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house-strong · 2 years

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— DRAGONS BANE, chapter three ʾ ⋆

CHAPTER THREE — remnants of a friend

glossary ; chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five.

summary ; the royal family has presented a ball for the lords and lady’s of westeros under the guise of queen alicent and king viserys’s wedding anniversary. aemond is left with you and despite his best effort, he’s starting to take a liking to your presence.

pairing ; enemies-to-lovers!aemond targaryen x tyrell!reader

notes ; aemond is something i think about often!!! heavy dialogue bonding chapter before i RIP THE RUNG FROM UNDER YOU.

taglist ; @cypherpt5fttaehyung @farmerpinkpie @tachibubu @underatreedrinkingtea @anita-alice @shnadaidas @kitkat-writes-stuff @itisjustwhatitis @rosedovve @mistalli @thesnugglingduck @miaowchan17 @fancylisoo @merakiaes @sanguinalia @ephemeralninon @averageperhaps @sana-within-you @thegreat-annamaria @tina-theslytherin @signyvenetia @vikingsisthenewsexy @mitsuyaws @andysnewgroove @gloryekaterina want to join? click me!

“marriage agrees with you, helaena.”

from the table below the high table, you turn your head ever so slightly. your eyes fall upon the queen alicent and the princess helaena, an exchange that looks almost forced. helaena gives her a weak smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes and spark the usual happiness she bore.

there’s a scoff from the other side of the table.

the interaction is enough to instill sadness within you. helaena, despite being the radiance she is, has been clouded ever since you had helped her dress for her wedding. she was like a shroud of dark rain clouds over a sweet summer field of flowers, and too much rain leads to dead flowers.

the festivities around you, the laughter and music that fills the air, does little to raise your spirits. you stare around with a grim look, lips pressed into a thin line as you play with your food in front of you. you exhale through your nose, reaching for the cup of wine next to your plate and taking a few, long sips. the content is smooth and velvety, enough to make the back of your throat tickle.

there’s some scuffling behind you from chairs being pulled from their position and soon, helaena and aegon descend the steps to the royal high table, hand in hand. the sea of dancing lords and ladies part, allowing them to enter safely and begin dancing with the crowd. helaena follows the steps to the dance perfectly and when her partner switches to another lord, it’s like an incandescent candle that flickers to life. she bears a large smile with rosy cheeks, bashfully talking to the lord who’d begun to dance with her.

you can’t help but beam, perhaps her true personality hasn’t been lost.

“why do you look so glum, little flower?”

once you realize the question was directed to you, you turn your head and your eyebrows shoot up at the presence of aemond. he’s standing there in fine clothes, black linen and leather clad against his body. from this stance, there’s some sort of regality that effortlessly flows about him, as if being a prince agreed with him.

your eyes flutter and you immediately swallow the thought, “no reason at all, my prince.”

the corner of his mouth twitches as he eyes you carefully. he lets out a little hum as if he was unsatisfied by your answer. his hand suddenly appears from behind his back and extends out towards you.

“dance with me.”

you look down at your plate, the food torn apart and obviously picked at. you fold your hands neatly in your lap before looking back up at aemond.

you shake your head, “i’m sorry, prince aemond, but i fear i have a sou–”

you don’t even finish your sentence before he interrupts you, “my queen mother insists.”

the lips of your mouth curl into an ‘o’ shape, a small noise of realization falling from them. you turn your head to glance at queen alicent, who smiles and raises her cup happily. you return your gaze to aemond and take his hand. his hand is warm and calloused in yours, with slender fingers curling to grasp your hand.

you allow him to lead you to the dance floor, where once again, the lords and ladies part for you. you assumed that was one of the perks of being royalty; the crowds would part at your mere presence. maybe that’s why aemond walked around with a self-righteousness that seemed to choke everyone around him. you can’t help the laugh that seems to come out your nose rather than your mouth.

aemond gives you a look but says nothing. you two part and stand in front of each other, the start of another song playing and cuing the beginning of the dance. aemond moves with light steps, one that makes his dance moves almost mystic and fluid. you assumed you had to thank ser criston cole for teaching aemond a thing or two about how calculated the steps to his dancing was.

dancing with aemond had drawn out interactions you had thought you imagined. with his large, warm hand splayed on the small of your back that lingered a little too long, an intense gaze that never seemed to leave your face, and the sighs that seemed to spew from his lips–perhaps these were just fragments of a chimera you’d wish to be true. maybe it was just annoyance and neglect.

“you look exquisite tonight, lady (y/n).” your name falls from his lips in a way it hasn’t before. your eyes flutter up at him, but you tut and shake your head.

“did your queen mother tell you to say that?” you ask, your brow quirking up as you stare questioningly at him.

despite the accusation, aemond smiles, “hm, she did not.” oh. surely his compliment wouldn’t be so far accompanied by an insult. perhaps he’d sneer ‘little ward’ at you or maybe reprimand you about westerosi customs.

“then is there some insult you’re going to spew at me?”

“do you think i’m vile?” aemond scoffs.

his question catches you off guard. your mouth remains parted as you two continue to dance. you twirl in his grasp and begin to gnaw on your lip. was he truly vile, or were you accustomed to this.. minute hatred he had for you? maybe you’d mistaken his annoyance for loathing.

your gaze returns to lock on to his, “i do, matter of fact.”

whether this sentence had hurt him or not, aemond had spun around as according to the dance the crowd was doing. aemond’s brows furrow and he feels himself become displeased with that answer. yes, he hadn’t been the most gracious of hosts, but it was hard to keep his emotions in check. he turns back around and returns to the front of you.

“aren’t parties the one thing girls love? how come you’re sour tonight?” his voice is like velvet to your ears and it scratches an itch in the back of your brain.

you roll your eyes once again, shaking your head in disbelief, “if you believe that, dear prince, then i’m afraid you know nothing about girls.” the dance has come to the point where you’re supposed to switch partners, but aemond’s hand never leaves yours. he sends a glare towards the lord that tries to take you.

“if you must know,” you say carefully after watching the interaction, “i fear for helaena.”

his eye returns to gaze upon you as you say this and there’s a small, upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “as do i. you’re not the only one looking out for her.”

almost as if on cue, both you and aemond glance to where helaena is. she’s off the dance floor and standing in between her grandsire and someone you’d assume was family on alicent hightower’s side. your nose scrunches and you look back at aemond. his arm settles on your back as he dips you, his muscles tensing at the newfound weight that you allow to settle onto him.

he picks you back up effortlessly and your arm snakes around his neck. the proximity is close–too close for comfort. you two are frozen in time, what seems like, eyes scanning over each others features as if it’s the last thing you’re going to see. with a small breath, you feel a small, warm breeze of air fan over your face. you notice that there’s tiny freckles dusted over his sun-kissed nose.

aemond inhales through his nose and almost sighs at scent of berries that wafts to his scent glands–that was the scent he had mistaken for helaena’s.

your eyes flutter and you inhale sharply, pulling away, “i’m glad to see that you have some sort of humanity within you, my prince.”

“aemond,” he corrects quickly, his hand dropping from yours then picking up your other hand as you two switch directions. “my name is aemond.”

you clear your throat, bowing at the waist when the song ends, “well, aemond, you’re a very fine dancer.”

aemond ignores the way his skin suddenly feels like it’s on fire when his name is spewed from your lips. it sounds like the start of a prayer, one that he unknowingly wants to finish. instead, he allows a smirk to twist the ends of his lip up, his eye radiating confidence. if he hadn’t been so hellbent on being this know it all, you would’ve fallen victim to the look he gave you. however, the next words that leave his mouth are enough to make you huff loudly and remember how much he annoyed you.

“i know.”

“do you ever say thank you?” you shoot back, slowly rising up from your bow. the prince blinks receptively, his eye never leaving you as he weighs the words in his mind before he decides to respond.

it’s only a few moments of shared silence before a soft, velvety answer dances out of his mouth, “thank you.”

it seems that aemond is not done pestering you for the night just yet, as his large hand slips into yours. he tugs you towards the edge of the crowd and it splits as quick as an axe to a chop of wood. you dip your head bashfully to the lords and lady’s who decide to stare. it’s only when aemond looks back that their gazes return to their partners and any trance of disturbance is gone.

you notice he’s led you to a dessert buffet table. before you, there’s an array of cakes–peach, lemon, apple, and many bits of chocolates and soft, chewy sugar rounded into small balls. your mouth begins to water.

“fancy a lemon cake?” he asks, a hand reaching out. his fingers curl around a small lemon cake and you watch him peel the caramelized lemon slice off the top, then placing it onto his tongue. he chews politely and doesn’t flinch at the sourness your sure has attacked his taste buds.

you make a face at him, “no thank you, aemond. i prefer peach cakes.” aemond notes that you call him by his name, again. it’s much better than ‘my prince’, he reckons. “lemon cakes have a certain sourness to it.. which is why i’m sure you enjoy it.”

the quip that falls from your lips almost escapes aemond. he turns his head, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing into a thin line. soon, his face melts into amusement.

