#I WILL SLAUGHTER YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own. 

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart. 

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century. 

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope. 

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You had almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better. 

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away. 

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer. 

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time. 

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today all you could see from the front door was varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.” The door to the room was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction. 

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor. 

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness. 

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?” 

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies. 

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.” 

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.” 

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be. 

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”  

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.” 

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal. 

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.” 

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years. 

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you— 

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction. 

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information. 

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl. 

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased. 

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'. 

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter. 

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them. 

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily. 

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though. 

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room. 

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours. 

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time. 

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm. 

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his. 

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it. 

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.” 

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.” 

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair. 

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?” 

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails. 

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.” 

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said. 

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure. 

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying. 

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.” 

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them. 

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth. 

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet. 

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride. 

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath. 

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.” 

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost. 

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned. 

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it. 

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved. Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud, and a constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could’ve drowned out all the screaming and icy silences, but you tried. Oh how you tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem. 

In comparison, your house was a Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia had needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know. 

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You usually took turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm. 

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.” 

Lydia, you would argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them. 

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin. 

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence. 

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it. 

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone. 

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs. 

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped. 

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?” 

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows. 

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply. 

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.” 

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands. 

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number. 

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked. 

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess. 

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls. 

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue. 

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills. 

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask. 

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious. 

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.” 

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused. 

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest, rocking the soles of your boots from heel to toe like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “it’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.” 

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?  

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time. 

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.” 

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. He narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips. 

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine. 

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

[motherfucker-somewhat-limited]

trying to set up the wireless noise canceling headphones my dad got me for christmas and im so fucking angry and frustrated I am going to throw up. I hate the digital age and everyone who contributed to it

[clerichs-xi]

tender as a bruise, sharper than a razor wrap her tentacles around me like she'll never let me go

klaus' backstory arc just ended heho and it was revealed he used to be the lover of the goddess of storms and pirates... she had basically kidnapped him and imprisoned him into murder and piracy for 20 years and needless to say it greatly damaged him on every level <3 its okay he's been able to be normal for once since the start of the campaign thanks to the party aka his new found family

get urself a surrogate middle-aged father who can speedrun a forbidden romance in one minute and then immediately go to confront the darkest version/a corrupted version of himself, as well as his toxic lover as she tortures him -w-)b

details and just the lines hehe

[jayswing101]

Hello hi may i interest you in a baby goat? Meet Mocha and her little baby Kinder!! Kinder was born April 13th, 2023 and everyone loves her so much

[stuckinapril]

in light of israel's looming invasion on rafah, south africa implored the icj to call for the protection of palestinians with new preliminary orders. the icj denied this request, insisting that its january orders would be sufficient in ensuring the safety of people residing in rafah.

we have all seen how israel responded to the icj verdict earlier this month. they have all but intensified their attacks on palestinians, their favorite of whom seem to be children. this will end in a bloodbath. palestinians, already malnourished and living in literal tents, will be bombarded, they will be shot, they will be slaughtered. and when i say palestinians, a lot of them are actual toddlers. the videos coming out of this are proof enough.

at this point, it has been made amply clear that palestinians will never experience safety in their own homeland. a lot of the families in gaza are trying to raise funds to get out of it, because there's nowhere left to go.

there is nowhere left to go. if these people don't get the funds necessary to escape, they will die.

it's vital that you go to operation olive branch's spreadsheet, choose a family that resonates with you, and donate as much as you can to their gofundme. every last dollar counts. one dollar could be the difference between life and death for a family. please don't fall victim to the bystander effect. your contribution matters, however little it may be. and whether you're able to donate or not, spread this to as many people as you can. each second we stay silent is a second an entire family is brutally massacred.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[storiesfromgaza]

A message to everyone :

Ever since I began this blog and continuously shared its content, I never asked any of you to follow me, share these posts, or use the Blaze feature to promote them. I've been entirely absorbed in writing articles and translating stories and posts from the people of Gaza without concerning myself with whether they will reach a broad audience or not. My initial goal was to reach any number of individuals, even if it was just one person, in the hope of increasing their awareness. That would have been sufficient for me.

But today, particularly after the recent news confirming the complete shutdown of the internet, electricity, and communications in Gaza, along with the isolation imposed by the Israeli occupation and the brutal and savage bombings happening now as I write these lines, I want everyone to share what's happening. Not just on Tumblr but everywhere you can. Share on WhatsApp, Twitter, Instagram, and for those who are proficient in Russian, share on platforms like VK. If you know Korean, share in Naver cafes. Share with your family, your loved ones, and those you meet on the street. Let everyone know about the monstrous massacres the occupation is committing against Palestinian civilians, teenage girls and young women who have become widows due to the bombings, young children whose lives were forcibly taken from them while they clung to life, and the elderly who hoped for a longer life or a peaceful death beside their children and families, but the occupation robbed them of this, making the old man witness the deaths of all his family members, his children, and his grandchildren, and then he dies alone, hoping to join them.

O People, humans, whether you are Muslims, Christians, Jews, or followers of any religion, my message is for those of you who have humanity, whatever your identity may be. Your silence today means you are participating in an extermination worse than what Hitler did to the Jews, even worse than the victims of all the world wars combined. At that time, there weren't sufficient means of communication, so everyone's excuse was that they couldn't do anything except publish in newspapers. But today, in our current era, there are many available options. So, what's your excuse now?

Your silence and inaction are permission for them to continue their slaughter and the extraction of souls from their bodies. Let everyone do whatever is within their power, and all of us should know that we can do a lot. Edit: I've created a Telegram channel for us and posted all the articles and stories that have been published here, so you can easily share them with everyone. Join it through the following link: https://t.me/storiesfromgaza

Edit²: we now have an Instagram account, which we created to make it easier for everyone to share the stories and articles published here. Some of them have already been shared with beautiful designs, and we are in the process of posting the remaining articles after formatting and finalizing the designs. I had to use my personal account because when I created an account with the name "Stories From Gaza," Instagram suspended the account immediately, even before I could change the profile picture or post anything! Account username: @amrshater

Your interaction on Instagram will greatly help in spreading the stories and articles to the Instagram audience https://www.instagram.com/amrshater/

[allthingsimagines]

So It Goes…

“I’m yours to keep and I’m yours to lose. You know I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you, so it goes” - So It Goes… by Taylor Swift

Feyd-Rautha x Pregnant!Atreides!Reader

summary: What will happen when orders are given and it pits the two people you love most against one another?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: Feyd being very ooc

a/n: I woke up this morning and cranked this out because I couldn’t get it out of my head

The Freman had attacked in unprecedented numbers. They bombed the city, the whole building rattling violently from the attacks. You had been in the throne room as they broke into the palace. The room filled with smoke as the revered Muad’dib made his way in front of the Emperor.

Your husband, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, had kept you securely behind him the entire time. You clung to him like a shadow, holding the back of his tunic in one hand and your swollen stomach with the other. Muad’dib had made quick work of the disgusting Baron, which had left you feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

You had prayed for the downfall of the Harkonnen’s since the moment they had murdered your entire family. They attacked with no warning and slaughtered everyone you had ever loved. You were the only survivor and the Baron took you to serve as a reminder of their great power. Certainly, you would have been dead in days if not for your husband’s possessive nature.

You had been promised to him since the day you were born as a show of peace between the families. When the Baron dragged you kicking and screaming back to Geidi Prime, Feyd had declared that you were his to do with as he pleased and no one would lay a hand on you. As humiliating as it was to be reduced to property by him, it was far better than whatever fate you would have had at the Baron’s hands.

Feyd-Rautha was a brutal man. He killed as he pleased and sent a wave of terror over every person he encountered. He had terrified you as well. He did not care for your feelings or desires. You were his wife now, and he could do as he pleased with you. One thing that you had not expected with Feyd was that despite his violent nature towards everyone else, it had never extended to you.

Perhaps it was the fact that he saw you as his to own, but it kept you safe and alive. You had not anticipated for love to bloom from your marriage to him, but you did love him in your own way. He would burn the world down for you and had killed anyone who had spoken ill of you. His brutal nature was alluring and you could not resist it.

He saw you as his property, but that changed once he started to see your own ambitions come to light. You wanted vengeance for your family and you silently plotted how best to take down the Baron. Feyd had thought you to be as meek as a mouse, but you were formidable indeed. You made quite the pair and the people of Geidi Prime adored their na-Baron and na-Baroness. What they didn’t know is that the two of you had been plotting how to take out the Baron for months to take control of the planet.

Seeing the Baron die had drove you to tears. People around you suspected it was because he was family or from the brutality of the kill as he bled out on the steps of the throne. You cried tears of relief for all that he had done to your family and to your husband.

You hardly even registered anything else that had happened in that throne room as you tried to pull yourself together. The Muad’dib then sent all of you to your rooms to be held as prisoners.

You only hoped he would spare you and your husband because of your condition. You were six months pregnant with a daughter and you couldn’t have been more nervous of what would come next.

You prayed the Emperor would die, along with the Reverend Mother that had plotted alongside him. She had hated your family since the day you and Paul were born. Your mother was only supposed to have a daughter and she had broke that promise. Paul had held all of the power the Bene Gesserit looked for in daughters. While you were still trained by your mother to use the voice, you never were anywhere close to what abilities Paul had.

Now, you hoped that evil woman would pay for all she had done.

“Wife.”

You looked over from your spot on the bed only to find Feyd moving towards you at a hurried pace. Your heart rate increased at his tense form, “Yes, husband?”

“They’re calling all prisoners. You will stay by my side, understand?” Feyd said as you stood from your place to meet him.

His hand reached out to hold the side of your face while the other was splayed over your bump. You nodded and placed your hand over his own, “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything darling,” He said, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone.

“Don’t get yourself killed. I need you to try to stay out of whatever conflict arises. We need you Feyd,” You said with a shaky voice.

Feyd pressed his lips hungrily to yours and you moaned against them. He pulled away, leaving you breathless as he spoke, “No man will kill me today.”

A loud banging came from outside your door and Feyd let out a growl of annoyance. He pulled away and took your hand in his own as he led you out of the room, your ladies fearfully following behind. You followed Feyd out of the room and were met with Freman soldiers, who all tensed at the sight of your husband. You clutched onto Feyd’s hand tighter as the guards led you behind the Emperor, Princess Irulan, and the Bene Gesserit.

The guards opened the large doors to the room and you all followed in. You stuck close to Feyd’s side as you took in all of the Freman soldiers that surrounded the room. You stood in the middle of the crowd as Feyd stood slightly in front of you for protection.

“There is a mass armada in orbit. You’re facing a full invasion Freman,” the Emperor spoke as he came to a stop with the General’s signal.

The Muad’dib stood in the middle of the room facing away from you. You narrowed your eyes on his figure as he looked familiar to you.

“How can you be so sure the great houses are here for me? They might be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think?” the Muad’dib spoke before turning around to face the Emperor.

It was him. He was alive despite all of the odds. Paul.

