#Hound may not forgive me..

[lonely-moon-artist-blog]

That one trend.

I wasn't planning on drawing anything today really, but before work yesterday i was challenged with some uh weird drawing.

Someone, I won't say who said:

"Someone should draw Abel like this."

I joked about it like maybe for wtwo shiny coins I'll do that, and then other person sended me emojis of coins so.. yeah. I gave in ad drew that. It was a blast tho..

The pictures will be under cut cause even tho i am proud that i drew that kinda.. good I'm still a bit self conscious..

▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬

Also bonus with Bunny.

I can't avoid drawing him.

[yanderedrabbles]

Letters from a Yandere Vampire

December 7th, 1886

Dear y/n,

Please do not think me presumptuous for writing to you so soon, but my heart would give me no rest. I have been unable to stop thinking of you since our encounter at the Duke's soiree.

Perhaps it is my countenance or perhaps my foreign heritage, but London's débutantes seem to find me positively frightful. I had resigned myself to yet another evening of disappointment when you introduced yourself to me.

In all my travels, I have met few ladies with your boldness of spirit. You transformed my dour evening into one of unimaginable enjoyment.

I have included with my letter some pressed flowers from my native Transylvania. You expressed much interest in the botany of my homeland and I hope these will intrigue you.

Your interest in my travels is remarkably flattering. And, if I may be so bold, may I invite you to a dinner at my salon? I have much still to share.

Yours sincerely,

Count Nicolae Drăculești

December 17th, 1886

My dearest y/n,

How I enjoyed our evening together! When we danced, I felt my soul set afire. In my travels, none have so captivated me.

Do not think me hasty, but I have sent my messenger with a gift. I can think of no better place for these jewels than around your neck. Please, accept them with my most sincere compliments.

You amused me very much when you pointed out my teeth. My fangs are indeed much longer and sharper than a normal man's. Perhaps you wish to feel their sharpness against your skin?

The nights grow longer and colder. Do you dislike the winter darkness, I wonder. Or do you only long for someone to share it with, as I do?

Ah, forgive my rambling! I'm writing to ask if you will allow me the privilege of escorting you to the Yuletide ball? I can think of no finer gift to celebrate Christmas.

I must soon depart for my home and I insist on spending more time together before then.

Yours,

Nicolae Drăculești

December 25th, 1886

My love,

Merry Christmas! I walked through the untouched snow and even London seemed beautiful and pure.

In this cold, I can think of nothing but having you with me. A day without you is an eternity past.

It seems I have been waiting for you for centuries. Is it to bold to say you are the woman of my dreams? Forgive this fool his insolence, but when I write to you I feel possessed.

You have asked me at length about my aversion to the Church and silver. You are such a logical creature but there are some things beyond the realm of science.

Seek to know no more, for both our sakes.

Another matter has been bothering me of late. I have noticed Lord Lancaster has expressed an interest in you.

The man fawns over you like a slobering hound. As your companion, it is my duty to advise against him. He is unworthy of your attention, much less your sympathy. 

Surely you see that it is you and I that are the more compatible match?

Ever yours,

Nicușor

January 1st, 1887

Dear,

I wished to keep you ignorant of my nature. And yet, you have seen me unmasked. A creature of the night.

It was your blood that did it. A single drop was all it took for my instinct to take over.

I hope you are unhurt. If I were in my right mind, I never would have pinned you against the wall as I did. I never would have forced my kiss upon you.

I could hear your heart racing when I showed you my fangs. Why did you not scream?

Did I fighten you into silence? Or was it something else?

You asked me what you are to me and at the time I had no answer to give. Are you my prey? My meal?

I have spent all night in thought and still I fear uttering these words.

You are my beloved.

My heart belongs entirely to you, wretched and sinful though it may be. No blood is sweeter than yours.

I burn for you, my darling.

I grow agitated at each day that passes when we are not together. My treacherous mind plays such awful tricks on me. Surely you have not cast me aside for another? Or worse, have I frightened you beyond redemption?

Oh, banish the thought! Who has your affection? Your love?

Please, put my poor heart at ease. Meet me in the gazebo at the end of your garden after sunset.

I cannot bear to be parted from you much longer.

Ever your slave,

Nicușor

y/n,

My castle must be prepared for your arrival and I have set forth with great haste to do so. In case you awake before my return, I've left you this letter.

You are currently on board a private train car bound for Transylvania. Do not attempt to leave. My guards have strict orders to ensure you reach home.

You are changed, my dear.

I have bitten you and transformed you into a creature like myself. Upon our final meeting, I intended only to say goodbye. You are too fine and beautiful a creature to be wasted on the likes of me.

But when I saw you in the moonlight, I could not help myself.

You are so beautiful. So bright and lively. You are what my cold halls have lacked all these many years.

My love, I drank your blood. Every drop of it. Nothing in my centuries of existence has ever tasted so sweet, so right.

It can be frightening, I know. But do not despair.

The light of the sun will forever be out of reach, but there are a thousand traits you've gained. Strength. Speed. Immortality.

The grave will never taste your flesh, old age will never hound at your door.

As I am the one who changed you, I am also your Lord and Master. The bond between us is forged in blood. Wherever I go, you must always follow. If I am to die, so shall you. If I am to command, you must obey.

It is a tight leash and not one of my devising, I assure you.

I intend to be your partner and not your Lord. So for both our sakes, my love, do not give me cause to use that power.

You and I have all eternity together. Does it please you as it does me?

I have longed for a bride for centuries. You cannot imagine the loneliness. And in all those years, none have impressed themselves upon my heart as you have.

I have stolen you from the sunshine and into my world of night and blood. I have ripped away any hope of heaven and salvation. No God now, no church or altar.

I am a rogue and a thief and still I beg of you. Please love, do not hate me.

I've made you into my vampire bride.

Your husband,

Nicușor Drăculești

[honeyxbunny99]

Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt.2

After another evening spent dining alone, watching as Anna carried the half-empty food tray away, you began to wonder if the hound was eating at all. If he was, who had he been dining with? You felt a pang of jealousy and narrowed your brows in confusion at it. Day 3 of your matrimony was coming to a close, and you felt incredibly alone. You saw the hound once in the garden, walking with a purpose as always, and offered him a small smile. He offered nothing in return-- did not even meet your eyes. In the moment you were hurt and embarrassed. Now, after all of this neglect, you were angry. This is not how a marriage was supposed to be, even an arranged one. Perhaps the marriages you were imagining were only tall tales. Perhaps every man hated his woman, and every woman hated her man-- only tolerating each other long enough to put on a show for the public and make babies.

You had nothing personal to reflect on; your parents' marriage ended in tragedy before you were old enough to comprehend the intricacies of what may have led to such an end.

~"Your mother was an angel, and this world is a hell. She had to be with her kind."

That was a generous quote you remember your father telling you when you were still young and innocent. You wondered now, however, if he truly held her memory in such high regard, or if he only wanted you to think positively of her and stop asking hard questions.

Your father kept you so sheltered that you even felt separate from your sister. She was allowed to go out unescorted. Allowed to have friends, fall down and scrape her knees, make mistakes. All because she had been born later than you. Surely she held your beauty, the same genetics coursing through her veins. It was never depended upon though. Your father did not worry about preserving her as he did you, and in truth you resented the both of them for that. You grew up inside the walls of your small cottage. The only independent travel permissible to you was through books. You took full advantage of this. Your father would bring home books that taught you manners, how to dance, how to care for your hair and skin. You promised to be a good study in all of those areas and more so long as he also provided fantasy and romance and history whenever he could.~

Everything you'd spent your entire life learning seemed to be for nothing if your marriage continued down this trajectory. The Hound cared not for fantasies, had no manners, and hated to hear you talk. You chewed on the inside of your cheek in contempt for him. Even the beauty you tried so hard to care for had no effect on him. You felt utterly useless.

"Is there anything else I can help you with tonight, milady?" Anna broke your focus, and you were thankful. Your bitter thoughts were getting you nowhere.

"Where is my husband?"

Anna looked nervously at the floor. "I do not know, milady..."

You rolled your eyes but gave her a quick smile. It wasn't her fault. "Then that will be all. Thank you, Anna."

The two of you shared an embrace and you closed your eyes at the comfort of contact. She held you back tightly and giggled. If you did not have her, perhaps you would have thrown yourself out of that window.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sandor's voice boomed and the both of you startled and pulled away.

"Forgive me, Lord Clegane!" Anna rushed out, stammering with an explanation.

"I embraced her." You said boldly.

"Why?"

"Why do you find it appropriate to curse in front of a lady?"

"I see no ladies here." He grumbled, staring you down. Your lips curled in anger, and you mumbled to Anna to go to her room. She glanced between the two of you before casting her eyes to the floor out of fear and retreating past the hound, who growled like a dog as she passed. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Is being rude all that you know?" You scolded him.

His brows knit together in anger. "Is being daft all YOU know?!" He crossed the room to you quickly, but you stood your ground. "You don't touch the servants, you don't call them by their first names, you don't pretend she's your bloody fucking sister!"

You were surprised he was even aware of your family.

"You don't even know that girl! Do you realize how fast she'd hand you over to Joffrey if you let the right thing slip out in front of her!" His large hands swallowed your arms as he shook you slightly, trying to get some sense into you.

"You know her even less! Anna would never--"

"You didn't know the girl but 2 days! Now you want to play dollies and kiss--"

"It was a hug!" You shouted back.

"I forbid it!"

You laughed in his face. His pressure on your arms grew.

"I am your husband, you daft little cunt and what I say goes!" "You are a joke!" You spit back. "You are no more my husband than my father is noble! You certainly can parade around as if you were, but the Gods see through your falsehoods. They know we are not truly joined. And if you continue neglecting me the Red Keep shall know as well."

"You think the Gods care where and when I stick my pecker, you've got some very bored idols..." He released your arms and you tried to keep your face stoic. "If anyone is going to question our marriage it'll be your fault, and it'll be your head on a pike, not mine." He smirked. "I'm your punishment! You, you're meant to be my prize. Something to chew on for the King's old dog." He looked you up and down.

"A prize you reject but wish so dearly to protect from evil handmaidens." You squinted at him with disgust. "Don't ever speak to Anna like that again."

He laughed, brows raised. "You mean to tell me what to do? I could crush your bones and not break a sweat, love."

"Do it then." You dared.

He stared at you like you were crazy.

"The moment I cursed Joffrey I anticipated death. It would have been worth it, were it only my life on the line... I would have cursed and sworn until my tongue was cut out and then fought some more." Sandor quirked a brow at you slowly. "But it wasn't just me... It was my father, daft and rude as he is, and my sister. Instead of death he gave me you, only you... But you don't want me. Could never want me. His intention was to humiliate me but I did not feel embarrassed."

"Frightened." He grumbled.

"Frightened, yes. You're very imposing, but it wasn't to do with your looks or even how you handled me... I was, am, frightened of losing all I have known in my life. I have only ever had my sister and my father, and now I can never have them again. You won't even allow me a bond with a handmaiden. I only have you and you want nothing to do with me. Even now you hide yourself in the shadows. You do not deem to speak to me except to threaten or intimidate. I have no one to talk to, no one to touch... The curse the king gave me was isolation." You realized too late that tears had fallen from your eyes. You wiped them with your fingers and took a deep breath.

"Please leave me." You asked quietly.

"You cry about isolation and then ask me to leave?" Sandor narrowed his eyes. "If being with me is so bad then I suppose Joffrey should have been more merciful with death, eh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Being with you is not bad! You don't understand what I'm saying!"

"Then what are you saying, princess, your wish is my command!"

His sarcastic voice broke you. "I want you!" You shouted, causing his hard demeanor to shrink down. "I want to know you, to be near you. I want to please you, but I don't know how--"

"Stop talking." He said gruffly.

You sighed, closing your mouth as another tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't bother wiping this one, he'd already seen you for the vulnerable, pathetic, lonely little girl that you were. You watched him struggle with something in his mind before stalking over to you again. He pulled off his cape and offered it to you, looking into the fire to the right of you.

You took it gently, confused.

"For your tears."

Suddenly you were nervous, but raised the cloth up to wipe away the wetness on your face.

"Do you wish to go home?"

Now you were REALLY confused. "I cannot."

"Do you wish it?... If you could, if... If I could make that happen for you, sneak you away." His eyes were shifting between yours and the flames. You weighed it in your mind, but the truth didn't take long to reveal itself.

"No..." You said truly. "I wish to make a new home." You tried to hand him back his cape, fingers brushing against his.

"Keep it." He commanded. Finally, his eyes settled on you, analyzing your face. You took the opportunity to analyze his. He was handsome, even with the scars. Anna had told you some story about his brother mutilating him when they were just boys, and it hurt your heart at the time. His complexion with split in half, warm glow of the fire illuminating the left, untouched side, and moonbeams cast through your window highlighting the right.

"If playing house with that servant girl makes you feel better about it all, then do it. Just don't let anyone else see. If you fear for your head by me not being around, then I'll come to you every night that I can."

"I don't want you around out of fear--"

"Well you don't want to know me. Shouldn't... There's not much about me that wouldn't disgust you in the end anyways." He nodded, resolving to his next statement. "But I can guard you. Keep you safe."

"I-..." You sighed, wanted to tell him how you desired him like a husband. "Thank you, my lord."

"I told you in this room you don't have to call me that."

"Well, I'm not calling you dog."

"S'what I am."

"Not to me... Your real name is Sandor, correct?"

He made no move to answer.

"Did you know that it means protector?" You felt embarrassed but couldn't help words before they spilled out of your mouth. You were only trying to be civil, find some common ground to build on. "Once I had a book full of all the names you could imagine and beside them was their meaning, their origin, famous people that shared that name... I loved that book. You were born to be a protector."

"I wasn't born to be anything."

"Do you truly believe that?" "Aye. If I were named something pompous, I would not have wound up a king. I would have ended up the same burnt brute I am today, only with a name that didn't match."

You smiled sheepishly at his explanation and nodded. "Yes, perhaps the concept is a little silly... Anna's name means graceful..."

He widened his eyes and nodded once. "Horse shite." To which you giggled softly. When you looked back up at him through your lashes you could almost swear you saw his face changing color. He cleared his throat and walked away but you took quick steps to catch him before he could reach the door. You grabbed his armored bicep with both hands and said, "Wait..."

He obeyed, turning his head to watch your hands on him.

You cleared your own throat nervously. "You didn't come to me last night..." Hearing the obvious he turned to you waiting for you to continue. "I was thinking... You could stay tonight."

His lip curled up in the smallest, cocky smirk. "I can stay any night I like, it's my room."

"What I mean is," you tried to remain polite, but your tone was betraying your mild annoyance. "Would you like to stay the night with me?" He blinked at you, smirk disappearing just as quickly as it had come. "I would like you to stay the night with me..." You pushed further. You realized your hands were still wrapped around his strong arm and you carefully slid them off, feeling shy.