“was that a joke, little flower?”

you stare back at him challengingly, sliding a piece of peach cake into your mouth. you chew on it thoughtfully and swallow before grinning ear to ear. he returns the smile, though his isn’t as grand or toothy as yours. you liked this aemond–the aemond who was lighthearted, quick to forgive, and most of all, kind. though in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel as if this is some ploy.

soon the interaction passes and you carry the rest of the peach cake in a napkin on your hand. you break pieces off one by one, nibbling modestly onto the pleasantry while surveying the room. soon, you hear aemond hum in annoyance.

“have i ever told you how much i don’t like tyland lannister?” it’s almost as on cue that the lannister master of ships laughs, or rather giggles, very loudly. aemond almost winces at the sound.

you tut, “jason is far worse.”

aemond turns his good eye to you, “there’s two of them?”

it’s your turn to chuckle and you motion with your head to where jason lannister is sitting. he’s surrounded by girls, annoyingly, and wearing a smug grin as he’s no doubt telling them about how delicious the wine that’s brought from lannisport is. you crinkle your nose at the thought – they were both worse in their own ways.

“you’ve been at court all your life and you’ve never noticed?”

“it was a jest,” he responds, shifting on his feet so that his weight settled on one and his other stuck out. there’s another moment of silence between you two, yet this time it’s warm and inviting, less cold and awkward as the ones before. maybe you had been to harsh on aemond, perhaps he was just a boy who had grown up to fast and was catching up to the proclivities of life. you finish off your peach cake and hear, “i am glad that you are here, my lady.”

his body is angled more towards you now and is eye catches yours. it’s almost.. soft by the way the light sheens off the blue coloration. you suddenly shift your weight between your feet, taking a step back once you realize how hot it’s truly getting.

“helaena seems profound of you,” he continues. oh. you swallow and start to wring out your hands, fingers delicately toying with the jewelry that adorned your hands.

“careful aemond,” you hum, “you sound like you’re starting to enjoy my presence.”

his eye narrows and it’s like the softness you once saw has vanished, his usual, hardened stoic expression returning, “you’re alright, for a little ward.”

and just when he was dancing over the line of being on your good side, he had to pull that card.

you tut, roll your eyes, and abandoned him where he stood. you begin to walk aimlessly, eyes observing the gold plates, the armor the targaryen soldiers wore, the intricate detailing on the ladys’ dresses that you passed by, and the heat that started to rapidly come on. it all started to become too much so you abandon the great hall and make haste for a balcony.

the wind cuts your face like a whip at how cool it is. despite being summer, the days of winter were surely not too far ahead. you lean against the balcony, inhaling deeply and closing your eyes as you succumb to the intoxicating taste of distant rain and salt.

you notice the approach of footsteps and open your eyes. the serendipitous feeling of felicity you had felt quickly vanished like a violet waves of blackwater bay swallowing the rocks below the walls of king’s landing. you turn your head slightly and look to see who approaches out the corner of your eye. you hold back a groan.

“aemond targaryen, is it your destiny to annoy me to death?”

aemond chuckles. it’s short and sweet, the soft bass in his voice evident. he didn’t have the willpower to tell you that he had felt alone after you abandoned him, and that he thought an enemy, or whatever you were to him, was better company than none. though, he doesn’t want to see you gloat at his confession.

“i’m afraid it is,” he pauses to join you leaning against the balcony, “the seven visited me last night and pleaded me so.”

the sound of waves drowns your thoughts. you open your body to him, one arm dangling lazily on the shelf of the balcony wall while the other hugged your body. you watch him for a moment; the soft glow of the moon makes him seem more ghostly than in the great hall and yet it seems to compliment the sapphire colored iris in his eye. he turns his head to look at you and that’s when you realize you were staring.

you play it off by fluttering your eyes, inhaling deep, and tilting your head as if in contemplation. just there, you two stand staring at each other. it’s unwavering and quaint, all former softness, amusement, or challenge gone. just his blue eye watching your own, carefully.

it feels like you’re there for an eternity before you speak up, “i’m afraid the hour is late and i’m growing tired, aemond. good night.”

aemond mumbles a ‘good night’ back to you as well, turning his head forward and staring out into the landscape before him. he hums in thought as the sound of your footsteps slowly recede.

he notices the warmth that blossomed in his chest has extinguished.

#dragons bane #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd x you #my writing

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hot-shmuck · 2 years

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Humans are weird

Watery eyes

Peoples eyes water for a multitude of reasons, but the main being sadness and crying, brought on by strong emotion and such. But what about when it’s just a little to windy and our eyes just start watering?

Cyprux, alien in charge of the ships upkeep, had noticed that on this specific stop, where they where delivering cargo, human Anita, his friend (as she called him) eyes had been rather watery. But he didn’t know why, he had read the hand book and he knew the signs of an emotional human (in fact he had aced his Guide to Humans’ coarse!) and human Anita wasn’t showing any of the common signs except for watery eyes, but it seemed to be constant. He decided the best coarse of action was to simply ask, that seemed to be the best way of handling these situations.

“Human Anita-“

“Yes Cyprux” Anita, while she did answer, was lifting boxes ad crates of different cargo onto a trailer which would finish the delivery by local workers

“I just had to ask” he racked his brain for what to say next “… um… are you ok?”

Anita stoped what she was doing abruptly, setting Cyprux’s nerves on end, alarm bells wringing, had he slipped up?

“Yea? Why?” Her face contorted in confusion

“You tear ducts just seem to be working overtime in this new environment we are in. And I wondered if it was to do with how you where feeling. Are you ok?”

“Ha? Oh- no dude, I’m fine!” - Her face light up with a (however unsettling) smile with some realisation - “no it’s just windy” Cyprux was now very confused, Human Anita elaborated “you know, when it’s windy?…” Cyprux was still confused

“Sometimes when human eyes are exposed to to my wind it drys them out and therefor our eyes produce more tears” there was a momentary pause, a question as to weather or not to keep explaining, “it also happens if we get hay fever - some have an allergy to pollen, it flares up in spring.” A noise that could be interpreted as understanding came form Cyprux, who’s face shifted to stone, torn between confusion, fear and strange understand. “Right.”

“Does that answer your question?” “Yes, thank you, I am also glad to know your ok.”

“Any time!” Anita waved goodbye as he Left with a sharp nod. Cyprux thought sourly and resined to the conclusion that he would, once again have to update the human hand book, and contact the Intergalactic Peace Organisation.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #earth is a deathworld #humans are space australians #humans are space fae #humans #earth is space australia #beautiful eyes #watery #crying?#strange new worlds

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written-in-flowers · 9 months

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Holding On To Humanity: Pt. 1

Pairing: Wooyoung x San, Hongjoong x Seonghwa

AU: Resident Evil 8: Village, Vampires, Shapeshifters,

Genre: angst, smut, drama

Rating: M

Word Count: 7k

Summary: After being subjected to a terrible experiment, Jung Wooyoung wakes up as something far worse than he'd ever imagine. Struggling between who he is and who he was, he must make a decision: does he protect his new family or those he once loved?

Warnings: gender-neutral!reader, vampire!demonline, vampire!wooyoung, shapeshifter!mingi, shapeshifter!yunho, shapeshifter!jongho, doll!yeosang, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death, blood and injury, descriptions of human experimentation/surgery, canon-typical violence, angst, fluff, smut, light bdsm, anal sex, anal fingerings, rimming, blow jobs, top!San, bottom!wooyoung, switch!seonghwa and hongjoong, and basic sex stuff

Ao3 link

***

“Here’s where I stop,” the coachman told him in a gruff voice. “The horses won’t go any further.”

Wooyoung stared out from the back of the wagon to the road ahead. Stretching about a mile, the harsh cold and snow made for an intimidating walk. He saw the black rocks covered lightly with snow, and the long wheel tracks that carts and horses made right up to this point. Beyond, it appeared as if very few trekked the rest of the way. He hated the idea of walking through the freezing cold with nothing to warm him but his jacket, pants and boots. His father told him the journey to the castle wouldn’t be easy, but it’d be worth it in the end.

“Why not?” Wooyoung asked, hoping the coachman might change his mind.

“The place frightens them,” he said. “They won’t go any farther than this before they start getting riled up. That place is cursed, I tell you.” He faced forward as if looking at the castle himself, “You have to be mad or desperate to go up there.”

“So, I’m to walk the rest of the way?” He didn't like the idea of walking on a cold, dark road in the middle of a tall mountain alone.

“The castle isn’t that far from here,” he said. “It’s only about half a mile until you reach the gates, then a bit more after that.

Wooyoung dreaded the answer, but still not surprised. A lot of villagers showed hesitancy when they spoke of Castle Dimitrescu. The mistress of the castle ruled over their side of the village, reigning over them with an iron fist. His mother used to say it was by the grace and protection of Mother Miranda that she didn’t slaughter them all. But, that did not stop anyone from noticing the disappearances or missing livestock. His neighbor woke up his entire household shouting about the maimed carcass of his prized cow, Anita. He told Wooyoung’s father that he found her torn to bits in her stall, large chunks of flesh bitten off right to the bone. Wooyoung said a wolf might’ve gotten into his barn, but he’d said that to try diverting from what really troubled everyone: the beasts ate her. His body shivered thinking of the hairy, snarling, blood monsters who occasionally roam the forests, ravaging anything they can get their hands on. He pictured them feasting on the corpse of young, pretty Camila, who’d gone missing several days ago or strong farmer Elijah who’d been last seen working in his field. Only one person showed no fear upon entering the woods: The Huntsman.