You stepped forward without thinking as your eyes welled with tears at the sight of your brother. Once Feyd realized who he was he followed after you as you made your way to the front. Feyd kept his hand securely around your middle as you moved through the crowd.

“I am Paul Atreides. Son of Leto Atreides. Duke of Arrakis,” he spoke, but your brain could hardly register the words being spoke as you tried to get to him.

“Gurney, send a warning to all the ships. If the great houses attack, our atomics will bomb all of the spice fields.”

Your eyes widened as they found Gurney Halleck following Paul’s command. You couldn’t stop your tears as another one of your family members was alive.

“Are you out of your mind?” the Emperor said in shock as you made your way to the front.

“Consider what you’re about to do Paul Atreides,” the Reverend Mother said.

“Silence!” Paul shouted with the voice and you heard her fall to the ground.

Before anything else could be said or done, you pushed past a few of the nobles at the front to get a good look at your brother. You squeezed Feyd’s hand as he stood close behind you, “Paul.”

Paul’s eyes snapped to you and you saw his whole body tense. The room was silent as he stepped towards you in shock, “Sister?”

You let out a choked sob as you dropped Feyd’s hand and rushed towards your brother. He pulled you into a tight hug and you clutched onto him like a life line. He pulled away and you took a good look at your brother. His eyes were blue now from the spice and he looked much older than he did when you saw him last.

“I can’t believe you’re alive. How did you-“ you started, but Paul cut you off.

“Mother and I escaped. In all of my visions I never saw you alive, how are you here?” He asked, but all you heard was the fact that your mother was alive.

Your eyes darted around the room, but your eyes settled on the one woman of power in the room. Your mother stood next to Gurney, her hand planted on her own swollen stomach as she watched the two of you interact. She was dressed like a Mother Reverend would be, and based off of her new appearance and the group surrounding her you suspected that was right.

You pulled away from Paul and tearfully let go of him as you hurried to your mother. Lady Jessica pulled you into a tight embrace and held you close to her body.

“Mother, I missed you,” you said into her shoulder as she rubbed your back in the comforting way she had when you were a child.

You pulled away and both of you looked at your swollen stomachs before meeting eyes again. She placed her hand on yours and let out a soft sigh, “You survived, just like I taught you.”

You nodded, without all of her preparation when you were younger you certainly would have died. You looked over to find Gurney giving you a proud look that was filled with more emotion than you’d ever seen from him. You reached forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek before quickly pulling back, “It’s good to see you again, old man.”

Gurney chuckled and opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Paul. “My own sister lives as a testament to our family’s strength. She is Y/N Atreides!”

The Freman cheered, but you only tensed as you stepped away from Gurney and your mother. Your husband would not keep his mouth shut at that. You were his wife after all.

“She is no longer an Atreides. She is Y/N Harkonnen now,” your husband spoke as you saw Paul’s eyes turn to him, filled with anger.

You quickly crossed the room and stood in front of your husband to defend him from Paul. The two had always hated each other and now it was at an all time high.

Paul watched as Feyd’s hand wrapped around your pregnant stomach securely, and you leaned back into his hold. Paul took a shaky breath to try to control his rage as you grabbed Feyd’s hand atop your stomach, “If he hadn’t married me, I would have died at the Baron’s hands months ago. He is the only reason I am still alive.”

Paul bit his lip to contain his own anger and turned to the Emperor as the two began shouting at one another. You let out a shaky breath as you tried to collect yourself. Feyd’s hand rubbed a gentle circle on your stomach as your daughter kicked against it.

You looked back at him and he moved his hand to your face. He gently wiped your tears and you pressed a kiss to his palm. You turned your attention back to Paul as he declared he would marry Princess Irulan.

“But you have to answer for what you did to my father,” Paul growled out as he stared down the Emperor.

“Do you know why I did it? It was because he was a man who believed in rules of the heart. But the heart is not meant to rule. In other words, your father was a weak man,” he spoke and the room sat in a tense silence as your anger bubbled.

Your father was not weak for loving your family. He was a strong man whose love for your family lasted until his dying day.

“Stand or choose your champion,” Paul said, his strength unwavering.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I choose him as my champion,” the Emperor spoke.

Your heart seized at his words and you looked up to meet your husband’s eyes, but they were set on the Emperor. He stepped away from you to follow the command, but you reached out to snag his hand.

“Feyd, you cannot do this. He is my brother,” you begged as he kept his eyes forward.

“I do not turn down fights, darling,” he said walking towards the Emperor to get his blade.

Gurney handed Paul a blade and he quickly took a fighting stance on the opposite side of the room. Feyd took the blade and moved to ready himself. You went to go to Feyd, but the Freman soldiers blocked your path. You glared in anger at them, “This is ridiculous! Feyd, don’t do this.”

Feyd kept his eyes forward on Paul as the two took their positions. Paul met your eyes before he looked back at Feyd and held his blade up just like Duncan always had before a fight, “May thy knife chip and shatter.”

Feyd turned his head to find your horrified look before turning back to Paul. He smirked before he repeated the phrase, “May thy knife chip and shatter.”

Then the fight began. The two fought brutally against one another and you could have been sick at the sight. You called out for them to stop, but they continued their violent dance. You looked over at the Emperor to find him watching with a pleasant look on his face. You growled as you moved towards him, “This is madness! Call off the fight!”

The sounds of swords clashing rang in your ears as you stared the old man down. He gave you an annoyed look before turning back to the fight, “Quiet woman.”

Your anger spiked and you opened your mouth to speak, but your head snapped to the fight as you found Paul on top of Feyd with his blade in his shoulder. Your mouth opened in horror as Feyd pushed Paul off of him and ripped the dagger out.

You turned to the Emperor to try to convince him, but an arm wrapped around your throat. The Emperor tightened his arm on your throat as you thrashed against him, “If they want to keep you alive, they’ll finish the fight.”

You fought against his hold, but quickly stopped as he pressed a blade to your stomach. You froze in his hold as your mother called out, “Paul! Feyd-Rautha!”

Paul turned his head to see what was the interruption only to find the Emperor holding you tightly to him. Feyd turned and his whole body filled with rage. The two men stepped away from one another and you smirked, “Now you’ve done it.”

The Emperor hated the look the men’s eyes as they made their way towards him. He tightened his hold on your throat and you grimaced, “Done what?”

Feyd was the angriest you’d ever seen him and Paul wasn’t much different, “You’ve united them in a common cause.”

The two men came towards you and everyone backed away. The Emperor pressed the knife harder against your stomach and you gasped in pain.

Feyd was filled with the urge to commit unspeakable violence at the sight of the Emperor holding a blade to his pregnant wife. You met Feyd’s eyes and tried to calm yourself down.

“I was willing to spare your life, but now you’ve threatened my sister,” Paul said, holding his blade up to the Emperor.

“Release my wife and I will make your death quick,” Feyd growled out as he stepped closer.

“You will continue the fight if you want her to live. I command it!” the Emperor shouted and pressed his arm tighter against your throat.

You gasped for air and Paul was quick to use the voice, “Release her!”

The Emperor quickly dropped the blade and let you go. You stumbled away from him, but before anyone else could act you snatched the blade from the floor and drove it into his stomach.

The Emperor gasped out in pain and stumbled as you drove the knife deeper. You met his pained eyes and glared, “For House Atreides.”

You drove the knife up higher into his stomach one last time before you stepped away and he fell to the floor. His daughter dropped to his side as he took his final breath and you turned back to face Paul. You steeled your nerves and met his eyes before you kneeled before him, “Emperor Paul Atreides.”

You heard everyone in the room kneel and your husband dropped to your side. You kept your eyes on the floor, but you reached over to grab his hand. Feyd squeezed your hand in his own as he stayed at your side. Paul began giving directions and everyone rose to their feet.

Feyd pulled you to your feet and was quick to pull you close to him. His eyes raked over your body as he scanned for any sign of injury. He took your face in his hands and met your eyes. You could tell he was furious at what had occurred as he inspected you.

“Are you hurt?” he growled out as he noticed the redness on your neck.

You placed your hands over his and let out a shaky breath, “I’m okay. We’re both okay Feyd.”

He nodded and moved to place a hand on your stomach protectively. He shakily sighed before giving you a proud look, “You did well there, I wasn’t sure if you would be able to do it.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch, “I did it out of love for my family. That includes you and our daughter, my love.”

A proud smirk appeared on his face, “You should kill more often. You look alluring when you do.”

Shaking your head at your husband, you spoke, “I’ll leave the violence to you, husband. I have other ways of gaining your attention.”

Feyd smirked before pulling you into a deep kiss. You groaned in response as you pulled yourself as close as you could to him with your bump in the way. You both pulled away and he brushed some stray hair from your face.

“Feyd-Rautha.”

You both turned to face your brother, the new Emperor, as he stood in front of you with Gurney at his side. The room was full of commotion as people began to shout and head out.

“We’re taking the fight to the great houses. Can I trust that you will keep my sister safe while I am away?” Paul asked, doing his best to bridge the wedge between them.

You looked between them as Feyd contemplated his words. Feyd looked down at you and let out a sigh before looking back to Paul.

“I will gladly give my life to keep her and our daughter safe,” he declared as he returned your brother’s intense stare.

Paul reached his arm out and Feyd reached forward and clasped it. The two stood staring at each other before Feyd said, “Good luck Atreides.”

They dropped each other’s arms and Paul gave you a nod before he headed off to lead the charge. You let out a nervous sigh, but leaned into Feyd’s hold.

“You couldn’t call him Emperor?” You asked with a teasing lilt to your voice as you leaned against Feyd’s chest.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” he asked and you shook your head at him as he rubbed gentle circles on your waist.

“Will we be alright? The Imperium is going to be after all of us after today. Especially me, since it was my hand who killed the Emperor,” you asked and his hold tightened on you.

Feyd guided your chin up to meet his eyes. He looked like a man ready for battle with how intense he was looking at you, “You are my wife. If any one dares to try to lay a hand on you again or our daughter, they will wish they were dead when I get my hands on them.”

You let out a sigh as his violent words felt incredibly reassuring. You softly kissed him once more and smiled up at him, “Good. That was exactly what I hoped you would say.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Limerence (Prequel)

Yandere Rebellion Leader x Princess Reader

TW: Yandere behaviors, mentions of past SA (on yandere’s part), murder, death, blood, a man slaughtering your entire family to be with you, etc

(Your name) quietly sobbed into her knees, her body curled tightly into a ball on the floor of her closet. The loud screams of the servants ring out through the hallways. Not a single doubt in her mind that the castle staff were being slain like cattle by the rebel troops.

When did everything go wrong? Would she soon join the rest of the castle’s inhabitants when the troops inevitably found her? Would they be merciful or would they gut her like a fish?

(Your name) didn’t want to think about it too much… she just hoped her death would be quick and painless.

Crack! Slam! Her door was splintered apart with brute force that made the closet doors shake. (Your name) quickly covered her mouth before she screamed out in fear. She didn’t want to alert the intruder of her whereabouts…

(Your name)’s breath hitched when she spotted a pair of leather shoes that stood outside the closet door through the crack of the door. Oh god… this was it.

