of this out, but it's fine for now. literally i give this chapter a B- and that's being generous.

clover looked at this and told me that yoongi is a better charecter because of it and actually i think i like it a little bit better now.

i think i probably did an okay job of describing his motivations and the added backround of hyejin's character fits well into this space. someone should tell me if i mentioned it twice though because i feel like i might have???? idk its been several months since i looked at the first 13 chapters of prey animals.

part of me really wanted to cut out the part where yoongi is describing what the pack might have worn, but i left it in for posterities sake.

clover also really liked how he asked for the m/c's freedom and i do too! its one of the less subtle differences between this version of yoongi than the other- totally feels like he's a more flushed out character.

i have a VERY specific cover of Do i wanna know by the arctic monkeys in mind for when yoongi and hyejin are dancing but he's looking at the m/c and you can listen to it here. ugh i love it so much.

96 notes · View notes

is-today-tomorrow-in-nz · 5 months ago

Text

Why Nikolai is more of a villain than Aleksander

This post is an inspiration from one of anon asks.

Time and time again antis have accused Aleksander of several hideous crimes without understanding the monarchy of 19th century Feudal Russia and what serfdom entails. Due to this lack of understanding(or willful ignorance), Aleksander is studied under a harsher light than Nikolai and other characters. I blame the author entirely for this, as she never gave Aleksander a voice until much later. In books 1-3, he is only projected to us through Alina who had nothing but disdain for him.

On the other hand, we see Nikolai, who was a prince and then a king, who did not do much for the country or Grisha. However, his actions are softened by LB and antis. He is considered a 'flawed' human who did his best. His manipulative actions are treated as an act of strategic brilliance while his mistakes are treated as an act of desperation/helplessness.

So, let me first start by explaining some of the vile accusations thrown at Aleksander and then contrast it with some of Nikolai's actions.

He sex-trafficked Genya.

In Book 1, the author herself says two key points 1) Grisha are no better than serfs and 2) After their training, Grisha are either posted in the borders or sent to serve in affluent households. So Genya was not a unique case. This, again, is the price Aleksander had to pay for the Grisha to live. Genya had to be sent as a child because an adult Genya could not get as close to the Queen as a child would and it worked for a while until the Queen turned on her. This were an understanding of serfdom is needed. A serf can be released only by the master not by anyone else. Aleksander cannot take her away and relocate her somewhere else. And if the antis had read the 'The Tailor' they would know that in spite of the challenges, Aleksander did give her a choice- to disappear forever or exact her revenge and it was Genya who chose to stay.

He committed genocide in Novokribirsk.

Even if we ignore Alina's unreliable POV, Zoya's POV tells us that only a part of the city, near the docks was destroyed. So what Aleksander did was just a warning and not a 'genocide'. Antis keep forgetting that Grisha's enemies were not just Fjerda and Shu Han but Ravka itself. Had the coup had succeeded, he not just wanted Fjerda and Shu Han to back off but the First Army soldiers as well. Book 2 shows how his paranoia were not unwarranted. Through Fedyor's story we learn how they were attacked in their sleep and how First Army conducted sham trials and slaughtered them. This alone shows how Ravka's sentiments about Grisha was not much different from Fjerda or Shu Han. So in the event of the coup, Aleksander had no choice but to issue a warning all of his enemies.

He is a predator/abuser.

This is the one that makes me laugh the most. Girl, he is an immortal. He has no choice. All his age-appropriate past lovers are long dead and buried. What is he supposed to do? Remain celibate? They often bring up the kiss near Baghra's hut as an example of his predatory nature. But what manipulation happened? That dummy fell for Alina and high-tailed from there.

Let me draw a comparison to show what actual manipulation and predatory behaviour looks like. (1) Nikolai who is about 7-8 years older than Alina, forcibly kissing her, against her will, in front of hundreds of people just to better his chances for the throne. (2) Mal who punishes Alina for flinching at his advances by getting it on with Zoya. (3) Baghra, who preys on Alina's fears/insecurities and turns her son's one true immortal companion, against him. These are actual manipulations, not the one Aleksander did.

A predator/abuser needs to have constant access to his victims. In LB, own words, Aleksander rarely stayed at the Little Palace. Compared to him, Nikolai, Mal and Baghra had more access to Alina and they did actually succeed isolating her.

The Stag amplifier

Then the stag incident is treated as a sign of his manipulation and perversion. This where we need to apply our critical thinking and ask the important question who benefits from this act? It certainly was not Aleksander.

Let's rewind the clock a bit, Alina who was the Sun Summoner and a key political figure ran away from the Little Palace. Aleksander did not know if it was an enemy attack or something more sinister. He lies to King, who would have his head for this mishap and, searches for her only to learn that she run away on her own violation. So the girl, he hoped to be his ally became a threat. He was forced to reveal his hand sooner and speed up the coup. People need to understand that Aleksander is not an ordinary, lovesick boy, he is a war general and Alina has proved herself to be unworthy of his trust. So he put a leash on her. This not a question of morality but a question of ethics, much like the trolley problem.

He turned on his own Grisha.

They were deserters for god's sake! and was fighting opposite him. They forfeited his protection the moment they joined hands with the enemy. So he was treating them as a normal enemy.

He stole Grisha children.

He did what Charles Xavier did in X-Men. Grisha powers were tied to emotions and are instinctive. Without proper training they are bound to hurt normal people. Not to mention, if the Grisha were born outside they were either killed or sold to pleasure houses. And considering Ravka's anti-Grisha sentiments, he did what he had to do to keep them safe from actual predators.

Now let's talk about some of Nikolai's actions and let's not forget that he was the King/Prince of Ravka.

Sent his father on a luxury retirement instead of punishing him for his crimes.

Used Genya's trauma to make himself the king instead of offering her justice.

Did not care or investigate the genocide of the Second Army soldiers even if the said soldiers were serving the crown. He punished none of the First Army soldiers and was happily brown-nosing them.

Was happy to start a Civil war even after knowing the kind of king his father was. For a 'peace-loving' person (we have seen him in KoS and RoW ass-kissing useless feudal lords instead of using his authority), he did not attempt to negotiate with Aleksander.

Starved his people so Aleksander would have no choice but to use his Grisha to cross the Fold to get supplies. Again for the antis crowing about Novokribirsk, what do you call this?

Stole Grisha inventions like corecloth etc in the name of unification and supplied it to First Army. Read point 2 once more to understand the cruel nature of this act. He felt Grisha were hoarding better supplies but did not question why the First Army were having subpar things because if he did then the blame would rest on his father and his corrupt noble supporters. So he chooses to steal using the unification propaganda. How noble!

Sent Grisha who were not of age to war fronts and missions. Why not send the First Army? Are there no highly skilled people in the First Army for such things?

Manipulated and used Alina to establish himself. Atleast Aleksander 'manipulated' her for the betterment of Grisha, Nikolai did it for himself.

Destroyed everything Aleksander did for Grisha in the name of unification. Or should we call it erasure? He erased centuries of progress and left them without protection.

He claimed Aleksander used his Grisha selfishly for 'his' wars and then shamelessly sends his minions to recruit them from other countries.

