#it's just him the farm and his little witch family

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

[readychilledwine]

A Debt Paid in Full

Summary - Your father shouldn't have sent his prettiest daughter after refusing to pay his Tithe

Warnings - this is unhinged and kind of dark, virgin reader, younger female/older male, manipulation, smut, beron is... surprisingly giving and slightly charming but arrogant. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding Kink, beron

A/N - You all asked for it. Please don't ask for more. I feel dirty 🤣

The Whore Home Masterlist

“Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” Being circled by the High Lord of Autumn had to have been the scariest thing you had ever experienced. “Is that why Daddy sent you? Does he think a nice pair of tits will buy him time to pay his tithe?”

“No, my lord,” yes, you thought instantly. “He is just busy over looking the land and farms. He apologizes for sending a female in his place, but you know how we are when it comes to business.”

Beron seemed to smile as he studied you again. “I imagine you already know you are only useful for certain,” he paused, looking over your frame again, a true smile forming at what he saw, “activities.”

“My father taught me my place, yes.”

“How old are you?”

“302, my lord.”

“And unmarried?” He tisked slightly. “And unpresented to the court as an available female?” He circled you again, a new dangerous light gleaming in those eyes. “Why?”

You took a deep breath. “My mother needed me home to help with my younger siblings, and now that they no longer require me, I am a spinster per our standards, my lord. I am not a viable option for marriage.”

“But you are for fucking. Or for a second wife. A pretty little toy to keep around when someone's lady refused to come warm their bed.”

“Ah, a second choice. How very desirable. I will stay unwed. Be the village witch.” The statement was out before you could stop it. Beron paused midwalk, looking at you with those dark eyes and his brows raised. “I apologize.”

“You are lucky you are very, very beautiful.” A hand went to your light red hair. “Your spring court mother did you quite the favor. Her fair blonde hair mixed with red. You are a unique treasure.”

An odd feeling set into your stomach at his constant compliments, at his hand twirling your hair, his body so close to yours you could feel the fire that ran within him.

The Autumn Lord was by no means an ugly male. He had produced 7 beautiful sons, each one resembling him but with their mother's eyes and hair. He was fit, body lined and cut with muscle you could make out under his fine tailored clothing. 

“I believe you and I could reach a compromise, y/n. Regarding your father's discretion.” The sinking feeling of what he meant hit you as a hand trailed your lower back. “Your father knows I collect beautiful things, and you, little fox, are a beautiful thing.”

“Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?”

“Is it an attempt when I can smell it clearly is working?” Beron walked you back to the wall, a hand resting on your hip and the other going behind your head to protect you from impact. “Is this what females dream of? A fae lord to whisk them away from their troubles, shower them in luxurious gifts and clothing?”

“I just dreamed of being taken away. The rest did not matter.” Beron smirked at the words, something that should have made your skin recoil but instead caused heat to settle between your legs. 

“Let's make a bargain, little fox. You stay with me, be my little second wife, and your family never pays a tithe again.”

Your eyes widened at the offer. It was a sacrifice you could make. What was your life in exchange for the safety of your family with your father's choice to ignore the tithe collection. Beron was handsome, the Forest House was beautiful, but he was cruel. “I want to be treated well.”

Beron hummed. “You will be, if you stay in line. Keep that pretty mouth in check. I was kind today. I will not always tolerate your attitude, though.”

The hand resting on your hip began to trail to the curve of your ass, the hand previously resting behind your head now, allowing him to lean into you and cage you into his body and the wall. “How soon?”

“Tonight. I have never been known to be a male with patience when I want something.”

“Why marriage? Why not just my maidenhood?” The question seemed to spark something in him, eyes growing darker and the scent of arousal being to consume every breath. 

“Why would I allow something so pretty to slip between my fingers? Especially when I didn't know I would be the one to ruin her? Yes or no. My tolerance for your questions is wearing thin and I can easily just drop you off as I have my eldest arrest your father.” 

What was your life, in exchange for the safety of theirs? “Yes.” 

That one word was all it took for him to pounce. Lips finding yours and dominating a heated kiss. He winnowed you from the room, taking you to what must have been his personal suite and walked you back to the bed. His hands roamed everywhere before picking you up and placing you on the softest bed you had ever dreamed of. “How attached to your dress are you?” The kisses moved to your jawline as he awaited his answer. 

“I'm not.”

“Good. I will give you a thousand more.”He burned every thread from your body, groaning at the newly exposed skin, so soft and untouched. Untested and unexplored. “I think your father knew I'd be weak for you. Your younger sisters had been presented to my court and married off, yet here you are. Hidden away because you were his most precious gem.” 

All you could do was whimper as soft thumbs ran over your nipples. Pinching them lightly. His lips ran to your neck, feeling like a trail of fire as they did. Every inch of you became so sensitive that you broke out in goosebumps. He stopped at a spot that made your back arch, sucking the skin there until you were sure you would bruise before continuing his path down. 

When he finally reached your breasts, he stopped temporarily, scooting you up the pillows a bit more before removing his crown and placing it on head. “Be a good pet and hold this for me.” You couldn't help but to laugh, but that quickly turned into another moan. “So responsive.” The praise quickly shot to your core just as a hand did, running along your soaked folds with an arrogant laugh. 

Every kiss, every lick, every gentle touch on your core had you mewling for him, back arching as you whined. When one finger pushed in and curled up, hitting a spot in you that you would have never found before immediately pulling it back out . “And such pretty noises.” You couldn't help but grip the sheets, praying to any God who would listen as his kisses continued lower until he settled between your legs. 

“Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.” Beron was oddly gentle, kissing your thigh. You could have died when he first licked at your core, growling as he did and nudging that precious bundle of nerves. 

“Beron,” you whispered almost in warning, fingers gripping the sheets tighter. 

“Ssh, relax.” He continued to motion again, setting your nerves a light and making you cry out at the foreign feeling. He continues then, slow methodical licks. Watching from lust filled hooded eyes as your back arched, as your mouth fell open, as your nails dug so deeply into his mattress your knuckles turned white. 

When his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking light as his tongue pressed into it, you saw stars. Then his fingers, his damned fingers pushed back inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. It was all too much, yet not enough. He used his free hand to pin your hips down, leaving you with no escape from his mouth. 

Your stomach started to feel tight, and your mind became hazy, core clenching at the now two fingers pushing in and out, scissoring and dancing on the sensitive spot you have only read about in novels. You went barreling over the edge quickly, feeling him smirk on your core as you screamed for him. He pulled his mouth away, keeping his fingers deep inside of you, working you open for him. 

You had not even noticed him remove his clothing using magic, but he was bare before you. Scars littered his muscled chest and shoulders. They danced along his back and ribs. They were a reminder of his cruelty born in a place of hatred for his own father, his own upbringing. But for some reason, now of that matter, as he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “Give me one more, y/n. Cum on my fingers before you get my cock.” 

He increased his rhythm, holding your head up to keep that golden crown resting on your head. His experience was quick to bring you over the edge again, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he did. 

He also kept your eyes on him as he used your slick to lubricate his cock, kept your eyes on him as he centered himself. And he kept your eyes on him as he pushed in, watching your mouth fall open again as the burn from being so full took over. Watching in sadistic glee as you whined and moaned. He barely gave you time to adjust, letting go of the back of your head in favor of pounding into you over and over. 

Now you truly could have died. You could have died with a smile growing on your face as he pulled out before forcing you to take all of him back in, making the pain quickly turn into a burning need as the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. He moved your legs, placing one over each shoulder and fucking so deep into you that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. “So tight, pet.” His voice was breathy as his head fell back in pleasure. “Such a perfect cunt.” 

His thrusts became harder as he watched your face, trying to figure out what you liked. And a sudden gasp shifting to a wail of pleasure told him exactly what it was. Over and over, he hit that spot inside of you, the one he had found earlier with his fingers. His eyes almost seemed to roll as you grew tighter, clenching and twitching around him, swallowing him whole.

“Perhaps I should breed you as well. Make sure this pretty pussy stays mine.” Your body responded before you verbally could, gripping him higher and thighs beginning to shake. “You like that, don't you? Like the idea of being used, being bred. Fuck you're perfect. So fucking perfect.” His fingers found your clit again, massaging the swollen bundle of nerves as he buried himself into you. 

Completion found you again, ripping you so deep into pleasure as you milked his cock that you couldn't help but to fall into a silent scream. Beron fell over after you, heat passing through the room as he did and intensifying everything. He allowed your legs to fall from his shoulders. Catching himself on his forearms above you, he sat and watched as you came down from the high. He studied you like a new toy, plotting and planning what he would do to you. “Yes,” he spoke more to himself than you. “You will be quite fun to keep.”

Beron Smut Taglist:

@secret-third-thing

[adrianasunderworld]

More Twst x Stardew things

The Royal Sword Corporation opened one of their stores in town years ago. Crowley hates it. He hates the manger, Ambrose, who wants him to sell the community center so they can open another Royal Sword Business in town.

Che'nya works at Royal Sword Mart. Neige actually got his big break from Royal Sword. He got cast in a commercial for it, and it did so well that he's the face of a whole ad campaign now. Vil is angry and jealous because he also auditioned for that role and Neige got picked over him.

Vil still acts and models, but it's on a much smaller scale compared to Neige. Like he gets hired a lot to do ads and commercials for businesses in town, and in all the neighboring towns, to the point he's kind of a local celebrity in the area. He keeps visiting the city to audition for theater, but so far nothing. He ideally would like to move to the city to pursue bigger roles, but it's just not in the cards now.

The witch that turns your eggs into void eggs at night is Malleus grandma. He gets embarrassed, and has tried convincing her to get a different hobby, to no avail.

Fellow and Giddel are event characters. They get hired to work at the county fair during the fall, and sometimes stop by on the Night Market. There's a quest where you can befriend them so they can move into town, and Giddel can join the other kids on their lessons.

Leonas family is very well off. After his father passed while Leona was still a minor, Falena took custody of him, and he still lives with Falena and his wife, Asha. The Kingscholars were successful in their careers and had plenty of money. Like the farmer, they wanted a change of pace from city life and bought a nice inn just outside of town. Falena runs the actual business while Asha still works as a lawyer. Leona is taking online courses while working at the inn. Ruggie also works there and often has to keep Leona on track.

Ace is a carpenter, and was like Robin, the first person in town to greet you and show you to Ramshackle Farm. And like Robin, he also called your grandpa's house crusty. He also has beef with your cat, Grim. Everytime he comes by to work on something, they have a stare off.

Jade is still interested in foraging, and often gives helpful tips, like what is in season and where to find it. His favorite gifts are any mushrooms.

The mermaid who does a show at the Night Market is Rielle.

Ortho, Najma, and Cheka are like the Jas and Vincent in town. They're the local kids you always see running around, along with everyone else's little siblings, like Jack's brother and sister.

Since there's more than two kids in town in this au, there is an actual school house in the area. It's right next to or is connected to the library, and Clara is the local teacher. Trein helps her out by doing the history lessons. Clara will give the older kids their lessons in the morning before doing their more independent study time and class work in the afternoon while she teaches the little ones. Trein usually keeps an eye on the older kids while they work in the library. It's hard though, Lucius keeps demanding their attention when they're supposed to be doing homework.

Ramshackle is still haunted. There's ghost all over the property, and they mostly show up at night. But they will sometime show up indoors, like in the house, sheds, and greenhouse.

If you marry Leona, he will nap in the greenhouse.

If you marry Deuce, he will work on his bike outside.

If you marry Vil, his post marriage heart event is him going away to work after taking a bigger role. Kinda like Elliot going on his book tour.

If you marry Cater, he will post about living on a farm. He will absolutely make vlog type videos going "My day in the life of a stay at home farm husband."

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 10

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Heavy flirting, mention of a safe word, technically public groping/making out, drunkenness, weapon, threats/arguing, accidental injury, character death, blood drinking Summary: An interrupted date and a magical mishap end up with very surprising results. Notes: This chapter has been marked explicit for violence! Please proceed knowing that tags are intentionally vague so as not to give away plot points!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The farm that Max found is two towns over, crawling with families and teenagers and other couples out on similar dates. The little food stand they have open is cranking out fresh doughnuts and corn dogs, and French fries from potatoes grown right there on their land — along with locally pressed apple cider and hot cocoa that is nice and rich but Max is certain just came from a powdered mix. Considering his prowess on the topic, you’re not inclined to disagree with him. Surprised to enjoy yourself so very much that hours fly by without your notice, it isn’t until you shiver in the October chill and Max very dutifully wraps you up in his leather jacket, that you start to think about home again.

Is it possible you’re only thinking that because you want to snuggle up beside him? Very possible. But that’s not such a bad thing to want to do.

“Warm now?” He asks, his arm around your waist and leans in close. He has the opportunity to snuggle close to you and he’s going to take it. The atmosphere is positively sweet and he’s hoping that you are relaxed.

“Much.” Even if he doesn’t radiate body heat, the proximity of him and his bearing makes him into a walking blanket — and his jacket is deceptively warm for being deliberately stylish. “I feel like we’ve done everything but I’m not ready to go home…which seems silly.”

“We can always go through the hayride again.” He offers, thrilled that you want to spend time out with him again.

“You wouldn’t mind that?” The last thing you want to do is bore him, but Max seems to be enjoying himself. Or at least he’s looking at you so softly and happily that you can’t imagine the expression is false — which is really its own sort of miracle.

“I’m out with you.” He hums softly. “I don’t mind at all.” It’s pretty astonishing how soft he has become for you. Managing to have you break through his crusty, self-important exterior to the soft and mushy inside.

“And you’ll really never understand how astonishing I find it that you feel that way.” You lean into his side and sigh, the heavy sound so opposed to the lightness and easiness in your heart. “One more hayride and then we’ll call it a night?”

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” He leans in and nuzzles your cheek. “We can always slip off into the woods to canoodle if you want.”

“Max!” The tone of scandal in your voice is obvious, but not in a way that disagrees by any means. In fact, your pulse jumps up and your cheeks burn hot immediately at the suggestion. “How very scandalous of you.”

With no one looking, Max flashes his fangs at you playfully. “That’s me. Scandalous.”

“Scandalous and sexy.” You huff a little laugh, letting your arm around his waist relax as the two of you walk back toward the start of the hayrides together. “And elegant, of course.”

“Always elegant.” He jokes. “You should see how elegantly I can pin you against a tree.”

Prior to Max, that probably wouldn’t have affected you too much in any particular way, but knowing that Max has never used his strength in any way but to care for you makes that image some even sexier. You know for certain that any way he had you in his arms, you would be protected and cared for — as well as absolutely wrecked. “M—maybe I’d like to see that.”

You manage to shock him. His step falters and the elegantly graceful vampire damn near stumbles. His eyes dart towards your face as he gauges how serious you are. “Give me a safe word.” He demands when he sees you’re serious. “One word that stops anything and everything happening.”

“I—” You’ve never had to have a safe word before, partially because you had a partner who didn’t prioritize your safety, but that is beside the point. Right now all that matters is the hungry way Max is staring at you. “I don’t…” The first word that pops into your head is what comes out of your mouth. “Napkin.”

He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Knowing that you would be embarrassed if he did. Probably interpret it as him laughing at you, rather than the word. Instead, he nods. “Napkin. Okay, sweetheart, if you ever want to stop anything – I mean even holding my hand – you just say ‘napkin’.”

"It was the only word I could think of," you defend, embarrassment hot in your cheeks even as you cuddle closer into Max's side. "But I understand what you mean. And...for the record?" Looking up at him from this close to his shoulder makes you crane your neck as though he was twelve feet tall and that's somehow even sexier. "I can't imagine that I would ever want you to stop holding my hand."

“That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.” A cute little Hallmark perfect date wasn’t the setting he had in mind for discussions about boundaries and safe words, but here you are. “But the second that changes, I want you to tell me. Without being scared I will get mad or it will hurt my feelings. Invalidating your own comfort for mine isn’t something I want.”

"And you'll tell me too?" Somehow you know that he would, but you still feel the need to say it out loud. "Don't be afraid that it will hurt my feelings. I would rather that you always be honest with me."

“You’re my person.” He stresses, tossing you a grin. “My little ketchup packet, my favorite fantasy snack. I would never lie to you.” That part he’s serious about. He doesn’t want you to feel like you can’t trust him, you’re part of his soul. If you can’t trust the person the universe said was your perfect match, can you even trust yourself?

"I'm claiming that as my new pet name," you tell him, practically doubling over and cackling beside him as you wait in line for one more hayride through the farm. "I'm your little ketchup packet from now on. That's the weirdest and cutest thing I've ever heard."

“Then that’s what you’ll be.” He grins, enjoying your amusement and watching you with steadfast affection.

