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irisintheafterglow · 1 year

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Just Wanna Keep Calling Your Name (gojo x you)

summary: you check on megumi and yuuji before they begin their mission to find tengen and unseal the honored one.

wc: 1.8k

cw/tags: angst/comfort with hopeful ending, swearing, mentions of eating and food, just sad separated found family things

note: part 3/4 of my "i don't wanna live forever" little series. yeah writing this made me so sad i just wanna tell them it'll be okay and this shit hasn't even been ANIMATED yet

likes/reblogs/feedback is appreciated <3

In any other circumstance, he’d be pushing you away in exaggerated melodrama because of how tightly you’re constricting him. He’d gently wiggle from your grip, saying something about you embarrassing him or that he wasn’t a kid who needed hugs anymore. You’d frown a little bit, staring at him in disappointment until he huffed in surrender and squeezed you even tighter. After a few moments, Satoru would inevitably come over and create a “Megumi-sandwich,” wrapping his lanky arms around both of your bodies and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Sometimes, Yuuji would catch wind of the affection and race over, tackling all three of you to the ground until you were in one familial heap. Satoru would take your hands and help you off the floor just to pull you to his lips. Yuuji would coo fondly at the show of affection while Megumi made a gagging gesture with his finger. In any other circumstance, it would be a perfectly normal hug.

But, these were not normal circumstances.

Because they weren’t normal circumstances, you weren’t able to utter a word before Megumi’s arms were shakily wound around your body, hiding his face in your shoulder and trembling. You catch Yuuji’s ashamed gaze from inside Megumi’s dorm and reach out your hand, which he takes and pulls both you and Megs closer to him. As much as you like to remind yourself that they’re capable of holding their own as sorcerers, you couldn’t ignore the reality that the Shibuya incident was not something that seasoned sorcerers should have experienced, much less two teenagers. With Panda, Inumaki, and Nobara in grave condition and Nanami soulless in the morgue downstairs, you were truly the only family the two boys had left. You never allow your mind to drift to Satoru.

“Eat, Megs. Please.” You set the bowl of ginger chicken in front of him, his favorite ever since he was little. You silently thanked past you for putting frozen containers of ginger chicken and spaghetti in the teacher’s lounge freezer, which you picked up on your way to check on the boys. The picture in front of you was tragically familiar–Megumi on his bed with a bowl of ginger chicken and his stuffed wolf in his lap. You couldn’t guess the last time the two ate, but it must have been quite a long time from how quickly Yuuji scarfed down the first bowl of spaghetti. The second tub of spaghetti is still warm, thankfully, and you slide the bowl over to him in understanding. Megumi, on the other hand, simply stared off into space, the enticing steam of the food unable to pierce his broken exterior. “I’m gonna take the wolf back if you don’t eat.” His eyes are dark and dangerous when they flick up to you, the same look he gave you for the past however many years you’d been using that threat. Despite its age, you’re surprised to find that it still works as he finally takes a bite of food. “Thank you.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“This morning. I had breakfast with Shoko.” You also tried one of her cigarettes again and hated them just as much as the first time. She’d poured a few shots for you before work to make it up to you.

“Coffee doesn’t count as breakfast,” Megumi deadpans and your first impulse is to laugh. But, you can’t stop the memory that breaks loose and it slams into you like a freight train.

He was giving you that odd look again, something between the lines of skeptical and adoration. You stick your tongue out at him in defiance and his hand finds yours from the driver’s seat of the car. It was an early morning mission and you argued that you deserved a treat after dragging him out of bed. To Ijichi’s annoyance, Satoru stops at a grocery store, running in to grab you a muffin and scolding you for not having enough fuel for the day. He kissed you so fervently when he returned to the car, like you were going to disappear in his absence. He said he could taste the coffee on your lips and that you didn’t make it right; when you looked at him with an offended expression, he shrugged and said he made you the best coffee. You’d never admit it, but he was right.

“I-I had a muffin, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice still comes out as a choke and Megumi’s face falls guiltily. He knows exactly what his words had accidentally triggered. “I split it with Shoko.” You take his hand while he avoids your eyes, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles reassuringly. “Eat, Megs. It’s okay.”

“Did the higher-ups really confine you to the school?” Yuuji asks after he’s finished the second tub of spaghetti. “I heard…some things about you and it made me nervous.”

You hum in assent. “Well, I’m still alive. There’s no way I’d let them kill me before checking on you two.” The words are meant to be reassuring but aren't received that way as their heads both snap to look at you in alarm. “Yeah, no point in lying. We talked about it, before everything happened. I know he didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t want to worry you, but we discussed what would happen in his…absence.”

“Have they sent anyone yet?” Megumi’s voice is low and threatening but you knew the warning wasn’t directed toward you.

“No, but I also know they haven’t sent anyone after Yuuji either, right?” They nod but still eye you warily. You give them a weak smile in an attempt to ease their worries. “So, that means the brass is still such a shit-show that they can’t dispatch sorcerers to apprehend Satoru’s associates. We have time, but not a lot of it.”

“We have a plan. Or, at least, the beginnings of one. To get him back,” Yuuji says carefully, each word delicate like you were a grenade on the verge of exploding. Your walls go up immediately, shutting down to prevent the storm of emotions that welled up at the optimistic hope in his words. “We’re going to unseal him.” The sentence goes in one ear and out of the other; you can tell by their expressions that your eyes have gone empty and blank. It wasn’t anything against them. You just couldn’t handle thinking about him too much, lest you truly break down.

“Okay. Try your best.” Your smile is pained and forced, but you still nod in weak encouragement. Megumi’s eyebrows suddenly furrow in thought, like he’d remembered something important. “What is it, Megs?”

“Who is Toji?”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru, Satoru please. Satoru, please look at me,” your voice cracks into broken cries while your hands frantically shake his shoulders, willing him to wake up. “Baby, I need you to look at me, please. Satoru, please, baby. Please, I can’t–” You can’t breathe. The words are getting caught in your throat and staying there. Every inhale tastes like blood and every exhale emphasizes your boyfriend’s lack of a pulse. “I can’t get to Suguru, Satoru. I can’t get to Suguru and he needs you. I need you. I need you, please. Please, wake up.” The tiniest bit of movement catches your eye and you stare in amazement at his hand, drenched in a pool of his own blood, twitching and violently blazing Cursed Energy. “There you are, baby. Come back to me.”

“He was a sorcerer from the Zenin clan. Why do you ask?”

“Was?” Megumi echoes, and it’s your turn to mirror his confused expression. “Like, he’s dead?”

“Yeah, he’s been dead for over a decade. Again, why do you ask?”

“There was a guy that Naobito called ‘Toji’ in Shibuya with us. He had no Cursed Energy but was stronger than the special-grades we were fighting.” Dread drops into your stomach like a dead weight. Fushiguro Toji coming back from the dead was the last fucking thing you needed.

“Is the man still alive?”

“No, and that’s what I’m curious about. He asked me what my last name was and then killed himself when I said ‘Fushiguro.’ He could have killed me, but he didn’t. I just want to know if I have any kind of connection to that man.”

“I see.” You felt guilty for lying to the boy’s face, but you also recognized that it was Satoru’s decision alone if he wanted to tell Megumi about his family history. “I’m not sure, then. I’m sorry.” He nods, face taut in suppressed disappointment and you rush to change the subject. You could feel time passing too quickly, the instinctual feeling that they had to keep moving hanging over your head. “I read about your fight with Awasaka in the report. Thank you for taking care of each other and taking care of yourselves.” You didn’t mean to strike a nerve, but your chest aches when they simultaneously dart their faces away, contorting in quiet agony.

“He killed thousands using my body,” Yuuji hisses, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the memory. “I don’t deserve gratitude for my survival–”

“Stop. Don’t tell me that I can’t be grateful you survived,” you state firmly and you feel emotions start to well up in your eyes again for the first time in hours. All three of you have tears quietly streaming down your cheeks; you have no more energy for the hiccuping and gasping-type of sobs that wracked your body days earlier. “You’re alive to keep fighting, so please recognize that as important.”

“Would you ever marry me, Satoru?”

He looks at you like you’d just suggested cliff diving into sharp rocks. “Of course. Once all this shit is sorted out with Sukuna and I reform Jujutsu Society, we’ll have a rager wedding.”

You scoff in disbelief. “You want to have a rager wedding?”

“Was that not what you had in mind?”

“Mmm…no. I was thinking something small, you know, with Yuuji and Megs and Nanami and Shoko and the rest of your students. Save your strobe lights and fog machines for the bachelor party.” You both know damn well Nanami would never set foot in a club with Satoru, but it was still a funny image for the mind.

“You want to involve my students in our wedding?”

“I thought that was self-explanatory. You care about them, I care about you, so I automatically care about them. Whatever you would do for your students, I would too.”

“I’d pull down the planets for you, you know.”

“Just the planets? You must not love me that much tonight.” His eyes shine in the moonlight as he rubs his nose against yours. “Break up with me now and put me out of my misery.”

“You underestimate my abilities, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I’d pull down every planet in the entire universe for you if you asked, not just the ones in this solar system.”

“There’s my sappy Satoru.”

“I’m yours forever.”

“Do your best, okay?” You say before Megumi and Yuuji leave to find Master Tengen, leaving you alone in Megumi’s dorm. Reaching over for his stuffed wolf, you summon a portal and store it in your domain for safe-keeping. You’d give it to him when you were all together again, your boys and your boyfriend.

I’m yours forever.

#jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #jjk hurt/comfort

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voidscreamintheories · 6 months

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Kitten: Theory of a "Hunter"

Spoilers for Hunter The Parenting

So Kitten. He is our happy lil Br*tish hunter. He also is always wearing ski goggles, a sweater, and full face covering. Even in the one flashback image we have of him. As always we must acknowledge the DNA this series pulls from: Kitten was the Captain General in TTS, this is why he uses a spear with a gun and a stake at the end in HTP, it's a guardian spear by way of hunter. It was a running gag in TTS that his helmet was never removed, even all of his other garments were. Side tangent, 1. WHAT WAS SHE THINKING 2. I hope desperately Lockwarden and Santodes return in HTP, because both of those characters were immaculate and we didn't get enough of them. Side tangent complete.

TTS acknowledgement aside, let us consider what Kitten might be. In the audiolog between Kitten and Big D, kitten seems to question the existence of some supernatural creatures, like the witch. Yet two of them he is unphased by them being mentioned: The vampires, which makes sense as the family is hunting vamps and Kitten has fought a vamp (important later). And the werewolves. This is the sticking point to me: Kitten not only is unphased about the existence of werewolves, he in fact says "wait hang on you know about werewolves" to Big D. Now that's a might curious, why wouldn't Big D, master-hunter and well known supernaturalist know about werewolves, and even more so, why would Kitten know and Big D not?

My theory is that Kitten IS a were creature. But not a wolf. In World of Darkness there are a few species of shapechangers like the werewolves. The wolves are the most common, but the other kinds know of each other's existence as well. I propose that Kitten is a werecat. Not only this, I suspect Kitten is a specific kind of werecat, a metis (can someone who knows more about WoD tell me is this is pronounced Met-iss, a made up word, or May-tea, a real word for a real world group of people who this does not necessarily apply to). A metis (in world of darkness, not the real world ethno-cultural group) is a shapechanger born to two shapechanger parents. When they are born they come out in their warform, the half-human-half-animal "hollywood monster" form. These shapechangers often have malformations of some variety, and this can include very obvious animal features even in human form. Say for example, cat ears and fur. I think Kitten wears his ski stuff, and has ears on his hood because he is a lil catboy under that hood. As a werecat he would be familiar with the shapechanger culture and practices, he'd know about other shapechangers (notice in the black shuck story at one point he says "and it is [black shuck]" not "and it PROBABLY is", maybe because he actually knows who black shuck is?), and he'd be supernaturally strong. Perhaps even strong enough to overcome a vampire that just fed. Kitten describes his encounter with the vamp at college, with maybe a Ventrue or Torreador vamp (I think Ventrue because he was charismatic but had a need for a violent feeding), while these clans aren't the normal muscle for the vamps, they are stronger than humans. Yet Kitten managed to beat this vampire, even though he was hopped up on blood. I think our lil cat boy was using his own supernatural strength. Another thing mentioned around this story is the tragedy that befell Kitten's parents, which left him with the house. If they are shapechangers, there is the potential that Kitten killed them during his first change, a not uncommon occurence in Garou families. There's also the possibility that his parents were killed in the war that all Garou are fighting, or because they broke the litany (werewolf mascarade) by having a metis child.

Now. Problems. Both Grimal and Markus have cannonically "broken that boy". Now is Kitten a "sorry babe, the ski mask stays ON during sex" type gamer? Or do Grimal and Markus both know? Not sure! Grimal could probably be convinced he was just REALLY into cosplay, I bet. And Markus may have known about Kitten being a cat from their childhood, depending when they first met.

But! This lets me talk more about garou society as evidence for Kitten being a cat. In shapechanger society, a metis is often hidden from the public until they can control their form, so as to not give the game away on werewolves being real. Maybe Kitten was isolated as a child, making it harder for him to interact with other kids when he did eventually get his form *more* under control. Maybe in the time before he was allowed in public, he became a true gamer. Maybe Markus was one of the few kids weird enough to hang out with him. Maybe those lack of social skills brought him closer to Grimal when they first met, two strange weirdos with similar experiences (please Alfabusa don't make Grimal the ghoul, I don't want her to get Arcanum'd)

Also! The werecats have some characteristics in their culture that might explain why our lil cat friend isn't just vibing with the other werecats. Some of the Bastet (Bastet means werecat, Keikaku means plan) are VERY curious lil fellas. They seek out hidden knowledge and talk to other garou clans to learn their secrets all the time. Maybe Kitten became a hunter because of his in-built desire to be a gatherer of lore. This would also explain how he knows all these stories, and finds secrets in games. He just HAS to know these things. This would further explain why he is SO upset about being blacklisted, he wants desperately to be able to study and learn, but has been cut off.