The Huntsman became the village protector when they slaughtered a pack of monsters who'd broken into the village. Wooyoung never saw them up close, since they rarely traveled into the village and often wore a wide-brimmed hat that covered their face, but they showed a strength and courage he didn't see in anyone else. Their weapons proficiency and skill was unmatched. He would've sworn they themselves were a beast in a much tamer form, with how quickly they dodged and wrestled the monsters to the ground.

He wished they'd come with him.

“Well, thank you for getting me this far,” he said to the merchant as he hopped off the wagon. “I wouldn’t have made it before dark if you had not.”

“Mother Miranda says we must show each other kindness and generosity when we can,” he said, tipping his hat, “I pray that you reach the castle safely.”

“Thank you.”

He shouldered his bag, and then began the trek up the mountain path. A curving, narrow road thickened by snow stretched ahead of him. He hoped the walk was not long, since the hour grew later and the sun began setting over the dense forests beyond. The higher he’d gone up the mountain, the colder the winds became. The chill blew through his jacket and pants every time he moved, but Wooyoung managed. He was no stranger to the cold since he spent many nights huddled by the dwindling fireplace at home. He did his best not to look between the trees lining the path or walk too briskly. His father used to tell him to keep his wits about him in the woods; to not stare into the trees or run, since then it might invite whatever lurks in the dark to chase him. He’d come too far to be a meal now.

Wooyoung continued along the way until he reached a tall iron gate. Above the gate, he saw a symbol: a large flower surrounded by four smaller ones over two crossed swords. The insignia for House Dimitrescu. He searched around for a guard or caretaker, but nobody came. Timidly, he pushed on the gate and to his surprise it opened. As he stood there at the opening, a deep dread settled itself into his stomach. The feeling told him to turn back, and find another way to help feed his family. Yet, his determination and pride made him put one foot in front of the other. He had no choice. His father’s crops did not yield their usual abundance, so he suggested Wooyoung take a position in the castle’s employ. He said the families of those who worked in the castle received gold and even food parcels from their loved ones. Perhaps The Lady pays in goods and a bit of gold for service. Wooyoung hoped his work in the castle would feed his family. He pressed onwards.

The stone castle stood at the end of the road. The gray building looked dark and foreboding. High towers and battlements reached up into the sky, blocking out the bit of sunlight still left to the world, with tall windows surveying the yard below. Seeing the withering or bare foliage around the front entrance, it was no wonder the coachman’s horses steered clear of the place. Even standing at the front steps, every nerve in his body told him to run. The lack of guards or servants unnerved him as well. Didn’t castles have people bustling about? Noise and chatter in the air, bringing life to the silent building? He’d thought so. Regardless, Wooyoung could not turn back now. He climbed the steep steps to the doors, and pulled it open.

Cautiously, he walked into the small entrance hall. A long carpet went up a short flight of stairs, leading into a room with a domed ceiling. His nervousness set in deeper, realizing how little light filled the room; two tall candelabras stood in inverted walls and another sat on a side table. The priceless antiques and refined appearance truly befitted the aristocratic family. However, it wasn’t these that caught his attention.

Hanging between the two candelabras was a tall painting of four young men in an intricate gold frame. A blond, two black haired, and one with brown hair. They each dressed in upper class fashion with vests, high collared shirts with silk cravats. They clearly came from wealth judging by how they carried themselves even in a painting. He then noticed a plaque right at the bottom.

‘Felix, Seonghwa, San, and Hongjoong Dimitrescu’.

The Lady’s sons. Yes, Wooyoung heard of them though had never seen them before. He gazed around for a moment, expecting to find a servant or a butler welcoming their newest worker, but he found himself completely alone.

“Hello?” he dared to speak into the empty, dim room. “Is anyone here?”

A faint buzzing sound suddenly came from a hallway on his left and he gasped. The large swarm of flies move fluidly from behind the oak wood doors and into the entrance hall. He moved to run back outside, panic jumping up into his throat before the swarms blocked his path. Suddenly, three men materialized: a tall one, a muscular one, and a short one. Wooyoung realized at once who they were. Before him stood three of Lady Dimitrescu’s sons, the two black haired sons and the brunette. They each wore long black coats with hoods over their heads. The tallest one came up close to Wooyoung first. Hair the color of ravens' wings, it hung to the side over glimmering dark eyes. His angular features appeared as sharp as the eyes gazing at him. A green pendant around his neck sparkled in the dim lighting, and more dread filled his stomach.

He pushed hair from Wooyoung’s face and grinned widely. Wooyoung shifted his eyes away as the man examined his features. “Oh yes,” he said, turning his face this way and that, "I think he will do nicely. Hongjoong?”

He scanned over him one more time before the shortest of the men came up next. Hongjoong, as the other called him, stood a few inches shorter than the two men beside him, but the glint in his eyes still sent shivers through Wooyoung’s bones. His bright orange hair created a stark contrast between his face and the hood over his head. He had softer features than the others, and his eyes did not devour Wooyoung as theirs did. A gloved hand caressed his jawline as he admired the younger’s face. He appeared to be examining him like a jeweler with a gem. It unnerved Wooyoung. When he looked away from him, Hongjoong forced him by the chin. Something about the three of them churned Wooyoung’s stomach, and razzled every nerve that screamed to flee.

“I agree, Seonghwa” he finally said, “He is perfect. He has strong bones and his blood seems to pump at a normal rate. He is young enough to withstand the strain. How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?”

"Twenty-three," he squeaked.

"Hm, good, good."

“He’s pretty,” the black haired man behind them said. “Much prettier than anyone we’ve gotten so far.”

“Looks are not important in the experiment, San,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

“No, but they certainly are a benefit.”

Wooyoung flinched when he reached for him. Much more muscular than the other two, his cloak fitted his slim frame but hung at his broad shoulders. His dark hair the shade of night parted at his forehead, and loose strands hung over it. Wooyoung would’ve fallen for his chiseled face were it not for the predatory gaze.

“Are you sure we can't take him upstairs?” he asked Hongjoong, smirking at Wooyoung. "We can hang him on a hook and play with him," he came closer, a strange metallic smell on his breath, "I bet that mouth can make the sweetest sounds…"

“Wha-Wha-” Wooyoung could hardly get his words out.

“I won’t hurt you, pretty,” San said, drawing closer and closer. Gloved fingers traced his jawline and fell to his chest, and Wooyoung stepped away. “I’ve been told I can be a very gentle lover,” he said before Hongjoong stood between them.

“You have your own plaything in the cellars,” he hissed. “Go fiddle with that and leave my subject alone.”

“Ugh, you never let me have any fun!”

Their words sickened and frightened him. He did his best to conceal his racing heart, the organ that pumped ice in his veins, but he sensed the three of them already smelled his fear. Seonghwa reached to caress his cheek, but frowned when he pulled away.

“What do you want with me?” Wooyoung heard himself squeak out.

“Nothing much,” answered Hongjoong. “Just your body."

“My body?!"

"Don't worry," he sneered, "You won't miss it."

He realized then what happened to the servants before him. Quickly, he recalled how eagerly his father insisted he find work in the castle. He’d spent days telling Wooyoung how beneficial it’d be for the family, and how desperately they needed the money. When a family in town started receiving packages after their daughter went up the mountain, he noted how it could be them chewing down on honeyed bread and fresh milk. Did he know the truth and simply hid it from his son? It would’ve saddened him if his panic did not overcome him so easily. He is helping his family. He’s helping by becoming one less mouth to feed. His hands started shaking, and he grabbed the strap of his bag to steady them.

“It won’t hurt,” Hongjoong assured you. “Well…not right away.”

“Mother isn’t home yet,” Seonghwa told him. “She’ll be away for a while, so there’s plenty of time.”

"You only need to relax," hissed San. "I know a few things that can help with that."

“No,” he said in a shaky breath. “No, please…I have a family…they’ll come looking for me…”

Hongjoong laughed, “Silly boy. Your family sent you up here for this very reason. Your pitiful father made the arrangements with our man in town.” He then said, “So, do what you’re supposed to, and come with us.”

He reached for Wooyoung’s hand, but not quickly enough. Wooyoung rushed for the large front doors, nearly slamming into them with the force of his sprint, and realizing someone locked them. Over his shoulder, he saw the three men staring at him wickedly. The sound of faint buzzing jolted him alive.

“Brother!” one of the men called, “Where are you going? You only just arrived!”

Wooyoung didn’t waste time asking for an explanation. Seeing a room off to the side, he made a break for it. Running down a corridor and another flight of stairs, he noticed the moonlight from outside lit his way. How could anyone see in such darkness? Any windows he did see were covered with curtains, which allowed very little light into the castle. He could hear the buzzing growing louder behind him, and he quickened his pace. Bursting through an archway, he ended up in a large room with checkered flooring and a high ceiling. Four strange statues stood guard in front of a doorway, and Wooyoung sensed that this way might be pointless. He needed to find a way out. He rushed through to another corner area, before rushing another hallway. Wooyoung didn’t hear the insects anymore, and this only frightened him. What if they can travel through walls? What if they can become invisible? He shouldn’t have come here. He should’ve gone back home, told his father the Lady didn’t need any more servants, and stayed there. Now, he was running for his life.

