#ape-like fury

[damned-juggernaut]

[dnangelic]

everybody knows daisuke wouldn't hurt anybody ever right. not on purpose. right. ok. good. now i need to remind everybody that if you push or threaten him / the things he's deeply possessive over enough that dark can and would slam anybody into the ground and grind their skull into it while hissing and roaring with his claws and teeth out like a terrifying animal

[tinyproprodigy]

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

"C r u s h , c r u s h , c r u s h ."

Bakugou Katsuki x reader - (NB)

• Bakugo's crush on you started innocently enough - he begrudgingly admired your work ethic and quirk control during training sessions. But then he noticed the way your (e/c) eyes squinted slightly when you concentrated, and the adorable crinkle of your nose when you were deep in thought, and suddenly his heart was exploding like one of his nicely aimed AP shots.

• Whenever you're in the vicinity, Bakugo can't help but sneak glances your way, only to whip his head around with a fierce scowl when someone (usually Kaminari) catches him staring. "I wasn't looking at that loser, you idiot!" he'll growl, tiny explosions sparking at his fingertips.

• Mina and Sero live for teasing Bakugo about his crush, much to his chagrin. They'll make over-exaggerated googly eyes at him whenever you walk by, or loudly proclaim things like, "There goes the love of Bakugo's life!" This inevitably results in Bakugo chasing them around, threatening bodily harm if they don't shut their "damn traps."

• There's a running bet among the class on when (or if) Bakugo will finally admit his feelings. Kaminari has money on "Never, he's too proud." Mina is convinced he'll blurt it out in a fit of rage someday. Kirishima just wants his bro to be happy.

• In the rare moments when Bakugo musters the courage to talk to you, he instantly reverts to a flustered, stuttering mess. His ears burn bright red as he tries (and fails) to act casual, inevitably resorting to angry yelling to cover up his embarrassment. "Quit staring at me like that, (L/N)! Don't you have better things to do than bother me?"

• Despite his gruff exterior, Bakugo is incredibly protective of you. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, they'll find themselves on the receiving end of his explosive fury. He insists it's just because you're a fellow hero-in-training and he refuses to let his talents be outshone, but the class knows the truth.

• There's a notebook buried deep in Bakugo's room where he's meticulously analyzed all your quirk's capabilities, strong points, and areas for improvement. In the margins, doodles of your face and little explosions shaped like hearts decorate the pages. If anyone ever found it, he'd simply combust from mortification.

• During particularly intense battles or training exercises, Bakugo finds himself pushing harder than ever before, determined to impress you with his skills. Afterwards, he'll try to play it cool, like your presence had no effect on him whatsoever. But the glow of pride on his face when you compliment his power is unmistakable.

• You, precious reader, remain delightfully oblivious to Bakugo's inner turmoil. You see him as a passionate classmate and respected rival, making his crush on you all the more endearing (and frustrating) for the explosive boy. The rest of Class 1-A watches on in amusement, waiting for the inevitable explosion when Bakugo's feelings finally reach critical mass.

• No matter how much he growls and glares, at the end of the day Bakugo is an awkward teenage boy stumbling through his first real crush. And while his methods are unorthodox (and often involve yelling), his feelings for you are as bright and dazzling as one of his explosive blasts, lighting up the sky for all to see.

[the-monkeies-girl]

In A Hurry. ( Noa x Reader Oneshot. )

Fuck I love angst don't even TOUCH ME with your eyes I'm in my feels.

Title: In a Hurry. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Noa x (Human) Reader. Rating: T ( Mentions of blood, injury and potential death, tiny bit of language. ) Words: ( I have no idea how i swear this was supposed to be like 2K words AHHH ) Summary: Noa bargained. Maybe you were gone by choice but the idea lingered - Had you been injured?

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He knew the moment his green eyes looked at the sky, noticing the dip of the sun as it skirted its way along the horizon, that he had made a mistake. You were supposed to be back. He thought to himself, resting a spear head on the ground in front of him. He had been messing with it, scraping a piece of wood into a sharp point to dig into a hole that he suspected might be infested with bugs of the pesky nature after someone in passing had brought it up. He had been so oblivious to the passage of time, a foolish choice to make when you had left a few hours to go forge for some berries. It was hard to keep track of time though, especially when Noa had a front row seat to watch Soona and Anaya bicker. Today’s special was about Anaya- as it most usually was. Noa smiled at the familiarity before it quickly faded into oblivion at the existential thought. You were supposed to be back. 

You never went too far; never too far into the woods, knowing of the possibility of danger especially as an Echo, never ventured away from the Clan, from your home, your nest, your things… From… from Noa. He felt something surge inside of his chest that yelled at him to move his body. You were supposed to be back. Noa often went with you along with Soona and Anaya - An unbreakable bond began forming around the four of you. But, in those instances when Noa was unable to go, he would urge Soona, Anaya or even his Mother on occasion to go. At this point, his body was in movement, spine aching ever so slightly at the straight posture he was using to prepare his horse who greeted him with a joyous neigh., Noa wasn’t even sure how you convinced him to let you go alone, letting his mind drift to the conversation only three or so hours ago, when the sun was beginning a rather leisurely and slow decent as the afternoon had passed. It was definitely alluring what you asked of him, which was why he granted you to go alone, without accompaniment. You told him it was only for a short amount of time, letting your hand lightly grasp at his bicep in some Echo communication that physical touch would get your way. It often worked but Noa held on until you explained you wanted to get some berries for dinner, that you promised not to go too far, and that you would bring your spear with you to fend off any potential attacks. They seldom happened so close to the village, but they were not unheard of by any means. You wanted to go to get some space to yourself, you told him, Noa having to remind himself that it was indeed a regular Echo thing. To enjoy their own personal space. He never understood it, always having Anaya or Soona with him when you weren’t with him in most cases, and when he wasn’t with them, he was deep in thought, obsessing at his own ideas, his own improvements. At those moments, his thoughts became his friends and he was never really lonely.

Noa contemplated it, but essentially let you go to the mild fury of both his friends, like he wasn’t already uncomfortable enough letting you go without any of them.... Anaya, worried just as much that something could happen to you, even going as far as to tell Noa to just follow you at a distance; Noa had to shove aside the fact that he had the same train of thought earlier but following you could result in less trust in the relationship, Anaya was slightly receptive to that but stood his ground in telling Noa he should just follow. Soona, who obviously thought the same thing, but in her everlasting rationale to keep Noa somewhat grounded, nodded in understanding when Noa told her the reason you wanted to go alone. It wasn’t a slight at them, just one of those pesky Echo things. Personal space, they repeated to themselves over and over. 

His forehead pressed against your own as a departure, your hands full. One with a weaved basket, albeit a little janky as you had made it yourself and had yet to master the art, and one with your spear. He felt a sense of calm at that. You were not far; if you screamed, he most likely would be able to hear it and you had a weapon. You were not going far, he told himself over and over again and trailed around the village in search of something to bide his time until you returned.

In the distance it took him to travel from his spot to the horse paddock, both Anaya and Soona had joined. Noa left so abruptly, saying nothing to them and the haste of his movements spurred his friends to follow. He knew they were talking to each other, the flurry of signing and the some words hit Noa as Anaya had finally asked, “Where?” “Echo is… not back?” Soona asked.

It appeared the consensus was that you had returned and no one noticed. Noa would. Noa would always notice. Growling under his breath, he turned to both of them and said, “Stay here in case… She comes back,” He glanced over his shoulder, “Noa… will go. Look in the woods. Can’t be far.” He was just saying that to keep them calm. “Stay,” He told them again, “Could come back while away.”

Stupid Noa, the Ape scorned himself as his long arms grasped at the saddle of his horse and within seconds, in a graceful sweep, he was perched on top, Eagle Sun coming to affectionately rest on his shoulder. When Noa mounted his horse there was more than enough incentive for Eagle Sun to join along. He’d ride for a few moments before opting to fly. The bird chirped, twisting their tiny head to the side a few times. Noa raised his hand at that, pressing a finger to their beak. Eagle Sun then took off with purpose. Find you, and if he found you first, show Noa the way. You were not back. You were supposed to be back. Before dusk, before dinner. 

Maybe you got lost, Noa thought as he tightened his grip on the reins, kicking at the side of his steed and urging them to go. Faster than he had been for a while, thighs tightening their grip on the sides as he blasted away from the village in the general direction he had bid you goodbye to early in the day. He was snapping inside of his head; unkind notions at how stupid he was to let you go alone, he should have known better, should have never… Never let you convince him. But, what was he supposed to do? Another part of him shouted. Keep you there? Never let you out of his sight?! From experience, Noa knew that to be a bad thing. The tighter you hold onto things, sometimes the faster they slip away. He was so fearful of you thinking, assuming that he was smothering you by not giving you personal Echo space that he now drove himself to the brink of insanity for letting you do something alone. The dissolution he had in himself; the tugging of his emotions as his gaze flickered around the racing landscape on the back of his stallion. He felt like he was going to be physically sick at the notion that you were… Gone. But if anything, he hoped it was by choice. He could at least begin to cope with the idea that you chose to leave, maybe figuring out that your future with him, with the Eagle Clan was going to go nowhere. Noa could learn, albeit out of bitterness, how to live with that. On the other hand lingered the absolutely disgusting notion that you were gone because you were spotted, chased and hunted down by another Clan. That they had the audacity to make their way onto Eagle Clan land and rip you from him.

 His teeth fell together in his mouth, the primal impact sending a clattering noise through Noa’s ears. He knew how the others were, what they did to Echo’s. Chased them to the brink of exhaustion, tied them to the back of their horses and dragged them through the terrain until they were dead. He, Soona and Anaya had come upon remains, skeletons of the Echo’s that had that misfortune. Noa squeezed his eyes shut at that visual now running circles in his mind and tried to quiet down the battling nature of his turmoil. Instinctually, he pulled the reins of his horse back to slow down, now urging them to be quiet with a hand placed on their neck. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving with ripe anguish and he swore his lungs were filled with nothing but water because it felt like he was drowning, swimming through the air. He was frantic to jump from the horse, feet hitting the ground hard enough to send a vibration through his entire body, followed by his hands. He moved faster on all fours, if he heard you, if he just knew where you were he could run. Noa began scanning the area. Between trees, around foliage, behind tree trunks, around the usual areas Noa had been with you. He recognized the area all too well, a surge of saddened negligence hitting him like a wave of the ocean.

This was where you and he first really talked, taking in the Summer weather spewing through the trees above asn Anaya and Soona began a conversation about which berries to pick. Anaya wanted the red ones off to the right to which Soona promptly turned him down. They were poisonous. Where the two of you went to seek solace from the prying eyes of the Clan, always curious what Noa’s decision was going to be regarding you being there. This was where you first held each other, a tight embrace… Hug, he recalled the word fondly falling from your lips… The way your body pressed against his, the way he was so unsure of it before giving in, long arms wrapping around you in a similar fashion and pulling you in close, close… The laugh you gave him when he squeezed too tightly, not aware of his strength being incomprehensible to you. What if… Those things…were all the last time? He was always fast to crumble, fast to fall down and this was no exception as his emotions began to collapse just like the Echo ruins that surrounded the Eagle Clan. The last time Noa saw you, smiling graciously at him as you trail to the woods, the sum beaming down on you and drenching you in that quintessential summer time shine. The last time Noa touched you, his hand cupping the side of your face, foreheads grasping at each other out of clear desperation to be near. The last time he heard your voice, so delicate in nature as you assured him that nothing was going to happen to you, that you were going to be okay… You were not a liar, Noa knew this, but the bile rose in his throat at your words. So tender, so reassuring to him in the moment that they felt so out of place now. You were not back, you were gone. They were all gone. And you had promised him otherwise. It was obvious from scent alone that you had been in the area, Noa took gross solace in that as it hit his nose. He figured this was where you would come, being most familiar with the area, with previous knowledge of blackberry and blueberry bushes around. Slated green and gold eyes caught something on a few leaves to his right, his glancing almost too quick to pick it up on the first sweep. He had mistaken it for a berry at first, but that was very much not the case. It was red, for sure, but not the kind he wanted it to be. He watched it drop from one leaf, onto another before taking refuge in the puddle of vibrancy against the brown of the Earth. 

