#enough meat on his bones for a large family

[marimayscarlett]

🌟🌺🏵️🍀✨ Go on Pinterest and search *Animal* *Place* *Plant* *Character* *Season* *Hobby* *Food* *Color* *Drink* the first photo of each that appears, that's your vibe. Share this message to 10 people ✨🍀🏵️🌺🌟

Thank you dear 🤍 Got this ask and an anon ask with the same task, so here we go:

Quite accurate, yet I'd prefer a different elf (👀) even though Legolas is a nice substitute, and I have absolutely no talent for photography. But the rest I take happily, since it's really rather fitting 🤭

And you know what? @morgana-lefay's cheat version is just a genius idea, so I will do one too since I still have a free pass thanks to the anon I got 😌 (this time with the correct elf and the correct hobby 😤 thirsting over older men):

[evilgwrl]

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.  

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is truly desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[severepink]

Ancient Adam! My Design and some thoughts I had about situations/his thoughts.

Kind of a ficlet!

Adam felt a deep sense of anger that bordered on resentment when Eve began crying for the small bird he'd managed to shoot with the tool an angel had instructed him to make.

Somehow, his wife just seemed lost, unable to cope with the situation they'd been forced into.

Hunger gnawed within them both, thirst was ever present, but she would waste precious waters on empathy for a singular source of food he'd managed to find and hunt to sustain her ever growing stomach.

New life. That is what the angel had told him. New life that he was expected to propagate and care fore on top of feeding and sustaining himself and his life.

This creature would hardly be enough for Eve, unless he found another creature... Unless he refined this tool given to him, a tool Eve despised, they would die.

The resentment was only held at bay, because he could not afford giving into his anger. A life alone, a life without her, wasn't one he would have any strength at all to live.

-

The smoke from the wood made him more ravenous than he thought. He'd managed to find another animal, a much, much larger animal with horns and muscle.

He'd managed to strike it perfectly, the feather's he'd added to the end of the arrow made it fly just as the bird had.

Eve was better at breaking the animals he hunted down. He enjoyed resting, after a long hunt, and watching her delicate, intricate fingers work through the flesh and sinew with the knapped rock he'd created for this purpose.

She'd come a long way. It pained him, knowing she desensitized herself, the innocent care she'd had for the animals they'd once been so like, masked and hidden as they tried to survive. While he was gone, she attempted to forage. They continued moving further and further into lands that had green, not the same kind of green as Eden had, but green enough to sustain more creatures. More water too. She'd said she watched the animals to know what could be safe, but also rubbed the flowers, bark, and roots she found on her skin just to be sure when she tasted them to find something edible.

Some of the green she found, she added to the meats he'd caught. The scent, the taste, it was all compounded. As he sat there, his mouth rested against the bow. He gnawed at it, his stomach gurgling and growling, ever persistent in its hunger, only made worse by the long and arduous task of tracking and hauling an animal back to her. The latent energy and nervousness that came from their starvation made him huff out at the same time he plucked the string of his bow. He jumped at the vibration that touched his teeth and echoed out of his mouth, his honey brown eyes widen in shock. The noise alerts Eve, who seems panicked, before he plucks experimentally again. A mischievous smile crosses his face.

-

The blood on his hands reminded him of the first time Eve gave birth. It reminded him of the wound's he'd experienced when being attacked by the lions that prowled after the same prey he needed. Sometimes he could not look away from the blood, how it reflected in his mind, that shining, gleaming apple that'd torn him from his perfect home. The same, glistening, shining red that ever reminded him that he would die. Every death of every creature he hauled back to Eve desensitized him more and more. It was beginning to become fun, hunting these creatures down. Rewarding to wrap his beautiful, perfect, precious family within the hides of these terrible, fascinating beasts. Eve looked beautiful, the leathers she stitched hugged her curves and incited the ordained directive within his loins. He wished to see her grow large. Her stomach, her hips, her thighs. There should be more meat on her bones, more children inside of her, more milk in her breasts. More, more, more.

That would require more of him. More of them both. To sustain more mouth's to feed, he couldn't do it just by his bow alone. He also couldn't do it when Cain cried loudly into the night. The sound often attracted predators, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Still he staid alert, bow in hand while his boy cried and his wife fretted. Eve had found a crop of small seeds that she harvested many of and ground up into a paste to layout before the fire. She'd done this a time or two, mixing it with her herbs. It tasted delicious, especially when paired with the animal fat. His stomach roared almost as loud as a lion, but he focused on looking at his wife while she rocked and tutted his son. She hummed some soft tune, she named them Lilith-Bai's, much to his distaste, anger, and dismay. He complained plenty, but she persisted, claiming it would scare off his ex-Wife and her fiendish, fallen angel Lucifer, protecting their son. A chord of spite was struck in him, as she sang to quiet their son. Lilith-Bai. He would join Eve, cradling his bow to his mouth and plucked at the string, allowing the vibrations to fall into harmony with his wife's soft singing. The sound echoed into the night and Adam lost himself to the sensation and peace, the noise of his stomach quieting under his focus on creation of sounds. After a while, he realized his son and wife had both gone quiet and a short-lived panic coursed through his heart. "Adam, don't stop playing," His wife admonished him softly from across the fire. His small boy, his tiny son, had his mother's eyes. Those eyes were focused and aware of him. "Cain stopped crying... He likes your noisy bow... It seems it's good for more than just murder," No matter how tired he was. No matter how much he anguished mentally at the loss of his original home. No matter his loss of peace. No matter the shame and embarrassment he felt. The pride that was stoked in his heart from seeing his small family, made every sacrifice worth it. They made living a life outside of paradise worth it.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Had this thought about yandere husband gardener where he buries the corpse of ppl on his very VERY large garden who tries to take his wife!reader away and reader always sees her husband he always do gardening weirdly at night when in reality he was burying a body. And if garden is already full of corpses why not bury it on the woods nearby.

I love this!!! I believe something similar happened in the movie Secret Obsession? It's such a perfect idea.

I imagine more of a househusband who loves gardening, cooking, etc. So his... skills arent all that questionable. Why does he have a bone saw and multiple different drills? Well to cut up meats and such for your dinners of course! The sudden growth of your garden and the mysterious 7 foot holes that seemed to pop up out of nowhere? Well its growing season honey it's time to plant!It's always a liiitttle bit of a stretch, but just believable enough for you not to question it. He may come back to bed with flecks of blood and dirt occasionally, but doesn't it give him the manly musk you admire so much?

I can definitely see him as the more homely, scruffy type with dad glasses and disheveled hair. He's got a cheesy 'kiss the cook' pink apron for when hes making you homemade meals, and a dark black one for when hes disposing of his victims.

He just loves you so much-- and cant help but say it at any moment of every day that he can. There isnt a lack of love in your relationship-- that's for sure. But you always feel like something is missing, like theres something wrong but you cant pinpoint it. Maybe it's because everyone in your life seems to be disappearing, or because your husband feels too perfect.

But even though things feel wrong, you can't bring yourself to say anything to your doting husband. You cant destroy things, not when he seems so happy. You always find him grinning, either when cleaning or coming back from the garden, covered in dirt and smelling like iron.

You worry when he speaks so possessively, promising nothing will ever come to harm you, that everyone who ever could is, "out of the way." You find that the days and nights where he spends longer in the garden, the dirtier he becomes, the louder the sounds in the basement are, he becomes more loving. More doting. Hes so affectionate with you, unable to stop himself from smothering you with kisses and handsy grabs. He seems exhausted, tired yet lovestruck.

You insist that he should let you do some of the work, that he should take a break. But he always seems to do his duties with a tired grin, claiming its 'his enjoyment as your husband.' And you wouldn't want to take away his responsibilities and hobbies, right? Even when you claim you can help in the garden and do the dishes, that you're not helpless. But all he wants is you to stay his sweet little spouse, working so hard to provide for your family, while he makes sure you have a nice warm meal and a nice warm husband to come back home to.

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death and torture, ACOWAR spoilers (previous parts), blood, gore, mentions of abuse, (eventual) smut.

Word Count: 1,796

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Notes: I forgot how much I bloody love this one 😉

_________________________________________

The alliance doesn’t start well.

Without your ability to assure the others that Beron will come around and join their forces, your word means nothing to the rest of the High Lords.

You’re shown to a room for the night, and are left alone. There’s a platter of food to graze from, sitting on the table. It’s filled with luscious looking fruits and hearty meats to match. There’s a shining bottle of Dawn’s finest wine and a pair of glasses sitting next to the silver platter, as if it were more than just you alone tonight in this larger than large suite.

It’s all well and fine for you, though, because you are finally away from the clutches of Beron. 

As if he knows that you’re thinking of him, the hatred for the male that’s kept you prisoner for so many years, the bargain mark on your forearm begins burning in reminder. You tug up the sleeve of your deep chocolate leathers with a hiss, watching as the palm shaped burn mark flushes red with heat.

Beron always likes to assure his bargains with a handprint. You’ve seen enough of them to go around, even if the High Lord commanded to mark you in a place that could be easily concealed. Backs of necks, biceps, even the occasional palm print across a cheek are all of the marks you’ve seen made by the Autumn Lord.

Gritting your teeth, you snag the bottle and a couple of berries, eating them from your palm as you stride for the armoire. Slugging the bottle on one of the sweater-lined shelves, you strip the clothes from your body, breathing in a sigh of relief from the constricting leather. Your arm still burns with the remnants of your master’s reminder, as it always does, and you hope that the drink and the cool breeze of Dawn will sate your warm skin.

It’s not the burn you yearn for, that heat of a body beneath you while you wring their life in your hands.

The whisper of silk slides graciously across your skin, smooth and soft as you slip the nightdress over your head. The creamy lavender color matches the skies, you notice as you snag the bottle of wine by the neck and move towards the balcony. 

Stuffing the rest of the berries in your mouth, you shove through the heavy wooden doors, pausing on the threshold as the dawn breeze blows the hair back from your face, caressing your hot cheeks.

You don’t know how you’re to convince the other High Lord’s that Beron will join their ranks, don’t know how Eris will convince his father of doing the same. They’re weary of you, that much is obvious, left behind in the wake of the royal family's disappearance like a stray pet.

They don’t know how true that statement is, you think as you glare down at the mark adorning your otherwise unmarked skin. 

The cork of the wine pops with an ease that settles you some. You could only wish that it were the cracking of bones splitting through flesh, hot blood seeping between your fingertips, down your throat like you crave. Your body thrums with need, death calling to you like a lost lover.

You choke down a sip of the wine, hardly tasting it as you shove the thoughts from your mind. There was a reason Beron had enslaved you to him, trapped you beneath his will, because of your powers, your bloodthirsty nature. You sought blood and despair, missed the way it coats the back of your throat, embedding itself into the prints of your fingers and beneath the curve of your nails, the scent clinging to your body for days. 

You itch.

The alcohol is a comforting burn as it goes down, warming your belly, but it will only continue to ignite that yearning within you. 

There’s no chance to slip from the palace, lure someone into your bed, a peregryn perhaps. Surely one missing from this luxurious court would not be missed, or maybe, at the very least, they’d let you cut them open for a taste.

You won’t even kill them, you don’t think, wanting only to bathe in the feeling of a soul on the cusp of death, clinging desperately to life, teetering on that oh-so fine line. It’s the final moments that you crave. The threat of death that makes you feel alive.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your fists furiously, as if you’re trying to erase the thoughts from your mind. Your power roils, trying to slip out on the breeze that drifts by, but you lock it down tight, shoving the bottle to your lips again as you greedily drink it back.

“Careful now,” a voice startles from behind and you choke. “That bottle was sent for two.” Deep red wine spills from your chin as you whirl around, searching for the voice.

But there is only darkness…that is, until it shifts, the gravelly voice ripping through the silent night like a death knell. One that makes your spirit stir.

You’re entranced by the way Azriel emerges, as if made from the shadows themselves. His skin gleams beneath the rising moon and his golden eyes glow with fire in the dark. Night-blessed, you realize as he steps closer, darkness sliding from his skin as if he controls its icy tendrils himself.

“What are you doing here, shadowsinger?” you ask, keeping your voice level as you swipe the drink off your chin with your arm. Some has splashed down your front, making you look freckled with blood, the way it coats your lavender gown. You catch him staring.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He can tell himself it’s to spy for Rhysand all he wants but he knows it’s not true. He’s intrigued by you, wants to know more about your power and how you’d so easily stopped him from snapping Eris’ neck. How you’d slipped past his guard with no resistance and why your eyes lit up at the sight of his blood.

Azriel is drawn in a way that he can’t stop. Like blood to a heart or the sun to the moon. It’s dangerous, him being here, but he can hardly control his feet as they move closer to you, his body aches to be in your presence.