If Nikolai was indeed a just and kind king as the antis claim him to be, why didn't he announce Grisha as a protected class? Why didn't he offer them equal rights as a Ravkan citizen? Through his own spies he knows what is happening to them in Fjerda, Shu-Han and Kerch and yet knowingly he lets Zoya abolish the rule of finding and securing the Grisha children (which mind you, saved Zoya from child marriage).

Aleksander was not just a person, he carried the history of the Grisha that was rapidly being erased. He built a place to pass down that knowledge, their culture and practices. If Grisha were not tested and found, who would save them if they died from wasting sickness, who would offer them protection from slavers and Fjerdans? Once again in the name of 'liberation' Nikolai had truly pushed them into hiding. Without these laws what happens when anti-grisha sentiments raise again after a few centuries? He removed every true protection and erased a targeted group's shared history in the name of liberation.

In the end, Nikolai did not protect his country nor the Grisha. He is in no way the hero of this story nor is his echo chambers whom he calls friends. I could go on and on. Truth is, it is not my intention to minimize things like SA or genocide. These are heavy topics and should be treated as such. Readers or antis who throw around such words should know the weight of such words. I hope this sheds some light on the hypocrisy that resides in this fandom.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk!

#nikolai is the villain #the darkling #grishaverse #pro darkling #pro aleksander morozova #anti nikolai lantsov #anti zoya nazyalensky #anti alina starkov #anti stupidity #grisha trilogy #grishanalyticritical #grisha critical #anti leigh bardugo

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slocumjoe · 1 year ago

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Brief explanation on my interpretation of these guys

Cait; an animal, when cornered, begins to roar. It puffs itself up, feathers and fur raised, teeth bared. An animal with its claws out is an animal afraid. Cait does not want to hurt—but she doesn't want to be hurt. A victor is not a victim—a predator, not prey. She had it beaten into her, and beat it into herself so she'd never forget. The claws are always out, teeth always bared, eyes always flicking across the room. But once she starts recovery, she's free to be herself. Cait slows down. She sleeps in when she feels like it. She eats when she has an appetite. She takes the time to bathe, to brush her hair and teeth. Once the loudest, brightest burning fire in the room, she mellows into a match—the potential of explosion is there, but for now, she's only a little light. Her eyes are no less sharp, but Cait only wants to be left with her friends, and enjoy the peace and quiet she can steal away for them. Her ambitions are small and unimpressive, and she appears more like a cat lazing in a sunbeam than any pit dog.

Curie; well meaning, and sweet, but too smart for her own good and she knows and acts like it. She wants the best for you, but she thinks she knows what that is. Sometimes she does, but Curie often forgets that people are more complicated than the biology that comprises them. Curie is bubbly, and social, but struggles with the idea that her perception of things is just that—her perception. It could be a result of her coding, her nature as a preprogrammed robot with set realities, or it could be a sign of her humanity. It's the critical flaw every human has, after all. Her sense of justice is too strong for her body. Her grief is too strong for her body. She examines each sensation—anger is in her cheeks and chest. Joy is a lightness in her head. Sorrow is a bitter lump in her throat, and cold hands. She wants to help everyone and everything. She knows she can't. She will try, anyway, and no one needs to know if it hurts. There is no other fate for someone so kind.

Danse; He once called the thing in his chest Wrath. Righteous connotations, implied justification and the promise of vengeance. Whatever brought this Wrath will meet it. The Wrath was provoked, summoned, and therefore, the summoner is the hand of their own undoing. Danse doesn't think about how this frees him of accountability. What he does is not his fault. The blood is not on his hands. He's a tool of Wrath—not one man of thousands, free to choose for himself. Danse doesn't respect himself enough to believe in his own judgement. He finds himself a stumbling fool, soft in the heart, fragile outside of his armor. Gentleness comes naturally to him. Such a huge man, and his heart is still too big for his body. He is equal parts intelligent and kind, but a soldier has no need for his own mind, and kindness has no place in war. Danse doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust that his choices, his ideas for the world, are right. He leaves himself in the hands of the Brotherhood. The responsibility is no longer his.

Deacon; You can't change a soul, and Deacon seethes at this. He is the same man he was all those years ago. It's only his body that he can change. Even then, only by so much. His eyes are recognizable. Silvery blue, tired, and paradoxically, as sharp as they are dull. He never looks like he's fully there with you. Always a few steps into some other reality. Deacon wants to be good. He wants to clear his name. It really is Deacon, but no one needs to know. He is the same man. He lies about what he's done, the things he's seen, but he'll never lie about what matters. So, he will always be Deacon, because the important parts never change. He knows and hates this. The synths are what drive him now—people looking to be themselves, to wear their own face. He gets it more than any other human. Sometimes he wishes he was a synth, just so he didn't have to be Deacon. But he's stuck with himself. He keeps himself company through all the faces he wears, and leaves them when he feels to close to a life he could make for himself. A lie left to settle could grow into a truth. He loathes himself but fundamentally, there is a good man in there. Only a good man can want to be better. But he feels that good man isn't good, that being good is what he has to reach for first. He is stuck in a loop of trying, when he doesn't have to try. Deacon is Deacon, and he doesn't know. He isn't unsalvageable. Just buried so deep under attempts he doesn't need to make. The only forgiveness that can save him is his own.

Gage; if Cait is a pit dog, Gage is a bull. This creature is no gentle thing, those horns are not merely regal. But in other life, he could have sat with his field and his herd. He could have watched the clouds roll on by with the wind, and kept watch on the outskirts of his pasture. A gentle thing, lumbering and quiet, but on guard. Always waiting to gore. Even as he circles his farm, he has kept it this long because there is nothing more dangerous than he. But as it stands, he has found what he thinks is a calling in violence. It doesn't come as naturally to him as the stray dogs he runs with. Meat has no place in his flat teeth. But he runs with them nonetheless and keeps pace. He leads the charge whether they admit it or not. Gage is strength and sharpened bone, but they were never meant to initiate. He is meant to stand his ground. He was meant to protect. But no one saw it coming, the bull with the predators, and surprise is a deathblow. It's easier to hunt than be hunted. You eat what you can get even if it fits wrong in your jaws.

Hancock; There is a flavor found in the guilt of the privileged that you can't find anywhere else. He was raised wealthy, well off. When he was younger, he watched others starve, die, suffer, and knew it was an aspect of life. It was nothing to mourn. It was inevitable. Between the exile and his revival of Goodneighbor, Hancock feels his biggest crime is not finding his shame sooner. He will say he has no shame, no embarrassment. Hancock lies awake at night thinking of every meal he's eaten when there was enough to spare for everyone else, but they went hungry. He thinks of people beaten in streets and how quickly he turned around. He thinks of how his own survival is selfish when so many good people die. Hancock is anger given flesh. It's not like Cait's; his is a wailing misery, stalking the ruins and knowing what Graveyard he steps in. Hancock feels too much sympathy for him to handle. He has to numb himself or he will lose it. He'll break under the shame of not knowing better sooner. Hancock finds blood on his hands that isn't there. Most of all, he hates how bad it makes him feel. Hancock thinks he has no right to the shame or the pain. There is worse. His disgust at his inactions is not enough. It's isn't enough that he tries to help now. He didn't help then. Hancock doesn't forgive easily.