Blood. It was blood, and Noa scooted towards it, gravity taking hold on his actions rather than the usual conscious thought. He almost fell over, tangling his hands and feet in the dirt as he stopped dead in his tracks. It was more blood than he cared to admit and it smelled… Smelled like you, fragrant as usual, and all too familiar to Noa. it lingered uncomfortably though and it began to smell of iron. Fresh. It had to be, there was no way it would hold onto that without being spilled recently; at least in the last thirty or so minutes. The fur on his neck and shoulders were prickled, Noa found himself on the defense thinking about what your movements had to have been. What had to have happened. Were you found? Bludgeoned and then taken away? Did you fall and hurt yourself? You were prone to that Noa thought with a bitter laugh at how clumsy you were at times. Were you still in the area--- 

Your basket! He raced a few feet to the left, grasping it in his hands. There were contents inside, not many, but enough to put Noa in a whirl of relief for a second or two. You were here recently, he reminded himself again, setting the basket down on the ground after its brisk analysis. His mouth slacked open animalistically, eyes narrow with the metaphorical hunt. His hands and feet dug into the ground. He was focused, primed and ready. What was that? Noa’s head whipped to the left again. A sound. Not an animal he knew; not even that of Eagle Sun who must have been still searching for you; a true testament to how quickly Noa was to get to the area. He managed to beat his bird. There it was again! That sound caused him to raise his body and shuffle towards it. It was hard to deduce, but it was enough to give Noa a sense of what direction to take. Slightly to the east, right passed the blueberry bush that you had dubbed your favorite months ago due to the pure amount of berries you got in one picking. Noa looked at it almost tenderly, thinking about that as the leaves brushed against the side of his body as he clutched passed it. His eyes hardened, his mouth opened in defense, baring his canines to whatever was making the reverb that Noa was picking up on. It was either dangerous or not given the blood spotted. Given the basket that was abandoned. It could be another Ape, aggressive. The thought alone caused the fur all along Noa’s spine to spring to attention.  It was getting louder, more guttural that sound… Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

The first thing Noa went for was your face. His hands were large, grasping at your head on each side, pulling it up from the rather awkward position it was hanging in as you had only managed to get yourself slightly propped up against a tree, at least that’s what Noa was able to put together. His first initial thought was that you were dead. You had to be, you couldn’t be, he was shouting at himself to pull it together but he couldn’t. The feeling of tears hit the back of his eyes at the very state you were in. 

There was blood on your face, he had smeared it artistically on his own hands before drawing his grasp downwards onto your chest. He left a barren red hand print there, accessing the skin of your sternum, hard with bone under his touch. Breathing, good, he took quick note of that, feeling the slower than usual pace of your heartbeat against the tips of his fingers. He tried to ignore the arrow that was jutting from your right shoulder with his movements, but it was brought to his attention when he minorly grazed it with his forearm after a feeble attempt to get you to sit up, sit closer to him. He wanted you near him, he needed you near him. As close as he could get so he could leverage himself up with you in his arms and get you back to his horse, back to the Clan… Arm under your knees, arm around the upper part of your body, careful around the arrow he had noticed, but enough for the Ape to help. He could pick you up with ease but stopped once he shifted to do just that. You groaned, eyes squeezing, instinctually, your hand raised and grasped at his forearm that was encased around your upper half.  Spurred by the hot sensation of pain rocketing through your entire being from just one simple move, Noa’s heart surged at the pure agony that came out of you. Okay, so… He couldn’t get you up. He couldn’t move you without causing more pain. “(Name)?” It felt strange to say still. Your name. It became such second nature in his mind but to say it…

Perpetual fear hit Noa but he tried his hardest to stay grounded, to put the pieces together. So. You were breathing, that was a plus. There was an arrow in your shoulder, not a plus. He was afraid to move you, another negative.  Not conscious to ask you any questions, your eyes were rolled back, only slightly open, another negative.. He figured you had no idea what was going on based on his call of your name and the lack of response, his eyes dropped down your body again, now laying in his arms lifeless, unwilling to give him a smile that he so needed now. Unable to say something sarcastic in that tone he loved to hear, unable to hold him in response…. Injury, he yelled inside of his head. Bad injury, he lingered, piercing his gaze into the arrow that had made its very home in your right shoulder. 

He gasped quietly at that, unfurling his hands against you before he dug his fingers right into you, protective in their stance. Noa finally noted the severity, no time to beat himself up over the immature idea to let you go alone for berries. He needed to do something about it. It was not a clean wound. The arrow went through, the arrow did not come out the other side of your shoulder, at least from what he could tell. He panicked, no idea what to do. Injuries were not his forte. They never were. He left them to the Village Elders who knew more about this, he left it to his Mother who soothed all his injuries growing up, even to this day he would occasionally ask for her assistance. “(Name.)” Noa’s voice was sharp, waving right around the edges in faltering resolve. He just needed you awake. Needed you to say something to him. Acknowledge him in any way or he felt he was going to lose it--- Lose you. “(Name).” Within a blink, Eagle Sun came to rest on Noa’s left shoulder. The bird was curious by nature, looking down at your body with beady eyes. Noa did the only thing he could process in that moment and that was to sign his bird to go get Anaya, Soona and his mother. He--- He couldn’t do this, couldn’t fathom being the one there to pull the arrow out of your shoulder. He’d make it worse, he’d hurt you, he’d make you hate him, he’d… He’d kill you… Noa didn't know what he would do then. He’d fall into ruin, destitute, unable to cope, unable to breathe with you… Without his mate, without his life and love and joy. 

He was--- God, he was weak. Never a leader like his Father, never a caring Ape like his Mother. He was… Weak… Green eyes bore a hole all along your expression, hopeful that maybe you were able to give him something in your teetering balance of unconsciousness as he moved the hand from under your knees out and upwards to cup the side of your face tenderly. He ignored the blood that he was putting against your skin and focused.  He needed to know what happened--- Needed to know who did this to you so he could tear their face from their body. Noa was beyond scared, now sensing the feeling of your blood against the fur of his upper body and his thigh where he was keeping you pressed against him. He was so scared, taking a few moments to tilt his head back in a bargain. He’d do anything you asked of him, anything at all, if you pulled a rabbit out of the hat. If your injury was not as severe as it appeared to be. Noa had a hard time really telling - Maybe it wasn’t as bad, maybe it was worse. He had no visible way to tell anymore. Eagle Sun’s squawk came to hit him, finally for once, Noa found it to be a good sound, often finding it rather annoying when the bird would bother him when he was deep in his own introspective. Good, good…. Anaya, Soona, Dar… They could help him. He needed them to help him. You’re so weak, Noa. He knew that. He knew that so well and watched helplessly as Soona and Dar took you away from him, resting you flat on your back and examining. They made a choice in silence. The arrow had to come out. It took Anaya to push him back as it happened, to keep Noa from absolutely crashing into his mother and Soona, to beg them to stop and that you were in more pain than he could bear. The screams that emitted from you were enough to give Noa nightmares for the rest of his life. 

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Minutes… Turned into hours… Which in turn gave Noa a full day of complete and utter shattered silence as he watched over you, your soft breathing that would rise and fall consistently, your twitching and muttering in what he hoped were good dreams. Or maybe, you weren’t dreaming at all and it was just a void… Noa tried to not focus on that, focus on how lonely and desolate it sounded. Dar, his Mother, had told him you’d survive. It was good when Noa found you, you had lost a lot of blood at that point, but good none-the-less. While her words were always reassuring to Noa, he took no solace in them this time around.

He couldn’t- not when the reasoning behind you laying so gently in the nest you shared with Noa was due to his absolute absurdity and poor judgment. You moaned in reaction to his fingers as they lightly placed themselves on the side of your face- Only fleetingly, Noa had to talk himself down from it. You were able to sense him, but you had yet to stir awake for him. That, he suspected, was due to a bump on the head, mentioned to him by his Mother. How… how small and fragile Echo’s bodies were… How even the smallest of injuries, a bump to the head, could cause unfiltered waves of unconsciousness. Noa felt sick again suddenly, replaying what must have happened to you in the woods. The sensation of isolation smothering all of his senses. Had you sustained a mild head injury from a fall? Were you struck by some outside force? He had no idea of knowing, but the obvious scramble was evident at the scene. You straggled, you crawled your way to the tree trunk after the arrow struck you, seeping your blood all along the floor of the woods and propped yourself up as best you could before the cold wash of oblivion must have taken you downwards. He could almost vividly see your hand marks on the tree trunk. You must have attempted to stagger to your feet but couldn’t--- Noa swallowed hard at that. You were just trying to survive, trying to get home. He’d find himself brushing his fingers along your body, anywhere he could, every few minutes just so you were aware that he was there. Much like before, his hand reached out and instead of your face, he lightly rested it against your uninjured shoulder, bare to his eyes as you had been stripped of your upper body clothing, well… More or less, your sweater and under-shirt were ripped off by Soona to get a better view at what had happened to you when Eagle Sun brought them to the event. 

Noa’s eyes couldn’t bring themselves to even look at your injury, rooted paste placed on top, along with a thin cloth to keep it unexposed to the air. Based on his internal clock, Soona would be there in an hour or so to replace the cloth with another... He was there the entire time, not having any time set aside to eat, to be with Soona and Anaya who he knew were waiting outside, unwavering in their friendship to him, unsettled in Noa’s choice of mate. To them, you were one of the Eagle Clan, and for Noa, they accepted you with open arms. Your blood still clung to the very tips of his fur. He hadn’t taken any time to even groom, how could he? How could he leave you? His mate. 

That loving notion that always wrapped Noa in warmth didn't stop the young Chimp from flying off the rails at himself. The stupid, so vastly immature mistake at letting you go alone. Had he been with you, this entire situation could have been avoided. You’d be awake right now, looking at Noa with those eyes--- Those eyes that he loved, that he found himself getting lost in from time to time, even in his own mind did he get lost. You’d be conscious, maybe even with your hand in his fur, the way he liked, the way that got him to pause and to come down from even the highest of highs. His hand had trailed from the rest on your shoulder upwards to your hair where he gave it a tender stroke. There was dried blood between the strands, he noticed and could hear your voice in his head. 

I must look like shit.  When can I go to the creek to wash myself? He smiled at the imitation he had of you in his imagination, it being rather remarkable. He’d spent so much time observing you that your tendencies, Echo or not, were well ingrained into his memory. How you would react to things, how he knew in this moment you’d be concerned about looking bad in front of him; a concept that Noa didn't care much about. To him, in any circumstance, you were beautiful. Even now… He thought quietly to himself and brought his hand back upwards to your hairline before brushing very gently backwards. In wishful passing, with each stroke of your hair Noa just hoped and hoped it would be the one that would spur you to wake. He hoped.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing  against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

[a-boca-do-inferno]

not an ape (caesar x human!reader)

summary: Caesar has had enough of your transgressions.

warnings: angst, swearing, slight fluff

words: 1.5k

notes: could be read as a continuation to alone and medicine. enjoy xx.

gif credit

Caesar eyed you up and down and you shrank slightly in reflex, looking at the ground. You had wandered off by yourself in the woods yet again and he seemed really mad. He couldn’t even speak to you in his rage, his glare burning holes into your skin whilst his nostrils expanded in a steady rhythm. His stern expression remained unchanged as he crossed his thick arms, standing tall and dominant. Still silent, he nodded his head for you to follow him as he started walking further into the forest.

You gulped and followed the king, even though you felt your own annoyance boiling inside at the thought of being about to get chastised, similar to a rebellious teenager. His bulky frame strolled in front of you and his steps were heavy on the floor, stomping against branches and breaking them without the bat of an eye. You grunted softly in frustration, then suddenly you both stopped moving. Caesar turned to face you with an unreadable look. The fury in his green orbs had somewhat subdued, but he still appeared displeased by your misbehaviour. He pointed to a nearby log and motioned for you to take a seat. You obeyed him in silence, lips tightly pursed.

Caesar stood in front of you, observing you carefully. He studies your face, the way you sit, the way you keep avoiding his looks, and growls, “explain.”

You almost roll your eyes at the order. “Not an ape.” You sign quickly and clearly irritated, finally staring at him directly. At the immediate puff of his chest, you wince briefly, but you don’t back away. “Can take care of myself. Not dumb.”