Wooyoung kept running until he ended up in a bed chamber. The fireplace being the only source of light, the orange flames flickered across the walls and gave everything a warm glow. He stared around for a hiding spot, but he wasn’t quick enough. Suddenly, hundreds of flies surrounded him and Wooyoung did his best to shield his face. They must have teeth, since he felt them bite at his arms, torso, hips and legs. Wooyoung grimaced, and swatted at the ones trying to nibble his face, nearly stumbling backwards over a footstool in the process.

“Ah, there you are, lovely,” he heard San chuckle darkly. The flies suddenly flew from him and swirled around until they created San’s full form. He stared down at Wooyoung, a distinct seduction in his eyes. “Looks like you found my favorite room in the castle. How about I lock the door and we get to know each other better?”

He didn’t respond. He clambered to his feet, then made a dash past San, breaking through a wall of insects in the process. He flicked off one nipping at his shoulder as he ran. He rushed back down the way he’d come, hearing San’s laughter somewhere behind him, and returned to the room with the statues. Running through the main hall, a high-ceiling with a large crystal chandelier above the checkered floors, he nearly bumped into one of the chairs in front of the fire. He spotted ornate wooden doors up ahead, and charged through them into a dining room.

A dining room with a long table, side boards, and tall windows, bright moonlight became the only source of light guiding him through. He bumped into one of the tall-backed chairs on his way to the other door, but the pain didn’t deter him. He needed to get outside before they caught him. He saw a pair of doors, and seeing the courtyard outside, realized that might be a way out.

“Oh, Brother,” San’s voice came through the room in a sing-song voice. “Where are you?”

He scrambled and ducked behind one of the dining chairs. Buzzing preceded San’s entry, and he spotted his reflection in a glass cabinet door. Wooyoung covered his mouth to keep himself quiet. San’s top half remained human, but his bottom half broke off into the swarm of black flies that glided him about the room.

“We promise we won’t hurt you,” he said, though Wooyoung did not believe him. “Not much, at least.” Wooyoung heard him give a short sniff, "I know you're in here. I can smell your sweet, thick, hot blood…I can almost taste it on my tongue, and it’s delicious."

He waited until San turned his back to quickly go through the doors into the courtyard.

“There you are!”

An iron gazebo stood in the center of the courtyard, which broke off into different sections of the castle. He continued glancing around for signs of the three brothers, since San had been on his trail minutes ago. Wooyoung was certain they meant to toy with him before killing him. They can move faster than him; they’re likely stronger, yet have not caught him yet. Wooyoung needed On the right side, he saw the cobbled pathway lead through an archway out into a garden area.

Hedges lined the walkways around the expansive space, circling around a bronze fountain statue in the middle. The garden must be beautiful in the spring, but in the winter, it was a frozen eden. Dead trees and withering bushes decorated the space, and ice and snow covered the fountains and benches. Wooyoung’s boots crushed the thin layer of snow on the ground as he ran through to a high wall on the other side.

“Brother!” It was Seonghwa this time, whose voice came from somewhere in the distance. “Brother, where are you?”

He grabbed onto a thick vine clinging to the stone fence, placed his foot on one at the bottom, then lifted himself onto the wall. He ignored the voices calling to him from inside the castle, and started climbing. It did not take much time to scale the ten foot wall, even if the icy stones and frozen vines burned his hands. He’d been a fool to come here. Desperation and panic numbed him to the sensations around him. He should’ve listened to his gut when he stepped up to the house, but he’d thought of his family. His father made it sound so important that he go to the castle; he said it’d help the family in such a special way. It hurt him to think his father intended to serve him on a platter to these people. Wooyoung wanted to think his father didn’t know and really thought his son was manning stables or serving meals from a kitchen. With all the talk of aiding their family, Wooyoung believed he’d be doing more for them than toiling in his father’s dying corn crops.

In reality, the best thing he could do is die.

Wooyoung reached the top of the wall, and swung his leg over the side. He felt a sense of freedom approaching before something swiped at his feet below.

A large black wolf growled at him from several feet below, yellow eyes glowing at him angrily. Its snapping jaws caused Wooyoung to fall into the garden again, his back hitting the ground hard and sending shocks of pain through his body. He could hear more growling and barking from behind the wall; long claws scratched the hard stone, and feet kicking the snowy earth. The fall disoriented him long enough that he didn’t notice the figure gliding up to him.

“Ah, there you are!” Seonghwa looked down at him, his hood bringing a shadow over his face. “We’ve been looking for you.”

In this brief moment of weakness, the overwhelming sounds of fluttering wings filled his ears. He swatted at those buzzing around him, pinching his eardrums with their high-pitched sounds, before Seonghwa and San grabbed his wrists. Wooyoung let out a scream as the two men began gliding again, dragging Wooyoung behind them like a bag in the wind. He glanced around wildly for a way of escape before Hongjoong joined them at his feet. Zooming back into the house, Hongjoong laughed at Wooyoung’s feeble escape attempts. Fear injected itself into him fully, creating a list of scenarios that were worse than anything he imagined previously. Hongjoong soon flew right over him, his body a dark cloud of flies, as he deeply inhaled Wooyoung’s scent.

“Virgin blood,” he smiled drunkenly. “So sweet. So pure.” He took another hint, then said, “Too bad I won’t get a drop of it…” he then said, “But I am praised for my patience.”

Wooyoung saw the hallways and stairwells of the castle fly by him until they went into complete darkness. The backs of his ankles and legs started scraping against hard, rough surfaces, and he cried out whenever his ankles knocked onto the floor too hard. Deprived of his main senses, Wooyoung’s body went limp and he surrendered to whatever plans the men had for him. He only hoped his family lived well for his sacrifice.

"Put him on the table," Hongjoong instructed his siblings. "I'll prepare everything else."

San and Seonghwa brought him onto a wooden slab in a dimly lit room. When he glanced around, Wooyoung realized they'd brought him into a room beneath the castle. Soft candlelight hanging above brought light against the black stone walls, illuminating the workbenches and tables of books, chemicals, petri dishes and various works in progress. A laboratory. They did not plan to feed off him. They planned to torture him. Somehow this sounded worse than merely being drained of blood.

"What is going on?" He asked, panting and crying as San and Seonghwa strapped him to the wooden table. Tears burned his eyes, yet he was unable to wipe them away. He let out a choked sob, his heart racing in his chest. "Wait, no! Please! What are you doing? Stop! Pl-please!"

Hongjoong picked up a jar containing a strange mass inside of it; Wooyoung heard him muttering under his breath, and his fear worsened. He struggled against the straps holding him down, but they’d been put on tightly. Seonghwa meanwhile reached for a clear bottle at a table while San unsheathed a small knife from under his cloak.

"What is happening?" Wooyoung sobbed though none of them answered him. "Why are you doing this to me?" He cried, "Please, I want to go home. I won't tell anyone anything. Please-"

"-Roll up your sleeve, San," Seonghwa told his brother, coming to him with a vial in hand.

San did as requested. He shook back his sleeve to reveal his wrist, which he then slashed open with a flick of his knife. Wooyoung grimaced at the thick gash ripping through San’s skin, seeing the blood spill from his wrist to his palm and then into the small vial. Both men waited for enough blood to fill the vial before Seonghwa pulled away from him. This was not before Wooyoung saw the cut seal itself closed.

"What are you going to do with that?" He asked, horrified when he saw Seonghwa attach a needle and tube to the end of the syringe. "That's blood! You're putting blood in me?"

"It's the only way you'll be one of us," said Seonghwa. "Hold still or this will hurt even more."

"Wha-"

Wooyoung flinched when San tore off his shirt sleeve and tied it tightly around his bicep. Seonghwa straightened out his arm to start flicking the space between forearm and upper arm.

"Stop struggling," Seonghwa grunted, "I can't do it right if you're moving around."

He should've kissed his mother goodbye longer. He should've hugged his father tighter. Even if he did send Wooyoung to his death, he should've done it. He'd never have that chance again. Seonghwa managed to find the vein, and sunk the needle into it. Wooyoung winced at the pinching sensation in his arm.

"He has strong veins, Hongjoong," Seonghwa said. "That is a good sign, no?"

"It is."

Wooyoung couldn't look. He didn't see Seonghwa inject San's blood into his arm, but he certainly felt it. A deep searing pain suddenly ran through his veins. It scorched every nerve, causing him to violently shake on the table as it burned him. His screams went unheard by the brothers, who continued their ‘experiment’. He barely felt it when San ripped open his shirt to reveal the thin torso underneath. The pain inside him numbed him to the knife sinking into his abdomen starting from beneath the chest to the naval. Wooyoung could smell the thick scent of blood filling his lungs; it spilled, fast and hot, from the gash in his stomach. He is sure to die now. He cried out for his mother, for his father, for Mother Miranda, their protector and savior.

Hongjoong finally turned around, and in his blurry vision, Wooyoung saw him holding a glass jar. Wooyoung could not make out the inside, but he saw wriggling and heard ticking as it knocked into the glass.

