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fanficapologist · 3 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Five

The next morning, dawn broke gently over Dragonstone, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow in the room. Outside, the sea was calm, the distant calls of seabirds the only sounds punctuating the stillness.

Maera woke up with a stretch, feeling the child within her wriggling around uncomfortably. She couldn't help but think of her mother, Lady Gael, during the late stages of her final pregnancy —how large and unsettled she had always seemed. Sitting up slowly, Maera's eyes were drawn to the chaise at the foot of the bed. There, Aemond lay with his feet propped up, his boots removed. His straight silver hair flowed freely, having been undone from its usual restraint. Most notably, he had removed his eyepatch, and his sapphire eye gleamed in the dawn’s early light.

As Maera shifted out of bed, Aemond immediately opened his eye, sitting up straight and looking at her. He had always been a light sleeper. They shared a moment of silent communication, their eyes locked as if they both knew what was on each other’s minds. The question hung unspoken in the air: Would this day bring forth a new alliance, or would more blood be spilled? Without words, the weight of their shared responsibilities and uncertainties pressed upon them, the quiet morning a brief reprieve before the potential storm of the day ahead.

The servants moved quickly to ready the royal couple for the day. Aemond insisted on an early meeting with Hugh and Ulf, despite knowing how much wine the dragonseeds had consumed the previous night. Maera was certain the men would not appreciate an early awakening, but Aemond's urgency allowed no room for delay.

None of Maera’s nor Aemond’s belongings had arrived yet, aside from the dragon egg that rested in a pot on the hearth, which Aemond had brought with him. The servants dressed them in what they could find within the castle. These clothes were not tailored for them, necessitating various pins and adjustments to hold them in place on bodies they were not meant for.

For Aemond, they found Prince Daemon’s clothes to be more his style. However, the King Consort was much broader in the shoulders, and the vests did not fit him properly. Instead, the servants provided him with old garments of Prince Jacaerys, though it took a considerable amount of time to find something that was purely black. The fit was not perfect, but it sufficed for the day.

Maera, too, was given borrowed clothes. Thanks to the size of Rhaenyra’s brood, she had many options to choose from. The servants dressed her in a long black chiffon robe that fit her like a glove and was comfortable to move around in. The soft fabric accommodated her swollen belly, offering some relief from the discomfort of her pregnancy. As they finished dressing, Aemond and Maera exchanged a glance, each understanding the underlying tension of the day ahead.

Breakfast was brought into their room with an elaborate display. Silver platters were carried in by a procession of servants, laden with freshly baked bread, golden butter, and various jams. There were plates of sliced fruits—apples, pears, and berries—alongside bowls of nuts and dried figs. A centerpiece of roasted ham glistened, flanked by smaller dishes of boiled eggs and cured meats. A large pot of steaming tea and a pitcher of chilled water were placed on the table, accompanied by delicate porcelain cups and glasses.

Maera and Aemond sat opposite one another, quietly sipping their tea. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, a reflection of the impasse their marriage had reached after all they had endured. Aemond was making an effort, or at least trying to try, but the weight of their shared history loomed heavily.

The chamber doors suddenly burst open, and in stomped the dragonseeds. The aftermath of the previous night's indulgence was evident in their appearance. Ulf looked particularly pale, his face drawn and colorless, while Hugh shielded his eyes from the intrusive morning light, squinting as he entered the room. Their heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber, breaking the fragile morning calm.

Maera greeted the dragonseeds cheerily, raising her teacup in their direction. "Good morrow, my lords," she said with a bright smile, her voice cutting through the tension. Aemond, however, merely scowled, his expression a stark contrast to his wife's warmth. The dragonseeds skulked over to the table, their movements sluggish and eyes bleary. Eventually, they collapsed into their chairs with heavy sighs.

Maera, still smiling, presented each of the men with a glass of raw eggs mixed with garlic. "A remedy from my brothers at Rain House," she explained. "They swear by it for a miraculous recovery after a night of indulgence."

Hugh smiled at her adoringly, his purple eyes lighting up despite his obvious discomfort. Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass and gulped down the drink, slamming the empty vessel down on the table with a satisfied grunt. Remnants of egg clung to his thick curly dark beard, giving him a rather unkempt appearance.

Ulf, on the other hand, seemed hesitant. He eyed the glass warily, glancing at Hugh for reassurance. Seeing Hugh apparently unharmed and even invigorated, Ulf finally lifted his glass and drank the contents. His face contorted briefly in disgust, but he managed to swallow it all, placing the glass back on the table with a relieved sigh.

A heavy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional clearing of a throat from the steward. The atmosphere grew tense, laden with unspoken words and uncertain futures. No one seemed eager to break the stillness and address the matter at hand.

Eventually, Aemond set down his cutlery with a deliberate motion, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. His piercing gaze swept over the dragonseeds. "Have you come to a decision?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Hugh was quick to respond. "We spent the night talking it through," he said, smiling at Maera. She held her breath, her heart pounding as she waited to see if his eager response was positive or merely the prelude to a boast.

Maera's green eyes flicked to the pale-haired Ulf, who drummed his fingers against the table. He looked between Maera and Aemond before asking, "Horn Hill and Harrenhall?", alluding to the suggestion the Princess had made the previous night.

Before Aemond could respond, Maera interjected, her voice steady. "We swear by the Old Gods and the New." She glanced at Aemond, who nodded in agreement, his expression firm.

Ulf then uttered the words Maera had been hoping for. "We accept the proposed terms."

The Princess let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief washed over her. For now, at least, there would be no need for violence. She nodded respectfully towards Ulf before reaching out and squeezing Hugh’s hand with a smile, much to Aemond’s discomfort.

"How wonderful," she said, her voice light with relief. "I thank the Gods that today will not be a day of bloodshed." She then turned and smirked at Aemond, adding, "A shame for Vhagar and Ēbrion though."

Aemond couldn't help but smile at her jest, his stern demeanor softening just a bit. Ulf, however, rolled his eyes before asking, "What do you expect of us now, Prince Aemond?"

The one-eyed Prince ran his finger around the edge of his glass thoughtfully. "The same as you were told before.” he replied. "Go to Tumbleton."

Maera furrowed her brow at this, confusion flickering in her green eyes. Aemond elaborated, “Instead of defending the town, allow the Greens in to seize it, granting us greater stability in the Reach.”

Hugh’s agreement came with an eager nod, his large frame almost vibrating with anticipation. Ulf, on the other hand, took a moment longer, drumming his fingers against the table before finally nodding in consent. The strategy was clear and would serve their cause effectively. The tension in the room began to ease as the dragonseeds accepted their roles, their expressions shifting from cautious uncertainty to determined resolve. The room, once fraught with the potential for violence, now hummed with a shared purpose.

After they finished their meal, Maera glanced around the room, taking in the attending servants and guards. The thought gnawed at her: surely her most trusted advisors had journeyed to the Capital after their Queen, but what of those remaining at Dragonstone? She did not wish to risk any further spies or assassination attempts. Perhaps if they swore to recognize Aemond as the Regent and Maelor as the true King, they would see it was the right path for the Realm.

Maera looked at her husband, her expression thoughtful. "There may be others here that would swear to the Greens' cause, my Prince," she said softly. Aemond cocked his head, considering her words. Maera urged him, "Give the occupants an opportunity to declare their loyalties."

Aemond then scanned the room, his sharp purple eye focusing on each face of the servants attending them. The early morning light streamed in through the windows, casting a pale glow on his chiseled features.

His eye, keen and discerning, moved slowly from one servant to the next, as if he could see into their very souls. His face, illuminated by the soft dawn light, appeared both regal and formidable, the lines of worry and determination etched deeply into his skin.

After a moment of tense silence, Aemond nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice low and commanding. He turned to one of the guards and issued the order, "Call all within the castle to the western beach."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying out of the room to carry out the command. Maera felt a sense of anticipation build within her. This was a pivotal moment, and the actions they took now could solidify their power and ensure the loyalty of those who served them.

The volcanic beach on Dragonstone was a stark and dramatic landscape. The black sand stretched out in a coarse, grainy expanse, glittering like onyx under the early morning light. Waves crashed violently against the rugged, rocky terrain, sending plumes of white spray into the air. The scent of salt and sulfur mingled, carried by the brisk wind that whipped across the shore. Jagged cliffs loomed on either side, their dark, craggy faces carved by centuries of relentless waves and volcanic activity.

Gathered on this beach was a large crowd, the castle's inhabitants drawn by the summons. Their faces displayed a mix of emotions—confusion, agitation, and fear. The servants and lesser courtiers glanced around nervously, whispering among themselves, their expressions betraying their uncertainty about what this sudden assembly might portend.

Among the gathering, the castle guards stood in disciplined rows, their stances rigid and alert. Their allegiances were not immediately clear; some bore the colours of Rhaenyra’s cause with pride, while others seemed more apprehensive, their eyes darting about as if weighing their options and assessing the situation.

All watched in anticipation as the one-eyed Prince, his wife, and the two dragonseeds approached them from the high stone bridge. The bridge, worn and ancient, seemed to groan under their purposeful strides. As they descended onto the volcanic beach, Aemond and Maera made their way to the front of the gathered onlookers. The Prince, tall and imposing, stepped onto a large rock, elevating himself to be seen by all. His wife, Maera, stood beside him on the sand, flanked by Ulf and Hugh.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and the occasional cawing of sea birds circling overhead. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the unspoken questions and the anticipation of what was to come. A bellowing roar, followed by a deep, rumbling growl caused gasps and screams amongst the crowd. People gasped and ducked, eyes wide with fear, as Vhagar and Ēbrion flew overhead.

Vhagar, with her green and bronze scales shimmering like an ancient relic and her orange eyes burning with a fierce intelligence, led the way. Her immense wings cast vast, shifting shadows over the crowd. Ēbrion followed closely, his deep blue and black scales absorbing the light, his own orange eyes glowing like embers. The two dragons called to each other, their voices resonating with a power that made the earth tremble.

The older war dragon circled and landed on a cliff to the east, her claws digging into the rocky terrain as her orange eyes scanned the crowd. Ēbrion descended gracefully onto the beach to the west, his wings folding elegantly as he settled, his gaze fixed on the gathering of people below him.

The atmosphere grew even more charged as lighter chirps and calls heralded the arrival of two more dragons. Vermithor, known as the Bronze Fury, appeared with a roar that echoed across the cliffs. His bronze scales gleamed in the light, and he landed on the high bridge, his massive form almost overwhelming the ancient structure. Silverwing, with her gleaming silver scales, descended behind the crowd, her wings creating a gust that whipped through the assembly.

The four dragons effectively encircled the attendants, their imposing forms creating an inescapable barrier. The sense of entrapment was clear, the onlookers now fully aware of the power and danger surrounding them. The stage was set for the declarations to come, the dragons' presence underscoring the gravity of the moment.

Aemond cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense silence, before addressing the crowd. His voice, strong and commanding, cut through the murmurs and whispers. "Two of Rhaenyra’s dragon riders have come to their senses and are now sworn to the Greens' cause," he announced, his words causing the onlookers to exchange confused and anxious glances, their murmuring growing louder. Aemond raised a hand, silencing them, and continued, "I am giving you all a chance to see the true path and recognize Rhaenyra for what she is: a usurper."

He paused, letting his words sink in, before resuming. "My half-sister fled like a coward, stealing the Iron Throne from her own nephew rather than allowing her husband to face a challenger in singular combat. Is that the kind of leader you want? One who runs and hides when faced with direct confrontation?" His voice grew colder, more intense. "Recognize me as Prince Regent for Maelor, heir of the firstborn son of King Viserys, who will ascend the throne when he comes of age, or face the consequences."

Maera watched the crowd hesitate, their faces a mix of fear, confusion, and defiance. Not a single person bowed or pledged their allegiance. She knew what they thought of Aemond: a Kinslayer, a cold, one-eyed man, a cripple. She glanced at her husband, seeing the tension in his jaw, his frustration growing at the crowd’s lack of action.

Suddenly, Vhagar roared from the cliff top, the sound a deafening bellow that shook the ground and sent a wave of terror through the crowd. The people flinched and cowered, but still, none stepped forward. The silence that followed the roar was thick with tension, the crowd's defiance hanging in the air like a palpable force.

The Princess had had enough. The crowd’s hesitation and murmurs threatened to spiral into chaos, and she knew she had to take control. Determined, she attempted to pull herself up onto the rock beside her husband, but her large stomach and injured arm and leg made it difficult. She gritted her teeth, feeling the strain in her muscles and the sharp sting in her wounds, but she refused to give up.

After a few moments of struggling, she finally managed to pull herself up, standing tall and proud next to Prince Aemond. Her presence, regal and defiant, commanded attention. As she prepared to address the crowd, her left leg gave way, and she stumbled forward with a gasp. In an instant, she felt two strong arms grab onto her firmly, keeping her in place. She looked up to see Aemond, his face etched with concern. She couldn't tell if it was for her physical stumble or for what she might say to the onlookers.

Granting him a small smile and a nod, she reassured him before he let her go. Turning to face the crowd, Maera drew a deep breath, her eyes scanning the sea of faces before her. The silence was heavy, all eyes fixed on her, waiting to hear what she would say.

"I know everyone in attendance, including myself, has been affected so far by the Dance of the Dragons." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, recognizing the worry and fatigue etched into their faces. "There has already been enough bloodshed from both the Greens and Blacks."

The crowd stirred, whispers and nods rippling through them as Maera continued. "My nephew, Maelor, represents a new age of peace and prosperity for the future." She emphasized the innocence of the young prince, contrasting it with Rhaenyra’s ambitions. "Whilst Rhaenyra wishes to live in the past, invading the Capital and plotting to kill children, Maelor is innocent. With the right guidance, he will grow to be a great King."

Maera rubbed her belly tenderly as her child kicked beneath her skin, a visible symbol of a new beginning. "My own child gives me hope for the future, a future that does not know war or violence between kin," she said, her voice tinged with emotion. She turned to look out onto the dark sea, the waves crashing onto the beach in a rhythmic reminder of time’s passage. "Some of you may value the past more than the future, and that is fine. If that is the case, you can leave now without any harm coming to you."

The crowd held its breath, the silence filled only by the sound of the sea and the distant roars of dragons. Maera’s offer hung in the air, a glimmer of mercy in a world torn apart by conflict. The tension was palpable as they awaited the response, the weight of their decision bearing down upon them.

