#Mini Militia

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Accidental Kidnapping [Reverse Trope AU]

FEATURING : CANDID MALE (OC) x male reader

How often does one check their car boot? No statistics for that but the same goes for our dearest (m/n) and maybe he should've opened it before driving home, unintentionally bringing an unwilling high-rank mafioso who thought the end of his life was in the trunk of your car.

reverse trope list (at the bottom), dubcon (on ocs end), con at the end, face riding, shitty inaccurate mafia depiction (i tried) profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Damn it! These guys aren't letting up-"

A bullet shot through the wooden pillar, effectively penetrating the man's head hiding behind it. Shouts and yelling of commands could barely be heard above the rain of gunfire at the entrance of the building.

Unfazed by the death of his associate, an individual crouched beside the waist-level brick wall. Strands of red hair that were loose from his hair bun tickled the nape of his neck, his sharp hazel eyes flickered before throwing a tantō behind him, killing a figure who tried to sneak up on him.

Half of his attire, premium Dolce suit, was drenched in blood, most of it didn't belong to him. His right heavily scarred hand gripping his sword's scabbath, his most famed weapon of choice.

Aito Sousuke.

Capo and a close associate to the underboss of a reknowned criminal organization. His dearest uncle, the caporegime, ordered him to settle a dispute and investigate a scheme their rival gang had carried out on the borders of their territory.

As soon as they had arrived to the building, a shootout occurred. And Sousuke's members retaliated with their own militia. Ultimately, they overpowered the mutts that creeped in on their area.

The redhead stepped over the pile of bodies, the building had an underground lab, his hand brushing over the white packets of powders on the metal table. Drug trafficking? That wasn't new to Sousuke. Did they lack clients in their own protectorate?

As his minions was sweeping out the rooms, one of them yelled in alarm, alerting Sousuke.

"Suicide bomber!"

Flashes of white struck his eyes as Sousuke was propelled to the floor by the explosions around the lab. It was an attempt to cover their tracks, getting rid of evidence in case of a blowout.

"Motherfuckers..."

Sousuke cussed, seeing his body was layered with the white powder that had torn and splattered all over him. Immediately, he threw his jacket off and abandoned the lab, the drugs effects were unknown so he didn't know how much of a danger he was in. He grabbed a piece of document his eyes laid on before abandoning the lab and his screaming minions.

Passing through the alleys, he attempted to make his way back to a safe place, their commute was jacked with bullet holes and Sousuke could feel his body slowly shaking and his legs becoming more heavy.

Reaching the end of the alley, he yelped when he tripped on the curb, his body now suddenly weak as he fell into a carboot that had been conveniently opened and it was closed shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Sousuke yelled out, banging on the cover of the hood, his surroundings now cramped with metal tools, making him panic even more with his arms suddenly growing limp.

"FUCKING LET ME OUT BEFORE I BLAST YOUR FACE OFF-"

A certain (h/c) hummed to the song he was listening on his headphones, the music blasting shielding your hearing senses, rendering himself unaware of the mafioso he had accidentally locked in the trunk of his car.

(m/n) (l/n) had just finished doing his shopping in a hardware store, buying screws, hammers, etc. to finish his mini renovation of his house. He lived in the suburbs so he had to travel quite far to reach the store. Blissful ignorance had coated him as he hopped inside his car and drove, unknown of the scared redhead in his carboot.

"Shit shit shit-" Sousuke cussed, trying to reach for his phone, he screamed in frustration having losing it in the shootout moments before. Backup is probably focusing on the target building and no one knows where he is currently. How the hell did this fucker got me?

Sousuke thought this guy was ballsy for targeting him, the culprit had to have planned this meticulously if they had managed to kidnap him out of all people.

"What should I have for dinner..." (m/n) hummed, blasting his radio as he turned his corners recklessly. The redhead shouted, his scabbard digging into his side, the side effects of the unknown drug was getting to him. His face getting hot and his body pulsing.

Finally arriving to his house, Sousuke thought it was a second location for torturing-, (m/n) exited his car, slamming his door as he took out a bag of groceries he had purchased as well. He entered his house, almost forgetting his items in the trunk as he left the door open and skipping to back to his car.

"I think tempura with udon should do nicely- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU??!!"

(m/n) screamed, stepping back seeing a redhead inside of his carboot. "HUH?? I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT- WHO DO YOU WORK FOR AND WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" The redhead screamed back at him, disorderedly searching for something inside of his drenched vest.

Is that blood- (m/n) panicked and reached for his phone to call the cops but the click of a gun stopped his movements as the bloodied stranger aimed the muzzle at him. "No cops." He hissed out, clenching his side.

The (h/c) stared at the muzzle, raising his hands. "...No cops." He repeated after the redhead. "Who are you?" "I-I'm nobody! Literally I have no idea who you are!" "You kidnapped me." Hazel eyes glared hard at him, his messy red hair now loose from his bun and his figure sitting up in the carboot.

"I didn't kidnap you?? YOU SNEAKED INTO MY TRUNK!" The average person would never have the balls to scream at a gun-holding bloodied person but (m/n) was flustered at the accusation of being a kidnapper albeit him only doing his errands.

Sousuke scanned the area, his breath heaving deeper and it was obvious he was far from his gang's territory. Either he was in the rival's or a civvie. He studied the (h/c), who was only wearing some long-sleeved shirt and slacks. This guy really tried to pretend he was normal-

"Fuckk-" He moaned in pain, the throbbing in his side worsening and the burn in his head increasing. Sousuke looked to the side and saw the open door of the suburban building. "That's your hideout?"

"Hideout-? YOU MEAN MY FUCKING HOUSE??" "Shut up. I need it. Help me inside." "And why would I do that?!" (m/n) yelled exasperated, his arms tired for holding it up for so long. Sousuke frowned. "You're willing to let your captive die? And here's this."

The redhead waved the gun in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. (m/n) contemplated his choices, staring at the glock and the scabbard he just noticed underneath his hand.

Unwillingly, the (h/c) helped the redhead, supporting him as they walked inside his house while he loudly complained about Sousuke staining his shirt with blood and that he wasn't a kidnapper. The redhead was annoyed and was dumbfounded on how someone was casually cursing and yelling at him.

As they stepped in and Sousuke forcefully closing the door shut, he groaned, the weight of the drug crashing down on him as he knocked over a lamp and stumbling in the living room. "That's brand new..." He heard (m/n) whining about his broken lamp.

"I...I need first aid. Now." His head was hot and he feel like he could die at any time, his heart beating irregularly and his legs spasming. "Don't you need a hospital instead-" (m/n) immediately swooped in, holding Sousuke's body up when he suddenly went limp, he just noticed his scorching temperature and his shivering body. "Woah, did you get poisoned or something?"

Hazel met (e/c) as Sousuke weakly gazed at (m/n), his bottom lip quivering, his eyes dazed and his face red. "Poison...?" He suddenly remembered the document he had snatched before escaping the building. "The drugs-" "DRUGS-?!" The redhead numbed out the rest of (m/n)'s words as he hurriedly searched for the paper, crumpled near his scabbard as his blurry eyes tried to scan the words on it.

"Shit shit- hey don't fucking die here!" Sousuke went limp in (m/n)'s hold, the (h/c) unable to hold up his dead weight, laid him on the sofa, Sousuke barely conscious as he was draped out on the furniture.

(m/n) noticed the paper and grabbed it, reading its contents out loud. "-new batch, target audience in the upper-tiered , target victims for sex trafficking??" The (h/c) glanced at the redhead, disgusted. "It's not me, you fucking idiot-" Sousuke coughed as he wiped his face, blood dripping from his nose. (m/n) fastened his reading, seeing the red liquid.

"-registering a small dose can be considered lethal, effects include muscle spasms, heightened senses, drowsiness, nausea, increased libido?? If not treated, symptoms will lead to a HEART ATTACK??!"

The (h/c) clenched the paper in his hands, the stranger had almost half of the effects already. "Are you in the fucking mafia or something-" He paused, remembering the sword and the gun the redhead held which was now on the floor. There's no way.... No way that a mafia member was now in his house, dying on his couch.

Sousuke let out unintelligible noises, something of a groan with saliva mixed as he laid on his side, his face flushed. (m/n) was now desperate to cure him or something, he didn't want to face the consequences of a gang chasing after him thinking he killed their member.

"-no treatment has been developed-" FUCK. "-as the victim must ejaculate to rid of the effects in his bodily system-" HUH? (m/n) reached the end of the paper, crumbling it in frustration, his eyes wide, contemplating whether should he just let the stranger die here in his living room.