“Stay still,” Hongjoong said, unscrewing the lid. “Moving around too much will interrupt the process.”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched so tight he couldn’t speak. Hongjoong took out the contents of the jar with a pair of forceps. The creature wriggled between the metal clamps, but Hongjoong had no trouble holding it steady. Wooyoung’s eyes widened when it came close enough for him to see it. Fleshy and pink, the creature made Seonghwa and San wrinkle their noses in disgust while Wooyoung screamed in terror. Hongjoong remained unfazed by it all. He placed the veiny beast up against the open wound in Wooyoung, and then sunk it deep inside. The thing whirled around inside Wooyoung’s body, its slimy membrane slicking the opening to go deeper. It took several seconds for him to realize the hard mass in his stomach was the creature. The burrowing sensation added a whole new addition of pain. His fists curled until his knuckles turned white; he thrashed around as much as his bonds let him as the parasite latched itself deep inside him. Soon, he felt his abdomen sickly churning which then began spreading to the rest of his body. His father’s face swam in front of him; the face of the man meant to protect and guide him. He sent him here. He sent his only son to his death.

Wooyoung prayed it was worth it.

****

Hongjoong stood beside the table where the young man’s body lay still. He watched the man’s body twitch and writhe in his bounds until he stopped all at once. His eyes scanned the body for signs of mutation or transformation; he looked for graying skin or black claws or bloodshot yellow eyes. He expected any moment for the subject to start thrashing, growling and foaming at the mouth as he turned into a Lycan, like so many other failures. Either that or die and never come back. When none of that happened, he gingerly touched the stomach wound. The Cadou parasite’s membrane held regeneration properties, he’d learned, so it often healed whatever wounds it created to enter the body. He felt around for the mass, feeling a hard ball deep underneath the muscle. Hongjoong knew the parasite will assimilate to the man’s DNA and alter his genetic makeup. He hoped injecting blood already infected with mold mutations will strengthen the host’s body and aid in the transformation. It had to work. This must work.

“He’s not dead,” said San, his voice breaking the silence. “I can hear his heart beating.”

Hongjoong could hear it too. His mind may have gone blank, but that was the Cadou taking over. The last subject took three days to morph into a Lycan, which was then released into the wild by the brothers.

“That’s good, right? It means he might survive,” San continued.

“Only time shall tell us.”

He turned back to his work table where he kept all his notes and books, and put down the jar. This was his last one. If this one did not work out, then he’d need to go back to the reservoir where Moreau kept his stash of parasites. He hoped he didn’t have to. Even if he can now adapt to the cold mountain climate, he still hated going to that eerie, stinking lake. But, if it helped his cause, he'd endure it a million times.

He promised himself he’d build something marvelous, a creature of pure strength and agility that will make his mother proud. He looked at the books on his table. Hongjoong spent ages researching, collecting, and absorbing any word of information he could about the Cadou parasite and the mold. He’d observed Moreau’s experiments from afar, and read all of his mother’s and Mother Miranda’s notes as well as jotting down his own discoveries. One sheet in particular caught his eye and his heart dropped.

The crest of House Dimitrescu was a large flower with four flowers at its corners, two swords crossing underneath it. A symbol of feminine strength and unity. His mother often told him she saw herself as the center with her blossoms at her sides. It’d always be her and her children. There’d once been four of them, but that changed so quickly.

“I found his things,” Seonghwa’s voice cut through his thoughts. “He dropped it in the main hall. We might find something of use in here.”

“Like a name.”

Lady Dimitrescu still wore Felix’s flower. A black rose she kept pinned to her chest with three others so she could keep them with her at all times. He remembered his youngest brother as he flipped through his journal for a blank page.

Felix was the last of them to be born. Golden locks falling on the sides of his face, small brown freckles across his nose, cheeks, and ears added to his innocent charm. Hongjoong remembered how his mother fawned over his big wide eyes, and how he’d pout his full lips when he didn’t get his way. His mother adored them all, but Felix had been her baby. He’d also been the most reckless. Hongjoong should’ve kept him back when his younger brother chased The Huntsman. He should’ve told him to stay with Mother, and he and the others would handle them, but no. He should’ve listened to Seonghwa. He should’ve listened to Mother.

With a gun blast to a window and a gust of cold air, Felix’s life ended in a flash.

‘Day 0:

Subject is a twenty-three year old male. A bit malnourished, but has a strong heartbeat and responded to the treatment favorably. I inserted the parasite spliced with infected blood, about half of a vial to avoid one overcoming the other. By touch alone, the Cadou appears to have latched itself to the subject’s stomach and began spreading instantaneously. I wish I could cut him open to see the extent, but that will ruin everything. I have high hopes for this one. He shows real promise.’

“His name is Wooyoung,” he heard Seonghwa say. “Somebody sewed it into his shirt collar.”

‘Further testing needs to be conducted, but I might finally have the weapon I’ve been looking for.’

“He’s handsome,” said San. “Mother will love him, I’m sure of it.”

“Mother cannot know,” Hongjoong said, writing down the last of his notes.

“Why not?” he asked.

He didn’t want to tell them, but his brothers knew him better than most. “Because she doesn’t know you’re still doing this,” Seonghwa suspected, “Does she?” Hongjoong heard the outrage build in his deep voice, “Have you been keeping these a secret from her?”

“She’ll try to stop me,” Hongjoong replied. “She’d been so brokenhearted when the first three failed,” he faltered at Seonghwa’s angry eyes, “I couldn’t tell her that I’d continued the experiments without her. She already believes it’s pointless.”

“Mother Miranda forbids us from creating any more vessels,” Seonghwa said. “She told Mother there will be serious consequences if we continue these experiments without her permission. You know how serious Miranda is about the parasites and the metamycete. San and I will already be in enough trouble for helping you, but imagine what she’ll do to the person who disobeyed her orders and stole valuable resources from her?” Hongjoong heard the frustration in his voice. Seonghwa, the eldest, never failed to call out the truth. “Hongjoong, this must cease. These experiments of yours must stop. This must be the last one.”

Seonghwa always smelled faintly of roses. He wore the floral perfume their mother gave him, saying it overpowered the thick metallic blood on him. Hongjoong liked the combination. He inhaled the sweet blood and roses emanating from Seonghwa, mixed with the warmth coming off him. He knew San watched them, as he always did, but Hongjoong couldn’t help looking over his face. Seonghwa is, no doubt, the most handsome of them all. The romantic artist. The poetic dreamer. The beauty connoisseur. People were drawn to Seonghwa like moths to a flame, and Hongjoong was one of them.

“But I am so close, Hwa,” he implored, gazing right into his lover’s eyes. “I can feel it. This one will be a success. I know it will.”

“That is what you said of the last one, and they died within a few hours,” he said.

“Because they were weak,” Hongjoong retorted. “This one is strong. He’ll survive.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said gently, “Please, promise us this will be the last one.”

“We need to keep going,” he replied through gritted teeth. “We need to keep trying until we get the right one.”

“Promise us, Hongjoong,” San spoke up this time. “Mother is still grieving over Felix. If she hears that you’ve been doing this, she might think you’re trying to replace him and become even more upset. Promise you’ll stop.”

“Mother will see I am right when he is ready,” Hongjoong said. “Once she sees how strong, durable, and agile my creation is, she will forget all of that. She wants to kill The Huntsman more than any of the others. She wishes to seek revenge on them, and when she sees that my creation can do what we cannot, she’ll understand. When my creation is fully grown, Mother and Mother Miranda will see the benefits of having such a creature.”

“She said she did not want us going anywhere near The Huntsman,” said San. “She doesn’t want to lose us too.”

“We won’t be going near them. He will,” he nodded to the body on the table. “The Huntsman is not the average villager. There is something different about them. I can tell.” He hesitated, “You two weren’t there. You weren’t there when Felix died.”

His throat dried up suddenly, and he looked away from them. He’d heard Felix’s cries from the lower kitchens during his search for an intruder. They’d been low, deep grunts as he fought off against a strange figure in a hooded trench coat. Hongjoong recalled standing at the end of the hall leading towards the kitchen, and hearing Felix fight for his life. He’d insisted on joining them in hunting down the person who’d broken into their castle. Hongjoong assured their mother he was old enough, and that he could handle himself. He’d been wrong. He’d flown right to the doorway, intent on handling the Huntsman himself, when the Huntsman shot at the window by the door. Icy cold air streamed into the room, creating a barrier between Hongjoong and the two. His hand instinctively flexed when he thought of the burning, paralyzing ice on his hand. He tried pushing through several times, Felix’s grunts pushing him forward, before it happened.

The Huntsman grabbed Felix by the collar and threw him into one of the windows. The direct contact caused Felix’s body to stiffen, and Hongjoong watched as his youngest brother succumbed to their one weakness. He chased the Huntsman throughout the castle, grief boiling his blood and fueling his rage, before the Huntsman made it outside and over the garden wall. All that was left of Felix was his torso and crumbled crystals on the floor. Hongjoong remembered kneeling beside him, sobbing and cradling the crystalline body full of regret and self-loathing. The grief worsened when his mother found them. Her cries still echo in his head late at night.

“They got lucky,” Seonghwa told him. “There is nothing special about them.”

“Then how come we cannot find them, hm?” he snapped, his own guilt starting to fill his chest once more. “Why can’t Heisenberg’s body find them? Yunho and Mingi have a better sense of smell than any one-oh, do not make that face. You know it’s true,” he told San, who’d scoffed. “And Jongho can turn into a damned bird. He would’ve at least spotted a cottage or a hideout, but he hasn’t. I am telling you. That bastard, whoever they are, is not normal. We need someone who can rid us of them for good, and he is it.”