Suspicion lingered in the eyes of those gathered, as they glanced nervously at the four dragons surrounding them. The formidable presence of Vhagar, Ēbrion, Vermithor, and Silverwing was a stark reminder of the power held by the dragon riders, capable of striking at any moment upon command.

A murmur ran through the crowd as her words sank in. A small group of servants, stewards, and guards began to edge away from the crowd, their faces a mixture of fear and resolve. As they swerved past Ēbrion, the dragon growled menacingly, snapping his teeth in an intimidating manner. The defectors flinched but continued their retreat, leaving the rest of the Dragonstone inhabitants standing in uncertain silence.

Maera, sensing the hesitation in those who remained, spoke again, her voice clear and unwavering. "Those who decide to stay should declare themselves loyal to Maelor, and in turn, to Prince Aemond as Regent. I would be honoured to serve those loyal to my family, for a great future cannot be forged without your support."

After an awkward, tense moment, the two serving girls who had attended Maera and Aemond the night before were the first to move. They dropped to their knees, casting their gaze downward in a clear sign of allegiance. Their actions seemed to break the spell, and a few guards followed suit, dropping to one knee. Stewards and maids hesitated briefly before kneeling as well, their heads bowed.

One by one, the rest of the crowd followed, their collective movement creating a rustle of fabric and a soft thud of knees hitting the black sand. The entire assembly knelt before Maera and Aemond, their loyalty now pledged to Maelor and the Greens. The tension in the air dissipated slightly, replaced by a solemn recognition of the new order being established.

Even though Dragonstone was won, there was still much work to be done. Ravens were dispatched to alert their allies of this bloodless victory, the messages bearing news of their success and immediate orders. Ser Criston Cole, their steadfast ally, was commanded to come to Dragonstone without delay, while a contingent remained at Harrenhal to secure it for the ongoing war effort.

Aemond cautioned Maera to remain wary of those around her, a caution she found irksome but necessary. The previous attempts on her life had left her deeply distrustful, regardless of others’ past actions or promises for the future. Still, she maintained a demeanor of kindness towards those who served her, understanding that true loyalty was often won through compassion and respect.

This kindness bore fruit, winning the sincere loyalty of many among the staff. The most devoted of them came forward, warning the Princess of traitors hidden within their ranks. Maera thanked them genuinely and informed her husband of the treachery. Aemond took swift and decisive action, leading the discovered traitors to the beach where Vhagar awaited. The mighty dragon burned and feasted upon the flesh of those who would endanger them, a brutal but effective display of power and retribution.

In the past, Maera might have thought such punishment too harsh. But now, with so much lost and the stakes so high, she no longer possessed the mercy she once did. One chance was all she gave, and if her kindness was betrayed, the consequences were ruthless. The dragonfire served as a stark warning to all: loyalty would be rewarded, but treachery would be met with unyielding severity.

Despite their display of unity on the beach, Aemond and Maera's marriage remained firmly on the rocks. Nightmares continued to haunt Maera, the smell of Alys's burnt body filling her subconscious. Her wounds were still healing, and each time she looked at the ugly scars forming, she could not help but think of Aemond's betrayal. The sight of the marred skin on her arm and leg served as a constant reminder of the price she had paid for his choices.

The couple spent most of their days apart. Maera still refused to have him in her bed, suggesting instead that he take the grandest room in the castle, meant for the presiding Lord. Aemond declined, insisting she should have it as she would need more room, especially in her condition. Their interactions were sparse, each exchange tinged with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved pain.

During the early days of their marriage, Aemond's presence had been enough for Maera. Now, she found herself incredibly lonely, the vast halls of Dragonstone echoing with her isolation. But instead of wallowing in despair, she focused on rebuilding her network. She wrote to many of her own allies, including Lord Unwin Peake, her brothers Faran and Luthor, and her sister Sabine. Each letter was crafted with care, reaching out to those who had once stood by her side.

She also wrote to Wynni and Helena, though she did not expect a reply from either. She was unsure if Wynni still harbored hatred for her due to the death of her husband, and she doubted whether Helena was still lucid enough to read her correspondence. Yet, she penned the letters anyway, hoping that her words might somehow reach through the fog of grief and madness.

One night, Aemond summoned Maera to his quarters for supper. The news, delivered by a maid, was met with a huff of frustration from Maera and an eager wriggle from her unborn child. When Aemond was out of her sight, life felt easier. However, she realized she had avoided him long enough.

She did not bother to dress formally, instead opting for her black robe over her nightgown. Her gigantic bump felt much heavier now, the weight of it bearing down on her. Walking had become a tremendous struggle; coupled with her injured leg, Maera now waddled due to the late stage of her pregnancy.

A constant burning sensation in her nether regions only added to her discomfort. The midwives had assured her it was perfectly normal at this stage of pregnancy and a good sign that birth might be near. Knowing it was normal did little to ease the situation.

Maera gathered her unopened letters, scrolls, and quills, deciding to take them with her. She hoped the distraction of her correspondence would help her endure Aemond's company for the evening. With a determined sigh, she made her way slowly to his quarters, every step a reminder of the burden she carried both physically and emotionally.

When Maera entered Aemond’s chambers, she saw him hunched over his desk, his gaze flicking up to her briefly before he set aside his quill. She walked towards him, placing her items down opposite him.

The smell of pastry soon filled her nose, and on a table a few feet away was a small untouched banquet for two. Her nausea was still present, so she filled her plate with bread, turkey, cheese, and grapes before grabbing a bowl of raspberry tart and custard and sitting opposite Aemond.

As she began to nibble on her food, she noticed Aemond had not eaten a thing, nor had he even got up to serve himself. To break the awkward silence, Maera joked, “You should at least eat something if you’re asking me to supper.”

No reply came, his usual sternness painted across his sharp-featured face. Maera attempted to joke again between bites. “I hope you have a good excuse for calling on me this evening,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I actually planned on getting a bath because your child is causing me-”

Aemond cut her off, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your father is dead.”

Maera froze, the spoonful of raspberry tart hovering in the air. Her mind raced with thoughts, but outwardly she remained still, her expression unreadable. Her father, dead? The words echoed in her mind, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions surging within her. She thought of his stern face, the frequent disapproval, and the sharp words that had cut deeper than any blade. Yet she had always sought his approval. But now, none of it mattered. He was gone.

Aemond‘s voice cut through the silence, his words still devoid of emotion. "As is my grandsire." After a moment, he asked, “Are you okay?” His expression remained inscrutable, his body stiff and unyielding, though there was a flicker of concern in his single eye.

Maera gulped, rubbing her pregnancy bump nervously. She felt a complex mix of relief, sadness, and a strange hollowness. She hesitated before answering. "He was not a good father. I feel... strange. I thought I would feel something more."

Aemond hummed in agreement, his gaze distant. "I felt the same when my father died."

Maera sighed deeply, memories of Lord Jasper flooding her mind. She was sure the Master of Laws saw her as a thorn in his side. Where his other daughters had obeyed their father’s orders, Maera defied them cleverly. While her sisters diligently attended to their duties, Maera took up the sword and sparred with her brothers. Where Sabine and Wynni had lovely, pristine reputations, Maera had hers ruined by a rejected suitor, yet her father still blamed her. There were moments of tenderness between her and her father, yes, but those did not erase the moments of cruelty and rejection.

She recalled the rare moments of warmth, the fleeting smiles, the gentle pats on the head, the conversations about her mother. At times, Maera could not help but admire him, for he was clever and strategic, with a brilliant mind and sense of duty. But these were overshadowed by the times he dismissed her, blamed her for scandals, and his obsession with producing so many offspring in order for him to have a hand in all matters of the Seven Kingdoms.

Maera had always been the rebel, the outcast within her own family because she did not comply with her father’s wishes of being a demure, silent and obedient lady. She wondered if he had ever truly understood her, or if he had merely seen her as a rebellious daughter, a source of constant disappointment. She thought of her brothers, her sisters, the family she had left behind, who had no doubt also heard of their father’s passing. She felt a pang of guilt, of sorrow for the connections that had been strained or severed.

Shaking her head, Maera said, "Nothing can be done now. It’s best not to dwell."

The Princess began opening her correspondence and reading them, a welcome distraction from her husband and the news. The room fell silent once more, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of parchment and the soft clinking of cutlery against Maera's plate.

She read through the letters, her green eyes scanning the familiar penmanship of other noblewomen detailing how the war was affecting their households. There were minor updates about troop movements, food shortages, and the general anxiety that had settled over the realm. She read letters from her family at Rain House, filled with well-wishes and mundane news. Nothing stood out, nothing to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over her since the news of her father's death.

Then she came across a small scroll, rolled up tightly and likely delivered by raven. Unfurling it, she noted the rushed and coarse penmanship, with splatters of ink marring the parchment. It was clear whoever had written it had done so in haste and under duress.

Princess

I could not move the Queen. But I got the little King and young Princess out of Kings Landing

Thena

As she read the letter, Maera's stern face softened, her brows raised, and a laugh escaped her lips. A smile spread from ear to ear, a rare sight in these troubled times.

Aemond glanced up, his sharp-featured face framed by long white hair. His single eye narrowed in confusion, a brow arched. "What is it?" he asked, his voice cautious.

With glee, Maera announced, "Jaehaera and Maelor have escaped the Capital! They’re making their way to safety."

Aemond's shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension easing from his posture. He breathed a sigh of relief, his usually stern expression softening for a moment. "Thank the Gods," he muttered, the weight of worry lifting slightly from his features.

For a moment, amidst the dark and uncertain times, a spark of hope flickered between them, bridging the gap that had grown so wide. The Princess said a silent prayer, hoping the Gods would guide their niece and nephew safely to the Stormlands and the Westerlands.

She then looked out of the window to see the dark, starry night sky. "It’s late," she declared, rising from her chair. "I should get back to my chambers." She gathered her letters and scrolls. "I’ll write to Luthor and Sabine to inform them of their impending arrivals."

Aemond also rose from his seat, moving to assist Maera in gathering her belongings. As she reached for her quill, his large hand landed atop hers, enveloping it in warmth. A rush of emotion surged through Maera at the contact, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his stare. His single violet eye held a mixture of longing and sadness, his sharp features softened by the dim candlelight.

For a moment, the room was suspended in silence, the tension between them palpable. Aemond’s grip tightened slightly, as if afraid to let her go. "Stay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maera felt a lump form in her throat. She missed him—his touch, his warmth, the intimacy they once shared. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of leather and dragon fire bringing back memories of better times. She so badly wanted to give in, to let herself be held by him once more. Her heart ached with the memory of their love, now marred by betrayal and pain.

But the scars of their recent past and the weight of an uncertain future loomed large in her mind. She could not forget Aemond’s actions or the consequences they had wrought. With a sigh, she pulled her hand away, bringing the quill with her. The loss of his touch was immediate and profound, leaving a cold emptiness where warmth had briefly flourished.

“I cannot,” she said softly, her voice barely holding steady. She turned away from him, her heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. She felt his gaze on her back, a silent plea for understanding and reconciliation that she could not grant.

Leaving the room hastily, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She longed for the comfort of his embrace, yet the wounds of their past were still too fresh, too raw. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, she felt the weight of her unborn child pressing down on her, a reminder of the future she had to protect, a future that demanded strength and resolve. A future that would come to be very soon.

Notes: Dragonstone for the Greens 💚 their marriage is still rocky but improving a tad. I’m so excited to post the next chapter 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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teddyeyeseddie · 2 years

Text

A Well Loved Vinyl (E.M.)

Summary: Eddie found love in 3 things. Weed, Music and You.

Warnings: Drug Use (Weed), Age Gap (Reader is in their 20s, Eddie is 40), Smut, Oral (Fem Rec), Dacryphilia, P in V (Unprotected), Dumbification of reader, Daddy kink, Pet names, 18+ Only

Your hips swayed as you cooked the meal before you, waiting for Eddie to get home from his day of work. The crackling of the stove mixed with the sound of the front door opening causes you to jump back from your task at hand.

“Hey Sunshine,” Eddie says as he makes his way through the corridor and into the kitchen.

“Whatcha cookin’?” he asks as he sits at the kitchen counter, pulling his old tin lunch box towards him. You have tried to get rid of the stupid thing but, “Its metal babe! I used this box to deal WAY before you were in school” a comment that would make most cringe, but it's always a comment that makes you giggle and smile.

He pulls out a baggie of bud, grabbing his grinder and getting his weed ready to roll a quick joint before dinner.

“Alfredo..” You say as you stir at the pot in front of you, turning off the burner before grabbing a strainer to get the water out of the pasta you had been boiling. You glance over at him as he rolls up, the flick of the lighter making you almost cringe as he lights the joint in the kitchen.

He takes a long drag before he offers it to you, part of you wanting to scold the man for smoking in your shared kitchen, the other part of you wanting to relax and unwind. You had told him before to not light up in the house but he never listened, a trait that you had grown to deal with.

You shrug your shoulders, taking the spliff and taking a long drag before leaning over the counter and blowing the smoke in Eddie’s face. He giggles before taking the joint back and balancing it between his lips before rounding the counter and pulling you into him. He pulls the joint from his lips, leaving it dangling between his fingers as his other arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into him and kisses you sweetly, the smell of weed and mint heavy on his breath.

You pull away, turning back to the stove to finish up the cooking he had interrupted.

“Signed a new band today,” he says as he continues to smoke, “It’s something you’d like.. Brought home a fresh pressing of their latest album,” He says with a smile.

Eddie had his quirks; he couldn’t go to a concert without wearing his lucky denim jacket, he couldn’t have sex without playing a well thought out playlist to set the mood, and he never listened to music in the house unless it was a vinyl. “You just had to be around in the 80s, waiting for a new album drop, waiting in line in hopes you’ll be able to snag a vinyl or tape.. You just had to be there baby…”

Eddie quickly finishes his joint, moving from the kitchen island over to the dining room table where dinner was waiting for him.

The two of you eat as conversations of your day flow easily, Eddie talking animatedly about the new band he signed to his record label, Corroded Records.

“What do you say, I roll up again.. And we listen to this new album?”

You nod, smiling at him before getting up from your place at the table and cleaning up quickly.

Eddie helps, as much as Eddie can, rinsing off dishes for you and wiping down the dining room table. Once the task at hand is almost done, he grabs his tin lunchbox and makes his way to the living room. When you round the corner you see Eddie licking at a rolling paper, his pink tongue peaking out of his mouth as he concentrates on the joint. You plop down beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder as he finishes rolling their second spliff of the night

He lights the joint, taking a small drag before getting up from his place on the floor in order to put on the new record he had been talking about all night. A quiet intro starts before Eddie sits down on the couch beside you.