"You have to sleep some time, don't you?" You tried again after a moment of silence. "I swear not to bother you. I'll- I'll keep to myself, I'll move silently, I'll go straight to sleep and I can even sleep on the floor--"

Sandor rolled his eyes at you and turned around to lock the door. "Crazy bitch." He grumbled under his breath, but you heard. Despite him insulting you, you felt a smile spread across your face. He would stay with you. Stay because you asked him to. Perhaps your husband knew kindness after all.

He walked past you and began to undo the clasps of his armor. "You're not sleeping on the damn floor."

"Neither are you." You turned to him, hoping this wouldn't cause another argument. You watched him continue removing his hard outer layer and waited for a response. "I don't bite..."

"I do." Sandor retorted, back still to you. You folded your hands nervously behind your back.

"I think your bark is worse than your bite... Did you know I was bit by a dog once? A real dog? It's the only scar that I have--"

"Didn't you swear not to bother me?" He put out the fire. His harshness made heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

You nodded remembering the only reason he agreed to stay here was because you promised you would move silently. You moved quietly over to the bed and pulled the covers and furs into place, trying to make it look as inviting as possible. You considered removing your dress but knew you were on thin ice, so instead you climbed into your side and slid under the covers. You watched Sandor sit down in the large chair and begin to drink the wine straight from the pitcher. You watched him close his eyes and lean back, as though he was settling in to sleep in the chair. You supposed it was better than nothing and turned away from him, trying to close your eyes and let sleep take over you.

You began counting shooting stars in the blackness of your mind. You got all the way to 105 when you heard your husband's voice chime in again, making you flinch.

"You said you got bit?" His inquiry paired with the grumpy tone confused you but still a smile began to form. You sat up slowly and twisted around to face him. All you could see was a big brooding shadow still sat in the chair.

You nodded and then paused, taking a breath and then holding it. "You can't sleep?"

"Hardly ever do. Wine's shit." He grumbled.

"Hmm..." You nodded. "So, you'd like one of my stories to put you to sleep, s'that it?" You heard him blow a laugh through his nose and mentally cheered. "Happy to oblige... A bedtime story works best when spoken softly though, are you sure you wouldn't care to listen to it from the bed?"

No movement, no sound. You sighed, holding your hands up in surrender. "I won't touch you, not unless you want me to."

He scoffed out a condescending sound before rising from the chair and cross the room slowly. "Such a dutiful little wife." It sounded like an insult.

"I could be a good one, you know. My whole life my father taught me the best he could to care for my future husband."

"I don't need a wife, never wanted one." "Never? Not even as a boy?"

"I was never a boy, only smaller than I am today." He laid down in the bed and it made your side rise up. You smiled and tried not to laugh at the image in your mind of a shrunken Sandor Clegane. He was trying to be intimidating but you thought it was adorable.

"It's true then." He said, his body turned away from you. "Your father made you play wife..." Your brows furrowed together as you stared at his back. "Cook, clean, fuck you cause you looked like your mother." His words dropped so casually but they made a lump form in your throat and your stomach felt sick.

"What?!" He didn't answer. You shoved his back hard, though barely moving him. "What did you say to me?! How dare you spread lies about me!"

Angry tears burned at your eyes and when he sat up to face you, you pulled your hand back to slap him. He caught you by your wrist. "Don't you EVER--" "I didn't start it, I just heard it! Gods woman settle down!" He said as you attempted to hit him with your other hand, body writhing to get out of his grasp. You struggled and whined, "FUCK!!" You cried out, head dropping to hide the hot tears that slipped past your lashes. Finally you stopped squirming and only cried quitely.

He still held your wrists, though his grip was softening. His eyes were wild still in reaction to you. How was it you were so small and weak and yet unafraid of him? Were you truly that daft?

"It's not true. It's not true, Sandor." His heart softened a bit at the mention of his name crossing your tongue once again. Finally, he let go of his hold on you slowly. He didn't know quite what to do for you, but he could still see droplets of tears forming on your dress. Almost nervously his hand went out to pet your hair.

"Aye, it's not true, girl. It's not true..." He tried to comfort and was relieved when you did not flinch at his touch.

Your head was still swimming in shame however. You realized now why he didn't want you as a wife. He thought you were dirty, used, broken by your father. Slowly, when you realized his hand on your head you looked up at him. "It's not true, please don't think it of me, Sandor... If my father ever touched me, if anyone ever dared to, I'd kill him."

His eyes widened at you again. "My whole life depended on me being pure for my husband, to save my family from poverty. Why would he ruin all of that just to satisfy an urge? Why would I let him?!" You were getting worked up again and he saw it, so he put his hands on either side of your face to steady your vision on him.

"It's not true, it's a bloody lie, and if I ever hear it again, I'll kill the man who speaks it."

The determination in his voice, the way his eyes were meeting yours, his warm hands gentle on your face; it all made you believe him and forgive him in an instant.

"I'm sorry..." You mumbled, feeling shy again at the closeness. He watched your (e/c) eyes scan over his face and he grew insecure again as he admired your dark, wet lashes all clumped together from tears.

"It's alright..." He dropped his hands and you mourned the loss. "I'd probably try to kill someone too if they said my father fucked me any time he wanted to." You cringed again at the allegation.

"I wasn't trying to kill you..." You defended, trying to feel normal again.

"You couldn't anyway." "Sure I could." He barked out a laugh and raised his brows.

"Not even if I was half-dead already."

You guffawed, actually offended at the truth. "You're lucky I don't desire you dead." You raised your brows and folded your arms below your chest playfully.

"Aye you just desire me in your bed..." He relaxed his back against the headboard, arms folding up behind his head almost confidently.

You blushed but couldn't argue much against the statement. Still, you were going to try, it was your nature. "You're the one so desperate to hear my stories that you'd crawl into bed with a stranger who repulses you."

"A stranger?" He opened one eye to look you up and down.

"Aye, a stranger." You mocked his accent. "You probably don't even know my name."

"(Y/n)."

This actually caught you off guard. "How did you--" "Your father said it when he was trying to sell you to the king."

You hadn't expected him to remember a detail like that, but you enjoyed hearing him say your name for the first time.

"(Y/n) Clegane now. Easy to remember even for me." He relaxed again into his arms, but you were freaking out on the inside. Your names together, spoken by him in this bed, made you tremble.

"Am I ever going to hear this story, or should I give up and go find better wine to drink myself to sleep?"

You sighed at his sass. "Lay down then and be quiet."

"M'fine right here, girl."

You smirked at him. "Afraid to let your guard down again? Scared to be hit by a little girl?" You watched his smile grow uncontrollably, yet he kept his eyes shut.

"You should be afraid to break a nail, princess."

Huffing again, you began, speaking softly in hopes of relaxing him.

"I was young, and had just had my first blood..." You hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

"Woman, what are you--"

"It's important I swear. Now shut up." You paused a moment before continuing and when you looked back at him his eyes were shut again. "As I said... I was young and bleeding and suffering, honestly... But my father insisted we had to go into town again. Each month, like clockwork, my father would walk me through the town, sometimes we stopped at shops, made conversation, but it was all about making sure I wasn't forgotten... My whole life I was made to believe I was untouchable. Something people had to want, had to earn. He wanted me to be a pretty thing in the backs of people's minds."

"You were his trophy... I'm sure he did the same to your mother."

You looked at him, surprised he was actually listening. His eyes still shut, but now his arms were down by his sides. You shifted slightly to lay down and rest on your own arm, taking the opportunity to admire him while getting lost in your own story.

"Perhaps that's why she killed herself... I know that there were times, like the one in this story actually, where my father's ego made me want to die... But that's beside the point. I was uncomfortable that day, I felt like the men could smell it on me..." You shook your head at the memory. "It was my first time out as a woman and the men knew, they must have known because the way they leered after me made my stomach turn worse than it had already been... Finally, when my father stopped to show magic to a group of kids in the street, I snuck away. Foolish, I know. I do a lot of foolish things... But I, I snuck back into an alleyway just to get away from the stares. I thought I might avoid them forever if I just kept walking... I stopped down one empty street when I saw a dog digging through rubbish. He was black, so skinny you see all of his ribs, and even his hip bones. I remember watching the dogs desperate search for food, and being moved to tears. There was this poor, abandoned, starving thing, and I was feeling sorry for myself because I was pretty....

"I had been carrying a basket of fruit, I.. I thought surely it would be more appealing to the dog than the soiled rags. I called the dog over, I--" you shook your head a released a small breathy laugh, "I think I called it handsome... The dog approached, and smelled the hand I had out to offer... And then he smelled my skirts, and I realized he did not want my fruit." You bit your lip as the pain throbbed once again. "He tackled me, the scrawny thing. He pounced on me and barked in my face; his teeth so close to my eye I thought he would tear it out... I screamed and thrashed but he was too heavy... He bit my arm when I tried to hit him and then he went down to my legs... It's like he was possessed, he needed meat...

"He bit down and tore open my thigh. He started chewing on my flesh, I could hear it mashing between his teeth even over my screams... And then suddenly the weight was gone, and I could sit. And when I did, I saw my father... Beating the dog's head in with a stone... And as I held my leg, I wept... I got that dog killed, because of my selfishness and my stupidity." You nodded, feeling the sorrow but being strong enough now not to cry about it. "I got in trouble, obviously, for straying... My father was disappointed in the damage to my body, but after a few days, he came to me and said that he was glad it had been a hound to find me and not a man. That a man could have ruined me in ways far worse... I hated him for it. I hated him for killing the dog and I hated the fact that he knew the evil of men, and still made them lust for me. Still wanted to sacrifice me to one for the good of the family..."

"He was right to kill the dog." His voice was soft, sleepy, and you were relieved your yammering seemed to be working.

"I had no hatred toward the dog... He couldn't help it, he was starving. He did what dogs do when they smell blood. It was my fault for putting him in danger."

"Your life is worth more than a dogs."

"To my father, clearly." You joked.

"To everyone... That dog was gonna die anyway, the way I see it you put him out of his misery."

You reflected on his thoughts. "Maybe... But I've always liked hounds more than men." You smiled. His face was totally relaxed, posture at ease, and breath growing more noticeable. Just a little more... "Anyways... I healed up. My father and I worked on my leg together and he says he can hardly see it now... I still see it though, of course. Sometimes when I'm alone, I run my fingers along it. I like the way it feels. The skin there is more sensitive than the rest and it even hurts still, if I think on it. It's the worst pain I have ever felt. My father said it would serve as a reminder of how delicate I was, and to never stray from him, lest I be hurt again... But even pain can be kind when you're used to feeling nothing..."

You finished your ramblings, studying him once again. His chest heaved slowly, you could see his chest hair poking out of his tunic and you thought honestly again how handsome he was when he wasn't being an ass. You wished you could reach out and hold him gently.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't much of a bedtime story. With luck, you'll not have to run from dogs in your dreams..." You tried to make light of the situation. "Sandor?" You called softly, shifting to sit up ever so gently. After no response you smiled to yourself. He was still sitting up, and you felt that since his guard was down, he could not fight you on being gentle to him.

You slowly reached your hand out to barely graze over his hair, admiring the texture. "I should not have hit you... I want to be gentle to you." You confessed in a whisper, knowing he could not hear. "I want to tell you more stories, better ones that were written by people more worldly than me, and I want to fall asleep to your stories too..." You sighed in contentment. "You never wanted a wife, and I never wanted a husband... But," you maneuvered him and the pillows gently so that he was in a position closer to laying down. "Maybe this can work." You settled, looking at him one last time before settling down carefully next to him, ensuring there was enough space between your bodies. You closed your eyes, feeling awfully tired now too.

"What does (Y/n) mean?" His voice from behind you made your heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open. Your breathing quickened and you covered your mouth to hide it.

~No, no, no! He was asleep! He was! Surely, he couldn't hear me, couldn't know--~

You nearly cried again from embarrassment.

~Be asleep, be asleep~ You told yourself.

"In your little book of names... What does it mean?" He asked again, and you knew there was no point in pretending.

Instead you grabbed the fur blanket and threw it over your head to hide your face, as if that would make it better. At the possibility of him being awake for your confessions, your caressing of his hair, you just wanted to disappear. Still you took a deep breath and recalled aloud.

"It means divine princess... My mother picked it." You held your breath waiting for his response.

"It..." He said and you felt him turn in bed. "It suits you... I," He dragged out the letter, "like your name..."

~Is he trying to compliment me??~ After a moment you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. No one had ever made you blush as much as Sandor Clegane. You hid your face in your hands again, even though you knew it was impossible for him to see you now. He groaned after your giggle and you felt him turn back around to face the wall. Your smile began to hurt your cheeks and you took a breath.

"I like your name, too..."

[soap-ify]

mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader

05 — i'll meet the judgement by the hounds.

chapter summary — a fool and a coward, that's the realisation you had come to.

tags / cw — no smut, fluff, a bit domestic honestly, basically reader's drunk and simon takes care of you, bittersweet, simon opens up... a bit, angst, suicidal thoughts, very subtle religious references if they even count as one, simon's in denial and reader is on the verge of losing it all. [4k words]

masterlist | ao3 | prev | next

Simon had come to the conclusion that you were a snake, and your love was your poison. Maybe he really was a coward for being afraid to let your venom drown into his veins.

“Remind me to never take you out for drinking again.”

If it weren’t for Simon holding you carefully against him and walking through the street, you’d surely have collapsed on the ground all drunk and worse, thrown up by now.

It was a little mistake. One drink became two, and then three. You had forgotten about your tolerance, and here you were now. It’s all because of Simon. That’s what your excuse was, blaming it all on him. Which was true in all honesty, you had gotten too excited about this little hangout.

“You’ll never go out with me again?” Completely mishearing his words, you looked up at him with wide eyes, tears already approaching. Yeah, you were completely drunk. Simon froze, his heart tearing at the sight of your incoming tears, even if they were just due to your emotions being all over the place now. Emotions that had always been there, hidden deep within.

His first instinct was to ignore your words and just keep walking, his heart begging for him to comfort you. But again, how does a killer comfort an angel? How would the moon comfort the ocean, while being so far away?

“I didn’t say that.” He gruffly replied and continued to look ahead, not daring to meet your eyes anymore.

O Angel, let me fall on my knees, kiss your fingers, and weep for forgiveness. So you may hold my absolution, and make me man again.

“C’mon, we gotta take you home.” Simon internally cursed himself for not taking you both to the bar in a car. He hadn’t considered the possibility of you being a drunk mess. Do I ever consider anything?

“No!” Your loud whine echoed in the empty pavement, and he could barely hold in a chuckle, deciding to bite his bottom lip beneath his mask. “Can’t we spend more time together, Si?”

I’d spend a lifetime with you. But god forbid he ever said those words. Not to you, not to anyone. “S’not like m’gonna die or somethin’, or that you’ll never see me again.” Simon grumbled and tightened his hand around your waist, accommodating your wobbly body, guiding you.