“What are you?” he asks, forcing himself to halt a few feet away from you. His wings are pulled taut behind his back, claws curved inward and backlit by the moon. They make him look like a prince of Hel, horned and handsome beyond belief.

You eye him wearily, even if you do have to crane your neck back so high it hurts to look up at his towering figure. You clench the bottle of wine tighter in your hands so they don’t reach out for him, to wipe that still gleaming bead of blood from his split lip. 

“There is no name for what I am,” you answer simply, “And if there is, it isn’t one I have heard in a long time.”

The corner of his mouth pulls down in a frown and you watch eagerly as the wounded skin tugs. You don’t realize you’re licking your lips until his golden gaze flickers down to watch the motion.

You stifle the burning sensation creeping up your cheeks, taking another swig of the wine to wet your suddenly dry mouth.

He moves a step closer, and you follow in response. You can’t stop staring at each other, only a breath away from each other now, drawn together by an unknown force, cold and warm death meeting again after so long apart.

“Where did he find you?” he wonders, voice a whisper of shadow, as if he had not meant to speak it aloud.

“You think that the Night Court is the only court that holds a prison?” You purr, taking his hand in yours. Azriel does not pull away, if only because he understands how easily you can slip into his mind and wreck him…more than you already are, at least.

His heart aches in his chest but he likes it. Likes the way you caress his scars, looking at them as if they aren’t something to be embarrassed about. Your fingers are warm, and they feel delicious against his own, cold skin. He can see the way that your eyes light with fire as you stare at his torn knuckles and his throat bobs when you fix your gaze on his from lowered lashes, your pink tongue poking out to lap tentatively at his split skin.

It’s difficult not to react to the shiver that crawls down his spine.

Your hand around the neck of the bottle loosens as the taste of him bursts across your tongue. It’s shadowy freshness coats your mouth, awakens your soul as you swallow it down. His reflexes are quick, snatching up the bottle before it crashes to the ground. He necks the bottle back and you watch the bob of his throat as he drinks, a long line of red slowly dribbling down the tan skin of his neck. You shove closer to him. You want to lick it from his throat.

Your power flares, reaching out to him on a sharp exhale. There is no holding it back.

“Deep beneath the oldest oak in Autumn, buried beneath centuries of roots and earth, there is a prison,” your voice is soft, caressing his wet skin, and his breath is trapped in his throat. His fingers don’t twitch to reach for Truth-Teller, instead he wants to reach out, brush the hair from your face, slide his hand behind your neck, and tug you into him roughly, pressing your burning body flush to his night-cold one.

“I saw the way you looked,” he says hoarsely, as if he’s straining to keep whatever darkness lurks within him, clawing its way out to you, at bay. “When Feyre held Beron hostage with her power. That look in your eyes…you’re no longer a prisoner beneath the Oaks, but prisoner to him now, aren’t you?”

You swallow roughly. A curt nod is all you can muster in response.

“You want him dead?” Azriel asks, golden eyes pinning you beneath his stare.

“Yes,” you admit, voice so quiet as if the wind itself will carry your admission all the way to Autumn.

The sweep of his feathery hair brushes your brow as he leans in. Your heart leaps in your chest as if trying to rip its way out of your body to meet his as he lowers himself flush, hot against your frozen body.

His answer is a promise of death, tingling against your lips as he draws himself down to you.

“So be it.”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: If only there was a way for me to stop being addicted to tension.....

Chapter 18: A Feast of Union

Aemond was sitting at his seat when you arrived back, as was Aegon. Your oldest uncle's lips were pulled into a sly smile at you whilst he sipped on his ale, hair still sticking in different directions. Aegon’s coat was missing from his attire, so that all he wore was a disheveled white dress shirt that was no longer tucked into his pants. 

Once you arrived at the table your father was eyeing you like a hawk, shifting his gaze to Aemond and then back to you. You avoided his watchful gaze, instead turning to look at your aunt Helaena, who looked as if she wanted to be swallowed into a hole in the ground.

Your brothers had even turned to watch you cautiously as you picked up your goblet to take a large swig, smiling at them tightly to assure them that you were fine.

You placed your goblet back down on the table as servers began to fill the tables in the garden with large roast pigs and turkeys.

The smell of the meat was overwhelming and your stomach rumbled at the sight. You were excited to continue your night with your family in good spirits, and eat until you became tired enough for bed.

You and your family waited in anticipation for the Queen to say a prayer. Alicent stood from her chair looking out to the tables around you. 

“We thank the Seven for guiding us through our mortal lives. Thank you to the Mother for blessing us today and every day with a union such as this…” You zoned out almost immediately, looking down at your hands picking at the skin of the cuticle hoping that Alicent would speed up her prayer so that you could all eat. 

The noise of people serving plates brought back your attention. Alicent was now seated and was served a small portion of poultry with fewer green vegetables of all kinds on her plate.

You reached forward to cut away the meat from the leg of a lamb in front of you. The meat was so soft, it fell straight off the bone. The smell was heavenly and you found yourself in higher spirits.

Your mouth watered as you filled your plate, listening to your brothers talking whilst occasionally throwing a small glance at Helaena, who had begun to talk to Aemond in hushed tones whilst her husband Aegon swayed heavily in his chair. 

Placing the first piece of lamb into your mouth you felt yourself hold back a moan. The meat was cooked perfectly, and the herbs it was roasted with brought lighter tones to the flavour. The meat melted in your mouth and you ate quicker than you should have, joining in to talk with your family despite having your mouth full. 

Picking up your goblet you took a large swig, swallowing the soft lamb before pushing yourself to stand. Your family all watching you in anticipation.

A silence filled the garden as the rest of the guests stopped their meals to listen. 

Holding your cup out to Helaena you spoke, 

“May we raise our cups to the beautiful Princess Helaena.” People grasped their goblets holding them up towards her, “The Seven surely blessed me with an aunt like you. Prince Aegon is a very lucky man.” You praised, “May your union be long and fruitful. May you be cherished and blessed with more beautiful children together.” You spoke loudly, thrusting your cup forward, as all around you shouted in response.

“Hear, hear!” The garden echoed as you slid back down into your seat, beaming at your aunt who smiled sheepishly at you before drinking from her goblet.

Aegon used the toast to scull the rest of his drink, a trickle of wine leaking down the side of his mouth which he used the back of his hand to roughly wipe away.

At each cup he seemed to sink lower and lower into his seat, much to your fathers delight who giggled at every glance across the table at his nephew. 

Princess Helaena stood raising her cup awkwardly, “It's not so bad.” She smiles at you, “He mostly just ignores you..." Aegon's eyes rolled into the back of his head whilst a large giggle could be heard from the other end of the table, Prince Daemon finding delight in his niece's statement, “...except sometimes when he's drunk.” 

Helaena finishes her toast response, leaning awkwardly on the table with one arm as she slowly sat down again, the Rogue Prince barely holding a fit of laughter inside from across the table. 

You smile at her, raising your cup, a small “Hear, Hear” ringing out through the garden before you both drank in tandem. 

Your Grandsire shifted in his seat, grimacing as he moved to stand, small grunts and heavy breaths falling from his mouth. Alicent and your mother watch on in concern, ready to hold him if needed. His one hand held onto the table for support, as he looked across the table at you all. 

“It brings me joy,” he heavily breathed, “to see you all here, to celebrate Prince Aegon,” he paused to breath deeper, “and Princess Helaena’s union.” He looked around the table, stopping to look at you, a flicker of a smile on his mouth before he continued. “Though you were not there at the ceremony,” the sickly mans breath became more ragged, as he swayed on his feet from exhaustion, “it means more than you could ever know, that we are all here now.” 

Shakily he reached forward for his goblet, body jolting at the loss of support. Both your mother and the Queen shifting with the hands to catch him. His arm shakily grasped his goblet before holding it up, addressing all in attendance, “May they live and grow old together as one.” He called out, voice cracking as he did. 

“Hear, Hear!” Came the large call from the patrons in response to their King. Alicent and Rhaenyra helped him to sit comfortably once again as you all watched, quiet agreements coming from all with small lifts of cups.

He looked over you all once more, chest rising and falling jaggedly. His eye shut in pain as he grimaced, bowing his head down panting. You all sat silently as the party continued around you, waiting for him to continue. 

“It both gladdens my heart,” he spoke to the table quietly, and your table alone, “and fills me with sorrow,” King Viserys breathed, “to see these faces around the table,”  His gaze stopped to look at Rhaenyra lovingly, before turning to his wife.

"The faces most dear to me in all the world,” His chest rose and fell in large puffs, “Had grown so distant to each other in the years passed.” 

King Viserys hand reaches up to grab at his golden mask, pulling it heavily away from his face, the sounds of celebration behind telling you that others were not watching. 

A large gaping hole sat where his right eye should have been. Teeth could be seen from the side of his face, where his cheek had rotted away into a large wound, revealing the molars inside. Your Grandsire grunted in pain, breathing heavily before looking at all of you, Alicent turning her head down into her lap whilst your mother looked as though she may begin to weep.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one. If indeed it ever was,” He joked, “But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father,” he looked to your mother, “your brother,” Viserys paused to watch Daemon who stared back, eyes soft in the face of his brother's suffering. 

The King took a large breath and turned to face Alicent, her head lifting to look at him gently, “Your husband,” His eye shifted to look over your brothers, shortly landing on you, “And your grandsire.” 

Your hands twisted in your lap, a lump forming in the back of your throat, all joy being sucked from you as he spoke once more, “Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you.”

Solemnly you looked down, and you felt the energy at the table shift, “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” The King spoke firmly, sharply looking across the table, “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided.” 

His lone eye landed on his wife, who looked to Aegon as he boredly played with his shirt. Aemond watched his father with a softened gaze. “Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, but for the sake of this old man,” Your Grandsires voice broke as he breathed in painful breaths, looking to you all at the table,  “Who loves you all so dearly.” 

No-one on the table spoke or moved for a moment, all taking in the King's wishes for peace. Suddenly Alicent’s voice flittered out across the table, “Princess Rhaenyra has promised me to visit the Red Keep more often. She will be coming here on Dragon's back.” She looked to your mother who smiled, bowing her head to look back at her plate. Your Grandsire watched them both intently, as your mother began to slowly tell her father of their plans for the future.

Conversation picked up around the table once more, the mournful energy of the table being lifted as laughter floated through the air.

You excused yourself to relieve your bladder and when you came back, you walked to your Grandsire, kissing his now exposed cheek gently before stepping to the side to hang over your mother and fathers chair, picking at the food on their plates cheekily, wine flowing through you. 

Your father leant back in his chair to watch you, as your mother continued to talk with her father and Alicent. A deep sigh was heard from your Grandsire, followed by a grunt in pain, both Alicent and your mother reaching out to touch either side of his shoulders as they whispered to him and each other.

Alicent snapped her fingers outwards, and two guards came to pick up the King’s chair and carry him off to bed so that he may rest. His face turning more pale by the minute as he groaned in pain from his ailment.

You watched as King Viserys was taken to his chambers, golden mask fitted snugly back onto his face as they walked. Low groans and shattered breaths could be heard from him as he passed you and your heart ached in your chest.

All turned away to not embarrass him, returning back to their conversations as though nothing had happened. You did not know why that saddened you more.

"Skoros iksis jāre va rȳ ao se se mēre laes Dārilaros?” (What is going on between you and the one-eye Prince?) He muttered lowly at you, picking up his goblet to drink, eyes watching you over the rim of the cup.

You shake your head, feeling lightheaded when you do making you laugh, “Daorun, kepa.” (Nothing, father.)

“Pār skoro syt kostagon ziry daor gūrogon zȳhon laes hen hen ao?” (Then why can he not take his eye off of you?) The Rogue Prince responded, suspicion lacing his voice. 

You looked across the table to see Aemond watching you and your father, goblet in his hand as he lounged in his chair. He sat back, legs spread wide as he watched you both. You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks before looking back to your father, who watched your reaction. 

“Kesrio syt ziry vēdros nyke.” (Because he hates me.) You told the Rogue Prince, snatching his cup to take a sip from it before giving it back.

He lets out a guffaw. 

“Konir sagon daor vēdros.” (That is not hate.)

“Skorkydoso kostagon ao ivestragon? ziry mērī ēza mēre laes.” (How can you tell? He only has one eye.) You joked, giggling at yourself to which your father smirks.

“Nyke jūndan rȳ aōha muña hae bona.” (I looked at your mother like that.)

“Iksā pirta.” (You’re wrong.) You reached out to grab a slice of potato from your fathers plate, stuffing it into your mouth.

Prince Daemon hummed as he watched you, huffing a laugh when he looked back to see that your uncle had still not taken his eye away from you both.

"I don't think he has blinked." The Prince joked.

"Shhh," You got into your fathers face, "He could hear you."

"And?"

"And, I don't want him to."

"Why?"