Can you tell tomorrow by stars in the sky

Is there any reason

Is it all just a lie

When you're in the desert with a fist full of sand

Why do you curse the ocean

Because it never goes as planned

He smiles as the first bit of the song plays, taking small drags of the joint and passing it between the two of you.

If I didn't have you

What would I be

If I didn't have you

What could I see

If I didn't have you

What would I do

If I didn't have you

He holds the rolled paper between his lips as he holds his hand out to you as he stands up from his place on the couch, his arm wrapping around your waist as he begins to sway lazily to the lyrics.

Sitting in the backseat

With all of your fears

If time is the driver

Tell me who is going to steer

Put it all together

Sit yourself up straight

Don't you know that good

Is the enemy of great

By the end of the song, the joint is burning his fingers, not that he cares. He looks down at you, a smile plastered on his face as he leans down to press the softest kiss to your lips, deepening it as the next song clicks on, the crackling of the vinyl filling the room as he backs you up against the couch.

The weed coursing through your veins causes you to giggle as you flop down on the couch in a not so graceful manner. Eddie disposes of the roach in an ashtray, pouncing on you in a fit of giggles. He kisses at your neck, nipping at the skin and pressing his nose further into your skin.

He pulls away and wiggles his eyebrows before getting up and pulling off his worn out t-shirt, he fumbles with the button of his jeans, struggling to get them past the meat of his thighs. He pouts when he sees you're still on the couch, watching him strip.

“S’ not fair,” he whines before rushing towards you in hopes to get you stripped from your clothes. His hands meet the edge of your shirt, pulling it over your head in haste. He chuckles when he sees your tattoo that matches his own.

“Nice tattie,” he says as he leans down to kiss right where your breast begins to swell. He kisses from the tattoo, down your torso, and along the edge of your jeans. He bites at the skin of your hip, leaving a little mark for you to remember him by.

He leans back before popping the button of your jeans. Your hips lift off the couch allowing him to pull the offending garment from your body. He pulls at your panties in the same go, your face offering him a playful scowl.

His fingers come forward to run through your slit, the coolness of his digits making your whole body shiver. He sits back on his haunches, pulling at his t-shirt before discarding it with the pile of clothes already on the floor.

“I'm gonna take good care of you princess..” he coos, sitting himself perfectly in front of your center before leaning forward and licking a stripe from your weeping hole up to your clit. He circles around it, moaning into you as his tongue expertly flicks and swirls at the little bundle of nerves. He continues his movements, changing from fucking you with his tongue to lapping at your clit. You're a writhing mess beneath him, mind going dumb as he takes care of you.

“Whatdya want baby? Want daddy to keep going? Or does my baby need something different? Need to get fucked stupid?” he questions but before you can answer, his lips attach to your sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue expertly working you closer to an orgasm.

Your hips buck up chasing your release when suddenly he pulls away, a small ‘tsk tsk’ leaving his lips as he backs away from your center. He smiles widely up at you, the absolute wrecked look on your face encouraging him further.

He stands up, his hands finding the waistband of his plaid boxers, yanking at them in order to strip them from his body. His cock springs free, looking just as pretty as you always remembered. It's long and girthy, the mushroom head thicker than the rest and red and angry at the tip, weeping and wanting for some sort of attention. He spits into his palm and begins to tug on himself to offer some sort of relief.

He fits himself back between your legs, his dick settling hard and heavy between his thighs. His calloused hand fits itself around his length, giving himself a few more tugs before slapping it down onto your center. The harsh motion causes your already sensitive cunt to spasm.

He chuckles at the whimpers that are leaving your mouth as he feeds his cock into you gently, only the tip penetrating your hole. You grab at his biceps wanting him to move closer to you, you need anything, something other than looking at him from afar.

“Needy baby wants daddy to come closer? Nuh uh, gotta have all the leverage so I can fuck my baby girl stupid.” The grin on his face is menacing, the look not matching the teary eyed face of your own.

Tears are pouring down your face as he slowly fucks in and out of you, the long drags of his cock causing you to mewl.

“Ed-Eds please faster,” you sob, Eddie’s devilish grin contorting into a mock pout as he picks up his pace.

“My little dumb baby is crying? Crying so daddy will fuck her harder? Daddy's gotcha..” he says as he lets go of your thighs and brackets himself above you. He rests on one palm beside your head and uses his free hand to come and wipe at the tears falling down your face. Once the offending tears are gone, he kisses the red skin. He takes time placing kisses to your cheeks that have gone blotchy red from your needy tears.

He fucks into you harder, his mocking demeanor gone as he kisses at your neck.

“Daddy’s done teasing princess, M’gonna take good care of you now, kay?” you nod dumbly, turning your head to place open mouth kisses to the expanse of his bicep.

He fucks into you harder, his hips slapping against your thighs, the sound drowning out the vinyl as it crackles on the turntable.

He is methodical as he gets you closer to your orgasm, his hips keeping the same pace as he gets you closer and closer.

“Is baby gonna come for me? Gonna come hard for daddy?” he grunts, his hips moving faster.

“Gon-gonna come..” You moan out as your pussy clenches around him. Your legs come up and wrap around his back, ankles locking him in as he thrusts in one, two, three more times. At the same time you are both coming, his lips coming down to meet your own. You’re both a giggling mess as he pulls out of you.

He gets up from the couch, running upstairs stark naked in order to run a bath. When he is back downstairs he smiles at your sleepy figure, cum running out of your cunt, hooded eyes looking over all fucked-out.

“C’mon princess..” he says as he helps you off the couch, “let’s get you a bath..”

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader smut #eddie stranger things #eddie my beloved #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader

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crowofjudgements-blog · 7 months

Text

Shattered Vows - Chapter 1

Peter B. Parker (ASTV) x Bonnie Soileau (original character)

Important information: Bonnie uses she/they pronouns and so the pronouns used to refer to them will alternate.

Bars in New York had a certain decrepit charm to them. The bustling of patrons bumbling about, searching for their next fix of liquid courage to ease their weary souls. The Pour House was no different to this. It was just a small pub on the east side of Manhattan. It was, to put it lightly, a diamond in the rough. The inside reeked of piss and hopelessness, the creaky barstools and perpetually sticky booths were scuffed and scratched from years of misuse, and the televisions only tuned to one channel; a foreign station that only showed elaborate dog shows or promoted the next skinny tea or what-have-you. Contrary to what you’d believe, the Pour House was one of the more popular bars on that side of the city, a fact that generally meant that the tips were great.

Bonibel Soileau wiped back her sweat-soaked hair as she wiped down the counters, grimacing as they brought the cloth over a particularly nasty spot of grime. Friday evenings always drew out the crowds, and Bonnie certainly had their work cut out for them. While she had pockets stuffed with cash tips and the occasional loose piece of candy, she was worked to the bone making sure the patrons were taken care of, the bar was as pristine as its porous wood surface allowed, and their coworkers weren’t drowned in the influx of customers. To say she was stressed would be a gross understatement. They rubbed at her red-ringed eyes and tossed the cloth back into its murky solution of water and diluted cleaner. She had to practically peel their bangs from her forehead as they made their way over to a customer and took their order. The sound of trashy 2000s pop blasted from overhead speakers to drown out the sounds of petty arguments and slurred words as Bonnie poured watered-down beer from the tap before they slid it over to the customer. She leaned against the bar and sighed, rubbing at their temples to try and soothe the pounding in her head before they felt a rhythmic buzzing in her pocket.

They frowned and looked down as they pulled out their bedazzled flip phone, eyes narrowing when she saw the caller ID. She scoffed and flipped it open, blood running cold when she saw how many missed calls she had. She quickly pulled off her apron, mind racing as they quickly ran to the back, informing her boss she was going out for a smoke break. They stowed out into the alleyway and immediately redialed the number, anxiously pacing around the small alley as they went through all of the text messages. Texts demanding she returns the calls, that they needed to get off their ass and call back. Bonnie felt rage bubble up in their chest as the phone let out extended rings, blood boiling as it went on. Finally, he picked up the phone and Bonnie brought it to her ear.

“Charles, what the fuck? You know damn well you can’t call me like that when I’m at work, good lord,” they growled, southern drawl thick with her stress. She heard her ex-husband scoff on the other end, the sounds of passing cars and his turn signal beeping ringing through the phone.

“Lighten up, Bonibel, you need to fucking relax,” Charles countered, cursing under his breath, “Listen, something came up so you need to take Madeleine earlier. I’m on my way now.” Bonnie felt their chest tighten and they immediately brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of their nose.

“No- I can’t, you know I’m working a double, I’m not supposed to have her until Saturday,” they said quickly, practically feeling his annoyance radiating through the phone.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Bonibel. You need to get your ass home and be a mother before I call up the attorney,” he warned and Bonnie felt their heart pit out in their chest. Her mind raced through everything, she wasn’t even fully unpacked, Maddy wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep, she’d have to find someone to cover, she’d-

“Please just- let me finish up my shift. Please, I need to finish up and find someone to take over. Please, Charles, take her out for dinner or something, I’ve got fifteen left on this shift. I’ll even wire you the money to take her out. Just- please,” she begged quietly, holding their hand over the receiver. There was silence on the other end before she heard him grumble something to their daughter in the back seat.

“Fine, fine. You’ve got thirty minutes to get home. I don’t care what you’ve gotta do but you’ll be home or I will be contacting the custody office,” he snarled before hanging up. Bonnie quickly shoved their phone into her pocket once more and hurried back into the bar, tying back her apron as she approached her manager and hurriedly explained the situation. Jill had always been sympathetic to her situation, and though reluctant, offered to take up her next shift. Bonnie felt the tension relieved in their shoulders when she begrudgingly agreed and she quickly went back to man the bar before Jill changed her mind. Mostly everyone at the bar was a regular and had all ready been cared for, however, Bonnie saw a new face straying at the end of the bar, engrossed in the latest paraded pomeranian on the screen above his head. She frowned and approached him. Just one more customer, she could deal with one more.

She cleared her throat when they approached the man, startling him from his engrossment. He looked back at her with a deer-in-headlights expression before his face softened upon seeing her uniform. “Hey there, sugar, you been helped yet?” she smiled, leaning against the bar. The man shook his head, glancing up at the television for a split second before he turned his attention back to her.

“Nope, not just yet. Was just about to flag you down, actually,” he yawned, rubbing at his stubbled jaw as he scrunched his face, “I’ll just have your cheapest scotch over light ice,” he hummed, a request that earned a short snort from Bonnie.

“My kinda drink,” they quipped as she pulled out a chilled glass and filled the bottom with pebbled ice before they poured out one of their cheaper liquor. Sure, it smelled and tasted like battery acid but it’d get you drunk in a pinch. She slid the glass over to the guy, the latter snatching it up and immediately going in for a gulp. Bonnie watched with a bemused look, leaning against the counter as she watched his face contort, honeyed eyes widening as he took a big sip of his drink. The man started hacking and coughing in a fit and Bonnie laughed at his reaction, shaking their head as she pushed away from the bar and went to queue up a tab for him, “yeah, that ain’t an all-in-one-gulp sorta drink,” they teased as she typed up on the screen, eyes catching him watching her, “can I get a name for the tab, please?” she hummed, observing as the man set his drink down and donned a scrunched up nose.

“Could have warned me before I went all in, you know,” he huffed, taking an amble sip from his drink. He acknowledged her question with a hum, “Peter,” he offered, hearing the tap of her fingers against the little screen.

“All right then, just flag me down whenever you want another drink, all right? If I’m not there someone else will be happy to help you out,” she hummed, watching as Peter nodded and slid over a few bills. She cocked up a brow and took the two singles, thanking him as she shoved them in their apron and went to finish up her last few obligations before she left.

Peter sat at the bar and watched the dog show above, slowly sipping on his drink. The liquid burned down his throat and left a pit of nausea seated in his gut. It wasn’t all that pleasant, however, he didn’t fully mind it. He simply sat there idly and enjoyed the show, minding his own when a sudden pain shot through his head. He grimaced and brought his hand up to his head, scrunching his eyes closed as his senses went into overdrive. He groaned softly as his senses tapered off to a low hum and Peter mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He shot up, knocking over his drink in the process, and bolted out, unencumbered by the bartender calling after him to pay off his tab. He disappeared through the crowd leaving Bonnie standing there, unpaid tab and a nasty sludge of now congealed scotch running down the bar. They groaned and grabbed the washcloth, wringing it out before they went over to wipe down the bar.

“We really shouldn’t be selling this shit to people,” they grumbled.

♡♡♡

The bus pulled up a few blocks from Bonnie’s apartment, the exhausted bartender reluctantly getting up from their seat. She thanked the bus driver before they began the arduous 3-block trek back to her building. With every step their bones ached and she was thankful they didn’t have to stick around for another shift. Her building soon came into view, and so did that all-too-familiar red 2006 Ford Escape. They took a deep breath in and hesitantly approached the vehicle, catching sight of Charles’s lips pressed tightly together and his brow furrowed when he saw her. He rolled down the window and shot Bonnie a glare.

“You reek like booze, have you been drinking?” he shot her an accusatory glower. Bonnie’s nostrils flared as they went to the back door and carefully opened it, leaning in to unbuckle Maddy from her seat. The tired girl whined in protest and clung to her mom, the latter looking up to the driver’s seat.

“You know I’m not allowed to drink on the job,” she said shortly as they scooped Maddy into her arms and cradled her head against the crook of their neck, “did you end up going out?” she asked, gently soothing her sleeping daughter as she quietly closed the door and went back up to Charles’s open window.

“Just got some fast food, you know how it is,” he waved dismissively. Bonnie frowned but nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of Maddy’s head.

“Right- well, I’ll see you next Friday. I’ll have Maddy call you tomorrow night,” they nodded, earning a glare from Charles.

“Her name is Madeleine. What kind of mother can’t even call her daughter by her name,” he snarled. Bonnie bit the insides of her cheeks and simply nodded, not looking for a fight at that point. Maddy raised her head, eyes heavy as Charles beckoned his daughter towards him, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you soon, pumpkin,” he cooed, ruffling up her hair before Bonnie pulled back and watched the car pull out of the turnabout. Bonnie stared after the car for a few moments before hearing the tired croak of Maddy telling her she was cold. Bonnie gently rubbed a hand over Maddy’s back and turned on their heels to head into the apartment building, a blast of warm air immediately hitting the pair once they stepped past the threshold.