Simon wished he could take your hands and sway around with you, let both of you move into a sweet dance, with the stars praising you. A performance for the cosmos. He wished he could hold you when you throw yourself over him, to let you never escape his embrace. Lovers forever tangled.

He wished.

He wondered what something like that even would look like. His dad never danced with his mother. He remembers his mother looking at him, holding in her tears and forcing a smile. “I promise your dad loves me, just as much as I love him. He's just… exhausted nowadays.” He wished his mother didn’t consider him a naive — a child.

Simon doesn’t think he was ever a child. A child is innocent, his very first cry was a sin.

“Simon?” Your voice snapped him out of the reminiscence he was trapped in. He let out a soft grunt, urging you to continue.

“Have you… Have you ever seen a ghost?” You burst into laughter at your own poor attempt at the joke, a rapid change of emotion, though in your defence, it’s definitely very funny. Your free hand tried to wipe the tears as you continued laughing, and Simon swore that this was truly the angels’ hymn eliciting from your mouth.

“Do I count?” He grinned behind his mask, the side of his eyes crinkling a bit. You quickly shook your head and stared at him with determined eyes, fully set on your question. “In that case, no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, love. But if I do, I’ll make sure to tell ‘em you said hello.”

If it was someone else like Kyle or Johnny who would be laughing about this joke, Simon was sure that he would have said something snarky or just straight up ignored them. But not with you, never with you.

“You’re the best.” You beamed, his heart squeezed painfully.

“We’re almost there.”

Upon arriving at your apartment complex, he dropped you off outside your apartment’s front door, the only thing in mind being to flee quickly so your sweet smile doesn’t taunt him anymore. Though he simply couldn’t, your fingers not letting go off his forearm at all. Too exhausted to figure out if it was intentional or not, he sighed under his breath and turned over to face you, brown eyes having a slight shine in them due to the hallway’s light.

“C’mon, you gotta go in and rest.” He couldn’t figure out why his breathing was falling short. Was it the alcohol? He barely drank anything.

You, on the other hand, tried your best to not look up at him and meet his eyes, knowing that it would shut you up. Like the intimidating gaze of a god, a warrior. You had to speak your mind, had to know about something, to ease the storm in your head.

“Are you getting bored of me?” These words slipped out of your lips as a meek whisper, forbidden.

It was a sickening feeling that ensued within Simon after that, as if something was grabbing his heart and trying to rip it out of his chest. Inhale, exhale. He didn’t know what exactly horrified him. Probably the fact that he knew what had caused you to think like that. The perfume.

O Angel, let me carve my heart out with a knife and hand it to you as an offering — apology. So may your hands embrace it and take me home, with thee. So may your fingers caress my cheek once again, and let my blood paint my skin.

“No.” He was embarrassingly quick to reply, fingers curling up into fists by his sides as he inhaled sharply. How could he put such thoughts into your head? How could I? Only a devil, the most evil being, could commit such atrocity.

You paused at his words, not knowing what else to say. No? Then why was that perfume there? You didn’t want him to think you were dumb enough to not notice that. “You’re lying…” Your voice cracked, and it was no longer the alcohol playing you like a puppet. It was you now. You felt like your own marionette. Stop speaking, fucking stop. “I am not dumb, Si. I saw that p-perfume on your couch the other day. Is that why you got mad at me?” God, stop talking please. “You could have just… said that you prefer other girls. Am I… Am I making a fucking fool out of myself here?” It terrified you, your own emotions terrified you. Your voice was rising just a bit, and all your feelings had their hands wrapped around your throat. Controlling you. You didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to say it out loud. You weren’t used to being so open about your mind, and now you felt like nothing but a cat shivering under the rain — alone and abandoned. Vulnerable, naked.

Maybe you and Simon weren’t so different after all. Vulnerability — just why did it terrify humans? Were the angels and the gods just as opposed to vulnerability?

“Oh, l-” Love. It almost slipped off his tongue, and he didn’t know if you even wanted him to call you that right now. The thought alone made him shudder uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to do — stuck in between two roads. Should he lie? Or tell you the truth? — That it was just one time, a drunken act that is nothing but lamentable to him.

Why were you both even acting like an actual couple right now?

He swallowed the lump that threatened to torture his throat, exhaling softly. “I was drunk, and it happened. She probably left her perfume accidentally.” He spilled the truth out. Just the way a mature person would. Don’t be fucking daft, Riley. His eyes assessed the subtle twitch of your brows at that, your lips quivering. He wished he could just lean in and kiss all the tears away, despite them not having landed on your cheeks. Hopefully they won’t.

“Oh…” Your response was too short, unsure and reluctant. It made Simon feel as if he had sinned once again, chains threatening to drag him into the darkest depths of Hell. Home — the one he was familiar with.

You swallowed nervously and looked down at your feet, your hand long having stopped holding his arm. Instead, your fingers were fiddling with one another anxiously. Why did you feel as if you were betrayed? A desperate cry for love, you wished you could say it to him. To his face, sob and scream about what you felt. He was the only one who understood, who was willing to understand. He was the only one who ever was, and who ever will be.

The agreement. It was no longer just fucking, it never was. Not since the day you saw him with Kyle, not since the day he talked with you after Kyle gestured at you. Never. Could he also see it all the way you did?

Your silence was a clear indicator of the fact that you were lost in your thoughts now. Simon’s eyes softened up, and before he could think rationally, his body reacted on its own and embraced you tightly against his chest, strong arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Fuck…” He cussed under his breath, despising how his voice was thickening up with emotion. He hugged you like an old dog messily giving affection to its owner. My angel, my angel. I sinned, I have sinned. I am sorry.

He pulled you impossibly close, as if wanting to mold his body into yours, to become one. He could be with you forever in that way, to be your breathing and you his heartbeat.

You didn’t even feel confused at his rapid action at all. Just broken, so broken. He was the hammer that had finally hit the dam, and broke it. “W-Why?” Your voice wavered and mixed into a sob, your hands tightened holding onto him, fingers threatening to dig deeper as you let your head rest against him, tears tickling your skin. “I am so tired… So tired, Si. I hate you…”

“Do you want me to leave?” His hold tightened despite his words.

“No.” Your words came out a bit more forcefully than you had intended, too anxious to let him go. You felt his right hand leaving your back, a soft whimper leaving your lips once you felt his lips, bare and real, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, soon realising that he had taken his mask off. Too shy and messy in tears, you made no effort to look up at him and instead continued to cry, emotions desperate to keep pouring out and leave the imprisonment of your body. His hand continued to rub the back of your head while his other held your lower back, both of you unknowingly taking a few steps back and forth together, unable to stay still. It was as if you both were dancing slowly, like lovers.

“Alright. Hand me the keys, love.” You tentatively grabbed your keys from where you had kept it and handed it to him, your hands quickly latching onto him again. He carefully unlocked the front door of your apartment and led you inside, being extra cautious so he doesn’t accidentally step onto your feet. Closing the door by kicking it gently with one leg, he gently guided you towards the living room, easing you down onto the couch.

“Do you remember that creepy guy that came into the cafe?” Your voice was still shaky from crying, eyes all glossy as you finally looked at him, heart skipping a beat. Despite already having seen his face the last time, you still weren't used to it. Were you blessed?

He silently nodded and took a seat beside you, his arms leaving your sides so his large hands could cradle your face, thumbs tenderly wiping the drying up tears away while you talked, eyes looking everywhere but at him due to the sudden proximity. He didn't mind it at all, simply adored your sudden sheepishness.

“I still get scared at the thought of him… I don't want anyone like that to visit the cafe again. I-I don't think I can handle it.” Your voice gradually got quieter by the end, nibbling on your bottom lip. Oh, dear. Simon hadn’t told you that he had already beat that creep up. Now he somewhat wished that he had killed him instead. Surely Price would back him up if he made up some reason, yeah?

Your shoulders visibly eased up at that, your mind clearing a bit. Probably sobering up? You were sure that you weren't going to pick up a bottle of alcohol after this. Leaning into him, you decided to rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Expecting a soft, calm rhythm — you were instead met with a fast thump, your brows furrowing though you decided not to comment on it.

“He wouldn't. No one will ever treat you like that again, love.” As long as I am here. Possessive yet guilty. He was vaguely promising to be by your side while always avoiding you, protecting you from himself. From the ugliness within him. No angel must spare a glance at a stray, especially not one used to violence.

His hands were playing with the fabric of your shirt now, mindlessly toying with it, feeling the texture under his skin as he gently tugged onto it. It felt oddly comforting, both of you not mentioning what happened outside the apartment a few minutes ago.

You looked up at him again, your eyes falling onto his lips this time. A bit chapped with a small scar adorning the side of his upper lip. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, leaning forward to place a bashful kiss on top of it. Simon let out a soft grumble at that, tilting his head to the side so he could kiss your lips properly, eyes fluttering shut alongside yours. He could taste some hints of your salty tears, his hands holding your waist while your hands held the back of his neck, letting his lips devour yours.

He held onto you gently, not wanting to be tight despite every fiber within him wanting to hold you fully against him once more, like a hound too eager to please.

Once he pulled away from the kiss, his heart skipped at the sight of your lips being all glossy. Ethereal. Your lips twitched into a giddy smile, and he could swear that he felt the heat radiating off you once it crept up onto your face. It felt soft, everything felt too soft and warm. The gentleness threatened to suffocate him once more, a mocking reminder of him being undeserving of such tranquility. He was supposed to be wed to the war, to violence. To the bloodshed that haunted his dreams. Not whatever this was.

But he refused to get up, not wanting to see any more of your tears. “We have to get you to bed. You need sleep.” He spoke quietly, a soft sigh leaving his lips once he felt your forehead pressing against his, letting you lean into him.

“Will you join me?” You normally would have never asked something like that, but the way he was holding you almost made you believe that he was willing to warm up a bit more with you.

Simon frowned at that, pulling his head back slightly. “We can't, you're drunk.”

Realising that he misunderstood you, blood rushed to your cheeks and you looked away in embarrassment, your voice getting timid. “No… I meant sleeping together. Nothing else.”

He paused, eyes softening up as the implication dawned on him. Sleeping together. Innocently domestic — something you both had never touched. He wanted to reject, to say that it’d be better for him to just leave. That could have been the better option anyways. Though he couldn't bring himself to refuse you, too enamoured, as if trapped in some spell by you.

“Fine.” He clicked his tongue in a poor attempt to appear reluctant, masking his inner eagerness. Helping you off the couch, he led you towards the bathroom first, opening the tap. “Let's wash your face first, yeah?”

He did everything — getting you in comfortable pajamas once he finished helping you clean up, even helping you in preparing the bed. Everything. It made you feel as if you were cared for, as if he was the warmth you had ached for throughout your life. The felicity had long spreaded within you once you laid down on bed, watching him lay down beside you.

He was tense, visibly so. You tentatively scooted towards him, a hand reaching out to settle onto his chest, to feel his heartbeat once again. Maybe in this way, you could sync your heart with his, build your own little bubble. Or was that too much to hope for?

“Thank you…” It just slipped out of your mouth like a soft prayer — a hidden whisper to be close to him so more.

“S'nothing.” His eyes looked over at you, taking in the contentment etched onto your face. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you against him, to let you melt in his embrace while you slept. No. That's too much, that's crossing a line. A line made up in his head.

You're building your own grave, Simon. He despised his own mind for mocking him like this, for littering his head with unwanted thoughts. Just one night.

“Sleep now, love.” He whispered quietly, watching you reach over to turn the lamp off. You shuffled besides him again, letting the blanket cover you up.

Simon doesn’t remember the last time he had slept so nicely, your soft breathing his lullaby.

Upon waking up alone on your bed, a heavy feeling of dread settled on you alongside a throbbint headache. Had he left? Wasn't it just getting better?

Holding your heart together from cracking it with every strength you had, you tried to take a few deep breaths. Don’t panic, don't-

The sudden clinking sound from outside your bedroom made you jolt, and only now could you notice the pleasant aroma of something cooking. Sheepishly, you slid off the bed and tiptoed over to the door, poking your head out to look around. Able to make out some of Simon's figure through the open door of the kitchen, relief flooded deep within you. He's here.

“Good morning, Si…” You greeted him once you entered the kitchen, standing besides him, rubbing the weariness off your eyes. He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement, focusing on cooking some breakfast.

“Your whole kitchen needs some restocking.” He mumbled, sparing a small glance over at you. You stayed quiet, a bit embarrassed by his observance. You were planning on restocking it soon, anyways.

The morning went by like a pleasant breeze, your mood ever so joyous today. You felt light, as if floating on the clouds and reaching the stars, as if becoming one of them, alongside Simon. He hadn't mentioned much about last night at all, even gave you some pills and an offer for a head massage. You had declined it, mostly because you didn't want to show how greatly affected you were by the subtle signs of care laced in his actions, despite it being already evident all over you.

You didn't know what had driven you to act in the way you did in the afternoon. Maybe you shouldn't have opened your mouth, just kept it shut and complied.

“Si, I um… I want to talk to you about something.” You paused the monotonous movie literally none of you were actually focusing on, turning over the couch to face him, your fingers tightly curled on your lap, digging into your flesh.

Maybe it was just your heart acting out, feeling as if things had changed. Foolishly clinging onto the thin strong of hope, never learning. Never learning that touching stray dogs was bad, they had fleas. Fleas that had already infected you, threatening to devour you.

“I think… Uh- I was wondering- I just-” Fumbling over your words, all you could hear was the loud beating of your own heart, each nerve of yours set on fire. Anxious, too anxious. You wanted to throw up. “I wanted to tell you that I really… like you, and-” Your words drowned into heavy silence once you took note of just how silent Simon was, how he was frowning.

A fool. A fool who dreamt too much, who was too lost amidst the heavenly clouds of tranquility. A fool who did everything to avoid reality — that's what you felt like.

“No.” His reply was rather abrupt, clear. The subtle smile on your lips fell, and Simon wished to do nothing more than drown into a river. “You don't like me.”

“I-I do!” Unbelievable, did he not believe that you like him? Even love him.

“You shouldn't.” That came out more roughly than he had intended to, a little snarl escaping his throat. “We've already discussed it, this is nothing.’

You should have shut up at that, should have somehow sewed your lips together and quieted down. You couldn't, instead growing more agitated, more on edge. “You can't say that, Si! D-Don't you see whatever it is that we're doing?” You whimpered in exasperation, trying to keep your voice from trembling, miserably failing. “I care for you! I do, and you care for me too. I can see it…” Vision progressively growing blurrier with incoming tears, you looked away and tried to ignore the sting in your eyes, your breath shuddering. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon was at a loss of words himself, his heart aching to kiss your tears away and plead for forgiveness. He was a cruel, cruel man. Cruel for being so terrified, cruel for being so persistent.

O Angel, forgive me for I can't let you love me, for light should never kiss the shadow.