MacCready; A quiet boy raising a quiet boy of his own. MacCready seeks peace in a way most people can't. He finds sunbeams filtering through windows, plants creeping through concrete, birdsong on the wind. MacCready is the everyday wastelander; too young to see the things he's seen. But he's different. Robert finds enjoyment in the world around him. He entertains himself, takes pride in his skills, and takes pleasure in good company in such a simple way, he feels almost out of time. In other world, he could have been the one crawling out from a Vault. MacCready is haunted like anyone. His ghost doesn't terrify him. Her memory is a comfort. It hurts and always will, but MacCready wanders on. He finds toys for their child and takes interest in them as if he's still a little boy himself. He feels as much, most days. MacCready is often distrusted, but often very beloved, because he is himself. There is no character, no mask, nothing warping the man you speak to. He is a kid trying to take care of his kid, but he'll take a moment to crack jokes at you and talk about something he read in a magazine. For someone so materially greedy, on a personal level, all he wants from anyone is pleasant conversation. It's refreshingly human in a time where even humans seem more like monsters.

Nick; A painful period of one man's life, etched into hardware and frozen forever. The man dies but his pain lives, trapped in the agony of grief and betrayal. If Hancock is anger in flesh, Nick is disgust in a jar. Disgust at the injustice, at the trickery of a mastermind, the wasted life of a fine woman. Disgust at himself, fading away into a bitter old man who failed his city and his love. Valentine was a very good man who took a very dark turn after Jenny. Nick is the moment before he fell off that precipice. If Nick knew who Valentine hardened into, he'd have yet another crisis, another thing to brood over. Nick is so loved by Diamond city because he is an inhuman thing, but so capable of love and tenderness. He is all give, and incapable of take. You can't give him anything in return, and you don't need to. He's a robot very good at comforting. A robot doesn't need comfort. Nick convinces himself of this, as well. But people try. Humans get attached to the inhuman. A child hugs his leg and says they're glad he made it back. A guard throws an arm over his shoulder when he can't save someone and tells him he still did good. People hand him patches of fabric for Ellie to sew into his trench coat. Nick is loved. To be loved is to be known. Nick doesn't even know himself.

Piper; The plight of the angry woman rarely leads to a happy ending. The angry woman has her reasons. She is right. However, there are techniques to achieve results. A battering ram doesn't fix a door, it merely opens the path. Piper sees problems, but her solutions forget the complicated world around her. She wants to fix things. Some things can't be fixed, or the problem isn't actually what she thinks it is, or maybe it's just not the right time. Piper sees a problem, and the simplicity of knowing it has to change is enough for her. She barrels at the betterment of the world and doesn't think about it. She is angry that things are wrong. Piper is a young woman scared out of her mind, for herself, her sister, her community. The people around her beg her to be careful, to slow down, to not burn herself in the attempt to set the evils around her on fire. Piper doesn't realize how reckless she is. She doesn't realize that her life has value beyond fixing everything. A reporters job is to report. It is not to be a savior. Piper speaks the truth, but when nothing changes, she thinks her job isn't done. Her job is to spread the word. Piper thinks it is up to her to act on it. Her work will never be enough for her.

Preston; A good man hanging on by a thread. So close to being a monster to the people preying on him and his kin. Preston holds civilians in one arm, and a gun in the next. He has lost much of his mercy, and much of his patience. But he still acts on it. He knows right from wrong even if the wrong seems like it's the only thing that can soothe the fire in his gut. Preston lets people talk about him as if he is a gentle soul, still. As if he's merely a gentle lamb. Preston feels more like a guard dog who can still smell the bloodied wool of all the herds he's failed before. He won't even grace the next pack of wolves with a warning howl. This rage terrifies him, but Preston feels that being scared is how you stay alive, now. If you're not scared, you're not paying attention, you haven't noticed the torches on the hill. He is so angry it makes him sick. Gunshots from Quincy still ring in his ears. He still hears Hollis hit the ground dead. Preston wants to be a good person. He is one. But there is so much fury inside him, that he fears any chance of revenge that he gets will rip that away from him. He just needs one chance, and he'll be a monster like the Commonwealth has never seen before. He'll just be on its side.

X6-88; A robot with human traits, different from other synths. All of them have humanity they hide away, but X6 is exactly what he seems like. There is no internal softness, no tenderness or wanting. He doesn't stare at the sun and ponder his existence. He doesn't count the stars and think about what makes up a soul. Oddly, his disinterest in his humanity is rather human in itself. X6 is not concerned with his rights or his status as a living thing. This frustrates many in the Institute. Synths were made to be adaptable. In many ways, X6 isn't. He's the most inflexible motherfucker they've ever met. There is one way to do things. There is always an answer for a question and if you haven't found it, the question is pointless or you're stupid. Humanity doesn't seem efficient so he doesn't want it. He fascinates many. Most synths will give a long, careful answer about their existence, worded just so they don't get wiped. X6, when asked if he is human, will say no and look vaguely irritated that you could compare him to one. This is not intended. No one programmed in this lack of curiosity. He is so robotic, so one note, that he sticks out like a sore thumb from the other synths. X6 wears his inorganicness like a badge of honor. He is not human. He is better. The Institute argues about him constantly, whether he is an accidental success they didn't know they should strive for, or a black mark against everything they believe.

#did i say brief?#haha. ha.#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #nick valentine #preston garvey #x6-88 #piper wright #porter gags #robert joseph maccready

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feelfreetopleasemexo · 14 days ago

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Truth or dare

Katsuki, denki, kirishima, Mina, Shinso and reader

“Why is it that after everyone’s fucked off, it’s always you five at the end of the night trying to keep the party going?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, glaring at the five of you sat around a tiny coffee table, all cross legged and wobbly, trying to play a failing game of uno. Mina flung down a plus four ontop of shinso’s plus four, kirishima slammed the table exclaiming that wasnt in the official rules, and denki managed to wobble enough that all the spare cards he’d been hoarding up his sleeves managed to spill all over the table. You lazily turned your head to Katsuki, eyes half lidded but desperately trying to focus on him as a smile crept onto your face.

“Chill out kats, if you wanted to chill with us you can just sit down, dont gotta be a baby about it. Pouty mcpouterson.”

His eyes burned into yours as you let off your adorably drunken laugh, only letting out a sheepish sigh and slumping down next to you, almost crushing you with his thunderous thighs.

“Not got any better games? Unos shit.”

“I know a game we can play, now theres enough players….” Denki tried his best to be his usual over the top flirtatious self, only to fumble it quickly by getting a serious case of the hiccups. “Truth or…hick….dare bitches….hick.”

“What a surprise you want to play a game where we all end up fucking each other in some fucked up drunken orgy…real original there sparky.”

Shinso eyes stared at Denki, half lidded and piercing, as he sparked up another joint.

“Get that shit away from me dumbass! I don’t wanna get high AND drunk dipshit.” Katsuki quickly fanned the smoke away from himself as shinso blew the cloud directly across the table to him.

“Thought you’d be used to a bit of smoke there dynamite.” Shinso’s full bodied and gravelly voice seemed to tremble through your body, it wasnt enough to say his voice was deep, it might as wellve sent vibrations through to your soul everytime he spoke.