The elevator up to the tenth floor was quiet, the sounds of Maddy’s gentle breathing soothing Bonnie as the elevator creaked and hauled the duo up to her apartment. It dinged once they’d reached their floor and Bonie quietly padded over the carpeted hallway to her apartment. They shifted their hold on Maddy and carefully dug into their apron to pull out their keys, fiddling around before they found the right one and jangled the lock open. They moved to set Maddy down on the couch, helping the girl shed her shoes before they went over to the door and pulled off their own sneakers. She grumbled and rubbed at the sore soles of their feet, grimacing as they brushed the pad of their thumb over a blister formed on their heel. She sighed and sat down, looking around the apartment. Moving boxes piled on every available space. Even though it had been weeks since they’d moved in she didn’t have the will to unpack just yet. Everything still felt so fresh and raw the thought of unpacking her life and putting it back together again made them physically ill. Their eyes fell on Maddy, quietly asleep on the couch, and she smiled softly.

From another room, Bonnie heard the chaotic crash of boxes as little tiny feet barrelled into the living room. She was assaulted by the tiny yowls of her cat, Fenêtre, the black fluffball excited to see his mom. Bonnie donned a bemused grin and shook their head, scoffing playfully as they followed the beckoning cat into the kitchen. “What is it, hm? You hungry, sweetie? You poor thing, must’ve just run out,” she cooed, seeing the few remnants of kibble still collected at the bottom of the bowl. It didn’t take long for them to pour out a bowl of food for the demanding kitty. “Good grief, little love, you’re a glutton is what you are,” they snorted and gave him a few head scratches before they grabbed some clean-ish clothes and towels from one of her boxes. She was grimy and sweaty and in desperate need of some creature comforts.

Before they made their way towards the bathroom Bonnie grabbed one of their blankets from her little makeshift bed and brought it over to the couch, draping the comforter over Maddy’s sleeping form. She smiled warmly and kneeled beside the couch, pushing the girl’s hair back as they pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her daughter unconsciously snuggled into the plush fabric of the blanket and Bonnie gently ruffled up her hair before they pulled away from the couch and headed into the bathroom, running the warm water for a much-needed shower. They glanced in the mirror and grimaced at the evidence of her exhaustion; her red-rimmed eyes, sunken cheeks, dry and chapped lips, scraggly hair, it all just made her groan and attempt to wipe the tiredness from her face before she turned to strip down.

Her body trembled softly at the sudden coldness invading her senses. Their skin goosebumped and reddened ever so slightly before they stepped into the shower and sighed as the warm water flowed over their tired skin, alleviating the tension built up from the day. She just stood there for a long time, not daring to move as the water dulled her senses. Their shoulders slumped forward and Bonnie found themselves wiping at her face, feeling the beginnings of hot tears welling up in the corners of their eyes. They let out an exasperated laugh and shook her head, opting to grab her old loofah. She globbed some old children’s body wash onto the mesh and began scrubbing incessantly at her skin, mind dulling as she watched her arms redden under her intense rubbing.

♡♡♡

It was around one in the morning when Peter Benjamin Parker stumbled through the open window to his apartment, wheezing and aching after the intensity of the fight. He trembled uncontrollably as he crawled over to his mattress and sunk back onto it, letting out a pained groan as the blankets enveloped his body. He reached up and haphazardly pulled at his mask, cool air invading his senses as he rubbed at the fresh bruises and cuts on his face. Though his accelerated healing factor was certainly setting in by then, he could still feel the sting of pain as he brushed his gloved hand over the gashes on his stubbled chin.

He sat up reluctantly and pulled at the fabric of his suit, wincing somewhat as the spandex pulled away from his sore skin. He grumbled upon seeing the extent of his injuries before he tossed his suit into a pile of dirty laundry somewhere in the corner. He rubbed at his eyes as he got up from the mattress and moved to head to the kitchen, however, in his borderline-delirious stupor, Peter accidentally knocked into some moving boxes. They tumbled to the ground and Peter grimaced as the nightly silence that often accompanied such early hours was broken by the loud crash and breaking of glass. Comically, the crashing did not stop there, and like a domino effect, a few other boxes followed suit, falling to their demise and breaking whatever contents lay haphazardly shoved into the cardboard.

“Oh fuck me,” Peter growled and kicked a box out of his way. He couldn’t care to tidy up whatever he’d just messed up at that point. He tried to resume his trek to his kitchen once more, however, something made him pause. His senses tingled as something approached his door, something that clearly wasn’t happy. He flinched somewhat as that something began banging on his door. It was just a few raps, however, the boom of a fist connecting with the door made it evident enough that he really didn’t want to open up. He stilled and stayed quiet for a long while, hoping that whoever it was would get bored and just leave. Of course, he wasn’t that lucky, and the banging came back with a vengeance. He cursed silently under his breath and advised the banger that he'd be there in just a moment. He struggled to pull on a pair of grease-stained sweatpants as he hopped his way to the front. Peter took in a deep breath before he slowly turned the knob and opened the door just enough to see whoever insisted on breaking down his door that early in the morning. He was startled back at the person in front of him, a glint of familiarity shining in his eyes.

The bartender stood on the other side of the door, arms crossed underneath her chest as she glared up at Peter. Her hair was damp and clung to their neck and their face was scrubbed clean of the makeup she’d previously donned but it was unmistakably them. Peter poked his head from behind the door and looked at her, offering an expectant look as she straightened out.

“Do you have any idea what time it is and you’re makin’ that much raucous? Do you have any goddamned decency?” she whisper-yelled, face contorted into a furious scowl. Peter frowned somewhat and opened his mouth to speak, however, the little firecracker in front of him immediately shut him up, cutting him off before he even had the chance, “you need to quiet the fuck down, people are trying to sleep, children are trying to sleep. I swear to god if you don’t shut up-” she stopped and narrowed their eyes, stepping closer to the door. Peter backed up some and watched as she gripped the edge of the door and swung it open enough to see his face. Recognition spread across her features before the scowl returned, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, you’re the jackass who didn’t pay his tab, Peter, right?” they snarled, shoving a finger to his chest, “I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with you right now. You shut the fuck up and pay your tab, that shit comes outta my paycheque if you don’t.”

“Right right, sorry about that,” Peter grunted out, watching the deep-seated frown on the woman’s face. She turned and stormed back to their apartment beside his, not in the mood to chastise him anymore that night. Peter felt a familiar bubble of sass curdling up his throat and before he could stop it he blurted out, “awe, c’mon now, don’t be like that. Does this mean we can’t be buddies? What a shame.” The woman shot a glare over their shoulder and offered up an obscene hand gesture in response, quickly opening their door and essentially slamming it shut behind her. Peter flinched at the sound and grumbled as he shut his door and reset the deadbolt, rubbing at his stubbled throat, nostrils flaring as he went back to his kitchen. He pulled out a box of day-old pizza and grabbed a slice, biting into the cold dough. He brushed his hand over his face, feeling that most of his previous bruising and gashes had mostly cleared up. He sighed and trudged back to his living room, plopping himself back on his mattress as he chowed down on his cold pizza and flipped on his television, clicking on one of his preferred nature channels.

He leaned into the bed, weary eyes fixated on the little puffins honking about across his screen. He sighed and turned onto his back, taking another bite before he set the pizza slice somewhere on his mattress, much too tired to continue eating. He felt the weight of the day crashing down on him and it took all of Peter’s strength not to start bawling out like a baby right then and there. The familiar prickles of tears in his eyes and sharp rawness erupted in his nostrils and Peter groaned softly, burying his face into his pillow as his body shook with unshed sobs. He ached for comfort as he yanked his blanket up and settled into his bed, trembling as the sounds of the narrator and puffins on his television became white noise and lolled him into a state of whatever relaxation he could achieve. He turned over and curled up into the fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest as he sniffled and scrunched his eyes shut. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day? Yeah, he held out hope that the next day would be better.

The battered hero’s tears slicked down his cheeks and dried up as he nuzzled his face into the plush pillow beneath his head, taking in the familiar atmosphere and scent of his apartment. He rocked himself gently and eventually soothed himself down enough to fall asleep, the day was forgotten as he fell into a flitting sleep, Yeah, tomorrow would be better.

#peter b parker #original character #oc x canon #alternate universe #mary jane watson #divorcedmom #milf.#dilf.

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scifrey · 8 months

Text

NINE-TENTHS

Part Six

I get all of the gear flicked on, checking water levels and pulling the wands out of the sanitizer, then grind the first pot for the perc. As the espresso machine chugs its way to wakefulness, I peer into garbage cans and inspect tables. The till is all counted out neatly, with a post-it note reminding me to buy a roll of quarters stuck to the crisp purple stack of tens.

Obviously Min-soo closed last night, ‘cause she always kills it.

In the dark kitchen, I crank the industrial oven up as high as it will go to pre-warm, scoop dough from the huge bowl Min-soo made last night onto trays, and climb the ladder to dump a burlap sack of fresh beans into the massive stainless steel bean roaster in pride of place in the corner of the kitchen.

In my back pocket, my phone starts playing a punk version of You're the Cream in My Coffee. Shit. That's my alarm to start the second batch of scones. Dammit. I don't have time to let the oven preheat properly. I shove the tray in.

Then it’s back out to the front, where he is sitting primly in his corner, eyes on his newspaper.

Yeah, I'm a basic bitch and prefer coffee that's more sugar and froth than bean juice, but there’s something so good about fresh-brewed black coffee first thing in the morning. That's art in its own right, my loves. I interrupt the drip machine to pour myself a mug, and I take one selfish minute to revel in a perfect sip.

But what is usually a soft symphony of my mornings is instead a self-inflicted agony. The plink of coffee into the carafe, the hiss of the espresso machine, the hum and clunk of the bean-roster in action, all punctuated by the crisp rustle of his newspaper? Agony.

A year ago, I would use this quiet time to work on my thesis. Before that, it would have been an essay, or a lab, or something else I’d procrastinated. Now, I have nothing to work on. Nothing to do but this. Nowhere to go but here. No career, no demand, no drive, just…

Me.

And him.

And the stretching, hissing, clunking, dripping silence.

"Ugh, get your ass in gear, you embarrassment," I mutter to myself.

"Beg pardon?" he asks, voice raised politely.

Shit.

"I said, uh, the espresso machine is warmed up. Caffe tobio?"

"Please." He crosses his legs. There's a flash of turquoise at his ankle. I only catch it for a second, but it looks like he's wearing socks with cartoon dragons on them. Huh, okay… that’s more playful than I expected him to be.

"Coming right up."

"I appreciate it. And you are well?" he says, which is the longest string of words I've ever heard out of him. Shame.

"Yeah." I turn to the machine, tapping out a careful twenty-seven seconds with the toe of my chucks, timing as the espresso fills the demitasse. So I'm completely in my head, and totally not expecting it when his voice comes from somewhere much too close, just over my left shoulder.

"Oversleeping could be the sympto—"

"Gah!" I shout, and Christ no, the wand in my hand goes flying up, up, sprinkling boiling-hot grounds like freaking pixie dust.

He ducks and snaps the newspaper over his head as they rain down. The sharp clatter of the wand hitting the tile makes us both wince. We stare across the counter at one another, eyes wide, with what I assume are matching shocked expressions.

"Are you—" he starts again and I hold out a hand to stop him.

"I'm fine."

"I've never known you to—"

"Shit, you're chatty today," Maybe that came out cattier than it should have. He flinches, stung. A glob of espresso grounds plops off his shoulder and splats on the tile floor. "Sorry, sorry! That came out wrong. I'm not… I'm not having a good morning."

"My apologies," he murmurs mournfully, and aw, no.

"I'll make you another one," I say quickly. "On the house. Just… sit, and I'll—"

"Perhaps I should go." He lowers his paper and flicks grounds off the toe of his shoe. Oh, shit, are they expensive? Am I going to have to pay for, I dunno, shoe dry cleaning?

"No, please." That lurch in my stomach again, and it's only because a morning that has started terribly (and has only gotten worse) would really become awful if he wasn’t sitting in the sunlight, glimmering and reading.

It would be just wrong.

"If you are ill, you ought to be taking care of yourself first. Don't you have a colleague who could cover—"

"I got a new alarm clock, I didn't wake up, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter."

"It does to me." He crunches the ruined paper in his hands, flexing and twisting. "In fact, I, er, perhaps it is time I confessed that… I smell something burning."

"You smell burning?" I swig another mouthful of coffee from the mug I'd left by the till, and take a deep breath to calm myself. Wait. "I smell it, too."

His eyes flick to the door behind me, slit pupils dilating. "The kitchen."

"The scones!" I squawk and spin on the spot. I slip in spilled espresso, toppling sideways. Before I can hit the ground, he lunges across the countertop, catching my arm in a grip that's stronger than I think he realizes. It also prickles.

Trying to get my stupid feet under me, I catch the barest flash of red scale and black, long-tipped nails. Then his hand is back to perfectly pale peach, fussily manicured, and human.

I shrug him off and push through the door. I shouldn't have gasped, that was a stupid thing to do when the air is heavy with smoke. But I do, and jerk to a stop, folding double, coughing. He runs into me. I nearly topple. That prickling grip pulls me upright again.

"What can I do to—" he starts, but the fire alarm cuts him off.

"I forgot to turn down the goddamn oven!"

"I'll get it." He reaches out with his free hand. It's covered in deep red scales, his fingertips ending in delicately curved claws.

Holy crap.

He's dexterous, able to work the knob, then swing down the oven door. Black smoke, oily with burning fats, cascades into our faces. I cover my mouth and nose with the edge of my Henley, eyes burning.

"Oven mitts!" I warn.

"Not necessary!" He's got the tray balanced in his claws. "Where should I—?"

And that's when the fire suppression system kicks in.

It lets out a sharp, high whistle that startles him so badly the claws of the hand holding my arm spasm. They go right through my shirt and into flesh.

I holler.

Five things happen at once.

First, he drops the tray of scones. It clatters off the tile, sending burnt pucks of dough into the air. One smacks into my leg, and two pelt him as we dance away.

Second, he yanks his claws out of my arm, blood on the tips, and freaking hell, it stings.

Third, white foam pours from the pipes that ring the kitchen ceiling, coating every surface in a bitter-tasting cloud. Including us.

Fourth, the guy makes a sort of gurgling belch noise, then a sharp bony click accompanied by a spark that looks exactly like the kind you get from a lighter.

Fifth, he spits fire.

Right into the corner. Where the giant custom bean roaster is. The drum is perforated, and the beans inside it immediately go up in flames. They're so hot they burn blue. The steel drum starts to goddamn melt.