“You shouldn't…” He repeated his words again, his voice quieter, weaker. A plea, a request. You shook your head, a sob erupting from your throat as you tried to reach out for him.

He pulled away just as quick, your hand never meeting his. An ocean that could never touch the moon, a man that could never touch a star.

“I need to leave.” Hastily he turned around and walked out of your apartment, leaving you speechless, hand still shamefully held out. Frozen and alone, unloved.

Simon Riley was a coward.

Simon had lost count of how many bottles he had drank by now. Feeling horribly, horribly similar to his father. A drunkard, disgusting. He thought the alcohol could wash his emotions away, drown them hopefully — all it did was make him even more vulnerable, his glossy eyes staring off at a distance.

Weak. Ironically enough, this brute was nothing but weak. Everyone should be laughing at him, you should be laughing at him. Laugh at him for not knowing how to love properly, for being so quick to run away.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, making him click his tongue in irritation that soon melted away once he noticed the caller ID.

Price.

He picked it up and listened to his captain's words, each syllable both a stab and a blessing.

A deployment again, finally.

notes — i apologise for uploading it after A WHOLE MONTH. blaming it on the writerphew, a deployment! this could mean many things. also a heads up that either chapter 6 or chapter 7 will be the last one (made some changes to my plan!)

[mavuikas-wife]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆Yandere Sunday˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Part 2 of this fic

Warning:controlling behavior, threatening, Sunday

Yandere Sunday, who calls you to his office when you are about to end your shift. You don't think anything of it first, assuming he is calling you to discuss some matters regarding the upcoming charmony festival. As you were heading to his office, you noticed that the dwelight pavilion seemed a lot emptier than usual, yet you can't help but feel like you're being watched....

Yandere Sunday, who is camly standing in front of the miniature golden hour sand pit with one hand on the back and the other elegantly at his side.

Yandere Sunday, who looks up to you when you open the door and greets with a smile on his face.

After seeing Sunday's gentle smile, you relax a bit. Maybe you were being paranoid, and this is just a normal meeting....oh, how wrong were you

"Take a seat, dear." Sunday's gentle voice lures you towards the chair as he sits across from you with his legs crossed and taping his fingers on some files. "Do you know what are in these files dove? Take a guess. " Sunday asks as his gloved fingers trace the edges. ".....um.. I am not sure perhaps reports from the alfalfa family?" You responded, trying to remember what else is left to do for the charmony festival."Hmm,... incorrect, you see, we got reports from the bloodhounds family about a storeaway. " Your heart thumps loudly at the revelation,"and from the looks of it, you also have something to do with it, correct?" You try to act oblivious, trying hard not to incor the calm man's wrath. "Me? w-what would I have to do with the bloodhound family, much less a storeaway? Are you trying to imply that I brought a storeaway inside the dreamscape? Surely you jest Mr Sunday...." You let out a laugh trying to cover your nervousness. "Oh, but I am not. You see, the hounds have reported to me that you have been spotted with this man on many occasions and have been actively hiding him from the family. " Sunday gives you an eerie smile as he walks up to you, and his fingers lift up your head."Who knows what would happen if everyone in the family knew about this.... I may be forgiving, but I can not lie to the dreammaster now, can I." Your eyes dart around frantically, and your hands fiddle with the ends of your top as you think of a way to escape this situation."Mr. Sunday I- I will do anything, but please don't let any harm come to him, please. " Sunday's smile grows even wider if that's even possible."Anything, you say," " Yes, anything," your response doesn't seem to surprise him as if it was what he was planning for in the first place. "Then listen closely, my dear, for the harmonious Aeon have not shown you mercy today, but I have." At this point, you have your hands joined together as you look up to at mercy."Then I shall tell you what to do my dove..." Both his hands cup your face."You shall start a new life as my one and only wife." At this revelation, you stand up startled "w-what" Sunday's smile, not wavering a bit at your actions."What's wrong dear, you said you do anything, right? Don't tell me you're backing out now," you watch him still prossing his words. "Don't worry dear, I would never force you after all you still have a choice. You could say no to my offer, but your lover would would face the precautions, or you could join me, and nothing would happen him no one would press charges against him and you would never meet him again but he will be safe..." You clench your fist and bite your inner cheeks to the point it almost bleeds. ".....fine do what you want, but don't forget that I will never love you the way you want me to," you replied as you looked at him in anger. "Only time will tell my dear I certain that you would change your mind in the near future." His voice was all that you could hear as he caged you in his arms....

Yandere Sunday, who meets your family as your new lover and gets their blessings for marriage. Your family, who never thought you bag the representative of the family, the most handsome man in penacony, of course, they would say yes for the marriage this Sunday, the most respected man in penacony who in the right mind would say no?

Yandere Sunday, who also informs his sister Robin about his lover and about getting married. Of course he left a few details behind there is no harm in white lies is there?

Yandere Sunday, who plans the entire wedding along with the invitations and sends them to all the family members and penacony after all this is a grand celebration

Yandere Sunday, who spends a lot of money and time to make sure that your weeding dress matches his perfectly and the overall theme.

Yandere Sunday, who threatens tells you not ruin his image in public or else the people closest to would get hurt

Yandere Sunday, who makes sure everybody in penacony no in this universe knows that you are his beautiful wife♡

[psiioniichearts]

Red Death (Créme Brulee & Red Velvet Prince AU)

[ Part of a Cookie Run Kingdom Prince AU with Créme Brulee and Red Velvet by @cupcakestreets (part one & part two), go read those first to get an idea of the surrounding plot. Wanted to write a little thingy about the outside view in. Btw Cake if you see this not sorry I'm forcefully making your cast bigger by inserting these two LMAO ]

"Truly, your inability to read the room continues to astound me, Madeleine."

The knight in question gaped openly at the sardonic accusation, comically shaking his head like a hound before puffing his chest up indignantly, both of which Espresso found profoundly unimpressive and rolled his eyes at. He returned to his attention to much more deserving matters—namely, picking ingredients for his alchemic mixes from the Créme Kingdom's surprisingly sundry garden. While the selection was meager compared to other kingdom's gardens, he found the gardener Herb exceptional at maintaining the plants, yielding the best results in his concoctions.

A little fieldwork never halted his pursuits as a royal alchemist, though venturing out here did mean he ran the risk of being accosted by a particular nuisance with the name of Sir Madeleine, a devote paladin from another neighboring kingdom who nonetheless defied every expectation of knightly stoicism by being obnoxiously loud and optimistic...two traits he was showing off excessively at the moment.

Espresso reiterated wryly, seeing no way to escape this unfortunate interaction, "I suppose I should know better than to expect you to understand this, but it was an arranged marriage. They are not in love, and I believe it would be in your best interest to avoid saying that aloud. Others may not be as forgiving as I was to correct you."

"If that was your show of mercy, I fear the one deserving of your wrath," Madeleine said, face pulled into a pout. He was never one to remain dower, but he continued, "Well, I'll admit to my error in believing it was purely a romantic pursuit. Although, I did spy the foreign prince and His Highness in this very garden earlier, and they seemed to be getting along nicely! Indeed Espresso, is it so impossible to believe they might find content with each other?"

"Yes, it is," retorted Espresso, peeling off a glove to massage between his brows before scowling up at the paladin from his crouched position, "You cannot possibly tell me you are unaware of the unsavory reputation Prince Red Velvet and his kingdom possess."

"No, I am aware," he replied, becoming uncharacteristically serious as his smiling face pulled into a slight frown. He glanced around, perhaps to check if they were truly alone, before looking back down at the alchemist to add, "It would be dishonorable of me to speak....poorly of His Highness Prince Créme Brulee's fiancé upon his land, however..."

"'However' nothing, Madeleine." Espresso stood, not quite satisfied with the amount of material he'd collected but unwilling to continue this conversation with the other; and too perhaps being a tad concerned there were unwanted eavesdroppers. He moved to stand at the knight's shoulder, and under the pretense of wrapping his ingredients in cloth, asked in a subdued tone, "What do you know about the prince?"

"Not as much as I would like considering he is betrothed to the heir of the Créme Kingdom," answered Madeleine, who thankfully picked up the tone of the conversation by now and had also quieted himself. "As you know, I travel far afield as a paladin, and everything I have heard about the kingdom he hails from is...not good, to say the least. I will not go as far as to say it shakes my faith in this kingdom, but to have His Highness marrying Prince Red Velvet-..."

"It does not seem like anything yet," Espresso indirectly corrected, "It's too early to see the signs, but I know this pattern. That kingdom, his kind...they are like a disease that spreads without symptoms. Hopping from place to place like an illness infiltrates a community, eventually, everything and everyone here will be ripped up by their roots, revealing their sinister nature and the infection within."

"By then, it'll be far too late for a cure, and it starts with this marriage to Prince Créme Brulee. I cannot imagine, even at the shallow attempts to make it seem they are 'getting along' as you say, that it is not reflective of the impending disaster."

"..." Madeleine's frown deepened, brow furrowing as he thought. Inwardly, Espresso wondered where this silent, pensive attitude was earlier when he was trying to harvest in peace.

Coming out of he reverie, he stated firmly, "You are welcome to criticize me for this, however I would believe his Highness can inspire a change in Prince Red Velvet. I have spoken with him on occasion, and I can say with confidence that he is not as passive and fragile as he seems. Rather, he has a remarkable ability to sway the souls of others, through his words and his music."

"In fact, I will criticize you for that one," grumbled Espresso, instantly growing exhausted with the other's persistent attempts of salvaging this dire situation, "Don't you understand? The Velvet Kingdom has proved time and time again they will never change. They only know violence, and they will wring out this kingdom just as they've done so many others."

"Ah, but I meant the prince," Madeleine countered, this time the one to indirectly correct what Espresso was implying. "Kingdoms and succession may be built upon smoke and mirrors, royal illusions of possessing virtues that fail to deliver when asked to make a show of it, but individuals are different. They are always capable of change, and can deem to surprise you in the most devastating ways."

"Hmph," was all the response he received. Madeleine laughed, shaking his head again, but unlike his usual booming laughter, it rang hollow and distorted like an altered church bell. It was enough to warrant Espresso's specific attention, and he faced the other fully to examine his expression.

He found a careful facsimile of confidence, a painted mural depicting the might of ancient dragons that could be washed away with mere rain. Madeleine, in all his pride, wore a lopsided smile strained at the edges, a tremulous bridge over an abyss of despair as he stared into the peaceful calm of the garden. His faith allowed him to believe in what was undefinable, and he extended it even now to the unprovable: that Red Velvet could change.

But the implication of failure, the weight of the future should he be proven wrong, settled heavily on his shoulders. Espresso felt it too, strangely resigned and sympathetic in that moment to know even the most well-believing man he could think would know to doubt.

"...Come, let me walk you to the gate," he stated unexpectedly, shaking Espresso a bit. He nodded wordlessly, still unmoored, feeling like he was bracing for an inevitable storm.

Just as they were to step out of the garden, Madeleine added, with a grim sense of finality: "You know, it was...fascinating that you described them as a disease. Of all the fearful titles given to their prince...I found the most appropriate one to be 'Red Death'."

.

.

.

.

Left alone behind a dividing wall of green, a sole witness as a silent songbird in a crystalline cage, the Prince Créme Brulee finally sings. And he weeps.

[bernardellinewsagency]

“My philosophy forbids me to have faith in anything.”

“Really? So, I could not tempt you into believing in Xipe, or in Ena? Is only your precious Enigmata worthy of your devotion? In truth I should not find that so surprising, I suppose it’s not like a hound to follow two masters at once.”

“Ha! If you think even the Enigmata can be believed, then you really don’t understand a thing about it.”

“Silence, hound, I wasn’t finished. Of course the Enigmata cannot be trusted. And what does that make you, as one of THEIR servants? Certainly not trustworthy, that much has been proven true. Yet that is not the only reason as to why I don't quite believe the way you claim to be unable to have faith in anything. If I may offer my own perspective on the matter, it’s my belief that perhaps you simply have not yet found that which you may have faith in. And, if not the Aeons, I'd like to offer an alternative."

"Like I said, I can't follow anything you might offer me."

"Even if the offer is too good for you to pass up on? Even if what I'd like for you to worship... is me?"

"You? You're insane, birdie."

"Within the Dreamscapes, I am akin to a god. And you, the mendacious sinner. Should it not be the role of the sinner to appeal to those above him for leniency and forgiveness? Have some faith in me, Gallagher, and unlike your Aeon perhaps I can actually offer you salvation."

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Decisions

Pairing: Dark Ramsay Bolton x (female) Reader

SUMMARY: Lesson number 1: never trust Ramsay Bolton.

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Murder.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

I was supposed to wait a bit before posting this, but I wanted to share so here it goes :)

--

“Choose.”

You stop breathing for a moment, eyes widening at the situation before you.

Both your mother and father shackled to their prison cells, the cruel treatment they have received obvious as their bodies are unhealthily skinny, their faces hollow while blood and fluids stick to their torn clothes.

You can hardly recognize them as your noble parents. 

Ramsay wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder and a mocking tone inflecting as he speaks.

“Go on, tell me your decision. Which one is the unlucky parent?”

“Ramsay, please…don’t make me do this.” 

His hand jumps to your throat, turning you towards him. An amused expression covering his face.

“As much as I’m having fun, love, my patience is starting to run thin. So you can either choose one or I’ll be the one deciding which one of my beloved in-laws will be joining my parents in the high heavens.” his lips open into a large grin, madness reflected in his eyes. 

Dropping your eyes to the floor, you twist your hands in an array of anxiety and despair.

“My father.” your voice is barely a whisper, a stray tear escaping your eye at the life-haunting decision you just made. 

“Aha, I knew it!” Ramsay claps his hands in delight, the pleas and cries of your parents breaking your heart.

“Forgive me, father-in-law, but it seems like your time here has ended. It was genuinely nice knowing you, if I may say. The same for you, my lady.”

At the sound of his hounds being released, you turn around only to realize how much of a mistake it was.

Your mouth drops in horror as the ear-piercing screams of father alongside your mother fill the dungeon, but it doesn't compare to the shock of seeing the hounds ripping the flesh of both your father and your mother.

"No, no! Ramsay, no, you promised me… I did chose…” you grab his arm, pleading.

“My sweet little wife, so trusting.” he caresses your cheek, index finger touching your quivering bottom lip and he leans forward, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“You should’ve known by now that I’m not a man of my word, am I?”

[martialartslover7]

In defense of Sasuke Uchiha (Blank Period)

Another rant post of mine. Hoo boy.

Like, I don't know about you guys, but, honestly, Sasuke should have returned to the Leaf village, regurlarly, after the war. Not after months or years, and here is why: Sasuke may have chosen to leave the village and become a rogue ninja, but never forget...

...he is as much of a victim, as the rest of the entire Uchiha clan (safe for Madara and Obito), and the Leaf village, in the grand scheme of things. He was never the problem.