(Your name)’s arms flew up to shield her face but strong hands quickly moved her arms out of the way so soft lips could be lovingly pressed against her soft cheeks.

“It’s okay… it’s me.” A smooth voice hummed softly while he continued to pepper (your name)’s face in kisses. “It’s Adonis.”

(Your name) reluctantly peeked her eyes open to see if his words rang true. Adonis’s chocolate curls were wild and his sea foam green eyes were filled with admiration. This was indeed her handsome childhood friend who stood before her.

“A-Adonis?” (Your name)’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why on earth was her stepmother’s personal servant here and why did he press kisses all over her like she was his lover? Didn’t he belong to her stepmother?

Adonis hummed in reply, his actions failed to cease while his hands now cupped her cheeks. “Yes, darling. It’s me… I’m here to get you out of here.”

(Your name) was shocked to be pulled into a warm embrace. Adonis’s muscular body did little to soothe her nerves, quite contrary. Adonis’s hug felt like a cage.

“Where’s my stepmother-“ (your name) nearly squealed when Adonis nipped at her neck. An angry red mark now visible on her smooth skin. “Adonis, what was that for-“

“She’s not in the picture anymore.” Adonis inhaled deeply to try to calm himself before he lashed out any further from the mention of his despicable mistress. “She interfered in our relationship for far too long.”

Relationship? What was Adonis talking about?

“Adonis?” (Your name) then noticed the speckles of blood that covered his tan face in shock. Blood?! Adonis wasn’t bleeding so whose blood could that be… no. Did this mean Adonis betrayed the royal family?

No… Adonis had been with her family for over a decade. They grew up together! Adonis and her were always such good friends! So why would he slaughter her family in the name of love?

“I love when you say my name, darling.” Adonis bent down and pressed his full lips against yours in a tender peck. “We no longer have to worry about what others think. I abolished this unfair system.”

(Your name) felt tears run down her face as Adonis continued to ramble. His sea foam green eyes lit up with madness. “We don’t have to sneak around anymore! You and I can finally be together, the way we were always meant to be.”

Realization sunk into (your name) at Adonis’s words. Did he mean the moments the two of them would run into each other in the rose garden at night? The nights where she’d have nightmares of fire and death while he would be slipping out of her stepmother’s chambers? The times she’d sit beside him on the bench and listen to each other’s woes? Adonis and (your name) always had a friendship since they were children… to think he interpreted her kindness for love was astounding. What on earth made him think she loved him?

“I’m so happy to finally be free. I no longer have to touch that vile woman ever again.” Adonis gave you a bright smile. “You were my shining light through this entire ordeal of my servitude. Without you, I’d be so lost.”

Adonis pulled her towards the window of her tower to gesture to the various fires set ablaze on the castle she once called home. The same scenery she often saw in her nightmares have become a reality.

“I destroyed it all. You’ll no longer have nightmares and I’ll no longer have to be intimate with our enemy!” Adonis gave you a bright smile when he took your smaller hands in his large ones. “This is the biggest gesture I can give you to express my utmost feelings to you. I’d set the whole world ablaze if they opposed us. It doesn’t matter the extreme, because I’m willing to go to any length to be with you.”

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter II

𐙚 Aemond comes to terms with the feelings he possesses for you, just in time for a tragedy to strike in your halls.

𐙚 Aemond x Reader/Aegon x Reader (tw: manipulation, incest, mention of child's death)

(AN: I was not going to rewrite the b&c scene, sorry. the scene was hard to watch as it is)

You moan, arching your back in full pleasure. Aemond's never made you feel this way, stars dancing in your vision. Your hair wet with sweat, your face flushed, your fingers pulling at Aemond's locks.

"Please." you cry out. It's desperate. It's filthy.

"Please what?" Aemond comes up from your cunt, mouth wet with you. "Tell me and I will give it to you. I'd give you anything."

He meant it. And deep down, you knew it. But you never truly tested it before, never having the need to.

Aemond pulls himself from you, crawling up your body and resting his hips between your legs.

"I love you. Only you." he whispers, and not in a brotherly way.

You're too breathless to reply, not that he was expecting one.

It was no surprise the entire family was traumatized, the words 'I love you' never uttered between two or more members. You cannot remember a time you even spoke the words to someone, if you have ever. Not even to your dying father on his deathbed, not your mother as her fingers laced your hair in your baths, or your grandsire when he gifted you presents on your namedays. It was just three words, never to be said.

So that Aemond had said it so plainly had you surprised, maybe completely unsure on how to reply. If you should at all.

Aemond's breathing got heavier, "Tell me you love me."

Lining his cock to your cunt, he didn't give you much time to adjust before he shoved himself inside you. You mewl and clutch him closely to your body.

"Tell me-" he begins thrusting hard, causing you to rock against him. Whimpers and cries erupt from you. "-you fucking love me. Now!"

"I love you. I love you." it's like a mantra, like you're praying. Like he's your god. You're not sure if you mean it, completely aware of Aemond's feelings now. “I love you, I love you.”

With Aegon it was easier, his touches came without any awkward admission. But Aemond is a different man. You weren't sure if that upset you or not.

You aren't sure how to respond, small feelings always lingered towards him from you, but you were sure it was never once to be received back. With it

"Aemond I love you." you say softly.

"More than you love him?"

✮⋆˙

"I do not understand why I must don black, he is not my child to mourn." you play with your fingers, keeping your gaze strickly down.

"You'd have the court confused." Alicent snarks, "The way you can be found in Aegon's chambers have us all convinced it is your child to mourn."

"Does Helaena know?" your sister's feelings at the forefront of your mind.

"No. She is in mourning. I would not burden her with such news." your mother states.

She sits across from you, a black gown lined with red rubies lay across the chair beside you. For the past set minutes, she is determined for you to fit into it. But your point remained, if he was not your son, why mourn him? The whole city did and they did not know him. It seemed selfish and callous to you.

Pretenders , Aegon would seethe.

Your mother insisted you be part of the carriage for Jaehaerys’s memorial. But you refused. Rather be in Aegon's chambers comforting him. Even if it were in a way not befitting your station. You did feel bad for Helaena though. He was not your husband nor the mother to his children. But he was your king, so perhaps you were doing your duty nonetheless.

"Have you nothing to say?" your mother's voice brings you back.

"What?" you blurt out. "I do not wish to be a part of this...public display of grieving, I do not wish to be put next to her. Please mother, I do not want to."

"And what would you prefer? To crawl back into bed with Aegon and shut out the world while war eats around us?" your mother sighs, disappointed.

"I wanted to comfort him..."

"I will hear no more of it." Alicent insists, "You will wear the gown, and the smallfolk will see that the grief has reached even you, and then they will see her for what she is. A monster."

"But do we know she sent the rat catchers, can we be sure-"

"I am disappointed. To defend a traitor to the crown and the realm, the very person who has hurt your brother so purposely. Rhaenyra ordered it, that is the most known fact present in front of us."

"Why does my grief matter? He was not my son mother, and I had only held him as a babe." your voice is beginning to crack, you're desperate.

"You are disobedient as of late!" Alicent shoots up, her voice echoing through the room, "You do not do what is asked of you unless forced, your mind elsewhere. Tell me plainly and truthfully, is your brother's cock more important than your duty you are sworn to?"

Tears swelled in your eyes, "Aemond wouldn't let you do this."

"If he were here perhaps not. But he does not grace his own bed as of late, therefore he cannot put an end to this. Much to your misfortune." Alicent can only look down at you with such displeasure. The look haunts you.

"I wish we were here." you admit.

"As do I." she agrees.

✮⋆˙

When Aemond had turned a fresh one and three of age, Aegon had taken him to the brothels, to 'make a man of himself' and ever since, Aemond had found comfort in the walls, and in its people. He had wanted to find comfort in you, the very person...the only person to have treated him with such care and respect.

But you had turned to Aegon following your nephew's gruesome death, him selfishly pining after your sympathy. Aegon only did it to spite Aemond, he knew this. You did not. It was a game when they were much smaller, Aemond loved you, and Aegon had caught on. So there began a sick game; Aegon would touch and kiss you, giving you your first kiss and your first orgasm. When Aemond had found out, he had destroyed his entire chambers from anger.

You had always chosen Aegon, and despite the anger it brought, Aemond could never hate you, he had only loved you. Igniting a fire in him to win you over more. Sometimes entertaining the idea of Aegon dying, so all of your affection would be forced to be towards him.

When the news that you had taken to Aegon's chambers, and bed, in his time of grief broke to him, it drove Aemond to the brink of almost insanity. That night, he had left the castle and headed to the only person that brought him any comfort of late. Sylvi was a madam, one that Aemond had first lost his virginity to, and now was attached to her. Giving him the comfort he wished he got from you.

"He has taken her to bed." he says, laying his head on her lap, hair pooling around him. "I lost my nephew, but it is Aegon who needs the doting. I have lost her. I spent my life loving her, and he gets her most intimate parts."

"She does not see your devotion to her. She is...blinded by the King." Sylvi tells him.

"I sometimes wish that Aegon would lie dead, not to take the throne..."

"But to take her." she finishes for him.

"Daemon sent them to kill me." he says, quickly changing subjects. His heart hurt, "I was out."

"You were with me."

"In truth, I am proud…that he considers me such a foe, and that he seeks to murder me in my bed. He’s afraid of me." Aemond smiles to himself, happy that his uncle feared him.

"Where was she that night?" Sylvi asks, curious about the girl who has driven a wedge between the close boys she was once fond of.

"In his chambers, with him. While his little son was being slaughtered, he was fucking his little sister." Aemond says, tone dripping with anger. "Helaena had a blade put to her neck, and he-It is not right of him, he should do right by our sister, not bury himself in the other."

"The boy has grown into a man." the madam smirks.

"Not here." he pulls from her. Aemond sighs, "I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, I am sorry for it."

"I am glad to hear it." Sylvi reassures him.

"We are to go to war." Aemond cuts her off, and looks back to the woman. "I worry about her place in it."

"Who? Your sister?"

"Yes." he nods.

"Which one my prince?" she goes to reach for him.

Aemond slivers out of her reach, "My lamb. They would put her in harm's way if it served them. I fear for her."

"Would your brother allow that? He must have some feelings towards his new toy."

Sylvi's words allowed anger to rise inside him, his lamb was not Aegon's toy. "Do not speak of her that way." he hisses.

"My prince?-"

"I said-" Aemond grabs her violently, her eyes shining in fear. "Do not call her a toy. She is a princess of the seven kingdoms, a station that you shall never even dream of seeing. I am fond of you but do remember your place."

[mamayan]

Yandere! Dark Fae King x Darling! Changeling (Part 2)

Part 1 (Here)

cw: NSFW • Sub! Reader • Dom! Yandere • Dark/Yandere Themes • Gore/Death • Monster Fucking • Fae • Kidnapping/Imprisonment • Dubcon • Fem! Darling • Dumbification • Praise • Overstimulation • Pheromone Drugging/Aphrodisiac • Manipulation • Breeding

A/N: Upon multiple requests and asks, I’ve decided to expand and make a part 2 for Avarice and Darling’s story. Enjoy♥️

“Freak!”