"Why what?" You asked.

"Why don't you want him to hear us talking about his wandering eye?" Your fathers head tilted.

"Grandsire asked for peace. I do not wish to poke the bear if I can help it. Mother told us to behave." You laughed.

"Has the bear shown his claws again?"

Daemon ate some potato from his plate as you still leant over him from behind his chair.

"No. He has been oddly pleasant. It's unnerving." You screwed up your face.

“Ossēninna zirȳla lo ziry ōdrikagon ao” (I will kill him if he hurts you.) Your father murmurs, so that only you could hear. 

“Kessa daor.” (He won’t.) 

"Good."

You popped another slice of potato in your mouth, chewing the soft baked good slowly, savouring its flavour as you smirked down at your father.

A sudden gag came from the other end of the table. You tore your eyes away from the Rogue Prince, only to witness Aegon vomiting down the front of his white shirt. The red wine of the evening, staining the front of his white dress shirt, making it look like blood.

Your head spun to Prince Daemon, hand flying to your mouth to cover the peals of laughter. Your brothers Lucerys and Jacaerys laughed as Aegon stood suddenly, swaying before walking away from the table into the dark, heaving as he did.

Your mother lifted her fingers to her lips, hiding her smile as Alicent watched her drunken son in horror. Your father did nothing to conceal his mirth, laughter carrying out across the garden. 

The night was long, and the celebrations continued on even after you had left. You filled your stomach with food and wine, and spent most of your evening talking across the table to Helaena or your brothers, who excitedly chatted amongst themselves.

Helaena became less closed off after Aegon’s exit, even laughing quietly as he stumbled away. His sudden leave causing a sigh of relief from your aunt and the Queen both.

Aemond however surprised you. Though he stayed silent for most of the night, he would softly talk to Helaena or agree with her when she spoke to you, listening in on your conversation. It was unnerving indeed with his sudden shift in behaviour. Perhaps Alicent had given her children a warning before the celebrations too.

The food settled in your stomach and you felt yourself grow weary from the soporific effects of the meal. Excusing yourself from the table you bid everyone a good night, and walked alone back to your chambers, a small sway in your step.

Walking you giggled at the memory of Aegon vomiting on himself and the sheer horror on Alicent’s face. Your giggles turned to bursts of laughter, feeling tears spring to your eyes and your stomach cramping. You had not felt mirth quite like this in some time.

You wiped the tears away from your cheeks and continued onwards, walking past the Godswood, looking up into the branches as you swayed. You were far more drunk than you had thought, and you laughed at even that. Everything became more joyous with every passing second. It was spectacular. The weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders.

The evening's drunken stupor so joyous that once you finally arrived at your chambers you laughed loudly as you recalled the night's events to Saria and Aella who listened and giggled with you as they prepared you for bed. 

As Saria brushed the braids from your hair you turned, eyes searching about the room to find Aella, before landing on her small form, bent over your bed as she fluffed your pillows.

“Aella.” You called to her, her back straightening as she walked over to you.

“Yes, My Lady?” She replied, awaiting your command.

“Pour me some wine would you? Just another cup.” You giggled holding your hand out to her, as she brought it over to you. 

The sweet breakfast wine touched your lips and you sipped greedily at it. Feeling warmth burn your throat. You did not think that the night could have gone so well, and you were gladdened for it.

You leant against chair, hanging your head over the back looking up at Saria as she manoeuvred her hands around the new angle. Your head sloppily slid to the side as you giggled some more, feeling all too silly. 

“Did I tell you that Prince Aegon vomited upon himself at the table?” You laughed, watching Aella and Saria look at each other, “You should have seen the Queen's face! She looked like she was going to be sick herself.” 

A loud giggle bubbled up your throat as you sipped more wine, “Or perhaps kill him. She was furious.” You giggled more, draining the cup, beginning to feel the wine make you more drunk and your body heavy. 

“I wish you had both been there to see.” You sighed, eyes feeling heavy as Saria brushed out your hair, massaging your scalp as she went. 

“Mmm.” You moaned, “That is sooo good.” You giggled again, a hiccup interrupting you, making you laugh more. 

“Shall we put you to bed now, Princess?” Aella asked, as she folded your sheets backwards for you.

"I suppose so.” You replied, standing sluggishly, a yawn suddenly escaping you. “Help me undress.” You asked, holding your arms out for balance as Saria and Aella began to undo the top and skirt of your top.

It pooled to your feet, and you stepped out of the dress before stumbling over to the bed naked. 

“Did you want us to-“ Aella started but you yawned interrupting her “No, it's too hot.” Before tossing yourself into the sheets, rolling to the side and sighing. 

Your eyes slowly slid shut, the alcohol making you sluggish. Yawning again you softly giggled, enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling the wine brought.

“Good night, Princess.” Saria spoke, as she and Aella collected your gown to clean, and quickly tidied the room. 

You fell asleep before they even left the chambers, the alcohol dragging you into a deep and heavy sleep. Your limbs felt like lead as the room spun, yet there was nothing but joy inside of you as you quickly drifted to sleep.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl @queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88

[miss-tc-nova]

Behind That Smile - Ruggie Bucchi x Reader

I like animal facts. Definitely recommend checking out the vet!yuu tag by blackopals-world.