Remember, Sasuke wouldn't have even defected in the first place, had the Konoha elders not been such an ignorant and stubborn bunch, that is both stuck in the past, and unable to move on. Remaining bitter towards the Uchiha, until they get laid to rest in their coffins. ...Our totally trustworthy leaders, everyone! Would you still apply for a job with them, after what they had done to the Uchiha?

Here is a thing, if they were fine with the Uchiha getting sacrificed to "maintain peace" and wiping everything under the rug, too, where should we draw a line? Where does it stop? What other clan might have been next, had the Uchiha not been the ONLY ones to agree with a coup d'état? You really mean to tell me, neither of the clans, that had sensory abilities like the Hyuga, the Yamanaka, or even the Inuzuka, were ever made aware of this? This. Was. A. MASSACRE. This wasn't a spy operation, innocent civilians were slaughtered in the process, remember, not every Uchiha was even able to unlock their own Kekkei Genkai, so, the only logical conclusion is:

Either, Danzo might have blackmailed the other clans to shut their mouths about this incident, because, come on, NO ONE can tell me, the screams from men, women and infants, along with blood splatters, could have been missed so easily, I know the Uchiha were shoved into the very edge of the village, but what are the chances of this just getting ignored, just like that? Especially if you have the Byakugan, or you have a hound with you, like the Inuzuka?

The elders from each clan in Konoha were all in on this, as an orchestrated, planned event, choosing willingly to ignore it all, because hey, it's so convenient to just look away, when it doesn't concern your own clan, right?

This isn't the face of an "irredeemable piece of trash war criminal, who doesn't deserve forgiveness". This is the face of a man, who has seen and been told some shit, that cannot ever be unseen or unheard. Imagine being born into a world, where, the very second you drew breath, everyone hates you, just for existing, for things, you didn't even ask to be burdened with. Much less, when you were still a kid, too. And doing it in SECRET, no less. Dude. This doesn't take a genius to understand, how fucked right up this is.

Plus, am I the only one who finds it insanely shitty from either Naruto, Sakura or Kakashi, to never make any efforts to publically criticize or oppose the elders for what they have done to the Uchiha clan? Wanting to bring the truth about the entire clan to light, and put the elders and feudal lords on the spot? Just for the fact alone, that they never once tackled this subject during the Blank Period, is, to me, a very shitty thing to do, especially since Naruto prides himself the loudest on having made Sasuke come back to his senses, and yet, never once, does he challenge these old farts? Really? Maybe I am missing something, feel free to correct me, but from my memory, neither he, or Kakashi, when he was still Hokage, made ANY efforts to publically apologize to the Uchiha clan, or even so much as trying to build memorial stones for the deceased Uchiha, or hell, even Itachi (I think?). And yes, I know, the clan was at the verge of starting a civil bar, but again:

NOT ALL OF THEM. WERE FINE. WITH IT. ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING, IT ALL MOSTLY STEMMED FROM MADARA BEING A SORE LOSER, AND TOBIRAMA BEING A RACIST PIECE OF GARBAGE. AND A HUGE PORTION OF THE UCHIHA WERE NOT EVEN ASSIGNED SHINOBI. PRAY TELL, KILLING EVERYONE, BECAUSE OF A FEW ROTTEN APPLES MAKES EVERYTHING OK THEN?!?!?!?!?!

And Kakashi bears Obito's Sharingan, he is living evidence too, of what public scrutiny and scapegoating can do to a person! His life, is essentially no different from either Naruto or Sasuke, and yet, despite having taught Sasuke, and still loving him as a teammate, no, as FAMILY, he NEVER ONCE HELPED HIM GETTING HIS NAME CLEARED?! What the FUCK, Kishimoto?

Also, can I be honest? I hate Boruto, as a follow-up story, for a different reason altogether. That being:

It STILL pretends as if the Uchiha are "evil, by default", and the elders are still, somehow, by some twisted "miracle", "in power", during Naruto's and Kakashi's rule. I mean, just for the fact, that these dried up twigs still have any say, WHATSOEVER, even the tiniest bit of presence in ANY capacity, after all the vile shit that they have pulled, by siding with Danzo, and making backhanded deals with other villages, is enough of a reason for me to more than sympathize with Sasuke's decision to never truly consider this village home, because WHY WOULD HE? These assholes ruined his life, way before he was even born, and yet these same jesters expect Sasuke to live in seclusion, and in shame, over what his heritage has done, but taking accountability for their own actions? Pffft, noooo, why would they? Their reputation as "village leaders" is more important than confronting their own shortcomings...

So, no, after the war, Sasuke should have been given some form of leniency, with either Naruto, Sakura or Kakashi having gone off to spread the word to other nations that what he did, cannot easily be pardoned, but they at least, THE BARE MINIMUM, deserve to know and understand, WHY he did all this. This. THIS course of action would have been a serious love letter to Sasuke, a sign of appreciation that, no matter where he went, he will always matter, even if he believes himself to be undeserving of it, because: It just isn't productive to be leaving an already scarred individual like him in the mold of "all Uchiha, bad", because that just won't work out. Paying for his wrongs is one thing, but putting him, for the rest of his life, along with his future descendants in the "square of shame", is just plain pathetic. Sasuke deserves to have some peace and quiet, too.

Moral of the story: DO NOT. LET HISTORY. REPEAT ITSELF.

Look, this post is not meant to excuse anything Sasuke has done, I am only providing more context that explains, why I feel like, the story was doing him dirty, especially near the end of Shippuden and during the Blank Period. You can think whatever you want about him, I don't care, all I am saying is, even someone like him deserves some well-deserved closure, because, that never happened. The stigma has not disappeared, and it wasn't Sasuke's doing, it was Madara's, don't get that confused. Besides, go on, keep ignoring the concept of "from action, follows a reaction", just so you can keep twisting and turning it, to always make Sasuke appear like the bad guy. Keep doing. You're doing great. In exposing how stupid and ignorant you are, frankly put.

Sasuke deserves to live in peace, he deserves to be happy, and not live in another illusion of supposed "peace", when really, nothing has changed, he deserves better. And look, we can judge Itachi all we want, but in the end, he still loved his brother, and that remains forever, all he did, was for him, as twisted as his method ended up being. It still ended up saving lives. No one else deserves to bear such a burden. Which makes it even more imperative to not wipe something as important as this under the rug, because "the truth is too unpleasant". Case closed.

Peace.

[2baddiesfanfics]

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Pairing: Ei x Miko

Tags: Injury, Injury Recovery, Vaginal Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking

Summary:

After Miko is injured in a hunting accident, Ei is enraged. Once the guuji manages to calm her down, she persuades her to take her back to Tenshukaku for the sake of her recovery. As a reward for her progress, she then convinces the Shogun to indulge in a different kind of "healing" activity.

Read on Ao3

The frigid air of the Inazuman winter bit into the Shogun’s face as she raced through the city. Minutes before, a messenger had broken past her guards and burst through the doors of her office in Tenshukaku. Normally, she would have had him arrested immediately, but the news he carried bought him forgiveness.

“Your Excellency! I’ve been sent by Doctor Shinzou to tell you Lady Guuji Yae Miko has been gravely injured. Please come quickly,” he had informed her.

As soon as the last word left his lips, she dashed out of the room faster than a bolt of lightning. Her imagination ran wild, concocting nightmarish images of what she might find as she wove through crowded streets to reach the physician’s office. Frightened nurses turned to look at her in shock as the doors to the building flew open.

“Where is she?”

“Your Excellency, please…be still. She’s alright, I assure you,” an older woman explained as she approached her. “There are other patients here that require a quiet environment and a doctor’s steady hand. I’ll take you to her immediately, but I must warn you…it was quite the accident. She may not be fully conscious at the moment.”

Hearing this nearly made Ei heave. Knowing she had to remain strong for both their sakes, she simply nodded and followed behind her. The nurse stopped at one of the sliding doors and opened it for her.

The Shogun audibly gasped at the sight before her. Her companion lay asleep, her fur-covered ear matted and bandaged. A deep purple bruise had bloomed at the base of her neck and disappeared under the surgical gown she wore. One of her arms was wrapped in a sling and bound tightly.

“She’s lucky to be alive, you know. I’ll leave it to her to fill you in on the details. For now, just…talk to her. Let her know you’re here,” the nurse instructed before giving them some privacy.

Ei stumbled over to the seat next to the bed and took Miko’s free hand in hers. When she heard the door shut, tears poured down her face as her whole body shook from the force of her sobs. It was then she felt the kitsune’s fingers twitch against hers.

“Mmm…E-ei? Is that you? Oh, Archons. I told them not to tell you.”

“Miko! Gods…what in the seven hells…what happened?”

“It wasn’t his fault…” The Shogun’s sorrow quickly bubbled into a quiet rage at the revelation of the fact this was no mere accident.

“Wasn’t whose fault, Miko? Who did this to you?”

“I’ll tell you, but you must promise me you won’t do anything rash before I finish explain-”

“I will murder him. I don’t care what the sorry excuse of an explanation is. I will make him suffer for eternity, and then as he begs for forgiveness, I’ll rip his throat out to silence him.”

Miko chuckled at her girlfriend’s overreaction. “Ei! Calm down. It was partially my own fault. You know how every now and then I get the urge to um…get in touch with my kitsune side? Well, I had transformed and was running through Chinju Forest when a hunter who was out with his dogs caught a glimpse. Thinking he could make a profit off such a gorgeous pelt - and I don’t blame him, I mean, look at me! - he fired off a few rounds and sent his hounds after me.”

The Shogun’s grip on her hand tightened as she told the story, causing her to wince. “Ah! I told you, it’s not his fault. I suppose any hunter worth his salt wouldn’t think twice to apprehend a fine specimen such as myself,” she said with a sly smile.

“It’s not funny, Miko! You could have been killed! You’ll reveal his identity to me at once. That’s an order.”

The guuji rolled her eyes, thinking on her feet for a way to distract the woman from decapitating a man who was just trying to make a living.

“Look, Ei. Sitting around in this hospital room is dreadfully boring. How about instead of seeking vengeance on my behalf, you use the power you hold over your subjects to bring me home with you? I could use a vacation from the shrine.”

Ei was not amused. Shaking her head, she responded, “I swear, Miko. Your blatant lack of regard for your own well-being weighs heavily on my heart. How am I supposed to rule a nation when you’re out scampering through the woods? Please…why can’t you be more careful?” She choked out.

Using her free hand, the kitsune cupped the other woman’s cheek. “I’m sorry. The wildness in me cannot be tamed, as you very well know,” she said in a mischievous tone. “Perhaps bringing me back to Tenshukaku with you will help me see the perks of restraining those urges, hmm?”

After much debate with the doctor, the Shogun was able to convince him to have Miko moved to the palace for the rest of her recovery. Since Ei often worked long, sleepless nights, the guuji had all the time she needed to rest as attendants waited on her hand and foot.

While she wasn’t about to complain about receiving the princess treatment, days passed without her getting much more than a “How are you feeling?” from her lover. If she was going to be stuck in bed for days on end, it was time to take advantage of the situation.

“Good evening, Miko. I just came by to say I hope you sleep well. I’ve still got some decrees that need signatures on them but wanted to check on you for the night.”

“Are you still working? Ei, you may be worried about me, but I’m worried about you. Look, my ear is almost completely healed, and you can barely see the bruise on my neck anymore. My arm’s still got a ways to go, but I’m fine, dear. Please…come to bed with me tonight.”

“…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh for Archonsakes! I’m not made of paper, Ei! I’m grateful to your attendants for catering to my every whim, but what I need now is you. My body may be a bit worse for wear, but knowing you still want it will make me feel better.”

The pleading way she looked up at her softened Ei’s heart. She was right. Miko had been following the doctor’s orders religiously and really hadn’t made much of a fuss since she arrived. Since she had been on her best behavior, the Shogun figured it was time for a reward.

Gently sliding into bed next to her, she whispered, “You know what? You’re right. You’ve been a very good girl.” The kitsune’s injured ear must have been feeling better because it very noticeably twitched at the seductive purr of Ei’s voice.

“I’m glad you see it my way,” Miko whispered as she leaned in for a kiss.

Before the Shogun acquiesced to her unspoken request, she continued, “…but I’m going to be very careful with you. You’re still recovering and the last thing we need is for you to strain yourself. Do we have a deal?” Ei’s thumb lightly stroked her girlfriend’s bottom lip as she waited for her response.

Miko’s tongue darted out to lick the digit. “Sometimes slow can be nice. Let’s call it an exercise in self-control.” The Shogun was ready to put her own carnal needs aside, but the vixen was making it much more difficult than she thought it would be.

“Fair enough,” she responded as she gently positioned her to sit in her lap. The guuji turned her head, her lips seeking the warmth of Ei’s. The two mouths moved softly against each other as the archon’s arms encircled her waist. Carefully shifting her pink locks away from her neck, the Shogun kissed the now yellowing patch of skin there.

Miko let out a quiet sigh as she basked in the feeling of her lover’s hands now seeking access to her chest from behind. She rested her head on her shoulder, fully relaxing into her touch. The trust they shared only made the moment more intimate.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” she murmured against her flesh, her fingers gliding through the seam of her bedclothes to find her nipples already taut.

“Mmmm far from it, love…” The Shogun made sure she wasn’t moving too quickly as she didn’t want to disturb Miko’s arm in the sling. Her hands kneaded at a steady pace, causing her to mewl with pleasure. Ei felt a sudden twitch in her lap and noticed the kitsune’s tail had emerged - a sure sign she was enjoying this.

“Such a good little fox. You’ve been through a lot these last few weeks. I can tell you’re excited to feel my fingers inside of you again,” she whispered against her non-injured ear before giving it a delicate bite. The combination of her words and actions made her spread her legs wider, urging her girlfriend to take advantage of the position.

Ei laughed darkly. “My, so eager. You’re lucky I have to take it easy on you tonight. Had you not been injured, I would have drawn this out much longer,” she taunted while sliding one hand between the other woman’s thighs. Miko’s breath hitched at the feeling of the Shogun’s slender fingers slipping across her already-soaked folds.

“Ah! Please, Ei…”

“Shhh, shhh…I know, dearest…I’ll make this quick, I promise.” True to her word, she knew exactly what would drive her to the edge almost immediately. The soft pad of her fingertip rubbed soothing circles against her clit while her other hand pinched her nipple in short, firm pulses.

“Archons…Ei…fuck, fuck, fuckkkkkkk!” Her hips jerked as her orgasm overtook her and the Shogun held her firmly to ensure she was supported.

“Are you alright? I didn’t cause you any pain, did I?”

“Quite the opposite. I actually feel better than I have in days,” she said before kissing her on the cheek. “But now it’s my turn.”

Turning around, she carefully sat between Ei’s legs. The archon looked at her inquisitively as she sat propped up by the pillow.

“Miko…please. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. This was supposed to be for you,” she protested.