"Coc y gath," he gasps in horror, dithering on the spot.

"Holy shit," I say, clamping my hand down over the punctures in my arm.

"I'm terribly sorry!" he shouts over the sound of the alarm and the hiss of the foam deflating around us. "I didn't mean to—I was startled!"

The urgency of the situation suddenly hits home, fire crawling up the wall toward the ceiling, and I scream: "Put it out!"

"What do you want me to do? Suck it back up?" he shouts back, all his cool calm evaporating in the heat of the inferno. "I'm a dragon, not a fire extinguisher!"

Well.

Fuck this meet-cute straight to hell, then.

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strokes-of-everything · 1 year

Text

The New York Times apparently featured an article recently about how ~American Theater is Imploding.~. With quotes from industry “leaders” about why people not seeing shows are committing moral failures for not doing so.

“The Greeks understood its part of one’s civic duty to attend theatrical productions!”

“JFK encouraged people to engage with the arts! Why aren’t you engaging????”

At the core, these sentiments essentially boil down to, “why aren’t you spending your time and money to see our shows, audiences??? Shame!”

I’m an aspiring theater and film director. I switched fields because I saw the promise of creating works of art that foster discussion and connection with the world around us.

Had I known we’d see the field devolve into what it is today, I would have stuck to economics.

Instead of stomping their feet and wagging fingers at the American people for not attending what these supposed experts deem to be worthy of our time and effort as a society, they ought to be looking at why audience engagement is so low.

First and foremost? Inflation and monetary pressure on necessities.

The arts are not a necessity when you’re struggling to feed your family and afford your house payments. Sorry, that’s just a fact of a life.

Anyone in theatre should know this, considering you usually have to study things like A Doll’s House and the rise of entertainment for the middle class at the start of the 1900s when earning a theatre degree. Industrialization increased income for a large chunk of the population so they could stop worrying about feeding their kids and instead have some pocket money and a little leisure time. We are now rapidly rolling back down the poverty hill, so people don’t have the time nor the money to spend on going to see a show.

Second, I can almost guarantee these people aren’t actively asking previous audience members why they aren’t coming to shows anymore. Why? Because when I have spoken to people at local theaters where I volunteer, who said they stopped going to Broadway and are sticking closer to home, it’s because they’re tired of shows telling them what to think and shoving certain material down their throats.

This second point is why I am actively regretting my life choices.

Theatre works best when it isn’t forcing an audience to take a certain viewpoint. Theatre works best when it doesn’t water down complex issues into motivational cat posters. If you want escapism without nuance, watch a Disney movie.

Theatre today is less about fostering debate and more about forcing political ideologies.

I want people to engage with and discuss my shows. I don’t want to indoctrinate them.

That is not what the Greeks used theatre for in their society. That is, “Hey, I’m the Sun King, and you better make me look good,” theatre. That is Fuenteovejuna theatre. That is not what JFK or anyone who understood the power of debate through creative expression meant when they said it’s part of your civic duty to engage with artistic productions.

That’s also why I mourn the great playwrights like Tennessee Williams, August Wilson, etc. They wrote with nuance. You understood the power of their plays in creating acceptance and connection and removing bigotry without it being shoved down your throat. No one openly engages with things getting shoved down their throats. And they tire of things very quickly when it’s the same stuff getting shoved over and over again.

Third, and finally, you have to find new ways to engage with audiences. Sleep No More did this and continues to excel. The National Theatre production of Midsummer also brought theatre-goers into the experience instead of having them sit for three hours in darkness while the actors had all the fun, which helped it to do well. We need more shows with participation elements in the industry if we want to innovate.

If the theatre industry could let go of proclaiming, “We’ve always done this and it’s always worked! Why aren’t you understanding we are right?!” and shifted to focusing on what audiences want to see now, maybe shows would see the engagement they desperately need. I don’t see that happening anytime in the near future.

#theatre #txt

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hassedah · 2 years

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Hello ! How are you doing ? I hope you are enjoying summer time ! I love your headcanons, could you do the reactions of the moonlight lovers boys with a Witch MC ?

MC is a Witch :

Hi ! How are you ?

I'm fine, and thank you I'm glad you like my headcanons! I hope you are well ! ^^ My summer went well, but I'm glad it's finally over. It was far too hot. I hope your summer went well too!

Here are the headcanons you asked for! I hope you like it ^^ Have a good day and take care of yourself! ^^

Vladimir :

There's nothing to distinguish you from the humans when you arrive at the mansion so Vladimir doesn't really question you, especially when Aaron insists that you can spend the night. He just finds you a little... odd, but Vladimir finds everyone a little odd so he doesn't really care and as long as you don't hurt anyone.

It takes him a couple of weeks to figure it out and it only really hits him when he sees you boiling the water for tea without using the kettle. His blood runs cold and he looks at you for a few seconds before turning to go and talk to Aaron.

A what?! Aaron knows a lot of wizards, a lot. Some of them have already come to live in the manor for a few days and Vladimir can't deny that he found them all scary. Well, Raphael says that Aaron's friends are scary in general, but seriously, why is there still a witch in his house?

Since he knows about it he looks at you suspiciously. The last wizard in the house had turned the bathroom tap into a snake only to scare him, he thought he was going to have a heart attack! Of course you don't seem to want to give him a heart attack. Besides, you don't seem to fear much compared to him. You talk about demons, succubi, fighting other witches as if it were an unimportant detail of your daily life. Something you could do between lunch and a snack after doing a load of laundry...

In the end, this is perhaps what reassures him. You have plenty of power to shave the house, and the surrounding area, but most of the time you just boil water for tea without a kettle, or turn on the fireplace and lights from a distance.

Your knowledge of botany frankly impresses him, even though you seem more interested in the utilitarian aspect of flowers and plants than in their beauty. And no, he doesn't want to know how to kill someone with his cyclamens, so leave his poor little flowers alone about that.

He doesn't really know if he appreciates the little magic tricks you can do on his flowers to help them grow on the one hand his garden is even more beautiful than before on the other, he really likes to let nature do its thing in the garden.

Béliath :

He senses a lot of power in you as soon as you arrive, but he can't figure out why. You seem perfectly human to him, and you don't even seem stronger than any of them. It reassures him that Aaron is taking your side to let you stay at the manor, if the wolf had been suspicious of you he wouldn't have felt reassured.

It's because he's watching you a little more than the others that he's second to Aaron in understanding this. You always stand up straight when you're surrounded by vampires, you don't seem to fear them for a moment. You even stand up to them when you disagree with them. You remind him of a certain powerful succubus he met early in his life. After a day or two he ends up asking Aaron what you are. The fact that you are a witch doesn't surprise him, you must be a more powerful creature than the vampires not to be so afraid of them.

He remains wary at first, mainly because Aaron's many wizarding friends have a rather annoying sense of humour and while he generally doesn't mind making jokes, he doesn't really appreciate it when people from outside the manor come to tease his friends, especially when said jokes give Vladimir anxiety attacks.

But he relaxes quite quickly because you don't seem to want to bother anyone here. And he becomes curious as to what you are doing here among them. You prefer not to tell him for his own safety as well as for the others. But you agree to tell him about some of your most recent exploits. He is quite impressed by the ease with which you can hypnotise a large group of people without appearing to tire, on that point you must be at least as powerful as the succubi he knows.

Your style of dress also impresses him greatly, at the last party he organised you came in clothes so extraordinary that they seemed to have a life of their own. The patterns on the fabric gave the impression of movement and he is almost certain to have seen you grabbing something across the room with one of your sleeves.

He invites you more than once to come to the Moondance, you refuse the first time but you promise to accept once you finish your business. So he is quite happy when you finally come with him.

You always seem to have a magic solution to every problem. Seriously, he didn't think you knew a spell to remove stains from clothes. Thanks to you, he no longer has to worry about Vladimir mixing the colours in the washing machine.

Ivan :

He's not really interested in you at first. You arrived at the mansion a little after dark to ask if you could stay here for a few days to do business in town. Ivan didn't really understand why Aaron agreed, as you seemed perfectly human.

He becomes untenable from the moment he learns that you are a witch. Really untenable. Aaron regrets even telling him, because the younger boy never lets you out of his sight, following you around the manor like you're the latest fashionable star. "You're a witch! You're a really witch!" he says over and over again.

In fact, he seems to have no real survival instinct. All the members of the manor who learned what you were were at least suspicious of you, him, Not for one second. He constantly wants to see you do magic tricks and has even asked you if you can turn someone into a toad! Yes, you can do it, no you won't ! It is extremely violent to turn someone into an animal without their consent.

You considered making him mute. One hour, just one short hour. Seriously, you don't know where you hide to avoid his incessant questions, but you didn't. You managed to keep your cool for a long time, well, until he followed you when you went to work on your business. You saved him in extremis from certain death and you have rarely been so angry at anyone.

Obviously your anger was frightening enough that he avoided you for a long time once back at the mansion. Aaron even came to ask you what had happened to make him so fearful. He apologized for Ivan when you explained that you couldn't do your job while making sure the young vampire didn't die stupidly following you.

It takes a few weeks for him to be relaxed in your presence again. The advantage is that he has not tried to follow you once since. So you have been able to finish your business without fearing for the vampire's survival. Finally, you let him accompany you to buy the materials you need for some potion (even if you have to watch him for fear that he might touch anything and everything in the shop).

There is something adorable about his wonder at everything you do. After all, a child wizard is perfectly capable of boiling water, it's even one of the easiest spells to learn, as is levitating an object, and despite your explanations Ivan can't help but look at you in wonder every time you do it.

He was shocked when you explained to him that, apart from the old wizards, no one uses flying broomsticks to get around any more because you prefer teleportation.

Aaron :

He knew immediately when he saw you coming. You wizards give off something very different from other species. An aura of extraordinary power and he clearly doesn't understand why he's the only one to sense it. Instinctively, he knows that you are more powerful than him, or anyone else here. When you asked him for hospitality to do business in town, he immediately accepted even though he is a little wary of you.

He knows many wizards, some of whom have even saved his life, and even though Vladimir often complains about the wizards who come to visit him, they are friends he trusts and apart from a few jokes that are sometimes in bad taste, he knows that none of them will attack the others. He doesn't know you well enough yet. And he doesn't want to let the wolf into the henhouse in all honesty.

Aaron is rather curious as to what a witch comes to town alone of course, you tend to travel in small groups of two or three mainly in case you encounter a rival clan, these conflicts are still quite common among your kind with many ideological issues pitting you against each other. But since you didn't try to kill them all when you arrived, Aaron assumes that you are part of a clan that is sympathetic to supernatural creatures deemed evil or demonic. In the end, this is rather reassuring because he knows he would never have won a fight against a witch.

Finally, he starts to come closer to you, especially after you prevent Ivan from crashing down the stairs. It's his little protege after all, he can only be grateful to you.

He sometimes asks you questions about what you have come to town for, mainly to make sure that none of his friends will be in danger. You briefly explained the situation to him without going into details in order to reassure him a little.

He often accompanies you when you go out in the forest to fetch plants for your potions, it's much easier to carry everything. Moreover, Aaron is one of the only members of the manor who understands when you talk about the effects of plants on supernatural creatures, so the discussion is much more interesting than with the others, you don't need to explain the basics as much.

He would like to train to fight with you, even though he knows he will never win if you use your magic to fight. After all, you don't need a weapon to fight, you are your own weapon. The elements, physics, chemistry all obey you.

Raphaël :

He doesn't suspect that you're a witch when you arrive either. But he doesn't is really to ask more questions than that in all honesty. After all, if Aaron trusts you enough to let you stay what you don't represent a danger to them. Aaron wouldn't be amused by putting them in danger.

He is therefore very surprised when he learns that you are a witch. As far as he knows, you have extraordinary abilities and your powers far exceed the abilities of even the most powerful of them.

Clearly you are not in the same league. And your power is much closer to that of demons than vampires. Unlike Aaron, he has never met a witch with a deep hatred for vampires or other supernatural creatures, but the wolf has told him about them often enough that he is wary of your presence.

He is as friendly as he can be without really trying to get close to you at first. Discussions are usually limited to polite questions before he goes off to read in the library or mumbles about you to Vladimir in the small living room. You've seen them do this a few times with some amusement, especially when Aaron jumps in and asks them to stop worrying about nothing.

After a few weeks at the manor, Raphael starts to get close to you. He is quite curious, although he doesn't want to know what you have come to town for. He is more interested in your encyclopaedic knowledge of many subjects, be it botany, medicine or astronomy. You have briefly explained to him all that you have to learn as a witch, as well as the fact that in the end you still know very little compared to the oldest of your kind. That doesn't stop her from being impressed though. After all, he learns something new from every discussion with you.

He often stays with you when you prepare potions or remedies in the kitchen. Most of the time he stays quiet, but sometimes he gets a bit more curious. He wants to know what you are doing, and why you are doing it. Moreover, the smell that comes out of your cauldron often smells very good, you have briefly explained to him how to prepare some panacea accessible to people without magic.

Ethan :

He didn't understand why Aaron let you stay when you seemed totally human. So at first he spent a lot of time bothering you, and you let him do that for several days on the assumption that he would eventually calm down on his own.

After a week, you finally got annoyed. But you had no intention of hurting him, so you simply suspended him a few feet off the ground for a few seconds so that he would understand quickly enough that you were not a fragile little creature. It was like a cold shower for him, but he didn't dare complain about it to the others for fear of looking like an idiot (especially since you put him down gently on the ground as soon as he asked you to do so.)

He's a bit more wary now, but more importantly, a lot more respectful, which is quite relaxing - you didn't come here to bicker with an arrogant little prick every day. You have work to do! You can't spend your life like the vampires, resting.

inally, the surprise passes. He ends up being interested in what you're doing in town. You don't answer him of course, it's not confidential, but you know your supernatural fellows well enough to know that they have the damned tendency to happily run towards danger as soon as the opportunity arises. And Ethan clearly doesn't seem to be an exception to the rule.

Ever since he saw you heal a wound by simply putting your hand on it, he has been on to you. He really wants to know how you did it. You can't teach him of course, but at his insistence you teach him how to create small protective amulets that humans can make without magic. This is the first time since the beginning of your stay that you have seen him so attentive to what you say and he even manages not to be unpleasant once.

He doesn't believe you when you tell him that you can use a flying broom to get around, it seems far too folkloric. It's not the most common means of transport for your generation, but in the face of his doubt you couldn't resist landing in the garden on a flying broom.

Neil :

He immediately understood that you were more powerful than he was, which made him a little bit angry and worried too. Really a little bit, he doesn't want it to show or to be known.