******

Eventually, after another five or ten minutes of waiting, snuggling together like every other couple in line, the tractor pulling the trailer with the bales of hay piled up to make seats arrives. Unloading the last giggling, excitable group before they motion towards you and Max to climb on. He sets a precedent by helping you up onto the trailer with a flourish that makes the other men of your group seemingly follow suit, making him grin as he settles down beside you against a surprisingly comfortable backrest of hay.

“Show off,” you tease under your breath as he puts his arm around you in the back of the truck bed and rest your head on his shoulder. “Forcing them all to up their game.”

He snorts and leans down against your head. “Poor them.” He mocks silently.

“All the girls are probably thanking you, though.” The way your hand creeps into his, fingers threading together and locking into place, is comfortable and practiced now.

“They should have been helping them up anyway.” He muses, smirking at you, “Helps get them laid.”

“Oh yeah?” Your eyes flash mischief and you grin. “Are you hoping it’ll help you, too?”

“Well, I’m always hoping.” He nuzzles your nose with his and chuckles. “But as long as I get to hold you while you sleep, I’m perfectly good.”

“I don’t think it will take too long.” It’s less a promise than a reassurance, because with the way you feel about him you’re just not going to be able to resist very long. And that’s okay.

“We’ll get there.” He’s not concerned about sex, which is amazing considering he was kicked out of the college he was supposed to meet you at because he was thinking with his dick. Maybe it’s because he knows you are his, his soulmate bond stronger than just mere physical attraction.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” The question is soft, and more plaintive than you meant it to be, but it’s honest. Just because he’s stayed beside you for the last two nights doesn’t mean that he is always going to want to. But you want him there. For every possible second that he’ll allow.

“I was hoping you would ask.” He admits, squeezing your hand gently. He wasn’t going to push you for another night beside you while you sleep, but if you want him there, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I always want you there,” you admit quietly. “But I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do.”

"I can do any work I need to get done on my phone." He tells you. "Unless the light would bother you."

“It doesn’t.” That is an easy promise, considering you sleep more deeply in Max’s arms than anywhere else. “You could probably talk to me in my sleep and the most that would happen is I would hear your voice is my dreams.”

"Good." He curls a little closer to you and nudges your ear with his nose. "Maybe we can...sleep together regularly?"

“Honestly?” The closer he gets the more you warm up, the heat of attraction rolling off you in waves. “Stay with me every night. Just screw having different rooms, I don’t even care.”

"Ready to move me in, Queenie?" He grins, not bothered by it at all. "You must really like me." He has zero problem staying in your room from now on. Only going back to his room to dress if you couldn't, or wouldn't, give him closet space.

“You’re my soulmate.” As if it were some kind of all-powerful spell, a brisk breeze sweeps through the cart and nudges you to nuzzle closer to Max as the hayride takes off. “And technically I’m the one who moved in with you. You were already there.”

“Technically.” He hums happily, tightening his hold on you as the ride starts.

The first hayride you took had been full of local teens and one young family all looking to enjoy some seasonal entertainment, but this time it is very obviously all couples. There is no doubt about it when seven pairs of people are all sitting in their own little corners of the truck bed and cuddling without a single care in the world for anyone else present. You and Max are able to just watch the night go by from your perched spot on a bale of hay, and when you approach the tree line again towards the end of the ride you bite back a giggle. He makes you feel giddy, and you have to wonder privately how scandalous it really would be to sneak off into those woods.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Max can move faster than you can. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulls you off the trailer with his inhuman vampiric strength and speed to move you to the trees, out of sight of the continuing hayride.

Clinging to him is sort of an understatement for how tight you hold on, but in just two seconds’ time or less you’re well-hidden with him in the tree line and gasping for air as you try to muffle exuberant giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that!” It feels like breaking the rules and you never break the rules.

He chuckles and leans against you gently, pinning you against the tree “Yeah?” He hums, nuzzling your pulse. “We are breaking the rules and being naughty.”

“Max…” Breathy and plaintive, his name on your lips is as certain as the way your fingers are digging into his sides to keep him close as your eyes flutter shut. He’s like a wall around you, surrounding you and blocking out the world, and somehow that is even sexier than you ever thought it would be.

“What do you want, my Dolly?” He asks, sliding his tongue out to trail lightly along your skin. “What do you need?” His voice dips down low and sensual, caressing you with his words.

It’s the most fantastic thing in your mind when he does this, lips and tongue and just the gentlest nip of his teeth on your skin making you forget everything in the world besides him. Far from any feeling you’ve had before, it is intoxicating and all-encompassing and you have to wonder how much it is the soulmate connection and how much is just your physical attraction to him. “Drive me crazy—” you gasp and it drops to a low moan when his hand spreads out over your hip and he presses in closer.

“Good.” He huffs against your skin and grins. He wants to drive you crazy, to make you forget about everything but him and the moment. He presses against you a little more and continues to kiss along your throat. “Wanna drive you crazy.”

Everything else around the two of you truly dissolves and the only thought in your head is how long you can possibly make your neck to give Max more and more skin to kiss. One of your hands finds its way under the hem of his sweater with such ease that you don’t even realize you’re touching him at first. It’s like an unconscious effort to crawl inside the strength of his embrace and just stay there forever.

“Do you know how good it feels to have you touch me?” Max growls against your skin, shivering slightly. Not from the chilly weather, but from the exquisite feeling of your touch. The feel of someone who was meant for him.

“Tell me.” Your hands seek out skin like a magnet, grazing Max’s sides and dipping delicately under the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s— it’s electric.” Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, his voice falters, nearly losing track of what he was saying. “Tingling. Like waking up Christmas morning.”

“Ooo, a fan of Christmas?” The giggle that bubbles out of you is throaty and you find yourself pressing back against the tree to give him maximum leverage while your hands retrace familiar routes. “I’ll remember that.”

“Only when there are presents under the tree.” He teases, his own hand sliding under your shirt at your back. Loving how hot you are as he caresses your skin.

“I’ll put a ribbon on my forehead,” you tease, rolling your hips forward in an effort to connect every possible part of your bodies.

“Yeah? You gonna be my present?” He groans at the thought and imagines unwrapping you from the most delicate lingerie you can buy.

“I’d like to be.” The idea that he could be bored of you by then flickers across your mind but you don’t let it stay. Max has never given a single indication that that could happen. He didn’t even spook when your abuela’s letter mentioned a husband, which would have sent any previous boyfriend running for the hills.

“You’re—” There’s a crack of a branch, one that doesn’t sound like it’s from an animal. A scent that is definitely human. Making Max groan as he pulls away from you, putting his finger to his lips to tell you to be quiet.

Being seen is mortifying enough, but the look on Max’s face is seriously displeased and you clam up instantly. A nod of your head is your promise to obey, and you’re instantly pulling your clothes back into place.

“Well, what do we have here?” The condescending tone isn’t one of a displeased hayride worker, it’s more of someone looking for trouble. Max can smell the booze from here he knows that you won’t like being accosted by a drunkard, especially this drunkard.

It should say something that you recognize his slur as easily as his voice, and you know that Max just heard the way your heartbeat jumped into your throat in fear rather than arousal. Still, you stay silent like Max ordered. “Whaddaya got there?” In the dark he can’t see details very well, but he wobbles forward another step with unearned certainty. “Little lady like her hayride?”

“Funny running into you here.” Max keeps his voice slightly jovial with a tinge of warning in it. No need to start hostile. He’s sure that will come later.  “Didn’t take you for the pumpkin patch type.”

Derek reels back slightly when he recognizes Max, his mocking smile dipping down to a frown. “You.” He huffs, craning his neck to look behind the younger man’s large frame. “I’m just out with some new friends,” Derek insists, waving his arm vaguely in back of him as though fifty people should have appeared out of the trees there. “Trying to get to know my girl’s new home a little.”

“Not your girl.” Max reminds him. “You are done. Best thing you can do is leave.”

“Not gonna happen.” Derek informs him with an amused shake of his head. The arrogance rolling off him in waves is different from Max’s breed of cockiness. It’s downright sinister. “And what do you even care, man? You’ve had her, what…a month?” He scoffs at that and takes a swig out of the brown bottle in his hand. “Just go find somebody else. No harm, no foul. No problem between us.”

“There is a problem between us.” Max turns, shielding you from your ex and acting as a barrier between you. “There’s no one else for me. She’s it. So I suggest you find another punching bag to break in. She’s done taking your abuse.”

“That little mouse?” The doubtful expression on Derek’s face is all for show. He hears the resolve in the other man’s voice and sees the set of his shoulders. The only reason he’s certain he could survive going toe-to-toe with this guy is because Derek knows his own speed. “C’mon man,” he takes another step forward, adopting a friendly posture. “I’m doing you a favor here. Trust me.”

“Trust me, pal.” Max snorts and grins evilly. “You don’t want to push me. She is the only reason you are still breathing.”

The habitual haze of alcohol has Derek interpreting that statement entirely backwards, and he moves toward you with all the confidence of a swaggering buffoon. “I knew my girl could never give me up that easily.” After ten fucking years of training you, you had better not.

“Queenie.” Max snarls your nickname, ready to pounce on this piece of shit and tear him apart if he so much as touches a hair on your body. “Leave.”

“Not without you.” As much as you want to get the hell out of here, there’s no way. If Max is still here then you’re staying, and you’re not sure how foolish that deep loyalty is in your decision making but the decision has been made.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking throat out and shit down your neck if you don’t get the fuck out of here.” Max warns. “Don’t fucking bother staying around.”

“Baby.” The way Derek turns his eyes to you in the dark is practiced. Measured. And more than a little demanding. “Are you gonna let him threaten me like that, little girl?”

Once upon a time it was baby girl. Crooned and sweet and sighed in your ear to make you feel completely complacent and like he was where you belonged. It was a trick. A nasty, dirty one, and you’re ashamed of yourself for ever falling for such an obvious act. “He can threaten you however he likes,” you tell Derek, though your voice isn’t as strong as the words are. “The second I give him permission, he’ll kill you.”

Derek scoffs and shakes his head. “No he won’t, because he isn’t gonna go to jail for you.”

Max chuckles. “Wanna bet, fuckface?” He growls. “Besides, they would never find you after I’m done with you.”

“They wouldn’t.” You know that. Hell, considering who Max’s sire — your own grandfather is — you doubt there would even be a body left to find. “You should go, Derek.” The kindest thing you can possibly do for this piece of shit is warn him off, but you know that he won’t listen to you. Not now. He never even did when he was pretending to love you.

“I’m not leaving without what is mine.” His face twists into one of pure rage and he reaches into the pocket of the thin jacket he is wearing. The gun in his hand was not what Max had been expecting. Nothing in your few stories about the bastard had ever indicated that he had a penchant for brandishing a weapon. His fangs instantly descend and he’s clenching his fists together as his nails elongate into claws.

The world seems to go into slow motion all at once. As soon as you see the flash of steel in Derek’s hand your mind goes into high gear. You barely register Max’s growl or Derek’s shouting, or even the unsteady pounding of blood in your own ears. All you can think in this split second of terrified panic is that Max is about to be shot. If ever there was a time for your magic to manifest itself, let it be with this moment of intense emotion.

According to all of your grandmother’s letters — and the memories that have begun to spill back into your mind from their locked away place — you have more magic in your little finger than you do strength in your body. And that means something when it’s said about a dancer. Your body propels itself forward, voice calling out to Max to be careful, but all your thoughts are on all the things that will never happen if Derek pulls that trigger. No more dances. No more feeling Max’s heartbeat when you kiss him. No more reading aloud to him. No more dreaming. You’ll never get to spend innumerable lifetimes with this man that you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. That you want to marry. And hadn’t Yayo said his line could even have children? Without Max you would never have the strength and support to try going back in time to see your mother and grandmother again.

“Stop!” Your hand connects with Derek’s wrist at the same moment your other touches Max’s chest, and you push yourself between them with purpose. Only to feel the world turn upside down a moment later.

Max is furious when you move in front of him, knowing that it’s him that can handle whatever this little shit can throw at him. “Noooooo—” his angry yell rips out and he grabs your arm just as something happens and suddenly he feels like he’s being tossed in a tornado.

Rougher than Dorothy getting tossed into Oz, you find yourself face down in the dirt with one hand still clinging to Max just seconds later. It’s darker, somehow — the glow of festive lights from the nearby farm deadens so the moon and stars seem brighter but only from the loss of competition. There’s panting to your other side, and you scramble to your feet to grab the gun that has fallen out of Derek’s hands. Your desire to never touch a weapon in your life is far outweighed by your desire to protect your soulmate.

It takes Max a second to orient himself again, whatever you had just done had fucked with his equilibrium. Taking him longer than normal to situate himself and immediately zooms over to you as soon as you reach the gun.

“Are you okay?” Nothing else matters, and the moment Max is at your side you are wrapping one arm around him tightly and clinging carefully to the butt of the gun with the other. “I-I—I don’t think— I mean I tried to cast a protection spell,” you blurt out, rushing and stammering through the words.

“Are you insane?” Max huffs, shaking his head and his own hands slide over your body to check you for any injuries. “How could you step between me and a gun?”

“He was going to shoot you!” It was instinct, pure and simple, and the grumbling moan that comes from a few feet away signals your entire system to flood with adrenaline all over again. Derek is on his knees in the grass, shaking his head as you raise the weapon with shaky hands. “Was I supposed to just let him hurt you?”

“He wouldn’t have hurt me unless it was a wooden bullet to the heart.” Max huffs, still shaken by how you could have been killed. “Don’t ever do that for me again.”

It isn’t until he spells it out for you that you even realize the stupid mistake you made, and your eyes grow even wider looking at the weapon in your hand before you drop it to your side and instantly look around for a way to get rid of it.

“Goddamn fucking idiot—” As he starts to clamor back to his feet, Derek is cradling his head on one side and practically snarling at you. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing charging at me like that you stupid bitch? I should kill both of you!”

Max’s fangs come down again, beautiful and deadly as he grins. Hoping the bastard keeps coming. Even if you don’t want him to kill Derek, he’s going to.

“What is the meaning of this!” a scandalized voice rings out, and Max pauses, turning to see none other than Mrs. Taylor.

“Mrs. Taylor!” The surprise of seeing her out here outweighs anything else and you jump back, dropping the gun into the grass in the process but Max steps forward immediately to cover half of it with his foot and discourage Derek from trying to grab the thing. “What are you doing here?” In the dark of night, it is difficult to see that her outfit is nothing like what you are used to seeing her in, and clothing certainly isn’t where your mind’s focus is right now.

“I could ask you the same, dear girl.” Her voice is more prim, accent a little crisper, and she surveys your group with the air of a captain on deck of his ship. “Alone with two men unchaperoned. And dressed as a boy! You will be lucky if I do not inform your family. And what could you gentlemen possibly mean, cornering a young lady in the dark woods like this? Anyone would think you had no breeding at all.”

Max relaxes slightly, smirking because he knows that Mrs. Taylor won’t put up with any nonsense out of Derek. Even if she doesn’t quite know who you are yet. There’s a little bit of a reckless history in her past and he flashes her his fangs. “The lady is my wife.” He tells her. “The man is a delusional ex-beau who refuses to believe that we are honeymooning.”

“I see.” The honorable vampire draws herself up to her full height and sets her eyes on each of you carefully. “Then you will attend to the matter yourself? There is nothing but privacy, of course, this late into the night.”

Max hears you inhale roughly and he sighs. Rolling his eyes at the inability to tear the rat apart. “My wife is tenderhearted.” He tells the older vampire. “She does not wish for me to take his life.”

“Why are you being so weird?” Nothing about anything makes sense right now but maybe you’re just missing some kind of vampiric social intricacy.

“You have clearly been unsettled by this intrusion, ma’am.” Mrs. Taylor never seems to break her poise, and as she steps forward into a shaft of moonlight you see that the thing you missed isn’t an intricacy, but something very obvious. The dress she has on is one that you saw in the attic of the mansion barely a week ago. One she said was one hundred and fifty years old. “Allow your husband to escort you home. This gentleman will trouble you no further.” She assures you with a demure, polite smile.

“Come, my dear.” Max turns towards you and even though you are in modern clothing, he offers his elbow to you like he’d seen his sire do with Cookie hundreds of times before. Mrs. Taylor is about to dispose of his problem and while he would love to stay and watch, you shouldn’t. “You don’t want to see this.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” Derek spits, finally pushing himself up on his feet. He must have hit his head on a rock because his hair is matted with blood. “What’s some middle-aged bitch in a Halloween costume gonna do? Scold me?”

She’ll do a hell of a lot more than that if you so much as say the word, but for a moment you truly consider amnesty. But he was going to kill Max. That was his intention, anyway. And while you have taken endless worlds of abuse from him for yourself, you can’t let that intention against your soulmate stand. There is anger brewing in you from that intention. There is so much anger, and a decade of frustrations, fears, and failings to cap it off with. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lean over and pick the gun up again to hand it to Max before you turn back to Mrs. Taylor with eyes of stone. “No one will miss him,” you tell her with certainty. “But he still should not be found.”