The ape was unimpressed at your defiance, having witnessed it and experienced it toward himself a couple times before. Today was different, though; it just wasn’t like you to be so foolish, to go hunting on your own without warning anyone. Caesar unfolded his muscular arms, letting them hang by his sides as he nodded slowly through your words. He huffed and took a step closer, his gaze intense. 

The king signs, his movements deliberate and commanding. “You take care of yourself.” He concedes gruffly, his gravelly voice echoing through the quiet forest. “Then why keep wandering off alone... like a fool?”

You scoff and turn your face away, grumbling, “I’m not a child.” 

Caesar’s eyes darkened at your insolent tone. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look straight at him, his grip firm yet gentle enough not to hurt you. He leans in, his face mere inches away from yours. “You act like one!” He gestures sharply. “No thinking, no planning, no understanding consequences. Just... reckless.”

You try to escape his hold, but he’s much stronger. You move your hands swiftly, pointing to his furry chest, “you don’t rule over me!”

The ape held your wrists in place, preventing you from signing further. He leaned even closer, his large form towering over yours. His eyes flash with ire as he snarls, “think you smart, do you? Always know better than everyone.” 

You stayed silent for a brief moment. It was true that you got into trouble every now and then, however you always had your own way of working things out. He was just being unfair. “Why did you take me in then? Why not just leave me alone? I was just fine by myself!” You protest, so lost in your own anger you didn’t even care Caesar could easily kill you with his bare hands if he wanted.

He loosened his hold on you faintly, but didn’t let go. He glanced at you for a moment, his features conflicted. “Found you injured... weak.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Couldn’t leave you... alone. Needed protection.”

“I can protect myself.” You hiss and glare at Caesar, pushing him. “What? Aren’t you big, bad ape? C’mon!”

Caesar’s annoyance only grows at your continuous challenge. “You think you strong? Able to protect yourself?” He lets go of your hands and backs away, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He glowers at you, his emerald irises burning. “Prove it.” He huffs once more, his muscles tense. You lunged at him without warning, hitting his chest with all your force. Despite your random attack, he didn’t stumble back. He raised an eyebrow mockingly and you kept punching him with all your might, his firm figure not even flinching at your efforts. You finally grew tired and shrieked in irritation, attempting to pull away from him. His arms tightened around you considerably. “Finished?”

Staring into his piercing gaze, you can only grunt, “you piss me off.” And albeit you were still pretty angry, your voice felt like a whisper in his ears. You took a seat on the log behind you, fixating your eyes on the ground. 

Caesar mimicked your actions and signed, “why keep going off on your own? You know it’s dangerous.” His gestures are careful now.

You don’t look at him. “I’m used to being alone.”

The ape king tilts his head. “Not about what you’re used to. About what it’s safe.” He pauses, gauging your reaction before continuing, “you may have survived before, but that doesn’t mean… you should keep taking needless risks.”

“It wasn’t needless. I was hunting.”

“It’s needless when you can get hurt… or worse.” Caesar mumbles, frowning a bit. “And why go alone? There are safer ways to hunt.” He signs softly at the end, trying desperately to make you see reason.

“With Koba, you mean? Might as well just kill myself and call it a day.” You laugh humourlessly. 

Caesar shoots back, “Koba… not the only one who can help you. You just… too stubborn to ask.”

“I'm not exactly a celebrity in the ape colony. More like black sheep.” You murmur with a lower tone, finding his emerald eyes. “You never ask for help either.”

The ape meets your gaze, his jaw clenching. He knows you’re right. He’s always been independent, preferring to handle things on his own. After a beat, Caesar signs begrudgingly as he admits, “maybe I don’t ask for help. Fine. But I know when to take calculated risks... unlike you.”

“You win a few times in chess and think you’re Einstein of the apes.” You tease, your anger gradually fading. “Unbelievable.”

Caesar’s rough exterior softens at the playful jab. He can’t help but chuckle, “you just… a sore loser.”

“Maybe. I’m also a damn good hunter and you scared my deer away.” 

His lightheartedness is replaced by dissatisfaction again. His signing is sharp, “so? Rather scare away your deer… than have you get hurt chasing it by yourself.”

“How the hell is a deer gonna hurt me? You have got to be kidding, Caesar.” You scowl impatiently. “I might not be strong like an ape, but I’m not some defenceless puppy either. Fuck off.”

“I never said that.” Caesar hisses, his own scowl deepening too. “But you’re not… invincible. What if you encountered something… stronger than a deer? What would you do then?” 

“Kick its ass. Like I always do.” You stand back up to try and finish the conversation.

The king’s not having it and grabs your arm, gently but firmly, making you sit back down next to him. “Can’t always kick ass.” He breathes out, soothingly. “Sometimes you have to know... when to stand down.”

You let out another heavy sigh, not wanting to fight anymore. “You should follow what you preach, buddy.” You pat his chest in a somewhat chastising manner. 

It’s his time to roll his eyes, a small smile playing at his rough lips. “Stubborn as a mule.” 

“I’m sorry, okay?” You blurt out after a second, your voice reluctant yet sincere. “I’ll ask for your help next time. If I feel like it.” You shrug.

Caesar lets out a low grunt, searching your face for any hints of insincerity and finding none. “Good. But promise me… you won’t go wandering off alone again. At least... not without someone knowing where you’re going.”

“Mmm. I’ll think about it.” You mutter with a smug look.

Caesar grumbles at your cheeky response, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “So damn… stubborn.” He reaches out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary. 

“You treat me like I’m weak, you know?” You hum, nuzzling into his palm in a silent act of submission he knows too well. “I’m not.”

The ape king holds back a primal sound rumbled deep in his throat, fighting the urge to pull you even closer. He coos, with a ghostly smirk, “not weak. Just… small.” 

“I hate you.” You push him lightly, yet your words are filled with affection. You can see his fur standing on end at your actions and it makes you grin wider. “Someone’s sensitive today, huh?”

He signs, his voice barely above a husky whisper, “shut up.”

You lean in and rest your hands on his broad shoulders, your look turning a bit more sly. “And what if I don’t?”

Caesar’s heart beats faster, your touch burning him like a brand. His green eyes narrow as he watches you intently, his breathing growing shallow. He lifts his palm to your cheek, tracing his rough knuckles against your smooth complexion. “Keep teasing... and you might find out.”

You hum and bring his forehead to yours. You kiss his face slowly, your body becoming warm at the sound of his quiet, happy hoot. You cannot hold back a teasing smile, “who’s the puppy now?”

Caesar laughs.

[hcdragonwrites]

A Tiger on the Mountain (a @semisolidmind Fanfic)

Here it is ! Another one. I made up a creature specifically so I could play out a scenario in my head and lead into another fic after this one. This is not a two parter but it leaves it open for a follow up!

TW: Blood and Violence and allusions to torture at the end. (Not of Peaches SHES fine)

“Get out before you become a new rug for me to wipe my feet upon.” Sun Wukong snarled over the table, his staff in his hands. The Nine Tiger Demon took a step backward at the fury. The expedition to this kingdom of monkeys and flowers had been a fools mission. Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, dipped his head cordially.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The tiger smiled and stepped out of the council room, his great black cape swirling as he exited in a flourish. He had made a jab at the Monkey Kings pride by calling him Lord. He knew that his patience was wearing thin with him. Especially after he had eluded to the weakness of mortal Ally’s.

“It is necessary to procure some of the goods they produce.” Wukong had waved the complaint aside. As if waving a fly. Zari was a lord of a snowy country where resources were few and blood was spilt as common as the snowfall. His kind had been hunted by poachers for their pelts. For the magic quality in their stripped bodies. Bones, blood, tendons, fur, claws… Everything in a tigers body was hunted for medicine, magic and mayhem. To hear that the most feared creature west of his kingdom, the great demonic Monkey King who had challenged Heaven, had made treaties with humans…

Zari had licked his muzzle sensing weakness.

“Why treat when you can take?” The tiger lord had questioned. His attendants beside him fidgeted, their hands straying to the scimitars belted to their sides. A twitch of his tail tip called them off. A tiger was playing with a monkey to see what sort of prey it had between his claws.

“And cause further disharmony around me ? Mortal men are easily placated. It leaves me free to put my resources into more important things.” Here the monkey leaned forward, eyes glowing with the torchlight. “Like seeking new territories in the east.”

The threat was received but Zari didn’t rise to the bait. He was a patient creature. The scars on his stripped hands and body proved how many battles and hunters he had outwitted.

Of course Zari had only come to sieze up the competition in the West. He never had any intentions of swearing allegiance to the ape. To debase himself to an ape? Never. So it only took Wukong a few more verbal jousts to also know the game was at an end. He had dismissed the tiger with a threat. Zari kept his claws velveted. For now.

As he stepped out of the corridor he let the slightest bit of agitation show in his whiskered face. A twitch of a tail brought one of his attendants forward.

“Gather the lower Claw.” Zari whispered. “They need a good hunt.”

“Of course my King.” The lesser demon bowed and raced off, light as a feather in the wind. At least that would humble the foolish ape—

Zari came around the corner and bumped straight into something soft, and pliable. His claws caught it reflexively before the thing fell completely onto his black armor and ruined his perfect complexion. He hissed, about to snap at this new weaker underling of a foolish king when the scent hit the top of his mouth.

Human.

“I’m so sorry!” It was female. The women pulled from the tiger claws. Her eyes remained cast down. Simple peasant clothes. Hair tied up in a messy updo. Flushed cheeks, good proportions. The tigers eyes had been blown wide.

“Are you alright miss?” Zira smoothed the twitching of his whiskers, kept the lashing of his tail to a minimum. But his instincts roared and his mouth pooled. “I did not mean to bump into so harshly.”

A captured peasant girl? A pet of this monkey kings?

“Oh no it was my fault!” The women said. She finally looked up and the tiger demon got a good look at the curve of her throat. The hot pulse just inches from his fangs.

From further down the corridor someone called “PEACHES!” The girl stiffened a bit then smiled sheepishly.

Zira felt as if he was a wolf in the sheep pen.

“I should have been watching where I was going. Carry on!” She bowed and then quickly scuttled off.

“Well well well…”Zira smiled to himself as another monkey ran past and after the fleeing women. He felt his grin widen, the drool threatening to slip. “Look like I have some entertainment myself…”

For Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, was whispered and feared by mortals across his snowy slice of the world. Legends told of how he would slip in as silent as a ghost. How he would visit families and paint their walls in red crimson and spattered gore. For Zari was a man eater, a enjoyer of mortal flesh. And his favorite prey that he enjoyed devouring most was women.

This conquest just got a bit more interesting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I Demand compensation.”

The threat would have come off more terrifying from the Monkey King if he had been dressed in his armor. However he was… not. Instead Wukong was at the present moment, begging on Peaches lap beneath a cherry tree. His face was a storm cloud as he lifted Peaches hands up to his head.

“I am afraid you won’t be getting any.” Peaches let her hand fall limply off. The stormy face broke into a beggars crocodile tears.

“PEACHESSSS!”

Macaque would have snickered at his sworn brother begging but he was also not getting any sort of touches from Peaches. He didn’t know why she had decided today of all days to deny both of them.

Why was she withholding scratches from her husbands? Well. For many reasons. For one, one of them startled her awake this morning by swooping her into his arms because he got a little too excited and woke her from her dreams. It also triggered a huge sort of panic because she has had enough of nightmares on being snatched away thank you.

Of course telling the one begging at her knees right now that his over exuberance this morning had been one of the reasons for no pats, would only lead to more exuberance.

A second reason she was including both and not just the one who scooped her ? Well because the day before Macaque thought it would be funny to pop one of his shadows beneath her while she was trying to brush her hair and in the fall the hairbrush - still tucked into her hair- wrenched. It had been painful and she had lost several bits of her own hair in it.

And thirdly? Because these two had, for all intensive purposes of the words, kidnapped her and forced her to live here upon the mountain. Yes she was still bitter about it. No she wouldn’t get over it. At least not today. Too many tricks were tugged and her personal space breached for her to simply let it go. A little bodily autonomy and boundary would be nice. Instead her two lovers would look at her as one would a family cat and go “awwwwwwww!” and scoop her up.