“Oh shush!” The kitsune pressed her mouth to hers to keep her from arguing. Ei swallowed her words as the guuji slipped her hand between her thighs and gathered the wetness already collecting there.

“This doesn’t look like ‘I’m fine’ to me. Don’t be so selfless. It doesn’t suit you.” She easily inserted a finger and her girlfriend moaned deeply in response.

Kissing down her neck, the sly fox bared her fangs and nipped just hard enough to leave indentations on her tender skin. She slowly added a second finger and Ei bucked her hips, desperately seeking more.

Pumping in and out at a steady pace, Miko bit down on the Shogun’s shoulder before sliding her thumb across the sensitive bud nestled between her thighs. Fighting to keep her shaking legs from crushing her injured lover as she neared her release, Ei wrapped them around her waist.

“That’s it, dear, come for me,” Miko murmured, her words in combination with her strokes causing her girlfriend’s hips to rise off the bed as her orgasm overtook her. The Shogun slumped back against the pillow, a thin sheen of sweat coating her brow.

“See? That wasn’t too hard for me, now, was it?” Miko chastised before pressing a sweet kiss to her lips and snuggling back into her lap.

“You’re the only person I know who’d want to have sex while injured. It must be those kitsune genes. Just…do me a favor?”

“Anything for you, dearest.”

“The next time you get a ‘wild urge’ to take a jaunt through the forest…please don’t turn into your fox form.”

Miko huffed stubbornly. “You’d rather I run around stark naked?”

“If it means you’ll come back to me safely…desperate times call for desperate measures.”

[cyanide-muffins]

My Epic the Musical Secret Santa for @branches-and-thorns - they asked for something about the gods, and I may have diverged. a decent bit but! There are gods and discussions and gods and implications of gods so. maybe not that far off?

@epicthemusicalstuff, thanks for putting this event together!

One-shot below the break :) Happy Holidays!

TW: discussions of rape and violence

The night was dark, and Anticlea was running. 

Her chiton was coming apart around her, unravelling from the long score down the front. Her hands bunched in the wounded fabric, clutching it to herself as she ran. 

The night was dark. There was no moon. She didn’t know if it was childish to wonder if she would have been alright, if there had been. If she might have been guarded from this.

She had never thought it would happen. There were stories, yes, but they were all so careful—they knew better than to approach strangers, and they had their ways of dealing if they were surprised. 

It hadn’t mattered. None if it had mattered. All the skill and speed and surety of hand and feet in the world hadn’t saved her this time. 

Undergrowth caught around her ankles, and she cried out as a thicket of euphorbia slashed at her feet. She could smell it crushing under her, and she felt it trade her, sap for blood. She’d run barefooted through the wild for… for a long, long time, and she didn’t remember the last time she’d hurt herself like this. Was she so careless tonight? Or was the blessing truly leaving her so fast?

She had to find Artemis.

In the end, it wasn’t hard. Anticlea, so swept up in it all, ran headlong into her. 

She ricocheted back, reeling from the impact. Artemis hadn’t given at all; she’d felt like stone, more than flesh, when she had hit her. She blinked, her heart thudding in her chest, as she tried to gather herself. She hadn’t realized how winded she’d been until she’d stopped, and now the stitch in her side throbbed like a physical wound. 

Hands on her shoulders; Artemis was speaking to her.

“Who did this to you?” 

Anticlea dragged her eyes up to meet her Lady’s, but she found them too sharp and cold to bear for more than a moment. Speak, she ordered herself, but in that moment she couldn’t have drawn breath to speak if it was to spare her life.

There was a long, long, stretch of silence. “Does he still live?” Artemis asked finally. Her voice was rougher than Anticlea had ever heard it. Was it anger? Grief? She had never, in all her time serving and loving her Lady, been quite able to tell whether Artemis loved them as she would a friend or as she would a faithful hound. Hounds, though, were simpler. Dogs were easier to forgive.

There was a queer kind of fog rising in her, laying the agonizing writhe of sensation and emotion in her heart and mind and body still beneath it. “Yes,” Anticlea said, finding her voice in the calm of it. She’d tried to kill him, she thought. Had she? Perhaps she had let him. Perhaps she hadn’t fought at all.

“Tell me,” Artemis commanded her, gentle, like she hadn’t just betrayed her. Like she hadn’t left her side a sister and returned an oathbreaker. 

“He was a king, lady,” and her voice broke around the words. It surprised her, distantly, listening to herself. The fog was receding slightly, like the tide had gone out. Emotion came to her in waves.“Of Corinth. Sisyphus.”

Kings were Zeus’ domain. Artemis could not break a king from his destiny for such a little insult as this. If he had tried to harm her, perhaps the wound to a goddess would have been reason enough— but Anticlea was just a girl. Just a mortal, just the restless, reckless daughter of a thief who had refused to become a woman. What did it matter, that her father’s father had been a god? If she was a man, perhaps it could have meant something, that Hermes’ blood was in her. If she was a hero, it might have helped. Gods, if she’d been a princess, or a sorceress, or a fucking monster, it might have meant something, but she—

She was just her. She was nothing, and she had had nothing, and now she had even less.

“He will hurt for this,” Artemis said, low like a wolf, and Anticlea shuddered as she felt the gentle press of her lady’s fingers, carding down her hair. 

“And what of me?” She barely dared to ask. But perhaps it would be easier, to find death here for breaking her vows. Even wandering the woods as an animal, senseless, might be better than this, if that was the path her lady chose. She didn’t much favor the use of her mind, right now. Deer might have it simpler. 

“Child,” Artemis said, and she sounded close to tears herself. “Anticlea, I won’t hurt you.” She rolled her eyes up again to meet Artemis’ star-bright own. “I broke my promise.”

“No,” Artemis told her, and Anticlea thought it sounded almost like she was begging. Like she was convincing herself, not just her. “No, he broke your promise. That sin was his. This isn’t your fault.”

This isn’t your fault. This isn’t your fault. 

What of Callisto? What of Polyphonte? Every huntress who had run with Artemis had heard of the ones who came before— the ones who caught the eye of the wrong immortal and faced their lady’s wrath for it. How could she be different?

A good girl would ask. A devout maiden, a pious devotee, a faithful companion would try to understand, to prevent her lady from making a mistake or speaking in error. She’d take her punishment as was due her. She wouldn’t dishonor her patron or her sisters who had died for the sins she’d reprised. 

A good girl would ask, and a good girl would die for it. Anticlea had never been a good girl; how else would she have gotten herself here, ageless, shameless—ancient, shamed?

“Lady,” she said, and the words caught in her throat like a sob, “I’m afraid.” The tears came, finally, rising like a swollen river, like they would consume her. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know,” Artemis said, lowering her head to rest her face against Anticlea’s. She could feel her trembling. “I’m so sorry.” 

Laertes’ house was beautiful. 

Marriage had been her childhood terror. Her sisters had been eager for it, though their status was low and their prospects were poor. Polymede was beautiful and knew it, and had been determined to marry up. Neaera had had a laundry list: so long as he was handsome and kind and clever, who needed a rich man? And Anticlea, youngest and softest of them all, the most hesitant in form and mind to step out of childhood, had flinched away from all of it. She’d fled into Artemis’ hunt the moment she’d learned how, and she had never stopped running.

And now, of all of them, it was her who was to be a queen. 

Ithaca was small, but lovely. The king was young, barely older than she appeared to be (how old was she? She had been sixteen for so long, she had ceased to count), and had been awestruck to receive them. She didn’t blame him; he had owed her la— Artemis a favor, and such things often resolved in worse ways than a goddess at your step with a new wife in tow. 

A new wife. And it was such a low cost to keep her life; she couldn’t even resent it, being given over like a horse to a stranger, no dowry to her name, no family behind her—all of it, all the trappings of mortal life, lost in the past she’d given up without a thought. She’d outlived everyone she’d ever known. How could she be surprised, that she was here, alone again? How could she resent a mercy like this?

Right now, it felt very little like mercy.

“My lord,” Anticlea said, praying that centuries old muscle memory would guide her as she bowed to him. How long had it been since she had bowed to a man?

“No, please,” Laertes said, reaching down to touch her shoulder. She flinched, and he pulled back. He looked stricken for a moment, but to her credit, he recovered almost instantly. Clever, this one. “What is your name?”

“Anticlea.” She swallowed, working up the nerve for the next words. “Daughter of Autylochus of Phocis.”

“Autylochus,” Laertes said, tilting his head. “The thief?”

She ducked her head farther. Her heart was starting to pound. What would happen to her if he refused her? What would happen if he married her to placate Artemis, and then disposed of her? What king would want a criminal’s sullied daughter for a wife? “Yes, my lord.”

“Laertes,” he said, and she blinked, nonplussed. “Please, call me Laertes. My father met yours, once, when he was very young. It caused quite a stir when he got home — my father was called the pickpocket prince by the household for ages.”

“Oh,” said Anticlea. What else could she say to that?

“Arceisiades,” Artemis said, and Laertes stood a bit straighter at the sound of his patronymic. “Will you take Anticlea as your wife?”

“Yes,” Laertes said, turning to look at her again, and the breath went out of her in a rush. Her chest felt tight: relief? Dread? Hope? She didn’t know. 

“Anticlea, do you take Laertes?” Artemis asked, her voice going softer. “I do not ask this to force you. If you do not care for him, we can find somewhere else.”

But who was to say who the next man down the line would be? There weren’t many mortal men who owed Artemis a favor, and fewer still unmarried. She knew almost nothing about Laertes, but at least she had met him. He didn’t seem cruel, and then next might be. But what fool would show ugly colors in front of a goddess?

She didn’t know. She didn’t know. She had no way to know.

Laertes ducked his head a little to meet her eyes. He held a hand out toward her, but he didn’t try to touch. “I swear to you, Anticlea, you would be safe here. You don’t need to stay, but if you do, I’d keep you safe.”

“I just,” Anticlea said, and nothing else came out. She wanted to cry, and hated it. Her dignity was all she had left in the world. To her horror, though, her voice was thick and small as she tried to go on. “I just wish…"

“I owe Lady Artemis everything,” Laertes said conversationally, and the non-sequitur pulled her back for a moment. “She saved my sister’s life, and I love her more than anything. Whatever I can give you, Anticlea, whether it’s a sanctuary or a throne or a husband, you’ll have it. This doesn’t need to be anything you don’t want it to be.”

Anticlea took a breath. Steeled herself. She had this moment and this moment only, and then her future was set. She had to make it count. “Artemis?” She asked, and though her voice was still rough, it was steady.

“He tells the truth, child. And if he should break his word and bring you harm, I will kill him myself." “Do you swear it?” She challenged her, raising her chin. 

Artemis’ eyes sharpened as she looked at her, and for a moment, all was as it was: Anticlea the headstrong huntress pushing boundaries, Artemis always, always letting her find the line herself. She was never quite sure where it was until she stumbled over it. “I do. I swear it on the Styx.”

“And you, Laertes?” She turned, fixing him in turn. His eyes went a bit wide to find himself at the full mercy of her attention. “Do you swear to me, King of Ithaca, that you will not harm or force me? That you will keep me safe and let me speak and act in my own will?”

“I do,” he said, solemn. “I swear to you, whatever you need, you can have. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay,” she said, the fire in her banking down again. “Okay.” 

And she went.

The sun was rising, and there was a child in her arms. Anticlea had never been so tired. 

Her hand shook as she raised it to the infant’s face. “Hello,” she rasped. Her voice was a wreck, long-since worn from screaming, and she had the oddest urge to laugh, hearing it. 

Laertes had had to leave the room early on, in tears. Anticlea hadn’t been surprised; her husband’s soft-heartedness was as well-known through Achaea as his prowess in battle. She’d heard not a few Argonauts, come to stay and tell each other the same old stories, tease him for it, but it was something she’d come to love about him. He may have sailed with the greatest heroes of the age, but he was always the first to tears when an aoidos came to spin a story. 

So she was alone, her attendants gone for the moment, her husband off collecting himself, her kingdom locked safely outside as she watched its next king take his first breaths, when she heard an intake of breath at her shoulder. 

A thunk; the eating knife at her bedside table pitched back and forth, lodged halfway through the thin wall. The woman at her side eyed it, and then her. “As quick as ever, I see,” said Artemis. 

Anticlea peered at her, trying to decide if she had passed out from fatigue, or perhaps died of some strange, delayed complication. She hadn’t seen Artemis in years. “Lady?” She tried.

“Anticlea,” Artemis returned. Her face was as soft as she had ever seen it. “Congratulations.” 

Thank you was the polite thing to say, but she found that she had no interest in the diplomatic answer. “It was awful." “I know,” Artemis said, like she did. “I was with you. I tried to help, as much as I could.”

Anticlea paused. What was she supposed to do with that? She chewed on her words for a moment,, before giving up. She had no energy for word games. “Why?”

“You’re one of mine, Anticlea. That will never change. Of course I would do what I could, in a moment I could.” 

Childbirth, she realized. Gods, she must be half out of her mind if she’d forgotten one of the chief aspects of the goddess she’d once called her patron. 

Could she still? There was a time when Anticlea would have given anything — would have killed, would have died — to know Artemis still loved her, still called her one of her own. She would have done anything to go back. Now, she wasn’t sure. 

When she refocussed, Artemis’ head was bowed toward the child.

“He’s got a bit of destiny about him, doesn’t he?” She said absently. 

“Not too much of one, I hope,” Anticlea said, smiling a little as she studied him.

“Does he have a name?”

“No,” she said ruefully. “Nine months, and Laertes and I couldn’t decide.”

“Call him Odysseus,” Artemis said, brushing a hand across his forehead. His brows came together in a fierce expression that seemed to large for his little face. “He’ll rake tempers in his time. I suppose he gets that from you,” she said, and Anticlea wanted to laugh or to cry, to hear her teasing her again, after so long. “Trickster blood, I suppose. It always outs.”

“Odysseus,” she breathed, looking down at the child— at her son. There was a wash of tiny freckles across his brow where Artemis had stroked him, like a smattering of stars. “Hello, Odysseus."