“You should be ashamed to be alive! When your own sister died, how dare you appear here!”

“Jinx.”

“I hope you die worse than she. Poor soul…”

You snapped out of it when he finally left again. The nightmares of your past seemingly haunting you as the death of so many rested on your shoulders.

Your fault. It was always your fault, wasn’t it? That’s what you were after all. A jinx.

Ava… he haunted you more than anything. His eyes so dull as of late but you couldn’t find it in yourself to assure him of forgiveness you did not want to give. You’d said horrible things to him though, when he’d confessed to killing your entire village due to your pressuring. He killed your family, or at least, the only family you knew. He killed the women and children, the old and innocent. Ava had no discretion when it came to slaughtering humans.

“Of course I love you! You’re my little sister, why are you asking me such a silly question so late?” Your human sister had looked so befuddled when you’d questioned her love for you. It must’ve been a rebellious phase, for she raised you and your younger human siblings much like a mother should’ve. The mother which birthed your siblings and the child swapped for you had lost herself to alcohol and gambling, her husband and your father too loyal to leave her despite the pit she began to dig for the entire family.

Your fault.

“Come eat. This sickness of her’s seems to be affecting us all. Father shall return with a fresh kill, I’ll make a stew. You like deer stew right?” You hated it but nodded anyway, your sister’s cooking so awful it even made your father’s eyes water but… “I do. I love it… and I love you too.” You’d replied, and it was the warmest moment you remember in that small wooden house.

You’d picked your nail beds bloody, eyes numbly staring at the broken skin and wondering why it wasn’t telling you the right answer. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to, and that was the problem. You didn’t want to leave Ava, because aside from your deceased sister, he was the closest living creature to your heart. He owned part of your soul now too, but you could feel him in you too. It wasn’t one sided, and while Ava certainly was full of cruelty, you knew him capable of care. He cared for you, his people and subjects, and his kingdom.

So why did he do it? Harm so many? Oddest of all, why did he abhor humans to much? He wouldn’t answer anything you asked, merely stating it was a necessity, that they needed to die, or be cleansed as he’d phrased it. You had loved a human dearly though, her memory still filling you with the familiar taste of warmth and overcooked venison. She was not a sister by blood but through life and trust.

Would Ava have killed her too?

You could only wonder endless dark halls of a castle you never saw an exit to. The windows revealing what appeared to be an entire kingdom below, built into a forest much like in tales of your childhood. This was a community, one which you now shared responsibility to help grow and flourish.

You didn’t feel like you were home though.

“Look at me.”

He’s impossible to ignore.

“I will force you if I must.”

You turn, giving the barest of glances upward, head forced to tilt completely back to meet his dark golden eyes. He, in all his immortal and frightening glory, looks tired. You admit it makes something within you ache to see it, but you aren’t ignorant to the fact that you look tired as well.

“You are not sorry at all… are you?” His lips press tight, eyes narrowing a fraction as he cocks his head, a few dark curls spilling like waves to follow the movement. He stalks closer like a predator, and even now, when you know he intends no physical harm to you, it raises your instincts to run. His towering form lowers to the floor where you’ve seated yourself, endless marble surrounding you in an empty ball room, the enormous glass window you’ve opened allowing fresh air in.

“Do you wish me to apologize for eliminating those vile creatures… or for upsetting you?” He cracks a rueful smile, teeth all sharp edges and eyes hardened by your distance. “If it is the latter little flower, then I sincerely am apologetic, I never wished to upset you.” You can tell he’s sincere, see it even, but something still nagged at you that wouldn’t leave.

“Ava…” his full attention is trained on you, “Why do you hate them? What did they do to you?”

His wings shift as he settles himself fully on the ground with you. An image unbefitting of a King yet also suiting him as he leans back on his palms and directs his gaze at the tall ceiling above.

You liked the sight of moonlight bathing him more than candle.

“I thought I loved a human once.”

You flinch, despite knowing it must’ve been so long ago, it stung nevertheless. He twitches, as if to move towards you before he stops himself and settles again, talons scraping along the floor as he continues.

“That human used my youth and ignorance against me and destroyed my entire existence for a time. I lost my position as a rightful heir and prince, lost my home and family, and lost my freedom. I stayed alone a very long time little Faery,” his gaze slides to you, glowing molten gold in rage as he remembers. “All alone, because I did the one thing no Faery is allowed to do, the most forbidden art which exists amongst our kind, all for one measly deceitful human.” His lips pull back in a grimace, even as you crawl a little closer.

He likes that your gaze is upon him again, filled with that familiar compassion and empathy he adores. He just loathes it is directed at him because of his disgusting past.

He watches as your tongue dips out to lick your lips, eyes filled with curiosity as you sit beside him, close enough to nearly touch yet not quite.

“What was it?”

“I granted them access to the Tree of Life. The tree which gave birth to all Faery kind.” His expression turns mocking, jaded as he seems to recall with perfect memory. “I had been ready to pluck the stars from the sky for that filthy ungrateful thing, and they dared to use me to gain eternal life by drinking from the tree’s fountain.”

He sees the look of astonishment and horror, clearly upset as realization dawns. It was said the Tree of Life would die if touched by human hands, destroying all of Faery kind should it occur. If it was true or not was unknown.

“…they touched it…?” You broke the dense silence first, curling your limbs around yourself as you feel the itch of your wings notify you of the awkward arch you’ve made with your spine.

Ava barks a dry laugh, dark amusement sparking in his eyes despite the serious story.

“Of course not little flower. My younger sister killed them before they could dare, becoming a hero for all Faery alike for protecting the race against a treacherous prince and a foul greedy human.”

He’s amuses himself with watching you through a small handheld mirror. Decorated in gold and jewels, the delicate ornate trinket has a spell cast to view his target at will.

You were asleep, tired from the seamstresses which had fussed so long over your dresses and you, face peaceful as you rest on the large expanse of his bed.

You sleep where he awoke this morning. Curled into the spot like you’re attempting to reclaim any warmth left over from his own slumber.

“You’re making quite a disgusting face, your majesty~” his eyes narrow as his mood sours in an instant.

“Leave witch.” He hisses, undisguised displeasure painting his sharp features as they scrunch in revolution.

“Make me faery,” a lithe feminine voice hisses back, his eyes finally lifting to acknowledge the vermillion haired woman which had appeared before him. “What has you making such a warm expression? I nearly lost my breakfast seeing it.” She glides more than walks, shamelessly spreading the floor length fur coat wrapped around her open, sitting on the arm chair of his throne.

“And your presence is going to make me gouge your eyes out and feed them to my hounds,” he flashes an equally unfriendly smile, the air becoming volatile towards the witch.

“Don’t act as if I wish to be here anymore than you wish it. You were the one who requested my potion.”

“Your potion not your presence.”

Dark eyes roll with a flutter, her red painted lip curling in disdain as she snaps her fingers, a small wooden box appearing in her palm.

“It cannot be delivered frivolously faery, or so you trust your servants so deeply?” He doesn’t answer.

She laughs, handing the box over with a smile as he pulls out a silver dagger and plunges it into his forearm.

Gold leaks from the wound, the witch quickly frowning and removing an empty vial to collect the liquid.

“Don’t be wasteful now, your blood is in high demand amongst my coven. It’s an incredibly binding agent.”

“Silence or I will bind your tongue for all eternity.”

“As if you could.” She cackles, vanished and gone before his talons could sink into her throat.

The box rests in his free hand. His distaste for the witches strong, but he admits they create the most potent and stable magical concoctions. They’re good in business too. He notes she didn’t allow a single drop of blood to go to waste before his wound sealed and closed.

“Drink for me, petal.”

You look lovely. Dressed lavishly in the finest silks and slowly becoming more confident in your true appearance. You no longer sit before the mirror and grimace, instead you play absently with your wings, more accepting as time continues.

He would rather just take you by force.

This method somewhat feeling beneath him, but in the end, he was already a wicked monster. What was this compared to his true nature?

You still curl or turn away when he touches you, less trusting of him now and though you should be, he finds it irritating. He wants to feel you melt against him again, blink your pretty eyes up at him and whisper his name with your kiss bitten lips.

You eye the delicate glass cup warily.

His clawed hand holding the pretty pink clear cup was nearly comical. He could tell by the quirk of your lip which you quickly tempered to avoid his detection. He caught it all though, still hoping he’s not forced to make you drink it. Though he doesn’t mind the act, pouring the drink in his mouth and laying his lips over your own to create a seal.

You take the cup gingerly with both hands, licking your lips as you bring it close to sniff.

“What is it…?” You look confused, nose scrunching up adorably, and he finds he wishes to kiss you there.

He’s forced to stay where he is though, aware you will wiggle and run if he touches you.

“Tea, made from milk, honey, and dried fruits.”

“It smells sweet…” you still eye him with mistrust, but you take a sip anyway, eyes lighting up as you take another. “It’s very good,” you’re not immune to bribery, “Thank you.”

For just a short moment, he feels his chest warm and a genuine smile grace his lips.

“You’re welcome, little flower. Thank you as well.”

“Huh?” You’ve finished the tea. “What for…?” His smile grows as you tilt your head in confusion.

“For being so foolish.”

You’re burning from the inside out. Tears and drool soaking your face and the bed as you cry out again.

“Why?” Digging your nails into the fabric, you find the texture appalling compared to usual, too rough and cold. “Ava…” you struggle to breathe, chest heaving as perspiration clings to you like a second skin. “It hurts…” you were fading into a blur of dizziness as your lower belly cramped again, more wetness coating your inner thighs.

“Shh…” he coos, ignoring your weak flinch as he slides his long tongue from your chin to your cheek, drinking your tears as his chest rumbles like a giant cat. “Do you need something sweet girl? Use your words.” He murmurs, groaning as he sees the amount of fluid you’ve leaked, your pussy swollen and glistening as you buck your hips and whine.

“Mean—!” He chuckles at your accusation, smiling shamelessly as he continues his chaste kisses against your skin.

“To you, petal? No, mean would be if I left you like this, no release for your poor little body.” He threatens, ignoring your silent pleas and body language for him to touch you more, keeping just enough distance to have you clawing at him to come back. “I’m nice though, I’m going to kindly fill your womb and make it all better.” It’s like a demon whispering in your ear as you writhe beneath him. His large frame cages you though, presses down on you as your bare chests connect and you can feel the thundering in his rib cage through your own. “Are you going to be good and let me breed you, little feary?”

You can’t think. Not when the promise of something hot and big going inside you, stretching you out like your body is begging for now. You nod, mind already gone as your clouded eyes connect with his own. You look high, pupils blown as he brings two fingers to his lips, opening his mouth and breaking off two of his sharp claws to blunt them.

“Spread your legs.” You obey, pliant body opening at his commands as he uses his fingers to dig into your slick gooey hole. He delights in your moans and reactions, hips moving for more friction as he fucks your tight entrance loose enough to take his cock inside you. “That’s it, petal, you don’t need to think anymore. Let go for me,” he murmurs, kissing you gently, tongue melting into your mouth while he digs his fingers up and rubs until you’re coming around his digits.