“Darling,” Seonghwa came to him, cupping his cheek, “What happened to Felix isn’t your fault.”

Yes, it was, but he’d never say so out loud.

“You’ve already done enough to prepare us for another attack,” he said. “You made us immune to the cold. If they were to come now, no amount of wind or ice could stop us. We do not need any experiment you create.” He pushed brown strands from Hongjoong’s face, “You don’t have to keep doing this. You could possibly end up dead too, if the wrong person found out about this.”

Seonghwa spoke truthfully, and Hongjoong knew this. He will surely face Miranda’s wrath if she learned what he was up to; his mother might face consequences for her son’s actions. But, they’d understand in time the benefits of his plan. His mother did not always approve of his experiments. He hadn't forgotten his mother’s shock when she found him standing stark naked in their courtyard, letting the cold air touch his skin. Shortly after Felix’s passing, Hongjoong decided he wouldn’t lose another brother ever again. So, he went to work creating a genome that would give them the ability to adapt to freezing temperatures. He tested this mainly on himself: injecting the serum into his arm, then sticking his hand out the window. Starting with a hand, it soon became his whole arm, then his shoulder, then his chest, until finally he could stand in the cold unharmed. His insect form took time to adapt to the change, but soon enough he was able to move as swiftly outside as he could inside. He passed it to both Seonghwa and San, making all three men tolerant of the climate.

When they saw The Huntsman again, no amount of icy wind could destroy them.

"If this one fails-" he began to say, but Hongjoong cut him off.

"-It won't fail," he snapped.

"If it does," he continued, "This will be the last one."

"What?"

"I won't participate in something that would hurt our mother," Seonghwa said firmly. "She grieves enough for Felix. Giving her false hope of another son is cruel even for you, Hongjoong."

"She's in enough pain," San added. "Even if she doesn't say it. She still has his corpse in her bed chambers. She won't put it in the crypt."

Hongjoong knew this well. He often came across Felix's crystalized torso standing in a glass display in his mother's bedroom. She’d look at it whenever she was alone and weep. It was another reminder of his failure and her loss. He promised himself he wouldn't let Felix die in vain. He created the serum so she may never lose another son to weaknesses. He would give her another one to replace the boy she lost, and this time make him bigger and stronger.

"Fine," he stated, "If that's how you feel, you're free to not participate anymore. But, I am going to keep trying. The Huntsman needs to be stopped. If you two may not take this threat seriously, but I do. I won’t sit by and let them continue insulting our house. I won’t let them stomp out our bloodline so easily. They will pay for what they have done to us, to our mother, to Felix-” he stopped short, swallowing down the lump filling his throat and taking a breath.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said, “Felix wouldn’t want you to do something that may get you killed-”

“-Well, Felix isn’t here,” he growled. “He’s dead! He’s dead because I wasn’t strong enough to save him! I promised Mother I’d protect him, and I didn’t!”

“Hongjoong-”

"-Boys!" A female voice spoke from somewhere above. Their mother may be several feet above the dungeons, but they heard her faintly. "Boys, where are you?"

"Don't you two dare tell her," Hongjoong warned them.

"We won't," Seonghwa said, "It is better she never learns of this."

"Hongjoong? Seonghwa? Sannie!" He heard their mother call to them again, “Boys?”

"If this one should fail, she will never know."

"It will not fail."

"Come, let's away," San said between them. "Mother is calling."

The three young men swirled into swarms of insects, and flew from their laboratory into the main hall. Lady Alcina Dimitrescu stood in the middle of the hall in front of the fire, her white gown illuminated by the flames. She sucked on the end of a cigarette holder coolly, letting the thick stream into the air as she contemplated quietly. Standing ten feet tall, her black hair in curls under a wide-brimmed hat, their mother was a woman of elegance and sophistication. Yet, even with this, she still exudes power, and demands the respect of her aristocratic birth. A smile graced her face when they appeared in front of her, immediately turning to them. However, the smile faded when she looked at them closely.

"You've been arguing," she stated, glancing between the three of them.

"Hongjoong tried taking one of the corpses in the dungeons to his lab," Seonghwa said. His creative mind made him a clever liar. "I told him to leave them be since they have no use beyond their blood, but he disagreed."

"I wanted to study them," Hongjoong added. "I wanted to see what made them turn into those undead things."

"It's obviously the blood disease, you fool," Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

"I also wanted to see if I could somehow isolate that disease and use it for-"

"-To get a bigger head to fit your ego?-"

"-If anyone has an 'ego' around here, it's you-"

"-That's enough!" Their mother cut in, looking between the two of them. "I told you to leave those creatures alone, Joongie," she said, walking past them to a chair by the fire. “They are far past any real use to anyone.”

“I was only curious, Mother,” he replied. His eyes met Seonghwa’s, and the elder stuck out his tongue.

Hongjoong couldn’t help pecking his cheek. Even if they disagreed, he would never stop loving Seonghwa.

"How was your meeting, Mother?" San asked, gliding to her side and sitting on the floor, his head on her knee. He closed his eyes as her fingers combed through his dark hair.

"Heisenberg didn't give you trouble, did he?" Asked Seonghwa, grabbing a wine pitcher from nearby to pour glasses for them all. Sangrias Virginis. Maiden's Blood. House Dimitrescu were famous for their winemaking, having a special bottle with a secret ingredient.

Virgin blood.

"Nothing outside the usual," she said. "Mother Miranda wished to discuss the baby again. She senses the child is close, and will soon be in our grasp."

"She already has you and the other lords. I don’t understand why she needs a baby," San said, taking his own glass from Seonghwa’s tray. "Could she not simply take a regular baby and use that? Why this specific one? "

"She believes this child has qualities that will make the experiment favorable" she replied. She took a long drink from his glass, then said, "Nothing can really replace a lost child. You cannot remake them a second time." The three men exchanged nervous glances and drank from their cups. She gave a soft sigh, "I made a decision, my sons."

"Yes?"

"I've decided," she paused, "I've decided it is time to put Felix to rest."

"In the family crypt, you mean."

"No, not in the crypt. He never liked it down there. I thought perhaps in the music room. You know how much he loved music." Hongjoong saw the sadness in his mother's eyes. "He deserves that.”

“What he deserves is vengeance,” Hongjoong said over his cup. He swished the crimson liquid around in the silver wine glass, contemplating his subject downstairs. “He deserves to be avenged.”

“We have already discussed this, Hongjoong,” Alcina said firmly. “You are not to seek out The Huntsman. You boys leave that filthy meatsack to me.” She then continued, “I think he’d look lovely in the nook in the corner.”

“I can paint a portrait of him for you, Mother,” said Seonghwa. “We can hang it next to him.”

“That’d be beautiful,” she agreed.

Hongjoong did not want to think of what that looked like. He imagined Felix's corpse being put on display in their music room, a grand space across from Seonghwa’s atelier, where the grand piano sat by a fireplace. The family sometimes gathered there after dinner, where Felix played his compositions on the piano or the violin. Hongjoong did not want to think of his body sitting in its glass case, no longer able to play his beloved instruments for their entertainment anymore. It wouldn’t be a music room. It’d be a burial site. They'd carry him there, say kind words and put him in a corner. Hongjoong drowned the vision with more wine, the blood thick on his tongue. He thought about the corpse on his lab table.

Wooyoung will not be another failure. He'd make sure of it.

***

A/N: awww, Joongie just wants to avenge Felix and everyone's mad about it :( anyways, please reblog, like, and feel free to shoot me a comment or something if you're up for it. I really love both resident evil and ateez so naturally they got put together lol

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #jung wooyoung #choi san #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #kang yeosang #jeong yunho #choi jongho #ateez smut #ateez angst #wooyoung x san #woosan #ateez matz #ateez woosan

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

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Cassierose, cass(cain)rose and cissieanita

WOMEN IVE HEARD OF THEM.

i love cassierose. deeply homoerotic absolutely insane. i definitely think theyve fucked. im always torn on whether i like them actually being in a relationship or just never actually unpacking all their feelings past some powerfully homoerotic """hate"""-fuelled makeouts. because i don't think cassie would like, be a total bitch to rose forever! she is generally nice she's just going through shit and kind of takes it out at rose for a minute (<- my interpretation of geoff making her catty and bitchy). but at the same time her internalized homophobia is SO strong. i feel like she'd be so ashamed of her attraction to/fooling around with rose. and rose would not take that well. she'd taunt cassie about being her dirty little secret (tim vc It is not a secret literally everyone knows i Literally walked in on yall hardcore making out in the communal kitchen please stop doing that btw.) but in actuality cassie being ashamed of her would make her feel SO shitty. i like this as a mess of a situation first and foremost i think. but yeah if you can't tell by the giant ramble paragraph it absolutely compels me skjdfhkjds

cassrose is similar, in some ways, except that it IS always marred unfortunately in my mind by how much i disliked batgirl '08 for slandering cass so fucking hard. but i mean. "is she... like me?" + the inherent homoeroticism of cass slitting rose's throat and knowing deathstroke wouldn't let her die. honestly (because there are so many things wrong with rose) i think rose gets flustered when she thinks about that later. i reiterate. many things wrong with her. like yeah she almost died but also... damn. i feel like... if they ever were to actually have feelings + act on any of them, it'd be a future scenario, not anywhere where they are at the present. like i think rose would have a "hate"crush on cass (and a lot of feelings about cass being the daughter of an assassin who got out and did better than she perceives herself to have done), but cass wouldn't realize she even likes women for long enough that rose's thoughts on her would fade for a few years. but then maybe later...!

cissieanita. they make a lot of sense and i do like them but they don't make me as insane as other ships do. part of this is bc i just like... need to figure out how to Fix anita's storyline in my head (like, i think her forced retirement was Stupid As Fuck, but then if she continues heroism that would introduce Issues with her and cissie's relationship that didn't exist in canon bc she retired, you know?) and bc i haven't figured out what anita's future looks like in my head fully, it's hard for me to have concrete thoughts on the two of them. that being said, there's Definitely something very compelling abt the way anita looked up to cissie and cissie got jealous of her for replacing her and they had to work through it. it's a good and solid ship i just need to work harder to be insane about it properly.