Sousuke was convinced he was going to die here. His vision was wet and blurry, tears slipping out and his face was burning so much he felt he was going to melt at any second. He doesn't have any regrets he could come up with at the moment. Only the thought of his father laid in his mind along with his uncle.

Feeling his shirt shifting, he moaned when his pants were pulled down as he struggled to focus his eyesight. "Wuh-?" "Wake up. I'm gonna help you so don't kill me after this." The supposed kidnapper was snapping his fingers in his face, catching his focus. Why does he look embarrassed?

"The drug you took- roofied? I don't know but it's gonna kill you if you let it sit any longer in your system. You have to flush it out before you have a heart attack." "...So do I have to piss it out or what?" Sousuke felt drowsy while giving out half-assed answers. The (h/c) looked exasperated.

"Y-You have to...cum it out?"

Sousuke felt his breath stopped as he squinted his eyes at the (h/c) who looks flustered and waving the document trying to explain himself. "Is this your attempt at molesting me?" "FUCK NO!"

A gasp escaped Sousuke as his bloody nose dripped even more, he coughed out while his chest was heaving. "D- Just do whatever-" He groaned as he clutched his head in pain. "You better not kill me for this." His kidnapper grumbled while shuffling down Sousuke's wide pants, looking away as he tugged his briefs down.

"A-aanh mmff!"

The redhead covered his mouth, surprised at the sudden pleasure when a hand tugged his erect penis and began stroking it with a fast pace. "That fucking hurts-!"

"Just go through with it!" (m/n) yelled, mumbling an apology as he jacked off the redhead slower, he couldn't believe he's touching someone's bare dick, much less a mafia dude, to save his life out of all situations.

If the redhead died here, the police would've questioned how the hell did he end up in his house in the first place along with the drug in his system and a crime organization would've been after him the second that news spilled and who knows who they're in kahoots with.

Hence, why (m/n) decided to assist this stranger danger in masturbating so he could kick him out the second his life isn't threatened by some weird sex drug.

"You're enjoying this a bit too much..." (m/n) mumbled, now gazing at the redhead who was crying and moaning while bucking his hips up every time the (h/c)'s hand squeezed his base, precum dripping down his cock.

The redhead's head was fuzzy, the rush of pleasure coursing through his veins and he tried to keep his moans muffled. Tears slipping out of his eyes even more at the sensual gratification as his 'kidnapper' jacked him off. He felt his body was so sensitive, his thighs trembling and his body twitching.

(m/n) was frowning, sitting on the edge of the couch, trying his best to distract himself as he pumped the- , he just noticed how big it is, -cock in his hand. The moaning redhead on his couch wasn't helping either as he felt arousal strike his pants. His cheeks were hot, the mafioso's expression was a sight to see, his tanned skin red and wet from tears and sweat. Fuck was he always this handsome?

"S-Shit- mmngg ahh!"

He didn't realise how close he was to the redhead until the redhead came, semen spurting from his cock and few bits landed on his face. (m/n) stroked him for a while longer, letting him ride out his orgasm as he wiped his face clean.

Sousuke's body trembled, better than earlier when he was shaking almost like convulsing, his mind blank as he felt his legs slack. A blanket draped over his bottom half as the 'kidnapper' walked over to him, crouching near his face.

"Your temperature seems better. Guess it really did work." Wiping the redhead's face with a wet rag, picking off the blood near his nose as he pressed another cloth on his neck, cooling it down manually. (m/n) flinched when the redhead leaned into his touch who was enjoying the cool, he shyed away as he continued to wipe down the stranger.

Is this considered aftercare?

He wondered as he took the first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table in front of the redhead. "Take this and get out of here."

Sousuke only blinked up at him, now drowsy as he closed his eyes shut, forgetting all the dangers of sleeping in his 'kidnapper's' home as he fell into a slumber. His body was now relaxed, only a few bruises from the gunfight and his scabbard jammed into his side earlier.

"Remember- I HELPED YOU!" (m/n) screamed into the sleeping man's ear as he went to wash his hands in his sink, scrubbing it ferverently. He did his chores, closing his carboot which was left open the entire time, and tried to scrub out blood on his rug and furniture the redhead had left behind.

He might need to get a whole new sofa, the previously pristine furniture now stained with red and possibly baby batter.

(m/n) tried to put trust that the stranger would leave as soon as he woke up, believing at the fact that there was a misunderstanding where he thought the (h/c) tried to kidnap him so it makes sense that he would want to leave right? After he had oh so graciously saved his life?

His words were true when a couple of hours later, he heard his front door open and closed while he had barricaded himself in his bedroom with a baseball bat while reading through a novel, waiting for the stranger to leave.

Images of the redhead moaning and crying still lingered in his mind as it fueled his shameful arousal, (m/n) cussing on why someone who was possibly dangerous had to be so handsome.

-

"How are you, my nephew?"

A tall man, with short slicked back red hair clasped the shoulder of his supposed nephew who bore a similar colour in their tresses only Sousuke's were longer and was left to drape on his clothed back.

"I feel better now, sir. I thank you for your concern." Sousuke had been recovering at his uncle's estate, who was his caporegime, aka his boss, who was worried hearing his own flesh and blood had gone off the radar for a whole day and finding him injured and flustered at the borders of their territory.

"My assistant found the man you were looking into. Although it's a wonder why you're suddenly interested in him." He gestured to the file on the table besides them. Sousuke picking it up and flipping through the contents. "You did a good job at busting out the rats' lab, albeit our boys received a number on their amount."

Their organization had strict rules in their territory, which was how they maintained their influence over their city. So when rumours flew that drugs that were not in their regulations were being passed out in their district, they suspected it was sabotage. And it was, a new sex drug that was tested on their turf, to be used for malicious deeds. And Sousuke so happened to experienced it face to face.

"Do we have any dirt on him?" Sousuke questioned, skimming through the texts.

"No." The old man puffed a smoke, his expensive suit hugging his body while Sousuke was donning a loose haori. He was the only one who would wear traditional Japanese outfits despite being in a foreign country. It was a tribute to his mother who contributed to his half-Japanese genetics.

"Looks like a civvie. Recently moved to the out of city suburbs after graduating. Parents are clean. Never contacted any of our boys too."

Sousuke glared at the picture, the small photo of a man smiling. His eyes read the name. (m/n) (l/n). So he wasn't really a kidnapper... The redhead ordered for a background check of the (h/c), thinking he was still someone out to kidnap him but let him go for who knows why. Although his footman was confused when he described him in odd details, mentioning a nice body, pretty (e/c) eyes, etc..

It caught the attention of his uncle, so he did it for him.

"Has he done anything to you?"

The old man would kill anyone who would touch a single strand of his boy, his nephew, although they lived dangerous lives and Sousuke had proven himself to become a caporegime, he still looks out for his flesh and blood.

"...No, sir."

The hesitation was clear in Sousuke's voice. So it was a misunderstanding? A coincidence that he had landed in the car trunk and driven off to a secondar location which was (m/n)'s home?

Sousuke couldn't forget his touch. His fingers stroking and jacking off his cock, squeezing his base. He wasn't one to divulge in sexual desires, he was raised that lust was a weakness so for someone like him to experience that, it was a change for him.

-

(m/n) definitely felt like he was stalked.

A week had passed since that...incident. And he was relieved to find that the mysterious suit-wearing redhead didn't appear in his surroundings, giving him a sense of peace that he lucked out and the mafia was not after his ass.

Until he started noticing a minor detail.

A car was parked two blocks down from his house. He thought it belonged to the neighbours, but he had just noticed it would disappear every time he returned from his errands and would linger whenever he was home. He suspected it was the redhead.

Is he here for revenge? After I jacked him off?

(m/n) groaned into his palm, seeing that the car was still there as he walked up to his porch, carrying a few grocery bags.

Those bags fell to his floor when he caught sight of a man sitting on his furniture, his posture relaxed like he had been waiting for him. "YOU AGAIN?!" He screamed at the redhead.

Said stranger only frowned, crossing his arms, no guns or swords in sight. "If you keep hiding your key under your welcome rug, even a toddler can sneak into your house." (m/n) flinched at his words, as he walked straight past the man to set his bags on the kitchen island, ignoring how he followed him behind.

"You bought a new couch?" The redhead asked, tilting his head. (m/n) noted that he seemed to be a lot less of a screamer when he was sober. "Couldn't get the bloodstains out." He huffed. Or the cum spots as well.