Mina jumped up and grabbed another bottle of vodka as she then decided it upon herself to top everyone’s drinks up dangerously; they inevitably ended up 80% alcohol and 20% cheap corner shop mixer. Kirishima cleared the table as katsukis hand twitched in his lap, was the stone cold killer nervous of a silly game of truth or dare?

“Okay, let’s spin a bottle to see who goes first...”

“What the fuck? Did you do that on purpose shitty hair?!”

“I physically can’t man, the bottle lands where it lands. Want me to spin it again?”

“Fuck it no it’s…fine. Okay, y/n and Mina. Make out.”

“You have to ask the question first man, you can’t just order people to do things….thats why it’s called truth OR dare…”

You looked over at Mina as you both drunkenly giggled, more than happy to share another kiss of which you were more than accustom with.

“Fine, whatever. Truth or dare….”

“DARE” you both shouted in unison, clambering over the table to each other and dancing your eyes up and down at each others lips. It wasnt a rarity to kiss each other, you were best friends who more often than not ended up making out anyway, so it really didn’t phase either of you if you had an audience. As you cupped her face, she lunged her lips towards yours, biting at your lower lip and giggling sweetly as you then danced your tongue around hers. All the boys eyes were watching you both intently, predators eyeing up their prey as you caressed each other’s chests tenderly and peppered sweet open mouthed kisses on each other, only breaking away when Denki ended up jolting the table accidentally with his knee as he tried to rearrange his ever growing boner.

When you both settled back down, you cleared your throat then declared your question towards Shinso, whose joint had long since burnt out as it dangled dangerously between his fingers.

“Truth or dare purple minion.”

He cleared his throat quickly, trying to snap himself back into the room as he answered, “truth…?”

“Have you ever used your quirk to make someone forget an awkward kiss or anything?”

“Dare. I said dare.”

“Fine. I dare you to….give denki a hicky.” A dangerous smirk fell across your face as you locked eyes with Denki, darkening your eyes as if you knew this dare would surely stir something in him.

His eyes lazily blinked to denkis as he shrugged.

“Fuck it, cmon sparky. If you zap me, I make you walk the whole way home naked. Capeesh?”

Denki bolted up right, ever ready for the challenge as long as it meant he got to see more kissing infront of him afterwards. He leant over to Shinso, baring his neck at him as he looked over and winked at you. Shinso moved swiftly, cupping the back of denkis head and pulling his hair slightly to expose more of his neck as he sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh before him. Within seconds he was slurping and biting, obscene sounds leaving his mouth as denkis eyes were blown wide. Not only was this a weak spot for him, but having literally anyone claiming him like they wanted to own him was more enough to have him nearly rutting his hips upwards in search of more friction. He palmed at his trousers, trying to force the boner down as tiny mewls escaped his lips.

As Shinso pulled away, denkis eyes fluttered and a tiny bit of drool laced his aching lips, almost desperate for more attention, regardless of who it was from. Shinso then stared at you with his deep and punishing shit eating grin as he wiped the spit from his mouth, winking slowly at you as he sat back down in his place. You gulped hard, eyes still transfixed at the scene that had just played out so beautifully before you, thighs clenching together as part of you was jealous it wasnt you under his teeth.

His eyes quickly flicked to kirishima who was trying to decide wether to take another sip of his disgusting drink or not, then posed the question.

“Um, dare I guess. If we’re all doing it… should be called dare or dare right heh…” his quiet nervousness wasnt lost on anyone in the room, so Shinso being a generally decent snd compassionate friend, opted for something not quite so intense.

“Pepper Minas face in kisses until she blushes.”

“Oh really….i mean, yeah okay. I was expecting A LOT worse but….”

Mine flopped her head into his lap, looking up at him lovingly as she then closed her eyes and smiled widely, awaiting the parade of kisses to lace her pretty pink face. He bent down, pushed the hair from her face and quickly spammed her face in tiny little kisses, eventually landing a huge one onto her lips and blushing instantly himself. She sat up and flung her arms around him, sinking him into another passionate kiss as you swear you could feel hearts beaming from your eyes. The mixture of sexual and sweet innocence leaking from the room was immense, a nice mixture of wanting to fuck every single person in this room, and wanting to kiss them tenderly and protect them had all mingled into one huge conglomerate of love and affection.

His eyes lingered on hers for a few more seconds before Katsuki cleared his throat, clearly not impressed with the sweet and sincere moment before him, causing kirishima to look around and determine that Katsuki was his next victim.

“Okay, kats you gotta…. Get a lap dance off Denki.”

Both their eyes blew widely open.

“Not a fucking chance. Try again or im blowing everyone up.”

“Fine….give him another hicky.”

Denki shifted in his seat, nervous sweat now lacing the arch of his back.

“He’ll eat me alive! MERCY! MERCY PLEASE!”

“Think it’ll be low-key kinda hot…” your voice was low but easily picked up by denkis ears.

“COME’ERE BIG BOY! Ruin me.”

Denki jumped into katsukis lap, forcing his face to his neck as he looked over at you and braced himself for the impending fiery wound about to rip his throat clean out. Katsuki growled in annoyance but started to suck on his neck anyway, the quicker it was done the quicker he could get the fuck off his lap. Denkis face turned from a nervous grimace to an instantly shocked expression as Katsuki gently sucked and nibbled at his skin. He was expecting ravenous destruction but instead got tender and soft. The mark that was left on his neck was far bigger than Shinsos, and covered more than half of where katsukis mouth had been, showing off a dark deep purple bruise forming almost instantly. He shoved him off his lap and darted his eyes away, clear fluster clawing its way at the top of his ears.

“Thats how you give a love bite, idiots.”

“Holy shit kats that was, really soft. Damn. Kinda want you to do it again….i mean. My turn. Err….kirishima, you gotta kabadan y/n and Mina…. Kirishima? Hey, where did they go?” You all looked around the room, only to find that the new love birds had fluttered off somewhere, probably to continue their handiwork with each other from earlier. Denki flittered his eyes back to you, Shinso and Kats, trying to reassess his decision.

“Okay, I dare us to all fuck.”

“Not a fucking chance. I don’t share.” Katsuki immediately stoop up, brushed his trousers clean and downed the rest of his drink.

“Im going to find shitty hair and stop him from fucking pinkie. He’ll regret it if their first times when they’re drunk….”

“So you CAN be a good friend sometime then…”

“Fuck you.”

Katsuki swiftly stepped one foot ontop of the coffee table and jumped over it, making his way towards the door that lead to the backyard and slammed it shut, leaving you, shinso and denki alone in the room together. Denkis eyes danced between you and Shinso as you sparked up another joint youd quietly begged shinso to roll you. The smirk that laced his face was that of pure lust and determination.

“Dare still stands.”

You tried not to flick your eyes up too quickly, tried to push the flush back from your cheeks as you pretended not to hear him over your exhale, but you could feel both their eyes staring at you punishingly. He flicked his eyes to shinso,

“Keen?”

Shinso tried to nonchalantly shrug, trying his best to hide the ever growing nervousness at the situation infront of him. Not one of you had ever had a threesum before, so the idea itself whilst sexy and inviting, was absolutely terrifying to say the least. You eventually let your eyes meet both their boys, smiling slightly as denki asked again,

“You keen too? Cause Yano, youll kinda be the support beam to this Eiffel Tower and all.”