And understanding passes through her eyes and she nods once. “I assure you, he will never be found.” She says before she turns back to the man who is stumbling forward.

“You stupid bitch, you think you’re through with me? You aren’t done until I say you’re done.” He yells, balling his hand up into a fist.

Despite having an inclination of how poorly your magic obeyed you when you tried to protect Max, your hand shoots out to stop Derek’s just as his juts out. His fist collides with your palm, but instead of hurting you, he yelps in pain and recoils in shock. “I am through with you.” You tell him steadily, though you’re disappointed to find that your palm produced no flames when you look down at it. You had intended to burn him with fire but it seems like your hand only temporarily turned to a lava-like texture. It still did the job though, if the way he’s cradling his hand is any indication. “The whole world is through with you. And history will completely forget your name, just like I will.”

His hand is injured but his ego more so. “He will be bored with you in a week.” He spits. “I was. But I just let you hang around like that unwanted stray.” He wants to lash out at you, feel that hurt rolling off you again. It feeds his need to push around someone else, props him up.

“You wanted someone around to pay your bills.” It hurts to admit, but they say the truth will set you free. In a way, as distorted as it is, it feels a little true. “Go to hell, Derek. And make sure you let the Devil know who sent you when you get there. He’s a friend of the family.”

Max doesn’t allow the shit stain to say another word, whisking you away so you can’t see what Mrs. Taylor does, but within seconds, a panicked, tormented scream starts to echo in the woods. Stopping a few seconds later, nearly five hundred yards from where you had last seen your ex, Max keeps you close.

You shudder visibly, leaning into Max’s side and burying your face in his chest. “Tell me I did the right thing?” You beg quietly, knowing that he deserved worse but not feeling good at all about being the one to deliver it.

“You did the right thing.” He promises sincerely, turning into you and pulling you closer. “He’s— he would have continued until he hurt you again, or worse.”

"He was going to hurt you." Or he thought he was. He intended to. And that matters far more to you than anything else. "And I couldn't—" Your voice cracks a little and you sigh, eyes closing against the weighty truth of the moment. "I couldn't let that happen."

“Sweetheart,” Max sighs softly, pressing his face to your hair and inhaling your mouth-watering scent. “At the risk of sounding completely sexist, I’m supposed to protect you.” He hums. “You are so much braver than you give yourself credit for.”

"It's not about being brave." He said he would protect you and you believe him, but if he's focused on you then he's likely not protecting himself as well as he could. It's a vicious cycle that flashed in your mind and left doubt there, which you are not fond of. "It's..." You sigh into his sweater. "It's that I love you. And I can't stomach the thought of losing you."

“You won’t lose me.” It’s a hollow promise since he’s been brought back once before, but he still kisses your forehead. “You’re stuck with me.” He stares into your eyes and cups your cheeks, making sure you are looking at him. “I love you, Queenie, my queen, my soulmate.”

“And…apparently…your wife?” You do have to crack a smile over it, even as dower as this moment might be otherwise. “That was a surprise, I admit.”

“You will be.” He predicts with certainty. “But…sweetheart, we – whatever you did – we have time traveled back to your letters.”

“No we did not.” There is no way. It’s just not something you’re capable of. “I couldn’t even cast a Protection spell when I tried to. Or conjure a simple flame. There’s no way.”

“Did you see the way that Mrs. Taylor was dressed? The lights have changed and it smells different.” Max insists. “We are back in time.”

The fact that you noticed two of those things doesn’t quite deter your stubborn incredulousness. But it doesn’t stop you from burying yourself against his chest again and shaking with anxious fear. “What—” You blow out a long breath. “What if I can’t get us home again?”

“Obviously you do.” Max reminds you quietly. “Because the letters continued.”

“This is insane.” It feels like a trick. Like the twist of some Halloween film you turned in on Netflix out of boredom. But it is as real as the grass under your feet or Max’s arms around you.

“We need to find Mr. Taylor.” Max huffs. “If she is here, I know he is also around. The best thing we can do is get to the house.”

“What do we even tell them?” You look up at him with doubtful eyes. “We can’t just spew out that I’m family. Who knows when we are? My mother might not even be alive yet.” To make this remarkable journey and not see her would feel awful, but it isn’t as though you simply set a destination in your GPS and drove back in time. This all happened by accident.

“My sire will know that he has made me.” Max promises. “He can smell blood. He will be able to smell your blood as well.”

“I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not,” you admit with a weak smile. But there isn’t time to protest more, as Mrs. Taylor walks out of the woods looking as put-together as ever. Not so much as a hair is out of place.

“That was an unfortunate tasting gentleman.” She huffs and smooths down her dress. “Now, wherever did you come from?” She asks as she looks up and down at your clothing. “Obviously not from around here.”

“It is…a very long story, I think.” Looking over her now, in the clear moonlight, there is no denying it. Mrs. Taylor may look exactly the same as she did this morning in the dining room of your house, but she is also a much different version of herself. And her appearance is undeniably old fashioned. “Unfortunately, it seems that we are without a place to stay or any of our luggage. And…as you will understand…my husband,” calling him that is so odd and yet feels so right. “He is not everyone’s ideal guest.”

“You will come back to the estate with me.” She decides with a jut of her chin. “My mistress will sort everything out and her soulmate has the same inclinations as your husband.”

“We…know of your mistress,” you murmur, looking around to make truly sure there is no one to overhear you. “As her husband shares the inclinations of my own…so, so I share with your mistress’.”

Her brow furrows and she is curious about how you know about Cookie Brown. “A vampire and a witch… interesting.” She looks past you to where her own soulmate is pulling into the clearing with a cart. “And our ride.”

“I suppose it behooves you both to get work done at night.” The cart is full of barrels and things stacked up under oilcloth, and you accept help from both Max and Mr. Taylor in getting you up onto the bench of the cart.

“Our skin is sensitive to the sun. We cannot be out for many hours during daylight.” She explains. “But your husband should experience the same issue.”

“He does.” You reach for Max and squeeze his hand once he’s seated behind you. “Our…carriage…has darkened windows. To allow him comfortable travel.”

“That is good. Modern conveniences have made our existence easier.” She nods as the four of you start to move. “What brings you to our area?” She asks. “There has been no request for a coven transfer.”

“I am afraid it is not an easy matter.” And you have no idea if you’re even talking the right way, let alone explaining yourself well, but so far just pretending you’re in a Jane Austen novel or an episode of Downton Abbey seems to be working. “But my husband and I had thought to take a house here in town.”

“I am afraid that you will find that houses here are few.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “My mistress and her soulmate built their estate.”

The carriage ride takes far longer than the little ride in Max’s sports car did to get out here, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It will help you to get a handle on the situation, if nothing else, because the situation is a very big one. “We have heard it is very grand.” You commend, nodding at the mention of the house you’ve come to think of as home. “With forty acres and a view of the sea, they say? It must be very grand.”

“People love to talk.” She’s suspicious, but you look familiar in some way although she cannot pinpoint how. Something about your eyes.

“They do.” Sensing you might be overstepping; you walk back your interest and squeeze Max’s hand gently. “Thank you again, ma’am. For helping us.”

“My mistress would be very upset if I did not help someone of her kind in need.” She tells you.

“But you did not yet know that your mistress and I were alike when you stepped in.” The smile you offer her is sincere and deeply felt, and you practically bow your head. “We are most grateful.”

“I heard the shouting and the vile curses.” Her placid expression turns into a fierce frown. “Disgusting man. Were you really entangled with him before?”

"I cannot deny it." Though you dearly wish you could. Although...none of that matters now. It is over, done with, and truly a thing of the past. An irony which does not escape you at all. "Before I met my husband, of course." You add quickly.

“Meeting one’s soulmate has a way of making the past fade from memory, does it not?” Mr. Taylor is the one who speaks up, looking fondly as his own.

There is no way to deny that, and you turn back to Max again with the sort of honest smile that seems specifically reserved these days to be just for him. "More than I ever could have expected."

“Again, we thank you for your hospitality.” Max murmurs. His fingers slide under your shirt to caress your skin reassuringly.

"The master will be about when we arrive, no doubt, and he will see to any arrangements for you after I have explained how we have all come to be acquainted." Mrs. Taylor tells you both. "And, of course, your lady wife will require rest."

“She will.” Max acknowledges with a nod of his head. He’s drained after whatever magic spell you used so he knows that you are probably even more tired due to still being human.

Conversation is polite but not overly familiar as the ride drags on, and by the time the horses are pulling the four of you down Bellevue Avenue with Chateau-sur-Mer in sight, you're practically asleep on Max's shoulder. It's only the sight of the house that perks you up again, realizing that you've come back in time far enough that the landscaping is drastically different. The huge weeping beech outside your front door is nowhere to be seen and neither is the hedge maze in the north garden. For the first time you realize that your beloved teahouse might not be here, either.

“Wow.” Max whistles and shakes his head. “Those hedges can hide so many bodies.”

Mr. Taylor chuckles, glancing over at their passenger in amusement. "The upper class like to play at a bit of mystery. Keeping the house half hidden is a game the mistress likes to play."

“I like the idea of privacy.” He admits. “They should have kept them. It complements the gothic vibe of the house.”

"Should have?" Mrs. Taylor raises one eyebrow in question as her own soulmate steers the horses and cart toward the service door of the house on the other side of the east wing.

“An estate we were close to, back home.” Max supplies quickly, with a shrug. “They tore out their maze.”

"A shame." That has the vampiric housekeeper nodding in understanding. "Such a feature is a talking point, at the very least. One that humans seem to enjoy very much." When the carriage comes to a halt, Mrs. Taylor lifts herself out with ease and dusts her hands on her skirt. "Come inside," she beckons toward the service door. "I will have you wait below stairs while I inform the master of your circumstances."

Max helps you down and immediately takes your hand. “It will be alright.” He assures you softly, aware that Mrs. Taylor can still hear every word he says. “We are safe and together.”

"This is where I feel safest," you tell him honestly, holding onto his one hand with both of yours. Whether the assembled vampires take that to mean this house or with Max is up to them. "It's all just...so much has happened the last few days. And now this?"

“At least now, you completely understand that the visit was a joy. You can relax.” He smirks, squeezing your hand. “And we can still sleep in the same bed. Or…you can sleep.”

"I will return momentarily," Mrs. Taylor tells you with a polite smile before she disappears up the stairs faster than any human housekeeper would ever be able to manage.

“At least we know the layout.” He jokes quietly as he pulls you closer to cuddle against him. Knowing that despite the letter, you are anxious.

“I guess that’s true.” Despite it, though, the nerves running through you are heavy and stinging. What was once a perfectly beautiful date night has spiraled out of control. “I just hope you’re right and he lets us stay.”

“He will let us stay.” Max is confident in that. He might not understand the connection quite yet, but the blood running through your veins is his and he will smell it.

“I hope so.” The house might be the same but all the mechanisms are different. The Viking appliances that outfit the current kitchen are obviously nowhere to be seen, and the great, coal burning, cast iron monstrosity that sits against the wall here looks more complicated to use than you could ever wrap your head around. Mr. Taylor pops in and out of the delivery door toting things off the cart from the farm with his immense strength but does not use his uncanny speed, and you wonder if he is trying to be discreet around a mortal. That sounds just like him.

“This is like living in the twilight zone.” Max snorts and shakes his head and looks around the vastly different kitchen. “I wonder what the bathrooms will look like.”

“Rene said the master bathroom on the second floor was the only bathroom on the second floor until the renovations they did in 1872.” Leaning into his side, a layer of anxiety and tension eases away when Max’s arms come around you and hold you tightly against him. “From the look of the house, it’s after that. But I saw the formal entrance on our way in, and that was closed off in 1893, so we’re somewhere in that twenty-year span between renovations.”

"So how old was your mother during that time?" Max frowns slightly, trying to keep the timeline in order in his mind.

“Yayo said they built the house when abuela Cookie was pregnant, so…at the youngest maybe around twenty? Or as old as forty, depending on what end of that spectrum of time we’ve arrived in.” It’s mind boggling, but the idea of seeing your mother again makes you feel infinitely less dreary about the entire prospect.

"We should not say anything about our true origins until we speak to him." Max tells you. He knows that you would never affect the future on purpose, but you might slip up and greet her as your mother and you can't do that. Not when you haven't been born yet. "We will see what your grandfather says."

“Believe me, I’ve read enough time travel stories and seen enough movies to know that you don’t fuck with the timeline.” The prospect of it terrifies you, if you’re honest, and you have to shake it off quickly. “I’m done with changing anything. But…what’s done is done.”

"Absolutely." He nods quickly and his fingers squeeze your reassuringly. "Do not even think about that unfortunate episode at the farm. "We know it was successful because she had written to you about it."

“I’m glad you’re here,” you murmur into his chest, knowing he’ll hear you all the same. “I think I’d be scared out of my mind if you weren’t.”

"I'm glad I'm here too." He admits quietly. "Although.....my phone doesn't work here." He jokes, attempting to lighten the worry and unsettling unease of the moment.

For just a second you think he might be serious, but in looking at his face, your lips twist into a smirk. “I’m sure your clients will forgive a short absence.”

"I need to text." He huffs, playing up the joke a little more. "My fingers are burning with the need."

“Then I suggest you learn the art of sending a note,” you murmur, hearing very deliberate steps out in the servants’ hall. “Because until I can learn how to send us back correctly, I can’t just take a chance on my magic getting us home by accident.”

"I am sure that with my business savvy and romantic heart..." He grins at you and winks. "I will be sending missives that will stand the test of time." He vows, holding his hand over his non-beating heart. "Love notes, dirty notes."

Mrs. Taylor clears her throat politely in the doorway and nods in an equal sore off manners. “Follow me,” she intones, and it feels very much more like an order than a suggestion.

He raises his eyebrows and makes a comical face as she whirls around and the two of you follow her down the hall. "I have to admit that the lanterns give the hall a proper....austere look." He whispers to you, fully aware that Mrs. Taylor can hear him.

“The estate has the finest of everything available to it.” She commends, heading for the servants’ stairs at a brisk pace that gives Max no trouble but you have to hurry to keep up with. “It is the greatest house in Newport without competition.”

"I am sure the Vanderbilts would disagree." He chuckles under his breath.

The absolutely derisive huff Mrs. Taylor exhales is fully for show, and you have to admit that you love her for it. She obviously doesn’t care a fig for those new money millionaires who built up the palaces along Bellevue Avenue that are now museums. “That cottage they bought from Mr. Lorillard is no match for a house of this grandeur,” she asserts proudly.

Max snickers, appreciating that he can still get under her skin and yet she's just as poised as she always is. "Of course not." He agrees with a serious nod. "Peasant’s cottages."

Your little trio emerges upstairs and Mrs. Taylor deposits you in the library with one more polite nod of her head. “He will be in momentarily,” she tells you, before heading back to the servants’ side of the house. If you Mrs. Taylor at all she’s off to make up a bed and probably a tea tray, but that is just a guess.

Max snorts as he walks around the room. "Good to know they still had the same taste back then." He tells you. "Or is it now?" He asks with a tilt of his head. "This is going to get confusing."

“Aren’t you the one who always says the house is a time capsule?” The chair sitting at the large library desk isn’t exactly the same, but it was definitely from the same maker. Maybe even the same set. “Fair warning. If Yayo makes me wear those giant dresses while we’re here, you’re going to have to help me keep my balance.”

He throws his head back and laughs just as the door opens and your grandfather appears. “It seems as if I have missed a joke.” He muses, his sharp eyes narrowing on the two of you.

Whatever instinct it is that’s ingrained in you, the relieving sight of your grandfather almost makes you stumble forward to hug him. It’s only the fact that you are holding Max’s arm that stops you, and you end up nodding nervously. “We’re…very sorry to intrude like this,” you start, hoping that sounds appropriately contrite.

“No, no you are not.” He hums, arching a brow. “You are relieved, but not apologetic.”

"Sorry to intrude," you clarify, though you swallow thickly at the fact that this is obviously not the doting grandfather you knew as a child. "But not to be offered sanctuary. In that, you are correct."

“And why should I offer sanctuary to a vampire and his mate who somehow smell like my progeny?” His head tilts and his fangs descend into a pair of sharp needles extending from his gums.

There seems to be no beating about the bush tonight, and you look over at Max with a plaintive expression though you both know that this is your story to tell. "Because we are." You tell him honestly, keeping your voice as whisper quiet as you can possibly manage. "In different ways. And it is a long story, but we didn't come here with any...nefarious purpose. In fact...it was an accident. Sort of."

In the blink of an eye, your grandfather is beside you, his hand around Max’s wrist and his fingernail sliced into his skin. The elder vampire's lips wrap around the wound as he tastes the other vampire’s blood and he reels back. “I have never seen you, yet it is my blood that travels in your veins?” His voice is astonished and mystified as he stares at Max curiously.