That took a pretty penny out of his pocket. "...I could've paid for it." The (h/c) glanced at him weirdly as he closed his refrigerator door. "No need. I don't want to be associated with you." "You saved my life." "No need to remind me." "It was brave of you to-"

He slapped his hand over the redhead's mouth, his palm brushing against his lips. "I said no need for reminders. Hell, I don't even know your name and what you did. Why did you come here?" The redhead was silent, before gently pushing (m/n)'s hand away.

"The name's Sousuke."

The warm kitchen light complimented him well, (m/n) noticing his heavily scarred hands and his upper lip was nicked. His long red hair, resting on his back, he was wearing a black button up, a grey vest and matching pants.

"I'm here to settle my score."

(m/n) furrowed his eyebrows. "What score?" "My score with you." "I don't want a reward or anything like that. Just leave me alone." Sousuke's grip on his hand tightened. "I assumed the worst from you and was convinced you tried to harm me but instead you saved my life. I am indebted."

"You did fell into my trunk and I didn't notice so I think it's fair." Sousuke frowned at that. It was normal for people like him to repay their debts and he was confused why (m/n) was rejecting him. "Do you know how I work?" "I can guess but like I said, I don't want to be associated."

Sousuke fell silent before he turned around and walked away. "My men will provide protection for you. At least until my debt is repaid." "I don't need it!" "You do. You look weak." "FUCK YOU??"

(m/n) was about to throw a vase at the redhead before said redhead had exited his house, closing his door. He hurriedly went to lock it and screamed in annoyance. Am I going to have more scary people following me now or what?

That's close to what happened. (m/n) noticed that scary men would follow close to him and it would be different people on a different day and they followed him almost everywhere. He caught them blending in the crowd, sipping drinks when he was relaxing at a cafe of pretending to go through the cereal section when he was shopping for the week's restock.

He had enough of it.

"Tell your fucking boss that I don't want his stupid protection!" He confronted one of the man when he slipped into an alleyway to corner him, said man only stayed silent and nodded before (m/n) left him.

The next day, he received a gift. An expensive table lamp that didn't suit the rest of his aesthetic but he remembered that Sousuke did broke one of his lamps. He used it in his bedroom's bedside table instead.

"Can you at least tell me when you're going to sneak into my house?" He scowled, seeing the redhead at his kitchen island, casually flipping through a comic book he owned as he sipped a cup of coffee.

"I see you carry your keys now." "Yeah. So how the hell did you get in?" "Spare." "MOTHERFUCKER-"

A few weeks passed by and this had become his new norm. Sousuke would drop in his house, every few nights or so, claiming that he needed somewhere to stay low even though all he did was lounge in the living room flipping through tv channels.

(m/n) at first was irked by this, threatening to kick him out or call the cops but he got used to it and sometimes would even make extra dinner so the redhead wouldn't finish his.

Sometimes, Sousuke would come in bloodied and that scared (m/n), him remembering who he was dealing with but the demeanour he carried was so different than the man he was supposed to be.

His words were straightforward and tone bland, he only seemed mad when he thought (m/n) was trying to kidnap him and now he was gentle? No, it was more like he was relaxed around the (h/c).

"Do you have a hairtie? I lost mine."

And somehow, (m/n) felt like he has a roommate now, buying stuffs that he thought Sousuke would need them such as more bandages or hairties or claw clips for his long hair. Slowly, he felt like he could call themselves friends with how often the redhead was around him.

Sousuke never brought the whole drug thing after that, not even mentioning it in the slightest and (m/n) was confused. Shouldn't he be mad that someone helped him masturbate when he was drugged? Was this normal for him??

And sometimes in the late nights, (m/n) would think about his twitching hips, his wet crying face and his guttural desperate moans and his large cock- He would get hard at times. Looking away whenever Sousuke gazed at him a bit too long, moving to a different room when he felt that the redhead touched him too casually.

He caught his face flushed a couple times and he didn't know what to make of it, only shoving it deep in the back of his mind. Into the vault it goes.

It was one of those nights, where Sousuke would randomly appear in his house and they would eat dinner together, with civil oddly enough.

"I'm trying to get the heater for my shower working again but I might need to contact my realtor for that since it happened way before I moved here." (m/n) rambled, slurping the noodles he had made as Sousuke wiped the edge of his mouth with his hands.

"Mhm. So what are you going to do next?" He would listen to the (h/c) long conversations, only chipping in an answer or two since he couldn't exactly contribute much to the talk as his life was far from a civvie's. His uncle was beginning to question why the hell did he spent so many time out of their domain.

Sousuke kept telling himself that he wanted to repay his debt, watching over him until he saved the (h/c)'s life in a similar manner to how (m/n) did but truthfully, he wanted to stick around. The peace he had around (m/n) was bliss compared to the havoc he had been born and raised in his crime-filled life.

And he couldn't help but think he was starting to fall for the (h/c), their petty arguments, their meals together was healing his soul. He couldn't help but think to that incident, the sinful pleasure (m/n) had brought him, his hand wrapped around his cock, he tried to recreate it by himself but it could never suffice.

There is the fact that the drug did amped the libido effects but he didn't want anything nor anyone else to do it, except for (m/n). But he didn't know if the (h/c) even desired for him. With his ugly scarred body.

Now here they were, sitting next together on the couches as a movie played in front of them, (m/n) focusing on the screen while Sousuke paid no mind and opted to subtly stare at the (h/c) instead, his eyes lingering on his lips and darting away when he caught sight of his (s/c) skin from the collar line of his shirt.

"F-Fuck, you're so good to me!"

(m/n) quickly grabbed the remote, speeding the movie up when a sex scene appeared. Anything sexual related was heavily avoided by the (h/c) whenever he was around Sousuke.

"Do you...abhor these things?" (m/n) raised an eyebrow at Sousuke's sudden question. "What?" The redhead pointed at the tv. "Action movies?" "Sex." He choked on his saliva, patting his chest as he calmed himself down. "I don't think much of it. Why the hell are you asking me that?"

Sousuke was silent, his hazel eyes not meeting (m/n)'s as he stared at the tv. "I don't...divulge in it. Not as much as the average person do." But every mafia movies always had girls around them. (m/n) wondered, cupping his chin.

"It was my first that I was touched. In this room." (e/c) eyes widened as he turned to the redhead. "That was your first time??" When (m/n) had stroked his dick...that was his first time ever doing so?

"I was taught lust is for the weak." Sousuke turned to (m/n), his face holding a monotone expression although something dark was in his eyes. "...Yet my strength wavers around you."

Heat crawled up his neck as (m/n) covered his mouth with his hand. Is this- a confession?! When he turned around, Sousuke's face was close. So close that their breaths mingled and his red hair was brushing against his face. The redhead's ears were bright red, complimenting his tanned skin.

"I want more." He whispered, his eyes dazed with desire.

(m/n) was stunned, his lips slowly moved to speak. "Are you drunk?" "I'm sober." Sousuke's hand moved to grip his thigh. "And I want you. Please." He spoke in such a low manner as he delved his face into the (m/n)'s shoulders, his breathing hot and heavy.

The (h/c) felt his arousal rise, his face flushed and biting his lower lip. Sousuke's body was heavy on his and he could feel all the muscle lying underneath. "J-Just this once, okay?"

Sousuke slowly pulled back as he gazed into (e/c), his face completely red as he gently pressed his lips onto (m/n)'s.

-

"Like this?"

A slurping noise struck and (m/n)'s moans followed. "Y-Yeah you can take it in deeper- mmff!" His pants were gone, his bottom bare and Sousuke was taking his cock in his mouth, the latter saying he wanted to try everything out and the second on his list was a blowjob.

Sousuke moved his throat further in, taking more of (m/n)'s dick as he calmly breathed in through his nose. His tongue swiping at the base of the penis, pressing and feeling its veins with his wet muscle, unintentionally applying light pressure which further pleasured the (h/c).

They were on the couch, a hilarious parallel as (m/n) laid on the other end with Sousuke pulling his hips up, pushing his face deep in between his thighs. His mouth sucked (m/n)'s cock, alternating between being gentle and full-on milking his precum, the (h/c) screaming having being so stimulated.

"Aanghh ah ah s-stop! You're so rough- mmff!"

Sousuke pulled himself off with a pop, gazing down at the sweaty (h/c) whose shirt was pushed down, revealing his (s/c) torso. The redhead's nose brushed (m/n)'s thigh and he bit into it, sucking and licking the mark making the (h/c) cry out.