Premise: Hyenas can bite through bone

Words: 1,537

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, Halloween event spoilers

~~~~~

               “Ruggie, if you don’t slow down, you’re gonna be sick.”

               Those cloudy-sky eyes manage to tear away from his plate long enough to peer up at me. It’s impressive he doesn’t choke as he swallows all the food in his mouth.

               “Are you kidding? I’m just getting started!” He catches sight of Epel walking by with a plate of meat and he awes. “Oh I haven’t tried that yet! I gotta go get some!”

               In a bolt, he’s out of his chair, already filling another plate. I shake my head with a sigh; however, at my side, the Diasomnian vice-housewarden chuckles.

               “Isn’t his appetite simply astounding?”

               “It’s impressive alright,” I hum. “I just wish he’d slow down before he chokes.”

               “But he still has so much to go through if he hopes to sample everything here,” Lilia says.

               He is right about that. Malleus, Lilia, Grim, and I had set out to help the ghosts enjoy the Halloween party that they missed. We had a beautiful venue, Malleus had the music covered, and we had the rest of Night Raven College on a scavenger hunt for mirror shards to fix our atmospheric lighting. However, one of the most astonishing features of the night were the tables absolutely stacked with food from all over Twisted Wonderland—courtesy of the ghosts themselves.

               And Ruggie is having the time of his life.

               Said hyena returns with various meat piled on his plate, but at the bottom sits a hunk of beef still clinging to the bone. It’s comically large and I honestly thought food like that only existed in cartoons. Yet Ruggie isn’t perturbed in the slightest as he chomps through everything he brought.

               I have a small chat with Lilia while Ruggie eats. It comes to a stop though when the hyena cleans the ridiculously large bone.

               “Finished already?” Lilia asks.

               “Not even.” He holds up the large bone in his hand. “This is the best part.”

               Without hesitation, Ruggie puts the skeletal matter into his mouth and bites.

               The crunching sound that follows shocks me to my core; it echoes in my ears. The sight of the splintered bone infests my brain and intrusive thoughts force me to imagine that as my arm. It’s mind blowing to think that this kid I’ve been hanging out with nearly every day could chomp through something so solid with such little effort.

               “My, that’s quite a bite you’ve got there,” Lilia remarks.

               Ruggie gives him a glance between getting at the marrow of the bone. “Yeah, I get told that often but it’s pretty normal in my family. My grammy used to give them to me when I was little.” He laughs. “She said it kept me quiet when I was annoying her.”

               “I’ll have to make note of that,” Lilia laughs. “I suppose that means there really isn’t much you won’t eat.”

               A shiver flies down my spine as he crunches the bone like candy. “Hey, if it’s edible, it’s worth trying at least once.”

               Throughout the rest of the night, I can’t get the image of Ruggie breaking bones out of my head. Again, the intrusive thoughts don’t help.

               The night ends and Malleus returns everyone safely to Night Raven College. There’s seems to be a lot of relief that Halloween has finally ended, but everyone agrees that it’s time to get some sleep.

               “So you had a hand in this entire mess.”

               My heart skips as Ruggie catches up to me and Grim on our way back to Ramshackle.

               “I guess you could say that.”

               “Heck yeah we did!” Grim climbs my costume to stand on my shoulder. “And we planned the best party ever!”

               “Yeah you did. The food was great.” Immediately, I divert my eyes away from Ruggie’s grin. I’m not sure I can ever look at that smile the same again.

               Though the conversation stays light, I keep my gaze occupied on the way back to my shabby little dorm. I would look at anything—the castle overhead, the rising sun, the rusted gate, the drowsy cat in my arms—as long as it wasn’t Ruggie.

               I tuck the blanket around my magic partner who quickly crashed on our way back. With a soft smile, I place his hat on the nightstand and stroke his head. The feline mumbles something about “awesome dance moves” as he rolls over to continue his dream.

               “Man, I thought he’d be up for hours with how wired he was,” Ruggie says as I close the door behind me.

               I glance down the hall, trying to put on a light-hearted air. “I think he just finally hit that sugar crash.”

               “Hey, are you okay?”

               “Yeah, I’m fine.”

               “Then why won’t you look at me?”

               Embarrassment simmers in my ears. This whole thing is stupid.

               “It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.” Raising my head, I look him in the eye and put on a smile. “I’m fine.” Immediately after those words leave my mouth, I can’t help glancing at his lips and my gaze instantly averts.

               “Yeah right. You’re avoiding me.” Ruggie ducks down, trying to look me in the eyes, but I just can’t. “Aw, c’mon. You mad at me or somethin’?”

               “N-No.” I avoid him again.

               “Then what?”

               The intrusive thoughts themselves aren’t really anything to be ashamed of. “Look, I just…I’m trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, okay?”

               There’s a pause. “What kind of intrusive thoughts?”

               But the contents of those thoughts kind of are.

               “Ruggie…” I groan.

               “Just tell me, will ya. You know I’m not gonna leave you alone ‘til you do.”

               He’s right—I know he won’t. It takes me a few moments filled with deep breaths and expectant stares to finally get the words out.

               “I’m just having a hard time getting the image of you crunching through that bone out of my head, okay? Can we just drop it now?”

               “The bone?” Glancing to him, I can see the gears turning in his head. “You’re not tellin’ me you’re scared of my bite now, are ya?”

               I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s less that I’m afraid and more that I can’t stop imaging you biting through things.”

               “You mean like this?”

               My stomach flips when the hyena grabs my arm. In a swift motion, he draws my sleeve back and brings the limb to his mouth, those massive, gleaming teeth resting against my skin. The image of that snapping bone fills my head. I shut my eyes and brace for the core-rattling snapping sound and the inevitable pain to follow.

               Instead I hear a soft chuckle. Warm, gentle lips meet my skin, instantly drawing my gaze back. Embers smolder behind his eyes as he trails soft kisses down to the back of my hand. A last reverent press of his lips meets my knuckles before his fingers intertwine with mine.

               “You gotta know I could never hurt you.” Even his voice is infested with the heat quickly enflaming my own bashfulness. This smooth criminal then leans in, lips brushing against my cheek causing the air to hitch in my chest. “Not even if my life depended on it.”              

               Then, Ruggie retreats, that ever-lovable simper warped into something warm and gentle. Meanwhile, with my skin on fire, I press against the wall in an attempt to keep myself from collapsing. I’m positive his ears—even hidden beneath that marauder’s hat—can hear the pounding in my chest. And if he didn’t hear that, the shuddering exhale from my mouth is probably thoroughly satisfying.

               “What’s wrong, sugar?” he asks, absolutely full of himself right now.

                My free hand presses to my face in a shoddy attempt to calm my nerves. “What a cruel criminal you are to toy with my feelings like this.”

               “All in a days work for a scurvy pirate—stealin’ such precious treasures as hearts, shyehehe.” There’s that smooth tongue. “But who said I was playin’?”

               The grip on my hand tightens and I swear he’s squeezing my heart.

               “Ruggie…?”

               “Didn’t even need to trick-or-treat to get me the best prize.” Some of his mischief returns. “Man, a full feast and I get the cutest kid on campus? I really did make off like a pirate with all the treasure this year.”

               It seems my legs are stable enough to hold their own weight again. “I don’t know about that.”

               “Oh I do. I could just eat you up.” He laughs in the face of my glare. “Too soon?”

               “I’m going to bed now.”

               My announcement doesn’t seem to deter Ruggie from pestering me, chattering about random things. Yet I’m not entirely inclined to send him off. Instead, he sheds his coat and boots and flops onto the bed beside me—his hand finding mine like the greedy man he is. It doesn’t take long after that for the conversation to lull and consciousness to drift.

               Those intrusive thoughts return frequently from then on out. Ruggie always had the potential to seriously hurt me. But every time he smiles, I’m reminded of that pirate in Ramshackle on Halloween night. I remember just how gentle that mouth can be—and how quickly it can sink those fangs into my heart.

[fluffychubbydragon]

what is horror's lore? i am intrigued 👀

Ah... to be honest I wasn't expecting someone to actually ask.. but here you go:

Horror (or in the story will be known as Axe) is a poor village boy with his little brother (his name will be Poplar in this story, Pops for short).

Their village resides on the edge of a large wooded area on one side while the rest of the surrounding areas are all farm lands which they would frequently help as children, though as Axe grew, he found that he was more equipped to hunting in the forest rather than farming, but he still helped his parents in the fields whenever he could. This caused him to use whatever daylight he had left to hunting and trapping in the forest close to their home, bringing home whatever meat his family needed and would also use as barter for other things if there was extra.

Poplar loved helping his mum and pop (even as a child) in the farming as it gave him something to create, something that would grow under his care. As he grew, he also found ways of making crafts out of the hides and bones of the creatures that Axe would hunt and helping his big brother barter for things that they either needed or wanted. And Axe would not say no to Poplar if he really wanted something that one of the elders of the village would make, though, sometimes the elders would just give children toys that they had made out of boredom, but Poplar would never want to get anything for free and would insist heavily on giving them something back.

Both boys learned a lot from their parents as well, enough to help them survive on their own. Axe learned from his father every way he knew to trap animals and to defend himself and his family if something ever happened while Poplar learned how to cook from his mother from an early age seeing as men cooking could impress a lady greatly which did not happen often. Both brothers learned how to farm properly and how to keep crops alive until harvest, and then how to harvest (even the ones that would be deemed poisonous if harvested wrong).

That was...

Until the drought that lasted months that left the land no longer anything but sand and dirt. Everyone in the village began to starve as it was a farming community, not many knew how to hunt like Axe could, which led to villagers requesting more and more out of Axe to hunt, but over hunting would mean no food eventually and Axe as well as his father knew it. It came to points where people began leaving (the ones that could afford to do so) while other began to die off slowly. Between all these factors, majority of the villagers became violent and would fight one another for food.

Eventually Axe and Poplar's parents died of starvation, having rationed themselves to death for the sake of their sons' lives. It was during this grieving time when Axe got attacked by another villager thinking he had food that caused the large hole in his skull and thought to be left for dead. Yet he was determined to live to protect his baby brother who had only been 14 at the time (Axe was barely 18 when he received his head injury). When he had finally sauntered back home to his little brother, he collapsed and Poplar healed the damage as best he could. It was after this that they moved further into the woods to get away from the villagers that harmed Axe partly because of the trauma and mostly because Axe didn't want Poplar to go through the same thing he did.

Axe has a bit of trouble with his short term memory due to this and has to talk slower which frustrates him immensely, but Poplar has and always will be a patient soul.

Things will eventually look up for them when a figure covered in moving Shadows passes through.

(also, not all the skeletons in this series will be "Sans' and Papyrus' " there will be plenty of other skeleton characters who are female as well. In fact, one of the villagers was a female skeleton around Poplar's age that he had a crush on early on in his life. She starved to death though. But there will be others)

[buffetlicious]

The family Reunion Dinner (团圆饭) and ancestor worship are the two of the most important highlights of the celebrations on Chinese New Year Eve. The Lunar New Year is traditionally ushered in at 11 pm, but many families, especially those in Singapore, have adopted 12 am as the norm.

除夕夜，送祝福，团圆饭，多幸福。健康的如意果，平安的蹄髈，快乐的烤鸭，幸福的银耳莲子粥，还有吉祥的米饭，伴你除夕夜快乐不断，幸福绵绵！

This year Reunion Dinner (年夜饭) we had it much earlier than previous year as otherwise my brother would not be able to participate due to his company sending him for oversea training trip. Both my brothers had suggested Lai Huat Signatures (来發) at Gambas Crescent for this year dinner gathering. Requested one of my brother to make reservation for dinner at 6pm.

When we arrived, the dining area was almost full as more customers continued to stream into the room. There were three menus on the table – Ala carte, Steamboat and Chinese New Year Set Menu. We went for the former as the CNY menu were prized at S$318+ (5-6 pax), S$518+ (8-10 pax) and S$888+ (8-10 pax) respectively and not value for money. Below are some sample pages from the ala carte menu.

We sipped on our drinks and waited patiently because the kitchen is busy with the packed crowds. Once the first course was served, the rest followed one after another in quick succession. The Salted Egg Chicken (咸蛋鸡丁) with its boneless chunks of meat was deep-fried with curry leaves and tossed in a salted egg yolk mixture of chilli, butter and evaporated milk. The savoury sweet chicken is crispy with taste of salted egg and mild spiciness.

One of my brothers ordered this large portion of their famous Sambal Promfret (叁峇鲳鱼). The whole deep-fried fish was covered with fiery looking red sambal chilli paste. Was expecting the sambal to be spicy hot but surprisingly, the Scoville heat level was well within our limit and it actually tasted delicious with the rice white. The poor fish on the other hand was fried to a crisp and pretty hard to get the flesh off the bones. I suggested this Coffee Pork Ribs (咖啡排骨) as I love coffee. While the boneless pork is tender and fragrant with authentic flavour profile of coffee, it seems to lack some kind of oomph to bring this dish to the next level. Decent and perfectly edible but not good enough for me.

Menus are from Lai Huat Signatures.

[asfateentertwines]

Love languages

Spiders love languages are acts of service and quality time

He spent a large amount of time alone and figuring things out for and by himself so having people put the attention on him is his weakness

He's embarrassed to admit it but he loves attention. Kiri is the only sibling to realize how much he'll preen under it and teases him for it relentlessly

Similarly, he's one to show his love by trying to help them and give them his time, however, the favor is only ever returned by his siblings. Hence, it gets him flustered to be the target of help or focus

Lucky for him, Rotxo is exactly this type

Rotxo's love language is also acts of service but also gift giving. He loves to make things for those he loves and puts his time towards them to show it

Much like Spider, reversing this onto him will fluster him to oblivion

Hence, their courting is the bane of all the kids existences

They're both usually in the background and so neither can handle it when they're brought to attention

Spider will go hunting for coastal animals for Rotxo since it's a rarer event in the Metkayina meals to have land food

He and his brothers take it upon themselves to help change that, but Spider will specifically snag cuts of meat for Rotxo since he loves to cook

He also makes Kiri help him find herbs and such similar to what they had a home which he helps Rotxo explore when he cooks