"I am afraid it is...an unusual story." And one that you are going to have to tell, whether you like it or not. A fact which makes your heart thump with nerves.

He turns to you and leans in close, inhaling your scent. While you are human, you are the soulmate of a vampire. To touch you would be a grave sin. “You smell like my daughter.”

“I should.” You don’t flinch the way someone else might have when he gets close to you and he notes it with a flick of his eyes and nothing more. “I am her daughter.”

The smell of you proves that, but he knows that his daughter hasn’t given birth. “Explain.”

“I…attempted a spell that was more powerful than any other I have tried before.” It isn’t worth mentioning that you haven’t tried much of any spell work at all before, so you keep that to yourself. “But I was able to make us travel through time by some mechanism that I don’t yet understand.”

“And my biological granddaughter managed to transport herself and her soulmate – my vampiric offspring – back in time.” Your grandfather fills in, talking mostly to himself. You nod and he is silent for a moment. “We will keep this to ourselves.” He decides, softening immediately. “You will be related through your soulmate.” Turning towards Max, he arches a brow. “What is your name? I must know it at some point, since-”

Max introduces both of you, making sure he calls you Queenie like you had discussed before. If Yayo is going to be the only one to know the truth, it makes sense to just be straightforward about most things. What you don’t want to do, however, is influence any future decisions if you can help it.

Your grandfather nods. “Cookie will be interested to meet you. As well as your mother.” He cups your cheek again and stares at you, memorizing your face. “You are beautiful. Do I tell you that in your proper time?”

“You do.” His cool hand is a welcome sensation against your hot skin and you nod softly against it. “You are always very kind to me.”

“Good.” Your answer pleases him and he smiles, his fangs once again hidden from sight. “Cookie will have settled down for the evening, so I will show you the bedroom Mrs. Taylor has no doubt prepared for you.” He glances at your clothes. “She will sort out suitable clothing. You cannot wear that.” He gestures towards your outfit.

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way.” Which is frustrating, if not realistic. You like your clothes most of the time. “But…what should we call you?” You ask after a moment. “I can’t go around calling you ‘grandfather’.”

“As you can imagine, I have had many identities through the times.” It’s almost bragging, but not quite. “For now, I am John Jacob Brown, residing here with my wife, Cookie and our daughter.”

“Mr. Brown.” Of course that makes perfect sense, and you nod accordingly. But it does make you wonder what his original name was. “And she is…here? Now? Annie?” It’s impossible not to ask, even though you know you shouldn’t make a big deal out of seeing your mother.

“By now, if you have come from as great a time in the future as I imagine, you know by now that your mother is far older than she appears.” He smiles proudly, happy he can provide centuries of life to his offspring to enjoy. “Right now. She is thirty-one. A ‘spinster’ by the collective society, yet she still receives callers regularly.”

“I would guess that most of society does not know her real age,” you venture, before looking up at Max. “Mom always had a baby face. It really was impossible to know how old she was.”

Your grandfather’s eyes flicker between you and your partner, not missing the terms you are using to describe your mother. Past tense, as if she is no longer in your life. “She appears to be eighteen.” He nods and Max snorts. “Sweetheart, you should look in the mirror. You don’t look twenty-one yourself.”

“It runs in the family,” you joke quietly, always glad for any way you could be positively compared to your mother.

“Have you eaten?” Your grandfather asks and then shakes his head. “I meant the vampire; I know that Mrs. Taylor has prepared a tray to have sitting in your room.” His eyes crinkle in amusement.

It is something of a comfort to know that Mrs. Taylor has always been the same, and you smile at how pleased the vampire housekeeper would be to know that the house still operates like a well-oiled machine under her supervision. “Actually…Mrs. Taylor takes wonderful care of us, still. So Max had blood at tea today.”

“I see.” He nods in understanding. “When you are needing some, we have a donor, so the supply is fresh.”

You both thank him, not wanting to say too much about your own time and give away more than you have. When Mrs. Taylor appears a moment later to escort you to your room, it is only at the prospect of sleep that you really start to feel how exhausted you are.

“Don’t worry, Dolly.” Max murmurs as the two of you are guided through the familiar halls. It’s not as if you can say that you know the way since you’ve supposedly never been in this house. “I will not leave you during the night.”

The third-floor guest room you are shown to has a big, beautiful canopy bed carved in Chinese imagery and with a typically Chinese element in the carvings. Renee had told you once that he took Cookie to China when they were first married and she had loved it there. As far as you know, this is known as the Gold Room, and judging by the even more brilliant color of the gold silk brocade wall coverings and golden bedclothes, it probably is called that in this time as well.

“The bell cord is right here.” Mrs. Taylor wraps her hand around a gold braid rope. “If you require anything, just pull it sharply and we will be up.”

“Thank you,” a simple nod seems to work best, but you chew your bottom lip nervously and add, “for everything.”

“My pleasure.” She nods and motions towards the sitting area. “There is a tray with some refreshments if you wish.”

“Thank you,” you murmur again, barely stopping yourself from assuring her that she always takes such good care of you. Yayo says your origin needs to remain a secret from everyone else, and you absolutely understand why.

Once Mrs. Taylor leaves the room, Max turns to you and cups your cheek. “When you want to talk about it, sweetheart…why don’t we call it ‘back home’?” He suggests. “I know this will be hard, but we can do this, we did this before.”

“It’s hard to wrap my head around.” With your face in his hands, your shoulders droop from pure exhaustion rather than anything else, and you sigh. “We’ll say we’re from Tennessee? Since that’s where we would have met if things had gone differently?”

“Perfect.” He winks at you. “I’ll adopt a hillbilly accent and everything.” He teases, knowing that he was nothing but happy in Tennessee before he was kicked out of Vanderbilt.

“Don’t push it.” Even though you try for a warning tone it comes out in a laugh. “I’m so fucking grateful you’re here, honey. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sweetheart, we are in this together.” He promises, leaning in and giving you a soft kiss on the lips, relishing the sudden bump of his heart. Something he doesn’t know if he will ever get used to and he loves it.

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Without that solidarity, with his utter and complete support, you really don’t know how you would manage whatever is to come. But with him? You just might be able to make it work.

______

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[silverseaming]

Away from the roads, where buggies and carts stir up dust in their hasty journeys, the lanes and pathways of the Brindleton countryside remain wild. Quenched by recent rain, the hawthorns and witch-alders are once again green, with little red rosehips swelling on the dogrose bushes. Branches hang low overhead, brushing Kit’s head as Chestnut picks her way through the undergrowth.

He makes a habit of riding this way when he’s by himself. In the seclusion of the paths there’s little chance of meeting others — he knows they mean to be neighbourly with their greetings, but he prefers the quiet of the paths, where the only noise comes from the rustling of leaves. Chestnut requires no more conversation than the odd gentle encouragement or pat on the neck.

All too soon his route emerges from the trees, into the sun of an early Autumn afternoon. The way back home passes by Bridgebend Farm, so Kit isn’t entirely surprised to see Zachariah Miller leaning against the yard fence.

“Hello, Kit.” A warm smile crinkles the corners of Zachariah’s eyes as he recognises horse and rider. “I haven’t seen you around here too much lately, though I’ve seen enough of your Meg and little Daisy. You been avoiding me, son?”

“Not at all, Zach. Just been busy, that’s all.” says Kit as he reins in Chestnut.

“Well, I can’t begrudge a man any hard work. How’s things up at Maple Farm?” Zachariah’s weatherbeaten brow and craggy face put Kit in mind of his father, but they’re where the comparison starts and ends. The crow’s feet at the corners of Zachariah’s eyes come from laughter, and there’s a kindly aspect to his face that means he could never be mistaken for John Calloway. Depsite that, memories surface unbidden of the cold, hardened man for whom nothing was ever good enough.

Do you think you’ll ever mean anything to me, boy? The words ring in his ears as fresh as the day they were said.

“Good enough, thank you. The wheat’s done well, and our potatoes were better than last year’s.” says Kit brightly, conscious of how long he’s been silent. No need to mention how much of the profits went into the decoration of the farmhouse. It was worth it, to see Meg smile.

“I’m glad to hear it. And while you’re here, I’ll let you know something that might make next year even better — there’s a Mr Allen out in Rockland who’s just started a tidy little crop export business, and I reckon if you went down to see him he’d be willing to make a deal for some of your next year’s harvest if it’s a good one. It may seem like a hassle, but selling abroad will earn you much more than only selling locally.” says Zachariah.

“If that all’s true then it’ll certainly suit us well. I can spare the time now, so I’ll be sure to head over. Much obliged, Zach.”

“You’re welcome, son. You’re doing a fine job with Maple Farm, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t profit from it.”

“I guess not.” Kit smiles ruefully. He’s pleased by Zachariah’s approval, but it’s tempered by the knowledge that if Zachariah knew what was really behind his success at Maple Farm, he may not be so liberal with his praise; the thought makes his stomach lurch. “I better be getting on now, Meg will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“In that case, you better had be on your way.” Zachariah chuckles.

Zachariah’s suggestion plays over and over in Kit’s mind as he turns Chestnut down the lane to Maple Farm. It’s a good offer, a great one, even. Father Blackett might call it divine deliverance, but church has never been anything more to Kit than somewhere you go on a Sunday. But it is some sort of deliverance, a chance to do right by his family. To provide, like all good husbands and fathers should.There’s no guarantee that it will work out — but hell, what’s another risk on top of the ones he’s already taken?

The part of him where harsh voices of bygone arguments echo begins to quiet, replaced by the steady beats of Chestnut’s hooves. The yard is hardly quiet, filled with the squawks of chickens and the occasional low from Bluebell in the cow-pen, but it bring the warm feeling of coming home. A home that even closer to being fully theirs.

In the barn, Chestnut nickers affectionately as he rubs her down. She at least demands nothing but oats in the morning and hay in the evening, her loyalty unwavering as long as her stomach is full.

“You’ll always love me, won’t you girl?” He whispers somewhere into her nose.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader) 1

A/N: Thank you for everyone's patience after the first chapter, I hope to write more of this; this chapter will explain more and include appearance!

TW: Some mentions of harassment and violence depicted. Slight swearing is used too.

Summary: Born as a witch to a powerful coven, Y/N is destined for greatness. But she finds herself alone, forgotten and hated for being a witch later in life. It's only when she seeks shelter, that she finds herself running into help she least expected.

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Chapter 1

13 Years Later.

1476

The screeching of chickens sounded awfully similar to the sounds of human screams.

Jolting alive as if sparked by lightning, you almost smacked your head on the shelf ever so close above your once sleeping form, thudding to the ground the books and papers, scattering like leaves on the wind.

“Shit.” You groaned, grabbing your head, relieving the awful headache you were experiencing by clutching it. Gods, let this torture be over already. You cursed yourself, unfolding yourself from the tangled sheets of your uncomfortable bed.

Your bones groaned with the need to be stretched, popping in satisfaction as you dressed. The cool morning air brought the hairs on your skin to pebble, so you opted for warmer cotton to guard your skin throughout the day. Having already not had enough time to properly ready yourself for the day, your work clothes were already being thrown on you – much to your dismay.

Tying the apron around you and the head scarf to keep your short curls out your face, you braced yourself just at the front of your closed door, outweighing whether you should just roll back into the comfort of your itchy and narrow bed.

But that would mean no money, and no money meant not being able to pay for food, and no food would mean I would starve quicker than a stray dog and I would never have a way of getting out of this shit village-

Your door rattled jarringly with life on the other side, scaring your wits out as you braced for the austere voice behind it. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, sir.” You braced yourself for the worst.

Stepping back a few paces, the door swung open and it shuddered on its hinges, groaning as the thin walls vibrated terribly. The man in front of you was aged, blotchy skin and pot-bellied. His hair was mousey-brown with a terrible bald spot that he tried hiding with a combover. Bogdan was the standard of men in this village: all leery-eyed with fingers that liked touching, and mouths that liked the sound of their own voice. He was the very same as the rest of his gluttonous family.

Bogdan disregarded you even standing in front of him, eyeing your room scrutinisingly slowly. “It’s messy in here.”

“Yes, I know.” You coolly responded, trying your best to hold your tongue. If only I didn’t have someone burst into my room.

“Well, Andrei is hungry, he needs his breakfast.” Bogdan chortled, and it reminded you all the same as how the little piglets on the farm would squeal if they were picked up. “He wants four eggs this time.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you kept your head low. “I’ll be sure to check the coop for more.”

“Be quick then, girl,” Bogdan stepped to the side to allow you to pass, and you made sure to walk a bit faster to avoid his hands reaching for the back of you. You knew if you weren’t quick enough, and you learnt the hard way the first time he did it.

“Yes, sir.” You skipped a step to leave your room, keeping a safe distance between him as you walked quickly through the back of the kitchen, outside to meet the harsh cold of the air.

The coop was small enough that it held the hens sweetly in their little hut, and you couldn’t help but hold a close bond with them. Call it loneliness, call it madness, but they slowly began your little friends you spoke to each morning, softly to yourself.

“Morning, ladies,” the latch to their door opened, and a cluster of feathers was the first thing you saw before you heard the familiar noises of your girls—the two of them you had, with names you gave them to make you feel close.

Henrietta was your brown-mottled beauty, the largest of the two and sweetest in allowing you to hold her. She reminded you of a cat in telling you when and for how long she wished to be held. Your black mottled hen, Dutchess, was the younger, trilling in greeting when she sensed your presence.

“I know, I know. They haven’t gotten rid of me just yet.” You laughed, gently rummaging through to find the right amount of eggs. “Well, that’s if I get out first.”

Duchess is first to ‘respond’, pecking gently at your hand to guide you to some she was nesting on. “First chance I get, I’m leaving.” You tell yourself aloud, not loud enough to be heard. “I’ll make sure I take you both with me.”

Henrietta lets out a sound similar to a goose’s honk, a squeak some would say, and it brought a smile to your lips all the same as every other day. How you loved them more than you liked to tell yourself, regardless if others found it odd.

You fed them seeds from your palm, gathering the necessary amount of eggs and you stroked Duchess’ chest, thankful she was feeling very gentle. “Gotta go, ladies. But I’ll be sure to see you all tomorrow.”

You made sure they were shielded from the elements, shutting the coop door as you headed quickly inside. Andrei and his mother, Irina – a much younger woman to her aged husband – were sat stoically at the kitchen table, eyes a dull hazel hue, dull and dead inside.

“Morning to you both.” you greeted as politely as you could, stacking the eggs as you gathered a skillet and necessary ingredients of milk, pepper, ginger, saffron (which you had to pay for with your own wages) and cheese.

 Bogdan stalked his way into the kitchen himself, the silence was piercing, and even as you cooked with your back towards the three, you could feel their angry, harsh gaze stabbing into you. Their words were mean, their patience thin regardless of what you did or the size of the mistake, and the scars on your skin as their ‘punishments’ still stung with their reminders on your body.

“Hurry with it, girl.” Bogdan barked, startling you to move faster, nearly splashing hot milk over your hand in a hurry. The meal was as simple as poached eggs topped with cheese and served with bread, but Bogdan’s eyes were cold when he stared at the meal presented to him.

“You call this breakfast?” He held his plate up for your inspection.

You eyed it carefully, nearly laughing at his squashed, pig-like face staring back at you. “Your son always asks for this meal, sir.”

“No, I don’t,” Andrei wheezes, red-faced and whiny, and his face was punchable at that very moment. “She can’t cook what I like.”

“No, I don’t think she fucking can,” Bogdan added. It was only Irina who was the quietest of the three, but her eyes read the most emotion. The way her body was tense, eyes not looking at either of them and staring with such concentration on her plate.

You dared not step away in fright when Bogdan stood and strode towards you, glaring you down.

“Go on bitch, do something.” He goaded, twisting his fat head as if asking for you to strike him first. Your fingers flexed at the image, seeing him down on the ground after years of his punishments, his shouting matches with his son as you could only watch, hear it through the walls when his wife cried out in the nights.

Unclenching your hands, you could only wish you could do so much more for him.

Taking it as a sign of weakness, Bogdan turned to glance at his son momentarily. “One thing to know when you get a wife, son, is never let them have a go at you first.”

The strike was so fierce that your body nearly doubled over from the force. You buckled temporarily, clutching your already bruising cheek, staring in both horror and fury, wishing only the harm you could give him that only he could be treated with.

“Run along, bitch. Before I strike you again.” He threatened, and you had to ignore best the way his son snickered in your misery.

“Very well, sir.” You coolly replied, already listing what ways would get him to squeal like a pig.

-

The nights were short when you fell back into your room after a long day out.

It was a temporary measure after what had happened in Targoviste. Dracula was a temporary distraction from the world ending, yet his army of vampires and night creatures stalked across Wallachia, killing all in sight.

‘All for love,’ some said, yet you didn’t think Dracula could even conjure love after his heart was stone cold for centuries.