"You good?" (m/n) nodded, taking in deep breaths. "Y-Yeah. Haa haa..." "I want to do one of those numbers." "Numbers?" He hummed. "Was it 127? Or 68?" "You mean a 69?" "Whatever it was I want to try it." The (h/c) readied himself. If this proclaimed virgin really tired him out at his first blowjob, he couldn't imagine him eating his ass out.

"Okay- ah!"

-

(m/n) was crying, his legs shaking as he tried his best to lick the dick in his face, only able to give the tip a messy kiss before crumbling on Sousuke's torso.

The redhead was having the time of his life, spitting, fingering, thrusting his tongue in (m/n)'s asshole, playing with his puckered hole until the (h/c) began to cry on his cock, choking and gagging saliva all over his penis as he numbly thrusted into (m/n)'s mouth.

"T-Too much mmngghh urgh angh mmn!" He sobbed out, feeling one of Sousuke's knuckles rubbing his rim while the tip of his fingers were pressing against his sensitive walls, trying to find his prostate.

Easily pulling him up, Sousuke pushed (m/n), letting him grip onto his arms for balance as he forced the (h/c) to sit on his face. His nose brushing his ass crack and his tongue massaging his balls. (m/n) tried to raise himself only for his thighs to be pulled back down and gripped tightly as Sousuke ate his ass out.

His butt was dripping with saliva and precum by the time Sousuke released him, he heaved and whimpered while the redhead held him close, wrapping his arms around him and shoving his tongue down his throat, drawing more of those cries that he realised he loves so much.

-

The (h/c) refused to believe that Sousuke was a virgin. Not with how he pushed his legs up to his chest, his knees touching his shoulders while sloppily fucking him up, pressing his full weight on the (h/c).

Sousuke wanted to see his face while they commit this sin, his face hot as he licked (m/n)'s salty tears, kissing his eyes and nose and he bit his earlobe too.

"S-So good! You're fucking me so good, Sousuke- aanggh!" He cried out, digging his nails in the redhead's clothed shoulder whose hair was now free and framing his face, intensifying the look of pleasure on the redhead.

"I'm glad- aanhh mmng! You're so hot, (m/n). So fucking handsome- hngg ahh!" He praised the (h/c), tears slipping out of his hazel eyes while moaning ardently into the (h/c)'s ear. His hips met (m/n)'s ass at a fast pace, wet squelches filled the living room as the sofa was slowly stained again with disgusting baby batter.

(e/c) eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clenched himself around Sousuke, feeling his orgasm pull through as his cum stained his own stomach and Sousuke's shirt. The redhead came as well, seeing (m/n)'s expression as he defiled the (h/c)'s ass for the third time that night.

Cum dripped out of the rim of his ass, Sousuke pulled out to see the naked (h/c) trembling under him, his cheeks wet with tears, his chin coated with drool and his skin littered with hickies and bitemarks in contrast with himself, Sousuke was still fully clothed except for his exposed crotch as he felt his knees almost buckling from the intense sex they had.

"Y-You're a liar. You're definitely not a dumb v-virgin." (m/n) pointed to Sousuke, his finger shaking while the redhead only hoisted the (h/c) onto his back, intending to carry him upstairs into bed. "I'm not lying." He almost stumbled down the staircase, quickly holding onto the wooden rail as he pulled himself and (m/n) up and recklessly staggered into the master bedroom, crashing onto the lush bed.

His legs were shaking lightly, this was truly his first and overboard was a statement of his performance. Sousuke laid like a starfish on a bed, pulling (m/n) under his armpit while grabbing a duvet and covering them both.

"We'll clean up in the morning. Now sleep." He shushed the (h/c) who was about to retort, immediately succumbing to slumber, not even giving a second to stay awake any longer as the post-sex was as tiring as it is.

(m/n) frowned, adjusting himself under Sousuke's hold, letting himself drift to sleep as well. This might not be the last time he lets Sousuke fuck his body. Who knows, maybe getting involved with a mafioso isn't all that bad.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts:

Sousuke a munch frfr

I'm aware of the similarities in Daisuke's and Sousuke's names- ITS RELEVANT TO FUTURE PLOT OK

This fic kinda sucks ngl💀

I'm a PARENT atp for feeding you guys for the past two weeks since i made this acc😭

If i have to write a part 2, i would either write about how m/n got upset and ran away to sulk and smutty sex scene next or just them messing around w the sex drug (some bdsm???) HOHO comment for more ya sluts.

Oh and follow my tag pretty please

more of aito sousuke! 𖤓

[modrant]

Mini Militia Hack MOD APK is a modified version of the famous Doodle Army 2: Mini Militia game. It allows users to unlock premium features and obtain in-game items such as unlimited ammo, nitro boosts, health regeneration, and more. This hack mod provides enhanced graphics, new exciting maps and levels, and improved gaming performance.

[boogythegreatdigital]

[sideeve]

ARKHAM KNIGHT THOUGHT

the lock pick in your hand fumbles and falls out of your palm as you crouch in front of the last door until you saw freedom. "what are you doing, little bunny?" you freeze, your whole body suddenly not being able to move.

the heavy footsteps creep up on you. "i know my little bunny didn't want to leave me, did she?" he stops behind you. you slowly turn around, worried as you see a mini group of militia behind him. the arkham knight eyes the lockpick by your feet before picking it up, twirling it around in his fingers as he examines it.

"where did you get this, bunny?" he turns his head to you, his mask concealing his face. "answer me!" "i-i found it in one of the vents." you stutter. "one of my past bunnies must've left it." he pushes it in one of his many pockets, his attention on you again. "i'm feeling generous. don't disobey me again and we'll have a good day." he pulls you onto your feet again by your chin, his gloved index finger curled under your head.

"i have a meeting soon. i don't trust you to be on your own so you're coming with me." you looked down at your attire. you were wearing a red and black oversized sweater with some black socks. you weren't ready for a meeting. "i-i'm not wearing any good clothes." 'it'll do." he yanks you by your arm close to him.

"do we understand the basis of the mission?" the arkham knight's booming voice sounds throughout the whole room. the militia's eyes were all on you. the arkham knight was known for making abrupt decisions but him bringing you was unpredictable.

your plump ass was fit perfectly on his crotch. every time you tried to adjust your bare thighs on his rough military pants, you could feel his cock hardening. "i'm tired of you teasing me." he seethes in your ear before lifting the bottom of your sweater up to your waist. you hated that he never provided you with underwear. you were always walking around the quarters without any panties. but he loved it. he could take you whenever-wherever and no one could say anything.

he didn't care of how obvious he was being with you. he was so quick to pull out his cock from his fly before bending you over, plunging in you. "you see this?" he chuckles as he hears you whine. "this little bunny has tried to escape. we don't want that. do we, boys?" the room fills with 'no's. the arkham knight grips your waist as you grip his arms, needing to hold something as he abused your cunt in front of his soldiers.

"she's mine. if any of you touch her-shit!" he groans, throwing his head back as he slaps your ass. " you're 's fucking tight." he laughs before continuing his sentence. "if any of you touch her without my permission, i'll kill you." he pulls his gun from his side holder, pointing it around the room.

then his attention averts back to you. he would never admit to anyone but he's growing fond of you. every time he took you, he secretly took notes of what sent shivers down your spine, what made your walls flutter around his length. he yearned to make you feel good during intimate acts. so for you leave him after falling for you left a sick taste in his mouth. "say you love me." he begins to thrust harder. "you're-" he seethes, "you're all dismissed." he had taken notice of his men palming themselves at the sight of him taking you apart.

the men beeline out of the meeting room. most likely rushing to their bunkers to relieve themselves, storing this moment in their spank bank. "say it." his mask was now fully off, the 'J' scar saying hello to you. "i love you..." you moan. you felt a ring of arousal around the base of his cock as you both release, streams of hot white cum painting your walls. "kiss me." he pants. he couldn't get enough of you. he was insatiable.

he shoves his tongue down your mouth, the tip of his tongue not letting any part of your mouth be undiscovered. "you're not leaving me. i'm making sure of it." he pants, putting your cheek as he sees you drift off. "understand me?" you nod, your eyelids heavy. "good. 'cause fucking love you." he huffs, rubbing your ass before pulling out.

[ultimavela]

A new vice has come to torment me!

Anyone out there with a Mordheim warband to proudly show?

For my part I wanted to built some Cult of the Possessed, for all the fun weird things you can do with the minis, but narratively I'm leaning towards a all women Marienburgers Mercenaries warband.

I'm planing to gather some Frostgrave (soldiers II) and Wargame Atlantica (conquistadors) minis + some bits from Warhammer's empire militia to do some kitbashing.

We'll see where this takes me.