He pulls them out slowly, eyes drifting down to catch the sticky wet mess you’ve made and the jump of his cock in response. He laughs, deeply to his core as he brings them to his lips and lets you watch him clean them, blissed out expression marred with tears from pleasure and pain.

“You’re mine. For eternity, you will be always be mine.” His eyes are wild, something frightening entering them as he laughs, face so pleased and enamored you feel the urgent sense to crawl away from him, to run. “There is no escaping me. No where you can go that I won’t find you.” You feel too weak and sluggish to move, to even fight back, as his dark hand wraps around your neck, magic and gold swimming beneath his flesh. He feels warm, hotter than even you and your feverish mind. “I am no longer a patient a male, no longer content to wait and watch for results. You deny me, your mate, for humans which wanted to sacrifice you to a false deity, planned to rape and defile you,” he’s squeezing tighter, not cutting off air but blood flow instead as your mind becomes fluffy and unfocused. He speaks directly into your ear, the pointed tip curling down as he settles himself between your thighs. “They wanted to burn you, did you know? They called you a jinx, hated you, only wished you harm and destruction in the most vile and painful ways… and yet you still choose them?” He looks mad, smile filled with malicious intent and eyes glittering like jewels.

You speak with what little focus you have left…

“My sister…loved me.”

His smile falls, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

“Always…she loved me.”

He shakes his head, disapproval clear. “You think she loved you. Humans aren’t capable of love, my sweet flower.”

“You’re wrong…” he halts, watching as you weakly claw at his hold on your neck. “She loved me..! I know she did! You’re wrong! Take it back!” You cough as he releases your throat completely, eyes wide as you look at him with burning resentment even so deep under the influence of an aphrodisiac.

“I love you, but you,” you look filled with hurt, “you don’t love me.”

He’s shocked into silence as you seethe beneath him, face firm and eyes resolute as you declare his feelings for you.

He snarls, snapping his teeth at you, rage filling him as his wings spread out and magic and malice fill the air.

“I am not afraid to punish you, petal. I will not tolerate disrespect—,”

“Neither will I!” Even in tears, shaking as you are, he shifts back, the overwhelming force of your emotions startling him. “You treat me as if I am not worthy of respect, as if I’m not worthy to be listened to. You aren’t—,” you heave for air, struggling to draw in enough oxygen as you whirl on him, “—asking me. For anything. You just take…”

He’s silent, body frozen and tense as he watches you.

“Was it all a lie… when you said you’d be my friend? I thought faery couldn’t lie,” you’re in tears once more, sorrow endlessly streaming down your cheeks.

“No, don’t cry like that,” he feels oddly sick seeing you so upset like this. His frame once more curling around you, but to simply wrap you in the blanket and bring you to his chest. “We are friends, mates, I do not lie.” He whispers, cradling your body to his chest, trying to urge you to look at him.

“Friends don’t sneak away and do things that they know I wouldn’t like,” you calm after a while, swollen tear streaked face turned into his chest while he pets your hair.

He knows it must be painful, still under the effects of the drug he’d given you. His touch helping ease some of the heat.

“Okay. Okay, I was wrong, I…,” his teeth bare as he forces it past his lips, “I apologize…for not respecting your wishes…,” it makes him want to tear one of his hearts out and crush it. His hatred for humans no less despite his apology.

You look hopeful though, eyes returning some of the light he adores within you.

He’ll apologize everyday if he’s allowed to see that.

“Oh gods…!”

He’s trying to kill you. He must be.

You can’t struggle away though, no escape in sight, and true to his word Ava has filled your womb over and over again. You’re delirious on the pleasure, the second his heavy cock had entered you the earlier burning pain subsided into mind numbing euphoria. Each powerful snap of his hips has your body jolting upward, one large palm wrapped around your neck keeping you anchored. You could feel every vein and inch searing into you, eyes going in and out of focus on him face as he heaves for air and fucks you into another orgasm.

“Please, more, I need more—!” You’re reduced to a tearful mess, wantonly begging for his seed as he grimaces and fills you up again, balls drawing up tight as your cunt ripples around his length.

His face is ruined, eyes more red than gold as his pupils remain blown out, thick lashes holding a small cluster of tears as he licks his lips and continues his ravenous pace inside you. His hair clings to his face and horns, black curls damp with sweat and your cum, taking on a nearly purple hue. He wears a delirious expression like you, drugged out into oblivion as you both pant and moan as the heat devours you.

He’d felt badly for drugging you, especially as you writhed and cried in pain. His solution had not been to find the witch he’d bought the elixir from though.

He’d simply drank the remaining fluid while smiling mischievously.

“Let’s just fall into complete depravity petal,” he’d said, before your world went in and out of darkness. Only the scent of sugar and spices dominated your brain, and the feeling of fullness and completion each time he spilled his load within you.

“Are you ready for another sweet faery?” He knew you couldn’t answer, knew that words were too far away for your cotton filled mind to conjure. He asks anyway, drawing your hips off the bed, leaving your upper body limp on the soaked silks while he bounces you on and off his cock. “I’ve always known it is hard for Fae to conceive.” He speaks with a slur, as if it is liquor intoxicating him and not a lustful spell. He laughs as you cum around him, moan so breathy it appears like a silent scream as your back arches higher. “I have a good feeling it will not apply to us.” He nods, slamming down to the hilt as he collapses on you while he comes too, nose buried in your collar bone as he humps out his remaining seed and presses deep to ensure it stays.

“I think your little cunt likes being bred, gripping me so tightly so I can’t leave it,” he huffs, breathing labored as he sees you’ve lost consciousness again.

“Looks who’s mean now…” he murmurs tiredly, but his smile is fresh as he licks up your sweat and tears, cock already hardening again as blood swims in his ears like a river.

“I can’t anymore—!” It’s a squeal and a whine mixed, as Ava grunts against your throat.

“Can’t what, petal?” He asks rhetorically, humming as he slowly rolls your hardened nipple between two clawed fingers. His free hand between your legs, messily rubbing your clit as he works his cock inside you. His thrusts are no longer as violent or heavy as they were two days prior when he’d taken the drug, but his body still howled to press you flat and fill you up. To mark his mate up for all to see.

You look divine to him, too weary to even bite him anymore, nails broken from scratching at his back and arms when he’d blacked out and taken you too roughly. Even still, you looked beautiful, skin less sweat soaked and more simply damp, his care to ensure you drank water paying off in between rounds of riding him.

“I think your cunt has finally relaxed,” he teases, enjoying the sloppy squelching which echoes as he drives into you, your pussy indeed finally accepting it’s fate to be subjected to his cock for eternity. “Your womb has dropped too,” his hand stops torturing your clit to press on your lower belly, purring as you weakly complain.

“Let me rest…”

“No. I took the drug later than you, so it’s still in effect for me.” He chuckles, merrily still using your exhausted body. “Just a little more sweet girl, be good for me,” he moans, head falling back as his eyes close in bliss, cock twitching once again to fill you up.

“I truly am…with child?” His eyes are as wide as your own, cradling you close away from the vermillion haired woman who sneers at Ava.

Rolling her eyes, she nods, fingers pressed to her temples as if her mind is aching.

“Yes. You are with child, as I’ve confirmed four times already. Congratulations little Queen, you managed to love the unlovable.”

“Watch your tone and words witch,”

“My race is not an insult you foul monster—!”

They halt as you giggle, features radiant as you smile and hold your hands over your belly.

“A baby!” Ava is stricken at your delight, throat closing as something sweet tickles him inside. Your floral scent warmer these days, his keen hearing picking up on the second beating of a heart quickly.

“Yes,” he nods, like a love sick dog he grins and answers each time your repeat it in amazement.

The witch truly feels revolted to her core, but wordlessly leaves a book for new faery parents. Leaving without thanks as the happy family gushes over the good news.

As if the disgusting King didn’t know how powerful an aphrodisiac and fertility drug he used on his mate was.

She shrugs, teleporting away to her coven to return to work, minutely pitying the poor faery captured by the dark Fae.

They’re the only fae that can lie after all.

Dividers/@cafekistune

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan arena beasts/fighters + handler reader. Reader is an average human working at a zoo/shelters abducted and thrown into a life of caring for a galactic tyrant's playthings due to their experience with animals. Not an idea choice for the job, but with everyone who's had the job before being maimed, killed, or worse they were running out of options. Reader does the best with what they're given. They find solitude with the other captives to an extent and some of the more feral creatures remind them of stray cats and dogs they knew back home. They treat those who allow as those same poor creatures out of habit and to cope with their new life. Others are so aggressive they have to be blindfold and sedated to even get close. Reader still tries to comfort them despite the many scratches and bites they receive

A little mix up happens where a warrior meant to fight the big bad of the area had already been slain by the beast. With no alternative, reader gets sent out instead as sacrifice to appease the blood hungry masses. They cower in the corner as the beast's mask is removed, praying their battered body at least gets shipped home so they have a proper burial and their family has some clue to what happened to them. They cast their small dagger away still unable to defend themselves against what they only see as a frightened animal protecting its own skin. The beast lifts them off the ground like a ragdoll holding them high for the crowd to see as its fangs draw from its scarred lips - breaking the band around its wrist that would seal reader's victory.

The beast ties the rope around reader's neck as the announcer declares them victor by default. The crowd boos, but as the beast snaps the neck of one of the guards and throws the limb body into the arena their demands are met. Reader quakes from the sheer disbelief of the whole ordeal, and still being trapped in the beast's arms as it coos. It takes over a dozen guards to get them to separate the two. They try again with another beast reader has care for and the same thing happens. Watching the live footage closely it's clear to experts the skilled fighters allow themselves to get injured to be coddled and tended to by reader. When rations are given they try to feed reader a share of their meals. The number of casualties skyrocket when reader's taken away or new caretakers are introduced. The beasts demand their head pats and ear scratches for their winnings and they want it from one source alone.

-

The emperor is quite amused by this revelation. It perfectly masks his paranoia in the case of his pets rising against him for whatever reason and choosing the earthling as their new overlord which few have spoken of in whispers. He's torn between killing them to null his fears and befriending them to puppeteer his pets craftfully from the shadows. He decides on the latter since getting rid of them would only anger his pets. That and it would be so easy to trick the human with his charms. Few can resist the words and body of a king, after all.

"Y/n, darling, it's so good to see you! So glad you could make it. How have things been, hm?"

"I'd like to go home, please."

"Hahaha! Oh, you're so cute with your little jokes! You may enjoy your meal in due time, but I have a favor to ask of you from a friend to a king. In the case of I don't know - my pets slaughtering my entire legion and storming my castle walls to behead me and crown you ruler - would you pretty please ask them to - not do that?"

"That....sounds like it would be out of my hands."

"Right. Changing subject, you are aware I have been topless this whole conversation and my bed is right behind me. Why haven't you attempted to have your way with me by now? Not saying you could - but you can always try."