You had seen the bodies that came through after nights of their hunts, the way a human body didn’t look like anything after it was shredded from head to toe. It brought you to think of what those creatures were made from, how they were made,

Dracula was gone, but his servants lurked, his creatures too.

You didn’t even bother stripping from your clothes from today, throwing yourself onto your bed with a groan leaving your lips.

There was an odd comfort that came from your small bed, cushioning your weary body. You coiled in a fetal position in the darkness of your own relief, tucked away with the need for peace.

Drifting in and out of sleep, the need to rest was wanting to take over, but your mind was always plagued by nightmares of that day. The screams, the vampire you saw on the other side of the river—your mother’s lifeless body.

Blinking through bleary eyes, you shook the sleep from you, sighing heavily out a large, weighted breath. Holding your hands in front of you, you stared at them carefully. Spells had come with ease to you when you were young, but since the day you lost your coven and home, all was gone including your identity.

A powerful witch, they said I’d be. You could almost laugh despite the pain in your chest. But what is so powerful of me now for allowing some lecherous old man to strike me?

The sisters of your coven told you of your potential and sought it in prosthetic dreams and living visions. They spoke about how you’d be too strong for the world, even stronger than them. But what was now left was a girl who could only bring the smallest of flames to hand.

I can still feel them. You thought, cupping your hands and picturing the way they felt. They were inviting, the hug you needed after a long day, the way they warmed you like your mama did so many years ago.

‘The flames aren’t there to hurt you, Y/N.’ You could hear her voice in your mind, gentle and reassuring.

Yes, they’ve never hurt me. You thought, concentrating on them, feeling them spread from a small spark, growing and growing, imaging their colours blossom like the petals of flowers in spring, until-

“Ardeo.” You called out to the darkness, the darkness answered you eagerly back.

Like the spark of life, it started small, small flickers grew as they caught to your hands, yet they did not burn as you were informed. You smiled, the more they glimmered, the brighter they roared with life. They twirled around your fingertips like dancers, coiling and twisting around your fingers as you watched in glee.

I shan’t be scared any more. You let them die in your palms, the room growing dim with the little light now illuminating. I’m done with hiding. I shall not be something they mock, but rather someone they’ll know.

-

There is a harsh smell of blood that floated through your room, heavy and overpowering.

You retch as you rise, certain that something had made a meal just outside your bedroom window before the realisation hits you of what it could be.

Bolting out of your room, you almost crash into Bogdan as you rush past him, and outside to the coop. Please be okay, please be okay, please-

The coop door is already ajar when you slam it open, the crime is gruesome as you almost gasp at the sight. A heap of bloodied feathers greets you, with no chickens in sight. You find yourself almost weeping, before a cruel voice japes behind you.

“The night creatures took them away because you were too weird. Who talks to animals anyway?” He mocks cruelly. “They were just chickens.” Andrei’s shrill voice breaks something in you, as you glare daggers that make his words die down on his tongue. He doesn’t say much as you look at him in satisfaction, knowing you are not to be reckoned with.

“Fuck you, fat boy.” You move past him, ignoring the way he cries out from not even a harsh shove, but you head back inside to face the man you dreaded since bumping into him this morning.

He eyes you as if he’s thinking of the best possible thing to jape you about before you say first.

“I quit, I leave by the end of today.”

“You’re not serious,” Bogdan looks as if he was the one slapped across the face, red-faced as a tomato as he eyes you with shock. “Do you think someone will be willing to whisk you up just because you think you have a pretty face and decent body? You’re nothing without me keeping you from those beasts outside. You’re nothing without being under my roof.”

“Maybe so,” you respond, fingers clenched as you wish to speak the one word, but the anger rolls off you as you finally say what you wish you could’ve said a long time ago, “But I’m not a fat fucking fuck like you.”

“You little bitch,” he lunges for you, but you’re quicker, your hands reaching for the chubbiness of his forearm. With the strength of your sisters in spirit, the strength to keep living, you spoke the one word with as much fury and venom as you could produce. “Ardeo.”

You felt the heat first, the way it burnt through from your palms into his flesh, igniting as if beginning a fire, catching part of his clothes as he recoiled in startling fright. His screams are just as frantic as you imagined, the smell of burning flesh ignites memories from years ago, but you keep latched onto him, trying to ignore everything surrounding you and him.

It’s uncertain if you let go or he has enough strength to pull his arm out, and the ring around his arm is blotchy and red-raw, blistering and bubbling.

Bogdan was cursing you, howling like a wounded animal as he clutched his arm, but you did not wish to hear him, concentrating on keeping the flames in your palms alive.

“I’ll kill you,” he gritted his teeth, lips bloody from biting through them so harshly, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

You braced for a slap or something worse, body tense as no pain came. All you could hear was the wheezing sound of laboured breathing, a grunt of pain that didn’t come from you.

When your eyes focused on the sight in front of you, you saw that Bogdan’s body was tense, shoulder raised as if he had been struck in the back of the head. His eyes were wide like dinner plates, before he slumped to the kitchen table, something digging into his back.

“Get out whilst you still can,” Irina warned, her body tensed, eyes dead but tears flowed from her face as she pulled the item out from her husband’s back, silver flashing caught the light of the sunlight coming through, blood spurting like a faucet as you could hear him continue to choke.

You dared not look back as you bolted like a hare, hearing the continuous sound of the blade going in and out of the flesh, over and over again.

-

The more you ran, the more you relived being chased, running for your life once again.

Your lungs were aching, legs begging to rest, but you did not turn back in fear you were being followed. You had heard horror stories of sisters from covens being chased and hunted by men of the holy church, with pitchforks and flamed torches. You knew what became of them if proven guilty of crimes they hadn’t committed, but you knew that what you had done -regardless of witchcraft – was still an act of murder.

You didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like to burn, burn with flames you couldn’t control. The flames wouldn’t come from within you, instead, flames are used to ‘cleanse’ your soul clean for heaven.

Don’t turn back, keep running. You told yourself, watching the sky turn from purples and oranges to growing darker and darker. Run before something much worse finds you.

You didn’t know where you were: this was as far past as you had gotten and the woods seemed unfamiliar to you just as they were thirteen years ago when you fled the scene. It felt as if you were good at that: running from your past, running for a future you craved.

The treeline grew narrower as the night began, and before you, you ran through a clearing, a stream gently flowing as you jumped over it, trying to make sure you didn’t fall over your feet.

Trees grew and became deader, and before you could turn to take a look behind you, you gasped at the sight in front of you.

It was hard not to spot it, compared to the trees that seemed to blend with its black tall walls. It was a ghastly, spindly mass, a mass of destruction that caused dread for all to feel upon seeing it.

Dracula’s castle.

No, he was surely dead, wasn’t he?

Your head was spinning, body yearning for rest, throat gasping for air and water, and you garbled, eyes growing hazy. If he was dead, his castle would still be unoccupied, right?

Not wanting to take any chances, two parts of you were uncertain about what to do. Part of you screamed, that primal ‘fight or flight’ mode kicked in once again, and you felt like a little girl all over again, staring at your mother’s corpse. But the other part of you told you it would be shelter needed to keep you safe from anything outside.

Racing up towards the large, intimidating stairs, you chose to ignore the corpses that littered the entrance. You spotted many that resembled the corpses of night creatures, and two that were humanoid, propped on spikes as they blew gently in the breeze.

The doors came into sight, hesitating for a pregnant pause before you braced, pounding on them with three heavy knocks with nothing more than the side of your clenched fist. The sound the door made resonated within you as the sound vibrated throughout the outer entrance.

Nothing came from the inside for a moment or two, and before you could knock again - more desperately, urgently - the doors groaned with life, slowly opening. Not wasting time, you slipped through before they could shut, eyes adjusting to the harsh contrast of dark then light, eyes blurry, stumbling momentarily.

You didn’t have time to call out, before you felt something cold press into the back of your neck, silent as an apparition.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat.” A soothing, soft voice sounded as if he was both behind you and watching from afar.

You wheezed, heart, thundering, the blade pressed closer into your skin and you cried out, trying to plead through your sputtering.

“Please—help me!” You called out, body about to give way as you swayed, blinking in and out of consciousness. Your body screamed to rest, but your mind was alive and burning with the need to explain yourself more.

With a final cry out, your body fell, but before your head could hit the ground, it was not met with the cold, hard flooring, but something holding you as you were settled to the ground gently, eyes giving out as darkness consumed you whole.

-

Latin Translations:

Ardeo – (I) burn

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: We Can't Make Any Promises

The morning after, Feyre takes a calm and relaxing breakfast in the gardens.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read!

Snippet below the cut!

Feyre told herself to be calm.

The collection of early risers, herself included only because of Nesta’s insistence she not be left alone, had gathered for breakfast in the gardens. The heat had broken last night and retreated back to a mild spring morning. The smell of fresh grass and blossoming flowers filled the space in between the lavish buffet set out before them.

Families and couples mingled and wandered, with small tables set out in clusters. Segregating everyone into small parties of six or ten. Meaning choosing one’s social group, and dodging subtle (and not so subtle) rejections was the social game of the morning.

She had never quite been so thankful for the Grand Duke, who, spotting them across the lawn, gave an easy smile and waved them over to his empty spot at the edge of the gathering.

Feyre spent every moment scanning the crowd.

Would he come to her?

Would he stay far, far away?

Feyre sipped her tea, scalding her tongue, to stop her spinning thoughts.

Not a single thought had been free of him since she had slipped out the window last night. She thought of him as she reluctantly bathed him from her skin before settling to bed. And when she woke, it was to the memory of his dark eyes as he watched her face as he worked his fingers in her.

She wondered if he had lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a mess like she was.

All she could feel was his lips on her skin. The hot breath against her ear, the deep rumble of his voice in his chest.

The breathless, reverent way he had whispered her name against her neck.

Feyre.

“Feyre are you cold? Should we go back to the room to fetch your shawl?”

Jolting back into the moment, Feyre took a minute to smile at Elain and scan the crowd again for dark hair and violet eyes. “No, Elain, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look a bit -”

“I’m just a little tired from all the festivities. Maybe I’ll take some more tea.”

She stood abruptly and ignored Nesta and Elain’s stares as she walked through the growing throngs of breakfast goers.

Surely, they could all see it on her. God, it was all over her face, and her body. Though she had checked her throat multiple times that morning for bites or marks and found nothing, she couldn’t understand how the searing feeling of him against her skin wasn’t plain for all to see.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

He was a rake, known far and wide for his proclivities. He was probably courting a Grand Duchess. She might not even be the only woman he was sleeping with at this party.

Whatever this burgeoning…obsession was, she had to get it under control.

Even if last night had been - well, it had been –

Feyre paused on the way to tea to hide behind a tree at the edge of the crowd and bury her head in her hands.

She was not a virgin, although she worked hard to hide that fact from her father and sisters. They could never, ever know. Even if she puzzled at the shame of it.

Left mostly on her own from age eight, she had learned plenty about the conjugal act from her best teacher: nature in the wild and on the farms in the run down village. She had learned even more from the old widows and the one boisterous tavern wench who deigned to speak to her when she came to town to trade.

But when she and the local farmer’s son Isaac had tumbled into his father’s barn, it felt anything but sinful or unnatural.

Still, it had been nothing like last night. Nothing like the Viscount and his clever hands and the pleasure he pulled from her like a virtuoso with his chosen instrument.

“Are you in need of an escort, Miss Feyre?”

Feyre’s heart stopped as she turned to the voice behind her that she had been dreaming of all morning and all night.

The Viscount Sterling stood behind her, as regal as ever in black and linen. Her eyes scanned over his familiar form - the silky hair that had been beneath her fingers, the high cheekbones, the golden skin, those piercing eyes. The plush lips that had been all over her.

His mouth downturned into a small frown.

He was magnificent, not that she would ever admit that to him. Beautiful and refined in a way she hadn’t known possible.

And last night, he had been hers.

A fleeting connection, she was sure. One she needed to start getting over now.

“I - I was just on my way for tea,” she said, trying not to blush.

“Allow me, then.” He offered his arm.

They walked back into the sunlight of early morning, across the grass and into the crowd of breakfast-goers, some chatting merrily and others still recovering from the late hour of the ball.

He kept his voice low, as they were surrounded by fine folk mingling and eating and no doubt gossiping already at their conversation. “Is your father here this morning?”

“No. He was feeling ill and is still in our rooms.”

The frown continued to deepen on his face. “The three of you are often alone.”

“Are we alone if there are three sisters? We’re fine, Nesta is determined to keep us out of trouble.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible when it comes to you”

Feet stopped short and they looked at each other, the truth trembling between them.

The frown deepened. “Miss Feyre, I feel that I need to apologize.”

Feyre’s heart froze in her chest. It was a mistake, a defeated voice whispered inside her mind. He regrets it. He regrets you.

Part of her couldn’t believe him - about to shatter her to pieces here in the middle of breakfast with all of London society to witness.

Breathe, just breathe. Her mind was already harried by her sleepless night, and the frenzy he’d worked her into. So much so that she barely noticed how unruffled he was - tongue-tied, his eyes darting around nervously. He removed his hat, running a gloved hand through his hair, a lock of it falling onto his forehead as he dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I should have had more control last night. I was angry and…jealous, and I let things get out of hand.” Brows furrowed, she tried to parse through his words while steeling herself. “If I was truly a gentleman as I claimed, I would go to your father immediately and ask for your hand. But I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite short of that title, and I am not in a position to marry you, Feyre.”

“Marry me?”

A delirious giggle escaped from her lips before she could clamp her hand over her mouth. Oh, this was going terribly. Something manic inside her was about to escape. A few breakfasting couples glanced their way, curious.

The Viscount took her by the elbow, lips pursed, and gently guided her to an unoccupied spot by the garden hedges.

“That’s not usually the reaction one expects at a marriage proposal.”

Feyre huffed. “Was that a proposal? Forgive me, lord, it sounded like a threat, instead of a question requiring an answer.”

“Don’t you think we should marry after last night?”

A picture flickered before her eyes. Cold, half-empty mansions, social calls and boring afternoons indoors, endless balls and dinners and curtseys and heavy jewelry around her neck like a noose.

And the Viscount…yes he was handsome, and had money enough beyond the Archeron’s dreams, but his arrogance, his pride, his strange reliance on the Duchess…not to mention she would be Viscountess, locked in a manor her entire life, not just a reluctant guest but a host to endless dinner parties. Meant to birth heirs and embroider sweet scenes on little pillows. No more charcoal-stained fingers or the smell of canvas.

No. Absolutely not.

She ground her teeth. “Maybe if you actually ask me, then you’ll find your answer.”

“Feyre –”

She was angry, and humiliated, the feelings swirling together and growing inside her. “What do you want, my lord? You say you should marry me, but you cannot? Do you want me to talk you into it? To shed a tear? Are you here looking for absolution?”

He dragged a hand through his hair again. “I - I don’t know.”

Feyre clenched her fists open and closed, scrambling for her thoughts. He seemed reticent enough - was this an act he had perfected with all the ladies he lay with - too cowardly for outright rejection, instead some concocted story about his mysterious inability to marry?

“Do you want to marry me, Rhysand?” His eyes shot up to her at the use of his name. Mouth parted open, gaping like a fish.

She supposed that was answer enough.

“Feyre, you know what we did. You know the expectations…”

“No one knows what happened last night but the two of us.”

“And God.”

She bit her tongue, to stop from rolling her eyes. “And it should stay that way, Rhysand. Unless you can’t keep your mouth shut. I promise you that I can.”

He looked annoyed again, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want to…make things difficult for you.”

Far, far too late for that.

Feyre felt the sting of his rejection. He had his fun, maybe after too much wine himself, and now he regretted it all, would cast her off with a sad-eyed apology. Already she began to worry about finding a new salary, she’d have to make some new connections, risk making deals on the ballroom floor again…

And find some way to rid her mind of all these memories.

Lost in her silence, he kept going “I’m sorry -”

“Please, stop. I’m not asking for your apology. You didn’t…deflower me, if that’s your concern, sir. And I certainly knew your reputation before I joined you in that sitting room. I assure you, I did not go into that room with you looking for a husband. So do not feel any sense of obligation on my behalf.”

Something had gone cold in his eyes. “So you’re saying it was my reputation that threw you into my arms?” Feyre clenched her fist in frustration. She remembered being dragged, but if he wanted to split hairs –

“I’m saying I went into that room and got exactly what I wanted from you.”

“And what was that?”

“A distraction, I suppose.”

The Viscount blinked once. Rolled his neck and then placed his tophat back on his head.

“I see. Then forgive my error. I appear to have nothing to concern myself with here.”

She huffed. Something fragile crumbling in her chest. Unable to stop the pour of her anger out of her. “That’s right. If you’re apologizing then consider it accepted. If you regret it then don’t worry, we can never speak of it again. Now please excuse me, I need to get back to my sisters.”