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary: Astarion is alone.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav/Reader

Warning: 18+. Blood and Violence. PiV. Cunnilingus. Handjob. Masturbation. Obsessing over his consort’s panties. Obsessive and Possessive behavior. Heavy trigger warning for Panic Attack & Anxiety. Our vampire lord really going through it.

Link to AO3!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

A/N: yall this one was hard to write and took way longer than I intended, i hope I did it justice. please enjoy <3 I’m hoping chapter 8 will be out soon, I have 4 days off next week (mini vacation!) so I still intent to post chapter 8 this coming week :)

Pic by: @druidess-vp <3

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years. 

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced. 

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone. 

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all,  he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup. 

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately. 

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind. 

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd. 

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet. 

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man. 

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening cock only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them. 

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His orgasm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself. 

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back. 

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent. 

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance. 

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin. 

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘He will be her new Master.’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange  if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you. 

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task. 

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles. 

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav, is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.” 

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye. 

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color. 

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir. 

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities. 

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours. 

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed. 

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body. 

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face. 

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘How rare. How sweet.’ 

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off. If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you. 

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your cunt was sucking his cock in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man. 

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below. 

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you. Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad. 

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s fucked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion. 

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

Next Chapter

[spacecowboywhit]

Tabletop Trick or Treat!

Ahh! I missed this in the flurry of boops and election crisis. Sorry, @werewolf914! I will share examples of a whole mini-genre of RPGs that I love:

Moments in History You Would Not Expect to Gamify!

Oyster Pirates by @rollforthings - Based on Jack London's journalism/short story, you are independent fisher-thieves in San Francisco Bay in 1888, illegally harvesting at night from the giant oyster monopolies and running from the police in high-speed fishing sailboat chases. Cool setting and awesome aquatic-heist rules!

The Kingdom of Prester John by @kor-artificer - A fun solo game where you are an emissary from the pope in 1177, seeking the fabled Kingdom of Prester John. Also definitely worth mentioning his other solo game, Scribe about the collapse of civilization in the Bronze Age.

Malandros by Thomas McGrenery/Porcupine Publishing - Brazilian communities coming together in the late 19th century in the immediate aftermath of the abolition of slavery in the country and the imminent transition from imperial monarchy to a republic. Tell stories that are slice-of-life, crime/gangsters/con-artists, underground martial artists, or even urban-folk-fantasy.

Beecher's Bibles by Noora Rose/Monkey's Paw Games - Blood-soaked, antislavery abolitionists in Kansas, USA in the 1850s fighting pro-slavery land owners, lawmen, and militias. Adapts the Panic Engine and Mothership rules to a very different setting.

Blackout by @open-sketchbook - There are ~54,857 RPGs of various quality where you play a soldier or spy in WWII. There are not nearly so many where you play civilians trying to survive through it. Excellent adaptation of PBTA rules. A game of war and violence, where the PCs are not the direct participants in that.

The Girls of the Genziana Hotel by @hendrik-ten-napel - The chambermaids in a hotel in the Bavarian Alps in the 1820s solve a mystery at night and navigate work and personal relationships during the day. Cool, eerie, unique. Uses the Brindlewood rules very well!

Rosewood Abbey by Kalum from The Rolistes - Monks in a 12th Century monastery solve mysteries, ala Cadfael, The Name of the Rose, or Pentiment. Also uses the Brindlewood rules very effectively!

WURM: Roleplaying in the Ice Age by Emmanuel Roudier/Dakikan - I have read this game twice and still can't decide if it's actually good or just interesting. It's slice-of-life during the paleolithic era, specifically with the coexistence between neanderthals and homo sapiens. Interesting mechanics, especially for things like survival, crafting, cooking, simply lighting a fire, and even a bunch of rules around childbirth and raising.

[xxnomadsxx]

feral and unhinged uncle meets goblin nephews and niece, Bruce better watch out cause Branch could form a potential little militia with his kids. 😂😂

Branch (accidentally) did try to make them into a mini militia (he treated them the same way he treats the kids in the village, wich is basically just mini soldiers)

Bruce put a stop to it before Branch could teach Labreezy the fastest way to rip a critter’s head off..

[lambsouvlaki]

hey! no clue if you’ll like this idea but thought i’d give it a shot. i was reading one of my favorite books the other day and there was a quote that reminded me of a dynamic/idea that i’d love to see with Jason. since i have no clue what the dynamic is called i’ll just show you part of the quote to give you the general idea (obvs have however many liberties you want. i just don’t know the name for it).

(“I want you to stay. I want you to… I want you.”

“And how will you have me?. Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?”)

i can imagine it would be pretty angsty and angry.

Ooh I love this. Have a mini-fic.  

(I’m going with Arkham knight jason because that’s the sandbox i’m playing in right now.)

~

“Take off the helmet,” she said. 

The glowing front panel looked down at her, the LEDs of its display unchanging in their cycle. 

Just outside the room the heavy boots of the militia thudded against the metal floors. The light flickered beneath the door as they moved back and forward. 

They stood barely a foot apart in the semi-dark, at the foot of her bed. Her breathing seemed so loud. The helmet silenced his entirely. 

He didn’t move. She could read so much from his body normally, the rage driving him when he marched, the focus in his steady hands when he took apart his weapons, the refusal to bend in his broad, tense shoulders. Then he looked at her, and she saw nothing. Only a blank mask, and a body that faced her but would never close the distance.

 She lowered her head. 

“I get it.” She turned towards the door. 

He caught her arm. Her breath hitched. His hold was gentle, as soft as a plated gauntlet could be.

“You don’t.” His modulator was quiet, but harsh. It couldn’t be anything else. “I want you to stay. I want you to… I want you.”

She turned back. He was closer now. For a moment she felt the desperation to reach to her in his hold, in the tightening of his fingers, an urgency and need straining against a refusal to step closer. 

She let out a shaky breath and looked up at him. Her hand rose to gently cup his jaw through the helmet. She hoped he could see the need in her eyes. The understanding she would extend if only he trusted her enough to try. How much she yearned for him.

The unblinking display looked back. 

"You want me like this?" she whispered, desperation warring with rising anger. "Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?”

He let go.

She closed her eyes, then walked away.

[beneathh-the-brine]

We're getting autistic up in this bitch!

IF YOU USE ANY OF THESE HEADCANONS DIRECTLY FROM THIS PAGE, LINK BACK DIRECTLY TO THIS POST AND CREDIT BOTH ME AND ROBOTMAGGOT/HOLLOW BY @ ING US. THANK YOU!

Have specific questions? Don't be shy, shoot me an ask, I encourage it! Currently this isn't an actual fan rewrite/entry, however I may reformat it/improve upon the writing and turn it into one in the future!

LONG TEXTPOST AHEAD

______________________________________________________________

A LOT of these are shared with @robotmaggot and I [@ophiu-chuss] believe a few were created by it, so I'm also crediting it!

Mini-rant, feel free to skip this: I'm deeply saddened by how basic and bland the new writer for the fandom wiki articles made Partygoers and Partypoopers, (Reducing Partygoers to human zombies and making Partypoopers human militia.) and how they took a lot of the monster/entity aspects from them. I am not afraid to admit I dislike both entries and that they're all fancy writing and no longer carry the charm that made both but especially the Partygoers as interesting as they were.

You can't just rewrite something and take away every single feature that made it special or caused it to stand out, even if you think it's "cringe". Sure, the original wasn't a Mona Lisa, but there was an idea there. An idea that's creative and interesting, it just needed a bit more love, not to be stripped away of what is is.

ONTO THE HEADCANONS! CLICK THE LITTLE LINK BELOW TO KEEP READING!

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SHARED BY BOTH SPECIES:

True sentience, sapience and intelligence. Both Partypoopers and Partygoers are incredibly intelligent beings, perhaps even more so than wanderers.

Ability to noclip voluntarily.

Slight muzzle/curve to their face instead of a nasal ridge. Partygoers have it more noticeably.

Mimicry of wanderer voices they've heard previously. Cannot mimic entity calls without significantly more effort. Partygoers cannot mimic how they sounded pre-assimilation. "Your voice is unlike before. Twisted and mangled."

Night vision. Partypoopers have a drastic upper hand with this ability. Partygoers have poor night vision, but can see better in the dark than wanderers. (Footnote: Despite this, neither can see in Level 6 as it's pure, true vantablack.)

Vague mammalian attributes such as warm bloodedness. (And Partygoers' direct connections to wanderers.)

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PARTYPOOPERS! (Or as I prefer to call them; Moonfolk!)