He has a mixed opinion about witches. Let's just say that he has met several who tried to kill him, especially when wars between supernatural creatures were common. He has also met many who have protected him from these witches. As long as he doesn't know which side you are on, he doesn't trust you and prefers to avoid you. This calms down a bit when he realizes that you are not one of the witches who hunt vampires.

Your relation is therefore not very good at the beginning, and those even when Neil stops being suspicious of you.

To him at first, you are a kind of living Swiss Army knife. You open locked doors without having to break them down, you fix anything and everything without tools, you get around without a car and even when the situation seems totally hopeless you find a way to pull a new spell out of your hat to get out of trouble. He's determined to keep you in his good books.

As for you, you were a little annoyed by his arrogance. Sure, he's a former vampire, he was even born a vampire. But you could sew his mouth shut without even touching him. He can get sick more easily, he can get caught by supernatural hunters with ease. There is nothing exceptional about him. His strength is nowhere near as great as yours.

Little by little you start to get along. Neil may be a very arrogant vampire, but he can be sympathetic, even kind when the planets are well aligned. Moreover, he has the decency not to follow you when you do business in town and not to harass you with questions either.

You end up enjoying the long talks you can have together, whether in front of the fireplace or over a good book in the library. In the end, he even feels safe in your presence, which is rare enough to be noted. When you're with him, it's one of the few times he doesn't spend all his time being suspicious of the slightest noise or the intentions of others.

#moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers vladimir #moonlight lovers beliath #moonlight lovers ivan #Moonlight lovers aaron #moonlight lovers raphael #moonlight lovers ethan #moonlight lovers neil

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lewdligu · 1 year

Text

Finally Time at Home

Figured I should get a story up here. I don't know how many I'm gonna post since I have like four other places I post my writing. XD I will probably use this space for shorter things though, fantasies or thoughts.

I also do a thing where I write based on the gacha game pulls I do, that'll be coming soon.

But for now enjoy this cute little thing involving a sweet couple and some tickly shenanigans.

If you want to read more writing, hit up my DeviantArt.

-----

“I wonder where she is…” I question the walls as I mull about the kitchen. It’s not really that I’m worried; she can take care of herself against whatever might be around her little forest, but usually her mushroom gathering is pretty quick. She has her particular favorite little patches of shrooms she floats between.

Plus, I’m about ready with this sauce and it needs the key ingredient!

Ahh well, I’m sure she’s just being extra picky about which ones she collects, since it’s been a while since I’ve made her favorite dish. Been so busy in the castle lately that I haven’t had this kind of opportunity to spend time at home for an extended period. I’m happy to be so busy, but I miss the ability to just be with her, like before.

Wisps of purple smoke erupt from the large pot bubbling away on the stove; the timer spell telling me that the spaghetti is done! I quickly grab my strainer and swirl it through the boiling water, giving the pasta a little gathering twirl before nabbing it all in one scoop. With a bobbing flourish (archmages always have a flare for the dramatic), I drain the nest of spaghetti before laying it on the large plate I have prepared, letting it steam itself out. Its ordeal is not yet over, but it needs to cool while the sauce is being finished up.

Speaking of the sauce, it can get my full attention once more. I play with the stove a little, tweaking the flame in the most subtle way. This sauce is so amazing, but it does take quite a lot of effort to get right. The heat has to be perfect, the order of the ingredients has to be correct. Even the amount of spices has to be pretty exact or else the entire sauce goes bad.

I take the small bowl of pre-measured Uhilian vinegar…

I take a sniff of the bowl just to make sure I have the Uhilian vinegar.

“Hork!” Yeah this is definitely the stuff…

It mellows out in the sauce, I promise. As I rub my nose and toss it in, the thick simmering sludge absorbs the liquid and it turns from a deep crimson to a lighter flame red. Just as planned. But now we’re at an impasse… The next ingredient is not yet–

“I’m hhhHHOOOOOME!” A shrill voice escalates as its owner comes barreling into the house through the open window.

Literally barrelling, why is she flying so fast!? And so erratically; the basket she’s carrying is flipping all over the place, I can see the mushrooms nearly falling out!

“E-Enelily!” I exclaim as I scramble out of the kitchen, rounding the shelf and putting my hands out to grab the basket just at the tipping point before any of its contents can escape. When I stop the basket, the little fairy’s momentum carries, and she begins swinging on the handle like a goofy kid at a playground. Her magic allows her to be pretty strong at this size, but considering she’s not even a foot tall and I’m almost six, physics wins over magic there.

“WheeEeEEeEEEeeeh~” The minigirl squeals as she flips around and around the basket handle, slowing to a stop after a couple rotations until she’s just dangling from it. Her four translucent wings twitch, spread wide like she were flying, but I can tell she’s not. She’s got a silly look on her face, and her little coat is only half-on her body. The top of it is stained with a dark liquid.

Oh, I get it.

“‘Lil, you got into the Nightwish again, didn’t you?” I ask with a sigh as I start back toward the kitchen with our star ingredient (and the fairy dangling above them).

“Nnnnnn–.... Nooooooo,~” she replies, not at all trying to hide the goofy smile on her face. My walking makes her sway back and forth, her body pretty lax as she looks like she’s just enjoying the movement.

As I set the basket down on the countertop next to the stove I can finally get a good look at her. Her normally sapphire-blue hair is also darkened to a deep indigo. I shake my head lightly and offer my finger to her. “What did I tell you about flower-diving?”

“You shaid…. You shhhhhaid…” she slurs adorably, reaching a tiny hand out to my finger to monkey bar climb her way from the basket handle to dangle in the same way from my finger. “You said to have fun!”

Gods she is so cute, I can’t help but smile. “Yes, but I meant with me, silly.” I twist around and wiggle my finger, which makes her giggle and bounce, trying a little pull up–unsuccessfully thanks to her inebriation–but it’s an adorable attempt.

“I knooooow~ I’m sorry it’s just that the plant is growing so well, and it looked so inviting and I was thirsty and…” ‘Lil continued to ramble, but started talking so fast that I couldn’t comprehend her. Nightwish affects different fairy species in different ways, and she’s never really been able to hold her substances of any kind well, so I’m not surprised she’s so discombobulated. At least she’s an adorable drunk.

“Well, it’s fine, you’ll be good by the time dinner is ready.” I say–from very much experience– as I dangle her over the counter next to where the spaghetti is sitting, now pleasantly warm.

“Yeaaaaaaaaah!” she cheers, and lets go of my finger. I expected her to drift down to the countertop–she likes to float back and forth slowly like a falling leaf, it’s just the cutest thing–but instead she just hovers exactly where she was.

Drunk brain is a funny thing.~

I give her a smile and poke her cheek (my fingertip is nearly as big as her cheek), to which she puffs her face brattily, before I turn around and start going through the mushrooms she’s selected.

“Wow, you really went all out with these,” I say, rummaging through the caps in the basket. Each mushroom is plump and tight, with gills perfectly formed. It looks like she’s chosen all of her favorites, and just the best specimens of each. I knew that she would grab good ingredients–it is her job after all–I guess I forgot just how good she is at this.

I’m glad she found these before she dove into that pitcher plant.

Well, I don’t need all of these, so I begin the process of selecting two of each type that I think would be best in the sauce. The largest Purple Hearts. The ugliest Sprinkle Caps. The greenest Box Tops.

As I hold two of the Baggund mushrooms, one circular and one square, I can’t remember which was better…

“Hey, do you remember what Baggund I usually use?” It’s been a really, really long time since I’ve made this recipe…

“Tha square one!” She calls back, though her voice is a little muffled. The shift in tone makes me perk up, setting the mushrooms down and turning around with a curious eyebrow.

My face falls as I step to the other counter. “Enelily…” She’s not sitting where I thought she would be. She’s not sitting at all.

A leg poking out of a nest of noodles, a wrist wrapped up in a strand, a tiny foot shibari’d in a pasta knot.

“I’msorry it was so waaaaaarm,~” she says with a drunken groan, the noodly mountain shuddering as she squirms in spaghetti until her head pokes out. The sticky noodles cling to her hair and her pale neck. All her limbs are sticking out now, as is a bit of her torso and her collarbone. But the rest is just noodle; I can’t even see her wings.

How long was she in there for? She must have dove in and squirmed around for the entire time I had my back to her…

“Well now I need to make another batch of spaghetti…” I say with a deep, exasperated sigh.

‘Lil looks up at me with pleading eyes. “A-are you mad at me…?” she asks.

My face lightens, giving her a soft smile. “No, silly,” I reply warmly, leaning down to rest my elbows on the countertop on either side of the plate.

Honestly, it’s impossible to be mad at her, ever. I fell in love with her because of her pure heart, her kindness; and yes, her silliness. It’s been so long since we’ve been able to get so comfortable and casual like this that I’ve forgotten just how much of those things she is, and just how much I love her because of them. We lock eyes for an eternal second, as I lose myself in them all over again. Her smile grows sheepish as my lovey gaze weighs on her, making her blush deeper and shrink into her noodly cushion.

“But, I do need to punish you for ruining this batch,” I tease. With a swift motion I lean far to the side–so much so that I’m nearly tipping–as I reach out for a nearby tall jar that still has its lit off.

“P-punish…?” she says apprehensively, trying to twist herself around to watch where my hand is going. But as she tries to stretch, the noodles around her constrict; she can barely move! “A-ah’m s-stuck!” she exclaims, some of her Sirilian accent coming through.

I smirk and let out a playfully evil chuckle–as I am wont to do when I am getting into mischief. I reach into the jar and feel around with two fingertips, grabbing what I’m looking for, and slowly pull out a hard, uncooked strand of pasta. I flip it around my fingers ostentatiously and let it rest; holding it like a quill as I bring it in front of her.

Finally able to see it, the confusion is clear upon her face. I let the situation linger in the air, letting her mind wander with possibilities. What the heck am I doing with a stiff stick of pasta? Why am I holding it like a chopstick that I’d use to poke a piece of…

Her eyes widen.

“W-wai–YEEP!” As she opens her mouth to beg, it is swiftly cut off with a yelp as I prod her exposed left sole with the stick. I am no stranger to her body–we’ve been together a long time–but I know that in her small form my fingers are too big to tickle her.

But this? This thin, stiff, barely sharp stick of pasta? As I start to poke it around the plump curves of her tiny fairy sole, it works perfectly to make her descend into adorable giggles.

“NYooHihIIIYee-EEheEe! NYaaHaha–I’m sorry I’m sorreeEEEhhEE~!” She trills through her giggling, trying to form words as she writhes about in the sticky pile of noodles. Every time she twists or pulls, she knots herself up a little tighter, the spaghetti constricts a little more. And as it pulls at her, I notice that it’s making her little green blouse ride up on her midriff, exposing her milky, smooth stomach. Gods, she’s so beautiful.

But she’s also so ticklish, and ruined dinner, so the punishment must be performed. I move my implement of torture up to her belly, beginning to poke and prod around her skin there. Her laughter pitches up as she tries so desperately to curl up and protect herself, but the noodles are the most complete bondage, preventing her from doing more than writhing back and forth as my poking tickles make her jump.

“NYA-NNee–EE-EEEHeeEHIIIIII~!” It’s been so long since I’ve gotten a chance to tickle her that I forgot just how amazing her reactions were. Her laughter is high pitched, a little shrill; halfway between a buzzing beehive and a fluttering hummingbird. And every now and then–especially when my noodle finds the extra ticklish spots around her tiny hips–she erupts with a squeal like a birdcall. No orchestra in the world could produce music I would enjoy more than this ticklish laughter that I’m conducting from her.

The blush on her face makes her pale cheeks practically glow red, and even though her smile is forced, I can see the pure enjoyment behind her eyes as she alternates between squeezing them closed while shaking her head, and looking up at me amorously. I can tell that she’s wanted this as much as I have.

But she can also tell that I’m not going to go that easy on her, thanks to her indiscretion!

With my free hand I reach to the middle of the long uncooked spaghetti noodle, and snap it in half. With another showy spin I’m now dual-wielding pasta, and she knows I know how to use them. I move the noodles to each of her helpless, tiny bare feet.

“HYAAAAAHEEEEE~!” Her body stiffens in her noodly bondage as I prod the pointy noodles around her soft soles with swift, fast movements. Probably about as big as her toes, I am surprisingly dexterous with my torturous poking. She can shake and paddle her feet around quite a lot, but the spaghetti around her tiny body makes it so she can never shift away enough. Her right foot especially, since it’s bound at the ankle rather than the thigh like her other, is particularly helpless to my tickling.

I admit, I’m losing myself a little in the situation; I just love watching her squirm. The way her itty bitty toes are flexing and scrunching to each poke, the way her soft soles wrinkle and stretch with each of her pulls. The way I can make her yelp every time I poke the ball of her foot, but flutter in laughter every time I trace around her arch.

But as I’m tickling her, as the seconds pass and I fall more and more in love with her giggly torment, I can hear the exhaustion setting in. Her small form doesn’t have a whole lot of stamina, so as much as I would love to tickle her until the sun sets, I know soon it will switch from being enjoyable torture to being legitimately upsetting, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

At least, not without her prior agreement.

So after a few more pokes around her perfect soles (now a lovely shade of red), and a couple more prods around her belly (I just had to see her try to curl up one more time), I finally remove my tools, setting them down on the countertop. She giggles through heavy breaths, lingering tickly sensations still shooting through her body. ‘Lil has the cutest post-tickling afterglow; she lets out little twitches and shudders, and continues giggling for minutes without any touching even happening. Normally I would deeply rub her skin to get some of the electricity out of her nerves, but when she’s small like this, that usually just ends up overwhelming her, so I give her a few long seconds to let the fire across her skin burn itself out.

As she relaxes into her noodle bed, I think it’s time to get her out of there.

Plus, it’s now impossible for me to resist touching her amazing body.~

I lower my head, softly pressing my mouth to the noodles that bind her legs. With a masterful motion I slide my teeth across them, and a bit of her skin, taking a few bites to free her lower body. I move myself up to her midriff, unable to resist giving her stomach a lustful kiss (and eliciting just the hottest little moan) before navigating my teeth to the thick cords of cold noodle binding her chest.

I move to free her arms, but my lips are greeted with her hands instead; it seems like she already freed herself there.

…I wonder if she could have done that at any time.

I don’t really care, of course. I feel her arms guide me up towards her small, beautiful face, and she gives my upper lip just the sweetest little kiss. Tired, but very sweet.