In brief, I believe Kitten is a werecat and his lil sweater ears are not just a fetish thing. He joined the arcanum/our hunters because it's a great way to sate his innate curiosity.

Now something to consider, as many of us know, curiosity does have a certain reputation regarding cats...

#hunter: the parenting #hunter the parenting #h:tp #htp #fan theory #htp kitten

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fatkish · 5 months

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For my request, based on MHA and Disney's Aladdin, can you write a oneshot featuring Aizawa and a male reader with bondage and gags please? In the story, after being inspired by the bondage scene from Aladdin, the reader and Aizawa go to a love hotel to try it out. Aizawa would be the one who'd have his hands and barefeet shackled, his mouth cloth gagged, and would even wear an Aladdin prince costume as part of the set up. You can decide on the intimate acts as long as Aizawa is kept tied up and gagged the whole time. What do you think?

Aizawa x Male Reader NSFW: Pretty Boy

After watching the new Aladdin movie during one of their dates, (y/n) begged Aizawa to let him be the dominant one and have an Aladdin inspired sexual experience. (Y/n) managed to convince and persuade Aizawa into letting (y/n) book a room at a love hotel and they would have their fun there once (y/n) collected all the necessary toys and equipment. He told Aizawa the date they agreed on and told Aizawa to wear a butt plug on the way there so that he’d be somewhat prepared.

The next few days passed as (y/n) made sure to prepare everything, he bought a vibrating cock ring for Aizawa to wear as well as a sexy male belly dancer costume. Then he made a special order for a gag veil to be made for Aizawa to wear. Then (y/n) was able to buy some incense and candles. After buying all the stuff he ordered and putting it together, he informed Aizawa that the room was ready for their arrival at the hotel.

When (y/n) got to the hotel, he paid for a room and make sure to set the mood with lighting, turning the lights of and lighting the candles and incense. (Y/n) then pulled out a Bluetooth speaker and pulled out his phone to play some Arabian music. The room was painted with black walls and had a large four poster bed with red silk sheets. (Y/n) grabbed a towel and laid it down on the bed. As the incense and candles burned, the scents of cinnamon, spiced chai tea, sage and bergamot filled the room.

While Aizawa changed in the bathroom, (y/n) prepared and laid out all the toys and equipment. When Aizawa exited the bathroom, wearing the costume and the gag, (y/n) wolf whistled in appreciation. As Aizawa walked over to (y/n), (y/n) made sure to tie his hands up. (Y/n) then used his foot to spread Aizawa’s ankles and secure a spreader bar to them. After that (y/n) made Aizawa bend over the bed, brushing the cloth skirt aside as he pulled out the plug that Aizawa wore.

After pulling out the plug, (y/n) applied lube to his fingers and pushed them deep into Aizawa’s ass, spreading and scissoring his hole as he fingered Aizawa. (Y/n) then grabbed the vibrating cock ring and slipped it on Aizawa’s cock. Next, (y/n) grabbed the egg vibrator and spread Aizawa’s cheeks, pushing it in and up against Aizawa’s prostate. (Y/n) turned both toys on causing Aizawa to choke and make muffled sounds of surprise. (Y/n) then flipped Aizawa onto his back and began to play with Aizawa’s nipples, pinching and pulling on them while he began to fist Aizawa’s cock.

(Y/n) then turned up the vibrations and began sucking on Aizawa’s nipples. Swirling his tongue around and nipping them.

“Mrph erm” Aizawa groaned as he was panting into the gag as (y/n) gave Aizawa’s cock a firm squeeze. Aizawa began to groan softly and seized as he came.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. Do you have it in you to give me a few more orgasms?” (y/n) asked as he looked down at Aizawa.

“Mrh hm”

“Good boy”

(Y/n) the grabbed the bottle of lube and poured a bit onto his fingers. He then reached behind him and began to slowly finger himself. He grabbed the vibrator’s remotes and turned the vibrations up higher. Aizawa’s thighs tensed as his back arched in ecstasy. (Y/n) then pulled his fingers out as he poured some lube onto Aizawa’s cock.

“I hope you’re ready, cause I’m going to ride this pretty dick of yours.” You said as he hovered over and carefully sat down on Aizawa’s cock. Aizawa closed his eyes and breathed deeply as (y/n) sunk down on his dick. Once fully seated, (y/n) clenched his inner muscles making Aizawa give a groan. (Y/n) started to bounce slowly, as he looked Aizawa in the eyes. (Y/n) then grabbed the cock ring’s remote and turned it all the way up.

“Erm! Urhmm, ermph rrm hrm” Aizawa cried into the gag, as his thighs tensed. (Y/n) began to speed up him bouncing as Aizawa tried to thrust up into (y/n).

“Are you close?”

“Mmhmm”

(y/n) then turned the egg vibrator up to the max setting causing Aizawa to scream into his gag as he came while (y/n) slammed his hips down and ground down onto Aizawa.

“Do you think, you can give me one more?” (Y/n) looked down at Aizawa as he nodded after taking a moment. (Y/n) then got off of Aizawa and turned him over. (Y/n) then pulled the egg vibrator out, and attached the vibrating nipple clamps to Aizawa. (Y/n) then bent Aizawa over as he grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some out onto Aizawa’s anus. After that, (y/n) pushed three fingers into Aizawa’s ass. (Y/n) then curled his fingers, digging them into Aizawa’s prostate causing him to thrust his hips. After pulling out his fingers, (y/n) then applied lube to his own dick.

“Last one pretty boy, you ready?”

“Mrph” Aizawa nodded as he looked back at (y/n).

(Y/n) then slowly pushed in, sink each inch in slowly. But before he fully sheathed himself inside Aizawa, he slowly pulled back out till his head was the only part left. (Y/n) the grabbed Aizawa’s hips and pulled him back onto his cock.

“Erm!”

(Y/n) began to thrust into Aizawa at a moderate pace. Reaching down between Aizawa’s thighs to give his balls some attention. As (y/n) thrusted, he palmed at Aizawa’s balls, gently squeezing and rolling them in his hand. After a moment (y/n) increased his pace, speeding up and pushed Aizawa down face first into the bed.

“Oh, baby, you feel so good squeezing me like this. You’re so tight and hot, I don’t think I can last long.”

“Ersh erm mer ert!”

Aizawa shouted into his gag as (y/n) pounded into him, hitting his prostate with every single thrust due to the new angle. After a few more minutes, (y/n) came with a shout, hunching over Aizawa’s back and gripping his hips. Aizawa then came a final time as his spend shot out onto the towel beneath him.

After a few moments, (y/n) turned the toys off and removed them. He then released Aizawa’s restraints and let him remove the spreader bar. After cleaning and putting the toys and equipment away, (y/n) came over to Aizawa with a damp warm towel and cleaned him up. (Y/n) then picked up the towel off the bed and set it aside in the bathroom.

“Thank you so much for indulging me on this baby.” (Y/n) whispered into Aizawa’s ear as he gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Next time, I’m tying you up and edging you. I’m going to make you cum and milk your prostate, see how you like it” Aizawa threatened as he closed his eyes and relaxed his sore body.

“Sounds like fun, rest now love, I booked the room for the whole day and night so you can sleep and I’ll be back with food when you wake up”

(Sorry this took so long @princeasimdiya12, I haven’t finished the drawing yet so I’ll add it once I’ve finished it. I hope you enjoyed this, it’s kinda my first time writing something like this so I hope it’s good)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #mha aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader smut #aizawa x male reader #aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa

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cherry-pop-elf · 5 months

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Big Bad Wolf

Dad! Remus x Reader

It’s the full moon, and Harry came running to you for advice and help. Lupin went missing, and Harry is scared that someone’s going to get hurt. Or worse. Expelled His dad will end up shot. So, as the romantic partner to the boys father you go and help him. You both just hope to find him before someone else does

Warnings 18+, Horror, Gore, violence, fear, Whump, character death ((deserved)) happy ending

Writing Commission’s Are Open

“Dad-?! Dad!” You were startled awake, by the sounds of Harry. You were spending a few days, at Hogwarts, with Lupin. As his romantic partner it was permitted, but it sure did startle students to see someone who wasn’t their teacher in the classroom. Such as you, having fallen asleep at his desk. You were waiting for Lupin, but it seems sleep caught you first. Until now.

“Have you seen dad-?” Harry asked, as he hurried towards you. A bottle in hand, with a worried look. You did not like where this was going. You really hope that was not a full bottle of wolfsbane. As if that was needed right now. You sat up quickly and straightened up.

"He said he needed to run and talk to someone really quick, and asked for me to stay here until he came back." Now that you said it out loud, it made you very suspicious. You had a bad feeling about this. A very very very bad feeling. It seemed the feeling was mutual, and no words were needed. The two of you were soon running out of the classroom, and straight outside. Wands out.

"Great, just great-" You huffed, as the two of you were now roaming around the grounds. A worry of what happened with Remus, and if the Dementors would come your way. You made sure to hold Harry's hand, and he did not refuse it. He had a uncomfortable run in with the Dementors after all, as if he wanted another.

"Should we ask Hagrid for help?" Harry asked, as you pondered. That could be very helpful. He was a monster keeper of sorts, and more people looking could reduce casualties. Fang could help as well, but Hagrid was not the best with secrets. Still.....You had a werewolf boyfriend on the loose, and one not on potions.

"I will go talk to Hagrid; you go to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe he went there by habit?" Seems like Hermione was really rubbing off on him, because that made perfect sense. You recall a few times you could hear him, when locked in his designated room, about a shack. Along with his night terrors, and school days.

The plan was set, and Harry explained to you how to get there. Most likely knowing, in case of emergencies. The two of you would split, and Harry hurried to Hagrid's Hut. You stayed, until he made it. Just to be sure. Once he had entered the home, you would hurry to the tree, it was terrifying, but you had to. For Remus.

You had to army crawl, and enter with a few scrapes, but you managed. You hit the knot in the tree, and was able to slip through the roots. Through the dirty cavern, and across the rocks. It was a journey, but you managed. You would push at the wooden boards, and soon had your head in the shack. The stench of blood heavy in your nose. He was here.

"Moony?" You whispered, as the world went still. Even the wind seemed afraid to speak. You were terrified, but someone had to be there for him. You swallowed your biile, and forced yourself into the house. Onto your knees, wand in hand, before properly standing.

Deep breaths, that made you gag, in a vain attempt to try and calm yourself. You knew this when he told you what he was. He didn’t want you to sign up blind. He didn’t want to feel like he trapped you. The moment he told you, you tried to study all you could. Meaning you carried your own vile of wolfsbane. Small, but hopefully enough to soothe.

As you tried to follow the stench, you couldn’t help but hear something. It was someone. Someone gagging, and coughing. Seeming to be….No. No no. You had hope the blood you smelled was that of a wild animal, but no. It was of someone.

You wanted to barge in, and see if you could save them, but that could cause issues. Like him turning on you. Instead, you kept your steps quiet. Just coming closer, as the figure kept gasping and wheezing. Begging. What made your blood run cold was what the person said.

“Remus, please….You would have done the same in my place. You would ha-“ Before there was silence. Silence, as bones were snapping. Crunching, and being devoured. They were dead, and you knew that you couldn’t do anything to have prevented it. You tried to reason, at least.

Finally, you were at the door. Given quite the sight to behold. This sickly looking beast, chowing away on a dead body. Beyond recognition, except for an arm. Said arm having been torn off, and slammed into the wall near the door frame. You narrowed your eyes, as you saw it was missing a finger. Clearly before the attack, as the numb was healed over.

Before you could wonder who the figure was, you suddenly felt something bite at your leg. Not in a means to attack. It was so gentle, you almost didn’t notice. A attempt to grab your attention. It succeeded, as you looked down to a black dog. Shaggy, skinny, and struggling to pull you away from the door. A means to get you away.

Seems it acted too late, as the nawing of flesh was silenced. Just the eerie sounds of blood falling on wood, as the werewolf looked over. Blacken eyes focused on you, as it growled. Clawed, and mangled, fingers were soon on the floor. Cautiously approaching you, only for the dog to block its path. Guarding you.

You didn’t know what to do. Do you run? Do you stay? Do you move slowly? You can only read so many books, before you face a real deal. Nothing prepares you for a real life experience. Was he staring at you because he recognized you? Was he no longer hungry? Was he aware of your scent, and wouldn’t harm you?

So many thoughts, only to be silenced by an ear rattling howl. That said that, and you were trying to run for your life. The shaggy dog quick to defend you, and jump at Remus. Buying you time, as you tried to think of where to go. Leave the building? Back into the hole? You didn’t know. Before you could make a choice, the rotten wood broke under you.

Crashing through you went, only for your leg to snap in the process. You screamed in pain, and that alerted Remus to you. You tried to fight through the pain, as you held your wand up. Trying to defend yourself, as Remus tore through more of the wood. Leaving splinters to rain down on you, as you laid in the broken old living room.

“REMUS-! PLEASE-!” You sobbed, as you didn’t want to hurt him. Blood pooled around you, as the torn muscle was shreds around your shattered bone. So much pain, panic, and despair. Was this the end? Dispite it all, all you could think of was how this would affect Remus. The guilt he would hold, when the moon rises again. Only to see you dead in his teeth.

Seemed that would only be a nightmare, as he was slow to approach you. Sniffing you, before looking down at your leg. Giving it a lick, and whine. As if trying to help you. If you weren’t so delirious from pain, you would find it sweet.