There's a lot of nights they end up eating scraps cause Spider isn't exactly the best one to show him how to cook. A, he has little talent for it and B, he couldn't eat half of what he grew up around

Rotxo ends up tentatively approaching Neytiri (who actually terrifies him despite him growing up with Ronal) to get help in cooking Omaticaya foods

She's adopted Spider at this point, but their relationship is still not nearly as close as it is with her other children so it's one of the ways she starts to mend that bridge

Rotxo and Neytiri bond over feeding their families and sharing their cultures recipes

Rotxo also puts more effort into finding human-friendly foods. He refuses to accept that his mate can't have the good foods he loves just because of some measly poison

Spider has accidentally been poisoned several times but doesn't have the heart to tell Rotxo to stop trying or to deny trying his creations

If they cook together, Spider is on chopping and cutting since he has the best knife skills and the least cooking skills

Rotxo is a solid chef but has a questionable palette at time and has made some rather interesting meals that only pass by the questionable tastes of teenage boys

By the time they're young adults, Neteyam and Tsireya have to step in and help them make better decisions

While Spider brings gifts from land, Rotxo likes to bring Spider gifts from the water

Even with his mask, Spider isn't able to get but so deep before the pressure bothers his head

He's a strong swimmer and keeps up normally but there's certain limits his human body can't breach

So Rotxo will dive for him and bring him little gifts

Shells and rocks are common for his braids or the jewelry he's now covered in but Rotxo also brings him little bottom-feeders so he can see it all. He'll bring the little creatures to show Spider before he'll thank them and return them

Spider just sits on his ilu or whatever rocks they've found and grins, watching this giant race to and from to show him whatever it is he's found this time

On the note of jewelry, they're both covered in necklaces, beaded clothing pieces, and bracelets that they've made for one another. shells, stones, bone beads, and whatever else they find adorn them both. Rotxo can't always wear so many in the water so he'll wrap his spear and daggers in them and leave the rest to decorate their marui. Spider, on the other hand, has most of his on at all times

It reminds him that he's wanted, that someone loved him enough to make them

Spider grew up working with some of the elders and mothers making garments for the clan and so he gifts Rotxo with belts and shoulder-guards he made with his cultures skills and Rotxo's styles and resources.

Neytiri has to help a lot, women is keeping them both together in a lot of ways

Rotxo sorts through his clothes to try and wear them all, he loves the feeling of being loves and shown off when he wears what Spider has made him

Gift giving between the two is constant

They also are one of the best teams when they work together

While other couples (Lo'ak and Tsireya) work together and struggle to get through tasks, they play off of one another constantly

They meet in the middle very well and are just very in tune with one another

With their jobs, Spider working among the clan or on the coast and Rotxo being a diver and warrior, they don't get to work together as often as they like so when they do, it's a sight

They're the type to finish one another’s task without care or notice. Both grew up as someone's right hand and being in the background so hard work is nothing new

Similarly, they're deadly as a duo

Spider will literally use Rotxo as a spring board and combine strength and agility in a deadly combination

They have each other's back at the end of the day no matter what

Everything comes back to wanting the other to never feel alone or unwanted

They just love to take care of one another man

[usetheeauthor]

Love, Papa 2

Virgin!Henry Creel|One|Peter Ballard x SexWorker!Reader

Summary: After family game night takes a turn for the worse, One is angry with you for ruining his opportunity to go “outside”. You try to get back in his graces in hopes that he’ll help you escape.

Warnings/TW: graphic language, attempted suicide by drowning, violence, infantilization, Brenner being weird, enemies to lovers, tsundere!Peter, hair pulling, crying, force feeding, reader nicknamed “belle” (by Brenner) and “bunny” (by One), slow burn relationship

word count: 5.3k+

series masterlist

Chapter 2: Dumb Bunny

You grow impatient as the “family” continues to eat and converse knowing you’re desperate to win this silly game and go outside. The psychotic man’s eyes constantly flicker back to you when he notices that you haven’t partaken in the meal.

“Belle, you’ve hardly tasted your food. Your brother’s been trying to feed you the entire time and you continue to resist,” Papa begins. “That just won’t do.”

“I don’t eat meat.” You spat through clenched teeth.

“Meat is protein. For your bones and for that beautiful brain of yours, my dear. I want all of my children to grow up big and strong. So you will eat the meat.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Grow up? I’m an adult! You fucking psychopathic bastard.”

He shoves the table from himself as he stands. The table along with his chair launches a few feet away. He towers over you as you stare up with a defiant snarl.

Papa grips your face in his large hand, your lips protruding out. “What did I say about that kind of language under my roof? And in front of your younger sister! How would you feel if she were to repeat that kind of behavior? You’re on your 1st strike for the night. Don’t accumulate any more unless you know what’s good for you.”

His fingers began to dig into your cheeks the tighter he squeezed, tight enough that you were convince he’d draw blood or even choke you out this way.

“Papa,” One chimes in. “She didn’t mean to say those things. She’s scared and the rules are still very new to her. She’s learning.”

“Yes, Papa,” Eleven says, terrified for you. “She’ll be good.”

The viscous man glares into your eyes for a few moments before he lets out a sigh and releases you. You gasp for air, unable to rub the sting away from your cheeks due to your hands being bound.

“I’m sorry for my behavior, children. All of you. Especially you, belle. I’ve been much too hasty with you but only because I know you can be my good girl,” He caresses a hand down your tear-stained cheek and you shiver in fear and disgust. “Will you forgive me?”

You frantically look in One’s direction and he gives you a secret nod. Swallowing your pride, you whisper your acceptance. Papa kisses the top of your head before taking his seat and adjusting the table.

He lets out a breath of relief. “Now, One…please feed Belle her meal.”

“No, please.” You whimper.

One holds the spoon up your lips, you turn your head away. He follows your movements until Papa has to once again stand from his seat. He restrains your head, widening your mouth forcefully.

You whine and cry, struggling under his grasp. For the first time, One seems to break his emotionless persona and you could actually see him being reluctant to follow his father’s commands. But then Papa growls for him to do so and Peter shoves a spoonful of ground beef into your mouth.

“More!” Papa yells.

He shovels more into your mouth until your forced to swallow. You could feel you body having a visceral reaction to the meat. It rejects the taste and, not a moment after, you’re vomiting over yourself.

“Looks like Belle made a mess.” Papa says in an endearing tone.

You couldn’t even stare at him in anger for his sick ways. You felt defeated and weak, looking up at him with tears swelling in your eyes and saliva on your chin.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Let’s run you a bath and get you all cleaned up,” He runs a hand through your hair. “Maybe next time for dinner you won’t give a hard time. I beg not to…unless you wish to be punished. Eleven, would please draw Belle a bath? And, One, if you could please clean this mess and then take her to her bath?”

“Yes, Papa.” They say in unison.

Eleven rushes out of the kitchen and One tends to the mess all over you, wiping away with a moist towelette.

“If you’ll excuse me, I will be in my office to tend to my work. Please have lights out and everyone in bed by 8 sharp. We will have to reschedule the family game night for another time?”

“But Papa,” One shoots up from his seat in protest. “I was hoping I’d get to go outside. You said if we played then there’s a chance that I—”

“Are you being defiant?” Papa’s voice grows dark, staring the young blonde-haired man down.

The young man swallows his pride, jaw clenching. “No, I’m sorry for speaking out of turn.”

Papa nods, wordlessly accepting his apology before exiting the kitchen. One slowly lowers back down into his seat, staring in Papa’s direction angrily before turning to you.

“This is your fault.” He hisses but you couldn’t even care to reply. You already felt so broken. There was no way you could escape this place. Even if you could, you were much too afraid of what could happen should you get caught.

After cleaning you up enough, he carries you to the bathroom in his arms. Eleven awaits by the bathroom door, concern in her eyes for you. You felt genuinely terrible for her. She’s just a young girl witnessing all of this happening before her. Yet despite all the violence she must’ve endured, she was still kind and caring.

“You can go clean up in the kitchen, sister. I’ll be there with you soon.” One says to the young girl.

She nods, looking at you once more then closing the bathroom door behind her. One pulls off the large shirt he’d given you and you don’t attempt to resist. Even when his fingers curled around the waistband of your underwear, you remained an empty shell.

He doesn’t lower your panties. Instead, he pulls his hands away from you, letting out a shaky exhale.

“That’s as far as I will go. You can remove them on your own,” He reaches for the doorknob to exit but then ends up speaking over his shoulder for his last message. “You must know you’ve earned an enemy in me. I had plans to go outside for reasons that I don’t feel the need to disclose with you. If you weren’t such a brat, we could’ve been out there.”

You shudder a cry before breaking down completely, head falling into your hands. “I don’t care anymore. Just leave me alone.”

One almost feels bad for you. You weren’t built for a situation like this. But was anyone really? Something about you was different, though. Why had you given up so soon?

He exits the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar and he could hear you sobbing to yourself all the way until the end of the hall.

————————

You can hear the chimes again. When you close your eyes, they sound a lot closer. You let your mind drift away again.

This time you’re even younger in your memories. Your dress the color of sky, flowing daintily in the strong winds as you frolicked in a field of daisies and dandelions.

You can see someone in the distance. A boy some years older than you. He calls you over to him with a smile and you want nothing more than to reach out to him. But every time you felt like you were getting closer, he seemed further and further away. Oh, if only you could see his face.

But he felt so familiar. You know him. Possibly all your life. So you pick up your speed to reach him, giggling and smiling. You were almost there. So close. But then you see a tall, dark figure towering over him from behind. The boy is oblivious to it, simply waving and smiling at you.

You stop in your tracks, screaming. Or at least you’re trying to scream but your vocals felt as if they’d been constricted by your fear. You knew his name, it was on the tip of your tongue. You’ve got to say it or that thing will take him! Just say his name!

You open your mouth the first syllable of his name ready to be spoken when the figure consumes the boy whole. You watch in horror, tears streaming down your face. Paralyzed with fear, you couldn’t run. All you could do is watch as the figure slithered your way.

It rears itself back as if it’s gaining the momentum to pounce and—

—————

You’re coughing up water, gasping for air. One and Eleven over you, staring down at you with a mix of terror and relief in their eyes. You have a fluffy pink towel wrapped around your body as you recognize that you were resting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

You were drowning, submerged yourself in water for nearly 3 minutes. One was able to revive you with CPR. His hands wet as he caresses his hands over your face to check if you were responsive.

“Why?” Was all he said.

But you don’t answer. You just blink up at him wanting to study his features, know who he is. Maybe he might have been the boy in the dream that you saw.

Eleven gets on her knees beside you, tears in her eyes. She goes in for a tight hug, surprising you. You don’t hug back at first, too dazed and confused. But then you suddenly had the urge to comfort her, curling your arms around her tight as well and whispering your apologies to her.

After the incident, you were placed back into ‘your room’. You’d been given another large shirt to wear. You knew he’d be coming in to tie you up to the bed and you wished you could savor the moments of your freedom, stretching your hands and legs. But all you could do was hug your knees to your chest.

You feel someone enter the room, not bothering to look behind you.

“Belle?”

It’s the little girl. You turn to look at her standing in the doorframe, scared to come in.

“It’s okay,” You say. “You can enter.”

She nods, walking over to your bedside. You gesture for her to have a seat and she does so as well. The silence is deafening for a moment until she speaks up.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“Why?”

“Because you’re here.”

You let her reply sit for a moment then sigh. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I wish I could have said something to help you get away.”

“Then he would’ve hurt you,” You know it was brutal to say but the Eleven knew that it was exactly what he would have done if she interfered. “I think maybe I’m supposed to be here.”

Eleven blinks in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think it’s fate for me to have met you. Because it means I get to save you. Wouldn’t you want to be free?”

Eleven blinks rapidly, putting her hands over her ears. “No, no. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’m sorry. No escaping. No!”

The picture frames on the walls began to clatter against the wall.

“Eleven?” You stare at her in horror as she continues to plea and beg for you to stay.

You don’t know what to do so you simply wrap your arms around her, holding her tight until she begins to stop crying. She ceases her cries, going limp in your arms as you cradle her.

When you felt a presence coming towards your room, you worried it was Papa and you expected him to question Eleven’s distraught state. But One enters the room, concern on his face when he scans the room to see the picture frames slowing their movements then looks over at you and Eleven hugging.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“It’s nothing,” You say. “I just scared her. That’s all.”

“Eleven, it’s time to go to bed. Papa will come around to tuck you into bed soon so please say goodnight to Belle.”

She reluctantly pulls away from you, whispering a soft goodnight then exits the room. One stands in the middle of the room stiff and proper, staring daggers at you.

“Are you aware of what you’d just done?”

“Are you always this stoic?” You mutter.

“I’m only doing what I have to do. You should do the same,” He strides over to you, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “I told you if you’re going to survive, you need to adapt. Killing yourself isn’t going to help this situation.”

“And how so? If I’m dead, I wouldn’t have to deal with you or that insane man.”

“You don’t realize what you’ll leave behind once you do,” For the first time, you can see fear in his blue eyes. The moonlight shining in them enhances his emotions. He looks strikingly beautiful, face chiseled despite the light being so dim. You’re enamored by him. “You don’t just die and that’s it. Eleven and I will face the wrath of Papa if you do so. I won’t let you die. Call me ‘selfish’ but I’ve been good enough to not be punished and I don’t need you ruining that for me.”

“You have no control over me. None of you do. I rather die than live in this nightmare. I can’t do this!”

“Do you know that it was Eleven who’d found you submerged underwater? She couldn’t see you through the milk & rose water, not until she reached in to drain the tub and felt a foot. She would have screamed at the top of her lungs but she knew what Papa would’ve done to us all.” Your facial expression softens, feeling truly horrible that she had to see such a thing. He continues. “If you don’t adapt, you don’t survive. But if you choose not to get along, that’s fine. I don’t mind whatever happens to you as long as I don’t have to get punished for it.”

“Maybe you’re okay with being a bitch boy and all because you don’t want to get hurt but at least I’ve got the balls to do something about it. So…Fuck. You.”

“I’m going to give you such a hard time.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