[nico-hypno-den]

owner’s guide #1

Mutts

so i’m writing this because i want document my experience with different pups just what’ve i learned what i’m learning and how cute they all are.

important preface: all dogs deserve love kindness and respect even if you get rough with them always make sure to reassure them be kind and gentle afterwards at the end of day a dog only really wants one thing love and praise. respect boundaries and remember sometimes your dog has to act like a person respect that shit don’t put them into puppy space without consent. Also also take care of your dogs needs now i’m not saying force them to eat or drink but try to remind them remember doggies aren’t the smartest so it’s good to check up on their basic needs now and again. ok onto the fun shit

what is a mutt; a mutt is probably one of the most common types of dog i see on this site you can identify them as such

• dumber than average

• very needy

• so pathetic it’s cute

now these are just some common traits again i’m new to all this so please correct me if i’m wrong (i’ve also only had experience with one mutt so forgive me) but those are among my experience the easiest to manage every mutt is different but if in doubt heavy praise will break a mutt easy. A mutt is not the disobedient type the rarely put up any actual fight. but one thing that may be an issue is they’ll try to cling to things such as dignity and personhood and as we all know it’s pointless for a dog to have that so personally what i recommend is a training regimen basically the goal is to slowly humiliate them until they view degrading acts as normal and common now again tailor this to the dog mutts have different tolerances what may work for my mutt might not for yours for example mine is a mixed mental and physical style regimen one exposing him to the world and two forcing him to externalize things via speech which i’ve learned is something that he finds really degrading. Your mutt may not work like this for some you might need a light touch not every mutt is gonna be on the level of like no underwear in public type shit but again talk to and discuss with your mutt their tolerance. now onto telling them about the training regimen so sometimes your dog might not even know their being trained now this is a secret weapon if you reveal it right at the start the dog may find it really hot especially when they have to guess if something is related or not which will quickly twist up their head making them even dumber or you might reveal it midway through like i am right now (hi mutt yes i have a plan made specifically for you it’s multi step tho you probably already guessed at least a bit i was doing this) this may result in shock realizing that they’re being trained to lose their dignity bit by bit until they’re just shameless pup. bye y’all up next is a hound and how to handle them.

[smakkabagms]

May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade … My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second … Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. / Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger … Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time … My apologies to great questions for small answers … Dignity, please be magnanimous … Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train … Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then … I know I won’t be justified as long as I live, / since I myself stand in my own way. / Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, / then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Wislawa Szymborska, "Under One Small Star"

[cyanoticfireflies]

Hazbin Hotel - Rewatch Thoughts (Episode 1, Part 2)

Charlie kicks into song #1, “Happy Day in Hell,” and KeeKee is just kind of floating in the air listening along with all the rest.  Just an observation.

Okay, so some of the stuff we see in Hell: one very dead ant/praying mantis looking demon, some actually not *that* kinky sex (guys, we’re on AO3… if you know you know), and a slew of dead bodies in the road.  I assume those are fresh kills and not leftovers from last week’s extermination – though maybe?  They smell awful and have flies, which means the dudes picking up corpses in the Pilot are very inefficient at their job.

Real talk about the barbed-wire pair – what’s the status on Sinner/Imp relationships?

 Because in HB we kind of see some of the social stigma of, say, a Goetia prince and an imp.  Though there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of noise about a Sin and an imp – probably because everyone is way too distracted by Lust falling in love.  And with a Sin and a hellhound, it is telling that the party is populated by imps and hounds exclusively….

We do get an imp and a sinner making out in the music video Addict (the ladies with Valentino) but that strikes me a bit more as “someone told Valentino that lesbians making out was hot and he said “Yeah, sure.”

Anyhow.

I feel like when Charlie hops up on the car we get our first real core philosophical discussion here.  “If I can show them the dream I’ve dreamed, that anyone can change.”  This is *optimism.*  This is highly simplistic so we as first-time viewers of the show can understand Charlie’s personality and motivation.

This is not realistic.

Vivianne did a livestream where she talked about just this idea and that part of the conflict is that maybe not everyone can be redeemed.  Are we holding out high hopes for the loan sharks that came to the hotel with a battering ram in episode 5?  The skeezy sharks that tried to date-rape Angel in episode 4?  *Valentino?*

(That last one actually wouldn’t surprise me that much if they tried it, but also how?  If HH pulls it off and genuinely manages to redeem the most universally hated character in the show, I will be impressed.)

Some people don’t want to change their ways and be redeemed.  Others may have done things so horrific that it’s hard to imagine them being able to truly change their ways and move forward with the rest of their existence.  There’s a sliding scale of what is and isn’t forgivable, and VM said herself that the scale is very person-to-person and it’s something the series will struggle with.

“But I do think there are certain things, you know, to me, from my perspective, that I feel like are irredeemable and, you know, when that line is crossed, I’m like ‘that can’t be uncrossed.’”

Counterpoint to Charlie’s singing, Vaggie starts talking about the angels.  She’s 10,000% convinced that this isn’t going to work, and at this point in the show first-time watchers are just nodding along.

But we know that Vaggie isn’t just repeating anti-angel slander here.  She knows better than anyone in Hell except maybe big Lulu himself what the angels are like because she *was* one.  When she says they’re stubborn, don’t change their minds, are bloodthirsty, she’s talking from hardcore experience.  And specifically exterminator experience.  We only really spend time with Lute as far as the exterminators go, but – as we’ll see later on in this very episode – Vaggie is pretty much hitting the nail on the head describing her own personal knowledge of angels.

Also, it’s worth noting that Vaggie says “those angels,” “they.”  This is partially to avoid spoiling the big reveal later on but also because Vaggie genuinely doesn’t think of herself as an angel anymore.

She no longer has wings.  She’s no longer an exterminator.  She lives in Hell.  She doesn’t have any personal connections – that we’ve seen yet – to anyone in Heaven but has a Hellborn girlfriend.  Vaggie’s life exists in BC and AD in terms of “Before Charlie” and “After Demon [Princess].”  More on this later.

 (What moron killed this dude and then *left. the. drugs?*)

This next part is, to me, where “Happy Day in Hell” cooks.  You sing it, Princess!

So… Travis?  Why???  What is this dude’s deal?  Not even getting into the pilot or Addict videos, but in episode 4 – so actual published show cannon – this guy directs Valentino’s porn.

His literal job is watching porn all day long, live and in 3D.  But he wants to spend his free time watching other porn and getting so randy he’s practically humping the windows?  Me thinks his sins are related to a porn addiction that is very not under control.

Moving on to Cannibal Town, I have a legitimate question.  We’re told that sinners can’t “double-die” unless they take an angelic weapon to the face.  Does that mean that those who are cannibalized in Hell don’t actually die from it? 

And if they won’t die from it, are there people who volunteer to be eaten?  Do the cannibals take turns deciding whose turn it is to eat and whose it is to be eaten?  And then after they’re eaten, do they just respawn?  Is there a lottery system?

It's been a long time since I was in band, but I think the sheet music behind Charlie is actually correct, which is like a super impressive little detail.  Tri-pe-let-hold.  There’s-just-no-way. 

As someone who likes shows where the person “playing” music is so far off of the music that it’s laughable sometimes, it’s just really cool to see.  It probably wouldn’t have been any more – or less – work to just make something up, so there was no reason not to.  But I’ll still give the kudos!

Little detail that cracks me up every time is Husk’s original VA being the flasher Trenchcoat Demon.  “Touch his parts” indeed. 

Sorry, buddy – only certain fluffy spiders get to touch the parts.  Imagine getting told you’re being replaced by Keith David only for them to find a part for you anyway and it’s that.  Mick Lauer must have a great sense of humor.

Without going into too much detail on my job, I actually do a reasonable amount of communication with and visits to embassies in Washington, DC.  Charlie’s experience of walking straight in the front door and ambling around until she finds the reception desk is definitely a suspend your disbelief moment for me. 

I know the whole point is that it’s abandoned and creepy.  But no metal detectors or bag checks?  At least there is a sign in sheet.

Someone pointed this out, but how does Adam eat through his mask?  I know that the ribs are a hologram, but so is Adam, so assumedly the real Adam is eating real ribs up in, like, the atelier off of Sera’s office? 

In episode 6 we later see him drinking through his mask while he’s walking around with Lute, but that’s normal drinking.  This is like he’s shoving the ribs through a rib-stripper that mechanically separates the meat from the bone.  That whirs.

The hologram part of Adam’s presence does seem to be entirely arbitrary, though, based on whether the scene wants him to pull a prank on Charlie or be slightly threatening.  Her hand goes right through him when they go to shake, but later on he is able to grab her wrist and physically move her. 

Is there a button up in Heaven?

Wait… if Adam is a hologram for Charlie, is Charlie also a hologram for Adam?  Is he in full VR like he’s sitting in the Heaven Embassy in Hell, or is he sitting in his own office and just Charlie’s physical presence is being projected?  Or did the design the two rooms to look the same so no one would get lost on where they are?  If Adam moves a chair in Heaven, does an identical chair move in Hell so that if Charlie walks in that exact spot the two images won’t overlap?

I may be thinking too much about this.

We go back to the hotel, where Vaggie wants to create a new commercial. 

I love that Angel can’t be within a few feet of Husk without basically going “the old man… I desire him.”  Poor Husk.  His eye is actually *twitching.*

Notice me not saying anything about the genuinely impossible physics related to another (missing) eye.  So proud of myself.

Alastor creates a new camera for them, and I’m genuinely curious what his thought process is.  The photo camera he makes seems pretty congruous with his time period (aside from some antler decorations), so it seems like he conjures what is familiar for him.  But when he creates the video camera, it includes an eye and even eyelashes. 

I wonder if this might be related to some part of his backstory with Vox.  We know that Vox has cameras set up all over the place and watches people, so maybe Alastor associates video cameras with being watched.

Vaggie films Husk and Angel first, and I love hearing awesome actors act like they’re awful actors.  But this also makes me curious what the storyboard Vaggie has in mind is.  Also, there’s no way Vaggie actually handed Angel a script that said “big, strong daddy.”  She’d die.

I know the “you come” set up the Angel-filthy-moan joke, but it should definitely be “you’ve come” – possibly setting Angel up for a “not yet, baby” joke…  Either Husk really needs the script that close to his nose to read it or the scriptwriter didn’t get good grades in grammar.

Scrub that counter good later, Niffty and/or Husk.  We know where Angel’s *everything* has been.

… I’m not even asking what the skeletons around the bar are from, but one does look like a snake. 

Maybe that’s why Sir Pentious thought they other residents had it out for him.

I’ll get into this more in episode 4, but even this early we can see Angel adopting some of Valentino’s mannerisms  when he’s making passes at Husk.  “Baby-cakes” from the pet called “Angel-cakes” by his own master…. 

I know it’s upsetting you, Husk, but take the lid off the bottle first.

(We'll pick up in Episode 1, Part 3 due to Tumblr's 30 images-per-post limit.)

[mothwingwritings]

Kiss The Pain Away

F!readerXMotobe Izou

It’s October, which is one of the most choice months to exist, and I have been mia for weeks and didn’t wish you guys a hello and happy holidays to the start of Halloween so I apologize and please forgive me for that.  ꃋᴖꃋ That being said HAPPY 17 DAYS INTO HALLOWEEN EVERYONE WAHOO YIPPEE!

I come humbly offering a little Motobe fic that I have been working on for an embarrassingly long amount of time some time now, and though it isn’t necessarily explicitly Halloween themed its yandere and messed up so it fits the bill well enough I hope. :D

I really want to maybe (big emphasis on the maybe) put out some kind of spooky/monster thing (even if it’s just a small blurb in the void) for Halloween but I think you all know me well enough by now to know that that may not happen, despite my best intentions. ^^; I will try my darndest though, so here’s to hoping. 八(＾□＾*)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I love and appreciate you all very much thank you for reading!!! ~<3

WARNINGS: Gore and a lot of blood, this whole fic is basically centered around reader hurting themselves (accidentally) so there is just so much blood. If blood is not your thing please be mindful. Also: kidnapping, forced affection, Motobe being a delusional creep, the tiniest mentions of noncom/dubcon and maybe cannibalism, language, violence, and just general dark/yandere vibes.

Blood surrounded you.

Pooling in your hand, dripping steadily to the floor, an intense pain was pulsating from the open wound it originated from. The weapon you had cut yourself with laid discarded at your feet on the floor, tossed aside the moment you grabbed it incorrectly and caused the gory scene you now stood the center of.

The cut left behind was deep and agonizing, extending over the entire length of your palm and down your wrist, tearing into the soft skin of your upper arm. The initial slice was so excruciating that for a horrifying moment you thought the whole hand had been sliced in two, your body trembling from the shock as you tried to assess the damage through the gore. A sharp gasp of pain hissed from your lips whenever you moved your arm, the searing sting causing tears to dribble down your cheeks as easily as the blood trickled down your arm.

“(Name), I’m back!”

Shit.

Your eyes darted toward the entrance of the house, panic quickly consuming you at the sound of Motobe’s cheery voice. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour at least, he told you as much before he left this morning. You cursed under your breath as you took in the mess around you, frowning at the realization that it would take far more than a hasty wipe up job to clear it all away. A deep frown settled on your face, you wouldn’t have attempted this had you of known what little time you truly had.

Motobe was not apt to follow a strict schedule, so trying to figure out when you would be left alone for an extended period of time was no easy task. The man had no concept of personal space, and from the moment he snatched you up moments of peace had become few and far between. He was always breathing down your neck, butting into your business, keeping constant tabs on each and every thing you did while you were trapped under his roof. He tried to play it off as if he was merely just spending quality time with you, taking an interest in your hobbies and life because he truly cared about getting to know you. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to understand you, to show you that he loved you.

The incessant hounding made you sick, his mockery of actual attentiveness rage inducing. That pleased little curl of his lip when you acknowledged him, or the sparkle in his eye when you gave in and conversed with him, did nothing but stir your disdain. It didn’t take you long to come to the conclusion that Motobe must be crazy if he saw his actions as that of a cherishing lover, as if everything he had done to you was anything besides fuel to stroke his ego, feeding his misguided obsession.

If a lasting relationship was his end game, he had already screwed up royally by knocking you out and locking you in his home against your will. It felt like ages since you had seen your friends, centuries since talking to your family. Your coworkers probably thought you were dead, and your landlord had definitely long since cleared out your apartment, someone else was most likely living out their day to day life peacefully inside it’s walls as you suffered. No amount of forced affection and smothering attention would help his case, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

For months you had been plotting your escape. Motobe wasn’t keen on leaving you alone, and while he did all he could to spend as much time with you as physically possible, that didn’t mean he never left the house. Some time apart was unavoidable if he wanted to keep you fed and ‘cared’ for without risking you getting sick, hurt, or (god forbid) having you step out into the big, scary world on your own for an errand run.

Though he never seemed to stay out long, he definitely had some kind of life outside of you (a luxury you feared would never be awarded to you again, Motobe seemed quite content to have you rely on him entirely), but he kept you ignorant to the details of his sporadic comings and goings. It wasn’t that you were overly interested in what he did when he stepped away from the building that encapsulated you, but having no real clue as to his hobbies, relations, and profession made calculating what days and time frames he would be away for long periods of time difficult to decipher.

Nevertheless you persevered, and through a careful analysis of his activity you managed to narrow down several dates when he was sure to be gone for longer than just a few minutes, giving you a fair chance to make a move.

 And from there, your plan truly took off.