“Fuck, you look like shit.” A voice spoke to you, as Remus seemed to curl around you. Using himself a pillow, for you to rest on. Just feeling his ribs, and hearing his strong breathing and heart. It was soothing, and let you catch your breath. Long enough to register where the voice came from.

A man was soon standing infront of you, in a Azkaban uniform. With long, black, shaggy hair. With a beard to match, against his gaunt face. So skinny, yet so alive. Shaggy black hair, just like shaggy black fur. That’s when it hit you.

“Padfoot….” You choked out, when you weren’t crying from pain. The name made him smile, and you could see life in his hollow eyes. It warmed his heart so much, knowing Remus told you about him. That he was still spoken so positively. That Remus didn’t believe the verdict. He knew better.

“That’s me. Now be quiet, and take advantage of Mooney having a full belly.” He hushed you, as he would begin to try and help with your leg. He would take his torn shirt off, and forced you to bite into it. Trying to make you quiet, as he popped the bone into place. Making you scream into the fabric, as you held Remus tighter. Suppose in that feral brain of his could register his mate was hurting, and soon was nuzzling his face against yours. Using his nose to wipe your tears away.

“There. Worse of it is over. Now how about-“ Before he could finish, the sound of the basement door was opening. Before Sirius could do anything, you grabbed his pant leg. Trying to get him to stay. The pain, however, made you feel to weak. Your vision was blurring, as you curled up against Remus. It was all to much, and soon…..You blacked out.

Morning came, and it was unwanted. The sunlight on your face, and making you groan. “Five more minutes-“ Was your reply to the beast, before a chuckle was a reply. A chuckle you knew very well. A laugh that made you fight the sun, and open your eyes. Remus.

“Morning, pup.” He smiled, as he set his book aside. His scared up hand was quick to help brush the sleep from your eyes, as you took in the world. Such as how your leg was propped up, and that all the blinding white was from the medical wing. Another comforting sight was that Padfoot was in another medical bed. Being treated, and not sent to Azkaban.

“Lots of questions, I know. I’ll keep it short. I had made an attempt to go check on Sirius, last night, only for the two of us to stumble upon a familiar rat. We chased him for so long, we didn’t register the moon. Suppose it was a good thing we didn’t. A lot of good has now been done, with him disposed.” Despite what seemed like good news, there were tears in his eyes. Like he lost an old friend. Suppose you’ll ask about that later. Now, you needed rest.

“I can’t believe you came chasing after me.” He tsked, as he was already using a cold rag on your face. Helping you cool off. “Suppose Harry is to blame. I could have hurt you. I would never forgive myself if I had infected you to. I could have-“ He went on and on, before you held his hand. Forcing him to stop, as you smiled.

“Then you won’t be so lonely on those full moons, would you?” He wanted to be frustrated with you, but that would be rather hypocritical. So, he just gave a defeated sigh. With a smile. “I have a type, it seems….” Was added, as Harry was soon to enter the wing. Along with his friends. Hermione, and Ron. All needing answers about why an escaped convict was in the medical wing.

Remus would give a sigh, as you scooted over. As best as you could, so he could sit with you. The trio was soon on the neighboring bed, sitting together, while keep quiet for Sirius to sleep. A snuggle into Remus’s lap, and he took a deep breath. Knowing you were there to support him.

“It all started, when three little Gryffindors thought it was wise to become unregistered Animagi….”

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shift-shaping · 2 months

Text

where did your hips go

enaste finally reaches her clan.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

By the time Enaste finally saw the first wolf statues, she was starving. She should have arrived much earlier, but after an intense round of screaming slurs at her, one of her captives had started losing blood at an alarming rate and she'd needed to stop to heal him. And gag him. Turns out dragging two half-dead men on a couple of tired horses took much longer than she would have liked. She'd brought a few pieces of jerky with her, but it wasn't much and she'd eaten them hours ago.

The smell of fish cooking over a fire nearly sent her into a frenzy. Klein, the man she hadn't felt the need to gag, groaned hungrily. She saw the sails of her clan's aravels peeking up from the trees.

Moments later, three hunters emerged and ran to help her. The sight of them made her heart ache, but it was a happy ache, the kind of ache that comes from missing someone so much for so long. They greeted her, hugged her, told her how happy they were to see her. One of them started trying to catch her up on happenings in the clan, but was interrupted by Klein's groaning.

Only then did the hunters really take in Enaste's hostages. Cole had apparently disappeared again, leaving Enaste to look especially impressive with two captives and two horses behind her.

"Wow, no wonder you took so long to get here," said the youngest of the hunters, a freckled girl named Aridhel. "Are those the mercenaries we've been dealing with?"

Enaste nodded. Her voice rasped. "Some of them, yes. They have information, but they're in rough shape and need healing first."

More members of her clan came out of the trees to greet Enaste as the hunters led the horses into camp. A few of the children escaped their carer's hold and bolted to her, hugging her and yelling about recent events and asking her questions so quickly she couldn't respond. Enaste laughed and knelt down to their level, taking care to greet every one by name.

She knew them, by face and name and voice, because she had seen them before anyone else in this world; nearly every child in the clan, all but the very oldest and very youngest, Enaste had delivered herself. One particularly excited boy grabbed her hand and bounced up and down. "'Naste, 'Naste!" He said quickly, and she laughed as she turned to him.

"Yes, Inar? You're very impatient today."

"I'm four! I just had my name day!"

"That you did! You've gotten very big. How was it?"

He smiled at her compliment and slowed in his bouncing. "It was so fun! Lahalaan made crab cakes and sweet cheese on toast!"

Another child, a smaller girl named Nellasa, started to pull on Enaste's other hand. "Inaarr stop talking. 'Naste just got here!"

Enaste turned to the girl, smirking. "What? Didn't you like the crab cakes too, Nella?"

"I guess," she drew the word out and pulled Enaste's hand harder, unbalancing her and making her laugh. "But come on! You have to see what I made with Elder Shora!"

"You used too many colors!" Inar replied, annoyed at her interruption.

"Elder Shora said there's no such thing!"

Enaste felt footsteps behind her. "Children, please, let your First at least come into camp." She would recognize that voice anywhere --confident, steady, wizened with age but still deep and strong.

Enaste stood carefully, and turned to face her Keeper. Her breath caught in her chest. Keeper Deshanna was as beautiful as ever, her long white hair plaited into crisp, oiled braids decorated with trinkets and adorned with silver halla horns that graced her head like a crown.

"It is so good to see you, da'len."

Enaste bowed, eyes closed, momentarily too overwhelmed to speak. When she straightened, her Keeper pulled her into a warm, loving embrace. She smelled like the herbs they burned to keep away mosquitoes, and the campfires they lit for warmth at night, and the oils worked into her hair to keep the strands in place. She was shorter than Enaste by several inches, so Enaste had to be wary of the horns on her head.

They stepped apart, and Deshanna kept her hands on Enaste's arms. Her vallaslin was extensive and vibrant, kept fresh from a new application just two years before. It was a more advanced version of Enaste's own --where the mark of Mythal covered only Enaste's forehead, on her Keeper it extended across her cheeks and through her lips, cutting a long line towards her chest.

"You are thin," Deshanna observed, and Enaste laughed nervously. "You need some real food, none of that shemlin dogfeed. Come. We have fresh trout and oysters."

Enaste's mouth watered; she was momentarily so hungry she lost her train of thought, but still managed to thank her Keeper profusely.

Keeper Deshanna looked over Enaste's shoulder, towards the horses. She narrowed her eyes, then nodded slowly. "These are some of the mercenaries that have been harassing us, aren't they?"

Enaste sighed. "Yes. I encountered a group of them earlier and managed to take these two captive."

"Were you hurt?" Deshanna asked, and without hesitating, ignoring the pain in her throat and the aches in her back, Enaste shook her head.

"They were not expecting a mage."

"I see," Deshanna looked skeptical, but did not press the issue. She didn't need to know what happened. Enaste was fine, regardless, as long as she didn't think about it too much.

"Aridhel, Hauen, Eirie," Deshanna announced, and at her voice all three hunters stood at attention. "Get more help from the older hunters, and put the men in the storage tent on the north side of camp. Keep them tied down, but tell Elder Le'an to watch over them. Whatever information they have, we want it."

Enaste watched the three hunters hurriedly follow their new orders. The children started pulling on Enaste again, especially Nellasa, and Enaste picked her up instead of letting herself be dragged down the hill.

"Where are Hallin and Harea?" Enaste asked, careful not to step on a stray child as they walked down the slope into camp.

"Hallin is hunting, but Harea is around somewhere. I believe she is doing some leatherwork."

Enaste smirked. "She never does stop working."

Keeper Deshanna sighed. "I wish she would. She needs more rest." She looked at Enaste dryly. "Though I'm sure she would get more if your brother would stop fussing over her."

Enaste's smirk turned into a wider smile: she knew her brother, and that was very much in-character for him. "He won't leave her alone?"

"No!" Deshanna replied, exasperated. "I had to order him to leave for this hunt, and it took far more convincing than it should have."

"It's been so long," Enaste said. Nellasa had started playing with her scarf. Enaste gently took her hands away from it so she wouldn't pull it off, and the girl laid her head on Enaste's shoulder. "He's worried for her, and the child."

"I know. But if he keeps hovering around her he's not going to have a bonded or a child because Harea will have killed him."

The camp was set up long and narrow, so from this entrance they could only see a few tents, an aravel, and her clan mates buzzing around them. A woman named Miolvun, beating the dust out of a rug, froze as soon as she saw them and ran off. "Harea!" She yelled in the distance, and Enaste grinned.

Keeper Deshanna returned her smile and led her towards an aravel where hardered leather lay across the decks. A bag of tools and thread for embroidering said leather hung over the side. Miolvun barely had time to warn the heavily pregnant woman sitting against the aravel before she saw Enaste herself.

"Creators!" Harea yelled. "Oh, fenhedis--" Harea hissed before tossing whatever she was working on into the darkness of the aravel. "Help me up," she ordered the other woman, who quickly gave Harea her arm.

Enaste gently put Nellasa down as her friend approached. Harea was a beautiful woman: her hair was the same shade of black that Enaste's was, but her skin was a darker, richer tan, and the blue in her vallaslin --meant to honor June-- made her brown eyes stand out even more than they would have otherwise.

"Oh, how could you leave me, you monster?" Harea asked, putting her hands on Enaste's face. She was tall, too, one of the tallest elves in the clan, and looked down slightly at Enaste. "In my time of need? It's like you don't even care."

Keeper Deshanna sighed. "She was kidnapped, da'len."

Harea shot her an annoyed look. "She could have escaped."

Enaste laughed and put her hand on Harea's wrist. "I did escape. I'm here now, aren't I?"

Harea pursed her lips. She suddenly squished Enaste's face, earning a surprised yelp. "You should have been here earlier. Your brother has been an absolute nuisance, and you're the only one he listens to."

"Abelas. I really did try," Enaste said through squished cheeks.

Harea let Enaste's face go and sighed. "It's fine. I know you were busy being... Some kind of shemlin goddess...?"

Enaste rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you later."

"Yes, you should eat first," Harea frowned, looking down at Enaste's body. "Where did your hips go?"

"Enough, da'len," Keeper Deshanna soothed. Before she could go on, a voice called out to Enaste.

"Maker's breath! There you are!" It was Jester, the agent Leliana had sent along to assist her. A human woman was just behind them, followed by Blackwall, and further behind, Solas. Her gaze lingered on him, warmth blooming in her chest just from seeing him. He smiled at her when he caught her eye, and she smiled back. It was embarrassing.

"And hey, what's up with your voice?" Harea asked, frowning. "You sound like you have a cold."

"Ah, well, I think I do," Enaste lied, and Harea started asking Deshanna about various remedies.

"Inquisitor," Jester said, their thick brows knit in concern. "We were so worried for you. What a relief to see you alright."

"What caused the delay?" Solas asked, and, frustratingly, she found herself excited by his voice. Had she missed him? It had been scarcely twelve hours.

She turned towards where the hunters had taken her captives. "I ran into a few of our mercenaries friends. Took two of them hostage, and two horses."

Solas's brows raised. "Impressive work." His praise made her heart skip. Then he frowned. "Are you feeling alright? Your voice sounds strange."

"That's what I said!" Harea exclaimed, crossing her arms. "You need elfroot, and honey."

"I need to eat, lethallan," Enaste said, finally speaking up for her aching stomach. She looked at her Keeper. "You said there was trout?"

Deshanna smiled, nodded, and looked to the gathered Inquisition representatives. "Your friends have already had some, but there should be plenty. Come, let us eat."

Soon she was sitting in the grass, eating grilled trout and mushrooms and oysters and herbs. Save for when Roshan cooked at Skyhold, it was the best thing she'd eaten in months. She ate so fast Harea teased her and told her to slow down, and her friend was right because she felt a little sick afterwards. But it hardly mattered. She lay back against a tree and closed her eyes and listened to the surreal intermingling voices of her family and new friends in the comfort of her clan's camp. She met Lady Guinevere Volant, who explained the situation in Wycome as she understood it, and Keeper Deshanna went over the situation with the bandits.

The plague the Keeper mentioned was, obviously, not in reference to the clan itself but the city of Wycome. Some disease was tearing through the upper quarters, killing humans but suspiciously --almost pointedly-- avoiding elves. When Enaste explained that the mercenaries had apparently been paid for by the Duke of Wycome, the full picture came into focus: something was killing the humans of Wycome, and the elves were being blamed for it. Despite obviously not being connected, Clan Lavellan was made a scapegoat. They were lucky the mercenaries were so incompetent.