Feyre stormed off the best she could across the soft lawn of grass, trying to outrun her embarrassment.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

[gravidwithlore]

Has anyone else ever thought about curses and kink? Not just someone being cursed and then discovering a new kink, but someone having a kink and purposely trying to get cursed in a way that fulfills that kink?

Like for example, witch gf has to leave on a business trip for a weekend, but she knows her bf will be so lonely without her. Knowing her bf has a pregnancy kink, as a kinky little parting gift, she curses him so that every time he masturbates the more pregnant he gets (with what? Guess itll be a surprise). She leaves with a wink and tells him she expects to see a sweet little baby bump by the time she gets back. When she gets back 3 days later, he's already cummed himself senseless, all the way to laboring and crowning around the head of a big demon spawn. Overstimulated and whining, he's still doing his best to touch himself. Because the spawn is partially born already, the curse doesn't just grow the spawn spreading his legs, it instead creates a sibling for his leaving occupant. As she walks into their bedroom, he cums again, and she can see his belly visibly start to swell again. The witch puts down her suitcase and wonders if she can get her slutty bf to cum enough that the 2nd spawn gets big enough to be born once her bf is done cumming out it's sibling.

Or you're single, and happy that way, but still looking to get a good spanking and its so hard to find someone to do it right. Too impatient to go through the human interaction and negotiation, you go to a witch and get a custom curse. Anytime you do some inane, mildly bad habit, you get a solid SMACK! across your backside. Let's say it's something you're more likely to do at home than out in public, or a certain phrase or gesture you tell the witch you're trying not to say or do. The more you do it the more the curse evolves, changing up the position and force of each slap. Sometimes you swear you can feel the metaphysical hand lingering, as if admiring it's own work. Instead of dissuading you from doing this 'habit' the activation thing genuinely becomes a habit of yours. Once it happens accidentally in public, you realize you might have a new, but still related, kink.

A man has always secretly dreamed of becoming a hucow, and after getting tired of his draining soulless business career, he finally decided to make it a reality. They make fake social media accounts and reach out to a curse creator. He pretends he's someone else who hates him, who wants to see him suffer and be humiliated. He DMs them a whole rant about how he needs to be taken down a few pegs, how he's awful and absolutely deserves this horrible curse to change him for the rest of his life. The curse creator absolutely agrees to help, even providing him a discount out of sympathy for his fake story. Since he knows it's coming, he feels when the curse hits. It's not long until people around him start to comment on how ditsy he's been lately, how much weight he's gaining, how his voice sounds 'different.'

Eventually, he tearfully admits to his friends and family that he thinks someone's cursed him! How could he possibly know who? And no one's come forward to gloat, who could possibly hate him so much to curse him like this? His loved ones look on in sad, if slightly condescending, empathy. It's not his fault he can't keep a thought straight in his stupid little cow brain, or that he keeps getting distracted by the growing teats bouncing on his chest, or that half the time he tries to form a complete sentence he can't help but moo a little! Eventually, when he's almost unrecognizable from the person he was, a family member suggests maybe joining a farm? They have a friend who's just bought one, and they're trying to get started, besides wouldn't it be so much better to be able to roam around a farm, rather than be cramped in his city apartment?

The moment he arrives at the farm and catches sight of the big minotaur running the place, he can't help but bat his long beautiful eyelashes and let out a visceral, lowing heated moo. When the curse creator reaches out to ask them to leave a review, he rates them 5 stars. Then immediately forgets what he was doing as he rubs his hyper-sensitive gravid belly, full to bursting with the minotaur's babies already, which is miraculously dwarfed by his massive udders, hooked up to the strongest milk pump his beloved farmer could find.

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 14

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N: WHAT'S UP FUCKERS- shorter chapter but it's fucking here

Warnings: Bad language, descriptions of panic attack, descriptions of nightmares, descriptions of drowning/choking/suffocating, descriptions of hallucinations, mentions of possible PTSD

In the warmth of the afternoon sun, the people rejoiced.

Some kneeled to kiss the grassy earth beneath their shoes, others hugged and sung thanks to the goddess to see the light of day once more and others merely eased their tense bodies to the welcoming breeze, eyes closed in bliss. Freedom. Finally, they had reached freedom after those terrifying, grueling days stuck in the confines of that age old library.

The Hero of the Four Swords looked towards the castle in worry.

“Any sign of them?” The sailor asked nervously, eyes also trained on the grand palace. “Cook hasn’t picked up on the slate, no matter how much I’ve tried to contact him with the stone.”

The worry brewing in the smithy’s gut only seemed to burn at those words. “Not at all?”

“No.”

The eldest seemed the most panicked of it all. The Old Man held that mask of stoicism well but masks were not made in likeness, their duplicity was still noticeable under a scrutinising eyes and the blonde could see the worry in his gaze. The way he seemed to pace on the spot, how his hands twitched against the hilt of his sword and his eyes stayed fixated on those towers of stone a little too long. Time fought it, of course, and if the ‘accusation’ came that he was fearful in this moment it would be met with a burning glare and swift denial.

“I do not fear when I know you are all capable of holding your ground, especially against that monster.”

But not all of them were his descendant, were they?

Ever since that dreadful day, the Ranch-hand laid in a bed not of his own making, the darkness of the Shadow’s blow seeping into his bloodstream and slowly draining the soul from his weakening body as he edged closer and closer to death. Only a few terrible hours, but enough to air out the grievances with them amidst the worry and frustration. The Four Sword Hero and the Hero of Wild had fought but that had come to pass- however the light shone on the topic of ancestor and descendant could not just be pushed aside.

The Hero of Time had become…stricter with the farm boy. Obvious to them all, the man had taken his role more seriously then. All could see it, the nervous light dancing in his eye when he sent the brunette on an errand or watched him battle a monster with the strength of a Hylian Ox. The very thoughts of fighting the very thing that had nearly sent him to the gates where the Golden Three held eternal paradise was probably eating the Old man alive, concern gnawing at his gut like a dog chewed at its bone.

The Hero of Time knew that the others were capable- but did he think the same of his successor? 

The Four Sword Hero could also see that the question mingled in the mind of the Ranch-hand too, albeit the Old Man did try his damndest to not show it in front of him, especially knowing that stubbornness that seemed to last generations in his family.

The Skyloftian Knight had told him, even when he stood, bleeding out and wobbling, he would not yield his position as hero on that day the Shadow struck.

What an idiot his brother was, sometimes.

“How much longer could they be?” Gilda muttered to herself, the fairy having joined them when she had seen them return from their side quest. “Maybe I should go have a look-”

A huff silenced her.

“Maybe our resident witch has bewitched them,” The veteran’s words came offhanded but he could hear the loathing and wariness in his tone- he did not wholeheartedly believe his accusation but the Vet knew how to weigh down his words. “And given them over to the Shadow just like they probably planned-”

“Veteran now really isn’t the time for such words.” The Skyloftian Knight’s resort sliced through the air and had almost made the Four Sword Hero jump. When had he appeared behind him? “Can you not for the moment?”

“I am just saying-”

“Hey, there they are!”

Necks snapped, Four’s included, in the direction of where the sailor had begun to sprint. Nowhere near the castle gates but instead in the West, five forms appearing in the distance- four walking and the last hanging off the back of one of them.

The heroes plus fairy rushed over without a second thought.

“Are they dead!?” 

Wind had exclaimed those words in a moment of panic, eyes wide in a morbid curiosity as they glanced over your paled face in the light of the afternoon sun- you seemed still too. Not moving an inch.

“No!” Wild cried in similar horror, “They fainted! That’s all!”

Gilda didn’t need her brother’s prompt to rush over, her gentle green glow whizzing around your hair in an effort to heal whatever ailed you in that moment.

“We had to take a shrine, there was no other way-” Twilight’s words had come out slightly slurred, his own face looking pale along with the Captain’s and the Traveller’s- Four couldn’t blame them. The Sheikah’s magic from the Champion’s era was a strange one. No one quite liked their teleportation magic, too disorientating for them all excluding the wild blonde from his excessive use of their devices. “Uh, my head-”

Gilda went over each one of them carefully as the small group were led back to the rest, the people of the settlement offering their own help in the form of potions and such of any kind as they rushed about to make an impromptu camp. After all, the skulltula had torn apart most of their settlement already and left them with almost naught to defend themselves with. You were laid to rest on a bedroll, tucked in under a blanket with the careful touches of the Traveller and Champion before all were gathered to talk.

“I’m glad to know you are all okay,” 

Time’s voice sounded heavy with both relief and concern during the rush, looking over the group after they were tended to by a maiden scholar with knowledge of medicine- she had practically demanded to help in return for saving her life. “And I’m glad to see you were able to rescue our guest- but what of the Shadow?”

The four shared a look. “It…retreated.” 

“Wait. Seriously?”

“Yes, as soon as it reached the light, it seemed.”

“But the light has never stopped it before.” The Hero of the Four Sword brought a finger to his chin in thought, a slight flash of purple dancing in his eyes. “Even when taking the form of a beast, it still stalked the lands when the sun was highest- why stop this time? What could have possibly been the reason?”

The group shared an inquisitive silence.

“Well, the sun has never stopped it but it has seemed to grow weaker under its gleam.” The group glanced over to Sky as he sat himself up on his rocky seat, “Think about it, those many moon cycles ago- The Captain didn’t have much action when he and the Shadow had exchanged blows but when Ranch-hand- I…uh…”

Twilight rolled his eyes, “Just spit it out, knight.”

“Right, uh, anywho- when the Ranch-hand had fought with the monster it seemed to have more power in the oncoming dusk.”

The veteran straightened. “Dusk does bring more shadows than pure light. It would make sense.”

“But what of our time in the forest?” Hyrule asked, “It was darker, more shadows in the shade of the trees- it didn’t seem that strong then either. Angry, but not too powerful.”

Twilight playfully nudged Warrior’s shoulder. “You can thank our Captain for that.”

“Oh hush.”

Sky spoke up once more, “I think Fi’s light may have been the reason, we all see how it reacts to her power. It’s afraid. After all, she was made to seal the darkness and the Shadow is that- darkness.”

They let those words sink in, sharing looks with wild thoughts prancing about in their heads.

“...It didn’t feel that powerful.” The Hero of Hyrule glanced over to your form, situated comfortably in your bedroll and looking much more healthy compared to your earlier sickly expression. “Angry. It was certainly angry and almost suffocatingly so, but the power behind its shifting form didn’t really feel all that…there. I think that’s why it didn’t chase us further and I think that’s why we were able to escape. It’s weak. Too weak.”

“Still strong enough to open a portal?” The eldest didn’t seem all that convinced.

“In the darkness, yes, that’s where it takes its power from.” Confidence bloomed in his gut as the brunette stood a little taller, “The day that (Name) appeared it was late into the night, when it had taken them during our fight the darkness once again overwhelmed the light- these have been the only times that portals have appeared for ages. Don’t you see? It cannot function properly in the sun.”

A sudden wave rolled over the Hero of Time. Dark and guilty, his eyes of ocean blue swirling with conflict as he gaze ran over to your unconscious form. He hadn’t discussed what he had done those few days ago, a secret between both you and his descendant that he wasn’t quite ready to disclose to the group- now was the time however, no matter the look he knew the traveller and (now) the cook would burn into him.

“I have a confession.” Eyes tethered to his form in an instant- no backing down now. “Those days ago, back with the camp at Fort Hateno- I had a plan.”

The Twilight Hero sat straighter- The Old Man continued. “It was intentional, leaving our guest to fend for themself because I had a suspicion that the Shadow was watching us.”

The Hero of Hyrule’s breath stuttered in growing horror and anger. “...what?”

The Wild Hero practically leapt to his feet. “WHAT!?”

The roar grabbed the attention of the nearby settlers, Twilight moving to stand and grab his shoulders. “Champion, please-”

“They told you they could not fight!” The traveller cried, interrupting. “They told us all! They told you and you saw what happened! You did that! That was your fault!”

A few flinched at such a raw blame but the Old Man kept his shoulders squared, face stoic. “And I take full condemnation for such an idiotic plan- but it proved it. The Shadow is watching us.”

The cook ground his teeth, “You didn’t need to see something we all already believed.”

Time would have laughed at the irony of those words- he really did replicate the Ranch-hand in so many ways. To sound like him in this moment would have usually made his heart warm if not for the seething anger behind his tone.

“Seeing is better than believing, we all know that,” He sighed, “But that’s not what I wanted to say- that monster was further proof that the Shadow’s power wavers in the light of the day.”

The smallest hero raised a brow. “How so?”

“It’s positioning- the monster led our guest right towards us, why would it do such a thing? It knew it would take a few of us only moments to cross that river, the Traveller proves that, so why closer? Unless-”

“Unless it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.” The Captain looked up at the realisation, “The Shadow messed up.”

“What does that even mean!?” The champion snapped, throwing his hands up. “The Shadow always messes up- if it were successful in any way it would have killed us all already!”

“It was successful with taking (Name) wasn’t it?” The eldest turned to him. “Both times, both in darkness but when it summoned the Chuchu it messed up. Why did it mess up that time? The only possible explanation is the light.”

The cloud of realisation rained heavy on them all. 

The sailor crossed his arms, “But the Shadow was summoning all those monsters! I understand if it was weak in the light but the traveller is saying that it’s weak full stop. This wasn’t just a small camp of monsters, this was an entire herd. Surely in its weak state it shouldn’t be able to summon that many, right? And if it can, shouldn’t it be able to step into the light? It must have enough power for that if it can make a small army.”

Taking a deep breath to control the rage burning in his chest, the Hero of Hyrule spoke once more. “We might not have all the clues here, not yet. But I still think it’s weak, even in that display of horror and intimidation, the power that it gave off felt smaller than it had been for a while.”

“Let’s not forget that it has been months since we last saw this monster.” The Ranch-hand had finally managed to calm his protégé, the blonde more grumpy than enraged. “So that must mean something.”

Silence finally hung.

Their talk was informative, ideas flowing around them all. The Shadow had been pushed to the back of their mind during this long time of rest with nothing to show from its end. They had travelled all over the Champion’s era searching for monsters, for stories, for rumours and for portals but not a whisper in the wind. This sudden return had certainly shook them all but they knew it had been coming, maybe not that day they had found you at the base of that tree, winded and bruised but it was inevitable that the Shadow would one day return.

It would never give up that easily.

A shaky whimper caught their ears and heads turned to your direction, face pinching and lips shaking as you made more noise of distress.

Hyrule didn’t hesitate to move towards you, as did Wild, brushing past the Ordonian Hero to make his way over.

“Are we gonna go check out the castle again?” Wind asked after a moment.

Time shook his head, “No, however we shall in the morning.”

“Okay,” Wind pushed away from the tree he had been leaning against, jogging over to your position too.

After a few following moments of silence, the remaining heroes decided to part also. Twilight stayed by the side of his ancestor however, watching them all go with a heavy heart before turning to look at the eldest as he rested his head in hands.

Time sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to make this up to them.”

Twilight’s hand rested on the older man’s shoulder- it was almost odd to be his comforter when it was usually the other way around. “Just give them time, ancestor.”

And that was that.

----------

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Your hands clawed desperately at the ooze, fighting its weight as it dragged you further and further into the expanse of nothing. Kicking your feet had proved useless, you made no distance in your efforts, only continuing to sink deeper and deeper with no knowledge of where you would end up.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Where were you? How did you get here? You had opened your eyes and suddenly you were bombarded by the overwhelming feeling of the black sludge surrounding your body. Trapped, no way to fight it. With the consistency of molasses yet versatile like water, you only continued to sink with no hope of resurfacing.

You could not scream.

You could not cry.

You could only wait.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Then you felt it- the hand wrap around your calf. Sharp nails digging into the skin of your leg as it captured you within its grasp. You could not flail in panic. You could not fight its grip. 

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

You reached your hand out, begging for someone to save you from this horrid fate. You didn’t wish to die in such a torturing way. Unaware of it all. 

But it began to drag you down.

And you were going to die here.

In this horrible, drowning, choking, blinding nothing.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind-

Your hand was grasped and you spotted it- the light. Seeping through the darkness in smaller beams that grew bigger and bigger as it began to haul you up, up, up- the hand on your calf tried fighting but with this newfound hope in your system you did not yield. Tightening your own hand, you pulled your weight up to greet the surface of the never-ending sludge.

Surviving.

Breathing.

Seeing.

You broke the surface with a heavy gasp, spluttering and coughing. Light surrounded you opposed to the darkness that you had been submerged in and you raised your eyes to look at your savour.

Eyes pooled with kindness looked back.

“(Name)-”

You sat up with a choking gasp, clutching at the blanket encasing your chest.

Eyes wild, you searched the area desperately for traces of that suffocating nightmare only to see that you were laying in a forest, as lush and as green as many were in a scene that slowly brought you back into reality. The trees wavered in the wind, the grass stood tall and you were not drowning in darkness.