So two very peeved simians sat cross legged staring her down. Wukongs tail was lashing back and forth, his eyes narrowed like a cats. He reached forward and grabbed Peaches hand again. She had learned long ago that giving them the satisfaction of her resistance- how cute! They would say as she practically threw all manner of pellmell closet clutter at them- would only prolong their inevitable smothering of her.

Being impassive was her best weapon.

So she let her hand be limply lifted.

Just as limply it slid off the Monkey Kings head.

“Peaches! Come on!” Wukong groaned. He sounded like a kid begging for sweets. Peaches sniffed. The day was nice at least. She had made her way out of Water Curtain Cave and out onto the mountainside before her attendant could shove and stuff her into royal courtly attire. Not today! Peaches hadn’t wanted to attend court. She hadn’t wanted to be near that council room. Her accidental bump into that demon had been as close as she had gotten. A tiger demon? Now that was something she hadn’t seen yet.

Wukong laid himself over her lap, his face pouting up at her. He looked… adorable. It was almost enough for her to forget about his transgression this morning. It wasn’t enough. She turned her head away.

Only for Macaque to be there. He had somehow snuck up, as was his silent way, and pressed himself to her back. He slipped her into his lap, and Peaches felt a little spark of unease. Macaque was the slower of the two when it came to affection, sneaking it in or trying to tease it from her. Wukong was all action and joyful tugs and play. His was earnest and forward. Macaque was… sly. Teasing. A fox inside the chicken house.

“Sweet peach, come now.” His hands settled around her. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Peaches fought the blush from rising in her face. Think of rocks and birds. What you will eat tonight. Anything but how his voice and how it feels rumbling against me.

“We just want to have a little comfort.” The dark furred monkey lifted her hand. He entwined his fingers in hers. They were so large. The practically swamped her own. The claws slide along the fingers as he lifted her hand and tugged it into his fur onto his cheek.

“Come on, little plumb.” His smile was as sweet as honey, as soft as downy feathers. If it had been any other day she would have mussed his fur and teased him back. However Macaque made a mistake of touching her hair with a free hand. Reminding Peaches that this little trickster had yanked some of her hair out.

She let her hand remain lax.

“No.”

“Then you leave both of us no choice.”

Macaque leaned back and with a woosh and gasp of air and black- they were back in their room. The pillow pit cushioned their fall, as did Macaque who lay beneath her. Peaches let out an indignant squeak as the demon monkey growled playfully in her ear.

“You have only a few moments before Wukong gets here. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“No.” Peaches sniffed. His hand was trailing along her skin, almost walking up her arm.

“Are you mad at him?” Macaque asked.

“Yes”

“Are You mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it … a mad kind of day?”

She didn’t respond.

He tutted and tugged her hands free of where she had shoved them beneath her arms. He placed one against the side of his head, eyes gently closing. He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

“Come on my sweet… just indulge us both..”

“No.”

“Little minx.” The purple eyes flashed along with that sharp toothed smile. Peaches felt her face flush. Macaque leaned in and over her now, his free hand twining in the hair on the back of her neck. The demon was angling her from being the one on top, to sliding her into the pillow pit with the dark haired monkey hovering above. He pulled her up and into him, and Peaches had the startling realization that she was so very very small and he was so very very large all of a sudden.

“What sins do I have to whisper into your ears ? What marks should I leave upon your skin to earn your affection again?” His eyes dipped to her lips. Peaches face felt like it was afire. “Should I sing your praises into your skin with my teeth?”

Oh dear.

And then the moment of tension was broken by a furious orange blur bursting into the room and tackling both of them. Peaches cried out while Macaques face looked deadpan at his sworn brother. The moment of tension, of turning Peaches pink as a lychee fruit, was over.

“MACAQUE! THATS NOT FAIR!” The monkey king was entangled with both of them as he grabbed the other hand and shoved it into his fur. Peaches only held onto them now as they jostled her. “HOW MANY HEADSCRATCHES DID YOU GET?”

“None…” His face was exasperated, his tail twitching at the tip.

“None?” Wukong echoed.

“None!” Macaque slammed his head closer to Wukong. Peaches was perfectly sandwiched between her husbands very bare and very exposed chests as the two brothers bristled at each other. She was loosing her own power of wills because … well. Peaches was only human. She could barely stay mad at one Monkey half dressed. Two half dressed and practically pressed cheek to pec against either side of your face ? It was a marvel her body didn’t burn up on the spot from how much she was blushing.

“Why you shouting at me then?!”

“You spoiled my sport before I could tease some out of her.”

“Oh?” Wukongs eyes shot downward. Peaches looked away, feeling like she got caught watching.

Oh no.

The two demons looked down on her. And Peaches felt like she was in danger. Not a you-will-die-and-be-disemboweled way. More of you-will-be-turned-into-a-second-sun-from-how-much-we-will-tease-you kind of way. They loomed over their mortal wife, ears perked forward and grins becoming sharp and feral.

Another burst through the door however saved Peaches from being turned into a puddle beneath the attentions of her husbands.

“Ugh what is it now?” Macaque sighed.

“My King! We are under attack!”

The two warlords changed from flirting devils to stiff and immovable stones as they stood. Macaques ears swished, forward and back, each set twitching as he confirmed it.

Wukong was across the room, his armor back on his body in a flash. His staff was plucked free from his ear, elongating in a flourish.

“Where?” The Sages voice was a silent rumble.

“Off the south slope- a band of panthers by the look of it.” The sentry’s tail was puffed in fear. Wukong nodded and was off in a flash of fur and fury.

Someone was attacking the mountain? They must be crazy. Insane. Or have a death wish.

Macaque set Peaches firmly in the Pillow pit, eyes somber.

“Love don’t move. Don’t leave this room. Understand ?” His face was pinched in worry bordering on fury. He was trying to maintain his composure for her, to hold back the anger that was threatening to bubble upward. Peaches may think of her boys a lot of way. They were selfish when they wanted her attention. They had taken her away reluctantly from her home. She had been forced to live her for the past decade or so. Her husbands were warlords, murderers and Demons.

They also cared for her a great deal, in a way that no mortal could compare. They clothed her in the finest garb but also gave her the option of comfort. They brought her to the Palace and laid laws down among the fellow demonic ally’s that she was to be respected and treated as an extension of Wukong and Macaques power. They brought her gifts from the outside world when they came back from expeditions, made her foods from the finest ingredients, told her stories of their travels. On nights when the past came back to rear it’s head she could find comfort in one or both of their arms.

And at times like this, she felt thankful that, of all the kidnapping creatures in the world, at least it had been these two.

That didn’t sound like a plus at all.

Macaque was waiting for her response. Peaches shook herself free of the cobwebs, of the past and back into the present. The mountain was under fire. Something was trying to earn the ire of the Monkey King and his People. As a very soft once mortal immortal now, Peaches had no sort of power to defend with or help. She was a liability, at least until she began her own cultivation, on the battlefield. So Peaches nodded.

“Yes.”

It was all Macaque needed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered “Good girl.”

And he was gone, falling into shadow.

“Hellooooo?”

Peaches started awake at the voice. Disoriented she disentangled herself from the soft fur and pillows she had been wedged between. She must have fallen asleep some time in the day. The light coming from the windows was a burnished gold, sunset settling on the

“Someone help! Help me please…”

The voice was disjointed, the sound echoing from beyond the closed doors. It set her skin to crawling. Shouldn’t there be guards ? Shouldn’t there be someone outside the doors?

“HELP. SOMEONE HELP!”

The voice sounded like a baby! The shrill high note cut through the last hesitation Peaches had. She opened the door and rushing out into the corridor.

The echos of her footfalls bounced back to her from the stone walls. The cry came again, a baby monkey hooting in distress. It came from around corridors, downs passageways. Peaches raced forward until she had burst out of the cavern and into the dying light of the sun.

The grass swayed in the breeze. The shadows danced across the field, like stripes on a great tigers back.

She felt a shiver go up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It felt off - the world felt off. The mountain was usually brimming with life and sound. Birds would be calling even at this late hour when day turns to night. The cicadas would be sonorously screaming their complaints to the night air. However…

Everything was still. Not a insect nor a bird called out. There were no generals or other monkeys present on the mountain. Usually sentries were littered about the fields and slopes. There was no one here at this moment.

That’s wrong. Completely wrong…

A faint gurgle, a dying cry of a baby monkey from somewhere just ahead.

“Where are You?” Peaches called. The child sounded in pain- and the sooner she got them inside the cave, the better. “You have to tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“Typical mortals.” The voice came from behind and peaches whipped around. A tiger demon, a creature of immense size and with terrifying teeth, toward behind her. Zira held the languid look of a cat with a full belly, tail swaying in the grass and claws meticulously being groomed. The blood from those long claws was the fresh scarlet of new blood.

“Your kind always come when lured by another— I was wondering if I should do a human baby or a mortal imitation but, seeing as you’ve been collared and tamed by monkeys, I thought that would be the easiest way to lure you out.” The tiger lord grinned. Peaches saw that he was fully armored. The black leather of his body was painted in dark splotches of red.

He’s … killed people. Who has he killed?? Where’s the baby ??

Peaches stepped cautiously back into the grass, heart racing. The tiger lords eyes grew round.

“Are you trying to run?” His voice was practically a pur as he stood straighter. “Please do. The chase will be good for me and clear this monstrous smell of ape blood.”

“What do you want?” Peaches needed to stall. To find a way to keep the beast talking. He liked to talk to full the silence. “Why are you here?”

“Those are boring questions dear morsel. Boring indeed. You mortals think all the same- but at least you taste better then your little brains think.” Zira stepped forward and into Peaches bubble- forcing her backward and further away from the cave. “Why am I Here ? Well to play. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play with another demons pet.”

Another slow pace forward. Another hasty retreat from Peaches.

“I can understand. I play rough. It’s hard when you all … scream at the slightest break of bone. At the sudden loss of limb…” the tiger lords body seemed to grow, a secondary face appearing from its left cheek. The new muzzle opened and in horror peaches heard people crying, of mortal women begging for their children. The voices of men pleaded for wives and sons and daughters. Anguished cries, cries of pain. Voices from the past.

Dead voices.

“They never last long.” The tiger smirked, that new face along his left side turning upward as well.

“So when I came to see this terrifying demon lord who has challenged heaven I expected him to have a show of strength. What I didn’t expect was a pet like you.” Those eyes flashed.

“Why? Wukong is the strongest Why—“

“Why did I not expect you?” Zira snorted. “Because demons forget themselves when they stop consuming lesser beasts and start befriending them.”

Peaches looked about her. She wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the caves. This tiger was driving her further and further from safety. She had been a fool to try and help, a damned fool. The next best thing she could do was to try and stay alive long enough. Long enough for her to call out. Wukong or Macaque would hear her. She had no doubt on that. There was also the willow tree just ten feet behind her. If she could get to it and climb she may be able to stall out this demon.

“Now dear. How would you like to die?” The tiger was closer now as Peaches kept stepping back. She was almost back pedaling, trying to stay out of the range of those claws. Of those red teeth. “I could kill you by fang or claw. Or maybe a sword would be better. But then… where’s the fun in it for me if you die so quickly ?”

Peaches spun on her heel and ran.

“HELP!” Her lungs filled with more air, to shout to the Heavens above. The grasses bent beneath her flight. She had almost made it to the tree, almost got enough air to scream again when something slammed into her shoulder. Bright hot pain bloomed and she fell to the dirt. Her hands reached up and came away with sticky blood.

“Calling for help is useless.” Zira licked the fresh blood clean from his claws, enjoying the taste of terror on his tongue. “My men have them busy against the farthest side of the mountain.”

Peaches rolled, to get up to get away she did not know. Her movement was stopped by a booted heel to her shoulder. The new pain elicited a scream to peak from her lips. It rang eerily off the mountain that was so still. So awfully still.

“The pain will only be temporary.” Zira knelt. The tiger reached down with his clawed hands. He cupped her face as she fought him. He smiled and opened his jaws wide to close over her throat.

The suns last dying ray cast a shadow as black as night over the grassy floor. It pooled beneath the mortal women and then, with a slip and tug, Ziras prey was swallowed by the black. The tiger snarled claws raking the soil in a vain attempt to dig her back out.

“So it was you.”

Zira turned.