"They may come here to try and avenge their comrades," Blackwall warned, and Enaste nodded.

"We'll be ready for them. We can speak with the hostages I took and get more information about what to expect, but after my encounter with them I don't think there are many left in fighting shape." She nodded to Deshanna. "We can handle what's left."

"Good," the Keeper said. She looked at Lady Volant, grey brows furrowed. "What of the elves in the alienage? If we are being harassed, I find it hard to imagine they are safe."

Lady Volant nodded slowly. "Tensions seem higher than usual. One of my informants in the alienage has expressed concern, and many of the elves are especially worried. I am uncertain of more than that, however." She looked to Enaste. "I had hoped we could introduce you to the Duke, that we might gain information that way, but if he's paying for these mercenaries to harass your clan, I doubt he'll tell you much."

Keeper Deshanna nodded. "But you could go, Lady Volant, and see if he will give you a tour of the city as a representative of the Inquisition. Then you would be able to assess the reality of this plague for yourself."

"Should you have protection?" Enaste asked.

"Not typically, though..."

Enaste looked to Blackwall, who nodded. "Blackwall can accompany you."

Keeper Deshanna hesitated. "Is it the norm for a tour of the city to require an armed guard?" She looked at Blackwall kindly. "With all due respect, having such a visible guard will raise suspicions. The Duke will know we do not trust him."

"None taken, my lady," Blackwall responded.

"Still, it is not a bad idea." She looked at Jester, who was silent thus far. "If we send one of our warriors or hunters the Duke will know we have some involvement. You are without vallaslin; if you accompany the ambassador as a servant, it will draw less attention."

Jester considered this, running their hand along their chin. "That might be fine. If we visit the alienage, however, they may recognize me. Some of the Duke's own servants may as well."

Enaste frowned, thinking. She cleared her throat and nodded to Solas. "You could accompany Lady Volant."

He smiled slightly, and no one objected immediately, so Enaste went on. "You wear no vallaslin, you are unknown to the alienage and the various elven servants, and should something go wrong, you can protect Lady Volant." She shrugged. "It's not a bad idea."

"They won't be able to tell you're a mage?" Blackwall asked, and Solas shook his head.

"Likely not. Even if they had a mage of their own, it is difficult to be certain."

"You don't hate the idea," Enaste observed. "You will be treated like a servant."

"I can pretend to be humble, for one afternoon," he joked, and Enaste snorted.

Keeper Deshanna nodded slowly. "This feels like the right compromise." She raised an eyebrow at Solas. "You are rather large for an elven servant, though."

"No one looks at elves that hard, Keeper," Harea replied, and the Keeper sighed her agreement.

"Tomorrow, then?" Enaste asked, and Lady Volant nodded.

"I will travel back to Wycome today, and send a messenger to inform the Duke that I will be taking him up on his offer of a tour. He will be disappointed in your absence, Inquisitor, but he should understand how much of diplomacy is done via proxy."

"Shall I go with you?" Solas asked, and Lady Volant nodded.

"I could send a messenger to the clan in the morning, but it would be easier if you simply stayed in Wycome."

That made perfect sense, and Enaste did not object. Still, for some reason knowing he would not get to spend the night with her people was disappointing. It was her own fault for volunteering him, and maybe it was for the best. She knew he was uncomfortable around the Dalish, even among her clan, and maybe introducing him to her people in small pieces would be easier.

Thus it was settled. Solas would go with Lady Volant back to Wycome that evening, and everyone else would remain in the camp. Lunch lingered a while longer, and Harea half-forced Enaste to drink honeyed tea for her throat despite how full she felt. Other clan members came and went, greeting Enaste and marveling at her entourage. Roshan ate with them for a while as well before he went off to nitpick something about the oysters.

As the sun drifted past midday, Keeper Deshanna instructed one of the hunters from earlier, Aridhel, to show the Inquisition where they'd be staying. The clan had set up several tents for them, modest in construction but outfitted with warm furs inside that would be plenty of cushion to sleep on. Enaste returned to the small, private section of the aravel she'd shared with Deshanna for the better part of the last ten years. It had been kept clean, and free of dust. Were she not burdened by the warmth in her hand and the pain in her throat, it would be easy to imagine she'd never really left.

<- prev fic | next fic ->

#solavellan #solas #dragon age #enaste lavellan #glimpses #enaste is loved and cared for very much by people who are unfortunately very far away from her when she's in skyhold #also enaste is like 'solas they're probably going to treat you badly are you sure you're ok with this'#and he's just 'no i love being underestimated so much you are putting me in my natural environment this is enrichment for me'#you must allow your trickster god to pretend to be someone who is easily overlooked at least once a month #otherwise they will be understimulated

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bokettochild · 1 year

Note

what are your favourite headcanons for all the boys? (also hi mama lava we havent spoken in a while oopsie hah,,hope ur doing well <3)

I'm doing quite well, m'dear! Mnetally at least LOL

The body hates fall and the changes in the air, but the rain makes me happy and the leaves are going CRONCH so I can still smile! Also, it is now cider and cocoa wheather! (I really need to finish that darn Ravio scarf now LOL)

Okay! Headcannons!

Time: He has no clue what's happening ever. Time is hard for me to relate to or even work with, so I don't tend to mess around as much with headcannons for him, but I love the idea that he is masquerading as an adult all the time and genuinely is confused by almost everything. As someone who was left in charge of see stinkers with no clue on how to handle them, it makes him relatable and easier to write that way :)

Warriors: His dark form is a dragon. Even prior to TotK I liked the idea that certain people could/would become dragons, and considering there are some who ship him and his Zelda and they come before Flora, that would mean it runs in the family LOL. It also really suits him for REASONS and I like playing with it

Sky: His eyes flash silver when he's angry, and lightning will crash even on a sunny day when you piss him off. He killed a god, let this man be an unhinged BAMF eldrich hero!

Hyrule: Navi is his mother. I like the idea of him growing up hearing stories of the Hero of Time. i like the idea of him setting out on his adventure not just because Impa asked him too, but because that pig sounds a lot like the sucker who killed his big brother and their family doesn't go down unavenged! He totally had a few words for Ganon in that last fight, and even if it was the last thing the king of evil thought, he knew he was killed on behalf of a hero, not just by one.

Twilight: He's a white girl. It's really a personal gag for me, but he likes horses and stupid romance stories and ridiculously sweet drinks and he can't hold his whiskey for the life of him. Okay, like, he can, but why would he drink whiskey when he can have something strawberry flavoured? He just... he's a big rancher and scary wolf, but he will willingly wear pink and be a barbie is what I'm saying. And yes he'd enjoy it! (although he'd prefer pants please, he's still a man Barbie, okay? Not a Ken, a man Barbie)

(I have others for Twi, but this one makes me happy to ridiculous levels and gives the seratonin <3)

Wind: He's Warriors' grandfather. I know it;s less about him and more about Warriors, but the idea of him shaping and guiding the next hero, preserving that hero's childhood and protecting it as long as he can, makes me happy. there were totally calls to adventure long before Cia, but Wind said "heck no, he's underage, ain't happening" and either stopped that shit or dealt with it himself. He made sure to teach Warriors everything he wishes he'd known, or heard the others say they wished they'd known when starting: starting a fire, wayfaring, tracking, hunting, fishing, map making, how to make gear and supplies last, where to find valuable things, all that sort of stuff. he didn't know what sort of trouble the hero after him would face, so he made sure to provide help and leave supplies in every way he could think of (some of which, incidentally, lasted all the way to wild's time to help him).

Wild: He's Other. He's not quite right and he's more than just slightly screwed up, but not in the pretty, Fae like way it's often pictured. Wild is Other like a twisted and mangled tree that scrapes across your window in the night, keeping you awake but keeping the monsters cowering under your bed in fear. He's other like a too wide smile, like a sigh of relief when he feels Death's touch lingering on Legend. He's Not Quite Right in a way you have to know him to see, but you can't ever stop seeing after. (It's okay. Flora is too and she feels safer being with someone who's the same)

Legend: Personal hc I never get to share! Legend is the personification of Balance! He straddles light and dark both as a rabbit and in his fifth adventure. He's kind of died twice (OoS manga & a personal theory about Koholint) yet he's still alive. He kills in order to preserve life and lives in order to kill that which threatens it. He represents the balance in Hyrule and preserves it, hence why he tends to fill any needed role (watching the backs of the heroes throughout LU, taking the lead in Sunset, acting as a middleground/middle sibling in Sunrise) in order to prevent things tipping out of balance. legend is the middle ground between extremes, and a walking contradiction.

Four: I will do the colours as well, but I adore them being remembered, even though Four thinks he won't be. he comments in the comic that he's glad to at least have done well enough that no one needs to worry about his enemies, hence why they don't talk about him anymore, but I like the idea that Malon taught Time to read by reading him parts or stories about Four, but he got to impatient to wait to find out the ending, so he forced himself to figure it out as fast as possible to get there even if she wans't there to tell him. I like Legend hearing stories of him and growing up admiring him, of spending his first few adventures trying to be like him because that's what heroes who win are like. I love Four being remembered and adored. He deserves it! (And if he maybe got sealed away long enough to come back and meet some future heroes, well, I love that too!)

Red: Is actually the most dangerous of the colours when he's mad. He will wreck your shit, he will burn you alive. Do not try him.

Blue: He's fond of patterns and artwork, and knitting helps keep him calm. He's the crafter of the colors, and the only one if you disregard smithing. Also, he's the mom friend.

Green: He likes drawing. I don't know why, he just does. Also, outdoorsy boy. He hates shoes, hates floors, and will sit in the grass drawing trees and chatting with minish for hours if nothing stops him.

Vio: Loves cats. Despite Four as a whole having a fear of cats, and the other colors also sharing that fear, Vio's sense of self preservation sort of flew out the window with the trust the others had in him when he joined Shadow. Vio can look at any animal that should reasonably be able to kill them and actually will try and determine if he can just... touch it. he doesn't want to even be friends, he just wants to see if, since a dragon will let him, will this giant wildcat also? He adores Wolfie more than even Red. The others think there is something wrong with him that he likes terrifying creatures so much.

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu wild #lu four #lu time #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu wind

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7grandmel · 5 months

Text

Todays rip: 30/04/2024

guess what????????

Season 2 Featured on: Haltmann's Highest Quality Video Game Rips

Ripped by alden wolf

youtube

Requested by eg_9371! (Request Form)

It's Gonna Be May!

Saying that SiIvaGunner has in-jokes is perhaps the most obvious statement of all time - it is an in-joke upon which the entire channel is built upon. Yet there's obviously always different LAYERS to each joke, how obvious each of them are - and even today, there are many running gags on the channel that fly over people's heads despite having followed along for so long. Indeed, such is the case today with guess what????????, as requestee eg_9371 made me aware of a channel in-joke that's been running quietly in the background for the better part of seven years as of today. All of it built on one simple truth - tomorrow, it's gonna be may.

To reiterate - beyond the funny ha-ha memes we all know like Mr. Grand Dad and more, the SiIvaGunner channel is filled with little nods and gags that oft go overlooked. I of course covered 5 Nights of Snop Dog recently which is a great example of one, there's how rips like Kill & Learn (Recut Ver.) reference a running joke by long-time mashup artist Triple-Q about how Sonic Adventure 2 and Kill la Kill have an immeasurable amount of similarities, rips like Kermit in the Ocean being spiritual successors to very specific years-old rips on the channel - you get the jist. Some of these gags eventually get special attention on the channel through specific channel events, but such has not yet been the case with guess what????????'s joke - it's a gag that's stayed in the background since its very beginnings, and is only being kept running by a select few rippers. If you're listening to the rip now and it still hasn't landed yet, you may need to be enlightened to the ways of hit boy band *NSYNC. Or, well, really the band itself matters very little compared to the song of choice - It's Gonna Be Me.

Boy band music has a pretty interesting track record on SiIva in general, honestly. One Direction, Backstreet Boys, Boyzone, *NSYNC - to me the typical audience that obsesses over these kinds of bands feels at odds with my image of the average SiIvaGunner fan, and yet whenever they're prominently pushed I get reminded of just how good their music can be when wielded by good rippers. We've had two explosively quality events focusing on two bands in particular, the Big Time Rush takeover of Season 5 with Famous Surprise and the One Direction day of Season 7 with Beautiful Dreamer. *NSYNC hasn't had the same explosion of notoriety, but It's Gonna Be Me in particular has stealthily appeared on the channel every year since 2017 on April 30th. The joke is originally an ancient Tumblr meme from 2012, based on the way singer Justin Timberlake (yes!) pronounces the titular line in the song as "It's gonna be May" - the joke writes itself, and so Tumblr users have annually celebrated the day-before-May in Timberlake's honor.

eg_9371 writes in his request for this post that he's actually one of the most active rippers in keeping this joke going on SiIva for all these years, which I find extremely commendable, and it all started in Season 2, with guess what????????. It's a rearrangement of the song in the style of Donkey Kong Country 2's Mining Melancholy, a track most notable for its rhythmic percussion of steel drums sounding like steadily-working pickaxes deep in the mines. Its a fantastic track on its own, yet that percussion especially is a shockingly natural fit for the harpsichord(?) backing prominent throughout It's Gonna Be Me. Mining Melancholy's usual percussion and other parts of its melody stick around for large parts of the rip, making it more of a melody swap/mashup of the two than a full rearrangement a la Sog-Gee Ambiance - but it only serves to enhance the two tracks used, giving It's Gonna Be Me a more melancholic sound and Mining Melancholy a more self-assured feel in return, a super interesting blend of moods. I don't think the It's gonna be May bit would have worked nearly as well if the rip it was paired with wasn't of high quality, and guess what???????? clears that threshold effortlessly - its a great rip that's made me appreciate the quality in both songs used.