Bodies were strewn about the small camp, a fire centring them all. Wild and Hyrule laid only inches away from your sleeping mat in their own, their soft snores light on your ears as you watched them with your pacing heart slowing to a resting thump. Looking around, you could spot a few more of the boys sleeping away with the settlement in the far distance, their torches beacons in the dark.

The dark…

You gulped, glancing around. Surrounded by it, eating away at the borders of your camp, it almost seemed to be watching you, studying you. The light of the fire was the only thing that fought it back, your savour in these desperate times- desperate? Why would it be desperate? Nothing was there.

Unless that nothing was something.

Unless that something was the Shadow.

Cloaked in pitch black, red eyes staring at you from beyond his veil of gloom. Was this what he was waiting for? The night to snatch you up again? Your cockiness would surely lead you to a tortuous death with not an ounce of glory to your name. You had provoked him and now you were destined to die a cruel end.

Something shifted beyond a shady bush.

Your heart kick started with a twisting leap.

You didn’t want to die like this. Not after everything had happened. You had been saved- you were safe! He couldn’t hurt you now! This wasn’t fair! 

You pushed yourself to your knees, hellbent on running.

No, this wasn’t it. Not after escaping your fate. 

The world muffled as blood pumped loudly in your ears, your shaky, uneven pants returning tenfold as wild eyes stayed focused on the shaking bush. You were not in between trees, you were back in that hallway. Winding and dark, as you watched the shadows slowly seep round the corner with its demonic host just only a few paces behind.

You could not fight but by God you could run.

Eyes peered through the darkness.

You inhaled in suspense.

A fluffy dog pushed its way through the bush.

And suddenly, you were back on the outside.

Collapsing back into your bedroll, you shook. Your pillow muffling your terrified sobs as you heaved and wailed into the comfort of the plush cushion.

It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. The castle laid quiet in the background within the darkness, the trees acting as a fence between you and your near murder scene. Your mind may have still pushed that horrible notion but you needed to fight it with logic, with a clear mind. Even as tears cascaded down your hot cheeks you needed to see that you were indeed fine, you were indeed safe.

You did not need to add PTSD to the long list of things already wrong with you.

Something gently made contact with your head, the familiar feeling of a wet snout softly burrowing into your hair with frantic sniffs as the canine studied your shaking figure. Nipping at your skin with careful precision as to not actually hurt you, the animal whined and collapsed into a big fluffy heap right next to your shaking body- a boundary between you and the darkness.

After a few moments, you glanced at it.

“...Wolfie?” Wolfie, or Twilight as you knew under the disguise of Twili magic, tilted his head curiously at you. “...what are you doing here?”

The wolf quietly barked- a squeak with maws snapping.

“Right…you can’t talk…” Sniffling, you hiccuped on a breath and reached your hand out carefully, fingers making contact with the poofy fur decorating his chest. “....you’re soft.”

Another quiet bark, you giggled this time at the noise.

“I’m sorry…were you patrolling?” He hummed a whine that you could only believe was a ‘yes’, your head coming to rest upon his paws in an act of seeking comfort- you hoped you weren’t making Twilight uncomfortable. “Sorry for getting in the way.”

Wolfie rested his head atop yours carefully.

“I just-...” You teared up once again, shaking. “It’s so dark and I just couldn’t-”

A deep sound came from within his chest, not a growl or grunt, but a long soft hum that had you fall quiet with only sniffles leaving you. You were tired, you were scared and you wished you were back home with your Mama. 

Mama.

You wanted your mama.

She would have held you, even through her grump after you woke her.

“I want my mama,” You sniffed, “I want go home- I hate this fucking place.”

Tightening into a ball, you cuddled closer to the canine. The hero did nothing to fight it, in fact, he pushed his body closer to your own as he curled around your frame protectively. Like a blanket of safety, he kept you covered and made an effort to shield you from the horrors of the outside world. You were not alone in this nightmare, you did not have to isolate yourself and suffer.

You cried yourself to sleep.

[atoltia]

New farmer in town.

had ideas in my head. couldn't get contain them. i apologize in advance afsafasf

somehow this turned into March's pov and tbh it is what it is

Warning: mild swearing

~0~

People had expectations when they found out that someone would be moving into the old farmhouse south of the town.

It took a little over a week for someone to accept the terms to the land, which wasn't at all surprising. The earthquake took toll on Mistria and not many of the passing adventurers were willing to help out on the rebuilding efforts and monetary aid from the Capital would take days, if not weeks, to arrive unless the trade roads were cleared in a timely fashion.

When Adeline said someone bit on the notice, people were ecstatic. That old farm was decrepit for years with no one bold enough to take on the labor to tend to it long term.

There were bets called from the old guards. Of course there were. Will it be a runaway from one of the neighboring cities trying to find their fortune? Will it be some lowly adventurer that found out early in their career that adventuring and the mercenary life was just not for them? Will it be a former noble exiled by their family to some small town in the middle of nowhere with the hopes that they'll be able to come back as the prodigal child to vye for the position of head of the family, if not the throne (Maple was particularly fond of this theory)?

Not all of the theories were as dramatic as these, however. Celine hoped for a plant lover like herself. His brother, Olric, hoped for an outdoorsy person like himself.

March, of course, didn't care.

They didn't need another person to live here. They were doing fine. His brother, Ryis, and he would be enough. It's not like one person could make that big of a difference. The person could be some shady motherfucker, anyway.

Well, whatever he thought, he would have been wrong either way.

The new "farmer" was not some naive, doe-eyed low level adventurer who had nothing to their name but the clothes on their back. The new farmer was not some inexperienced moron that needed handholding throughout every step. No, they didn't get any of that.

What they got was a woman, taller than most of the women in Mistria, with long (though not as long as that witch Juniper's) hair as dark as midnight. There was a cautiousness to her eyes, one that he couldn't quite pinpoint, that was present even when Adeline was excitedly chatting her up in the town square. Dark, dark eyes fully alert to the comings and goings around them. She was polite enough, he'd give her that.

The chatter changed its tone rather immediately. The woman, Sandra, was here barely here a week before the rumors and gossip started anew.

Balor said he saw her scale the side of one of the cliffs at the western side of Mistria without breaking a sweat. Nora said she was damn sure she saw a knife tucked beneath her shirt while harvesting some berries in the eastern ruins. Dell was adamant that she saw their new villager transform into a dragon at the western excavation site (this was an fib and everyone knew it).

But he didn't care. March did not at all care. He just hoped to god that the woman would leave him the hell alone.

Boy was he wrong.

---

for anyone wonder who my oc is, meet sandra haha (gonna make more art of her soon)

What his eyes can see, part 1

[ratsoh-writes]

Hey y’all! Meet grimmtale! My newest au!

Grimmtale, like most of the other AUs was underground before the crash, but unlike most AUs, the monsters were very happy to be there!

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when drought dried up the surface leaving it uninhabitable, to save the underground lakes swamps and rivers, the monsters and witches of that world created a barrier protecting the underground from the heat above. Every entrance possible was sealed up and inside the earth developed a beautiful swamp like ecosystem where the people lived!

Over the years, monsters and humans alike developed and mutated to better fit their new home.

Humans, or the witches lost the color in their skin becoming a pale translucent blue-white color. Their hair thinned to the point where very few people grow any at all. And finally the witches of grimmtale have very poor eyesight, needing dark conditions to see at all, but have an amazing sense of hearing, touch and direction!

Every monster subspecies had changes too, each one unique to their respective subspecies. For example, goats have much thinner fur as well, and scaly hind legs as well as a snakelike tail. Slimes became extremely strong and are much larger than their counterparts with the ability to glow. And skeletons gained elongated forearms and prehensile tails as part of their mutations.

Monsters and the witches have lived in harmony for generations, with family covens ruling the roost underground. Humans from grimmtale have a longer lifespan due to generations of using magic. The typical witch from Grimmtale will have an average lifespan of 130 years, with the oldest (not soul bonded to a monster) living to 175. Half breeds and mages are very common as well making up a solid third of the AUs population.

The most lucrative business from the Grimms is potion making. These people will create concoctions that can have all kinds of temporary effects from painkillers, strengtheners, ones that change appearance, ones that have spell like effects, and even potions that can cause explosions!

After the crash, this au has been in charge of mapping the underground chambers of ebott. Around 3/4ths of waterfall in ebott contains the swampy terrain of the grimms old au, so the majority of their people decided to stay and settle underground. Many visit the surface though of course!

Between the 855 covens, they all voted and chose the Dreemur coven to appoint two representatives for the board of royals. After a month long series of trials, the twins, Gloom and Fog were chosen to take the vow with the rest of ebotts royals

Now meet the boys!

Thistle Wingdings: (Grimm sans)

Thistle is a stocky Grimm skeleton aged 58 and standing at 5’8 feet tall. He has a gim grey green magic and a very very deep voice with a gravely sound to it. By Grimm monster standards, he’s quite handsome but most surface skeletons would be nervous around him. He has a series of eyebrow piercings and one nose ridge stud

Thistle has a relaxed and calm personality. He loves to take life slowly, enjoying the little pleasures. He’s a huge cuddle bug, and affectionate with anyone who looks past his gruff face. Just a real sweetheart. If he isn’t smiling, he has a serious resting b*tch face. Despite his lazy attitude, he’s a very clean person and takes great pride in making his home pretty and nice smelling.

Thistle works with his parents growing various potion ingredients on their farm in waterfall. Most of the plants are pretty self sufficient leaving him and his family with a lot of free time. So to keep himself from getting too bored, he does a touch of mining on the side

Thistles magic weapon is a… pillow. Yes that’s right. It’s simply just a pillow conjured by magic. It’s very soft and comfy, and cooling! (And it can secretly cause cold damage if he wants it to)

Thistles secret ability is “early frost”. When he touches metal, stone and magic attacks, he can concentrate and freeze the objects through to shatter them, granted as long as they aren’t too big

Things he loves: cuddles, soft fluffy bedding, weirdly shaped rocks, toads and newts, the color navy blue, baked potatoes with tuna, herbal tea, Minecraft, making scented cleaning potions, pretty candles, echo flowers, goth music, human mythology

Yarrow Wingdings: (Grimm papyrus)

Yarrow is a crazy tall skeleton for grimmtale. He stands at 6’10, well above the average of 5’6. He is aged 49 and has a dull French grey magic. His voice is soft and low with a scratchy quality. He’s considered insanely handsome to other grimms but is a little creepy to surface skeletons.

Yarrow is a gentle giant. He moves carefully and with intention. He’s very meticulous about his actions, but doesn’t handle failure well when trying new things and can get frustrated easily. He has a keen sense of adventure and loves to explore. He’s a bit of a flirt and loves playful banter that doesn’t actually mean anything.

Yarrow works on his family’s potion ingredient farm. The plants are mostly self sufficient though leaving him and his family with a lot of free time. So to keep himself busy he also helps build passages underground for the miners.

Yarrows magic weapon is a grappling hook with four pointed ridges that clamp down when they hit anything! He has scary good aim with that thing!

His special ability is “frog hands”. Yarrow can stick to any surface and will scitter up walls and across ceilings as fast as if he was sprinting.

Things he loves: exploring new places, rock climbing, swimming, his pet toadstool bitty “warts”, the color blood red, classic horror movies, goth music, clams and mussels, herbal tea, Spider-Man, making strengthening potions, red roses.

Side characters

Gloom: Grimm Asgore, gloom is a grimm goat monster standing at 8’7. He has pitch black fur a deep red beard, white eyes and two small nub horns. He is a playful and gentle monster, but has a terrifying protective streak when pushed. He’s in charge of directing the mapping efforts of the underground and providing monthly updates of such. His twin sister and playful rival is Fog.

Fog: Grimm toriel, Fog is a Grimm goat monster standing at 8’7. She has a deep red fur, no beard and two large curled horns. Fog is a cheeky and mischievous monster. She has great skill in soothing tempers but is known to hold grudges herself lol. She is in charge of approving designs and locations for the underground highways and towns being built. Her twin brother and playful rival is Gloom.

Morticia Wingdings: formerly named Aster, she is the mother of thistle and yarrow. Morticia is a tall Grimm skeleton standing at 6’4 and has a dim grey magic. She’s considered bloody gorgeous by Grimm monster standards. A potion accident years ago left her with her neck permanently turned invisible giving her the appearance of a floating skull set atop her shoulders lol. Morticia is elegant and mischievous, loving a good laugh at some dark jokes. She loves her sons and is very grateful that they seem happy in ebott

Gomez Wingdings: the father of thistle and yarrow, Gomez is a large strong ogre mage with pitch black skin of ogre monsters, dull purple eyes, and no hair as is typical of the humans of his au. He is very happily soul bonded to Morticia. Gomez is a kind and goofy fellow who’s a total simp for his wife. He isn’t sure why his wife was so eager to take on the name Morticia after the crash, but he supports it. He loves his sons dearly.

Venom: Grimm muffet, venom is a small spider monster with a plum purple skin, thin black hair and adorable pale grey eyes. She’s aged 92 Venom is a close friend of thistle and yarrow and was their babysitter when she was younger. She is a popular potion maker specializing in potions aiming to help those with good hygiene. She buys most of her ingredients from the Wingding covens farm.

[spacebarbarianweird]

I'm honestly very proud how Alethaine (Astarion's daughter) and Elren (her husband-to-be) turned out.

Alethaine looks like a dark witch. She wears black, ressurects the dead, knows a lot dark spells, also can rip your throat.

But on the inside...

She is cute and soft.

Alethaine is literally this meme. Everyone thinks she is Wednesday but on the inside... she's def Enid.

She likes sweet things. She prefers the life of comfort. Plus, she is smart - reads a lot, knows a few languages. Alethaine is an introvert, the only time you can see her in a tavern is when she looks for a job.

Also, Alethaine is demisexual to the point of asexual. She literally never slept with anyone before she turned 300 just because it hadn't been interesting enough for her.

At the same Alethaine often makes close friends. She treats Theris (her tiefling dhampir friend) and Mierni (Gale's adopted dhampir son) as her brothers and cares about them.

She likes kids and can care about them even if they have special needs.

But she is also selfish (she enlisted for the "saving the world" quest only because she was going to be paid dearly). Cruel - kills without mercy. Barely cares about anything and anyone unless they gain her trust.

Alethaine stuck between three worlds: the world of mortals, the world of undead and the world of elves never truly belonging to any of them. But over the course of her life she learns to enjoy what life has to offer.

--

Elren Goldenroot has a few layers as a character. The first impression of him is that typical elven hero who saves the less fortunate fighting with his family sword.

But he doesn't just fight monsters or villains. He hunts the demons straight from the Abyss. And he knows everything about those lovecraftian creatures. When Alethaine asks him to bring her a shovel to intorogata a corpse, he doesn't ask 'why', he asks 'when'.

He is tolerant to anyone and anything - maybe one the reasons Astarion adores his son-in-law.

He has a lot of friends. He literally has a friend in every village or a town he visits. But at the same there is a great sorrow - he believes he witnesses the dawn of his race. But the moment he realizes there is still hope for elves, he invests himself in the battle against the demons and pledges allegiance to the king of elves, the promised saviour. But when the savior dies... He makes a decision to take his place. Not because he wants, but because he believes his people need a leader.

At the same time... Elren is extremely vulnerable. He feels himself a ragged doll stitched of different pieces. His father was a Wood Elf and he'd died before Elren was born. His mother was half a Sun Elf, half a Moon Elf (from her he'd inherited golden hair and pale skin). She suffered from post-partum depression and died when Elren was only two. He was raised by her secon cousin, a half-elf, and his human family. Elren overlived them all - and had to take care of his third cousins when they grew old (meanwhile they were younger). Elren learned Elven only when grew up and it was his second tongue for many decades.

His identity makes no sense to any elf - it's a mix of different cultures plus learned languae. He spent all his youth trying to shape himself from reading about elves and talking to the few he met.

Also, he is a CSA victim. Repeatedly raped by a human cleric in his teens, he carries a deep sense of embarassment about what happend. His memories were so messed up his testimony sounded implausible (he couldn't say how many times it had happened, on what days etc) and people decided his family just wanted to frame 'an honet man'. Elren's uncle had to sell his farm and meanwhile none of his family tried to blame Elren, he considered himself guilty.

--

By the time Elren and Alethaine meet they have 300 years of life experience. Both have their own sorrows and regrets and very little hope to the better future. But together they will have to make decisions that will lead them to become the first Queen and King of Elves in millenia.

--

Thank you for reading the rant. I just love my OCs

[world0fmadness]

HOME

øystein “ euronymous ” aarseth x pregnant! reader

♡ general headcanons for euronymous with a pregnant partner!