There, leaning against his staff was the Monkey King. His clawed hands and golden armor were covered in black blood. Zira felt a worm of unease creep into his calm and cocky smile. Those warriors had been the best of his Claw- the best in the Snowy Steppes. There was no way they had failed—

“Ah King Wukong!” The tiger Lord began. If he could stall him out, lead him into a false sense of security, then that would be better. It would buy him time to get closer, to steal into range and pounce. “So nice to see you agai—-“

The tiger lord didn’t even see the moment. On second the orange monkey was standing before him and the next he felt a blooming pain cut along his secondary face. He roared in confusion as the sight from those eyes was lost in a shower of blood. The tiger had no time to reorient himself however. The neck blow was to one of his hands. Sun Wukong clasped one in hand and with a terrible crunch, shattered all the bones within.

Panic came traipsing up the tigers spine. This was not good. The monkey was moving incredibly fast - too fast- for him to counter. He reached for his Scimitar- the blade of Nine Tigers- to end the fight. This blade could cut mountain in half- it could cleave souls from bodies and leave the flesh whole.

“You come to my mountain…”

The staff slammed into the side of his head, casting several of the tigers teeth from his jaws. He was unbalanced but determined. He just had to grab his sword —

“You attack my home…”

Another blow to his middle sent him slamming into the willow tree. The force of it snapped the bark and collapsed the Willow behind him. Zira felt stars float in his vision, tasted his own blood. He had a hand on his sword now though. He drew the blade, cutting it across the insolent ape that towered over him. Wukongs soul would be cleaved, his body left behind for the flies to lay eggs in. He would be dead. The blade sliced —

And snapped in half.

“You tried to devour my wife…” Fear is not something a tiger experienced often. It raced over his stripes, twitched his crushed whiskers, and made his eyes widen. That had been his wife ? That common little dustmote ? Zira had miscalculated. A pet was one thing. But a wife —

“You took… a mortal… as a wife? Pa—“ Zira tried for bravado, tried to spit into the monkey lords face. The tiger was desperately clinging to what remained of his pride. He had chased a rabbit into a ravine and found wolves.

Zira opened his jaws to cast his last disrespect. Only for the claws of Wukong to cut along his jaw and crush it closed before he could finish.

“I will break every bone in your body before I let you die. You will wish you were dead before I’m done with you.”

The shadows swallowed Peaches and arms wrapped around her but she was still flailing. She grabbed at fur and skin and battered her fists and nails against it.

“Ow - PEACHES - PEACHES ITS ME!” Macaque voice cut over the adrenaline that floated high and fast in her blood. She blinked at him. They were back in their room, back inside Water Curtain Cave. Peaches hand was still curled in a fist, still raised up to beat along her captors face. Only. This wasn’t the tiger anymore. It was Macaque.

“It’s just me.”

“I’m not dead am I?” What stupid words to say but it was the first thing her numb mind could think on.

“What? No.” Macaques face was a sea of worry lines as he gently turned her shoulder to him. The blood was sopping beneath the cloth of her shirt. He gave it a sniff and murmured in soothing tones. Mostly to himself. “But I’m concerned for your shoulder. Let’s get that looked at alright ?”

Peaches nodded. Macaque used his claws to rip free the ruined cloth of the shirt and gain better access to the claw marks.

“It’s an ugly scratch but nothing deep.” She felt his hands, paper soft press along the skin. She hissed at the fiery pain as damaged nerves and sore skin protested. “Peaches you will have to be brave for me and let me stich it closed ok?”

She nodded. Her mind was still processing the events just moments ago. Of tiger teeth flashing to bite her throat. Of claws cutting her skin. Macaque returned to her and tugged her into him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t stop as he pulled her hand up to his face. She twined her fingers into the fur, needing the grounding almost, if not more, then he did. Macaque made soothing chirps and soft noises as he worked, pulling needle through flesh and closing it up.

It was only after a time, when Peaches own fear began to fall away, that he asked her.

“Why did you leave the room Peaches ?”

“I heard … it sounded like one of the babies Mac.” One of the little monkey babies all alone and crying for help. The haunting sound echoing off the stone and always just out of reach. “One of the littles in pain and hurt. I didn’t think. I just … acted.”

“Mmm.” Another stich pressed into her skin and she flinched. “You know this means you will have to have a day guard now yes?”

“Are you putting more restrictions on me after I almost got devoured ?” It was a bad attempt at humor but Peaches tried anyway. Whenever something happened to her - if it was an imagined insult from a courtier, a threat to her life because she tried something new and it didn’t agree with her- the boys would set new limits, new conditions. Macaque scowled at her and she bit her tongue from adding to the humor.

“Precautions. If I hadn’t heard you—“ His voice chocked at the end. Peaches looked back. Macaques ears were all low, dropping like flower petals. For all their faults, for their transgressions in taking her choices from her, they loved her. Peaches could see that love in Macs eyes as he imagined the possible outcomes that could have happened. She twirled her fingers around s patch of his fur, soothing him and herself with the confirmation that this was the reality now and not those flashing teeth.

“We can’t loose you Love. I — we — we were so afraid.” When Macaque had heard the strangled help in the heat of battle he had stopped. He had felt his heart give a lurch and Wukong had been of like mind. That battle was practically won. Between the two sworn brothers, nothing much could stand in their fury. But hearing Peaches— Peaches who they left back safe in their room, in the palace, calling for help—

“I was too.”

“When I tell you to stay inside - stay inside. Understand?”Anger laced Macaques words as he pinned her with a look.

“Yes.” It wasn’t good enough though. Not for him. It wouldn’t be for Wukong. The next time the mountain was under attack—if there was a next time— Macaque would lock the doors and the windows. He would shudder the room in shadow if he had to. But. A yes for now was the best he would get from her.

“Good. That’s all the chewing out I’ll give you because when Wukong gets here he’s going to have some very harsh words with you.” Peaches shoulders flinched a little.

“He’s mad at me?” There was genuine hurt and dismay in her voice. Wukong and Peaches had the toughest days when it came to their relationship. Some days she could forget he had taken her without her consent from all she knew- had wiped her village clear off the map. Other days she only saw the blood soaked Warlord in all his fury. On those days arguments ensued and the kings mood was ever sour.

“Never mad at You.” Macaque reassured. Wukong never was genuinely upset at their peach. How could he be when he was enamored with her so? Macaque couldn’t even keep his own anger at her negligence of self after todays events. All she had to do was look at him with that puppy dog look and he was wanting to tease and soothe her into smiles and comfort. “Never. Afraid for your life ? Absolutely. He has half a mind to keep you indoors from now on.”

“He said that ?”

“As we were racing to come get you yes.” Macaque finished the stitches with a pull and tug. The cord came free in his claws. He set about binding cotton gauze around the area to protect the stitches. In the morning he would let them breathe.

“But I think if you let him coddle you for a few days and you agree to a guard, he won’t take your outside privileges away.” Macaque teased and gave advice. Wukong could get a bit … territorial when it came to their Peach. He understood how important it was to give some sort of semblance of freedom to her. Peaches was like a flower- she needed light and air to thrive. If Wukong took that away, he wouldn’t like how she would wilt. Even though Macaque himself had half a mind to keep her inside forever. Especially after today.

Peaches head brushed beneath his chin suddenly and the monkey was jarred from his thoughts. She was nodding off, fighting sleep. Macaque gathered her up easily and set her into the bed they shared. He took care to arrange the pillows, to settle her into her most favorite blankets and soft things. It was a distraction from the rage that now was bubbling upward. For though Macaque had the calmest demeanor- he was just as bloody and furious as his brotherly counterpart.

“Go to sleep.” He commanded. Peaches yawned, catching the trailing end of his tail.

“You won’t leave me … will you?”

“I will be right here till Wukong gets back.”

It was hours later when Macaque heard his brother step into their rooms. Wukong had bathed and cleaned himself elsewhere from the smell of the water and floral oils coming off of him. They both knew how Peaches had an aversion to the scent of blood. The monkey king was across the room and hovering over the pillow pit where she slept.

“How is she?” Wukong asked. All the rage had gone from him. Only worry remained. His tiny little wife… he could still see the Tiger hovering above her, his jaws parted wide over her throat to devour. It made Wukong wish to break his muzzle again.

“Worn out. The cuts are superficial at best. I stitched them up.” The sheen of white medical gauze and cotton took over one lovely shoulder of Peaches back. Wukong felt his teeth beginning to grit in a threatening smile.

“Why would she go outside?! Peaches isn’t a fool.”

“And she wasn’t one.” Macaque soothed. He was standing now that Wukong was here, making his way to the door slowly. “She went outside because she heard the bastard imitate a baby cry.”

“A baby?”

“She thought it was one of the babies.” Wukongs heart gave a shudder. Of course she would throw caution to the wind. His Peaches loved the children of the mountain almost as much as he himself did. “Peaches said she went out to look and that’s when he leapt at her.”

Wukong felt a bit of his anger ebb. He was never angry at Peaches. He could never be. But anger around how she acted ? … yes. That was a possibility. Hearing how she didn’t go out until she thought it was a baby- well. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“The sentries are dead.” Wukong had come across their bodies after restraining the tiger demon. Seeing his peoples cut throats and crumpled bodies had not soothed his anger. He hoped the tiger healed quickly enough so he could repay them for each of his peoples lives. “The tiger killed them. He thought he could kill me by swinging his fancy sword. Too bad it snapped on the first try.”

“Did you leave him alive?” Macaque was at the door now, his fists uncurled.

“He’s somewhere beneath us in a wet cave. I broke all the bones in his body. But … I Left the tail for you.”

“Good.” The door opened and his brother was gone.

Wukong stared at Peaches as she slept for a moment. He had almost lost her today. He half wanted to wake her up and shake her and the other half just wanted to keep her tucked away and safe inside the mountain. Wukong would pull promises and such from her tomorrow. In fact, he may have to teach her some basic self defense. She would never be able to stop a full demonic beast. It would ease his mind however - it would sooth him and settle the fur that kept rising along his back- if she at least had an understanding of what tricks and traits demons used to tempt food out of hiding.

Wukong slid into the nest, settling himself so he didn’t jostle her awake. Tomorrow he could sit her down and tell her the new precautions he would have to merit out. A new guard, lessons in defense, maybe even a copy of him nearby or in the shape of some common item… Wukong could gift her a hairpin each morning and do her hair with a copy of himself. A magical copy that would have ears out for any mischief she may wind up falling into.

It would give her the illusion of freedom without telling her I put a spy on her person. That made Wukong feel better. For the next few days however, she wasn’t leaving his side. He didn’t care if she cried out or pouted or started to throw things. They had almost lost her.

Peaches half woke with a start as Wukong adjusted the blankets about her. Her face came upward, staring and trying to see all about.

“Wukong?”

“It’s just me… you can go back to sleep.”

To his astonishment Peaches shifted, settling herself into his chest. Wukong welcomed her tangle, twining has hands into her hair as she tugged on his fur. Her cheek was pressed to his chest where his heart must be hammering beneath. The Monkey king made soothing chirps and soft calls to her, a reassurance of safety and care. Soon enough her fingers relaxed again as she fell into sleep.

He kissed her temple and nose, twirling his fingers through her hair. It was just as soothing for him as it probably was for her.

Wukong was glad the tiger had been able to survive him. He couldn’t wait to gift his pelt to her when he was finished with him.

If Macaque didn’t kill him after all.

[dross-the-fish]

"Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted.

It was two o’clock when she came to herself and called for the police. The murderer was gone long ago; but there lay his victim in the middle of the lane, incredibly mangled." -The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Colored my Illustration of the Carew murder.

[australet789]

TLK: Survive

"A mjuzi... did that to you?" asked Kiara.

Laini nodded.

"I told you it was very important", said Vitani.

The galago matriarch had come earlier to the Lion Guard leader, tears in her eyes, and asked to have a inmediate reunion with the Queen, saying that something terrible has been going on in Mizimu Grove. Kiara hadn't wanted anyone in the pride to panic, remembering when Scar's spirit had made himself noticed seasons ago, so she went alone to meet her with her sister-in law.

This felt worse.

"We only wanted to greet him! And to lead him to Rafiki!" Laini was still trembling. "We know how he has been waiting for a new apprentice, so we only to wanted to be nice! But this...chimp, laughed at us, and then his staff made me bleed!".