*NSYNC rips have, again, continued to show up in all the years since, always on the dot, often even deliberately placed as the LAST rip of April 30th to drive the joke home. I think it's really sweet that the joke has stuck with eg_9371 in particular, likely in part due to alden wolf's initial contribution to the bit - he's even made It's Gonna Be Me rips on dates completely unrelated to the beginning of May, just because its a genuinely fun song to listen to. There's tons of these "secret" gags left to find on the channel, reoccurring dates or rips that reference jokes from other rips that are years-old by now - and really, a huge part of the fun in running this blog is getting to discover so many turning gears of the channel that I'd never been made aware of. Keep an eye out for these gags yourself - and keep an eye out on SiIvaGunner channel itself later today, to see if It's Gonna Be May for yet one more year.

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bp-zb1fics · 1 year

Note

hello !! could u write something with jeonghyeon and reader in school like they are already dating, and it would be about them being the "famous" couple in their school !! lijeong being a genius and the reader being dumb like an airhead but she really kind and all. teachers and students could be teasing them about being an odd couple haha

So without meaning

pairing: leejeong x reader

genre: highschool au (same verse as shy,shy,shy and tall& handsome), fluff

tw/tags: sort of character study, class couple, mean girls reference, flirting, kisses, woongki being salty, leejeong simp agenda as usual

wc: 756

summary: it’s not that you were an odd couple, more like you were smart in different ways.

a/n Kind of put a spin on the req but I hope you like it anon~ it's also super late so there's that but these weeks have been rough tbh. also anyone who doesn't get the mean girls reference, jail for you jk

check my pinned for more fics!

When Gyuvin first transferred, Gunwook and Junhyeon made it their mission to introduce him to everything that there was to know about their highschool, sort of like those 90’s teen movies. So far, they’ve done a decent job.

Gyuvin now knows they served donkatsu at the cafeteria every second Tuesday, how to not piss off Baek Kooyoung-seongsaengnim and every notable class couple that he shouldn’t get in the middle of.

Case in point, you.

It wasn’t that you were stupid. No, definitely not. Maybe you made stupid decisions sometimes but doesn’t everyone? Sure, you weren’t the brightest bulb in the box (is that the correct analogy?) but you made do. You got decent grades, teachers liked you even if you had a tendency to daydream during class. And it helped that you were really nice in the very unintentionally genuinely good way that very few people were these days.

It’s just- your boyfriend was-

“That’s Lee Jeonghyeon.” Junhyeon whispers to Gyuvin as they watch the older boy walk down the hallway towards you. “Genius, sort of a lone wolf, all sorts of rumours floating around him.”

“What kind of rumours?”

[insert unnecessary montage]

“Lee Jeonhyeon is flawless.”

“He has an endless supply of bracelets and only owns green sweaters.”

“I hear his jawline is insured for 10 million won.”

“I hear he does underground rapping.”

“His favourite colour is green.”

“One time, he got recruited by this company and they told him he could be an idol.”

“One time, he punched me for trying to kiss him.” A pause. Cha Woongki takes the time to flip his hair before sighing wistfully. “It was so hot.”

[end montage]

Gyuvin’s eyes have grown twice their original size in disbelief. Junhyeon nods solemnly. Meanwhile, you and your boyfriend are none the wiser. In fact, he’s completely preoccupied by you grabbing his hand, chattering about something brightly as you tug him towards the cafeteria.

Most of the students give you a wide berth. But that’s probably because your boyfriend is at least 185 cm and looks like he can cut a bitch on a good day. It was also sort of interesting, the contrast between you, like a manhwa plot coming to life. The resident genius and the bubbly airhead, complete opposites and completely enamoured by each other.

“Jeonghyeoniee,”

The withering look that your boyfriend gives Park Hanbin would probably deter anyone else. But Park Hanbin is a dazzling force of nature with a brilliant smile and military commander-like focus when he gets invested in something. Trailing behind him is Kim Taerae, resident class-crush with his church-oppa like charms and soft, sweet voice.

“What do you want?”

Maybe Jeonghyeon would look more intimidating if he currently wasn’t letting you feed him like a petulantly adorable child, practically glued to your side, holding your other hand under the table. You ignore the other boys, bringing another spoonful of rice and meat to his lips.

“Thank you aegiya.”

“You’re welcome, Leejeong-yah.”

“God, I hate love.” Woongki fake gags from the other side of the table.

“Wow, way to be single and bitter.” Hanbin shoots back, the other gasping dramatically.

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“No fighting!” You insist after swallowing the bite your boyfriend fed you. Woongki coos at you.

“Oh my poor, innocent baby, how did our big, bad Jeonghyeonie manage to score someone as sweet as you?”

“Woongki-ah, I punched you once, I can do it again.” Jeonghyeon grits out before obediently opening his mouth so you can feed him.

“Oh please do,” The other boy says way too eagerly. You sigh. And they said you were the dumb one when you could clearly see your boyfriend being played. Also your food was finished and you kinda wanted one of those pudding cups that they brought out after you had sat down with your trays.

“Leejeong-yah?”

“Yes aegiya?”

“Want pudding.” You pout, You really don’t need to. Your boyfriend stands up right away and goes over to the counter to fetch one for you. Woongki rolls his eyes, applauding you slowly.

“Ugh, your power. Literally you need to tell me how to get a boy completely whipped like that.”

You shrug. Jeonghyeon comes back with your much-desired pudding cup, proffering you a spoonful.

“Leejeong-yah, kiss?”

The rest of the table groans as he leans down and gives you a peck shamelessly. You smile and eat your pudding, stealing more kisses in between spoonfuls. Jeonghyeon might be a genius but he wasn’t the only smart one in the relationship.

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Howl (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: It’s almost inevitable, going on a road trip and ending up with car trouble. The nearby town of Ambrose seems like the perfect place to get your friend’s car a new battery without going off schedule too much, except the handsome mechanic at the body shop decides a dead battery will be the least of your worries as the road trip abruptly ends far worse than you could have imagined.

Note: Please read the warnings before deciding to engage with this fic. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. Your age is ambiguous in this, but it was written with a reader in their 20s or older in mind. This is my first slasher fic, but I’d like to write more. I hope Bo isn’t OOC in this (especially the ending, I feel kinda eh about it). I rewatched the movie and read the script right before starting on this but who knows. Please let me know what you think! Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Murder/death. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of time and self. Duct tape as a gag. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion (non/dubcon), knifeplay, bloodplay, and cigarette burns. Do not interact if you are under 18.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you and your small group of roadtripping friends arrived in Ambrose, a charming little town tucked in a forgotten corner of the Louisiana swamplands. You felt comfortable there, safe, even. Disarmed by a nostalgic main street lined with colorful family-owned shops, you thought nothing of it when you all made the trek to reach the town’s gas station and body shop in search of a new battery for Laura’s car. Sure, the detour put a damper on the road trip, but you figured it’d only cost an hour or two of driving time.

Just your luck, the gas station was there, as the strange man along the highway had promised. That didn’t necessarily mean the place was open, as the gas pumps were half-rusted and at the obvious mercy of the elements. You had let your friends argue amongst themselves about whether or not to go inside the shop. You were the only one who noticed a broad-shouldered, handsome man in a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit walk out of the garage that had just started blaring heavy metal from inside. Funny, you would’ve suspected a place like that to play some twangy country classics. The mechanic stood a few feet away from you all, watching the scene in amusement, and you gave him an apologetic smile.

When he gave you a smile in return, one that was more wolf than man, you thought that you’d offer your throat to him without hesitation, let him feast on you as he pleased. As much as you hoped looking a wolf in the mouth would somehow defang him, he seemed famished, in an almost controlled desperation the way one hears howling in the night. You were presented with a blood red flag from the start and willingly ignored it just because you were a bit too curious about the fire behind his eyes and the way he blatantly ogled you, not your friends.

Trying to make polite conversation with him, you had asked him about the music that was playing in the body shop—Anthrax? Megadeth? Korn? You threw out names of metal bands, ones you’d seen on t-shirts or posters. He regarded you with amusement as he answered, though you’d retroactively acknowledge the predatory undertone of his words and actions toward you in the hour or so leading up to your life going to hell. He was always going to devour you.

Like everything in Ambrose, his good ol’ boy charm was nothing more than a facade to keep you in town as long as possible. Introducing himself as Bo, the exact man you all were told to look for, Michelle had cut to the chase and told him that Laura’s car was in need of a new battery. Your guard lowered even more as he threw compliments around like candy, asking all the right questions about the roadtrip you were 347 miles into. He searched for a brand new, more reliable car battery in the shop and the garage, only to muse as he charmingly adjusted his worn-out trucker cap that it might be back up at his house, one of the business deliveries he gets up there, he just hadn’t gotten a chance to unpack it yet.

In hindsight, you weren’t sure why you believed him, or why you let Renee walk up to the house with him by herself. What you couldn’t admit to yourself was that you almost didn’t, feeling jealous at the thought of her alone with Bo. A brief sense of satisfaction had swept over you when, for the second time, Bo’s attention was fixed on your body before he headed off to the house with Renee. You hadn’t seen her since.

The metal door of the basement hovel where you had found yourself trapped for god knows how long slammed open, and you jolted—at the harsh sound and at his unkempt appearance, sweat dripping from his brow, rage in his eyes, his chest heaving as he stalked over to the same spot you’d been in since he dragged you, screaming and crying but with no real fight, as you ashamedly reminded yourself, down there.

“Your friend is gettin’ on my last damn nerve,” he growled.

A foolish hope bubbled warm in your chest at this. Someone was still alive, someone besides you at least. Which one though? You’d seen a looming tower of a man with long black hair stab Laura and drag away her limp form while Bo had wrangled you back into the body shop and down to whatever fucking dungeon you were probably going to die in. Renee was airheaded and shallow; you admittedly didn’t like her much, but damn, if she found a way out of Ambrose, you’d be her best friend. You’d bet anything it was Michelle, though. She was the one who had doubts about stopping in Ambrose in the first place, going so far as to call bullshit when Bo claimed the car battery was up at his house.

It wasn’t like you could ask. He’d slapped duct tape over your mouth, as to his frustration he found he was out of superglue to seal your lips shut. The things that slip your mind. At least you still had your clothes on, though you doubted that would last. Blood, though you weren’t sure whose, stained your shirt beyond salvation anyway.

“Bitch won’t shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, double-checking that the restraints were secured.

You resisted the urge to scoff, as if you hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes exhausting yourself trying to break out of them. The bastard was expertly thorough, to your despair. You had gotten a surge of adrenaline in his earlier absence, a newfound will to escape and survive as you tugged at the leather straps and duct tape holding you in place on the surgical bed, praying for some kind of give. As soon as he stepped foot through that door again, slamming it behind him, you had been no closer to freedom than when he left. The gravity of the situation came crashing down on you, a suffocating hopelessness.

His sleeves had rolled up a bit, and you noticed scarring around his wrists, raised and angry looking despite having healed for some time. You’d never seen scarring like that before, wondering what could have caused such intense trauma to his skin like that.

His eyes followed yours, and he curled his lip, backhanding you across the face. “Ain’t polite to stare.”

The stinging pain in your jaw and the weight of his intense gaze made breathing difficult—that and the duct tape. You began to hyperventilate, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He cooed in mock sympathy, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall down your face.

“Save those for later, darlin’,” he said. “I got somethin’ special in mind for you.”

He left your side to begin rifling through a duffel bag in a dark corner of the room. Emerging back into the light moments later, he had a hand-held video camera and a plastic tripod. Despite your lips being sealed, you hoped the noises of protest you made would somehow change his mind. Instead, he seemed amused by them as he set down the tripod and began adjusting the camera on top of it, giving you a wink as the green light near the lens flickered on.

You stared at the cracked cement ceiling while he set up the video camera a few feet away from where he had you restrained, unwilling to acknowledge what was about to happen. You’d rather be dead—though you figured by the end of the night, you would be.

“Anyone ever tell you how fuckin’ pretty you are?” he asked, observing you through the small screen that flipped out from the side of the camera.

No, and you certainly didn’t want this to be the situation in which someone finally did. You wondered how many of your fallen comrades taped up on the dingy wall had heard the same line. It was almost impossible not to look at them, the dozens of polaroids of young women strapped to the same surgical bed as you, all in various states of brutalization, plainly spelling out your fate. None of the photos had captions scrawled beneath them, no dates or names—he probably didn’t know yours, either.

Bo snapped his fingers three times in a row, your startled gaze immediately shooting over to him behind the camera where he was adjusting the settings. At least his tinkering delayed the inevitable. You stared intensely into the camera as if trying to will it to break, put up a fight on your behalf so he’d call the whole thing off.

He grinned at your obedience. “That’s it. Eyes on me, doll.”

You whimpered. Doll, how appropriate, how fucking fitting. The second he got his hands on you, your personhood was dissolved into objectification. You had welcomed the prelude to it, the desire in his eyes when he openly stared at you earlier as he fed your ego so you’d end up right where he wanted you—accessible, vulnerable, defenseless.

“Perfect,” Bo whispered, as the green light turned red, indicating he’d begun recording. He stepped aside and grabbed a nearby knife as he made his way over to you.

The video camera was no longer your ally; it couldn’t buy you any more time from the inevitable. In an instant, it became your voyeur, a guilty bystander in the terrorization that was about to be documented. You wondered where the footage would end up, part of his personal collection, or maybe someone as prolific as him was churning this shit out for sickos online who’d imagine themselves in his place.

He stood angled toward your side, giving the camera a clear view of your body. He took his time drinking in the state of you, bound and terrified as you looked between him and the knife. You relaxed a little when he set the knife to the side, but just as quickly, his hands were on your body.