Identified with the wanderer-given scientific name populus lunae, meaning 'moon people' or 'people of the moon'. The moon can often be associated with mourning and sorrow, and the land which they populate is basked in longer nights than days.

Their masks are considered sacred to them.  The blue color reflects their strong association with the night sky and the moon.  Not all wear them permanently due to their importance, preferring to hang them on their walls or stow them away in their bags or pockets.  One is never seen without their mask somewhere on their person, regardless of how shattered they become.  When one dies, their mask is placed upon their face out of respect and used as a ceremonial mask, herbs, bones and other materials placed underneath it and on the deceased's face.

Partypoopers and Partygoers are unrelated to one another other than conflict, however it's assumed Partypooper's masks are to mimic Partygoers subtly, however, make them stand out in their own way. A sort of "stay away I could be dangerous!" (Note: Their masks are not attached to their face, nor are these masks part of their face, as a result, they cannot emote with them, masks staying stagnant. Masks are obviously capable of being removed, and many do this to avoid being identified as Partypoopers.)

Partypoopers have weak paralysis venom. Their teeth are semi-blunt with slight sharpness, and their fangs are stubby.

Partypoopers are also called 'Killjoys' and 'Moonfolk', the latter being the term they refer to their own species with.

Usually passive unless provoked, preferring to flee rather than fight due to their limited number of ways to defend themselves when not backed into a corner and able to bite or slash. More likely to stand their ground if armed with a weapon or two (Or in numbers.). There are a few notable exceptions to this.

In headcanon @robotmaggot and I have mixed the new and old Level 52 [Wikidot], giving them the names "52A" (The snowy forest area) and "52B" (The academy). Because of this combination/hybridization of the two levels, Partypoopers, considering they're level natives have certain adaptations as a result! They are the farthest from looking human and have zero human aspects aside from their bipedal stance.

When not speaking, Partypoopers communicate through trills, chirps, growls and hisses. They also have the ability to purr similarly to cats.

Thought to be extinct, however 'sightings' of them have been reported by wanderers.

ADAPTATIONS/KEY FEATURES!

Short but double-coated, mid-shade to dark grey in saturation fur. Can have other colors subtly added in, like blue-greys. This fur is both soft and warm, allowing them to stay snug in their natural environment, but also keep cool in hotter ones, just like double-coated animals. Any 'hair' they appear to have is actually specialized fur!

Floppy or pointy, slightly furred ears. Their ears are very expressive and allow for a wide range of emotions. Partypooper ears are always on the sides of their heads, not on top. These ears are very sensitive and can pick up higher frequencies than wanderers can.

Whiskers on their chins exclusively, which are easy to miss if you aren't up-close.

Claw or paw-like hands.

Their nostrils are not present on their face, rather directly beneath the base of their lower jaws.

Tails of varying lengths and fur types. Partypoopers are never tailless unless via mutation or a result of the appendage being cut off.

Eyelashes meant to keep cold snow off their eyes, not unlike a camel's but shorter.

Round/doleful looking eyes and pupils, larger than a wanderer's. Most Partypoopers always look sad, upset, worried etc.

Pale blue-grey to sapphire irises (Any shade of blue or purple, or any mixture that still shows the blue or purple.). Sclerae can also be colored.

Blood varies from red to blue/purple! Similarly to how wanderers have different blood types, but more literal.

______________________________________________________________

PARTYGOERS

Wanderer assigned scientific name venenatum hominem, meaning 'poisoned man'.

Partygoers are amalgamated ex-wanderers contorted and changed into something wholly unlike them. Despite trace DNA and some aspects of their humanity remaining, Partygoers are not classified as wanderers.

Partygoer can be shortened to just 'Goer or 'Goers for convenience.

Partygoers are found throughout all Levels but are only native to Level Fun.

When not communicating via spoken language, Partygoers huff, hiss, growl and cackle. They're said to sound similar to hyenas. Like Partypoopers, Partygoers can also purr. (Note: It's rumored they have their own spoken language as well.)

ADAPTATIONS/KEY FEATURES!

Partygoers can be any color, both eye and body. They can be multiple colors as well. No coloration is rarer or less common than another (With the obvious exceptions of melanism, albinism and leucism.). They may retain traits from when they were wanderers, such as freckles or heterochromia.

They have two ways of afflicting their targets with venom; their hand mouths (Attached at the thumb and running directly to their wrists. These mouths have no connection to their digestive tracts, only used for infecting.) and their true mouth via large fangs that sit where their upper canines would've.

Bone and cartilage have fused over some aspects, such as their feet turning to hooves, legs bending to be digitigrade and their facial nostrils becoming ossified. To remedy this, Partygoers have hole-like nostrils beneath a thin membrane (if more plush-like in appearance) or open/exposed nostrils (if fleshier in appearance).

There is no connection to method of infection and subtype.

Non-wanderers can be infected by Partygoer venom as well; however, this is incredibly rare, and those particular Partygoers are considered outliers. They also are often plagued by sickness and deformities, and don't last long compared to wanderer originating Partygoers. Note: Only one legitimate example of this has been recorded.

Their slit-like eyes are normal sockets covered by muscle and skin. These cuts in their face are incredibly expressive.

Most if not all of their original organs are partially decayed or assimilated. Most have a desire to consume flesh regardless.

Spines of differing appearance, length and sharpness running along their backs and shoulders. These can sense subtle changes in vibrations and temperatures.

EXTRA, PARTY HOSTS:

They communicate via the computers, it's advised to not trust any active connections. Use at your own discretion and use unique signoffs if coming across computers. Computers are not connected to the outside world, only other computers on their own individual levels. It is unknown how Party Hosts access these databases.

Party Hosts are predecessors to Partygoers (Similar in appearance, far taller in height and more disturbing in proportions.). They have a specialized form of venom that connects themselves to the entities they control. It's presumed only Partygoers can be afflicted by host control, however no one has seen a host and lived to tell the tale, so this fact is unfounded. When a Host dies, the most powerful Partygoer in the Host's hive is forcefully changed to a Host via the active venom in its system.

Even if you're dying of hunger, it's ill-advised to feast upon the corpse of a Host, no matter how fresh.

______________________________________________________________

ADDENDUM:

Field sketch of Partygoer skull recovered from locked off study room on Level ▇▇, pictured below. Partypooper skulls have never been obtained due to their scarcity.

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 7: I Tell You Faithfully

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: suggestive/steamy (no sex but still sexy enough for a warning), scary situation, violence/gore, ...angst... pretty big angst ❧ Word Count: 6.3k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Days before Negan is expected to return, Sir Daryl is assigned to keep you under his watchful eye at all times. When walkers threaten the safety of Alexandria, can he protect you from the cold hands of death, or will blood be shed on this fateful night?

❧ A/N: Ok so, a couple things. First, I ended up having to split this chapter into two parts, so that means that this series is now TEN PARTS. Yeah. Oh, and I am no longer calling it a mini-series, it's just a full on series because there are way more chapters than I thought there would be! Anyway, Negan will be in the next part, don't you worry. In the meantime, enjoy this... interesting chapter.

Darkness fell upon the kingdom once again, as it always did, but tonight, an indeterminable sense of abject terror lurked in every corner. The castle’s halls were silent, and even the great hall seemed devoid of the usual mirth and warmth it held. 

The king’s return from his travels earlier that day had revealed that his last effort to rally the forces of neighboring kingdoms had come to naught, for their defenses had suffered even greater losses at the hands of Negan’s men. 

And now, Alexandria’s militia was depleted, too, with only half of the king’s guards left to protect the castle, and less than that left to defend the kingdom’s walls. 

The fate of Alexandria was entirely in the hands of the same man who threatened to destroy it if he didn’t get what he wanted, and what he wanted, of course, was you. 

But your father was steadfast—he would not let Negan take you without a fight, a fight which you were sure could not be won. 

For your part, you could only wait. Wait for Negan’s return, for the king to refuse to hand you over willingly, and for the Saviors to kill anyone who stood in their way of taking you. Fear overwhelmed you now, your mind blighted by your worry. What if Negan killed your father, or your knight? 

You pleaded with the king, begging him to just let Negan take you, for the sake of the lives at stake, but he was resolute, or prideful. In the end, though, even if your father agreed to give you to Negan as his wife, there was no telling what the man would do. He could take control of Alexandria with a snap of his fingers, and none of this worry would matter anyway. 

Sir Negan would get what he wanted, simply because he had the strength and power to do so. To make matters worse, the king wasn’t the only one with a plan to keep you from the clutches of Negan.