"Blazes..." Kiara mumbled to herself. This really was worse than Scar and his minions. Fire could be controlled, fire was natural; but magic that could injure other animals, was something else. It was...wrong.

"I got his scent." Vitani said. "Ready when you tell me so, Kiara."

The Queen let out a sigh. "Ok, let's go, Vitani. Don't worry, Laini, find Rafiki and get yourself healed. We got this."

----

They so not got this.

Vitani and her have managed to find the stranger in one of the Baobab's trees from the Grove. Kiara has never seen him, which made sense if he was a new apprentice for Rafiki. But the way he controlled his staff, cutting the fruit and the branches from the tree didn't seem like someone who needed guidance.

"Hey, you, up there!" yelled Vitani, who has been angrier all the way to the place, "the blazes are you doing messing with the trees? They are sacred!"

The chimp stopped and let himself hang from the branches, balancing his staff with a smirk on his face.

"Ugh, more females. Is there anyone in this territory who is competent enough?"

"Excuse me?"

"You are excused." And the chimp laughed.

Vitani's fur raised in rage. Kiara didn't like this a tiny bit.

"Listen, we don't want troubles with a possible future mjuzi," Kiara intervened, "but you hurt one of our own, so you need to come down."

"Why?"

"Why?! Because you hurt someone!" Vitani growled.

"And? It was fun."

"Fun?!" Vitani was losing her patience. Kiara was aware on how close Vitani was to Laini, so she understood her fury.

"Vitani, calm d-"

"It's going to be fun when I kick your smug-butt out of The Pridelands! Get back down, you coward!"

Suddenly the ape's eyes darkened, the smile no longer smug but threateningly

"Name is Tangulifu. And with pleasure."

The next thing Kiara saw was red.

Vitani's blood covered now Mizimu Grove.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I headcanon that Laini was the first one of the Pridelanders to actually trust Vitani and accept her and the Outsiders as part of the pride. So her getting injured was something personal to Vitani here.

I also don't think that these animals have the concept of weapons. Seeing a "mjuzi staff" making someone bleed must have felt like dark magic. And now you see why in Perfectly Valued Vitani has her scars (and why the concept of another dark mjuzi was scary).

Tangulifu means "go before, precede". Basically a reference to Adam, the first man (and yes, making him like the one from Hazbin xD)

[mylifeincinema]

My Week(s) in Reviews: June 9, 2024

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (George Miller, 2024)

Disappointing. It's impossible to not compare this movie to Fury Road. The sad thing is, when you do compare this to Fury Road, every single aspect of it pales in comparison. Anya is really good, here, but just never feels like Furiosa. And Chris Hemsworth is a blast, but he goes full-ham in the most distracting way imaginable. Then there's Miller's direction, which is tedious compared to his work on Fury Road. The structure of the film is awkward, and the pacing is damn-near unbearable, draining the action set-pieces of almost all of the balls-to-the-wall adrenaline in which every single moment of Fury Road was drowning. And the cinematography is a complete bore compared to the eye-melting shots by which Fury Road was almost exclusively composed. All that being said, on its own, Furiosa is not a bad movie. Unfortunately, however, it's impossible to experience it on its own in a world where the infinitely superior Fury Road exists. - 6/10

In the Land of Saints and Sinners (Robert Lorenz, 2024)

I really like this brand of slow-burn, quietly human, small-town action-thrillers. Add in this stellar cast and that pitch-perfect climax, and this is the best of its kind I've come across in at least the past few years. - 9/10

The Beekeeper (David Ayer, 2024)

Far from good, but just action-packed enough to keep it from being a complete waste of time. - 4.5/10

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (Wes Ball, 2024)

The absence of Andy Serkis felt significant. But other than that, this wasn't bad. Overlong? Definitely. But far from bad. I don't have much to say, really. The mo-cap work was fantastic, and there were some really interesting/exciting set-pieces. The cast were pretty solid straight through, with the highlights definitely being Freya Allan and Kevin Durand, who steals every second of screen-time he has. - 8/10 For Reference... My Updated Scores for the New Planet of the Apes Films: Rise: 7.5/10 Dawn: 9/10 War: 9.5/10 Kingdom: 8/10

I also revisited Peter Jackson's The Frighteners and Christopher Landon's Happy Death Day & Happy Death Day 2U. The Frighteners is every bit as amazing as it was the last time I watched it, except for how poorly the effects have aged. And the Happy Death Day movies were just as fun as they were in cinemas. I really wish we'd get more of that concept and delivery, and more of Jessica Rothe as a scream queen.

Enjoy!

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

[inkmonster21]

Hearts Across the Divide

11.) Blessings for Rejection

Noa x Fem!Human!Reader

Series Masterlist

Y’all… Don’t hate me for this one…

~oOo~

The sight of your father standing there takes you by surprise. "Father," you breathe, the word escaping your lips in a mixture of disbelief and trepidation. Your heart races as you wonder what his presence means for you and Noa.

Noa steps forward, standing tall and straight, his voice carrying a sense of authority but still wavering. "Wuka, Great warrior, and Clan Leader," he begins, addressing your father. "I am Noa. Eagle Clan leader, Master of Birds." The words echo in the air, a declaration of identity and position.

Your father's eyes rove over Noa, his face displaying no hint of emotion whatsoever. His steady gaze seems to hold a silent assessment as if he's sizing up the determination and strength of the Ape standing before him. His nose catching the scent that had been clinging to you for months. This was not a new bond.

After a moment of silent scrutiny, your father lets out a sigh, his stoic countenance finally showing a flicker of expression. He looks over at Noa with a mixture of admiration and resignation. "Noa would make a suitable choice for a mate... if you were not human." His voice resonates with a deep-rooted resignation.

Your voice trembles as you plead with your father, desperation seeping into every word. "No. Please. It works. I... I will do anything, Father, please." The words escape your lips in a desperate plea, your eyes welling with tears as you plead for his understanding and approval.

His outburst cuts through the tension in the room, as Loui enters with a dismissive air, his voice loud and filled with self-righteousness. "See? What did I tell you, Father?" he says, casting a glance toward Noa before fixing his gaze on your father.

Your anger reaches its boiling point at the sight of Loui, and you unleash a surge of raw emotion. Without hesitation, you lunge at him, your eyes ablaze with vengeful fury. Your body collides with Loui's, your momentum propelling the two of you against a nearby table. The impact causes the objects on the table to spill onto the floor with a loud clatter. In that moment, your anger and frustration take over, fueling your actions as you struggle against him.

Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, his words resonating with a mix of disappointment and finality. "Look at yourself... Ape and human... will never work." His tone carries a sense of disheartenment as if he's resigned to the belief that a bond between you and Noa is an impossible dream.

A heavy silence hangs in the air as your father turns his gaze towards Noa, his eyes locked with the Eagle Clan leader. "Return to your Clan," he orders firmly. The words carry a sense of finality, a command that leaves no room for negotiation.

Your voice rises in anguished plea, your body moving quickly to catch up with your father as he starts walking away. Your hands clutch his staff, your fingers trembling as you grip it tightly. “Father, no!” you yell, your emotions breaking free, pouring out with every syllable. “I LOVE HIM!” The words escape your lips like a desperate cry for understanding.

Your father, Wuka, stills himself and forces his gaze away from you. His heart clenches at the sight of your pain. He recalls the tales he has heard since the day you were brought into the village. Stories of painful hybrid offspring, beings that never survived. He cannot bear the thought of you experiencing that agony, of being ensnared in such a hopeless fantasy.

Despite your pleading, your father continues to speak in a resolute tone, his words carrying a weight of conviction. "And do you, a human, think you can give him what he wants? What does his clan deserve?" He pauses, allowing the weight of his question to sink in. "No," he replies firmly, his voice laced with a mix of disappointment and determination.

Your father's voice remains steady, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sternness and sadness. "You can not bear a child. You can not adapt in such a way apes can. You would kill his clan. His future," he says, his words like a cold, hard truth that hangs in the air, casting a pall over your hopes.

His voice rings out with strong certainty, his eyes locked on yours like a resolute flame. "It does not matter!" he exclaims, his words filled with unwavering determination. Despite his conviction, Loui steps in, restraining Noa's impulsive advance. Noa's declaration breaks through, his voice carrying an intensity that cuts through the tension in the room. "I would die for her!" he repeats, his eyes fixed on you, his words filled with unwavering loyalty. Loui maintains his grip, holding Noa back with a mixture of frustration and concern.

Wuka casts a steady gaze upon Noa, recognizing the strength and loyalty in his words. Yet, his resolve remains resolute, and he responds with a firm tone. "Admirable," he says, acknowledging Noa's devotion. "But no. I will not allow such things."

Wuka's hand waves through the air as he orders, "Take him away." Noa is forcibly led away, and your cries, filled with heartache and despair, fill the air. The sounds of your anguish echo through the village, a painful testament to the forced separation.

Noa's voice rings out, choked with a mixture of anger and heartbreak, as he calls your name, struggling against Loui's hold. The sound of his voice reverberates through the air, an anguished refrain that further fuels your desperate cries.

Loui shoves Noa down, his voice filled with a menacing tone. "I said I would kill you... next time I will..." The threat hangs in the air, a chilling reminder of the animosity between them.

Despite the distance between you and Noa, your anguished cries continue to reach his ears, a heartbreaking soundtrack to his forced departure. The sound of your pain gnaws at his heart, fueling a deep sense of helplessness within him.

Your body remains rooted to the ground, broken and desolate, as your mother holds you in her arms. Her tender embrace provides a fragile comfort in this moment of devastating loss.

Wuka stands nearby, “It is for the best… she-“ his words interrupted by your mother's fierce response. Her voice trembles with emotion as she snaps at him, "DO NOT... SPEAK TO ME... OF WHAT IS BEST."

Your mother guides you gently, her steps filled with a mix of frustration and empathy. She leads you back to your hut, each step a silent protest against Wuka and Loui's heartless decision. With every passing moment, the realization sinks in that you've been denied the happiness you so desperately desire.

In the desolate confines of your hut, time feels meaningless. The days blend into each other, as you find yourself trapped in a void of despair and emptiness. Your lack of apatite and thirst only serves to mirror the hollowness within you, your body wasting away as the absence of Noa takes its toll. Denied happiness, your hope has vanished, leaving behind only emptiness and despair.

Noa found himself in a similar state of emptiness and despair, his existence defined by the relentless cycle of responsibilities imposed upon him. Gone was the sense of purpose that once guided him, replaced by the void left by your absence. Both of you were lost, trapped in a world where happiness seemed unattainable, each day stretching into an endless parade of longing and unfulfilled desires.

The physical distance between you and Noa only served to amplify the emotional torment. Each passing day witnessed a slow, agonizing death within the both of you. Every moment, every breath felt meaningless without the other. The pain of separation cut deep, carving out empty spaces in your soul that ached with constant longing.

Loui strides into your hut, carrying a bowl of fruit in his hands. His usual air of self-righteousness is still firmly in place, his eyes scanning your sunken form with a mixture of concern and superiority. Loui's voice breaks the silence, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of concern. "You need to eat." He holds out the bowl of fruit, an offer meant to coax you into nourishment.

Your eyes burn with a fire of hatred as you glare at Loui, taking the bowl from him and flinging it towards him. Your voice rings out with a sudden intensity, your words a desperate plea for solitude. "GET OUT!" The frustration and anger that has simmered beneath the surface finally erupts in a fit of fury.

As the bowl crashes against the wall, Loui stands there, enduring the full force of your hateful gaze. In the depths of his heart, he knows the depth of his role in your pain, and your anger cuts through him like a sharp blade, a reminder of the consequences of his actions.

Loui's motivations, as misguided as they may be, are grounded in a sense of duty and a deep-rooted concern for the village's well-being. He believes that what he is doing is the right choice, a necessary sacrifice to protect the future of the community. He has convinced himself that his actions, which are tearing apart your life and Noa's, are justified, a noble act of sacrifice for the greater good.

Loui's voice breaks through the silence, his words offering a brief respite from the weight of your pain. "Why don't you come with me? Let's go to the waterfall," he says, gesturing towards the door of your hut. The waterfall, usually a symbol of beauty and serenity, now feels tainted by your current state of despair. Yet, the offer to leave the confines of your hut, if only for a while, holds a slight allure.