His big, calloused hand drifted up your skirt—why the fuck did you put on a skirt this morning—to your panties, and you felt your face heat up at the self-satisfied grin that spread across his face as he felt the wet stain on the fabric, slipping his fingers past the elastic to feel your arousal. He toyed with your clit, rubbing and pinching it as you resisted the orgasm you felt creeping up on you. Then, just as you were about to give in and go over the edge, he pulled his hand away, smug at the noise of frustration you made.

Picking up the knife again, he dragged the tip of the blade across the soft skin of your thighs until it rested far too close to your cunt for comfort. Your breathing was ragged, but you tried not to make any sudden movements or do anything to inadvertently provoke him. The bulge in his pants seemed especially pronounced, he certainly wasn’t doing this to you to compensate for something, you could tell that much.

He smirked upon noticing your eyes on the outline of his cock through his clothes.

“How bad d’you want it, darlin’?” he asked, his voice a low, almost velvety purr.

You shook your head furiously, screwing your eyes shut as he moved the blade, only for him to begin shredding through your clothing until they were nothing but rags on the floor. There was nothing to do but watch in horror as he sliced each of your bra straps, pushing down what was left of the undergarment to allow himself access to your tits. He held the knife to your throat while he leaned down, sucking on one of your nipples until it felt sore, like it was going to bruise. He finally pulled back, smacking your other tit for good measure.

The knife in his hand was dull, you realized, to your dismay. It appeared clean enough, all things considered, but with a blade like that, any injury he inflicted on you would take more effort on his part and hurt far more on yours. A sharpened blade would hurt, but it’d be quick and precise. You felt bile rise in your throat with nowhere for it to go as you considered how cruelly deliberate he was about all of this. Asshole.

For a few glorious moments, your mind had drifted elsewhere as he used the knife to cut through your panties—until you heard a scream and a groan from outside, both you and Bo pausing to look up at the grate in the ceiling and listen. Another scream and what surely must have been a body hitting the pavement, perhaps it was your imagination running wild, but you could’ve sworn you heard bones crack upon impact. Michelle. You felt your chest tighten.

Bo grinned, his wild gaze back on you as he tauntingly dragged the blade across your collarbone, far too close to your throat for comfort, “Listen, if you’re good for me, I’ll keep ya. Won’t have to end up like your friends up there.”

Keep you. You hated keep you. Keep you was long-term, turning your current situation into a permanent arrangement. Keep you was a threat, a dark omen hanging over your head like a bolt of lightning about to crack down on you. You wondered if any of the girls on the wall were so lucky as to receive such an offer.

“Whattaya say?” he asked, as if he needed permission.

Another vomit-inducing sound came from above, and you looked at him, nodding wildly.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead, a praise of “good girl” coming from deep in his chest.

Without warning, he plunged the blade into your forearm, a jagged, brutal cut that split your tender flesh. You screamed through the tape as white hot pain seared through your body, mascara-stained tears streaking down your cheeks as you writhed against your restraints. As soon as he pulled the knife from your arm and leaned down to lick the blood from the wound he inflicted on you, you passed out cold.

Almost to your disappointment, you awoke a few hours later, your injured arm bandaged up, though you could see your fresh blood stains had become the latest addition to the already stained to hell mattress you were laying on. Your pussy felt sore and aching, and you could only hazard a guess as to what else he did to you after you’d passed out. At least you’d gotten an IUD a few months earlier.

Bo was disgustingly chipper when he checked on you about an hour after you woke up, a smile on his face as he walked down the stairs with a TV dinner and a dusty bottle of soda. The scent of over-microwaved corn made your stomach growl, and you didn’t even like corn that much.

When he removed the tape from your mouth, you knew better than to mouth off or try something, not when you were fully aware of what he was capable of, and enjoyed doing nonetheless. Your compliance pleased him, as he praised you for how well you did, that the video he got was the best one yet—like you were made for it. You immediately lost your appetite.

As days went by, he checked on you frequently, though there was no rhythm to his visits, keeping you on edge. He restocked on super glue, but through reasoning unfathomable to you, decided duct tape suited your mouth better. Sometimes he’d bring food for you that wasn’t even fully heated, and there was something especially hellish about having to eat half-frozen mac n’ cheese. You wished he would at least undo your restraints when you ate, but instead he fed you himself, like you were a child—only allowed microwave dinners that made you feel more nauseous than full and having to drink lukewarm tap water or flat soda from a straw.

Your arm was healing to his satisfaction, though where he had stabbed you would undoubtedly scar over horrifically. Astoundingly, you didn’t need stitches, but he assured you that Vincent–you assumed the long-haired man who’d killed Laura–was great at stitching people up. You weren’t sure whether to be comforted by that or not.

Then there was the bed across from the surgical one you were strapped to, its promise of comfort taunted you, but the only time you were in it was when you were restrained as usual, your face buried in the grimy pillows, ass up as he either fucked or belted you until you were crying or bleeding. He preferred both. The TV appeared broken, but you didn’t want to watch anything and be further reminded of the outside world you were missing anyway.

The basement didn’t have a bathroom, and so the only time you were freed from your restraints was when he’d bring you upstairs to the one in the gas station, a knife to your throat the whole ascent up to sunlight, a few taunting yards away from freedom. Though the scummy bathroom had no windows, he went as far to go in with you while you used the toilet, and you knew it was to humiliate you more than it was to make sure you didn’t escape. You couldn’t check what you were sure was your haggard appearance, as the mirror on the wall was covered by brown paper, shards of broken glass poking through the quick cover-up. Maybe it was one of the girls pictured downstairs, seeing an opportunity and taking it, smashing the mirror with an elbow and sheer force of will to put up one last fight. The rust-colored stains on the tile floor told you that while it was a valiant effort, she was not the victor.

You knew you smelled rancid from being down there, anxiously sweating every moment you were in his presence mixed with your own dried blood and his cum that you were sure he’d gotten on every inch of your body at that point. He had presented you with a pack of half-dried, lemon-scented wet wipes on one of your trips up to the bathroom, and you wasted no time in using every one of them to scrub yourself down as he watched intently, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette, the bulge in his pants reminding you that you wouldn’t stay clean for long.

The worst part was, you began looking forward to him checking on you. He was sadistic and deliberately cruel, but isolation did you no favors as your already fragile mental state caused you to crack. Time was absolutely not on your side, you’d lost track of it anyway.

One day, however, you heard another group of unsuspecting travelers speaking to Bo outside the body shop, their voices echoing down the grate that allowed the only natural light in. Your hope for rescue turned into a hope for something that shook you to your core when you acknowledged it—you hoped he wouldn’t replace you.

While you didn’t want to spend the foreseeable future in a dungeon, strapped to a surgical bed for a psychopath’s amusement, you certainly didn’t want to meet the inevitable, brutal death that awaited you so soon. The women who came before you were nowhere to be found, and you could only imagine the worst had happened to them. You didn’t know what Bo did with the photos and videos he frequently took of you, but you sure as hell didn’t want to spend your final moments as the subject of a hardcore snuff film.

You nearly gagged as you heard Bo use the same lines and excuses that he’d given you and your friends. No one in the group even protested, two people volunteering to tag along with Bo up to the house to get the taillight they needed. It wasn’t long before the sound of an all too familiar struggle ensued above. Metal clattered, people cursed and screamed, tires squealed, and you could hear Bo cursing and struggling before a gun shot rang out, bringing the fight to an end. You weren’t sure who had won until you heard, echoed through the grate, Bo asking Vincent if he was okay. Your stomach turned at the sound of his voice and the fact that he was alive, though you didn’t want to think about whether it did so in disappointment or relief.

You were shaking when Bo stormed into the basement, blood splattered across his face and on his clothes. He punched the wall, shouting “Fuck!” upon impact.

Your wide eyes were glued to him, and he turned to you, acknowledging your presence with a momentarily intense gaze that inexplicably softened as he closed the short distance between you.

“You were real good,” he said, sounding almost confused. “Stayed nice and quiet while Vincent and me took care of business up there.”

You awkwardly jerked your head toward his face. He’d gotten to know your quirks and tells, as he answered your unspoken question.

“‘S not mine,” he mumbled, sloppily wiping the blood away with his hand.

The tone in the basement for the next hour or so was almost uncomfortably domestic, like he really cared about you. Perhaps you’d proven your loyalty in his eyes by not making attempts to warn the unsuspecting tourists of what awaited them in Ambrose or trying for some kind of escape amidst the chaos.

Of the dozens of things you hated admitting to yourself about the situation you were in, you almost liked it better when he was mean to you. There was less guessing, less overthinking when he’d simply throw you around, fuck you, and then leave.

Over the following days, your conflicting feelings over the slight intimacy he was displaying, a kiss on the forehead here, a meal that wasn’t microwaved there, only grew. If there was anything you could do to gain his favor in this way, you’d do it, you’d do anything for him to be nice to you more than he was cruel. After all, you’d gotten yourself this far with your mouth duct-taped and your arms and legs strapped to a surgical bed or immobilized by the host of restraints he had in his possession. He realized such when you leaned into his touch at one point, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion briefly before he grinned. Neither of you, it seemed, were particularly experienced with whatever relationship you’d found yourselves in.

“C’mon—“ his thick Louisiana drawl made it difficult for you to discern whether he was calling you doll or darl’. Regardless, he freed you of your restraints and presented you with the first article of clothing you’d seen since he brought you down there. It was yours, and you knew exactly where you had put it in your suitcase. A slinky little satin slip that you’d bought days before the trip as nightwear, hoping you’d get lucky in some city or town along the way. The sight of it made you want to scream.

“We’re goin’ on a little date,” he said jovially.

You shook as you attempted to dress yourself, embarrassed when he had to come over and help you get the slip over your head. The fabric was just as soft and silky as when you’d bought it off the rack, though it was wrinkled and you noticed a white stain near the hem. You supposed you couldn’t have it all.

To make matters worse, your legs were weak from the limited use of them over time, buckling beneath you as you tried to slip your feet into the kitten heels that you didn’t recognize. While Bo made a fuss about having to help you with your shoes as well, easily a size too small anyway, you could tell he relished in how helpless you were.

Finally, he pulled the duct tape off of your mouth. He handed you a tube of chapstick—cherry, though most of the label was worn off, odd, it almost looked like the one Renee had. You could care less, though. It was the first time your mouth was untaped for something other than eating one of the disgusting microwave dinners he brought you or him fucking your throat until you cried. You applied the used chapstick liberally, rubbing your lips together in hopes it would soften them some.

“Gimme a twirl.” He whistled as you did so with the grace of a newborn fawn. “Shit, oughta enter you in the Miss Ambrose pageant. Knock all them other girls outta the park.”

Miss Ambrose. The posters were plastered throughout town when you arrived. You could only imagine what the qualifications for the winner would have to be.

He brought you upstairs, no knife to your throat this time, but you knew better than to try something when he always had that or a gun on him. Besides, you were far too weak to even make an effective escape attempt. You trudged forward through the shop, almost at the door when you stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse of yourself in the small mirror on the wall.

The reflection wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The woman who stared back at you was worn-out, beat up, pathetic—you couldn’t accept that he’d done that to you in, well, you really didn’t know how long he’d kept you down there. If Bo noticed your shock at your appearance, he didn’t care, as he pressed a kiss to your bruised, bare shoulder before throwing his arm over it and leading you outside, into the cool night air.

A cigarette was nestled between his fingers in his other hand, and you felt yourself start to sweat at the sight of it. Normally, the worst he would do was blow smoke in your face, amused by your evident discomfort. A not so distant memory of him putting one out on your thigh, cigarette in one hand and video camera in the other, nearly made you tense up. It was almost as if being out of the restraints, out in the open, made you feel more vulnerable to his cruelty.

He offered the smoke to you, and for half a moment you considered taking it so as to not upset him, but you allowed yourself to meekly shake your head. To your relief, it was the right move.

“Good, these things’ll kill ya. Hate to see somethin’ like that happen to my pretty girl,” he said, taking a long drag on the cigarette before flicking it aside.

You could barely keep up with his long strides, the prolonged weakness in your legs and impractical, ill-fitting heels doing you no favors as he led you down the deserted streets of Ambrose.

The town lit up like it was taunting you, highlighting all of the things you would have noticed if you weren’t too busy making heart-eyes at the handsome mechanic to let them fade into the background. Flickering street lamps laughed at you as you walked up main street under Bo’s arm, making some grand walk of shame past every red flag you ignored, every chance of escape you fumbled. Then again, you were still alive, and Bo had made no mention of Laura, Renee, or Michelle since the night he brought you to the basement. You hated that you didn’t know how long it’d been since then. It could have been a day, it could have been forever. It felt like both.

You stumbled a bit when Bo stopped in front of a light blue, mid century-style house that had seen better days, but inside seemed to be bustling.

“Little housewarming party for some new neighbors. Thought you might like to see ‘em,” he said.

You couldn’t conceal the shiver that ran through your body at his chipper tone, he only used it when he was going to do something to you. Most of the time, to your frustration, you couldn’t read him, but his tone of voice gave so much away.

As you and Bo walked up the short path to the front door, you noticed vague silhouettes patterned the plain curtain in the window, though you could hear faint feminine laughter and upbeat music from inside. After school specials from the height of the Satanic Panic flashed briefly through your mind as you wondered if the torture you’d experienced at Bo’s hands was an initiation or ritual of sorts. The thought was oddly comforting, the possibility of your suffering being meaningful as opposed to simply for the amusement of a sadistic killer.

Bo knocked on the front door before finding it unlocked and letting the two of you in. He kept up the pretense of the housewarming party, making quips that fell on deaf ears as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what you were going to walk into. You held out no hope that the women would help you, and upon entering the living room with Bo, found it wasn’t possible anyway.