Your cheeks flushed and burned, you hadn’t really thought too much about the dynamics of it until now…you really would be the brunt of all the attention. Shit. You choked on your exhale as you tried to fumble a response, half of you desperately screaming that you were keen, the other half incredibly intimidated by both the young, strong, insanely attractive men infront of you.

“I mean….we can try…ive er, never actually done that before so Yano…might chicken out half way through but….fuck it. We’re all friends here and….friends share….things…”

Denki let out a nervous laugh, his confidence slipping slightly as he suddenly realised hed slipped into one of the many dirty mangas hed read late at night. He pushed it aside, fake confidence shining back through again as he pushed the table aside and pulled the blanket from off the nearby sofa onto the floor and tried to smooth it out.

“Makeshift bed ready and waiting. Be thankful I don’t have a camera set up….yet.”

His voice tried to break the tension, tried to smooth out the nervousness that clung to the air, only for you to frantically down the rest of your drink, and inhale as much of the joint as you physically could, before shaking your head and deciding to lay down right in the middle of it.

“You er….might wanna go on your hands and knees….might be difficult to do it like that…”

“Oh so you’re suddenly the expert on threesums are you? Then maybe you should be in the middle….”

Shinso rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as he sat up onto his knees. Someone had to sort these nervous wrecks out, and who better than him.

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bouquetface · 1 year ago

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Scorpio Risings

Accuracy influenced by the entire chart.

Appearance

A key theme in scorpio risings is wishing to go unseen (unless they have prominent 10th H placements). They hate being perceived. Their entire lives the worst is assumed of them. Often, these negative assumptions come based on nothing but their appearance.

The scorpio risings may not be able to tell what it is about them that is making people respond to them in a negative way. Other people, may not be able to pin it exactly either. It is usually subconscious.

Physically, all the scorpio risings I know appear very different. I do have a few shared physical traits & observations:

🪻Sharper features. Prominent chins - broad or pointy.

🪻 People tend to associate gothic and darker aesthetic with scorpio. However, this brings attention, generally scorpios have a love-hate relationship with attention. It is more often the gothic, darker style is embraced by sag rising w sag Pluto.

🪻 The scorpio risings, I know, keep a basic and comfortable style. They appear well kept. They stick out for their physical features not their clothing.

🪻 When they do decide to dress up, it would fall under “silent luxury”. Expensive or eye-catching accessory (necklace, watch, earrings) but a black or a darker bold colour outfit.

🪻 Makeup and hair is almost always natural. The women don’t tend to like makeup that much either. However, all this can change if they have placements that do love to stand out.

🪻 Often, muscular or on the thin side.

🪻 They may be attractive in a way that creates jealously. This leads to poor treatment from those who don’t know you.

🪻 Or they may be conventionally unattractive, thus society treats them poorly.

Positive placements such as Jupiter in first house could change the above drastically.

Ex: River Phoenix’s natal asc is scorpio with jupiter & neptune in first house. He was attractive in a dreamy and soft way. Neptune helped balance out the sharpness of a scorpio asc. & Jupiter generally brings luck in whichever house it is placed.

Scorpio is a fixed sign that is about transformation. These individuals tend to impulsively make changes (they are traditionally ruled by mars). Then, quickly become emotional about the change made (they are a water sign). If they have a well placed mars, they may make more calculated changes than impulsive.

Personality:

Disregarding other placements, scorpio rising is more predator than prey. They silently observe, take notes, analyze, and never forget.

Now, when we take into consideration other placements, this can change almost entirely.

For ex. pair a scorpio asc with a pisces moon. They will become less observant. In times of boredom or when reality is too painful, they will enter the dream world in their mind for comfort.

Yet, even the least observant scorpio ascendant is observant. They repress a lot of emotions especially anger. Instead of expressing and communicating their feelings, they will observe the situation or person. They will not forget what was done. And they aren’t likely to let you know until they’ve decided they’re done with you.

Their repressed anger can lead to an angry outburst. The scorpio asc can be very cruel when hurt. They may say and do almost anything to hurt the other person. This could lead to guilt afterwards. However, you aren’t likely to hear an apology from a scorpio asc. From their perspective, they were only hurting you back even though you may not know what you did. This can lead to some toxic relationships throughout the scorpio asc person’s life. A well placed mercury and/or mars could change the above.

The angry outburst will lead the scorpio asc to be blamed and villainized. This is the placement you hear people say, “I had a bad feeling from the start”. People love to paint themselves as the victims of a scorpio asc. And when they were never clued in on their wrongdoings, they may genuinely believe it.

Despite, the conflict they are bound to endure through their lives, they dislike conflict. But conflict will find them.

For ex: My scorpio rising friend was removed from a gc by her childhood friends. She was surprised and discovered it was because her relative dumped one of their aunts. She had no involvement but somehow caught blame.

This is the worst part of being a scorpio ascendant. People jump to negative conclusions. Scorpio asc rarely get the benefit of doubt. This may manifest as people feeling you are intimidating, insincere, jealous/angry, etc.

At an older age, they often gain something that gives other’s something to be jealous of. This depends on the entire chart. Possible examples: Career, they often reach high positions and/or have careers that indicate wealth (Vet, Dr., Lawyer, etc).

They can marry someone that makes other’s jealous as well. Taurus is their 7th, their partners are generally stable, beautiful, generous, indulgent and spoil them. This will be drastically influenced by the venus placement.

They aren’t doomed to never be understood. People with compatible placements will gravitate towards them. When someone understands them, they will be as close as can be. They are very protective and loving. They hate to let people go even when they must for their peace.

#astrology observations #astrology #scorpio first house #scorpio rising #scorpio ascendant #leo 10th house #taurus 7th house #jupiter in first house #jupiter in scorpio #neptune in scorpio #neptune in first house house #taurus descendant

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bigmoon-is-bigwife · 4 months ago

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You know sometimes I forget just how much bloodlust TR!Ros has and I think she does too until she gets lost in it. Ros saw weakness in Alien Pili and immediately went on the offensive and started chasing him. She took a lot of joy in seeing him cower and cry and was intentionally trying to break his armor to make him defenseless. This isn't even new behavior either, Ros has done similar things with people like Harry and other weaker Red Faction members. She likes when people cower from her and gets lost in the adrenaline of it. It's why she keeps killing low level players and it's part of why she ended up killing Alien Pili. She gets caught up in the rush of being the attacker and the power that comes with it that she forgets to hold back. Stronger players often fight back and/or don't humor her so it's not as fun for her so she backs off but weaker players panic in a way that gives her a thrill and she forgets to stop. It's like a prey drive in a way and she doesn't know how to control it and that's why she's so dangerous to weaker players. She was wanting to attack Eloise the other day for the fun of it and everyone around her told her not to because Eloise was much weaker. Ros said she wouldn't kill her but given her reputation for accidentally going too far, they were right to step in. Ros has earned her reputation for a reason and I think it's because she's so used to feeling like the victim that she forgets she is just as capable of being dangerous.