The emperor upgrades their room to one right next to his, but they hardly sleep there favoring their time caring for the others and because they'd rather stay there than see him in a state of undress on their mattress. The emperor mimics the cooing that gets wounded beasts extra smothering from their handler, but reader mostly ignores him. He grows jealous seeing them fast asleep in a cell kept warm by the body heat of the battle scarred creatures around them. He's been scarred by attempted assassinations in the past - why doesn't he get cuddles too? Combats this jealously by making a royal decree that reader has to sit with him during every battle and on his lap if they wish to stay out of his sight afterwards. Requests for reader's fredom and hand in marriage and when a champion is chosen are banned almost immediately.

[random-posts680]

“•Don’t come looking for me •” part 1

Part two: https://www.tumblr.com/random-posts680/750380195361538048/i-knew-youd-be-back

Feyd-Rautha x reader

A/n: this is a Drabble I’ve been working on for the past week and I will most likely make a part two!!

Synopsis: You use your job to hide on different planets from a family feud. While living on Giedi prime you catch the attention of the Na-Barron himself and create very close ties with him. The time you have on the planet though is unfortunately short lived, you flee, leaving behind the man you’d, unknowingly made fall in love with you, Feyd-rautha

Other mentions: soft!Feyd, Feyd is obsessed with reader, reader is oblivious, this turned out a bit angsty but part two will tie it up.

Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of death, blade to readers throat, blade mentioned, Feyd is a whole warning in himself.

Everyone knew how cruel and sadistic the Baron harkonnens nephew was.

Everyone knew just what he was capable of.

Anyone who’d ever talked to him without being murdered by his own hands would tell you he was truly terrifying and psychotic, a being who is completely incapable of any feelings such as love, vulnerability, gentleness….

Everyone knew that.

Everyone, but you.

You and feyd-Ruathas entire friendship was rooted from a mishap. You were someone from a far away planet who had come to study the ways of the harkonnens on Giedi Prime, at least that’s the job profile you displayed to them.

The day you arrived there, not a single harkonnen payed you much attention and you weren’t bothered by that, going about your business daily, studying the planet, and occasionally watching the brutal battles in the arena.

Not a soul on Giedi Prime had any idea who you were and what your actual reason was for exploring their planet, and you intended to keep it that way. Keeping your existence to a low and never acting out. Your appearance alone already stood out enough among the harkonnens. The last thing you needed was word getting out of your inhabitants on Giedi prime.

Life on the black and white planet wasn’t as bad as many people picked it out to be. You stuck to your “job” and lived peacefully in your guest coordinates. You ate well, slept well, and trained just fine on your own. Until the day your tranquility was disturbed.

That day you and him crossed paths was by far the most chaotic day you’d had on the planet. You had your things huddled in your arms, your com was ringing with a call from your research centre, your mind was thinking of the quickest way back to the guest chambers, yet your feet were taking you elsewhere.

After realizing you were completely lost, you took a bit to calm down and found the nearest bench along the walls of the stronghold and answered the com to update your work place of your progress on Giedi Prime.

Once the call was over, you grabbed your things, and once again realized you had no idea where the hell you were. You let out a sigh as you turned on your heels only to be met with a blade thrust up against your jugular.

Your feet instantly halted.

“Where are you wondering to?” The person holding the blade rasped out. ‘Shit’ Despite your initial panic, you just simply wanted to get back to your guest room, the day had already been stressful enough and you weren’t the type to be afraid of some sick harkonnen who wanted a rise out of a foreigner. ‘First few weeks on this damn planet and I’m about to get slaughtered for walking in the wrong area.’

You knew the harokenns were a driven race but this was just pretentious.

“I’m trying to find the guest chambers, this place is like a maze, I got lost along the way.” You drawled out, keeping the annoyed tone down a notch, doing your best to not anger the male with the blade.

Seconds went by before he withdrew the knife. As soon as he did you whipped around to face the offender and your heart hammered when you came face to face with the Na-Baron himself.

What you didn’t know is that when your eyes met, Feyd-rauthas heart started to hammer too.

The harkonnen paced around you a few times looking you up and down as you stood still, a skeptical look displayed on your face, yet an intrigued expression on his. ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Your train of thought was stopped when he came closer to you, his face neared yours, his breath tickled your nose and his lips twitched ever so slightly when he was just inches away.

Moments passed but with each one you felt your facade slipping away. You nervously drew your lips into a line as he made eye contact with you once again. His deep blue eyes held something that you couldn’t read. Your act was about to crumble before him.

A few more seconds passed and it was as if your unspoken prayers had been answered when he backed up and simply walked the other way down the hall. You watched with a perplexed look during his exit.

Once he was out of your line of sight you blinked away the look and shook off the interaction. ‘What the actual fuck just happened’ you were completely baffled. He just let you go, no further questions, didn’t give you any directions, and he had gotten so close?!?

You stood for a bit, conflicted. As for the Harkonnen himself, he was feeling waves of ambivalence.

He didn’t know if it was the beauty you possessed or the way your eyes seemed to sparkle with curiosity once you realized who he was, but from that moment on Feyd-Ruatha was infatuated with you.

The very next day he had come to find you. He’d looked into your cause and he was determined to be the one to show you the culture of the harkonnens.

At first, you weren’t amused with his persistence and it was a wonder to many how he didn’t just force you into letting him be around you. He was always finding ways to bother you after his duties and training. Being with you exhilarated him, the surge of emotions added a new type of pleasure to his days. He wasn’t going to give up an opportunity like this. And he definitely wasn’t going to let any other harkonnen be the one in his future spot next to you.

When you finally realized you weren’t getting rid of him you decided to accept it. You let him tag along on your explorations, let him teach you things about the planet, even going as far as him introducing you to his uncle and brother. (Which ended in Chaos and you two swore never again). Feyd had started to grow on you and you got used to his presence, you even started to enjoy it. It was nice having a friend on the planet, even one who was a blood thirsty murderer, but nonetheless, Feyd was never anything other than respectful and his interesting version of kind to you.

Each day was something new with you, while he was teaching you, you were also teaching him. You and him trained together, ate togther, and talked about almost anything and everything. The topics went from simple things to things that were more intimate and personal. You considered telling him the true reasons why you sprung from planet to planet “exploring,” but you decided it wasn’t wise considering that he may not understand or even believe you. Now, while you recall these memories you regret never telling him that you were in fact running from something.

Surprisingly, Feyd had actually opened up a few times and shared some of his twisted beliefs with you. Even if they were insane you did your best to understand him and point him in directions that would cause a lot less blood shed. To your surprise, he took some of your advice.

He hated how weak you could make him but at the same time he couldn’t get enough of you. He craved you deeply. Everyday he spent with you only made his need for you stronger. The smiles you’d give him, the gentleness of your hands when you would dress his wounds after an arena fight (If he ever had any injuries from the arena that is), the softness of your voice when you would teach him things from your home planet.

It was truly intoxicating to him.

Feyd was incredibly protective of you too. Not letting many get too close to you and always making sure you were unharmed by other harkonenns. Feyd himself had no desire to ever hurt you either, he actually despised the thought of hurting you altogether. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want to force your hand, no matter how badly he wanted his fantasies of you to come true, he knew he wouldn’t take joy in forcing them upon you.

It was safe to say you had worked miracles on him. You were the only being in the entire universe who could bring this side out of him.

Feyd-rautha loved you.

So the day you just disappeared out of no where was a day nobody enjoyed. When he’d realized your absence and was informed that no harkonnen on the face of Giedie prime had any idea where you had gone, he completely lost it. He killed everyone in the room with him in that moment.

He dropped as many bodies as he possibly could that day. Acting as though they were to blame for you disappearance.

He tried to track you, find a trail of where you may have gone, anything to bring you back to him. He looked for hours, not wanting to believe that the trail to your current location was completely cold. It was as if you’d vanished into thin air.

All of your belongings were left in your guest room. Nothing of yours was missing. The only thing that had gone missing the same day you did was…his blade.

The harkonnen thought the worst when he uncovered this detail. He thought of you fighting against some kind of enemy with his blade in hand, defending yourself all alone, while he had no way of protecting you. Feyd had never felt heartache but when he thought of you alone and scared, fighting for your life, it surged through his chest and even put warm, piercing lumps in his throat at times.

There was only one other piece of evidence, but it proved you were alive. A week after finding that his blade was missing he went to your room to search it once again. This time he found a note taped in one of your analysis journals. ‘I’m sorry, don’t come looking for me’ it’s writing was rushed and sloppy.

The harkonnen stared at it before the weight of the situation settled onto him. You had left, you had run away from him. But this also meant you were alive.

Feyds murderous tendencies only grew from then on. He killed for no reason now. Slaughtering anyone if they did something out of his comfort. His anger being taken out on servants, and the drugged slaves in the arena.

Feyd seemed to hate everything other than killing. But the one thing that drove him mad was the fact he couldn’t bring himself to hate you.

Each night he’d have dreams of you. Dreams of your hair flowing in the geidi prime wind. Your smile glowing as he shows you yet another trick of his. Your soft voice pulling him into a deep sleep. At the end of the day, this was the closest he could be to you. Sleep was his escape and Feyd-ruatha was desperate. He wasn’t ashamed to be lulled to sleep by the thought of you every night. His finger tips wrapping around the sheets when his dreams consisted of times with you.

Feyd and you and never been closer than mere friends but you also had no idea that you were everything to him.

Now, as you float through space months after you had made your escape, you replay those memories in your head. And you make a promise to yourself. You won’t get close with anybody again until you are done running.

————————————————————————-

A/n: Guys part two is coming

,I promise, I know this is ended sadly 😭

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Trying out writing Aegon some more for my fic, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon finds you praying in the Sept before the Battle of Rook's Rest. This is not a friendly encounter. word count: 1, 298+ words

You had been sent to King’s Landing as a means of assurance that House Hightower, Aegon’s Mother side of the family, was completely loyal to him and his cause. You dreaded it, wishing you had been born a man or married off to some Lord from far away. King’s Landing was in chaos, the common folk struggling to adapt to the changes due to the war. Whilst the Red Keep was a mix of chaotically trying to plan out the war and comforting a fragile minded Helaena. 

It did not help that the predatory eyes that were Aegon’s that followed you everywhere. From when you entered a room until you left, if the walls had eyes then they surely would have followed you there as well. In hopes of avoiding any conflict or attempts of any kind, the Sept became your safe haven. Aegon did not attend the daily mass, nor did he believe in the Faith of the Seven. 

So, those hours long masses were a good enough excuse to get out of the Red Keep and to keep your distance from Aegon. After the rumors of Aegon’s past in Silk Street floated towards your ear, no matter how hard Alicent tried to stop it, it gave you reason enough to keep far far far far away from him. Even if he was your distant cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Kneeling in front of the large statue of the Mother, you did not pray for anything a girl of your age and high standing usually would have, not for the blessing of fertility and easy labor. No, you prayed for mercy and peace on behalf of your sweet distant cousin and Queen consort Helaena. The poor girl did not deserve the fate given to her, to marry her older brother and to watch her innocent son be slaughtered in front of her. Helaena deserved peace and mercy. 