No one reacted when you and Bo entered the room, his arm tight around your waist. The TV was blaring a Bewitched rerun, cacophonous with the Connie Francis cassette that was playing on the radio sitting atop a dusty bookshelf. You recognized the song as soon as it went into the chorus—Who’s Sorry Now. The unfortunate irony wasn’t lost on you, but it seemed to be lost on the three women in the room, who hadn’t moved an inch since you and Bo walked in.

Despite the chatter and laughter, it sounded like the noise wasn’t coming from the women, but rather echoed in from elsewhere. Bo’s grip on you loosened, and you took it as his unspoken permission to check out the party for yourself. Cautiously, you stepped forward, unsure of what to expect from them. Were they aware Ambrose was some fucked up murder town? Did they know what Bo had been doing to you?

A strangled scream tore from your aching throat as you saw the faces of your gracious party hosts. A woman leaned against a dingy, stained couch, forced laughter etched into her wax face. Laura. Your eyes drifted to the woman sitting on the couch with her hair curled between her fingers in one hand, the other gripped tightly around a retro dial-tone telephone. Renee. In a nearby armchair that looked like it’d been dragged out of your grandmother’s house sat a woman whose face was scrunched in clear annoyance, her arms folded across her chest. Michelle.

The resemblance to all of them was uncanny. It wasn’t until you leaned in to examine the wax figure of Laura’s face that you noticed it was far too real for your liking. In a panic, you scrambled backward, directly into Bo’s strong chest. You were sure if he had fed you before this, you would have thrown up all over the place. His sheer delight at your distress made you sure your suspicions were correct, your friends had been encased in wax, their dynamic preserved as part of Ambrose’s facade. The people in the shops, chattering you could hear coming from buildings, it was all pretend, all except you and Bo. You’d yet to meet Vincent, but you weren’t sure you wanted to, if this was what he did to his victims.

Bo pushed you onto the couch so that you were clumsily seated between Laura and Renee. You knew better than to move, remaining as still as the wax figures around you until he told you otherwise. Tears flowed freely and silently down your face.

Taking a step back, he tilted his head as he regarded you mockingly. “Ya know, Vincent might have a good point—you’d fit into the scene real well.”

Out of the corner of your watery eyes, you could have sworn you saw Michelle’s eye twitch from her spot in the armchair. God, was she still alive in there?

“Well darlin’, I can’t blame ya for wantin’ in on this girls’ night here. Seems like you’re missin’ out on a lot of fun,” he said, grinning as he stood over you. “Me and you have a whole lotta fun too, ain’t that right, Y/N?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out a sob at the use of your name, him giving you some of your personhood back was almost too much to handle. He didn’t appreciate the significance of the gesture, or maybe he did and just wanted you to get the fuck over it. Regardless, he let out an impatient growl at your lack of response.

“I’m waitin’ on an answer, doll,” he demanded.

“I want—“ your voice was hoarse, the words clawing their way out of your throat. “I want to stay with you.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, eyes black as he leaned over you, using his body to cage you into your spot on the couch.

All you could manage was a weak, “Yeah.”

“Guess it’s time to bring you home to meet the family, then.”

He kissed you on the lips, the first time he’d ever done so. He didn’t seem to care that your lips were woefully chapped and bruised, as he deepened the kiss as soon as you began to kiss him back–when did you start kissing him back? Your brain felt fuzzy. It was nice actually kissing him, even though he seemed like he was more concerned with claiming you. Still the situation was fucked up, making out with the man responsible for you and your friends’ misery right next to their wax-preserved corpses. If this constituted a party in Ambrose, you’d decline the invitation next time.

After a few minutes, he broke from the kiss and pulled you up from the couch. He made a show of announcing your departure to the girls, thanking them for putting on such a great party, adding to his own amusement and your crushing guilt.

The walk back to the gas station was quiet, despair overwhelming you as you neared the building, unsure of how long you’d be stuck in the basement again.

As you began shuffling over to the front door, he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’? Didn’t I say I was bringin’ ya home?”

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Get your pretty ass in the truck, then,” he said, smacking your ass for emphasis.

He opened the passenger door, and you maneuvered to the middle of the bench seat, correctly assuming he’d want you right next to him as he drove. You weren’t sure where his house was or how long the ride would be as he cut on the engine and began driving up the street, past the fake shops and the blue house where your friends would remain, a twisted, parodic form of themselves preserved forever.

The radio was playing the same heavy metal you’d hear playing from above in the gas station, but you were no more familiar with the artists than you were when you first asked him about him, your sad attempt at flirting that the lonely and insecure part of you figured was harmless, not even considering the worst that could happen.

As he drove the truck up the road, toward a house on a hill, he glanced over at you every so often. The light from the dashboard illuminated his features, and you allowed yourself to take him in, frustratingly handsome and charming when he wanted to be. You wondered if it’d be easier not to feel so soft for him if he were some disgusting old man.

Bo’s hand gripped your thigh. “Ya look like a damn dream in that.”

“Thank you,” you said, a small smile appearing on your face.

You’d give him that much, for all the names he called you while putting you through your wildest nightmares, he never said anything negative about your appearance, and if the reflection in the mirror you saw earlier was any indication, you’d been looking rough for a while.

The truck finally stopped, and he helped you out of it, his hand on the small of your back as he led you up to the house. He unlocked the door, and when you walked into the foyer, you were almost surprised that, for the most part, it looked normal and lived-in, clothes strewn about and empty cans of beer on several surfaces. Undoubtedly a mess that smelled of must, cigarettes, and something you couldn’t quite identify.

Still, at least it was a house and not a windowless torture dungeon. You knew to count your blessings and not comment on the state of the place. It wasn’t often women like you moved up in the world of unwilling captivity. Besides, if you played your cards right, maybe he’d let you clean a bit. Jesus Christ, who were you? Wanting to clean up after him, be this psychopath’s housewife? You sighed. You were whoever he wanted you to be.

“Tired?” he asked.

You shook your head. With the exception of your first night in Ambrose, wherein he went easy on you, as a rule, Bo liked you awake and somewhat alert when he was around, and you knew he wasn’t bringing you to his house for a candlelight dinner followed by a romantic slow dance in the kitchen.

There wasn’t an opportunity to inspect much else of the house, as he began leading you upstairs. All of the doors down the long hallway looked more or less the same, off-white as a result of time and tobacco smoke, streaks of what you assumed was blood on each of them. He stopped in front of a door on the far end of the hall and opened it for you, pulling you inside.

Bo’s room, like what you’d seen of the house, was an organizational disaster. You weren’t sure what to focus on first. It wasn’t until you did so that you realized you should have asked, but when you noticed the stack of Polaroids on top of a nearby dresser, you grabbed them. Each one was of you in various states of torture and pain, framed similarly to the other ones in the basement. He scrawled something beneath one of the photos, and you were able to make out the chicken scratch as your name and ‘pretty when she cries’. The gesture was romantic by Bo’s standards, and you set the photos back down, almost overwhelmed.

Bo walked up behind you, pressing his crotch into your ass so you could feel his erection. One of his hands wrapped around your throat, the other playing with the hem of your slip. He gave your throat a light squeeze, and you remained still, waiting to see what he’d do next in the unfamiliar territory.

He turned you around, giving you a rough kiss before shedding you of your slip, still intact as it pooled at your feet. You almost let a giggle escape from your lips, so he really did like how you looked in it. He wasted no time in pushing you back onto the bed, and you gasped, light and airy at how nice it felt. A real bed, messy and unmade nonetheless, but compared to what you’d been strapped to, it felt like you were floating on a cloud.

Bo took off his clothes, fully nude before you for the first time. You noticed similar scars around his ankles as those around his wrists but knew better than to stare. Besides, there was so much more to look at when it came to Bo. He was a lot of things, but you’d never accuse him of not being hot. It was one of the first things you’d noticed when you first saw him, and finally getting to see him on full display made your core feel pleasantly warm.

There was no foreplay, none of the pain or cruelty you’d come to expect as he climbed over you. Instead, he pounded his long, hard cock into you, no more concerned with your pleasure than usual, yet your body betrayed you as you neared orgasm despite how roughly he handled you. It was the first time you weren’t restrained while he fucked you, and you had no idea what to do with your hands.

Hesitantly, you reached up, caressing his cheek. Fazed by the intimacy you initiated, his thrusts became erratic, and he took your hand, kissing your palm before pushing your arm away. Then, as if to remind you who was in charge, not to get too comfortable around him, he, in turn, slapped you across the face, and you came around his cock with a moan that sounded almost foreign. His orgasm soon followed, and he cursed under his breath as his hot cum pumped inside you.

To your disbelief, he didn’t drag the act out any longer, pulling out of you and allowing you to settle into the pillows. He reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed—was this now your side of the bed? Would he let you sleep in it with him?—and shook a cigarette out from the pack, sticking it in his mouth and lighting it with a rusted Zippo lighter.

“Gonna be tough findin’ another girl to keep down there who’ll do it for me like you,” he mused, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Got real lucky with ya.”

Your heart lurched at the thought of another woman down there. You quickly convinced yourself it was out of empathy, after everything that Bo had put you through, to hell and back until you were a shell of yourself and somehow lucky to be alive, you wouldn’t wish that on any woman.

The part of you that now belonged to him, broken and dependent, seethed with jealousy at the possibility of his attention being divided between you and someone else. He’d spent so much time with you while you were down there, would the other woman get the luxury as he fed and fucked her. Other woman, as if she’d be his mistress, his honey on the side, rather than a captive just like you. You hated yourself, feeling pathetic as ever for having such thoughts.

Despite yourself, you whispered, “No.”

“Whattya mean ‘no’?” he asked, his angered expression quickly dissolving into smugness upon noticing how bashful you were, avoiding his gaze. He couldn’t have that, now.

Gently lifting your face, he forced you to make direct eye contact with him. “You jealous? Want me all to yourself?”

No. Maybe? Yes. You gave a weak nod at his question, hoping he wouldn’t make you confirm such out loud. You were never as lucky as he was.

“Say it to me, darlin’,” he ordered, his voice soft as he pulled the answer from you.

Humiliated, you gave him what he wanted, all the while mentally convincing yourself otherwise as you admitted tearfully, “I want you to myself, Bo.”

Snuffing the cigarette out in the bedside ashtray, he took your face in his hands and kissed you with an uncharacteristic sweetness, before slyly suggesting a shower together, your first one since you’d gotten to Ambrose. Thoughts of him fucking you mercilessly against the shower wall made you squirm, but it meant you could finally use real soap, maybe even wash your hair. You nodded in agreement, to his further delight.

You noticed your bags in the corner of the room, mostly undisturbed except for your suitcase, which he had clearly rifled through to get the slip you had been wearing. At least they were still there, maybe he’d let you wear your clothes from now on, even if it was on his terms. You wasted no time in grabbing the bag that housed your makeup and toiletries before following him into the bathroom.

He woke you up the following morning with your choice of engagement rings in a plastic bin—you shuddered to think of what happened to their previous owners—all glittering boldly and promising eternity with a man who would return to you with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes late at night, the predator finally claiming his prey after the long, drawn out chase. Your head was always going to end up mounted on his wall.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher x reader #house of wax #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax 2005

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julessworldd · 2 years

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Red revenge Robb Stark fic

A/N: Basically i saw this Robb edit on tik tok and thought of about it for a fic. Basically the red wedding happens but everyone doesn’t realize Robb made it alive. So my fic is about that but also @valeskafics thoughts.. Bel said what if his wife was kidnapped by the the Lannisters and was forced to marry Joffrey. I made Y/n a Tyrell, Margery’s twin and youngest child of Mace Tyrell.

Warning: violence(Its a got fic so obviously there’s some blood shed lol), angst, marriage, child, pregnancy mention. Smut implied at the end. Bedding ceremony is mentioned(idk if that’s a trigger ) Jaime don’t gets his character arc yet, very much s1 Jaime, but set in s3. Love Jaime but it’s for plot, sorry Jeyne I stole your man for a plot 😘 okay enjoy babes 💚

Y/n Tyrell, twin of Margarey Tyrell, the prettiest rose. Margarey was beautiful with her bright blue eyes, perfect skin, red hair for days. The biggest smile that would make the strongest knight break down. Then there was Y/n, she was beautiful like her twin but she didn’t feel like that. Everyone forgot about her or at least she thought. Hiding in Marg’s shadow since day 1 she’s got used to be Margarey’s twin and the youngest Tyrell.

Mace Tyrell was in the north when the war broke out as Robb Stark brought his banner men down south. Y/n and Mace got separated but Robb found her. He swore he would get Y/n back to Highgarden to safety.

As the months passed, the two fell in love and Robb found a septon that ironically married his Aunt Lynna to Prince Rhaegar. They were married in secret much to Lady Cat’s disappointment. It was stupid to marry for love in this world but they didn’t care. Robb loved Y/n and wanted to protect her forever. Y/n loved Robb more than what she thought she could love anyone. More than her twin in Highgarden. Soon the Starks and their men went to a Frey wedding as Robb’s uncle is supposed to marry Freys daughter.

The wedding had ended as the couple were giggling and feeding each other as others danced. Robb and Y/n were watching the new couple as they talked.

“If you actually kept your oath, you would be eating out of her hand” Y/n smirked

“Perhaps I made a terrible mistake” Robb deadpanned.