#its like shes so used to being the one everyone is gentle to that Im not sure she herself knows how to be gentle #she doesnt see herself as strong or threatening and thats why shes so dangerous #someone like Bad Clown or Sneeg KNOW their power so when they mess with people they hold back #Ros doesnt consider herself strong and doesnt think she has to so she keeps killing weaker players #she doesnt take into account JUST how much stronger she is #Pili wasnt a low level player by any means but he wasnt wearing half his armor and Ros didnt take that into account despite being the reaso #Pili didnt have half his armor. She wanted to make him weaker but didnt consider the consequences of that #anyways she has so many issues and I love her but girl this was on you <3 #the realm smp #roscumber #coyote howls

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in-love-with-the-snake-sannin · 3 months ago

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Orochimaru’s personal “lab” that Hiruzen catches him in. I’d just like to point out that all of these experiments (cadavers) appear to be adult males. Keep in mind that Konoha is a military village and nearly all able-bodied adult citizens are Shinobi or retired Shinobi. These men aren’t IRL little Timmy’s innocent dad from down the road who coaches little league and wouldn’t hurt a fly; logically, they’re likely battle-hardened ninja who have blood on their hands. They could also very well be POWs/enemy Shinobi.

People love to cite the child experiments as Orochimaru’s worst offense —a series of experiments that was funded and organized by Danzo while Orochimaru was working under him in the organization with the purpose of researching Hashirama’s cells. People often forget that case/experimental study wasn’t Orochimaru’s personal DOE. And what was he supposed to do—say no? lol. There is always a choice, yes, but Shinobi are trained to follow orders regardless of personal opinions or ethical objections.

Anyway, my point is that here we can see evidence that Orochimaru likely had some moral code as far as choosing candidates for experimentation. Most of the jutsu we know he was working on wouldn’t have required gender- or age-specific subjects. And if he were choosing targets at random or by ease of capture alone, we’d surely see many children (easy prey) or at least a handful of women here. Instead, we see a room entirely comprised of what appear to be adult males which leads me to believe he may have only sacrificed women and children when absolutely necessary.

Maybe this changed as time went on but, at least before he defected and went rogue, I think he might have had standards. I dunno. Something to think about, hm? 🤔

#orochimaru wasn’t evil and I’ll die on that hill #orochimaru #大蛇丸 #大蛇丸様

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redd956 · 5 months ago

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Worldbuilding: Ecosystems

Ecosystems can be tough, realllllly tough, especially if you're bad at biology. Don't worry I'm going to try to simplify it here, and add some worldbuilding flare

Biodiversity

Biodiversity- the diversity of life

One of the very first things I decide about an ecosystem when worldbuilding is the level of biodiversity. That tells me the level of fauna and flora expected, how healthy the environment is, and how unique the biome is going to be.

The more biodiverse a biome the more it can take, and the quicker it can recover from disaster. As environments lose their biodiversity, they become increasingly fragile.

I typically also decide at this time how bad pollution or unexpected disasters have affected the environment for this ecosystem.

Food Chains

Now we need a food chain. Unless you're looking for a fairly simple start of an ecosystem or just simple ecosystem I actually advise against looking at food chains as a pyramid. In early biology we are given pyramid-like charts because they're easier to grasp, but in all reality food chains are much more loose and fluid than that.

Food chains are more like relationship charts in all actuality. You might have a small predator that is preyed on by another small predator, and then you have carnivorous plants. You can have large predators that consume all across the chart.

There's a lot more roles in the ecosystem than predator and prey too. Take for instance the role of decomposers.

Some kinds of creatures/plants you can consider to diversity an ecosystem

Fungi

Parasites

Decomposers

Symbiotic Species

Large Prey (i.e. Bison, Deer, Elk, Moose)

Megafauna

Birds of Prey

Migratory Animals

Prey Insects vs. Predator Insects

Small Predators

Large Predators

Carnivorous Plants

Flowering/Fruiting Plants

Trees

Invasive Species

Non-Vascular Plants (i.e. Moss, Algae, Liverworts)

Fish

Canopy Animals

Herd Animals

Coral

Small Prey

Pollinators

Apex Predators

Apex predators are the creature or creatures at the "top of the food chain", with no natural predators of their own.

Some examples of natural predators in IRL & fantasy worldbuilding

IRL Examples

Wolves

Tigers

Lions

Bears

Orcas

Fantasy Examples

Dragons

Sea Serpent

Basilisk

Manticore

Gabriel Ultrakill & V1

Ecosystems don't even have to rely on animals, entirely for this role. There could be monsters, robots, interdimensional creatures, whatever you want. You don't even have to keep in the lines of what people generally expect. Maybe there's a bigger fish that preys on dragons, or a monster that eats wolves.

Apex predators are a required member of a ecosystem though, because they keep populations of prey under control. Without the proper apex predators (or with the inclusion of invasive prey) herbivore creatures will eat everything up, killing eventually both the environment and them.

Keystone Species

Keystone species are species that if removed from an ecosystem would cause it to collapse. Apex predators are just one kind of keystone species, and there are many others.

Whether it be a fae-like entity that keeps the trees of an enchanted forests alive, or a prey animal that eats a plant that if left unchecked would grow over everything and starve the environment of sunlight, keystone species are the most important members of a ecosystem.

We humans often don't know when something is a keystone species until it's removed from an environment, but we worldbuilders can do whatever we want.

Think about what kind of keystone species keep your ecosystem together, and what would happen if their populations were to dwindle.

Fauna Versus Flora

Don't forget about plants. They play a major role in making a worldbuilt environment feel otherworldly and fantastical, but vibrant colors, to alien appearances.

Plants don't just add to the atmosphere but serve a role in the ecosystem. They provide resources to intelligent populations, fruits to animals, flowers to pollinators. They can thorny, poisonous, acidic, drug material. Maybe in your worldbuilding there is a thin distinction between what is flora and what is fauna.

Can plants see? Can they communicate with one another? Do they glow in the dark? Are they dangerous? Are they sweet? What utilizes them?

There's is so much to do with trees, flowers, bushes, and so much more.

Invasive Species

Invasive species can range from mild annoyances to an ecosystem to the very harbingers of destruction. The more prevalent travel, trade, and international affairs the more that invasive species are going to hitch a ride one way or another, leading to the eventual spread.

This is especially true for boats, and planes. If you had a teleportation system, I'd say even then too. Whether people are doing it deliberately or not, expect a couple destructive insects to make their way across.

#worldbuilding #world building #writeblr #worldbuilding advice #worldbuilding advise #writing tips and tricks

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year ago

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This is the freebie of all freebies. Write whatever you want whenever you want how often you want. Save this in your inbox or post it, I do not mind either way. I always love to see what you write, doesnt really matter what :)

You look the man in front of you up and down and don't bother to keep your lip from curling, "No."

"Come on baby," he purred, stepping closer, reaching out to straighten your jacket, forcing contact. He screams of lust. Of the need to dominate and control. He sees what a lot of men see when they look at you.

A fragile little doll. A breakable little girl. A lost little lamb. Someone who just needs a daddy. A protector. Easy prey.

"Touch me," you warn, "and you'll forget to sit before you take a shit." You don't bother to specify whether or not it'll be because you'll mindfuck him until he bashes his head against a wall to make it stop or because Batman, Nightwing, or any number of the other heroes in the vicinity right now will curb stomp him until he's a blithering idiot.