You respond with firm resolve, your words ringing out like a declaration. "I will go, but not with you." The thought of spending time with Loui, the very person who is responsible for your current anguish, is unbearable. Loui, accepting your response, nods his head, acknowledging your decision. He then asks with a hint of curiosity, "Who then?" The question hangs in the air, leaving you with the task of choosing a companion for the trip to the waterfall.

Your answer comes readily, the name slipping from your lips like a simple choice. "Keli." The mention of her name brings a sense of familiarity and comfort, the thought of spending time with her offering a small measure of relief from your current despair.

As you and Keli reach the waterfall, the water cascading down in its usual, beautiful display, you can't help but notice the subtle change in the air. The summer days, with their warmth and vibrancy, are giving way to the cool, crisp touch of autumn. The water, once refreshing and invigorating, feels colder now, a harbinger of the change in seasons. The beauty of summer fades as the landscape transforms around you.

Your gaze drifts past the shimmering waterfall, and beyond the curtain of cascading water, you look in the direction of Noa's Clan, a pang of longing and desire welling up within you. The thought of your love, just over the horizon, fills you with a mixture of heartache and hope.

As you stand there, gazing in the direction of Noa's Clan, Keli's voice cuts through the air, a gentle yet firm reminder. "It would not be wise," she says, her words carrying a sense of caution and concern. “I know.” A hint of defiance creeps into your voice, a spark of determination igniting within you. "But I don’t care," you declare, a flicker of stubbornness surfacing. Despite knowing the wisdom in Keli's words, your heart refuses to let go of the bond you share with Noa.

Keli's words carry a harsh truth, a firm reminder of the potential consequences of your actions. "Wuka would skin him alive," she says, her voice filled with a sternness that cuts through your emotional turmoil. "You do not want that. Would not be able to live with that." Her words paint a grim picture of the potential danger and suffering that might befall Noa if you act on your desires.

As you stand by the waterfall, immersed in the realm of your memories, you can't help but notice the unusual stillness in the air. The absence of the usual sounds of nature, the rustling of leaves, and the cheerful chirping of birds create an eerie silence that sends a chill down your spine. The air feels heavy, laden with an ominous sense of unease. The peacefulness of the surrounding landscape has been disrupted, replaced by a sense of foreboding.

Keli's voice pierces through the heavy silence, her words calling out your name with deliberate slowness. You can hear the tremble in her voice, a hint of terror seeping into her words. She stares into the woods, her eyes fixed on something that you cannot see.

Keli's voice becomes urgent, her words a sharp command. "Run," she says, her voice laced with a sense of emergency. The underlying fear in her tone sends a jolting sensation through your body, awakening your instincts to the danger that lurks nearby.

As you both run towards the village, the sounds of mocking laughter and taunts echo through the air. It seems as if someone, or something, is relishing in your fear and panic. The words, filled with malice, bounce off the trees like a sinister chorus, sending shivers down your spine and fuelling your determination to reach safety.

A rope, seemingly out of nowhere, encircles your legs, bringing you crashing to the ground in a single swift motion. Your body collides with a nearby rock, causing your head to spin and the world around you to fade into darkness. You succumb to unconsciousness, your body lying motionless against the ground.

From her higher vantage point, Keli witnesses the scene unfolding below. Her heart races as she watches you lying unconscious on the ground, vulnerable and at the mercy of the approaching group. Among the group of apes and humans, one human man kneels beside you, gingerly moving your hair away from your face. His words break the silence, "This the one?"

A deep voice, cloaked in shadow, emerges from the darkness. "Yes..." From the shadows emerges an imposing figure, a towering ape with battle scars and wounds covering his darkened fur. Despite the brutal scars that mar his physique, his size and presence command respect and fear among the apes and humans in his group.

The imposing figure peers down at you with a chilling smirk on his face. His voice drips with a sadistic edge as he speaks, referring to you as "Noa's new pet."

Keli, her heart pounding with fear and worry, witnesses your capture and subsequent disappearance into the unknown. The sight ignites a sense of panic within her, and she immediately springs into action. Sprinting towards the village, her voice rings out, calling out for Loui and Wuka, desperation and alarm seeping into her cries.

Loui quickly moves towards Keli, his expression filled with concern as he embraces her. "What happened?" he asks urgently. Keli's body quivers with a mix of fear and shock as she attempts to recount the events. Her voice trembles as she speaks, "It happened so fast," she manages to say, the speed and abruptness of the encounter still fresh in her memory.

Keli's voice trembles as she delivers the devastating news. "They took her," she utters, her voice a mixture of disbelief and despair. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on both of them, and the implications of your abduction send a wave of fear and urgency crashing over them. Loui's voice resonates with a mixture of anger and disbelief, his booming words cutting through the air. "Who?" he demands, his eyes flaring with a mixture of concern and determination. The need for information and understanding fuels his question, desperately hoping for a clue as to your captors' identities.

Keli's words are filled with uncertainty as she struggles to provide an answer. "Hunters," she utters, her voice laced with a mix of confusion and fear. Her mind struggles to recall and identify the individuals responsible, and the fact that she has never encountered apes or humans outside their village adds to her inability to provide a clear description.

Loui unceremoniously releases Keli, his mind already set on a course of action. "Tell father everything," he instructs her, before swiftly turning and darting towards the woods. Hope and determination drive him forward, each step carrying the weight of his intention to reach you before your captors get too far away.

Loui moves rapidly through the landscape, his eyes trained on the tracks left behind by your captors. With a single-minded focus, he follows the trail left by the hunters, tracing the path they took as they transported you away.

A sudden impact lands a forceful strike against Loui's chest, causing him to stumble and collapse onto the ground. Caught off guard, he struggles to regain his bearings, his forward momentum halted by the unexpected assault.

The large ape towering over the fallen Loui, smirks sinisterly, his expression filled with a malevolent mix of triumph and cruelty. He leans over, taunting Loui’s prone figure with his imposing presence.

His voice drips with a sinister tone. "Tell Noa... to come collect… his pet." The words hang in the air, an ominous challenge and an unsettling command. The ape pushes off Loui’s chest, leaving him lying there without another word. He walks off into the woods, leaving Loui to pick himself up, battered and bewildered by the encounter.

As Loui slowly gets back to his feet, his emotions churn violently within him. His anger is directed towards Noa, the perceived cause of his current predicament. Resentment clouds his thoughts, but he rejects the idea of needing Noa's assistance. Determined to handle the situation himself, Loui sets out on his mission, fueled by a mix of determination and bitterness.

[wolven91]

Magma Flows

The burning human silhouette continued to amazingly pull away from it’s pursuer. Her footprints, left in the deep snow, gave her an impressive stride.

The mango coloured ssypno, in any other environment would have had no issue in not only outpacing the shorter alien, but would have also been able to drag her back to safety without any kind of notable resistance from her. The ssypno inherent speed and strength would surely outstrip the smaller creature, just if she could get her claws on the damn creature.

As it was, the surrounding snowy environment was hampering not only the ssypno’s movement but her speed too. Her usually powerful tail, instead of launching her forwards, the survival suit that covered her slipped and left deep gouges in the snow banks. She was only on this stupid frozen hell of a planet because of the apparently single most insane human she had ever had the displeasure of meeting and knowing. 

She’d begun to like the geologist that had ‘needed’ an escort, she was kind and soft and warm before now. But while visiting the tundra world that was experiencing several volcanic eruptions Ya’tfeea had zero desire to be anywhere near an entire mountain exploding. Apparently the human’s job had meant that she decided that she was to record if there were any differences between ‘Earth’ flows and ‘alien’ flows. The ssypno didn’t understand the difference; they were all alien!

She focused her eyes against the back of her head as she ran in frustration. It was impossible without eye contact, but the ssypno hoped her Stare would burn a hole in the back of the human’s head so she would turn to face her and be forced to stop. 

Why couldn’t these damned apes just look from orbit? Why’d they have to land on a planet that was specifically designed to kill her kind?

The whole planet was freezing; dangerous to her cold-blood. 

Come to think of it, the human started getting excited when she moaned about being cold. 

The smaller creature breached the tree line and turned her head towards where Ya’tfeea expected the lava to be. She picked up her pace, carving her path through the snow; it would do no good if the human went and got buried under a million tons of molten rock! How would she explain that to her government?! 

As she breached the treeline moments later, her four arms grasped the human’s shoulders and arms in a vice-like grip, while her face was a vision of fury, she turned her to face the ssypno in one smooth move.

“Why were you running?! You need to be careful! If the lava flow is too fast you could get hurt!” She blurted out, while one side of her body rapidly had the cold that had leached through her survival suit and was replaced with a wonderful heat. 

“Because we already knew that this one is not that fast… and I thought you wanted to get warm?” She replied with that insufferable smirk that Ya’tfeea had gotten used to over the past few weeks. Against her grip, the human’s left arm, diminutive in her far larger hands, lifted to ‘present’ something to her. 

She slowly turned her head to see what she seemed so confident that she’d want to see. 

It was beautiful. 

Lava flows have always been described to be mesmerising by those who have seen them, But to the sspyno’s heat vision; it was a blinding white light that reminded her of seeing through a crack in the very mountain into the blinding light of heaven. She was stunned at this near religious awakening. The cold of the world was always nearby, the perfect contrast against the blinding heat of the centre of the flows and the various shades of it cooling over time. 

She released her, gently setting her down while she; a lowly guard, got to bask in so much heat that she knew there were even Nobles who had never had this much to play with. Within the ssypno ships and stations, heat was always controlled. Only the rich and powerful could bask in it.

A small hand slipped into her where it hung limply by her side. 

“It’s mostly looking at rocks, but every now and then; we find a really cool rock.” Murmured the human.

Ya’tfeea smiled to herself, already feeling the effects of becoming heat-drunk as it saturated every cell in her body. 

“...I think you’re confused; those rocks are really hot…” 

A snort from the human set off both as the two bursted into laughter, confused laughter for the ssypno, knowing for the human.

Alone on a tundra world, in front of the remnants of a world’s might, the pair took their time.

[a-spes]

S T A I N E D H E A R T S - One shot.

Words count - 1,4k.

Tags & Warnings - Natasha Romanoff x reader, a bit of angst / comfort.

Summary - Fury sent you and Natasha on a mission even if he knows you are in a relationship.

— — — — —

You are on the roof of a building, laying on the dust, not letting your eyes out of the window of your target’s apartment. The window is on the opposite building, right in front of you, if he decides to finally come back, you would be able to shoot him quite easily. 

Except that he is not here, probably decided it was a good day to stay longer outside. You sigh, starting to be impatient. According to the informations given to you, he should have been here two hours ago, it’s been twice the time you have been waiting him to open this fucking door, barely moving.

“ I swear, if Fury gave us the wrong address, I am gonna chop his head off ” you mumble. Throught the communication device, Natasha can be heard chuckling.

You almost forgot that you are not alone in that mission. While you are waiting on a roof, laying on the concrete for hours, burning under the summer sun, she is comfortably sitting in a car parked near to the target’s building. Since you got here, none of you talked, except a few words from time to time because he was supposed to arrive soon and you both needed to concentrate. At least, he was supposed to show up. He is still not here. 

“ I am serious, ‘tasha ” you add. Most of the agents would be fired if they dared to talk to Fury the way you are, but he needs you too much for that. Also, he probably appreciates you more than he wants to admit it.

“ I know, love, I know ” she replies and, if you can’t see her, you know she is smiling, it is something you can tell by her tone.

An additional ten minutes elapsed before the wait was eventually worth it, you sighed in relief when you saw him. The man enters the building, coming into the apartment a few minutes later, all under your surveillance, you aren’t missing any of his movements.

“ Here you go ” you whisper.

You can hear Natasha saying something like she gets it and doesn’t want you to move but you can’t be sure, the man taking all your attention at the moment. In fact you are not here to kill him, you are supposed to do it just in case things go wrong - it would be a shame to kill the man that has the information you need.

In fact, the plan is supposed to be very simple, at least according to Fury. But, to be honest, if you are listening to him, the missions are always easy. However, working for him made you learn things never go the way they are supposed to : in Fury’s language, easy is just a synonym for death trap. 