୨୧ y’know how ellie and dina had that adorable baby and serene farm life in the last of us part II? yeah, that’s the life i want with a hot metal guy… i don’t know why or how but i wrote this in like ten minutes lol <3

♡ related hc available here and here | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: aint no grave by crooked still - witching hour by mayhem

♡ this grown man has the most serious one sided rivalry with your pregnancy pillow…

୨୧ he absolutely despises it and cannot believe you’re choosing to cuddle a pillow over him, he glares down at it every single night

♡ you try telling him that it’s just… comfier than him but he doesn’t believe it, how? he says you must just be having pregnancy brain and not thinking straight because no way is a pillow comfier than him

୨୧ you went through a little bit of your pregnancy making him sleep on the couch because you just absolutely hated his body heat, it was the worst time of his lifeee! he didn’t fully realise how much better it was to sleep with you until it was stripped away from him…

♡ he FIGHTS to paint the nursery black, like he really puts up an insanely strong fight and says if it’s any child of his, they will love black

୨୧ it takes you at least a month to drill the answer of “ absolutely not ” into his stubborn head

♡ but you do let him paint the mayhem logo somewhere in the room, just to give him something…

୨୧ he tries to convince you to buy so many black baby clothes too, using the excuse of not knowing the gender so black works on any gender!

“ baby! please, c’mon, just get black clothes for the baby! we don’t even know what they are yet so black would be perfect for a boy or girl ” ( he’ll continue trying to convince you for hours if he has to, do not underestimate his confidence )

♡ it doesn’t matter if you agree or not though, he’ll buy black clothes for the baby anyways! and it doesn’t stop even after you find out the gender…

୨୧ i’m sorry but i just love girl dads so i’m making him one now

♡ honestly i can see this unlucky ass knocking you up with twins too…

୨୧ but i’m not going to go too deep into that lol

♡ when you guys went to get your first ultrasound together, he is such a fucking child

୨୧ the second the little blob appears on the screen, he’s making a “ eugh ” sound before you smack him on the shoulder, holding in your own snort

♡ he scoots the doctor aside and gets way up close to the little screen, proclaiming that yep, this baby will be a metalhead alright!

୨୧ how exactly did he get that from a blob of cells on a black and white screen? don’t ask him that, just trust him <3

♡ he demands the doctor print off at least ten of the ultrasound pictures, wanting to give some to his family and show his friends

୨୧ he shows the picture off so much, he probably even showed random customers in helvete, ringing them up and telling them to “ check out his blob ”

♡ some of them probably have no idea what they’re looking at and he sees that in their faces, giving a dramatic sigh and saying it again, but fixing his statement to be “ check out my baby ”

୨୧ he thinks it’s freaky as shit when you go back again some time later and now it’s grown legs and like, an actual body and stuff…

♡ that’s when it really fully sank in for him that holy shit he’s having a baby, a child, a living being

୨୧ he was quiet during that whole appointment, only giving head nods and mumbles when you spoke to him… at first you’re scared as shit, thinking maybe he’s having second thoughts and is gonna leave you

♡ but when you’re back in your shared apartment, he’s all over you! hugging you so tight and kissing you all over, admitting that he’s pretty scared but so damn excited

୨୧ he really hopes they come out wanting to learn how to play the guitar <3

♡ he buys SO many black bows, onesies and dresses! he doesn’t give a shit that the baby is going to look like she’s going to a funeral every damn day

୨୧ whenever you have weird cravings, he’s smart enough to just not comment on them

♡ well, he got smart enough to not comment on them because one time you broke down sobbing after he called pickles with nutella “ nasty as shit ” right to your face as you were eating them

୨୧ he had to spend an hour of that day comforting you and calming you down, backtracking and lying through his teeth

“ awh, baby… i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to say that! it looks good really, very… unique and exotic ” ( he can barely even get the words out with cringing as he smells the mix of nutella and pickle juice )

♡ when you did finally calm down, you made him take a bite of one to really show you he’s sorry and oh wow, poor man ate it like a champ

୨୧ well, kind of…

♡ he almost gagged and vomited but held it down, just for you! swallowing his bite and giving you an almost pained smile before kissing your head and telling you it was “ very good ” as he quickly walked off to grab some water

୨୧ so now he just keeps his lips zipped but he will absolutely have a stink face when looking at some of your creations

♡ euronymous gets kind of scared of you when your horny levels are at an all time high because of your hormones

୨୧ usually he’s the one groping your boobs and holding your hips, littering kisses all down your neck but now it’s like he’s getting a taste of his own medicine…

♡ you’re all over him, basically not letting him move because if he does you’ll get upset and claim he probably thinks you’re just so ugly now and he never wants to fuck you again

୨୧ and obviously that isn’t true! euronymous finds you so hot when you’re pregnant, he’s always fondling your boobs and whisking you off to the bedroom to let you ride him, whispering the dirtiest but sweetest things in your ear

“ y’look so beautiful carrying my baby, you know that? so beautiful… should knock you up again right after you have our girl, hm? love seeing you like this ” ( the fuck he will, you’ll be waiting at least a year before getting pregnant again )

♡ the first time the baby kicks is when he was talking to it! they’re so reactive when it comes to him and his voice, it’s crazy

୨୧ he thinks the baby kicking looks so fucking awesome, like something straight out of a horror movie, but cute too

“ fuck… how does that not hurt like crazy, baby? she’s really beating your insides, huh? ” ( he’s so unserious about things he says but you can see this gleam of just pure true love in his eyes as he observed his baby reacting to his voice )

♡ he loves to come up behind you and hold your stomach up for you, relieving the ache in your back as you lean back into him and softly stroking patterns into the skin

୨୧ he’ll tap your stomach as the baby kicks in response, swaying you back and forth as he kisses your cheek

♡ another craving you probably get a lot is kebab food! you’ll wake euronymous up at some ungodly hour of the night, eyes rimmed with tears as you whisper to him as he looks up at you with messy and tangled hair, eyes still blinking rapidly as he wakes up

“ what? is something happening? what… you want food? god, seriously, baby? no, it’s fine, don’t cry… i’ll… i’ll go get you some food, just let me get dressed… fuck! ” ( he’s not mad he’s just sleepy and kind of a sloth when he first wakes up )

୨୧ when grabbing your food from the kebab, he talks the shop owners ear off about how you pregnancy is going and how this is the third time this week that you’ve craved kebab food, how he fears the baby might come and just be made of donor meat from how much you eat it

♡ as if the shop owner doesn’t know that though, euronymous uses the same just around the corner from your apartment and they’re very familiar with you guys now, they’ll often put a lot of meat in your meal because they’re really sweet people and euronymous’ tips them all the time under your demand

୨୧ euronymous would absolutely play the guitar close to your stomach, not something too extreme though, obviously!

♡ just something to teach the baby about what he does for a job, i might even say he sings to your stomach sometimes too! only when you’re sleeping though, he’s embarrassed about it :(

୨୧ he sings cute little norwegian lullabies and childrens songs, being extremely quiet about it as to not wake you up

♡ arghhh he’d be such a good dad i can’t…

[pinkrangersarah]

Please do the random headcanons you've got for the Fearless 7, I really wanna know what you have in mind and also feel free to even make a post for every single one of them!

Thank you, I love ya! 🙏🏻

shout out to @kehnarii for sending me all these requests, you are truly a peach and I am delighted to answer anything you send <333

anyway, I have thought about these clowns a ridiculous amount and what better way to dump all those thoughts here because lmaooo what else am I gonna do with them. i'm going to keep them here, though, for simplicity sake.

Merlin

Merlin and Arthur are half brothers, having the same father but different mothers; Merlin's mother is the current queen of Camalot. They're from the same fairy tale but the dynamic is wildly different, so I thought them being half brothers would be kind of a neat spin. Arthur is the oldest of the two.

Had to study magic in some secrecy as the texts he used formerly belonged to Arthur's first step-mother who turned out to be a witch. This is partially why lightning, despite its versatility, is his only spell.

Vegetarian. Nothing else to say here. Just a vibe I get from him.

Bi-curious, I think. Definitely leans toward women, but he'd be lying if he said he hasn't found a man or two attractive.

Shit driver. Do they have cars? Probably not, but consider a modern day setting. He's the worst driver out of the seven of them. Has absolutely stayed at a right-on-red light way too long due to panic, pissing off everyone behind him. This but it's Merlin and Jack.

Decent with kids. Knows a couple of party magic tricks and kids tend to like them.

Arthur

Arthur has a younger half sister, Morgan--or better known as Morgana Le Fay--a witch who is mysteriously absent. She is the king of Camalot's second child from his second wife, which makes her Merlin's older half sister. Arthur was very close to her up until her disappearance; having been raised with a bias toward witches, it made for a rather difficult separation.

Not the dumb jock stereotype some people make him out to be! While he can be reckless, brash, and immature, Arthur does have political knowledge and knows the ins and outs of his kingdom.

Straighter than Merlin's parking but a very vocal ally. Jack just casually implied he was bi and Arthur just scooped him up in a big hug and told him he would always support him. Jack was high-key confused, low-key annoyed but appreciated the sentiment anyway.

Second worst driver, mostly due to not paying attention to speed limits. Or stop lights. Just not paying attention period. Low-key road rage.

Arthur is great with kids, probably because A) he is a big brother and B) he's a big guy so kids want to climb him like a jungle gym.

Jack

Adopted into royalty as his step-father, a king, married his mother after Jack defeated the Giant and made his family wealthy.

His mother has a tendency to be emotionally manipulative, only being a doting mother whenever he does something that benefits her, such as stealing from and slaying the Giant. She was kinder when his father was alive, but only got nastier after he perished at the hands of the Giant.

Although he had been pampered and brought up as a true prince since ever since his mother married into the royal family (he was about ten years old), there is a part of him that has not forgotten where he came from. He grew up on a farm. His father taught him how to fight. Jack is stronger than he looks and can be scrappy if absolutely need be.

While the other guys of the F7 drive him absolutely insane sometimes, Jack prefers them over his own family since he's allowed to be himself around them. He's gotten used to the princely persona, but there is a small, unacknowledged part of him that kind of hates it due to the role having been practically forced on him.

He does genuinely like nice things, though. Low-key bird brain.

Jack is the only multilingual of the seven, speaking not only English and French but also German and Italian. This is only a little annoying to Hans and the triplets as they can't hide anything from him in their native tongues.

Biologically, Jack is an only child. He does, however, have an older step brother whom he has mixed feelings for.

Bisexual with a leaning toward women

His name actually is "Jacques", but people kept pronouncing it as "Jack" and he eventually gave up correcting them. Will end the bloodline of anyone who calls him "Jackie", though.

Decent driver. Sometimes gets way too into whatever he's listening to and misses an exit or turn. Is usually the navigator or DJ. Is the type to yell "I will turn this car around" if people are arguing in the backseat.

Terrible with kids. The house is on fire. God is dead. Wine aunt.

Hans

Hans and his sister, Gretel, are twins, though Hans is the older of the two. It's where his mom friend demeanor comes from.

Is honestly the best liar out of the seven of them. He doesn't lie often, doesn't like doing so, but he has such an honest face and earnest demeanor that he can make anyone believe just about anything.

Pansexual but I don't think he'd know that about himself. He just likes people.

Best driver out of the seven of them, but does that soccer mom thing if he has to slam on the brakes unexpectedly. Can't read a map to save his life, though.

Also great with kids. He's also a big brother, and his genuinely kind and upbeat nature makes kids gravitate toward him.

Pino, Noki, & Kio

As they all have a very similar fashion sense, even they sometimes aren't sure whose clothes are whose.

They do have distinguishing features if one is to look close enough. The height difference isn't much, but it is there with Pino and Kio being the tallest and Noki the shortest. Kio is the only one with freckles. Pino has heterochromia with one blue eye and one brown.

They are introduced from oldest to youngest. Pino is the oldest of the triplets, Noki being the middle and Kio the youngest. Noki is only a little salty that Kio is taller than him despite being younger.

kio vc: you're older by like eight minutes

noki vc: I will break your knee caps

Terrible liars. They get flustered quickly and contradict one another. Can't keep a secret to save their lives and it's usually Kio who breaks first. (I know this is sort of contradictory, but they're based off Pinocchio so I think it'd be fitting if they were some of the worst liars among the seven of them.)

Noki read Jack's trashy romance novels. He thinks they're hilariously terrible. Would honestly probably like Twilight for the same reason.

Decent drivers but cannot be left in any vehicle alone together. If there's no else there to keep them on track, they will get way too into a conversation and get completely lost.

Have the potential to be okay with kids (that ending credit sequence give some the impression those three kids were low-key adopted by them or at least became assistants or something), but they do need to be kept in check due to their mad scientist energies.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

a little fic update

Due to needing a fresh start I deleted more than half of my WiPs. Because my goal still is to finish all my WiPs this year. So I only kept the ones where I actually have written something and not just three sentences. I saved the ideas though. I have a Fic Idea document that is three pages long so if anyone is looking for fic ideas let me know. Or I'll make this a writing challenge/follower celebration in which whoever is willing gets a random fic idea to write from this document

I will work on a Joel fic this weekend and then for September as my own personal challenge I wanna write the second part to my Dave York fic You, the next part to invisible string (I want to finish this little series until October) and one sequel to a fic that you get to choose. I already put up a post last week asking for what fic of mine you want to have another part from and some people let me know what they would want to read. So please choose from the ones below

Find the fics in my Masterlist

And for everyone still reading and interested in what I have planned for the rest of the year:

A Halloween Marcus Pike fic in which he touches a bronze cat figurine of a new drop of stolen artefacts that brings him back in time to the witch who put a spell on all her stuff because it kept getting stolen, though she never anticipated her spell to work so well it travels through time. Now she has to figure out how to bring this strange, very good looking, man back into his timeline... or does she?

An arranged marriage AU in which Javi G has to marry the very young daughter of a crime boss to keep the peace, only to end up falling hopelessly in love with her and they both decide to bring down both of their families

A Dieter fic where a big scandal he caused left him no choice but to flee the country to wait until this blows over with his PR Agent who books them both into a four week stay on a private island to spend christmas together. And maybe (wink wink) they finally figure out that whatever they have going on for the last ten years is more than just a professional relationship

Christmas Tree Farmer Pero who against his will falls for the sunshine reader who gets hired by William to save his Christmas tree farm (I am looking for a co-Writer on this fic! If you're interested send me a message!!)

The last six parts of the Stay Universe (most likely short fics)

Only Fans Dave York (if my brain can decide on the actual plot of the fic for a change)

and the last two parts to my Soulmate Joel AU Counting stars

and if I actually manage to write this all like I planned I am gonna give myself an award. Or.... take myself out to a very fancy Chinese dinner lol

[strawberrystepmom]

okay so satoken witch au….this is a book

basically this isn’t like historical it’s fantasy au and the village i live in is small and very set in its ways. farming is the main source of income for everyone who lives in the village and livestock is prized for that reason and it all starts when my family’s two goats both die of an illness nobody can explain.

there’s suspicion immediately because witches and hexing are literally the main theme of the folktales parents in my village tell their children to make them behave. everyone is deeply fearful of witches and magic except for me (they caught me reading a book of spells i found in the woods once) so yk my bad although more proof is warranted bc the opinion of me is mixed. some of the other villagers like me because i help them (childcare, taking care of their livestock if they’re ill or unable, caring for the ill if not their goats and cows etc), the other half is so suspicious it doesn’t matter how good i’ve been to them in the past.

the evidence mounts. i’m withdrawn from the village (spending more time foraging in the woods because winter is coming), every cat in the village flocks to me when i return (these must be her familiars she has spy on us), i’ve started reading more books publicly than ever before (they must be spell books shout the villagers who won’t let me read aloud to them to prove otherwise) and it comes to a head in wintertime, on the night of the first snowfall. two other goats in the village fall ill and she.

the accusation is levied and my family is powerless to defend me but little do i know all of these happenstance things (finding a spell book, some of the cats that have just shown up at my door) are carefully laid but not evil traps by an actual witch - satoru. he’s from the city closest to my village, he’s kind of an oddball but they let him do his thing. nobody speculates he’s a witch bc he’s a man.

he first noticed me a few years prior to the actual hero moment because he came to the village to trade for a friend who didn’t feel safe coming on their own for a big load of meat and he could tell immediately there was magic somewhere in the village. lo and behold, it’s the very girl he’s picking up a freshly processed cow from!

the reputation of my village precedes it and he keeps an eye on me from afar from that day on. leaving a spell book out, sending familiars to follow me, showing up on occasion on his own so when he finds out the plot to burn the witch is on - he already knows what he has to do.

(sadly he’s a drama queen and waits until I’m bound in the stake. you know how he is.)

but he has a safe cave he hides me in for around six months and then we go to the city and he shelters me there. my village is screaming about him being a witch and harboring one but the people in the city are somewhat less superstitious and see my village as a bit hysterical.

so yeah!!!!! happily ever after (of course)