His eyes are lifeless. Like a puppet's. And when his hand closes around your wrist his skin is hot and dry. It feels like crepe paper left in the sun and he reeks of burnt sugar. Target. Suspect.

So before you carry out your promise, you ping Cass. Trusting her to alert Bruce. You might not QUITE be able to mindfuck him into oblivion but NO ONE was ever going to prey on you again. And as he pull you close to his chest, it was immensely satisfying to make him piss his pants in the alley, writhing in wordless unhinged terror as you skipped your new black velvet boots neatly out of the puddle.

"Hn."

"Interesting way to make new friends, Changeling," Clark observed, surveying the scene. Trying not to react to the fact that you look a little too pleased with yourself.

"I did tell him not to touch me," you inform them, watching dispassionately as his sobs turned to vomiting.

"Can you let up before he aspirates things into his lungs," Bruce sighed. At least it was focused rage. And at least he'd probably cooperate as long as they didn't leave him alone in a room with you. That was... something.

And while you don't reply, at least not verbally, he can tell that you comply. Mostly because the man stops writhing and starts gibbering. "Shut up," Batman said rolling his eyes, watching Clark grab him by the back of his coat. "Just tell us what we wanna know or we'll let her do it again. Harder."

"Okay, Okay, Jesus," he protested, "I didn't know I thought she was kidding!" He looked at you and your lip curled reflexively making him flinch. "Everyone always said you were just a joke."

"Let's go," Superman said, "This drug is gonna kill-"

"Anything you wanna know! Just don't let her do it, please!" he pleaded, letting himself be lead away.

"What did you say to him?" Bruce asked, watching Clark load him into a transport where Jason and Dick were loading some others that had been rounded up.

"That if he touched me he'd forget to sit when he took a shit. Granted, I didn't say how."

"Vulgar."

"What was I supposed to do? Scream?"

"Just don't make anyone else piss themselves," Bruce sighed.

"Then don't let Stephanie pick the outfits. She dressed us like sexworkers not nuns and people keep taking liberties. It's gross."

"Point." Bruce admitted. "Point taken." He pinched the bridge of his nose and not for the first time, he just wanted all of you to be little again. You were 19 now. Still a kid. But he wondered if he'd ever stop seeing you as a little girl in his head. Because as Cass took you to the next location and he went to help Stephanie, it took an absurd amount of self-control not to call after you to put on a jacket or something.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reader

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

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This Love Left a Permanent Mark

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (Whisperers Arc)

Warnings: Pregnancy discussion/issues, suggestive/sexual themes

Summary: Things are starting to feel domestic and you are enjoying every second of it with Daryl. It feels so easy until it isn’t.

A/N: Part three of this little thing I have going and can’t seem to stop. Part one is Help Me Hold Onto You and part two is I’ve Been the Archer, I’ve Been the Prey. There will be one or two more parts. Definitely one at least.

It was moments like this you could almost forget that the world had essentially ended. The sun on your face. The wind, albeit frigid, in your hair. The crunch of snow beneath your boots. The view from the ridge was breathtaking and you couldn’t help but tilt your face toward the sky and close your eyes, just drinking it all in. Instances of peace had often been taken for granted before the turn. Now, they were everything.

No sign of the whisperers for a while now. Your people were safe for the time being. The Kingdom had relocated, split between the other three communities. It meant more mouths to feed, more illness to treat, more shelter to build, but it meant more people. The communities would thrive with a little effort and a little time.

As for you? You had everything. Your baby was growing strong in your belly. Your friends were safe. And your archer? You’d love to say he was hunting for food for Alexandria. But that would be a lie since you knew if you turned around, he’d be sitting somewhere nearby, watching you. He never let you out of his sight when you were outside of the walls. Normally, you’d be annoyed. But Daryl had missed so much time with you, so much of the pregnancy. What he was doing, you found endearing.

Daryl was doing all he could for your people and you. He split his time between making sure you were doing as Siddiq recommended, spending a lot of time inside the walls. He helped with construction, mostly, but did just about anything that was asked of him so he could remain close to you.

When Michonne or Carol could be with you, he would go hunting or on runs. But now that you were in the final weeks of pregnancy, he was a constant shadow. He had asked you to stay home today but he knew better. You had already ‘nested’ and finished the baby’s room— meaning he finished it while you sat in the rocking chair and gave instructions. Now you needed air. You’d be within the walls for a while after the baby came, so you took any opportunity to roam while you still could.

“You’re not sneaky.” You smiled, keeping your eyes straight ahead as you waded through the snow to the treeline. You saw him step out from the corner of your eye.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be.” He fell in step with you easily, considering you waddled more than walked these days. “Ya feelin’ okay?”

“I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t, Daryl.” You weaved your arm through his. “I didn’t go far, like I promised.”

“An’ I kept an eye on ya, like I promised.” He countered, earning your elbow to his ribs. “Ya gotta stop in to see Siddiq on the way home.”

“I know. Are you coming with me?” You already knew the answer but hearing him say it always made your heart flutter.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

That night found you and Daryl sitting in front of the fire, Dog sprawled out under your propped up feet. The archer cleaned his bolts, glancing over at you every few moments. He failed to hide the curl of his lip. There was a jar of peanut butter on one side of your rounded belly, a jar of pickles on the other, and a small bottle of hot sauce sitting between your breasts. You were happily crunching away at your favorite snack when you caught his eye.

“You really should try it before you knock it, sir.” You swirled a pickle in the peanut butter and shook a little hot sauce over it before holding it out to him. Daryl reared back as if it was threatening to bite him.

“Nah. S’okay. Had a big supper.”

You tilted your head and chuckled. “I made your dinner, Daryl. I know what you ate and it wasn’t that much.” You waved the snack back and forth. “Come on, just one bite. Your baby loves it! They’re kicking up a storm.”

That had his attention.

“Right now?” He asked, his eyes lighting up while the rest of his expression remained stoic.

“Yep. And if you take one bite, I’ll give you unrestricted belly access.” He had that anyway, and he knew it. But after the rocky patch the two of you had gone through, the man would walk barefoot over a bed of hot coals to see you smile.

“Fine.” He drawled, placing his bolts on the table. He rounded it and came to sit by your hip, moving the peanut butter out of the way. When you brought the pickle close to his mouth, he moved his head back, earning a raised brow from you. “M’gonna do it. Just—preparin’ myself.” It took another 3 minutes before he finally opened his mouth.

You quickly shoved the pickle spear in, nearly gagging him. “Now you know how that feels.” He took hold of the end and bit it half, handing the other half back to you with a sarcastic sneer. You thought he’d make a comeback of some sort but then he started chewing and you watched his face morph into something desperate. Was he turning green? “Okay, okay! Spit it out!” You laughed and tried to get up to aid him, but your stomach wouldn’t allow for it. Daryl was already dashing toward the downstairs bathroom anyway.

You could hear him spit and then the tap started, he gargled, and the cycle went on three more times. All the while, you smothered your laughter behind your palm. “I’m sorry, Daryl!” He emerged with his tongue still out, looking as if he may scrape it with his nails.

“How can ya stand that?”

“It’s so yummy!” You placed the lids on everything and he took them to the kitchen. When he came back, he stopped short and leaned against the doorframe, watching you try and fail to get up from your spot on the couch. “Okay, little bean, I think it’s almost time to serve up an eviction notice!”