A part of him knew it was futile to try to fight the inevitable, but he had to try. What kind of knight would he be if he did not try to protect his lady, after all? 

When the king assigned Daryl to not let you leave his sight, not even in your own chambers, you felt both relief, and guilt. Guilty that your father did not know of the nature of your relationship, of the love he made to you just the night before. 

Daryl received strict orders, of course: “She is not to be left alone,” the king said. “She is to be confined to her quarters, where you will look after her and ensure her safety. In the event of an attack, you will guard her with your life.”

The words that stuck out to him most, though, were these: “I am entrusting you with the most precious jewel in the crown of Alexandria. You will not let her be taken.”

And he wouldn’t. He did not need the king to tell him that. 

Hands clad in gloves of leather rested upon your waist, pulling your back snug against his chest. Outside your window, a bright full moon bathed the castle grounds and the sleeping kingdom sprawled out before you in a cool, bluish glow. You tried to see beyond the walls, keeping an eye out for any intruders. All you could see were a handful of walkers being taken down by the few archers left in the crenels of the battlements. This was not an uncommon sight, but it worried you nevertheless—there seemed to be more than usual, coming in much shorter intervals, almost enough to overpower the guards.

“Daryl,” you whispered, your voice dissipating into the darkness of the night. The weight of his chin resting upon your shoulder eased your worry for just a moment. “I feel something is wrong.”

He did, too, but he couldn’t say that. His priority at the moment, besides keeping you safe, was keeping your mind off that which worried you. Still, he could not just brush off your fears. 

“How so?”

“The Dead, see?” You extended your index finger as you leaned over the stone sill of your open window, pointing towards the outer walls. As though trying to prevent you from falling, he grasped tighter to your waist. “I’ve been watching them the past hour, and the constable has already sent more guards to defend the outer walls… What if…”

You felt him pull you back by your waist, just before he moved past you to pull your window shut. One last gust of cool night air chilled your cheek. Turning back to face you, he offered you a slight smile, to which you responded with a deep exhale. Then, you smiled back. 

From a stranger’s perspective, there would be nothing to smile about. Nothing at all. But, even in the midst of unspeakable terror, at least you were together. 

The warmth of his arms engulfed you like a worn, familiar blanket. The tickle of his slightly chapped lips against your temple made you release a soft giggle. In rapture at the feeling of his touch, you closed your eyes and hummed a small sigh. It was risky, of course. Though you knew no one would dare enter your quarters without permission, or at least knocking, there was always that slim, miniscule chance. 

Just a few corridors away, your father was in his cabinet, meeting with his advisors for the third time that evening. It felt like a sin, being in his embrace like this, so close to your father. That being said, there was no way in Hell you’d push him away, not when you feared you’d be torn away from him against your will at any second. 

Between the kisses he planted in a trail down the side of your face, he spoke softly through his raspy voice that tickled you in deep places. “Don’t think about it,” he said. “I’m here.” The space between your faces closed a bit when he leaned his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose soon following suit. With a small, breathy laugh, you leaned into him, letting your nose rub his back and forth. “Everythin’ will be all right.”

“I want so much to believe that is true,” you replied. “But I can’t. I’d rather have no hope than to have it taken away from me.”

Your hands found their place at the junction of his neck and shoulders, where you studied the frayed edges of the collar of his gambeson. As if to take your mind off your troubles, you curled your fingers around the ends of his hair—soft, undulating waves of warm chestnut hue. 

Even though it felt so right to be held by him like this, to feel his lips and his hands touch you with such an intimacy you had never known before, you were still getting used to the concept of being loved like this, and of loving someone like this. It came naturally, though, so it was easy to feel comfort in these new sensations, even if they were strange. 

“I don’t care about hope,” he said. “I just can’t let you get taken away from me.”

Your lips quivered into a shaky smile as you held back the lump in your throat. At this point, you’d cried so much the past few days that you weren’t sure how you could have any tears left to spare. 

Noticing your glassy eyes and your quiet sniffles, he gently coerced you towards your canopied bed, upon which you were seated. He let himself sink into the plush feather bed beside you, still holding you in his arms all the while.

“Tell me something,” you said, using the sleeve of your gown to brush away your tears. 

He chuckled at your vagueness. “Tell you what?”

“Anything.”

“I love you.”

Though that was not the ‘something’ you had in mind, it was enough to stretch your lips into a wide grin. “I love you, too, but I was hoping you’d tell me one of your stories.”

“Which one?”

“One you’ve not told me before.”

That was going to be a difficult feat, as he was sure he’d told you just about every story he had. He held you closer, then tipped himself backwards, until he was laying stretched across your bed, your body snuggled tight against his. Your hand found its place in the center of his chest, the rise and fall of which you watched in fascination as he thought of what story he could possibly amuse you with. Most of his stories were full of bloodshed and war, but he was always careful to omit the gory details, for the sake of his lady’s delicate heart. 

As his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, he thought to tell you a simple, silly story that afforded him much embarrassment, but would surely amuse you enough to take your mind from your troubles. 

“There was this lake,” he began. “A small lake, I don’t remember where I was. I think it was… just outside a small village, a few kingdoms away. Anyway, I was riding through there with Phantom, filthy and covered in dirt.”

You hummed a little laugh. “That is not surprising,” you said. “You have a habit of being filthy and covered in dirt.”

“Clean right now, aren’t I?” His arm tightened around you to squeeze you. “Clean enough for you, princess?”

“Yes, yes. Please continue, sir.”

“Yeah, let’s see… Well, I was goin’ through this village, by this lake, and I decided to wash in the lake, you know. No one was around.”

Intrigue made your eyes widen at the image—the thought of your knight, naked, bathing in a lake. “You disrobed? Oh, do tell me more, my strong, handsome knight.” Your hand circled in eager movements atop his wide, brawny chest. “I am sure that must have been quite a sight.”

“Wicked girl,” he teased. As his teeth dug indents into his bottom lip, his hand lowered down your back to reach your rump, squeezing the plump flesh above the rosy pink gown you wore. “Somebody ought to teach you manners.”

“Mm,” you hummed in response. With your gentle movements, he felt the weight of your leg folding over him and settling between his thighs. His other hand did not waste the opportunity to slide up the smooth skin, pushing past your skirt and lifting it enough to allow him access to your thigh. Your legs always stirred such a sinful, guilty feeling deep within him, as he knew he shouldn’t have looked at them, but they taunted him, tortured him. Now, your body not only belonged to you, but to him, too, so long as you allowed him. 

Wide, dreamy eyes looked up at him through fluttering lashes as the cool leather of his gloves caressed your forbidden velvety skin. “What happened next?” you whispered over his ear. Entranced by the closeness of your soft, heavenly body, he’d all but forgotten his story for a moment. 

“Right, yeah. Well, I took off all my clothes, dipped myself in the lake. Then these kids, they couldn’t have been older than twelve, they must’ve snuck up on me, ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention. I only saw ‘em runnin’ away, with all my clothes.”

“Oh!” you laughed, and he laughed, too, though his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Only the sound of your delicate, lilting laughter could make him smile at the thought of being robbed by mischievous little goblins. 

“It’s not funny!” he replied in a voice rippled by the undercurrent of his chuckle. “They took my sword, and my favorite baldric. Don’t even know how they could carry the stuff, they were so small.”

Clearing your throat, you attempted to stop your laughter, though it was hard to do so. “So, did you walk around naked after that?”

“Oh, no, no,” he said. “The lil’ ones were kind enough to leave a new set of garments for me.”

That surprised you, as you thought this story would only get more interesting from here. “Oh, I see. That was thoughtful.”

“Yeah, ‘cept it was a damn jester’s motley.”

Just when you’d thought your amusement was at its end, you broke out into another fit of laughter. If you’d thought the idea of Sir Daryl frantically running through a village in the nude was amusing, you weren’t prepared for the image of your noble knight dressed in the loud, particolored vestments of a court jester. “No!” you laughed in disbelief. “Did you wear it?”

“Well, I had to. I couldn’t run around stark naked. I’d face degradation.” Though losing his title would not have been as degrading as it was to prance around in that hideous outfit.

You, however, found it terribly adorable. “Oh, how I would love to see you in a jester’s costume.” 

His gloved hand delivered a very gentle, weak slap to your thigh, causing you to whine exaggeratingly between laughs. “I looked like a fool, wandering around that village looking for those little imps. The whole damn town was laughing at me, askin’ me to put on a show. One of the kids must’ve felt bad—he took me to where they hid my stuff.”