“Take all the time you need, ‘Lil,” I whisper as I pull away. She’s sprawled out on the noodle bed, just enjoying the lingering exhaustion and our mutual presence. We gaze lovingly at each other for who cares how long, and each second solidifies my dedication to her more and more.

A gurgle from behind me catches my attention, and I peel my eyes away from my love while stepping to the other side of the kitchen.

The sauce is as black as night, and is giving off a sickly green vapor. Like I said; this sauce is temperamental. With a sigh I grab the lid and cover the large pot, turning the flame off. It’s a really good thing I didn’t actually put those mushrooms in; I have plenty of the other ingredients, but those would have been horrible to waste.

As I am lamenting the fallen sauce, I feel a pair of arms wrap around my middle. A chin rests upon my shoulder, and I’m given just the warmest squeeze.

“Let me help you,” Enelily says, still in a bit of a daze. As she’s hugging me, I can feel that she has a fist full of spaghetti in her grasp.

“I would love that,” I reply, reaching back and running my hand through her sapphire hair.

Gods, I love this fairy, in all her forms.

#LiguContent #LiguWriting #tickling #tickle story #I really need to do more with these two #probably the cutest thing I've ever written. XD

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ansixilus · 1 year

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By the fireplace. The ghoul stood with its hands and arms extended, fingers almost touching the flames that crept up and dissolved into wee sparkles that danced around the cool night air. The owner of the house, meanwhile, was busying himself by filling a great and carefully polished copper cauldron with water and tossing in small fistfuls and pinches of herbs and flowers that hung in bouquets and posies from the walls and ceiling.

“Oh, won’t you hear from my lips the rhyme?There’s parsley, there’s sage, there’s rosemary and there’s thyme”, sang the goblin pleasantly.

His mood seemed to have recovered with the return of his former guest. Of course, with the tiny task he was doing right now, and the glad tune he was humming, he would never have noticed that it was humming the same tune.

Its version was a bit rougher and wheezing but still managed to please the ears, with grave, rumbling hums emerging from deep within its throat and sweet, low hushes from between its few remaining teeth. It hummed as its host (still singing) stirred the cauldron while adding a few spoonfuls of honey, as its arms extended and stretched out wide and far, sinking into the sweet, pleasant warm air that surrounded the flames.

Suddenly, the goblin stopped singing.

He was on his way to the hearth, carrying the copper cauldron filled with tea to set it upon the fire, when he saw his guest; bony face glistening from the orange light the flames lit upon, every little wrinkle and non healed scar and wound lovingly glowing from the warmth and comfort the fire brought. Its arms, thick-boned and strong-looking, stretched out into the warmth, with nimble and sturdy hands and fingers, some of which missing a few bits and pieces, also stretching as well; curling up before extending once again. As the zombie repeated its operation, it still hummed the tune his host was singing before, but now lowly and softly; almost a loving croon.

The goblin’s face grew warmer, his eyes widened up. His ears were carefully listening to his guest’s hums.

Until it turned its head around and spotted him.

With a yelp and a start, the goblin almost dropped the cauldron onto the floor, sending 20 minutes of work down the stone cracks. Fortunately, he managed to catch it on time; his hands slightly itching and his face and ear tips the color of the flames.

“Oh my!” said the goblin, trying to compose himself and utterly failing. “Oh gosh, pardon me. I didn’t wish to interrupt your -uhh- singing! Yes, your singing! Oh dear…”

The zombie just stared back at him, blinking slowly and sympathetic.

“Anyway” said the goblin once more, clearing his throat, “I just wanted to ask you if you could please step aside so I can put the kettle on the fire. As you can see, I made some tea for us, seeing how horrible is the storm going on outside.”

The zombie just shrugged, slowly as always, as it stepped aside from the hearth.

Finally gaining some control of himself, the goblin quickly set the cauldron onto the flames, sitting besides his guest as they both waited for the tea to boil.

After a good quarter of hour passed, bubbles and steam rose up from the copper cauldron. Quickly standing up, the goblin tried to grab a kitchen cloth hanging from the wall, only for the ghoul’s hand to get there first; unbeknownst to the zombie, its hand was right beneath its host’s.

The goblin’s heart was on the brink of falling down from his ribcage due to the little vermin that, since he found out his guest was singing, had settled down and was already dancing a jig in there. With hitched breath and wobbly legs, he finally scooted off with the excuse of fetching tea cups, letting his guest grab the cauldron’s handle with its cloth-wrapped hands and putting it onto the small wooden table.

Hands trembling a bit, the goblin finally set up the cups and poured down the tea, piping hot and sweetened steam.

Both guest and host grabbed a seat and, as one of them blew off the steam rising from its cup, the other one was staring at its lips with half-lidded eyes, a wee smile of longing forming on his lips as he sipped.

It was.

Part 8

It's always nice to see someone who cares for their cookware, yes? Sweet tea and sweet company.

#goblin and zombie

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cullxtheherd · 2 years

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Sanctuary

send me “sanctuary“ for my muse ( receiver’s ) to pull yours (sender’s) into their house to protect them from an approaching danger / a bad storm or disaster / etc.

hii!! sorry this has taken me so long to get out!! i hope this is okay and as always if you want to continue this please do, just let me know cause tags dont always work on this hellsite... sjdbnjksgfn aanyways!! i hope u are well!! and uhhh a song! [x]

It has taken most of the day to scale the mountain and make it up here where the air is thin, wispy and crisp. An unused grappling hook tink-tanks gently against its coiled-up rope at his thigh and with the cabin in sight he can finally heave a sigh of relief. The trek up had been easier than he’d prepared for and he was happier for it: scaling an impassable mountain trail with a wolf strapped to his back wasn’t high on his list of things to do today.

With the clouds rolling in on his back he quickly makes his way inside, two short, successive whistles signaling Elvis to follow. No one has been here for weeks, but, being mid-season, the firewood is stacked high from last time and? Dry unlike before.

Thirty minutes later the chimney is billowing smoke and the storm is beginning to whip around the sides of the cabin in long, mournful bellows that have Elvis alerting at the door. Or, so he thinks. Before acknowledging him Jacob takes his time replacing the flint into the removable handle of his red and black survival knife.

“Elvis,” He rumbles low and calm for the wolf’s attention. Typically and at the very least: in public; he leans on the stern side with the canine, but? Behind closed doors and away from prying eyes things are a little different. “Come on, silly pup,” He tries again lightly, his amusement plain, “It’s just the wind.”

Lifting his gaze he notes that in a handful of minutes the storm is raging at a white-out level and he cringes. He hasn’t managed to get any water from the manual pump outside and now he will have to melt and boil snow if he hopes to live out the comfortable, secluded weekend he’d dreamed up weeks ago cramped up in his office.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” Elvis presses eagerly against hands that are half-folded in his lap, snout wetting the round of his thumb, “You need to go outside?” Dreading the task he rakes palms down his face and releases a sound of frustration before rising from his spot, “Come on.”

On his way he stops off in the kitchenette much to the wolf’s dismay, “Patience my boy, patience!” Grabbing the stock pot from on top of the refrigerator he tugs it along, thunking it deliberately into the side of his knee as he heads for the door.

“Oops, hold on,” As an afterthought he goes for the jacket he’d left months ago by the door. It was given to him by John this past Christmas season and he was thankful for it; he’d needed something more than the camouflage for the winter in these parts.

It takes time for him to zip up in a way that doesn't catch the fabric in the tracks and as the seconds tick by the canine becomes more and more impatient resorting to nipping at his hands, arms and legs. “Elvis, woah!” This certainly isn’t like him unless whatever he needs is particularly urgent. Jacob isn’t mad but he is surprised at him, “I’m coming- quit it!” Another nip as he grabs the door handle, “Quit!”

Between the wind and the wolf the door springs free of his grip immediately and he curses into the blinding snowfall. “Elvis!” The winds swallow his words up and Jacob has the sense not to leave the safety of the porch, “Dammit, Elvis!” Setting the pot down he abandons the idea of using the pump out back - collecting snow to melt would be easy at least.

With bare hands framing his mouth and ice stricken beard he tries again, “E L V I S!”

Nothing.

“Hier, Elvis!” He tries commanding in German as he normally would.

Winds howl, screaming around the face of the mountain.

He calls on and off for a handful of minutes and, as he is about to turn back towards the cabin he hears a muffled yip. Breaching the edge of the porch he winces into the snow, “Elvis!!!” Unable to see anything he grips the railing as another bark sounds: closer this time. “Elvis, good boy - come!”

Though it feels like an eternity it is likely just mere moments before the blood stained cross on his forehead sticks out against accumulation, “Elvi-!!” Jacob’s voice falls off when he realizes that the wolf has a very sleight looking companion in tow. He can’t make out any discernible features other than that this person is clearly in distress, trapped out here in the middle of all this.

“Come on,” He hollers against the wind, “Come inside!” Reaching out he offers a hand into the near-nothingness of the storm and ready to help, what could possibly be, his own worst enemy. Leading them inside isn’t difficult but he can not move quickly against rising accumulation and wicked winds.

Grip tight on the door he allows them both to enter first before yanking it closed roughly. Jacob shivers into the partial warmth of the cabin, “Fire-hhh,” His voice catches into a shiver and it takes him a beat before he can finish, “Fire’s goin’ inside, you’re welcome to it.”

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amvpk01 · 7 months

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PATHETIC YANDERE

unwanted obsession 2

when obsession goes beyond admiration, it turns into repulsion and the search for love becomes a path of rejection.

cw: non-con, obsession, rejection, violence, stalking, humiliation, kidnapping, manipulation, murder, mentions of torture

(I planned to do only 2 chapters for this yandere, but I realized that I was writing too much so I split the chapter up so that in the next one I can go into more detail about some stuff... as I was too carried away, part 3 will already be in progress)

previous || masterlist || next

No matter what happens, the weird kids will always be weird kids for a reason. It was a saying you knew from the beginning but had chosen to ignore.

Everyone in this party doesn't stop talking about him when they see you. That guy's name is already boiling your blood, they keep asking for more details from the story.

"He did really follow you every day?"

"And he didn't enter because it was a lingerie store?" Laughs again.

"At least he got some manners." You're already tired of explaining the same fucking story.

"...Not only did he follow me but also... took so many pictures of my face and body." The two made disapproved noises.

"Ew! That's hella scary. But why did you try to friend him in the first place?"

"Hmmm... Pick the ugly truth or the cute lie."

"We have two options?"

"Just tell the truth. Not expecting too much since you don't look like a bitch."

"I'll take that as a compliment? Well, when I did find that guy had a crush on me, my first reaction would be to just block the shit out of him. But my friend said that I was being soooooo mean and then at least we should be friends. I really tried to be nice and gentle but he took advantage of that."

"...."

"....You could say that."

'I would never date him, just the thought makes me sick.'

You chucked at their shocked faces. Not knowing that someone was hearing everything.

It was difficult to walk around. Many people were making out or having sex in hidden places, some drank until they passed out, or were high on weed. Your social battery was already bursting to the limit and you only wanted to go home.

The music was playing loudly throughout the house, and it was incredibly crowded in the pool area for various games. The food was incredibly delicious but it had been a while since you had anything to drink. So why not get a cold glass of water and then go away?

You were surprised when you realized that no one was using the kitchen at the moment. Everything was tidy in its place so it was easy to find anything. You filled a glass of water and then drank it, quickly wetting your previously dry throat.

When about to leave the kitchen, you dumped someone.

"Sorry."

"No problem."

It would be impossible not to recognize that voice. You wondered what better action to take now, pretend you didn't notice or create a scene.

Having no guts to deal with his shits anymore, you tried to get away but he just blocked you. His presence was enough to make you slightly nervous. Leaving no time to think, you tried to get again. And there he blocked you another time, stopping you from leaving.

"Can you stop?" What the fuck does he want. Ask for forgiveness or something?

"Why... why did you lie to me? I was just a toy to you?" Oh, so he did hear you before.

"Don't know what you're ranting about."

"How could you be so selfish? You only talked to me to help your 'kind girl' reputation?! I'm sure you expected to hear 'how could anyone be so caring? She doesn't let rumors affect her and tries to be friends with those who are solitary.' That was what you wanted right?!"

"Eavesdropping is wrong silly. But I'm confident you're just furious since you didn't get credit, right? Oh, maybe you only wanted to hear me thank you for being my stalker? No shit."

His reaction was satisfactory, to say the least.

"You actually thought I would date you? Never in a million years."

Your wicked smile made his heart skip a beat again and he disliked that fact. Yet you used him and he still ended up like the wrong guy he is in the story while you took advantage of the fame of a poor helpless girl who was spied on by some creepy guy.

You didn't fuck care for his feelings from the beginning, correct?

"You're done?" He didn't reply. That was your shot to escape from him. "Then bye-bye."

Before you had the chance to run away, he grabbed you. Your form was consequently weaker compared to his tall and muscular body. Your screams were swallowed by the loud party music, no one was around to see or help you.

His thick sweatshirt only protected him from your long nails. And at no point did he loosen his grip on your neck, it didn't take long for your body to succumb to the lack of air. He admired your unconscious figure, absolutely stunning from head to toe and that tight dress only accentuated your curves.

He picked you up in bridal style, slipping your phone in his pocket, leaving the house, and heading to his rented car. He unlocked the trunk and put you inside. There's already rope and tape that he prepared before. Tying your hands and feet and covering your mouth.

Before closing the trunk, he looked around making sure nobody noticed you two leaving.

Waking up to birdsong is certainly a good thing, nature's so beautiful, right? The cold metal around your neck quickly woke you up. Eyes desperately scanning around not recognizing anything about the room. Your pressure, which quickly dropped, made you feel extremely cold in your own body.

The birdsong was long forgotten when noises came almost hammering your ears, your hands trying to silence everything around hoping it was your head fooling you.

But you knew it wasn't a dream. The discomfort, the fear, the desperation, the touch of your skin, it was all real.

It was such a pity, your beautiful face soaked with tears, hands pulled at your own hair in despair, and then went to the thick metal around your neck. There was no point in pulling it because it wouldn't come out.

The tinkle of the chain caught your attention, it was stuck to the wall next to the bed you woke up before. You noticed the chain was long, allowing you to move around the entire room and enter the bathroom that was next to the bedroom.

It's as if he chose the size for you to just walk around this room and nothing more.

'No... Don't tell me he did this for revenge for what I said...'

Your body shook with fear of what he was going to do to you. Many ways of torture and dismemberment ran through your mind.

'Now it's not the time for negative thoughts, if I apologize he'll let me go, right? ...Hopefully.'