His face twists into a furious snarl, getting on his feet to leave when your hand reaches for his on their own accord.

He’s caught by surprise, frozen in position as he looks down at the contact. You pull him down to be seated once more and he does so without hesitation.

One studies your face for an answer.

“What’s your name?” You ask, dropping the hostilities.

“One.” He says.

“Your real name.”

“That’s my real name.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the only name I could recall.”

“What about your life before this?”

“I can’t remember that either,” He sighs. “What does it matter anyway?”

“Because,” You scoot closer to him. “I feel like maybe we’ve met before.”

“You’re mistaken.” He tries to stand again but you place your hands on his shoulders, seating him.

“I dreamt of a boy in a field of daisies and dandelions. I couldn’t make out his face. He was only a silhouette but I knew he was smiling at me. And he was happy to see me. If I could just find some connection to all of this in my life—”

“You have to let go of those fantasies. They’ll only give you false hope and drive you mad.”

You grew upset, turning your head away from his gaze. “I am mistaken. The boy in my fantasy actually smiled at me. You don’t even have the decency to tell me you’re sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being okay with this! For doing everything he says.”

“You’re as daft as you look,” He growls. “You think I want to play these silly games. We don’t have a choice! So again…if you want to survive, you have to adapt. Unless you’d like to end up like the others.”

“T-there were o-others?”

“Of course, there were others. He’ll stop at nothing for the perfect family. I’m a permanent member of this family. So is Eleven. But you… ‘Belle’… are expendable,” He whispers darkly, eyes wide with innocence despite his chilling words. “Papa dreams of a perfect family to be in his image that he’s dreamt for years. And losing another new addition will mean nothing more to him than a piece of torn paper.”

You swallow hard, chest rising and falling heavily. “How many were there…before me?”

He opens his mouth to speak only to be cut of by the sound of a door shutting. One’s eyes bug out in horror.

“That’s Papa. He’s just left his study. I must go before he sees us like this,” He picks up the rope tied to the bars of the bed frame. “I have to tie you up.”

“No,” You plead. “You can’t please. It hurts.”

“Until you gain his trust, it’ll be this way. I already told you that you’re expendable. Don’t do anything stupid and risk losing your life. If you want to survive…

“I have to adapt,” You finish with a groan of annoyances. “I know. I know. Just tied me up already. I don’t care to fight anymore.”

Peter slowly loops the rope around your limps and you could actually feel him holding back on tightening the rope.

Leans down to whisper in your ear. “Don’t give up fighting just yet. If you still have a shred of something to live for then you must hang on to it.”

He lifts his head to stare into your eyes and you see that he genuinely meant what he said. You were surprised but nodded nonetheless. He quietly slips from your room leaving you in the chilly, eerily quiet space alone.

Every footstep you heard outside your door terrified you knowing that it was Papa. Any moment and he’d be walking through the door just to harass you in some way. You couldn’t bear to have him touch you but you knew it was only inevitable.

To reduce the surprise of his presence, you counted each thud of his foot in order to determine how far he was from reaching your door. It did little to lower your anxiety as each footstep grew closer and closer in sound until you heard him halt right out your door.

You tremble against the mattress as the door slowly creaks ajar. Then, you see him. The tall, lanky silhouette of your captor standing in the door frame. He steps up and the moonlight washes over his features. He has a soft smile.

“Hello, Belle.”

You don’t speak anticipating his next move. What was he planning to do? You were already tied up. He could do whatever he pleased in his bound state and with each footstep, you began to cower even more at this very fact.

He takes a seat beside you, shushing you as you whimper and tremble. He brings a large hand to your head, smoothing your hair down.

“I didn’t come to hurt you, my dear. I only want to comfort you. You’ve disobeyed me plenty today and yet I can’t help it. I must ease your nerves,” He whispers, fingers now caressing your tear-stained cheek. “Tell me what must I do to make you love me.”

You shake your head. “I could never love you.”

“That’s not something I can believe, Belle. You wouldn’t be selling your body on the street if you weren’t craving for someone to love you. And I love you, Belle. With time, you’ll love me, too,” He leans over you as you press your head back against your pillow. “Until then, I will be patient. I will wait for you to come around. Then, we’ll begin our journey as a happy family.”

He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and you do everything in your power to keep from rubbing at it in defiance and disgust. He moves his lips to your bound wrist, sliding the rope down enough to place another kiss on the deep indentation of the rope against your skin. He takes a thumb to rub at it before bringing the rope over it again.

“Do I get a kiss goodnight?” He asks, bringing his face over yours again and turning his face to the side. “On the cheek, of course.”

You face away, snapping your head to the side to face the antique wallpaper. He looks down at you and sighs, hands on either side of your head. He inches them closer to your hair sprawled out around you, weaving his fingers in the strands of your hair and gripping hard. You gasp in pain, staring up at him with widened eyes.

“You need to sleep off this rebellious attitude. I say by morning you’ll be more well-behaved,” His lips are inches away from yours, tone icy. “Have a good night…Belle.”

He pulls away from you leaving you struggling between holding your breath and hyperventilating as he exits ‘your room’.

You coil your body in fetal position, crying softly into the night. You couldn’t see yourself falling asleep anytime soon. Not when he was around possibly waiting for a moment to take advantage of your sleeping state.

You let your mind drift again, far away from here and back to the field of daisies with the boy who made you feel safe. Slowly your eyes begin to blink close allowing yourself to hold the image of him holding out his hand to you.

—————

The next day, you were discouraged to realize that the torment that you were experiencing had not been a dream. You were awoken by the blonde haired man who still carried resentment towards you for your little stunt last night.

While he helped you out of bed, you couldn’t help staring into his face. It was no surprise he carried no emotions. He was likely desensitized to everything around him. He probably was once like the little girl Eleven, bright-eyed and innocent, until he was not.

You pitied him. And maybe that was displayed on your face because he had a few choice words for you.

“Why are you staring at me like this?”

“Like how?”

“Like you feel sorry for me. Like I’m weak.”

“I do feel sorry for you,” You admit. “You have no recollection of your life before this. You have no name other than a number. And you’re treated as if you are a child.”

“I don’t need your pity,” One scoffs. You take his hand and he’s taken aback once again at the sudden contact. “You’re always touching me. Don’t you know the basic rules of keeping your hands to yourself.”

“No one has ever followed that rule for me. Why should I be the only one to follow it? I think you want me to touch you,” You said, intertwining your fingers with his. “I think…you still have a heart and you’re seeking compassion and companionship. You want me to convince you to fight. You and I are both victims of our situation. But we shouldn’t let it drive our complacency. We could escape. The three of us.”

His ocean eyes shine with shock as if you’d read what was on his mind. He quickly snaps back to reality, pulling his hand away. “You’re a foolish woman. Your bravado will be your downfall.”

“You can try and pretend like you don’t want to run! But I know the truth and I’ve seen it in your eyes. I won’t waste my energy fighting to stay alive here like you want me to,” You say while staring up in his eyes with a newfound courageous spirit. “I know what I’m fighting for now and it doesn’t end with me being here.”

The two of you keep up your heated gazes until the door pushes open and Eleven enters the room giddily.

“Brother! Sister!” Eleven squeals giddily. “Papa says that he’ll allow us to go outside after breakfast! He says that he felt truly awful for ending family game night the way it did and so as an apology, we can play out in the field.”

“That’s splendid, El! Sister and I will be expressing our gratitude to Papa very soon. Could you please let him know that we’ll be there soon?” One says.

“Yes!” She says with a bright smile before scurrying out the room.

One brings his lips to your ears for a raspy, threatening whisper. “I’ll see to it that you’ll be on your best behavior unless you wish to be punished for real this time.”

He pulls away and gives you that famous eerie yet innocent smile. “Don’t be too late for breakfast.” And with that, he leaves you in the room alone as you seethe quietly at his unwavering demeanor.

————

Breakfast felt surprisingly normal. Papa read his newspapers, Eleven colored away in her coloring book, you and One were consistently staring dagger at one another. It creeped you out but that didn’t matter at all to you.

You’ll finally get to go out there and make a run for it. You even ate all your breakfast hoping that it’d give you the necessary energy to run for your life.

Papa looks away from his newspaper to watch you in astonishment. “Wow, look at you, Belle. It seems you’ve developed quite the appetite. And Eleven, it’s not good to color at the table. We’re meant to be eating breakfast, remember?”

“Sorry, papa.”

“You’re very much excused, love. I understand that you’re eager to hurry outside. I guess I could just let you three catch the rays of the sun right now. Is that what you’d like?”

“Yes!” One and Eleven say in unison.

“And you, Belle?” Papa says, focusing his attention on you.

You smile brightly and nod. “Y-yes.”

“Wonderful,” He beams. “Alright, let’s go outside.”

You could almost cry tears of joy. Freedom was only within a reach away. He stands to his feet and you all follow after him as he heads over to the door padded with locks upon locks.

He pulls out a keychain filled with various keys from his pocket and begins unlocking the door. When he gets to the last lock, your smile widens as the door swings open and the sun pours in.

It was in the middle of nowhere, a house in the middle of the woods. There’s a chance you could get lost but that mattered not. As long as you can get away, you’ll figure out a way home after.

The house was also surrounded by tall metal fences, fences laced with barbed wire at the top. It was intimidating and deterring but not enough to scare you.

The field’s quite beautiful. He has his own garden and crops to grow. Possibly to reduce the amount of trips to the grocery store. You could see an apple tree with a tire swing hanging from the thick branch.

Eleven is the first to exit the home, barefoot with her frilly blue and white dress blowing in the wind as she twirled and jumped around.

One is next, his excitement a lot more contained as he heads straight for the garden. He begins to tend to the crops.

Lastly, you take a barefooted step onto the creaky porch, antsy at the startling sound which causes you to bump into Papa. He chuckles, amused by your anxious state.

“Run along, Belle. Enjoy your time outside. I’ll be in my study but we’ll see each other very soon.”

You blink up at him then back at the picturesque field. He was wrong. He wouldn’t be seeing you. But if there’s one command from him that you’ll find yourself listening to…you will very well ‘run along’.

————

You need to figure out just how you will get to the other side of this fence without being shocked to death.

“Don’t even think about,” One says, bumping your shoulder with his as he follows your eyes to the barbed wire fence. “You’ll have yourself killed.”

“I thought you didn’t care what happened to me.” You mutter.

“I don’t long as I’m not in the middle of it.”

“Then, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Whatever. It’s your funeral.” He huffs, retreating back to his garden. You should be ignoring him and focusing on more pressing matters but you watch him as he cups his hands carefully around the leaf of a plant.

You zero in only to find that he held a small tarantula in his hands. You squeak your horror.

“Why do you have that?”

“Why do you care?” He counters.

“You’re more of a child than I thought.” You say, rolling your eyes.

He gives in. “I like spiders. Everyone looks down on them because they’re ‘creepy’. Much like me, I, too, couldn’t appease the masses. I’ve been told that I’m strange. Unnerving like my eight-legged comrades. I was never normal. But why would I want to be, anyway? All humans care for is fulfilling their own selfish desires. Sex…money…violence…anything of the flesh. But what I desire…not many are willing to admit. I desire power.”

“You’re right about that,” You say much to his surprise. “Everyone I’ve met has only ever wanted those things from me. The men who used my body, the man who sells my body for profit, the violence that follows me where I go. I want power, too. If I had the power, just this once, I’d get my revenge on them all. Including your Papa.”

He’s moved by this, smirking with pride. “You’re not the dumb bunny I thought you were.”

The corner of your lips twitch in a vicious sneer. “I’d hurt you, too. I’d hurt anyone who hurt me.”

He nods, slinking the hairy spider back and forth in his hands and between his fingers. “You’re entitled to those feelings, bunny.”

“Bunny? Is that what you’ll be calling me from now on?”

“I think so. It suits you well. Hopping around dangerously and frantically only to be swallowed whole by the cunning fox. You’re only prey here. That’s all you’ll ever be. Power isn’t reserved for prey. That’s just wasteful.”

“I’ll prove you wrong.” You hiss, stomping away from him.

You pace back and forth, hands in your hair and thinking hard when you feel a small hand tug at your white nightgown.

You looked down to see Eleven with a smile on her face, waving for you to come along with her. “I have something to show you.”

“Not now, dear. I—-“

“Oh, it’ll be so quick. I promise.” She says, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to come around the back.

She halts in her tracks at a distance, then points forward and you look in her pointed direction. There’s a brown wild bunny hopping away in the cunning fox’s cage.

Eleven gets on her knees and gestures for you to follow her as the two of you crawl as close as possible to the bunny. She pulls out an apple from her small pocket, taking a bite so that she has a piece of apple to feed to the bunny. She hands the apple over to you, wanting you to do the same.

“That way the bunny will get to decide who she feels comfortable going to.” Eleven explains.

You repeat the process of biting into the apple for a chunk to provide to the bunny. Then, you hear it. The chimes gently sounding off in the winds. The bunny hops towards you and you and Eleven stare in awe at the creature as it makes its way to your offering.

It nibbles for a moment, your eyes staring into its own like you’ve formed a connection. Eleven sneezes and it startles the bunny, causing it to scamper off and under the barbed wire fence.

“I’m sorry.” Eleven says, disappointed.

But you had a revelation. It wasn’t that you needed to go over the fence. It was under the entire time.

Score: 1 for the ‘dumb bunny’.

[crescentmoonrider]

Truth

At six years old Ranta already understands the truth of this world and the lie of the clan. At nine, he knows how he will die. For the prompt : All of the Other Reindeer [@badthingshappenbingo]

read on AO3

or under the Read More, I'm not your boss

.

At six years old Ranta already knows the truth of this world : it isn’t the strong that survive and live well, but the ones lucky enough to be born up high.

Dad had the pitiful technique of a man from the lower branch and died pitifully before Ranta could even remember him. Mom broke her neck falling down the stairs going up to the compound, and it was another servant that found her body.

Ranta’s hands were too small and clumsy at the time to properly hold the chopsticks and put her bones in the urn. He doesn’t remember where her ashes are now.

Ranta is six and carrying trays and laundry to the main house, watching the lucky ones parade around in rich clothes that don’t fray and don’t look or feel rough at all.

Only Zen’in are sorcerers, and only sorcerers are human, and only the strong deserve to live – and yet Ranta barely feels human and still thinks that he doesn’t want to die.

Ranta’s technique is weak and useless, he knows this because dad had the same and still died, and because branch kids are nothing but dog meat sacrificed to keep the main line alive.