Obviously this mission is no different from the others. The man you are looking for has something you need to take back before it can be used by the terrorist organization he is working for. He is just a subordinate so, in theory, it shouldn’t be that hard. You don’t know much more about the story, Fury rarely gives a lot of information : he asks you something, you do it and then you get the money. It is how things work and, even if most of the time it annoys you, here you are, exactly where he wants you to be.

“ Crap ! ” she exclaims. 

“ Nat’ ? Is everything okay ? ” you immediately ask, your voice being full of worries. Your girlfriend is not the kind of person to curse, it is more your thing, hearing her using such words is a sign that something is not going well.

“ Yeah - ” she starts but she is being cut by a loud noise, as if she is thrown against a furniture. Oddly, you don’t believe her when she assures you that everything is fine. “ Stay where you are. ”

“ What a liar … ” you mumble. The problem with going on missions with Natasha as a partner is that she is trying too hard to keep you safe. She doesn’t think twice before putting herself in danger, even when it is unecessary, just so you don’t get hurt. 

And it is exactly what she is doing right now. You are trying to keep an eye on her through the apartment’s window but you can’t see anything, they must be fighting in another room. 

“ Fuck it ” you eventually say. This time, you are the one cursing and Natasha doesn’t even make a comment about it. All you can hear from her side are some fight noises, she probably didn’t even hear you talking.

You really tried to do as she asked you but the wait is unbearable. There is a difference between not moving for hours, waiting for a target to show up, and not moving while your girlfriend might need your help. Even if she is probably doing fine on her own, your worries make seconds seem like hours and staying here is impossible.

A few minutes later, you decide to leave your position to lead to the building she is in. The closest you get from the apartment, the loudest the noises are. It is until they suddenly stop, leaving you with an odd silence : the time you get here, the fight must’ve stopped and you don’t know how you feel about that news. As the door is wide open, you can easily make your way into the dark apartment. It has a living-room with an open kitchen but those rooms are empty so you decide to keep walking, entering the corridor that leads to the other pieces. The sunlight can barely come in so you have to be careful, you know it.

“ You better be alive ” you whisper as you slowly make your way into the apartment.

Suddenly, you feel a movement on your right. Sadly, by the time you realize, it is already too late. Your mind is too busy worrying about your lover that you forgot to pay attention to your surroundings, a rookie mistake.

It all happens in a few seconds, so quickly that your gun is useless. An arm around your throat, your opponent is holding you firmly and struggling is useless as they would tighten their grip until you can barely breathe. If you want to get out of that situation, you are gonna need to outsmart them.

“ Love ? ” the voice says. She immediately lets you go. “ I told you to stay where you were, why can’t you listen for once ? ” at her tone you can guess that she is really mad at you right now.

“ Can’t let you have all the fun while I am waiting, can I ? ” you reply once your breathing is back to normal.

You don’t really mind her harsh tone, you know that it is not against you. Natasha fears that you could get hurt, sure, but she is even more scared by the idea that it could be because of her. You told her many times that it won’t happen but she doesn’t listen to you, the person she was being stuck in her mind, even years after she left the Red Room.

In any case, you can see that your joke didn’t make her laugh. Your attempt to lighten the mood is a failure, all you get in exchange is Natasha’s dead-stare, the one that makes you immediately go quiet. You know that anything that you could say from now would only make things worse. Slowly, you come closer to Natasha, your hands taking hers. At first, she is tense, her first are clenched, but she eventually lets it go, wrapping her fingers around yours. It is the only way you know to comfort her when she is in that state, prisoner of her past. 

“ There is blood ” you quietly say after a few minutes of silence, looking at her bloody hands. Her suit is in a similar state.  “ Not mine ” she replies in the same tone, and a soft smile appears on both of your faces. As you look behind her back you can, indeed, notice three men. They are laying on the floor, all unconscious and tied and you weren’t expecting less from the woman you love.

[kandisheek]

Cap-Ironman Rec Week 2024

Family Friday: July 26th

Prompt: Rave about those fanworks about Steve and Tony being parents to young children, or single parents meeting other single parents, or starting a family or dealing with teenage kids or finding family, whatever family means.

As a recent converter to the whole kidfic thing, I'm very passionate about sharing the love. Here are some of my favorite family fics:

-- In Trouble Deep by FestiveFerret, SirSapling

"Whoever did this has a reason, and Stark needs to be with someone who can protect him. He won’t exactly be able to protect himself like this.” Fury looked at the baby consideringly. “No, it’s you, Steve. Besides, he likes you. Suck it up, soldier, you’re stuck with him.”

-- Take a Break by avengersandco

Steve and Tony come back from a short weekend away and come back to teenagers who have been cramming for their AP tests. The parents decide it's time for the kids to take a break.

-- blanket forts and running shoes by Perlmutt

Peter is eight years old. He loves Pokémon, pancakes, and blanket forts. His favorite pastime is helping his dad in his workshop. He might not have a mom, but that's okay. He's got his dad after all. But then Tony brings /him/ home. Steve. Steve is nice. He can cook. He makes his dad laugh. Peter decides that he will not like him. He won't allow this Steve-guy to steal his dad. Steve and Tony didn't get that memo.

MORE RECS BELOW THE CUT:

-- Bedside Manner by BladeoftheNebula

Prompt: Peter had a bad case of cold, Tony took care of Peter but is now also sick himself. Steve now has to take care of his mate and baby who are both sick with the cold.

-- Fairy Tales and Clockwork Hearts by scifigrl47

DJ was raised by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and the rest of the Avengers, with occasional help from the rest of New York's hero population, and SHIELD. Everything he knows about love and human relationships come from people who aren't really known for their safe and sane life choices. It's pretty clear he's going to be utterly lousy at flirting. Luckily for him, he's cute.

-- Breakfast is Served by Orange_Coyote

Steve works with Peter and Morgan to give their resident genius a nice birthday surprise.

-- Sweet Child O' Mine by starspangledsprocket

After just their second outing as the Avengers, everyone except for Steve and Tony are turned into toddlers. Madness ensues.

-- ten years too late (just in time) by orphan_account

Steve never went out with Tony when they were young despite Tony's attempts at wooing him, mostly because he thought Tony was too much of a flimsy playboy who could never really commit seriously to anything that wasn't partying.  Years later he runs into Single Father Tony taking care of his 3 year old. Tony refuses to buy his kid candy before dinner and is overall a pretty decent dad. Tony also thinks Steve could never be interested in him, since he was always rebuffed before, but Tony's in for a surprise.

And two of my own fics:

-- Life on the Avengers' Fridge

What else is there to do in a tower full of bored superheroes than start a passive-aggressive post-it war?

-- With Carols And Cheer

It's Christmas at the Compound, and Tony has no idea what to get for his boyfriend without causing another giant bunny fiasco. Luckily he has his team to help him out.

[quillpokebiology]

Know anything about the Mankey line? Their Pokedex entries make me wonder if their whole society is based around raging or if that's just a generalization...

I think they're just like that. They have a lot of cortisol and testosterone naturally which adds to their anger and stress, but it could also be from them copying the other Mankey around them. I'll probably make a post explaining their body language and cultures at some point.

Mankey Facts

-The scientific name for Mankey is "Cercopithecus irritabilus" which roughly translates to "Irritable long-tailed ape"

-Of course, Mankey are primates. Researchers think that they're the earliest primates, but other scientists argue that the first diverged pokemon was Ambipom

-Despite their brutality and violence, Mankey are herbivores (I want to note how there is no true herbivore, anything will eat meat if given the chance, but Mankey prefer not to eat meat)

-Mankey are very social pokemon, and they often live in groups in the wild. But, they will often get into fights with each other, and while they do try to socialize with other pokemom, their aggression can scare them off. Mankey can get very lonely

-The reason Mankey are so angry is because they have very high levels of cortisol which raises their adrenaline, and high levels of testosterone, making them very angry and stressed

-Because if the constant stress put on their bodies, Mankey are at a risk for high blood pressure. Many vets prescribed them medicine and pills to help, but the stress can still be a lot. But, there are ways to calm Mankey; such as providing a quiet and peaceful place for them and staying calm when they are stressed. Since they're social, they'll pick up on your calmness and try to copy you

-Mankey pair surprisingly well with Slowpoke because of how calm they are. They also pair wel with Oranguru for the same reason

-Mankey are very loud and very vocal pokemon, and they are first on the list of "loudest primate pokemon"

-While Mankey's name comes from Manic and Monkey, the genus it's in (Monkey) name means "to mimic." While the Monkey Genus was originally named after Aipom and Ambipom, as their hands mimicked human hands, researchers also took note of how Mankey will mimic each others movements

-While I try my best not to compare pokemon intelligence to human intelligence, as they have different survival needs than us, scientists say that Mankey are about as intelligent as a 3 year old

-The average life span of Mankey is around 40 to 50 years. Females tend to live longer

-While they're known for being wily and angry, Mankey are also very sleepy pokemon and sleep an average of 17 hours a day

-Mankey are polygamous pokemon, with males usually mating with multiple females. The females and juvenile males tend to raise the young, while the adult males will do tasks like guarding their groups and bringing in foods

-A group of Mankey's is called a Fury

-When young, Baby Mankey will cling to their mother's head as to not get lost. Mankey and Primeape usually lay one egg at a time

-Baby Mankey are called Manks

[circyexistforcontent]

❝ DID YOU GET ENOUGH LOVE, MY LITTLE DOVE? ❞ (ANGST)

❀ synopsis: Everyone is bound to die eventually. Either by accident or by purpose, it can even be a natural death. Sadly, yours seem to be an early one. How does the one left behind feel about all this?

❀ request: sibling scara but reader fuckign DIES :33??? please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

❀ warnings: implied death, Scaramouche is this close to going ape shit.

If he were younger he would’ve screamed at you for abandoning him like the last human he bonded with. He would’ve cried and maimed your corpse until he couldn’t recognize it. But that is if he were Kunikuzushi, he is wiser now. He knows you didn’t choose when your life would be forcefully taken away, it is all in the hands of fate—his immortal enemy.

He could never forget how your usually radiant and warm skin now looked pale and felt cold like his. Your eyes were vacant, there was no life present in them, not anymore. How could anyone come after you? You hadn’t done anything deserving of death, unlike him. There was only one logical explanation for your death and that’s someone finding out you were someone dear to the Harbinger, and they went after you to pay for the crimes you never committed.

His rage surpasses all the times he’s been “betrayed” before, and it’s not directed at you. Oh no, it’s directed at the perpetrator of your death. How he wishes he could drive his fist to their chest and rip out their heart just so they could feel a fragment of how he’s feeling. And he’ll make sure they're alive through the entire process. He won’t allow them to feel the relief of death so early.

Other than his unbridled fury, his other side mourns for your death. After a moment he cradles your lifeless body with all the tenderness and care he wasn’t able to receive from his early years as Kabukimono. He would beg for you to not pass on, to not leave him behind and please, stay awake for him. If any nearby outsider or subordinate of his caught sight of this moment he’ll either yell at them to leave or he’ll kill them. 

The emptiness in his chest seems to grow even larger than before your death, the room seemed more still, too quiet for his liking. When his mind isn’t occupied by his duties as a harbinger and he gets to have a moment to himself his thoughts would drift to moments you both spent together. He doesn’t even have a heart but the ache he felt in his chest is unlike any he’s ever felt.

Why is he like this? Why can’t he get over you?

He doesn’t get it, nothing makes sense to him anymore.

“Please-!” Scaramouche breathes out as he holds your body close to him, doing his damn hardest to stop the bleeding from your abdomen. Your eyes have closed long ago, but your heart still beats. But how much longer until it eventually stops? “You can’t do this to me! You can’t!” He yells out to you, it’s like he’s reverted back to his old self. His old, pathetic, and vulnerable self had no idea of how the world worked. Hot tears drip down his cheeks and onto your cold cheek, falling down the bloody grass panes.  He buries his face on your chest, trying to seek comfort from you like he did before. Instead of the warmth you usually radiate, he was greeted with the familiar touch of a corpse which made his throat constrict, he could feel another sob threatening to escape his lips. “Don’t leave me, please… not again…”

notes: based on a real-life experience of mine, thought I might as well write it down on one of my comfort characters.