#answers #misspickman #cassierose #cassrose #cissieanita #cassie #rose #cissie #anita #cass

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madnessiseverything · 1 year

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it’s not a box cutter that kills jennifer check. it kills the rot inside her, perhaps, cuts the net of tar around her soul, but it doesn’t kill jennifer check.

jennifer check, who should have died tied up near a churning waterfall, knife moving in and out as the men above sing and laugh, dies a few seconds before her sheets soak up her heart’s blood with an eager tongue.

jennifer check, bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, vulture-clawed, dies with a necklace. a thin chain snaps, louder than thunder in her ear, and jennifer dies with it, broken silver hitting the floor and jennifer’s body hitting the bed, a ripple, a breeze in the uncaring world that turned her insides foul, bloodied, ravenous.

jennifer check dies before the box cutter hits her body’s heart, and she dies looking up at anita lesnicki, needy, their necklace torn and needy’s eyes darker than the sky that night in the woods. needy, the love of her too damn fucking short life, with a box cutter and bared teeth that seem so blunt to the thing inside of jennifer these days. needy is the one to kill them both, mere seconds apart.

unkillable jennifer check dies with her heart exposed, her hand outstretched towards the blood-stained silver heart, and anita lesnicki bent over her body like a shield, fury and grief like a cloak while jennifer’s blood warms the bed beneath.

#jennifer's body #jennifer check #needy lesnicki #the several deaths of one jennifer check and the one she feels #im having EMOTIONS about this movie once again #happy halloween gays

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moonlightmile12 · 5 months

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John Perry: The impression is that Jagger resented Gram getting too friendly with Keith.

Anita Pallenberg: He was the other side of the coin, you know? There's always that other stuff going on - whoever's the one that they're all always going on about. Boys will be boys, I guess. So Gram was on that end of it, and Taylor on the other end of it . . . poor Mick. He was very, uuhhhh, very torn, you know? The whole thing was a nightmare. Aggression. Sexual aggression. It was like aggression on every bloody level. Taylor was constantly harassed by Jagger, in every way. I remember seeing him in tears.

John Perry: Yeah, I heard stuff along those lines...Jagger comin' on to Rose -

Anita Pallenberg: Coming on to Taylor - you know, Jagger's bisexual - giving him a hard time any possible way he could. It certainly wasn't easy for poor Mick Taylor. Some days he was too scared to go down to the basement . . . he'd lie in bed and chill out - hide under the pillows!

Anita Pallenberg: Then there was Rosie Taylor...that whole thing was another nightmare as well...like a sex story going on.

John Perry: Those were busy days...everywhere. [laughter].

#anita pallenberg #mick taylor #mick jagger #rose millar #gram parsons

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disastersteps · 1 month

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i think about anita choosing to shape their own body over what the farm made them to be- a cis woman with straight hair to blend in, to be their agent- to be their infiltrator-

and yet they learn from anathema and sentinel that 'hey you can be more than that, if it makes you comfortable?'

first escape, the first thing they did was to cut their hair- gone the straight hair they used to have that were forced upon them, gone was the mannerisms of a woman they were taught to be- and here was anita, learning to shape the statue of who they are- that they started to wear a binder- had planned to get top scars with the help of themmy, that they had just started T and the first time they realized it is saying "FUCK!" to the delight of themmy and julia-

the fact they were about to started shaping their own image then get torn away from it by getting captured- and thats when second escape happened, which is when they refused to cut their hair. this time.

because it happened before, and what if thats the reason (or one of the many reasons)

they still wear binder, they managed to get hold of T but they never shape their image further- believed that if they try to change- they will just get capture anyway.

and somewhere, in a Happy Ending AU or down the road along that AU, anita will soon cut their hair (with the help of julia) and learning to shave and care for their beard (with the help of mortum) and just... that they stay on T- shaping their own image.

not a cuckoo, not a regene, not a property of the Farm, not Harbinger--

but Anita Lee- so ahhhhhhh

#sidestep: anita lee #thinking abt my lil guy #fhr #they went from a enby lesbian to like.#transmasc enby demi lesbian that will be chill with being polyam and i am AAAA

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athetos · 4 months

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Not going to do an official ranked list, but here are my favorite albums, EP/reiusses, and singles of 2023 thus far. I have a significant backlog I have to get through still, so I’ll update it in a month or so once I’ve torn through everything. Genres in parentheses.

Albums:

Panopticon - the rime of memory (atmospheric black metal)

Hot mulligan - why would I watch? (Emo)

Silent planet - superbloom (metalcore)

Anita velveeta - i saw the devil in Portland Oregon (emo)

Citizen - calling the dogs (alternative rock)

Beartooth - the surface (metalcore)

Creeper - sanguivore (rock)

Pvris - evergreen (alternative rock)

Sleep token - take me back to Eden (progressive metal)

Free throw - lessons that we swear to keep (emo)

EPs/Reissues:

The callous daoboys - god smiles upon the callous daoboys (Mathcore)

Portrayal of guilt - Devil music (black metal/screamo)

Pinkshift - suraksha (punk)

Deafheaven - sunbather remastered (blackgaze)

Blood incantation - luminescent bridge (death metal)

Better lovers - god made me an animal (hardcore)

Singles (either from albums that didn’t make the cut, or albums that aren’t out yet)

Glass Beach - CIA (post-emo)

Laura Jane Grace - dysphoria hoodie (folk punk)

Trash Boat - Liar Liar (metalcore)

Save Face feat. The callous daoboys - favorite lullaby (post-hardcore)

Ben Quad - would you tell Picasso to sell his guitars? (Emo)

Blink-182 - anthem part 3 (pop punk)

The menzingers - hope is a dangerous little thing (cowpunk)

Tigers Jaw, Joyce Manor - constant headache (emo)

Rivers of Nihil - hellbirds (technical death metal)

Mannequin Pussy - I Don’t Know You (alternative rock)

The wonder years - goddamnitall (pop punk)

Jessie ware - pearls (r&b)

Brutus - love won’t hide the ugliness (post-hardcore)

The story so far - big blind (pop punk)

Itoki Hana, Toby Fox - the greatest living show (rock)

Bayside, ice nine kills - how to ruin everything (patience) (punk)

Sum 41 - rise up (punk)

—-

All in all, I think my favorite EPs of all time came out this year, but there were some disappointments from big bands album-wise (taking back Sunday, the used).

My most anticipated for next year are albums from laura jane grace, glass beach, mannequin pussy, deftones, Ben quad, casey, and sum 41. Also ngl am insanely curious to see how job for a cowboy’s new album shapes up.

#ash.mp3 #I have like a dozen screamo and hardcore albums I haven’t got into yet

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pigeonwhumps · 11 months

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Max and Maria

Sanctuary masterlist

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

Anita and Theo help a pair of runaway pets.

This is early on, a few months into Theo living with Anita (and well before Anita starts officially working for pet lib). The concept of an inspection agency was created by @justplainwhump.

Introducing new OCs that will definitely appear again.

2.1k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, sadistic whumpers, mentions of red room torture, mentions of selling someone for sex, mentions of rape, restraints, collar, mentions of muzzle, mentions of whipping and belting, mentions of being forced to rape someone else on camera, starvation, dehydration, conditioned whumpee, implied non-con surgery, injured whumpee, bite wound, scared whumpee, dehumanisation

Anita props herself up on her elbows, looking around. It's a lovely day. She smiles down at Theo, napping in the afternoon sunshine. Picnics here every week for months, and he's finally relaxing.

She hears footsteps coming their way and turns around, frowning. They're running, which would be normal (if not too smart on a day like today) except... they don't sound relaxed. Not in the slightest.

There's two people, a man and woman. They're holding hands, and they don't seem to notice their surroundings too well as they run past. They're not in good shape, clothes torn and wearing collars, the woman's delicate while the man's is thick and worn. There's a bell hanging off the man's collar, dented like someone's punched it.

"Come on," mutters the man, "come on. You can run, you have enough stamina normally, we need to go."

She stumbles but keeps going, and soon they're out of sight in the trees.

Runaway pets. Anita hopes they manage to get away.

A few minutes later, she hears more people and the sound of angry grumbling.

"Fucking animals. When I get them back I'm gonna whip that mutt to within an inch of his life, belt the bitch, and then make them fuck each other for the camera. The least we can do is make some money out of this."