Y/n gasped as she attempted to hit Robb’s shoulder but he grabbed her wrist gently pulling her close to him, “Hitting your king is an act of treason”

Y/n’s face soften as she giggled, “I’m sorry my love” Robb let her wrist go as he kissed her hand, “Good don’t do it again”

Walder commanded the bedding ceremony was to begin.. lords grabbed Rosylin and lady’s giggled as they attempted to take off Eddume’s jacket. Y/n watched as the group left, “I’m sure the gods would live if we didn’t have that”

“It’s tradition, Y/n/n” Robb replied

“Doesn’t make it right” Y/n said as the door shut and a Lannister battle song started. Y/n and Catelyn made eye contact as a Frey guard flipped tables and shot some Stark bannermen. It finally hit Robb what happened, he attempted to grab Y/n but a Frey man grabbed her and dragged her towards to door as she screamed and kicked.

Y/n was held by her arms as she watched Robb got shot by two arrows knocking him down. Walder said something but Y/n was in shock as she watched her love get shot and her mother in law screamed at him to get up.

“Get up Robb! Get up and walk out, take me as your hostage. He’s my son! My first boy!” Catelyn screamed.

Walder sat there as a Frey guard stabbed Robb in his ribs, “The Lannisters send their regards” Robb looked at Y/n as he fell to the ground. Blood poured out as she screamed. Catelyn screamed and cut Walder’s daughter’s throat. Someone knocked Y/n out and dragged her to Jaime Lannister’s horse waiting outside. Hours later Y/n woke up tried to scream but was gagged and had her hands and legs tied.

“Oh the wolf’s bitch is awake” Jaime chuckled.

Soon enough Y/n was in the Red Keep as Jaime had her over his shoulder as he carried to his father’s chambers

“Father, here’s your grandson’s bride” Jaime sat her on her feet.

“What?!” Y/n said but, Jaime still had her gagged.

Y/n was set to marry King Joffrey, her grandmother made an alliance with House Lannister. She never hated anyone until now. She hated her grandmother, her father, anyone else that influenced this marriage. She hated Walder Frey and his men. She watched her love die in front of her and her mother in law had to be dead as well.

Margarey walked in Y/n’s chambers with a big smile, “Sister, I’m so glad to see you”

“I can’t marry Joffrey, he’s a monster! He had Robb killed in front of me! You’re just like everyone else, can’t believe father is allowing this” Y/n yelled

“Y/n, Robb broke his oath. It’s horrible yes but we can’t forget that” Margarey said

“Shut up! We were married and loved each other, he was my world! And you let him get killed! He was good damn it!” Y/n yelled as her older brother walked in

“What’s all the yelling about?” Loras asked

“Why do you care? Mhm! Robb was the love of my life and he was murdered! I hate this fucking family and fuck the king!” Y/n spat, throwing a vase. Y/n was known for her quick temper and thin patience. She had enough of everything and everyone. She wanted Robb but he was dead.

A few weeks later Ceseri dragged Y/n into a council meeting.. The king, the hand Tywin Lannister, Lord Varys, Lord Balish sat and Lord Tyrion was there.

Cersei pushed Y/n down on the ground, Tyrion jumped down for his seat and held a hand out to Y/n, “Lady Y/n” Y/n looked at Tyrion and took his hand, “Thank you, my lord”

“Maester Pyell, give my uncle the letter” Joffery said

Tyrion got the letter and read it out loud “What’s this? Bad poetry?”

Joffery chuckled dark, “Robb Stark is dead and his bitch mother!”

The door opened as Robb walked in with his sword out, he seen Y/n and grabbed her into his side, “Oh is he?” Robb said in a deep voice.

Everyone was silent, jaws opened in shock and fear, Cersei stood in front of Joffery like a mother lion to her cub. Tywin grabbed his sword and walked towards Robb.

“Theon, get Y/n out” Robb gently pushed Y/n backwards as he stood his ground.

Theon threw Y/n over his shoulder, “Come on” Y/n kicked and punched him as he carried her out.. “No! I won’t let him die again!”

“Jorey, take Queen Y/n to the gates. I’ll get Lady Sansa before Robb is done” Theon said as Jorey grabbed Y/n in his arms.

Robb came out of the Keep with something in his grasp, he had a smirk on his face. A dark one at that. He got closer and threw the heads at his men. Y/n and Sansa looked, it was King Jofferys, Tywin, Ceresi’s.

Y/n jumped in his arms, “How are you alive? I watched you die” Y/n cried on his shoulder.

“Shhh! It’s okay I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? Did he touch you?” Robb hugged me tight

“No I’m not hurt. What about my family?” Y/n asked.

“They’re packing for Highgarden. You can go with them if you want. It’s home for you” Robb snuzzled in her hair

“No, I want you. I’m not losing you again i swear it, my love” Y/n said

“Let’s go home then my Queen” Robb sat her down as he went to hug Sansa.

A few years later, Robb made it back to Winterfell and was still King in the north. The north was an independent kingdom, Robb wasn’t going to bend the knee to anyone as long as he was breathing. Y/n got pregnant not too long after arriving in Winterfell. Wasn’t a shock as the pair were locked in their chambers for a week with each other. 9 moons later, Y/n gave birth to a curly haired auburn boy. Cregan II Stark, a remake of his father but his mothers smile. The perfect heir, perfect little son, a product of a loving marriage. Y/n was actually pregnant again, she wants it to be a girl this time, her mini me. They were happy as a family and that’s all that mattered to them.

#robb stark #robb stark x y/n #Robb stark x reader #got fanfiction #robb stark imagine #robb stark x Tyrell!reader

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muskywolfthings · 1 year

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Open House

((A quick drabble I've been working on the last few days- it's not much, but I LOVED writing it, and it's helped me get back into a little bit of a flow- hope you guys enjoy! No real smut ahead, but lots of fluffy daddy sterek feels))

Open Houses had always been a breeze for Stiles and Derek. Eli was a model student, even when he was taking after Stiles a little /too/ much- brain to mouth filter dwindling as he got older, and came into his personality more. Stiles usually steamrolled through most of their interactions, Derek a comforting presence over his shoulder agreeing with his husband’s stance on everything- even after all their years together, Stiles was still very much the center point in their household. A very loud, sometimes obnoxious, and sarcastic center, but he wouldn’t have been both his husband, and his son's anchor if he wasn’t good at his job. One of his jobs, that is. But Eli was starting High School in less than a week, and both Stiles and Derek were panicking. Just a bit. Derek more so than Stiles, which he blamed on Eli’s wolf becoming harder to control as he reached the more intense throes of puberty- but Stiles knew better. His husband was one big gigantic softie, and he couldn’t fathom that their baby boy was growing up. Much too fast for either of their likings.

High school was such a milestone! It was huge! It’s when Eli would start thinking about college, /really/ thinking about girls- “And guys! I take after my pops, equal opportunity all the way” Eli would boast with a grin- parties, experimenting in all aspects. His academic workload was going to double, given his advanced classes, more hectic schedule- juggling lacrosse in the fall, basketball in the spring, band and theater, Eli had a full plate.

Stiles always made it clear to him though, that while high school was a formative time in his life- it wasn’t where things ended. It was a blast, it was hard, sometimes he’d wish he never had to go back, and some days he’d wish he could create a time loop in freshman year and never escape it. But they were a pack, a family. Eli would have one of the best support systems for the entirety of his existence. Stiles and Derek weren’t just going to throw him to the metaphorical wolves once he graduated.

He was their baby. He would always be their baby, which came with certain ups and downs. One of the ups though, being he’d always have someone there to help him. Especially once he was out of high school, and things got scarier- more real. Which, Stiles thought at least, made Eli more excited, and less prone to fears of the future, as he stood in front of his fathers in front of the school- Stiles holding onto his arm with a smile, and Derek keeping one firm hand on Eli’s shoulder as they entered Beacon Hills High School.

And boy, what a nostalgia trip it was.

Stiles and Derek hadn’t stepped foot in those halls since before Eli was born- and it wasn’t lost on either of them how bittersweet it was to do so.

“Please don’t cry dad,” Eli whined, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles, who sniffled once, before squaring his shoulders and nodding stiffly. Derek chuffing a laugh under his breath, and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Stiles’ neck. “Leave your father alone, he’s reminiscing about the day’s he used to be shoved into these lockers.” Derek teased, smiling brightly as Stiles balked, and tried to slap him over his shoulder- Derek catching his hand easily, and kissing along each knuckle. A warm blush took over Stiles’ cheeks as he did so, and Eli gagged.

“You’re gonna give these kids reason to ridicule me for literally the rest of my life,” Eli sighed, miming shooting himself square between the eyes- Derek rolling his eyes at his sons dramatics, even as Stiles reached forward to pinch his cheeks and coo at the boy- just as a group of girls breezed past, giggling to themselves as Eli fought his father back, horrified.

There was a brief assembly in the gym, where each teacher introduced themselves in front of the room full of students and their guardians- their names, their subject, and the grades they taught. The students were free to accompany their parents to meet each of their teachers, but they were encouraged to mingle, and hang out in the gymnasium, and out on the lacrosse field where there were concessions set up, while the teachers and guardians mingled about the school.

As soon as they were dismissed to go about the rest of the evening, Eli booked it outside- assuring his dads he’d stay out of trouble, and introduce himself to his teachers before the evening ended. Which left Stiles and Derek, Eli’s schedule in hand, to start their own rounds.

Given Eli’s regular course load, and extracurriculars, it meant they couldn’t linger too long in what classroom. Their son being a social butterfly was quite draining. Now Stiles knew how his dad felt- though he supposed in some respects this was better: at least meeting Eli’s coach wasn’t moot, he wouldn’t be a benchwarmer like Stiles. Thank god.

The first two teachers they met were a breeze- Stiles did most of the talking, Derek humming his approval of teaching plans, and nodding where he saw fit. Derek had never been very verbose, even as a teenager, and it was moments like these he appreciated his husbands ability to pull words seemingly out of his ass.

It wasn’t till they met with the band instructor- a man in his mid twenties, that Derek became even more quiet. His arm found its way around Stiles’ shoulder, as he went on about how badly he wanted to play the trumpet as a child- laughing openly, unaware of the other man’s gaze sliding over his body. Right. In front. Of Derek.

Derek wouldn’t necessarily call himself possessive (Stiles would, Stiles absolutely would) and don’t get him wrong! His husband's charm and physical attraction wasn’t lost on him in the slightest.

But that’s the thing. It was /his/ He belonged to Derek.

Kind of.

Not in a property sort of way! But like…sort of.

Derek also knew there wasn’t much he could do about it- he could scent and sense things about people that he wasn’t technically supposed to. His face twisted up in slight disgust at the wave of arousal that poured off of the man in front of them- a cloud of it cloaking itself over he and Stiles the longer they chatted.

Derek was quick to grumble about how they needed to keep it moving, and he corralled Stiles out of the band hall and towards their next class- all too aware suddenly of all the looks they were getting.

Derek was never blind to his own physical appearance, but almost none of the attention pointing their direction, was pointed towards himself. Sure, the occasional couple would take them both in appreciatively- but as soon as Stiles opened his mouth, everyone’s eyes gravitated towards him. He was warm, and kind- handsome, and loved his husband and son. Derek supposed that was reason enough to drop everyone’s panties.

Derek got increasingly more handsy as the night wore on, and by the time they were making their way to coach Finstock’s office for a quick hello- Derek couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked quietly, rubbing his thumb over Derek’s knuckles where they held hands- Derek skirting them through the halls of parents and students- ducking into an empty classroom before they could be seen, and pressing Stiles up against the door. Mouth immediately on his pulse point, hands finding their way up and under his sweater.

“Derek!” Stiles hissed, glancing over his shoulder, into the almost empty hallway outside though the small window at the top of the door- biting his lip as Derek growled against his throat- hot tongue sliding across his throat, before Derek bit down gently, positively purring as Stiles gasped- the spicy scent of his mates arousal cloaking Derek entirely- filling the small classroom completely with their combined scents.

Derek fucking loved it.

“This is so not professional, Eli’s gonna know what we were doing! Do you want to scar our child, Der?” Stiles pouted- though one of his hands was already in Derek’s jeans- cupping his ass, while his other tugged at the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck gently- scratching just where he knew his wolf loved. If Derek had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Derek assured him quietly, nibbling just below Stiles’ ear, sucking a light red mark there for good measure after. “-I just needed to get my hands on you. And my mouth..and my-” “Yes! Yes that’s very clear, you dick,” Stiles interrupted quickly, grinding up and against Derek softly- mouth falling open on a quiet gasp at how hard Derek was. What was even happening.

“Remember when we used to sneak in here?” Derek prompted quietly, voice deep, and husky- dripping with so much lust he was threatening to drown Stiles in it. “You’ve been such a bad boy, Mr Stilinski,” Derek purred, Stiles’ mind thrust back to when he was nineteen, and a lot more willing to risk public indecency charges- Derek bending him over desks, benches in the locker room- even tables in the cafeteria, after hours when they’d snuck in. It was so bad, so wrong, but so, so, hot.

“I love you so much.” Stiles laughed, kissing down Derek’s cheek, and sliding one of his palms along the hot ;length of his husband's cock through his jeans. “As much as I want to swallow your cock, right here, in this classroom,” Stiles began, rubbing circles in the fat heft of Derek’s balls through the denim, “-we need to go see Finstock, and then make sure Eli talked to his teachers. Then maybe see if he still wants to spend the night at Jake’s.” Derek nodded stiffly, and while he was no young man anymore, not really, he was so close to cumming in his jeans it wasn’t even funny.

Fuck. “I love you too,” Derek breathed, nosing along Stiles hairline, before snapping his fangs at the man playfully- practically beaming when Stiles laughed- loud and happy, music to Derek’s ears, as they composed themselves enough to head back out into the school. Hands interlocked, a promise of a wild evening hanging between the two of them.

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #eli hale #sterek #teen wolf

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