Only the Ten Shadows matters, and everyone else lives and dies only for his sake.

Ranta is six and knows he will die like dad, like mom, pathetic and worthless. He has no reason to expect anything else.

He is six when the head of Hei comes to watch a demonstration of the lower branch’s techniques, barely paying any attention as he drinks his sake. Jin’ichi-sama is only here for the sake of tradition, for the sake of pretending it is strength that matters and not only how close to power you are born. Everyone knows it.

Everyone knows it, and that’s why no one expects it when he calls Ranta up to him and says : “You have potential.”

Ranta’s nose is bleeding from overexertion, because he is weak and lacks training, and he can’t tell if his face flushes and his sight blurs from effort, or from the awe of seeing Jin’ichi-sama look down upon him in approval, and feeling his large hand envelop Ranta’s head like he imagines dad would have.

After this, Ranta is moved closer to the main house, stops carrying trays and laundry that aren’t exclusively Jin’ichi-sama’s, starts wearing clothes that feel soft against his skin. He trains under Jin’ichi-sama when he isn’t serving him, and each little word of encouragement, each warm touch on his shoulder or his head feels like one of the blessings he wasn’t born with.

Still, he doesn’t forget the truth of this world : the lucky ones are the ones who get to survive, and Jin’ichi-sama is simply sharing his own luck with Ranta now.

Without him, Ranta would be nothing.

It isn’t the strong that live well, he knew and still knows, and will forever know. If it was, the ghost he first heard of back in the lowest house wouldn’t be a curse in and of himself, and Jin’ichi-sama wouldn’t have ever felt the need to set his eyes on Ranta.

The ghost of the main family is a child two years older, who stares at Ranta with the anger of a vengeful spirit, and stands lower than Ranta ever used to, even though he lives in the main house.

He is strong, too. Jin’ichi-sama trains Ranta to support him, Ranta keeping the target immobile while Jin’ichi-sama crushes it at full power, the perfect helping hand to a technique that lacks in finesse and accuracy (Jin’ichi-sama’s words) – Toji needs none of this. Toji is fast and strong, accurate and powerful, all on his own.

Toji has no cursed energy.

Ranta thought himself worthless, and yet next to Toji his existence means the world to the clan, and to Jin’ichi-sama. Toji isn’t really a human, a person, a son. Toji is nothing except strong.

And yet, and yet, the lie of the Zen’in keeps on going that the only thing that matters is strength, and that is why the strongest sorcerer is the head of Hei, and the Ten Shadows will always be the head of the clan.

It isn’t that Ranta feels pity for Toji, it isn’t, either, that he hates him as much as Toji resents him. Something just feels wrong, is all. Or maybe not wrong, but odd. Uneven.

Ranta owes his current life to Toji’s curse, but he cannot be grateful. Cannot show any kindness, doesn’t have any reason to either because Toji is mean, to everyone and especially to Ranta, but he is also the only kid around the same age who isn’t one of Naobito’s horrible sons and it’s not that Ranta is lonely, he isn’t, cannot be when Jin’ichi-sama is so kind to him, but… but…

He doesn’t want to lose his place in the world.

It’s all that matters, this, and Jin’ichi-sama looking at him like dad would have. Ranta will do anything for this.

When Ranta is nine years old, Jin’ichi-sama’s wife dies.

He has never met her, she kept herself locked inside her room ever since giving birth to a defective child, but he knows Jin’ichi-sama loved her, or he would have divorced her back then.

Jin’ichi-sama doesn’t come to train the next day, doesn’t call Ranta to serve him either.

Ranta goes anyway.

He couldn’t get mom’s bones into the urn properly when she died, forgot where her ashes are. He doesn’t want Jin’ichi-sama to feel as lonely as he did back then.

When he reaches the main house from the courtyard, Toji is standing outside, glaring at Ranta like he expected him, like he’s been watching Ranta cross the garden from the start and Ranta just didn’t notice it. Maybe that’s the case.

“Go away,” Toji says. “He won’t train you today,” he says. Like Ranta is a stupid child who doesn’t even understand this much.

“I’m not here to train.”

“Go away,” Toji repeats. “We’re,” he catches himself, “he’s in mourning. You’re not family, so don’t come in.”

It’s a lie. They’re all Zen’in, even Toji, even someone who isn’t even a person. For some reason, Ranta doesn’t want to let him be mean today. Doesn’t want to hear those specific words.

“I want to present my condolences. I’m not leaving.”

He takes a step forward. So does Toji, grabbing Ranta’s collar and dragging him back, before throwing him onto the ground.

Ranta barely has the time to understand what happened before Toji punches him. And then he doesn’t have the time to understand anything anymore, except that it hurts and Toji is angry and shouting and straddling Ranta to hit him more.

“I told you” hit “to go” hit “away.”

Hit.

“No one wants you here !” Toji shouts at one point. “It’s all your fault ! You ruined everything !”

Ranta can’t even raise his hands to defend himself, much less speak up. He just lies here, taking in the punches and the words, and the emotion in Toji’s eyes that he recognizes for the first time.

It’s fear.

It’s always been fear.

The hail of hits stops as Toji is dragged up to his feet, and Ranta watches as Toji tries to explain himself and begs for his father to forgive him, panicked and hurried and so unlike himself.

It doesn’t stop the heavy blow he receives though, hard enough to make him keel over and throw up.

“I have no son,” Jin’ichi-san says in a cold, dead voice Ranta never heard from him before.

It scares him.

It scares him, too, when he doesn’t see Toji for a week after, when Jin’ichi-san doesn’t say where he took him.

It scares him when he finally understands, watching the doors to the underground training area open and feeling none of the cursed energy that should emanate from the numerous curses held within it.

Watching Toji slowly limp his way out, covered in blood and gaping wounds, with eyes so empty Ranta feels himself lose his footing and fall somewhere he doesn’t belong anymore.

At nine years old, Ranta understands the truths of this world : it isn’t the strong that get to live well, but the ones that are born lucky. Toji is the strongest of the Zen’in, and one day he will take revenge on them all, and he will kill them all with no struggle and no qualms. And when he takes Ranta’s life, then…

Ranta thinks he will deserve it.

[quill-of-thoth]

Due to a family game of telephone, my mom told me yesterday morning on the way to a family graduation that my cousin's in-laws' giant "service" dog is part wolf. Mom has always been kinda nervous around him, because he is the size of a small pony and extremely serious... and her mental picture of me is apparently of me at seven flinging myself bodily on every large dog I have the good fortune to see. In reality, this dog, who I see at baseball games sometimes, provides the "service" of obsessively guarding my cousin's mother-in-law. He assigned himself this job, and cannot be persuaded to stop. But it' genuinely helping the mother in-law, who is getting up there and starting to get frail. She got him the leash that says service dog before she recently got on oxygen, so people would stop asking to pet him because he's an abused rescue with a mouth large enough to do serious damage. And because he looks mostly like a german shepherd (size holy fucking direwolf,) and people are stupid. He also prevents crowds from knocking her over with her oxygen tank and cane, by dint of clearing a two to four foot wide halo around her with his glare. They're training him to fetch another human if she takes a fall, or at least trying to. It isn't going well, because he has an objection to leaving her unguarded. He will politely ignore other dogs, all preteen children, and the vast majority of women. Men are considered acceptable if they act calm and introduce themselves properly. Since I am no longer seven, my relationship with this extra large canine is that he arrives at an event, makes a growly little grumble at me to remind me that he is a bodyguard and I better remember it, then smells my hand and lets me pet him as long as he can keep an eye on his principal. You can bury your hand up to the wrist in his fur if he has decided you are an acceptable companion for his principal, so I did not necessarily question my mom's assertion that he was part wolf, because she said it came from a genetics test (so it could be a good few generations back) and also because after whatever trauma was in his previous life, someone hauled him to the animal shelter from fuck-nowheresville Wyoming. Where most people searching for a dog looked at him, staring at them, not wagging, and thought, like our prehistoric ancestors "If I'm gonna feed that thing, it's going to be strictly so he never gets hungry enough to bother trying to eat ME." My cousin's mother in law came in, in her bird-boned five nothing frame, and thought "he's perfect" and named him Panzer. Yes, she named him tank, but in German. (She also thought he was the Andre the giant of german shepherds.) Her husband looked at him walking out at her heel, and thought "it's been five minutes and that dog worships my wife and might be smarter than half my relatives" and gave in to the inevitable. Panzer treats him as the only acceptable substitute guardian for his principal, the queen of rescue dogs, which is the highest honor any man is gonna get from him. According to Panzer, her son and grandsons are mere servants of the queen. Trusted, but not sworn to her defense. Others (daughters in law, children, other old ladies with booze, assorted distant relatives) are allowed to petition the queen, with the strict understanding that bribing him with taco meat won't get him to change his vigil: He'll just take any bribe you're stupid enough to give him and get back to work. So at my cousin's kid's graduation party today, I sat on the stoop, nearly elbow deep in Panzer's ruff fur, thinking of gallusrostromegalus' wolfdog stories. I decided that Panzer's wolfy ancestor must be at least a couple generations back, and went back to chatting with the old ladies who were either gossiping, or heckling the teenage boys playing bags. One of my other cousins' kids barreled in, bearing a lizard for me to photograph, and Panzer inspected the lizard, found it harmless, and returned to his stoic watch. "Oh yeah," I said to the queen of rescue dogs, once I finished my duty as lizard paparazzo and the lizard was released from the red carpet, "My mom tells me you had a genetics test done on Panz. She said he was german shepherd and sheepdog and something else?" "Oh yes, he's German Shepherd, some kind of balkan sheepdog, and Czechloslovakian Wolfhound."

Needless to say, I teased my mother for confusing Wolfhound with Wolf dog half of the ride home. Before we left, Panzer reminded me that I should bring the queen food based tribute, and that he was her official food taster.

[diorncoke]

I think I’ll keep you here in my arms forever ୧⋆｡🔑

˚⋆ ☽ °˖ summary: reader never thought her life would become something more than just being a sick teenager with a rare skin disorder. she definitely didn’t expect to have one of the most potent aliens on the planet to be fond of her.

˚⋆ 🕊️°✩⋆ authors note: i ran to write this because, my goodness, does it make sense lmao:,) — word count: 3.1k

🛸 characters: transformers: rise of the beasts:, unicron, / x black! fem! little! reader ♡

🛸 content warning(s): no set plot line, mentions of wounds, descriptions of skin issues, talks of money problems, the word ¡slave! used on multiple occasions, bottle feedings, cuddles, fluff, littles are knowledgeable, cliche asf ;) — third person pov!

🛸 before reading: her dress & bottle, https://pin.it/fvoSBYJ , https://pin.it/2pSc9aG

🫧*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Reader twiddles her sandal-covered toes in the passenger seat of her older brother's car. He had come into this vehicle from doing some underground work. He never told her anything except his adrenaline rush when he begged the wheel in said car. Sitting in the same car, she pushed her tiny fingers against the dashboard, feeling relaxed from the vents tingling against her red patch.

The siblings sat in the parking area of their apartment complex where their mother lay sleeping, for goddess knows how long her shift would be in the morning. Taking care of a sick child who didn’t even have enough mental energy to do online school, let alone get a full-time job to support her family. She hates watching her brother hold a simple cup of coco milk that he crushed her medicine in—in comparison, rushing to put breakfast on the table for their mom. All she was was a burden.

The rain hit the windows of the vehicle, watching the raindrops race against one another in her mind. Secretly she hoped one of the rights won against the other raindrop. She smiled as she cheered loudly in her head.

The excitement died, feeling small patches were highlighter red and hurt like a semi-truck hitting a Honda. Taking a sharp breath intake feeling her stomach cramp from another patch forming from the a/c being too uncool. It wasn’t something she wanted to state to her brother, all he wanted to do was help, and she was complaining about it not being good enough.

“Come here.” Noah carefully lifted the reader from the passenger side, grimacing at how light the teen felt. God, when had she lost all this weight? He could feel her ribs through his shirt. He knew the girl ate - he made sure of it. Constantly bombarding her with snacks and bottles of Ensure - he knew sometimes the meds did weird things to her metabolism and eating patterns, but she still should have had more meat on her bones.

The chilled feeling of his leather jacket hitting her delicate skin felt lovely. She could take a nap right here in the arms of her protector. Her bony arms found their way against his shoulders, giving him a cold hug with all the strength she could.

“You’re being cute. What’d you do?” Noah chuckled, feeling her ruffle her fingers against their similar hair between her fingers. She fought back a smile from underneath her chin, even though she was terrible at hiding it. Her nose scrunched, feeling him twiddle his fingers underneath her lip. Knowing each crevice of her face would make her giggle and give up her wants.

“Just missed you.” Noah smiled quietly, knowing she had seen it anyways. He distracted himself by placing his large hand on her stomach to lift the remaining texture up and away from her irritated skin.

“Feels good?” He questioned, holding her head against his chest with a soft kiss against it.

“Mmhm. The car is pretty. Did you name them?” Reader answered sweetly, rubbing her fingers against the roof of the car. There was something so pretty about the car. It was like a shiner new toy from the store. It was outshining her old ones in her toy chest.

She had never been inside something so expensive in her life. With her skin condition, a cooling feeling helped her hives calm themselves down tremendously. But with being low income, they couldn’t afford an a/c. Let alone a proper one.

Unknown to her, Noah felt that his new accompanied friend could form an a/c high enough to cool her inflamed stomach and arms. Causing such a connection exposed something he didn’t think he expected.

Abruptly the car shook forwards, and the feeling of the car they comfortably resided in came apart. The interior shifted from a two-door vehicle into small metal compartments that slowly pushed the siblings outside of it. The force of the movement made each of their heads shake harshly, though it was the last thing on her mind.

The being in front of her stood at least 20 feet tall. Though it seemed this one was bent over laughing at who knows what. All it caused was her to hide behind her brother, though she still peaked at the blue and silver thing. Her ( eye colour) eyes squinted, gazing between Noah and the metal action figure. The reader could almost tell he seemed annoyed. Did he know this strange-looking thing that was not from around here? And why didn’t he tell her?

She still curled into a tight ball peaking at the transformed being before her. She could feel her skin break out in hives from the beaded sweat on her neck. Noah’s senses were on overdrive seeing his little sister grimace in pain. He knew that his new friend didn’t mean any harm to her or knew of her condition. But seeing her in the state wasn’t something he could ever get used to.

“Dude!”

“Aw shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to scare the little lady.” Mirage looked upon a delicate being in the arms of his newly founded friend. Noah offered her comfort, allowing himself to haul his hands in her curls, though still shaking ever so slightly. She winced initially but didn’t move her hand away from his touch in discomfort or resistance. Relaxing against her brother's touch, it was no wonder why Mirage interrupted their moment.