"I told you to restrain them properly before we left, Harold," says a woman, sounding far calmer and more polished, if irritated. Anita holds Theo close and drapes the picnic blanket over him. She's not letting them near him.

"Yeah. Well. That collar can go tighter. And I'm using barbed wire for the mutt next time. As for the bitch, we'll think of something. Rent her out maybe. Her stamina's incredible, and she'll be begging to eat someone out after I've starved her long enough."

Anita freezes, her insides filling with churning anger. At this rate they'll be lucky if she just lets the pets escape, she'd prefer to kill their owners with her bare hands.

They make a beeline for her, and she forces a polite expression as the woman opens her mouth.

"Excuse me. Have you seen two runaway pets around here?"

Anita nods, pointing across the park from where the pair ran. "Over that way. They didn't look well, are they alright?"

"Don't worry, they will be once we've finished with them. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Harold snorts as they start walking again. "I knew pets were thick, but really? That's the manor house. No cover, plenty of cops. It's almost no fun."

Anita waits until they're out of sight, then starts packing everything into her and Theo's rucksacks hurriedly. A small pale hand reaches over to help, and she looks at Theo, apparently wide awake. He looks even paler than usual, worried and confused.

"Helping pets," she signs, and Theo's face clears a little, but not entirely.

"Why?" he signs in return. Still not comfortable speaking much to her, then.

"Recapture squads. They won't escape without help. Stay here if you like."

Theo shakes his head, shouldering his rucksack. The message is clear: he's going to help.

She points in the direction the runaways went, and they follow, looking around carefully. It's Theo who spots them, of course, leaning against a tree, the woman looking almost too exhausted to stand and the man agitated. He growls as they approach, showing sharp steel implants instead of teeth. She raises her hands.

"I'm Anita, this is Theo. We're here to help. Please let us, or I'm afraid your owners will find you. We sent them off in the wrong direction but it can't be long until they find you."

The Guard Dog growls again, shifting on his feet, standing over the woman protectively. She taps him on the back, and when he turns, gestures to her thigh. He cocks his head, looking around, and then nods, baring his teeth in warning.

"Thank you."

Anita sees what's wrong immediately and bends down, tearing her towel into strips. She's not going swimming now, and anyway, the woman's thigh is bleeding.

"A bite mark?"

"They got rough."

Bastards. "Is that all?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"It's just the decent thing to do. I can't wrap either of your feet, it'll draw attention, but let us remove your collars."

The man eyes her warily and then nods sharply. He crouches down and she goes on tiptoe, reaching for his neck, keeping her eyes on their surroundings because all four of them are vulnerable like this.

It's a fiddly clasp to remove the thick leather band but luckily not locked, although she has to pull it away from his neck with some force. She soon sees why: in addition to the electrocuting prongs at the front she was expecting from a bastard like Harold, the inside is lined with spikes, his neck smeared with blood.

"I'm so sorry."

He shrugs. He's not saying much, but she sees the old outline of a muzzle on his face and she thinks she knows why. Still, better for them all if she doesn't know names.

Theo passes her the woman's collar, which she drops into her bag with a look of distaste. No bell, no electric shocks or other methods of punishment, but this one has a heart-shaped tag. She pulls out the picnic blanket at the same time, holding it out for the man.

"Here. Put this around your shoulders. And you, take my jumper. Theo." She swings her rucksack onto her shoulders, and signs, "Bread crusts?"

"Where are we going?" asks the man uncertainly.

"Ice cream, then feeding the ducks. Like a normal, average day at the park. This way."

The two runaways exchange glances and follow. They're not silent, and Theo drops back when Anita frowns at the limping footsteps and the girl's whimpering. She's not sure what he's doing but it seems to help. The man doesn't growl, cementing her theory that it was Anita he was growling at. As a non-Guard Dog pet, one who helped the woman at that, he probably doesn't see Theo as a threat to either of them.

And he's not. Not really. He's taken self-defence classes and she'd bet he'd be willing to take people on if necessary, but he really is incredibly kind. Sometimes she wonders what he was like before his conditioning. Whether he was so kind. What was going on in his life that made him volunteer. She hopes he wasn't quite so scared.

She orders four ninety nines, and Theo takes his enthusiastically, licking it with a huge smile. The man serving doesn't take a second glance at the two runaways – they're not wearing collars, after all, and dirt and not too many clothes is a common sight in this park in summer. The former Guard Dogs sighs, closing his eyes, his whole body relaxing as he takes a long lick. The Romantic bites hers, a few bites and it's gone. She looks like she regrets it, eyeing Theo's bag of bread crusts longingly.

Just how starved is she?

"We have more food, I'll fetch it for you later."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Anita nods. "The pond's this way."

Theo hands out bread crusts, and at a quick sign from Anita reaches into her rucksack, pulling out some apples and a hunk of cheese. It's not very sophisticated food, she feels a little guilty about this being their first meal while free, but they didn't even get as far as cutting up the food before Theo fell asleep. He hands Anita some fresh bread as well.

"Cheers. Share this between the three of you. There's a bottle of water each as well." She signs this to Theo too. The former Guard Dog shares out the food between the three of them, and the woman looks at her, grateful tears in her eyes. Anita feels uncomfortable. She's so thin, and injured, anyone with any decency would give her something to eat and drink.

The Guard Dog doesn't eat the bread, instead handing extra to Theo and the woman. He savours his food like it's the first he's eaten in months.

Maybe it is, with that muzzle scar and the casual threat of starvation by Harold earlier. They both drink their whole bottles at once, and Anita hopes they won't be sick later.

As they approach the lake, a flock of goslings run up to the woman, walking over her feet. She smiles, crouching down and hand-feeding them bread.

Anita watches in amazement. She's never seen anyone able to hand-feed geese before. Who was this woman?

Sometimes she finds it hard to think of pets as people, as guilty as that makes her feel, but then something like this happens, and she finds herself suddenly, violently hit by the fact that these people had whole lives and hobbies and relationships before all of this.

It's not fair.

"They're Canada geese goslings," murmurs the man, looking at the woman softly. "We had a nice man briefly. He introduced us to his birds."

Anita smiles. "She's very good with them. Was that from then?"

"She knew it all already. It hurt her but... I could tell." His eyes flick to hers briefly, scaredly. "Will she go somewhere safe? She won't survive being refurbished."

"I'll make sure you both go somewhere safe. I promise."

The man nods. He's gentle, and she wonders how he became a Guard Dog. He doesn't seem suited, somehow, despite his build.

Theo taps her on the leg from where he's dropped into his customary knelt position, and she looks at him, then in the direction that he's pointing.

That's Harold and his wife coming this way, down the path right behind them.

"Fuck. Watch the lake, feed the ducks. Stay sitting down, and Theo, I need you to stay where you are. We need to convince them at a glance that you're the only pet here."

Theo concentrates on her lips and then nods. The two runaways concentrate on feeding the ducks, the man's back ramrod straight, the woman trembling slightly.

Anita rests a hand on Theo's head, ruffling his hair. They're not wearing collars, they have decent-ish clothes, the woman's sitting down, surely they don't look enough like pets for the pair of bastard owners to look closely.

"We've lost another client. That's most of the night's profits gone."

"We can put Toffee in instead. Give her a mask, they only see her ass, nobody needs to know."

"They're paying for a trained slut, not a Domestic who couldn't even find her own hole. They'll know. No, we'll find them, red room cam scenario with whoever we have, then sell whatever's left and start again. Make plenty."

Theo clenches his fists on his knees. Anita desperately wants to attack, but she holds herself still, breathing carefully. Most of that stuff's illegal. The voices gradually get quieter, then vanish entirely. Only when there's no sign whatsoever does she turn and punch the tree.

"Fucking hell. I need to make some calls to get you safe. Theo, get the picnic restarted? We need to wait surreptitiously."

She signs the suggestion to Theo and he nods, beckoning the two runaways to follow him. Then she pulls out her phone.

She doesn't think she can rescue the Domestic herself. But she can stop them owning anyone else. And she'll call Marjorie, maybe someone can intercept the journey to refurbishment. She needs a safehouse for these two anyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey. You have safehouse contacts, right? Do any have space for two more?"

"What are their designations?"

"A Guard Dog and a Romantic. They're not bonded, but I don't want to separate them, and I'm not sure the Guard Dog will allow it anyway. The Guard Dog needs surgery, and the Romantic has a bad leg, possibly permanent."

"I'll ask around. I know someone who might have space, I'll give you more information later."

"Thanks."

"No. Thank you."

She cuts off, and Anita takes a moment to breathe before looking up the reporting number she needs. It takes days at least to organise inspections, she'll tell Marjorie when she calls later. That'll be enough time.

Besides. From the sounds of things, that Domestic would be better off refurbished than where she is now.

It's an annoying amount of warnings and notices and switchboard options before she gets through to a real person.

"Ofpets Owner Inspector Department, how can I help?"

She swallows down her nausea at the thought of providing WRU with any information. But sadly, they're her best option.

"Er, hi. My name is Anita Ranjit, and I'd like to report a situation where I believe there are pets in danger of serious and illegal harm from their owners. They may be harmed already, I don't– know, exactly, but I don't want to see them hurt if I can help it."

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