With a tentative date and time, the next hurdle you focused on was taking note of his secret weapon stashes. You made the most of the moments he’d briefly unveil them, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn’t spot you peeping, doing your best to commit their location to memory. While stealing peeks at his vast array of artillery, you couldn’t help but wonder who would need THAT many weapons, and what exactly he did out in the world that required him to be so armed? Was he in the military, or maybe a terrorist (the latter wouldn’t be all that shocking, considering how you arrived here)? Was this all just a really intense hobby? It unnerved you, but you pushed past your concerns. After all, he had never threatened you with his arsenal, why fret over it now?

Fueled by the taste of freedom on your tongue, you had started sucking up to Motobe, acting demure and agreeable to get his guard down and (hopefully) grant you more freedom.  Each unwanted kiss was reciprocated, every advance responded to with a coy smile. You never considered yourself much of an actor, but seeing how easily he seemed to fall for it, maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit.

After weeks of gritting your teeth and putting up with his heavy handed affection, all your hard work had finally paid off. Your proverbial chains were lifted, and Motobe no longer suctioned himself to you all hours of the day, granting you some much needed leeway. You took that ounce of freedom and ran with it, walking around the house untethered, narrowing down which doors and windows would make the best escape routes.

Motobe opened up more to you in turn, sharing stories and tidbits from his life that he previously kept closely guarded. While thankful for any insight that may assist your plight, his ramblings left you more confused than anything. From his perspective, he made himself out to be some manner of hero, making cryptic comments that the livelihoods of so many people were weighing heavily on his already overburdened shoulders. He’d always make sure to add that you were never part of that burden, ‘saving’ you was his destiny and an honor, being your guardian was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

Never mind the fact that you were never once in danger as you lived out your mundane, Motobe free life. If anything, you were probably much safer back then then you were now, but trying to explain that to Motobe was counterproductive, so you kept your mouth shut.

The best you could gather was that he saw himself as some manner of vigilante who did martial arts work on the side to fund his less lucrative job of being everyone’s great protector. His idealistic view on his existence would be endearing if you didn’t know the truth of it. Stomaching his rose tinted view of this life you lived with him was hard enough as is, but actively watching Motobe hide behind his savior complexto justify all his wrong doings added to your revulsion. If nothing else could be said for him, he certainly would make a fascinating case study for any psychiatrist who could stomach his self-righteous bullshit.

But regardless of how much you believed or understood him, you pretended to take an interest in Motobe’s life, using the pieces of info you gathered about his future plans and where he frequently traveled to finally hammer down the ideal timeslot of escape.

For once in a very long time, luck was on your side. And things only continued to get easier for you from there.

Motobe’s new lax outlook on your relationship carried over to his weapons as well, making it much easier for you to take stock of them. Being so close to so many deadly things frightened you, and the fact that they were never far from Motobe’s reach did little to ease your already shot nerves. You had seen him in action as he practiced in his private dojo, wielding each one with the skilled hands of an expert as he decimated training dummy after training dummy. Watching him had acquainted you well with the brutality he was able to inflict with said weapons at his disposal-the flayed dummies a brutal reminder that his gloating was not entirely bullshit. And it wasn’t just weapons either, the man had a knack for turning anything he laid hands on into a deadly device, be it a toothpick or a teddy bear. The damage he could do with an actual arsenal was more than enough to keep you from attempting anything haphazardly, forcing you into subservience to avoid upsetting him, fearful that he may eventually cast his ire your way.

However, even with his new found penchant for opening up, he seldom wielded his weaponry in your presence, mainly only taking them out for routine maintenance. This is how you gained most of your knowledge, by spying on him while he tended to and arranged his varying munitions. Though you did your best to be covert while you did so, you were pretty sure he was always aware you were near. He had asked you several times on cleaning days if you were interested in watching, but each time you bashfully declined, feigning ignorance to your own snooping. Truthfully, it upset you that he was able to read you so plainly, but you were thankful that he seemed to chock your research up to mild interest and not an assault plan.

After you felt you had a decent enough grasp on his hoard, including how they were secured and safeguarded, your plot was nearly to fruition. You had memorized the combination lock that let you into the vaulted room (after you had seen him do it once it was easy to remember, he had made the code your birth date after all), kept track of the different places he kept the keys that lead to each individual weapon case, snagging the one he was least likely to notice was missing. A date had been set for when he would be gone nearly the entire day, so all that was left for you to do was put your plan into action.

And that is how things had proceeded thus far, all according to plan. For a moment you thought maybe God or some other sort of powerful entity had thrown you a bone, pitying you enough that they finally decided to offer some divine intervention. Excitement buzzed throughout you, this was it! Everything had fallen into place and this was your moment to put all your hard work and planning into motion. You would be armed, you would hide, you would spring on Motobe as soon as he came through the door, stunning and wounding him, and then when he was downed you would run as fast as your goddamn legs would carry you and keep running until these past few months were just a horrible blur in the past.

It really was a shame that the key you managed to grab ended up unlocking the weapon you were least familiar with, one with a hidden blade concealed near the handle that you happened to learn about the hard way. Funny how after months of planning all your hope was quashed by one tiny misstep, the throbbing wound on your hand mocking you for even considering you had a chance of escape. If the God that assisted you thus far was watching, you wondered if he was laughing at you.

You frowned as you heard his heavy footsteps coming closer your way. “… Sweetie, can you hear me?”

You fumbled, slipping on your own fluids in an attempt to flee the scene and head to the relative safety of the bathroom. A hiss escaped your lips as your knees collided against the cold tile of the dojo floor with a dull thud, the resulting pain insignificant compared to that of your palm.

Apparently picking up on your blunder, the footsteps in the hall hastened until they stopped abruptly at the rooms entrance. You heard a sharp intake a breath, turning to find Motobe staring at the scene with wide eyes, a furrowed brow, and lips slightly parted as he took in the blood bath before him.

“Baby…” He cooed at you sickeningly, looking at you with such sad, pathetic eyes it made you want to vomit right on the spot. He took a few steps inside, making his way towards you. “What happened?”

His eyes flicked to the discarded weapon on the floor, and a brief shadow flitted across his features, “…You got into one of my caches?”

His voice wasn’t accusing so much as it was disappointed. He breathed a heavy sigh, coming upon your crumpled form with slow, calculated steps, as if you were a scared rabbit he was trying to keep from bolting. Instinctively you went to hide your wound, tucking your hand close to your body to shield your embarrassing faux pas from the man who hovered above you. You could practically feel the dissatisfaction radiating off him as you concealed yourself from him, a deep frown sure to be set on his face if you were to deign him the pleasure of eye contact.

“(Name),” his voice was sterner this time, punctuated by the use of your name and not one of his disgusting pet names, “Let me see your hand. This amount of blood loss is nothing to turn your nose at. You’ll need stitches at the very least. Please, let me see.”

He held out his hand patiently, which you stared at in consideration for several seconds before yielding. Shakily, you withdrew your hand from your chest, laying it gently in Motobe’s steady hold.

“Oh sweetheart” he clicked his tongue, gingerly holding your hand palm up, inspecting the gaping, self-inflicted wound, “Look at this! This is why I always tell you to ask me for help if you have an interest in any of the weapons, you’ll end up hurting yourself like this if you don’t know how to handle them properly.”

In every regard, Motobe was always so gentle with you. Speaking to you, touching you, being intimate with you, he always treated you as if you were made of glass ready to shatter at one mishandle. This interaction was no different, as he carefully turned your hand this way and that, a soft, sincere expression settled on his face. He was deeply concerned for you, worried and upset about the pain you were undoubtedly suffering through.

But even with all his apparent sincerity, the only feeling you could muster for him was contempt. If he hadn’t captured you and forced you into this suffocating house against your will, you would never have suffered an agony such as this. It didn’t matter how kindly he outwardly appeared, you would never give in to him, not when you knew what a monster he truly was.

He let out a low hum as he continued his inspection, “You damn near cut to the bone, we need to get you cleaned up so it doesn’t get infected,” He started to lean towards you, arms outstretched as they began to envelope you, “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

Slapping his hands away, Motobe’s eyes widened as you scuttled back, your knees smearing your blood in a vibrant, gruesome streak.

“I can walk myself,” You hissed through clenched teeth, shooting him a hate filled glare. “Don’t touch me.”

He sighed, his brow furrowing, “Baby, look at how much blood you have lost. If you get up on your own, you are going to be dizzy. You already fell once, didn’t you?”

You continued to glare at him, jaw set in a harsh frown. You knew he was right, but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. Your vision was already slightly blurred from the blood loss mixed with the anger that was coursing through your system, if you tried to stand on your own, you were sure to topple instantly.

Taking your silence as a go ahead, he slowly proceeded to wrap you in his arms, hoisting you up as one might a child. He made his way to the bathroom, being sure to avoid slipping on his way there.

With a grunt, he seated you on the toilet and proceeded to dig around for something to staunch the bleeding. It didn’t take him long to procure some gauze bandages and a warm, wet cloth to start cleaning the wound. He moved delicately, but you still cringed the moment he came to near to the torn flesh. Shooting you an empathetic look, he moved efficiently to minimize the time you spent in pain.

After he had gotten the wound moderately cleaned, he had you press a towel to it, catching the new blood that was seeping out. Your heart rate quickened as you saw him fish around for suturing supplies. The pain in your hand was already abysmal, and you weren’t looking forward to the new wave of agony a novice stick job was about to bring you.

He chuckled softly as he laid out his tools, preparing for the inevitable, “You know, I’m a little surprised. I always lock my weapons up securely, double checking them before I leave the room. I know I am getting older, but I am not so senile that I left one wide open…” He shot you a quick look, a definite questioning undertone to it that you found hard to face.

“It must have been some work getting to them,” his voice grew quieter as he turned his full attention your way. There was sternness to him that he didn’t typically use on you, making you want to shrink in on yourself. “Something tells me it wasn’t a mere coincidence that you had one in your possession, and judging by your lack of interest any other time I tried to teach you about them, I doubt you merely wanted to take a look.”

He crouched down, elbows resting on his knees as he stared deeply into your eyes, “(Name)… Why were you in my weapons? What were you trying to do?”

His voice was tinged with dismay, but remained disarmingly reserved. It was as if he knew your whole plan already and just wanted you to fess up to it. He was ready and waiting to hear you confess your sins, break down to him in a sobbing voice about how sorry you were, plead for his forgiveness. And he would give it to you, he always did. Because he loved you, because he cared for you more than anyone, because he was the only one on this entire planet who could ever hold such deep and profound affection for you. You felt like a little girl being scolded by her father, he may be let down by you, but his despondence over this moment would never overshadow the ceaseless adoration he has for you.

It made your blood boil.                                                                                                                         

“What was I trying to do?” You seethed, your body starting to slightly quake with your thinly concealed rage, “I was trying to get the fuck out of here! Escape to some place, any place, where I never have to see you again! You’re so deluded you probably conveniently forgot this, but you kidnapped me you asshole!”

You scooted as far back on the toilet as you could, giving yourself as much space as physically possible. You took a shuddering breath before continuing to spit your venom, meeting his gaze with daggers.

“You think I want to be here, trapped in this hell hole with you? You think I like having you paw at me, or that I get off to you forcing yourself on me? Do you think its fun to have every moment of my life under a microscope, all of my autonomy taken from me as you live out your sick little hero fantasy, convincing yourself that you are caring for me, helping me, or that you actually love me?”

You shook your head, fighting back angry tears that threatened to spill, “You’re SICK Itou, you have been for a very long time. I thought it was obvious at this point, but let me spell it out for you. I took the weapon to fucking attack you. I stole its so that I could hurt you bad enough to run away from this shit hole and get away from you forever.”

Your voice dropped as you stared into his tempestuous eyes, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Maybe you would never be strong or cunning enough to physically wound Motobe, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hurt him in other ways.

“I fucking hate you,” your words were quiet, but clear, spoken with clear intent. “And no matter how much you pretend otherwise, I will always, always hate you.”

Silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the sound of your ragged breathing. A noticeable chill permeated the room, causing goose bumps to litter your flesh. You expected an intense reaction, a severe rebuttal to your stinging tirade, possibly even tears over how callously you were treating him. Instead, you received suffocating stillness, the man before you a rigid statue, his emotions impossible to read as you stared into his impassive face.

That scared you much more than his fury ever could.

“Hmmm,” he eventually hummed, eyes glazing over as they bored down on you, his grip slowly tightening around your arm, “I found you on your knees, but you must have fallen and hit your head too, huh sweetheart?”

“What’re you talking about-“

The exasperated words could barely leave your lips before he gave a tight squeeze, sending a wave of fresh pain up your already throbbing arm. You cried out, struggling to pull from his grasp, but it only made his grip stronger. You flopped around uselessly, trapped in his constricting hold, tears flooding your eyes as fresh blood seeped through the towel. Flowing freely from your palm down your wrist, it came in contact with Motobe’s hand and started to snake its way down his own arm, deep red trails cutting harsh lines across his unmarred flesh.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t be so cruel, so ungrateful, right? Not after all I’ve done. Not after all I continue to do for you.”

He removed the sopping cloth from your hand, discarding it with a wet slap as he threw it in the sink. He lowered his head to your palm as if he were inspecting your wound, planning how he would proceed in patching you up. His eyes flicked to yours briefly, a dangerous gleam flashing through them that caused a chill to course through you, disturbing you so deeply it froze you to your core.

His lips hovered over your damaged flesh, puffs of his breath causing discomfort when they hit your weeping cut. Gradually he lowered himself until his lips collided with your wound, a searing kiss pressed roughly against your mutilated skin. A pained whine squeaked from your throat, your body jolting in surprise upon contact. You felt violated, more so than you ever had, unimaginable pain driving you to the brink as he planted kiss after kiss upon your hand. Each smack of his lips was a new torture, your hand burning violently under his ministrations, coaxing cries of agony from your gut so vile they sounded nearly inhuman.

Your response did not deter him- instead he fed off of it. Pressing harder, drawing each kiss out as long as he could, letting his lips deliberately linger on your aching flesh, sparking wave after wave of misery the longer and deeper he dug in. You shuddered as you felt his tongue join in your torment, squirming past his fleshy lips to lap at the steady stream of blood gushing against his mouth.

After several endless moments he finally lifted his head, looking up at you with the same lovestruck, doe-eyed expression he reserved solely for you.

“A kiss to make you feel better, darlin’.”

You felt bile rise in your throat as you stared at him in horror, his lopsided grin tinged crimson with your fresh blood.  The bright, violent red that coated his mouth and dribbled down his chin gave him a feral edge. It looked like he had tried to devour you, tear you apart until there was nothing left but your flesh digesting in the pit of his belly-the wolf consuming the lamb.

“But please try and be more mindful in the future,” his tongue swept across his lips, your essence now staining his tongue as his droopy eyes leered at you, “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, sweetheart.”

[st-just]

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all. Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time. Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed. My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs. My apologies to great questions for small answers. Truth, please don't pay me much attention. Dignity, please be magnanimous. Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train. Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then. My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once. My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman and each man. I know I won't be justified as long as I live, since I myself stand in my own way. Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

-Under One Small Star, by Wislawa Szymborska