Grabbing a match from benches in front of the statue, you light an unlit candle, watching the flames crackle and pop for a second. Weakly smiling at the alluring glow of candlelight, you blow out the match, shifting on the velvet stool in front of the statue of the Mother. Letting out a gentle sigh, you clasps your hands together in a prayer motion, ready to begin your prayers for your sweet cousin. 

“So this is where you run off to.” Aegon states, his loud footsteps filling the once quiet Sept.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“I had hoped for something more interesting or scandalous.” Aegon comments amused, “But, considering how much of a prude Oldtown is, I am not surprised you're here.” 

“Your grace, I was not expecting you here.” You weakly get out, dreading turning around. 

“I can tell. You're tense.” 

Tensing up even more as he points it out, you turn around to look at him, your eyes looking him over. His hair was unruly as ever, only making it more obvious that he lacked the knowledge of a hairbrush of any kind. Though you were sure that he never combed it in his entire life as it was very fit for his character. 

Narrowing your eyes at what he was wearing, the steel chest plate clearly did not fit him, the leather straps holding the chest plate together looking seconds away from bursting. You’d never comment on it, but he would have better luck squeezing himself into a corset than trying to wear that armor.  

“I was taken by surprise by you. Do forgive me for it, your grace.” You mumble weakly, now praying that he would go away.

“I see you are admiring me. I do not blame you. I do look rather dashing, had nearly all of the whores in Silk Street throw themselves at me.” He jests, though it only makes your lips curled up into a disgusted look. 

A poet. No, a drunk. No, no, a whore. Anyone could have come up with a better conversation starter than that. 

“I am sure you enjoyed that, your grace.” You nod, “You look like the true epitome of a King.”

Shifting your eyes away from him, you tense up as he stands beside your stool, dangerously close to touching you. Aegon had always given you an odd feeling, not quite hatred but not quiet enjoyment, more like a neutral contentment. From the cordial conversations at dinner with the rest of the family, he was decent enough. Of course, before he gorged himself on Arbor red and food. 

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, his hand brushing against the side of your cleavage.

“What?” You blurt out, tensing up at the ‘accidental’ touch. 

“I said, will you pray for me, sweet cousin?” He asks, a dark glint in his eyes. “Pray for your King to return from battle unmarred?”

“I will, if you ask me to.” You mumble, feeling forced to comply. 

Cowering backwards as he leans in dangerously close, every part of your body told you that you were not safe this close to him. He was a Targaryen, the King, your distant cousin, and a married man nonetheless. An unmarried woman such as yourself should not be this close to him. Pushing down the fear that bubbled up inside of you, he tenderly touches your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze better. Your lips dangerously close to touching if either of you leaned in. 

Carefully looking over his features, you would never say it aloud, but in another life he would be considered ethereal. Those stunning amethyst eyes and white curls that all Targaryen’s had. Those sharp features that were framed with a soft pudginess from his recent gain of weight. The soft pink under his eyes and on the tip of his nose from restless nights. Remembering where you were, you instantly pull back from him, keeping a distance from him. 

“When I return from Rook’s Rest, victorious, like I know that I will. I will take you as my second wife, I need an heir and you are fit for that.” He states, an almost sinister glimmer in his eyes. 

“But, it is forbidden. In the eyes of the Seven and of the common law. No man should take two wives.” You argue, praying it would be enough to spook him off.  

“I am King, my word is law. Not to mention, twas’ my ancestor who took two wives. Who am I to deny tradition?” He counters, the tone of his voice leaving no room to argue.

No. No. No. Now he cares of tradition? Of duty?

Realizing that there truly was no way to sway his mind on the matter, you sink in the velvet stool, a twindle of defeat filling you. You would be his second wife, his bride. Just a broodmare, someone to warm his bed whenever he called for you like a dog. No one would be able to protest this, to argue on your behalf because he was right, he was King. His word held more power than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Your fate was sealed, it seemingly was when you were shipped to King’s Landing. 

"But-" You try, but he cuts you off.

“Now, I will expect you to await my return with eagerness, my little bride-to-be.” He whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You don’t speak, your tongue feeling as if it was made of lead.  Even if you could, you could not promise that you would not lash out on him. 

“Oh, and when I do come back, wait for me in my chambers dressed in that pretty little chemise of yours. I liked the one with the pink ribbon.” He whispers, the last part of his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. 

He had been watching you whilst you were in your chambers. For gods knows how long.

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

[supreme-leader-stoat]

Where does "turn the other cheek" leave Christians in terms of self-defense?

Alright, so, big asterisk up front: we've been arguing about this among ourselves for about two millennia and it shows no signs of stopping. A Quaker is liable to give you a much different answer than a raised-Baptist.

First, some context. The "turn the other cheek" verse is specifically part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus takes Old Testament law and raises the ante. The law says not to murder, He tells them not to let their anger overtake and control them to begin with. The law says not to commit adultery, He says not to even look at people with lustful intentions (this is the poke out your eye, cut off your hand passage). The law says that a man divorcing his wife has to give her the legal protections of a certificate of divorce, He says that anything short of cheating isn't valid grounds for divorce to begin with (this has a lot to do with the protections or lack thereof for unmarried women at the time, but that's a whole tangent I won't go into here). The law says to keep your oaths, He says to be such a straightforward and honest person that you don't even need to give your oath to begin with. And so on.

Now, with all that in mind; "turn the other cheek" is Him upping the ante on the segment of Mosaic law that literally gives us the phrase "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." It was half legal prescription on the just punishments for certain crimes, and half laying down the rules and restrictions of what constituted acceptable proportionate retaliation. If someone punches you, you can punch him back. Someone kills your brother, you can execute him. What you can't do is go and slaughter his entire family, because that's how you get blood feuds, and that doesn't end well for anybody.

Looking at it from that angle, "turn the other cheek" is a commandment against retaliation and vengeance, and this is the interpretation I've grown up around most of my life. Someone hits you and you've got the opportunity to walk away, then you take your lumps and go, and you don't stew and think about what you're gonna do to get back at him the next time you see him.

Active and immediate self-preservation is another matter. To the best of my knowledge, there is no clear prohibition in the Bible against such actions; even "he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword" is immediately followed by "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?" The rebuke isn't for acting in the defense of others, it's for getting trigger-happy when Jesus isn't in any true (immediate) danger and because it's ultimately a pointless fight; Jesus has to go to the cross.

If you'll pardon an older example, let's take a look at Esther Chapter 8. King Ahasuerus gives the Jews leave to form militias to protect themselves and their property against the lynch mobs that would be attacking them as part of Haman's genocide plot, and this is presented to us as an inherently just and sensible course of action.

So, to answer the original question, I don't believe that there's anything wrong with Christians practicing self-defense, "turn the other cheek" notwithstanding.

But.

There's one more thorny patch to consider in this whole argument, and that's the one bit of Matthew 5 that comes after "turn the other cheek": "Love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you." The safety that Christians enjoy in the modern west is an anomaly both geographically and historically. Christianity is, at its very root, a religion of martyrs. Many and maybe even most of those martyrs have gone to their deaths, if not willingly, then at least peaceably. It's worth noting that we don't tell the story of Stephen, who made a valiant last stand against the mob that tried to stone him. We tell the story of Stephen the martyr. "Lord, do not hold this sin against them."

Honestly, I don't know that I'd have the courage to die like they did. If there's someone who's trying to hurt you, trying to hurt your family, I won't be the one to look you in the eyes and say you have to stand down; I'm already well aware of the decision I'd make in that situation. But from the moment we accept eternal life, our old lives here on Earth are forfeit. Any time that could be taken from us with our death is on loan to begin with. A hypothetical attacker in a self-defense situation isn't guaranteed that same benefit. They might very well have far, far more to lose than we do.

I don't believe Christians are forbidden self-defense, but I think we are expected to weigh the costs.

[lace-coffin]

Hello! Merry Christmas! I just read the post of Asa reacting to his victim being attracted to slashers and omg I loved it! You did amazing on it ^^

If your still taking requests I would love a post where the slashers reacting to their victim watching their movie and being attracted/lustful towards their character ^^ if it's okay with you :] thanks!

How would the Slashers react to their S/O being attracted to their movie? (Nsfw)

Slashers x gn!Reader

Requests are open!

Thank you for the request! I’m super glad you liked my other fic 😭💕

Bubba Sawyer

You made a movie night of it, bubba hauling the outdated tv into your shared room for some privacy away from the family. She was nervous for you to see this, they already knew you were aware of the film but..to watch it together in person was so much more intimate. What if you thought he was a monster? What if you decided you didn’t mean all the “I love you’s” you’d whispered into the crook of their neck on comfy quiet nights?

After giving him some reassuring kisses over his mask and taking his bigger hand into yours, you begin the movie, bubba’s eyes fluttering nervously between yours and the screen the entire time.

She braces when the gorier parts happen, uncomfortable but excited in her own way to be this vulnerable with you. He cracks an eye open and forces himself to gauge your reaction, no matter how horrified it may be. You look..flustered? Face hot and tinted a deep shade of pink, hands noticeably clammy against bubba’s, legs drawn to yourself just subtly pressing together. Were you into this?

Just as the screaming girl is manhandled back into the sawyer house on screen you swear under your breath, almost jealous of the way your partner roughly grabs at her. “Fuck..so strong, you need to pick me up like that sometime” you drawl, poorly concealing your want as a half joke.

No time like the present you guess as bubba suddenly stands, height difference somehow even more evident when you’re wanting like this. A moment passes where you look each-other over, both red faced and panting. This is cut short as he grabs you around the waist, leaving no room to escape. You squeal in surprise but it quickly devolves into excited giggles, doing absolutely nothing to help the ache between your legs.

Bubba beams up at you as if they could do no wrong as they throw you into the bed, wrestling you into the position they want like a helpless doll.

An hour and multiple orgasms layer she’s still plowing into you with no sign of stopping, warm wet seed leaking from your abused hole. You never finished the movie.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas has seen his movies a few times before, he doesn’t really feel one way or the other about them, just viewing it as a documentation of his life. Sometimes Hoyt will throw it on the tv on warm lazy evenings, beer in hand, ready to find himself hilarious for the 100th time. Thomas doesn’t quite understand why you and Hoyt like it so much but he doesn’t complain.

It’s happened the last few times you’ve seen it, even if it’s just playing as background noise. Seemingly unable to tear your eyes from the screen for over half the movie, especially during the bloodier parts involving your boyfriend, you suddenly leave the room in a hurry. Thomas had thought nothing of it the first few times, just guessing you couldn’t hold your beer or something but sure enough it happens again this evening and he can’t bear the curiosity any longer. Thomas waits a few minutes as to not raise suspicion before following you the way you came.

What he finds does not disappoint. Backed against the bathroom wall your hand is clasped over your mouth tight, fingers working desperately under your half tugged down jeans to relieve yourself. This entire time you’d been turned on by it? By him slaughtering people? The thought of you wanting him so carnally stirs deep in his abdomen.