“It tickled.” The action figure pouted while kicking a small rock in between his foot. Noah looked down at his sister, forcing her to push her figure out before the transformer. Out of all the metal things he had met, Mirage would be the last one on his list to hard him or his little sister.

“Hi.” Reader grimaced against her tightly closed teeth. Her hands twiddle behind her silk pyjamas, cranking her neck upwards to him. She wasn’t one to hold a grudge, especially against someone who could crush her with their foot. Plus, he looked so sweet.

🌿🫧*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The reader didn’t know how she had gotten captured by such a feared hunter in the universe. She had taken her time walking in the cage with Noah and Elena. She was running her hands on the symbols she had recognized. The low light area turned froze with anxiety when one of Scourge’s pets ran across the wall she stood against. All she felt was one of his paws embedded in her skin, coated in her blood.

The harsh sandy beds embellished her tanned skin, and she felt its mouth hovering over her neck before biting down harshly. Her voice squeaked, feeling the puncture wounds wheeze throughout her voice. Her eyes filled with tears before they fell on her cheeks, feeling the teeth pressed harder with each movement it made. Her forehead beaded with sweat, thinking of her life flashing over her eyes once more. She thought it would be her own body, but it was clear that she had new friends that she was fond of. They came ones that could kill her with a flick of their wrist.

“Noah!” She screamed the best she could, knowing the creature pressed on her voice box. It was a childish cry that couldn’t distinguish between a crow. She felt herself become limb against the creature's teeth, knowing any more movement could paralyze her. Her mind hyper-focused on her breathing, and she had her to notice the creature had pulled her outside, clearly making its way to its owner.

But nothing was more scary than being forcefully placed in an unknown environment with no time to adapt.

Unicron didn’t quite understand what was compelling him to be so gentle to this young girl presented in front of him. Maybe it was because she previously held the key against her chest like a teddy bear floating above the environment he only used for his slaves he wrongfully surrendered to abuse. His gears winced, thinking she had known of this like the thought of seeing her hating or disliking him would make him perish. Something about her tugged heartstrings he didn’t know he had.

“Come here, little one.” He watched the being they called (name) present her face towards him, hearing the chilling soft voice he used on her. He hated how his slave pushed the little thing to her knees before she could process what he had called upon her. The sight made him want to inflict complete charge pain on this Scourge who dared to push her to the ground. She could only wince, feeling the robot push his metal fingers into her shoulders while tears and heat coursed throughout her body. In her short time, she loved the feeling of her new friend's metal, but the robot beside her felt cold in a mean way. His energy made hers melt.

“Unhand her.” Not a second later, scourge did, placing his hands behind him like he was trained to do. The energy around her seemed lighter as he lifted her with his mind softly from her kneeled position. However, she seemed scared to look into his eyes, obviously from the interaction with his slaves in such a short time. He heard her sniffle while she put her hands in front of her. Patches of brutal red formed on her skin like they did the first time he watched his subjects claw at her at the lab. She was sick, her body almost gawking at her flesh.

Looking behind, seeing the world turn to standard colours around her shocked her. The surroundings she had once known weren’t something she could get used to. The air felt thinner; each breath felt like the half it did when she was on earth. The skin that surrounded her insides didn’t feel like they were her own, almost replaced by someone she didn’t recognize. She wished she listened to her brother when he said to stay in the safe house in Peru. She knew she would need it as she spent the majority of her bed rest exploring ancient relics of a time before jokes even commenced. It was something she had always been fascinated with.

And to think of her situation, she would die in her room scrolling through the web.

“What brings you here?” Unicron questioned, knowing his eyes fought to leave the deeply embedded skin on her neck.

“The scary spider thingy,” Reader added a quick sir at the end to ensure the safety. Her neck broke out in hives feeling sweat from her hair touching her neck form. The robot was just as intimidating as her mother, throwing a chancla six feet away and still reaching her. Her gaze barely met the beings, mostly keeping her head down, moving them occasionally towards Scourge.

“Do not fear us. Come closer.” Unicron’s voice softened much more, sweetening his native tongue towards her. He constructed a hand to show what he was doing. The all-powerful couldn’t help but move the little one towards his with the slightest flick of his wrist. His heart pounded in his chest, and he watched her come forward, entering his space. The scent of a human heart formed the same way he did in his ears. She smelled of medical crème and the mixture of honey and flowers that prickled her tiny fingers. The same ones she ran against her patched arms. She was nervous.

Her floating figure was the size of one of his fingers. The sight almost made his heart flutter. The sight of her was something so regular yet intense. Eternal, beyond the universe, beyond his galaxies of worlds he had concurred and destroyed with the same hand he placed her softly onto the very pad of his metal hand. The delicate touch of her flowery salmon dress pooling against it swirled his world in a colour scheme he had yet to see in his world. The tiniest/largest of curls popped each time her twitched eyes did while looking upwards towards him as her braided pigtails flapped against her (hair length) sweetly.

“I do not mean to interrupt you, Master. But she must be going back now. Her human friends are destroying everything we built to find her.” Scourge grimaced, knowing the man did not like being interrupted or spooked out of turn. He flinched before feeling the pulsating electricity that stroked his nerves heavily. Though he never actually felt it. His eyes opened, feeling his master form himself into a much smaller self to play with what the humans called a little. He would soon only be four feet higher than himself. It will be a sight for sore eyes. For once, he was not withering over in pain.

“Let them. She will be of no harm.” His formed face picked up what they called a smile. Feeling her hand touch each crevice of his hand. A small giggle coming from her chest warmly filled his ears as they twitched towards the sound.

“Excuse me, sir.” Unicron flicked his eyes toward the little one in his palm. The quiet politeness of her tiny voice was utterly sweet. Reader hesitantly looked upwards to the eyes of the robot while twiddling with her thumbs. Watching the light press of her dimples showing underneath that beautiful tanned skin, he fell in love with her. The nagging feeling of not being watched so inventively by someone she wasn’t close to. She was left with a nauseating feeling in her stomach. Or maybe it was because the air change left her lightheaded and hungry. The tiniest of grumbles coming from her belly notified him of her hunger.

“Yes?” His voice silkily lost all of the roughness in his throat.

“I in no way mean to bother you. Of course. But maybe I could have something to eat. Sir.” She felt uneasy in the silence that came after her sentence. Swallowing thickly, she felt the hairs on her neck stand up, watching the robot adjust his posture closer to her. It was the thought of his twitching ears that made her feel comfortable enough to ask. He notes that he shall do it more often.

Though the nervous demeanour didn’t last for long, the reader watched the man fumble to his knees slowly in approaching her space. Leaving a rumble from his weight, she wafted her nose in his calming scent of sandalwood and metal. It was as refreshing as rain hitting her window, watching it closely while she smothered herself with plushies.

Though it was unknown to her, the robot made her a meal with his mind. The all-powerful being had yet to commence himself to being small enough to place her in the crevice of his lap and, at the same time, doing so, still at least four feet taller than (your height) girl. Unicron gave the universe the slightest smile as she became the size of a toddler rather than a pebble on his palm.

Floating over the pair was a baby blue co-bottle with an adult tip that was perfect for her. The contents inside were something the humans called angel milk. A tasty treat would be ideal for the grumbles of her little belly, hm?

“Baba?” Her voice was nothing less than sweet, pointing towards the milk bottle now in front of her face. Her eyes glistened like the diamond of a chandelier dangling from the top of the ceiling, pooling into her (eye colour) like it was always meant to. She could feel her mouth instantly melt to open to the exposure of a bottle. It was unknowingly something she had craved deep within her heart.

“You like?” Unicron appealed to her big eyes staring at the bottle. Not even questioning where it even came from, just that she wanted it quite severely.

“Scourge, leave us.” He demanded. His hard eyes watched the being bow before him before the portal between the two worlds closed.

He delicately picked the reader up; the metal fingers quickly chilled her patch. He watched the minor redness in the corner of her eyes with tiredness and hunger. The reader weighed almost nothing cradled in Unicron's large arm. He couldn’t imagine anything but living in this beautiful moment with her. He cooed, watching her lips wrap around its nipple eagerly. The sound of suckling on her milk while she looked into his deep and cold eyes only softened in the presence quickly.

“I am deeply sorry for my- um, friends and the way they treated you. I will fix this. For you, my sweat heart.” Unicron hesitated about using words not meant for such a small child. All he felt was himself using his other hand to push the small amounts of hair that fell into her face. Reader smiled against his finger, hearing words that were so simple yet powerful. The thought of ever leaving made her a little sad. She would have to enjoy being in his arms while it lasted.

Unicron began to bounce his knee, whispering sweet encouragements into her ear. Before he knew it, the world amongst him was slightly brighter. The feeling of a blanket coming into his universe wrapped around the little one in his arms. As well as sighting her flesh wounds beginning to layer among themselves, healing her completely.

Within a bit, she fell asleep in the arms of a powerful creature that torments people for a living. A tender smile pulled at his lips as a fond expression crossed his face. Leaning down, he allowed his hands to hover over her cheekbones. Then, closing the distance, he gently pressed his forehead against the readers. He was falling backwards against his throne. Relaxing.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Just as Unicron was about to pull himself into his soft bed, he felt his chest heavy — weird.

As he looked down, there she laid, his sweet baby angel. She was hiding her dainty arm up against his arm, gripping it tenderly. In contrast, her other hand was stuck in front of her mouth with her thumb sucking softly back and forth smoothly. She felt warm but not in a harmful way, tangles in her sulked sheets that caved the delicate scent she wished to devour whole. He felt himself unclench any forms of tension throughout his body. The jaw he clenched tightly, the creasing that showed in dents softened in sight of his little one.

They weren’t going to be taking his newly-founded baby any time soon.

🌿🫧*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I hope you enjoyed!! 💗

most recent rework — wednesday, august 2nd :)

[thorns-and-rosewings]

And here we have the third installment of the Reaper King AU 💀. Yeahhhh I love to write and I am so completely overdoing this, but honestly I am having a blast writing this silly thing. Hope y'all are enjoying this as well :)

TW: Same as before, touching on dark stuff but less in this part than the last. Still lots of mentions of murder.

Part 3

So this might be a sillier entry...

To describe the area these individuals live in, the main cavern is massive, with a towering ceiling and it serves as the main hub of where this whole weird family lives. It's entryway is pretty well concealed from the outside, one would actually need to know exactly where to look in order to find it as it blends into the mountainside almost perfectly. There are all sorts of assorted caves throughout the area that can lead back to this specific cavern, but it's like trying to find a way through the Minotaurs Maze if one doesn't know where they're going. Not to mention it does have some truly treacherous areas to it, such as sheer drops that are hundreds of feet straight down and extremely narrow and slick walkways.

The initial cavern is where the family keeps the larger things that they aquire, like generators and equipment as well as random things ripped from various RVs and campsites. Like a propane oven (That is only used for certain occasions to conserve the gas) a blender and two toasters. They have assembled a very comfortable living space here although its still definitely on the messier side.

In the center of this cave there's a large fire pit that is usually only lit for the roasting of meat, but also works for stews or s'mores, or if there's enough patience amongst the kids (And Bloodmoon) that they can wait and not eat their food raw.

...Which isn't all that often all things considered...

Essentially the main cavern is the family room. It's also where the main pack of Moon Wolves also uses as a den. There's also a section of wall they hung up a projector to watch movies on occasion. But scattered all throughout the main cave are hundreds of bones... Remains of past meals and also just the results of Bloodmoon having some fun killing sprees.

Branching off of this main cave are dozens of smaller tunnels that honeycomb the entire mountain. Some smaller shallower dead-end tunnels function as personal rooms or storage.

Now for the fun part... 😈

Bloodmoon actually LOVES the caves. He has built-in nightvision and he can see in total darkness, as can Killcode. One of Bloody's favorite things is finding out there are humans who plan on entering the cave systems. It's one of the only times he will patiently wait for his victims.

When he finds some idiots exploring the caverns he will always be watching from a distance. Steadily creeping closer and closer... The less experienced explorers are his favorites because often they get lost or don't pack enough flashlights or batteries. He waits patiently for his favorite part which has two variations...

When they decide to take pictures...

Or they break out their own nightvision cameras...

That's when Bloodmoon gets right up amongst the humans... Only to scare the life out of them when he's either seen in the photo or in the camera lens.

That's when the killing starts...

It's like the movie 'The Descent' only the monster can see perfectly fine and is laughing his head off while killing people.

He knows exactly where to chase the humans for a variety of kills. Gutting them himself, chasing them towards sheer drops with pointed stalagmites growing up from the floor, causing them to be impaled when they fall, drowning them in the underground waterways... He just has a blast.

Sometimes someone gets away, only to end up getting murked by another member of the family.

One guy was barely managing to outrun Bloodmoon barely managing to stay out of the way of the psychopaths claws...

He didn't look where he was going and ran into Killcodes scythe which was held at his necks level.

Bloodmoon: We almost broke our record for killing in the caves! Why did you intervene father?!

Killcode: (Unfazed, just picks up the severed head) Its breakfast time. I'm making pancakes, did you want brains in yours?

Bloodmoon: 🤩 Brain Pancakes! Brain Pancakes! We want blood in them too!

Killcode: The blood is going in the syrup. :)

Bloody just grabbed up the rest of the slaughtered human and followed after KC like a puppy that smelled treats. This brought a smile to the Reapers face and he chuckled a bit.

Killcode: You had a good time all morning I see.

Bloodmoon: We are very satisfied! And now pancakes!

Killcode: Actually... I am thinking about baking a cake later. A 'Bloody Red Velvet Cake-'

Bloodmoon: My favorite! Everybody's favorite! Make the cake! With frosting!!

Killcode: Yes, but I am in need of some ingredients...

Bloodmoon: Then we'll get them! We'll bring everything! Bring blood and-

(About an hour or two later... Bloodmoon stands in the parking lot of a local grocery store, holding a fairly long shopping list.)

Bloodmoon: ...this was a setup... grrrr, sneaky old man!