Heavy footsteps sounded through the silent house. A shadow hovered through the opening before unlocking it and entering the room.

His eyes quickly searched you inside the room but you were nowhere to be found, you couldn't possibly have left. He assured himself he had chained you and tried to chill out. The length of the chain only went to one place, under the bed. You were definitely there, that's for sure.

He knelt down, resting his head on the floor as he took a look. There you were all curled up, your hands covering your ears trying to ignore your surroundings. His heart broke when he noticed your swollen eyes, were you really sobbing that much?

"[Name]?" He called once. "...[Name]?" Realizing he was ignored again, he took a deep breath and decided to try another approach.

"...I know you're scared. My attitude yesterday wasn't very gentle but you left me no choice. I don't aim to hurt you, so will you please get out of there?" And there you were, starting to cry again without even glancing at him. "Please, I'm really-"

"Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!! I promise not to tell anyone! Just let me go please...” It was almost a sacrifice to say those words but if it meant you being freed then it would be worth it in the end.

You... were apologizing? He clearly wasn't high so it wasn't an illusion. But your remorse was fake, they were not from the heart. You just wanted to get away from him and nothing more.

It was as if thorns were piercing his throat and honestly, he just wanted to scream at how you didn't care about all the things he made just for you. But he couldn't lose control in that situation, you were scared in a new environment and you would only have him to seek comfort. Except you wouldn't.

The feeling of a large hand on your foot certainly scared you, but the touch wasn't harsh. He easily pulled you out of bed. Your dress from last night he'll only see you stripped when you're ready lifts slightly from the friction of the floor. Just the view was too tempting and he felt his pants tighten.

'He's pulling me to unchain me, yes, that's for sure!'

"Take off that chain, pretty please! I already apologized, I'm sure you heard."

"Not gonna happen."

"...What?"

"Not. Gonna. Happen." Your hopeful expression quickly faded. From the look on his face, it wasn't a joke.

"You will live with me now, like husband and-" He was cut off when you started kicking, hitting, and punching him out of pure anger.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I'd rather kill myself than marry you!"

All those words only broke him even more, and he knew he might not be able to handle it. Now with one hand, he held your wrists and with the other he covered your mouth, almost shutting you up. Your sobs were still quite loud.

"I advise you to be more careful with your hatred. I really didn't want to do that yet if I don't do anything, you won't understand."

You were truly speechless when he just left you locked in the room again. His words echo in your mind wondering what he means.

His words only made sense the next day. Your stomach was upset from lack of food and your throat wasn't dry only because you drank water from the bathroom sink.

The previous day had been longer than usual, no matter how many times you slept, it felt like the same day over and over again. Seeing no other solution, you looked around the convenient.

Nothing was missing inside the bathroom, you have a bathtub, soap, towels, or hygiene products. The bedroom had not only a king-size bed, but also a bedside table with various care items just like the ones you'd find in your own home creepy, a closet full of clothes that suited your style, and a desk with a chair near the balcony to enjoy the view.

Except there was nothing to enjoy, the house was in the middle of a deserted street, you wondered how long you slept for him to have managed to go so far. By the way, how the hell did he get this house? Maybe it was rented but you didn't know. There was no point in shouting for help because no one would listen.

The sound of the doorknob turning scared you for a moment. He was holding a tray of food in his hands. You weren't going to lie, it actually looked delicious.

For a second, he stared at you, the pajamas he had gotten for you made you look so adorable.

"Time for breakfast." He placed the tray on the table. "Take it back."

"Why? You don't eat in the morning or do you have a stomach ache? I have medicine downstairs."

"I'd rather starve than eat something you made." And there you were again with your tantrums. Clearly, you haven't learned from yesterday's events.

"Oh God... you must eat if you don't want to die."

"I would be happy then."

The fact that you didn't have the slightest sense of survival upset him. If he continued talking to you, he would lose his temper so he chooses to leave you alone again.

It wasn't long before he returned, the new smell of food hanging in the air. It seems that at the end of it all, he decided to buy McDonald's since you refused to eat his homemade food.

“Here.” You could already feel your mouth salivating from the industrialized snack. Positioning the bag on the table and then examining it better safe than sorry.

“I didn't put anything in the food, why can't you trust me?” For a moment you had forgotten about his presence.

"Leave. I'd rather eat alone.”

“No. Need to make sure you'll eat.”

“How funny, are you caring about me when you clearly haven't fed me for a whole day?”

“Surely you must know why I did that.”

You took a deep breath at his action, clearly not moving to leave the room. So you just ignored him.

And so, a week has passed since he kidnapped you, and your mother has probably already phoned the police to report you as missing.

For the most part, you slept to avoid the world and, when you couldn't, you enjoyed the view out of the window.

You found out he was with your phone but didn't bother to return it claiming you didn't need others when you had him. Neither were there any games or books to relieve the boredom.

But despite being trapped in a remote place, there was one main thing you noticed.

Sometimes people would knock on the door asking for directions, a glass of water or even to help fix a faulty part of the car. These were great opportunities to shout that you had been kidnapped by a madman. But every time he spotted someone approaching the house, he came to you to tie your hands and tape your mouth shut.

It was tough for him to trust you when you had openly expressed your desire to leave.

And to achieve your previously taken freedom, you had to lower his guard.

#yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader

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joannacarlily · 11 months

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Anne and the Shoemaker

Original Prompt supplied by friend when asked: "A shoemaker in the 1600s discovers their new favorite food, but only because it's served by the most beautiful person they ever saw." Short Story (Written over a train commute): Life was simple 'as for James Hamilton, a typical young man working as a cobbler in the City of London. He had a decent life working for a boss, and go home to his home, always in grim view of the Tower of London. There was always a public execution these days as the Queen protected her power from an attempt on her throne. As a red-blooded Englishman, he did his rightful duty and watched, but he found them to be too gruesome, and generally avoided the spectacle. The noises and cheers always found its way to his home though, using the broken boots of friends as practice and noise whenever the crowd cheered. Yet, on one fairly standard day, he heard noises come from the tower, but he also felt a feeling a sense of necessity, so he walked forward to the scene of the next set of executions, a crowd in front, all focused on taunting the men in rope as the man began to read out the crimes. "May I interest you in food, young Sir." He heard near him. Normally he'd just ignore the overpriced gawking, but he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and quickly turned, set to yell at whoever interrupted him. Instead, he was hushed at the beauty of the woman who was in front of her, dressed in a dark red outfit, accented by long yellow stripes on each boot and down her chest. Even her red cape was yellow on the inside. "Food is important for a growing young man, don't you think?" She said, giving him a wink as her ponytail peaked out from behind. He shook his head. "Trust me when I say you'll regret it. Please, have a sample." How no one else even looked at her, he could only guess the list being read behind was engrossing. Free is free, he thought, and she smiled as she opened the bucket to reveal a white thick plant that almost looked like a miniature log. He was slightly put off. "Um, no thanks." "Try it! Its on the house plus I'm sure you'll agree its delicious!" The woman gave him a bright smile that made him weak in the legs, her voice penetrating the roar of the crowd as the executions began. She put forward the bucket and he reached in, grabbing a soft piece, and placed it in his mouth. He stopped, and slowed his chewing as he felt the odd but delightful taste in his mouth as the beautiful woman smiled, her eyes shut. "Its a new world crop, boiled in water." The woman grinned chaotically, holding the bucket as she leaned forward, her face only three inches from his. "You don't believe that the Trade Companies should be the only one to prosper, now do you Sir Hamilton. "They brought over tobacco, corn, and squash, made the Crown millions. Shouldn't you get a part of that as well?" She purred. She shifted to his side, and he suddenly felt the coldness of where her eyes suddenly weren't focused. He ripped his gaze away from where she was, and to her new position. "Come with me. Join me on a trip out to the New World." He could easily say no, ignore the witch of a woman that no one else seemed to notice. Stick to his nominal life as a cobbler, work his way up. Yet, he could not remove his gaze away from the woman, or how tasty the so-called root was as he kept chewing it as the crowd cheered with each bite he took till it was all gone. Her smile though took control of his brain, and he found himself agreeing. "Wonderful! See you at the Port of London in 24 hours." And with that, she suddenly disappeared, and he returned back to his life, seeing kids excitedly running past, having enjoyed the last execution of the day. He slowly turned, and saw that the five corpses were all still hanging, looking forward as if searching for their next victim.

Author Notes:

I did enough research to essentially place people in the correct location at the right times, but otherwise I did not spend time on languages or settings. This was a quick one-shot for a reason and I wasn't about to research much (plus I mainly write current-day fiction).

Otherwise, hello! After years of keeping my writings personal, I have decided to publicly post my writings for the world to peruse. I can always do better, and by no means am I a good writer. To me, it is a way to keep my brain going and imaginative between working hours.

I do not mind people talking assertively about this or that, as everyone is entitled to their personal opinions, but I can give as good as I get if you decide to be extremely rude.

#creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writers community #fiction #short story

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nicholascbiase · 1 year

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When Every Second Counts_ Acting Fast Against Home Flooding - Nicholas C. Boise

Floods have increasingly become a common disaster in homes nationwide, causing significant damage and disruption. This uptick in home flooding incidents underscores a growing need for homeowners to be informed, prepared, and ready to act swiftly. Rapid response, once flooding begins, can drastically minimize the extent of the damage incurred. The difference between a minor inconvenience and a major catastrophe can boil down to how quickly and effectively we respond to the first signs of flooding.

Nicholas C. Biase

Understanding weather forecasts and flood warnings is a crucial first step in preempting potential home flooding. Weather forecasts are readily available through various platforms such as TV, radio, internet, and mobile apps. Pay special attention to any flood alerts issued by your local weather station. Equally important is the understanding of the terms used: a "flood watch" means flooding is possible, while a "flood warning" implies flooding is already occurring or will occur soon in your area.

In addition to weather forecasts, there are physical signs around your home that can indicate an impending flood. Look for signs of water seepage in your basement or lower levels of your house, a common indicator that your home is at risk. Additionally, noticeable changes in your yard, such as pooling water or erosion, could suggest that the ground is saturated, increasing the risk of a flood. Staying vigilant to these signs, coupled with a keen understanding of weather forecasts and flood warnings, can equip homeowners with valuable time to act swiftly and minimize flood damage.

As soon as flooding begins, it is crucial to disconnect all electronic devices. Doing so will not only safeguard the devices from water damage but more importantly, can prevent the risk of electrical accidents. To disconnect safely, be sure to first turn off the main power source if possible and avoid standing in water while handling electronic devices.

Next, consider your valuable possessions. Items of monetary and sentimental worth should be moved to higher ground, away from the reach of rising water levels. It may be beneficial to prioritize items that are most important to you and ensure their protection.

Lastly, planning a safe exit is a key step when flooding begins. Always prioritize human safety above preserving property. Identify the quickest and safest route to exit your home, considering accessibility and the potential depth of floodwaters. You should also have an emergency kit ready and familiarize all members of the household with the exit plan. Remember, flooding can escalate quickly, so be prepared to leave immediately if necessary.

Standing water, a common aftermath of flooding, poses significant threats of its own. Among the most serious are health hazards associated with standing water. This water often contains harmful bacteria and parasites that can cause a wide range of illnesses. Moreover, standing water can become a breeding ground for mosquitoes, leading to an increased risk of mosquito-borne diseases such as West Nile Virus and Zika Virus. It is, therefore, crucial to avoid direct contact with standing water whenever possible and ensure appropriate safety measures such as wearing protective gear and using insect repellent.

The impact of standing water on the structural integrity of a home is another major concern. Prolonged exposure to water can weaken the structural components of your home, including the foundation, walls, and floors. This can lead to serious issues such as mold growth, wall collapse, and even house sinking. Therefore, removing standing water as soon as possible and thoroughly drying out the affected areas are key steps to preserving your home's structural integrity post-flooding.

Once the floodwaters recede, the daunting task of cleanup and recovery begins. The first step is to assess and document the damage. Carefully inspect all parts of your home for water damage, including the walls, floors, furniture, and appliances. Use your phone or camera to take detailed pictures and videos of the damage as evidence for your insurance claim. Remember to also check hidden areas, like crawl spaces and behind walls, for signs of water damage and mold growth.

Next, the safe removal of standing water takes precedence. Equip yourself with appropriate protective gear, including gloves, boots, and masks, before embarking on this task. For smaller floods, a wet-dry vacuum can be a useful tool. However, for larger-scale floods, you may need to hire a professional water damage restoration company. These professionals have the proper equipment and experience to remove standing water efficiently and safely. Be cautious of any electrical hazards when dealing with standing water.

After the water has been removed, move on to necessary repairs and the implementation of prevention measures for future incidents. This could involve replacing damaged drywall, fixing leaks, and ensuring proper sealing of doors and windows. Consider installing a sump pump if you don't have one, as this can be a very effective tool for preventing future basement flooding. Regular maintenance of gutters and downspouts is also crucial to ensure proper water runoff. Remember, investing in these preventive measures can save you a great deal of time, money, and stress when the next flood warning is issued.

Nicholas C. Boise is a respected expert in the field of flood management and disaster recovery. With over two decades of experience, Boise has dealt first-hand with the devastating aftermath of floods across the country. His extensive knowledge on the subject has made him a reputable advisor for homeowners seeking advice on flood prevention and recovery.

According to Boise, a significant part of safeguarding your home against floods entails consistent maintenance and the use of technology. He recommends the regular inspection and cleaning of gutters, downspouts, and drainage systems to ensure that they are functioning correctly. Additionally, he encourages homeowners to utilize a sump pump to keep basements dry and install water alarms for early detection of potential flooding. Boise also notes the importance of reinforcing and sealing basements and lower levels of homes, particularly in flood-prone areas, to prevent water seepage.

When it comes to recovery after a flood, Boise urges homeowners to communicate promptly with their insurance company and to document all damages thoroughly. He emphasizes the importance of professional assistance in the cleanup process to ensure the safe and effective removal of standing water and potential mold. Lastly, Boise advises homeowners to be proactive in making necessary repairs and to consider installing preventative fixtures (like backflow valves and flood barriers) to protect the home from future flooding events.

Effective flood management requires both preemptive measures and swift action during and after a flood. With expert insights from Nicholas C. Boise, homeowners can better navigate the complexities of flood prevention, immediate response, and recovery. By taking proactive steps towards preventing flooding and being prepared to act quickly when flooding occurs, homeowners can significantly reduce the potential damage to their homes and safeguard their belongings. Remember, when it comes to flooding, every second counts.

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