“I’m sorry Tommy it’s just, the way you take what you want and, and hold them down when they’re pleading..fuck, it does something to me”

The look of shock plastered against Tommy’s raised brows quickly transforms into a look of smugness. Your jeans are tugged down around your ankles uncaringly before you can continue to explain. Just enough room to Thomas to take what he wants, what you need. His hot mouth works over you roughly, not caring about technique as much as just having you in his mouth, claiming you, feeling all he can. You tug his hair into a death grip the closer you get to the edge, making Tommy groan in response and double his efforts. The orgasm hits you like a train, it’s sudden and rough and filthy, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Tommy removes himself from you finally, lips swollen and spit slick, dopey fucked out look on his face.

Asa Emory

It’s almost like a sick treat, this predicament you’ve found yourself in more than once, and probably will again in the future. Having a cushy spot in the collection as Asa’s favourite pet definitely has its perks, but in return you must admit you tend to get a little sloppy, bratty even. Getting too confident in your place and pushing your masters will. Obviously Asa doesn’t stand for this. This is how you find yourself placed in his lap on the black leather sofa, wrists cuffed together in front of you and legs spread either side of his.

In times like these Asa likes to show you what happens if you don’t behave, if you aren’t his beloved pet, If you’re a dazed fly caught in his web with no sign of escape.

The movie starts of slowly, you’re still a bit red faced from being cuffed down but relatively calm in your place on his thighs, finding it kind of cute seeing Asa in his exterminator gear on the sleek tv. Asa only runs a stray hand over your thigh for now, running close to where your thigh meets hip and dipping back down. Not enough to do anything but enough to get the cogs turning in your head and enough to get your legs squirming.

Your owners hands delve down to the centre of your thighs as the movie picks up, Asa roughing up victims on screen with such measured precision it’s almost erotic on its own. The gloved hand running over your clothed need doesn’t help either.

Eventually the torture scenes begin, Asa finally tugging off your underwear and widening his thighs, by proxy widening yours bracketed around them. Lubed up fingers work their way into your aching hole, other hand under your chin, forcing you to look at the screen. “Look at that cricket, these people were ill mannered and got what was coming to them, we’d hate for that to happen to you, hm?” The parallel between the writhing groaning victims on screen and you also writhing and moaning in a lewd way makes you feel disgusting in the best way possible. The only difference is you’re a willing victim.

You choke out a particularly loud moan as his long fingers hit a sensitive spot, wrenching your eyes shut in process. “I said look you stupid mutt.” Asa snaps, tugging your head back towards the screen. “I know you love it when I play in your guts but let’s hope you regain your manners so I don’t have to do it that way, yes?” He says coolly as a man is being disembowelled, slightly amused at the gore in-front of him.

The gore used to make you feel strange, not able to completely connect to it as it always seemed unreal through the tv, but it made you feel like you were prying, seeing people’s most hopeless and intimate last moments. It felt almost perverse to see this desperate side to someone at the hands of an uncaring god. After multiple occasions of viewing it and heavy petting from Sir during you’ve started to associate the sick acts on screen with pleasure at the hands of your master. Simultaneously causing pain to others and vile pleasure to you at the same time.

Asa edges you a few times during the more violent moments, waiting for the grand finale to let you finish, he revels in the way you moan for him, squirming and trying to get more whilst only being permitted what he gives you. It’s ironic how greedy you are for his touch while being shown on screen what happens when you try push him further then you should but he can’t help finding it endearing on you.

By the time the credits have rolled you’ve finally been allowed to cum once, and again, and again. Until your legs are shaking, trying to force themselves closed around your masters spread ones for some reprieve from the onslaught of overstimulation. “Didn’t that feel good? You see where being a well trained dog gets you?” Asa chuckles darkly into your ear before landing one last slap onto your abused hole. “Let’s keep it that way cricket.”

Billy lenz

You share the old mattress on the attic floor together, head laid on Billy’s lap. The picture on the tv in front of you isn’t amazing but it’ll do. You’ve seen black Christmas a few times so it’s not like it matters if you miss a few details, just happy to see your partner on screen and be sharing quality time together.

Usually with Billy’s attention span he ends up skipping over the bits that don’t include him much, complaining about the “pig bitches” on screen being boring. You’re not sure if he does this because he’s genuinely bored or if he just wants to skip to the parts that make you flustered. Occasionally you make it through the whole thing but it’s a rare occurrence.

As soon as your lover on screen starts spewing filth over the old rotary phone it’s over. Usually Billy would all but jump your bones, not now though. He loves to see the way you try act coy, like the disgusting words being thrown down the phone don’t bother you at all, in reality a familiar feeling is stirring between your thighs and Billy knows it.

One hushed low moan and a needy look is all it takes for Billy to pounce on you. You giggle and palm him over his trousers, trying to get him as riled up as you can before actually initiating anything. It works because in moments he’s grabbing your hair with force and pushing your face into his clothed cock. “Hurry up piggy, too.. too slow..teasing slut, need you on my cock”

Now settled with your head back in his lap and cock down your throat, you continue the movie, warming his needy cock as you watch the brutality on screen. It never fails to amuse you how Billy’s cock twitches in the murder scenes.

Jason Vorehees

Jason isn’t shy about his movies, he’s done those things on screen before and an uncountable amount of times offscreen too. To be honest there’s so many of the movies he doesn’t always remeber the plot of each despite literally being in them. He does however remember that the movie usually ends with his cock buried in you.

Jason doesn’t really understand why you find his acts of violence so impressive but, he’s not complaining. He can admit he looks pretty broad and strong in some scenes.

Since the movie marathons usually end the way they do it means Jason is already wound up before the tape has been pushed into the player. Dark mottled skin beneath his mask flushing even deeper. You both ignore the tent in his torn trousers for now, not wanting to ruin the illusion that you both don’t already know what’s going to go down.

After a grotesque on screen death Jason is guiding your hand to his wet clothed cock, head tilted down in embarrassment, his good eye wrenched shut in shame. This shame seems to melt away later on in the evening as you have two fingers slipped into your boyfriend’s desperate hole, fucking into his prostate with fervour. Jason almost seems like another person as he’s riding your hand greedily.

The credits roll but the movie had been long abandoned anyway, you have more pressing things to concentrate on. Like the way your lovers cock jumps and pulses, cum staining his shirt and dribbling down to mix with the lube between his legs.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms isn’t a massive fan of watching his movie, the scenes in it bringing back the painful memories way too vividly for him to handle. He will however watch it if you beg him enough, promising to skip the uncomfortable scenes and only watch the ones he doesn’t mind, and also the fact you bribe him with a mid-movie handjob also helps.

It’s really a battle of self control for Brahms, already pawing at you before the movie title even pops up, he’s here for one thing. Well two things, he loves spending time with his lovely partner, but right now it seems his brain is being controlled by his cock. You can tell him no and bat him away a few times, the dominance in your voice will only go straight to his dick anyway, kind of defeating the object but he’s not objecting by any means.

The push and pull of desperation and dominance eventually gets to much for Brahms, resigning to begging. “Please mommy/daddy/master I’ve been so good, did what you said, please, need it”

Tell Brahms how good he’s been for you whilst teasing his leaky tip, circling your thumb over his slit and hearing the pathetic whines he lets out. If you’re feeling really mean you can edge him during the duration of the movie, telling him to look at how bad he’s been on screen, like a dog who needs a muzzle. Your poor partners brain is essentially mush by the end of it, hazy and exhausted from reaching the edge so many times but being denied, a soft slap to the cock if he complains.

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t understand the need to watch his movies, he was there and committed the atrocities on the tv, why does he need to see it again? He’s not against it though, by that I mean he won’t leave the room if you start playing it and he happens to be on one of the sofas. But he doesn’t really interact.

His attention never stays on the tv long, mostly trained on you and your reactions. It would probably be unnerving to most to have this prolific killer staring them down unblinkingly from across the room, but that’s just Michael. If anything it worries you more when you can’t feel his gaze burning into your back, almost strangely comforted by knowing he’s near.

You make a show of paying extra attention to his kills, pointedly commenting about how powerful and sexy he looks covered in blood like that. Michael knows you do it on purpose but he can’t deny it defiantly works to excite him, he’s not been used to a lot of praise in his life so he supposes it makes sense in some way that it would have that effect on him.

Despite what you may think Michael does have a decent amount of self control when it comes to you, he definitely does if it means he gets to watch you torture yourself by not touching, just rearranging your legs over and over in an attempt to relieve the pressure. Michael sees all the desperate looks he pretends not to notice.

Eventually he tires of playing his part as the none the wiser partner and stands from the sofa, briskly crossing the living room and slinging you over his shoulder. If you want to get fucked by Michael Myers then why wait? He makes a point of turning the tv off and grabbing his knife on the way upstairs.

The movie was dull to Michael but the way he’s bullying his cock into you definitely isn’t. The way you gasp and hiccup against him as he holds his signature knife to your throat is burned in his memory. Michael wouldn’t actually hurt you with it but if you happen to catch yourself a little he’s more than happy to lap it up from your neck as he fucks into you.

Yautja (female and male)

Female

Her movies are always a hit when she’s nesting, you spend hours cuddled up in the warm furs along side each-other anyway so you might as well revisit some old favourites whilst you do. Your mate is insatiable during mating season, never straying far from the nest nor your flushed body.

She adores the way your body reacts to the tv version of her, easily sensing the way your heart rate picks up when she thunderously bellows in pride after a kill. It’s also obvious in the way you can’t keep your hands off her during these scenes, you can’t believe the beast that’s all muscle, dominance and sex appeal on the tv is your girlfriend. The same girlfriend who lets you gently trace her mandibles and pet her dreads.

During this season she needs no excuse to fuck you into the furs anyway so it never lasts long before she’s pinning you to the nest floor. Her hips rutt into you with a primal want, the need to mark and breed, she knows she can’t actually put a pup in you but god is she going to try. It can go on like this until the movie is long over, more concerned in sliding against eachother as hard as you can until you’re both completely fucked out. She’s not satisfied until you’ve cum multiple times and are littered in bruises and bites from her sharpe mandibles.

Once she’s happy with the wreck she’s turned you into she’ll pull you close against her warm scaly skin, purring and clicking into your sweaty tired skin.

Male

Mating season hits and it’s it’s anyone guess what will set your mate off, something as simple as looking cute whilst cooking or admiring the skulls he presented to you can be enough to have your bent over and panting.

Today it’s watching his movie that does it for him, you only commented in passing how handsome and capable he looked taking down multiple trained specialists like it was nothing. You saw the effect it had on him and giggled mischievously, knowing how he gets this time of year. Your laugh must have translated to a challenge to him because it only takes a matter of seconds for him to slam you into the floor, snarling in your face, mandibles flared.

Your mate shows you who’s in charge by grabbing your hair in a death grip, forcing you to watch him kill on screen as he slams into you, bottoming out each time. You swear you can feel him in your stomach, trying his hardest to fuck all you can take into your stretched, lewdly squelching hole.

He demands you watch and tell him how much of a good mate he is as he finally pops his knot into you, stuffing you full and binding you together until you take all his cum, until his body decides he’s breed you thoroughly enough to make his seed take.