“Lil’ bean, huh?” He smirked when you gave him a pleading look and did a grabby hand motion.

“Help, I’m a whale and I can’t get up.”

“Y’ain’t no whale.” Daryl took your hands and helped you stand, looking over you with the fondest smile while you continued to list off the things pregnancy had done to your body. “That’s enough’a that.” With a large hand now splayed across your belly, he bent to press his lips to your neck, smiling when goosebumps rose under his attention.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Daryl.”

“Don’t worry, sunshine. M’gonna make sure ya finish.”

You still couldn’t believe Daryl had asked Siddiq if sex was safe at this point in the pregnancy. When the medic had told him that it was actually encouraged, well… you didn’t get much sleep last night.

You woke up sore, a dull throb between your legs and a periodic ache in your lower back. Daryl would only give you that sly grin when you’d pout at him. That is, until you asked to go hunting with him.

“Nah.” He shook his head and looked back down to the bag he was packing.

“Come on! It’s only a few miles out. We won’t go further than that.”

“No. Ya gonna stay here an’ Carol’s gonna come check on ya.” The archer accepted some bread and cheese in a container, noticing there was enough for both of you but not commenting on it. “I’ll take a radio. Anything happens, I can be back in less than a hour.”

“We can both take radios and make sure Carol has one. If anything happens, which it won’t, we won’t be far enough out for a problem.” You handed him two canteens of water.

“No.” When he grabbed the straps to shoulder the pack, you placed your smaller hands over his. Daryl sighed and met your gaze.

“Please, Daryl. My hormones are going nuts and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if you are away from me right now.” An image of Daryl leaned flush against your back, thrusting into you from behind in slow, languid movement flashed behind your eyes and you almost moaned. You weren’t lying. You needed to be near him today. With an exaggerated sigh, you dropped your hands to your belly. “If you let me go with you today, I promise I won’t leave these walls again until the baby is at least 6 weeks old and I’m all healed up and given the okay from Siddiq.”

Daryl froze, his eyes narrowed. “Ya promise that?”

“Yes.”

It was obvious that he was really thinking about it, those pretty blue eyes flicking from your face to your stomach and back.

“Fine.” The bowman rolled his eyes at your adorable little victory dance but smiled just the same. “But ya pack ev’rything ya might need in my bag. Ya don’ carry nothin’ but your weapons an’ a radio. Ya stay right with me, no wanderin’ off.” You were nodding enthusiastically, waiting for him to finish so you could get ready. With another roll of his eyes, he waved you off. “G’on.”

And you were off in a rushed waddle so adorable that he couldn’t help but chuckle.

You took a deep breath of the fresh air, spreading your arms as you walked just behind Daryl. He kept his pace slow so that you could keep up. You intended to do everything he had asked of you. Neither of you needed any more stress with the impending birth just around the corner. You just wanted to enjoy this day with him and then you would keep your promise and stay home.

Dog stayed right at your side, whining quietly and sticking his nose into your palm. “You want pets?” You obliged with a skritch behind his ear. “You should be helping daddy hunt, lazy bones.”

“Ain’t his daddy.” Daryl huffed, stopping to look over the ground for tracks.

“Are so. And I’m his mama.” You stated matter-of-factly, shooing the canine toward Daryl. He seemed reluctant but followed the command. With a moment to rest, you pressed your hands into the small of your back and shuffled over to a log to sit down heavily. “You did a number on my back last night, Mr. Dixon.” The smug expression he wore did not go unseen. “Maybe you can do it again. Soon.”

When he looked at you questioningly, he found you eyeing him with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Ya mean now?”

You nodded. “I mean right now.”

“Ain’t fuckin’ ya in the snow. You’re pregnant.”

“Never said in the snow.” You jerked your chin toward the right, over his shoulder, where a little cabin sat seemingly abandoned. “We’ve been on this trail a million times. No one lives there.”

Daryl drummed his fingers on his thigh for a moment while scrutinizing the small structure. Once he stood and started walking toward you, you pouted. The look on his face said you weren’t getting what you wanted. The archer kneeled in front of you, cupping your face with a gloved hand. His bare thumb rubbed across your jutted-out bottom lip.

“When I getcha home, I’ll fuck ya til ya can’t walk but s’not safe to do it like this.” His hand lowered to rub the side of your belly. “Not like this.”

His soft voice. The way he was looking at you. The way he loved and protected your baby before they were even born. You nodded, smiling at him with tears in your eyes. The desire that had been building was gone and now you just wanted him to hold you. “At least kiss me?”

“Never hafta ask for that.” He stood but remained bent at the waist so you didn't have to adjust at all. He wouldn’t risk you being uncomfortable. You sighed against his mouth, parting your lips for his tongue to dip in and taste you. Too soon, he pulled away, pressing one more kiss to your mouth and then your forehead. When he straightened, he offered you a hand, knowing you’d never get off that log by yourself.

With a chuckle, you accepted. Back on your feet, the two of you continued on the trail.

An hour passed. You were at the end of the area he’d chosen to hunt in today, not wanting to go more than a few miles away from Alexandria. You had chatted and laughed and he’d look around an area while you stopped for a rest. It was a great day. Except for the periodic, nagging back pain that continued to worsen. Now when it happened, it felt like the muscles in your abdomen were seizing up.

“We can circle ‘round. See what we find over there before headin’ back.” Daryl wasn’t looking at you while he spoke but he did when you didn’t answer, finding you leaned against a tree with your head tilted and a perplexed expression on your face. “Y’alright?”

“Huh?” You quickly looked up, finding him and Dog watching you. “Oh! Yeah. I’m good. Just needed a minute.” You straightened slowly and when nothing happened, you smiled. “Ready!”

You kept up pretty well considering the worsening pain. When it began to force you to stop and breathe, you knew it was time to say something. But before you could even open your mouth, you felt a pressure you didn’t know was there just release and your pants were suddenly drenched. Oh shit.

“Um…Daryl.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t look up from the tracks he was studying, but did shoot a sidelong glance at Dog when the canine began to whine in earnest. “The hell’s wrong with you?” Dog laid down but continued to whine.

“Daryl, don’t panic.”

He instantly felt panic, a vibrating anxiety in his chest before he even turned around. You were standing with your hands on each side of your belly, your light maternity jeans soaked. Now, logic told him that there were two things that could have happened. Before he could say anything, you doubled forward with a pained expression, breathing hard through your nose. “Fuck.”

“I think—we need the radio now.”

After radioing ahead, Daryl hoisted you up and carried you through the woods toward home. What Siddiq was certain were contractions were now steadily becoming more painful in your abdomen while the pain in your back dulled.

“Daryl.” You whined, unable to do anything else.

“I know. S’gonna be okay. I gotcha.”

You breathed through each episode like Carol had taught you. It didn’t alleviate the pain but it did help you focus. And when something changed, you knew it.

“Daryl.”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s that cabin?”

“‘Bout a quarter mile ahead. Why?”

“Go there.”

His steps slowed enough to be able to look at you while you breathed through another contraction. He was terrified to ask but he knew he had to…

“Why?”

You took one more deep breath and looked at him with more fear in your eyes than he’d ever seen before.

“This baby is coming now.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x you #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #Spotify

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