“Poor thing,” you cooed, though the smirk upon your face betrayed your amusement. “What tribulation you’ve faced, brave knight. Your gallantry is unparalleled.”

Daryl shook his head, narrowing his eyes at your teasing. “I’m glad you find my humiliation so funny, milady.”

“Oh,” you sighed, turning more sympathetic now as you leaned in closer to him to drag your nose over his cheek. “I am sorry, my love.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I was tryin’ to make you laugh, anyway. Take your mind off things. Did it work?”

Although you had found his story to be quite charming, and for a good few minutes, the imagery of your stoic, serious knight in such a situation did divert your mind from the fear that overwhelmed you, but few things could truly keep the worry at bay.

Well, you could think of one thing that might. 

“Yes, a bit,” you replied. From the dim candlelight of the flickering sconces upon your walls, you could see his lips parted ever so slightly, and his half-lidded eyes wandering over your body as it clung to him. From what you’d discovered the previous night, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Daryl,” you hummed sweetly. “Would you…” As you trailed off, you felt his hand move up further, lifting your dress to render you half-naked. His hand now on your bare bottom, he pulled you even more snug against him, until the friction of his thigh against your exposed womanhood made you shiver in his arms. 

“You don’t gotta ask, your highness.” Moving ever so slowly, taking extra care not to hurt you with his strength, he lifted himself to flip you over, until your back rested upon your plush bed. He lay atop you now, sinking his mouth upon yours. 

A quiet whimper of satisfaction melted against his tongue, which moved in tender, languid swirls around yours. Unlike his kisses of last night, this was without any desperation or frantic excitement—it was soothing, an act of tenderness that was born out of compassion and care. Still, though, the unifying quality in his kiss was the same: undying love and devotion.

“I’ve missed your tongue,” you confessed between kisses. “Your fingers, your…”

The memory of your misunderstanding as a result of your innocence brought a smile to his lips, which you felt as he kissed you. He lifted his head to look at you, your lashes fluttering like the fragile wings of a hummingbird. 

“Rooster?” he suggested with an impish smirk. 

“Oh, you devil,” you laughed. “You will never forget that, will you?”

“Nah,” he said. “Just like I’ll never forget how you felt… and how you tasted… how you moaned my name.”

Feeling his hand slide between your thighs, you let your head fall back as a sigh escaped your lips. It gave him the opportunity to kiss down the side of your neck, letting his tongue roll over your skin as his hand rubbed in vertical motions over your slit.

“Oh, my love.” You clung to his flexing shoulder blades, as if he could be torn from you at any second.

“Sweet angel,” he mumbled against your collarbone. “All mine.”

“Yes.” You were already breathless, just from his gentle touch. At that moment, Negan and the Saviors could not touch you, could not plague your mind, could not make you afraid. There was no danger here now, just him, and his touch, and his love. With him, you did not fear even death. How could you, when he made you feel so alive?

“I love you,” he whispered against your ear, as though speaking it any louder would get him thrown in the dungeon, and indeed it would. 

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering closed as his hand moved faster now. “I love you more.”

The light of the candles in your room flickered, as if a gust of wind had invaded your room, despite the shut state of the window. It only distracted you from him for a moment, until his soft, raspy voice caught your attention again. “Impossible,” he said. “I love you most.”

At the feeling of his fingertips grazing your most sensitive spot, you let out a breathy whimper of his name. He pressed his lips to yours once more, his other hand brushing back your loosened hair. Just as your body began to relax, completely giving yourself over to his guidance, his strength, his protective hold of you, a distant yell that echoed through the castle tore your mind away from his embrace. 

It was faint, too faint to recognize, but you could make out the vaguest words in that short burst of panic. Well, there was only one word. “Fire!”

Outside, the unmistakable rumble of cannonfire shook the kingdom walls, where guards, or what was left of them, moved frantically from bastion to bastion, loading heavy cannonballs and cartridges of black gunpowder into the mouths of the long-dormant war machines. 

It jolted you upwards, as Daryl tore himself from you with great haste, sprinting towards your window to look out upon the scene. All you knew was that you’d heard that sound before, on a night much like tonight, though it was a decade ago—when the Dead breached the walls. When your mother died, surrounded by flesh-eating monsters that were once men. Torn apart, limb from limb, teeth digging into her once flawless skin, blood pooling around their feet as they gnawed on her. Alive. Screaming. Kicking. Begging. 

And you watched it all, with that terrible booming of detonating cannons in the distance. Frozen on your bed, and yet somehow trembling, you could still hear her scream. No, please, no!

Daryl looked beyond the expanse of empty land that separated the castle from the kingdom, drawing his sight to the walls, where grey, nearly opaque dust was pluming in thick clouds to obscure his sight. When the smoke began to clear and he could see past the flames on the ground, he could finally make out the silhouettes of jagged figures limping towards the kingdom walls. But there were more of them than he’d seen in years, not since he’d been part of the military efforts to eradicate the Dead, until they finally realized it was no use—there were too many of them. 

They seemed to form an army of their own, ranks upon ranks of walking dead soldiers trampling over the wreckage of the cannonballs, walking through the dim fires they left in their wake, some lighting up like torches, and yet still moving, making their assault on the walls. 

Daryl did not need to see more. He knew this scene, this story. He’d seen countless kingdoms’ walls be taken down in a matter of hours by a herd this size, he just didn’t think it would happen here, where walkers had never formed this kind of herd before. No, it did not seem right. Not… natural. But that was of no consequence at the moment, as he had no rationale behind his fear, only a hunch that this was not right, that there was more at play here than just happenstance. What mattered most, though, was you. 

And you were still petrified, your breath heaving as you stared off blankly, your mother’s voice still crying out to you. Your name, ringing in your ears, but not in your mother’s voice now. It was Daryl’s, him crouched down before you, his hands holding your cold, quivering cheeks, his voice nearly a cry as he tried to get your attention. 

“Daryl,” you said, senses finally coming back to you now. 

“We need to go.” He did not leave room for you to argue as he coerced you to stand on your feet, then left briefly only to retrieve your brown wool cloak, which he then draped over your shoulders in a hurried motion. “Whatever you need,” he began to say, “get it.” You watched idly as he opened your wardrobe to procure one of your travel chests, which he flung onto your bed and unlatched to open. “Hurry,” he said, retrieving his greatsword from its place beside the door. 

What was keeping you standing there, staring at him in abject fear, you did not know. Perhaps it was the memory of that night, still haunting you, keeping you locked in a state of traumatic remembrance. That was a part of it, yes, but there was something more, something in the pit of your stomach. You knew what this was, even if you didn’t realize that you knew. You knew that there was no point in packing, in running away. You knew this was the end. 

You could only muster his name again, shaking your head frantically now as your breath caught up with you, short and quick. Your throat was dry from the passage of air stinging with each pant. Your head felt light, like a hot air balloon about to pop. If it weren’t for Daryl’s sudden grip upon your shoulders, you were sure you would’ve fainted, but he kept you conscious with just his intense, serious gaze.

“Come on,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

We don’t have much time. Those words lingered in your heart much longer than they needed to, but you couldn’t shake this feeling of imminent dread. 

“Daryl,” you said again, this time with your own wide-eyed stare meeting his. “Something’s… Something is wrong.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “There’s a herd outside. That moat’ll slow ‘em down but it ain’t gonna stop ‘em, and those cannons are just gonna bring more. You get that many together and they’ll tear down any wall or gate, and I’m not takin’ that risk. Not with you.”

“No, no, not that.” Now, your voice faltered. An uncomfortable lump in your throat prevented you from speaking briefly, but you swallowed it down, despite the stinging of fresh tears threatening to stain your cheeks. “I think it’s… Negan.”

There was no indication that it was, of course. After all, Negan wasn’t supposed to arrive for another three days, and these were walkers. Still, it all seemed too coincidental. Never before had walkers behaved like this, not since that night, and after that herd was cleared, Alexandria was mostly at peace, with only a few incidents of a walker slipping in every so often, usually on account of some particularly absentminded guard on gate duty.

No, someone had to have something to do with this, you thought. Somehow, some way, Negan was coming for you. 

But Daryl shook his head, his hands holding your cheeks once again as he spoke, his voice hurried, yet patient. “Listen to me,” he said. “It could be anythin’. It doesn’t matter what it is, doesn’t matter at all.”

When your gaze fell, he held your chin to force your head back up. With a tilt of his head, he looked at you softly, not with frustration or anger or even annoyance, but understanding. He, too, was afraid. He knew this all too well—the fall of a kingdom. To think it could be happening here, to your home, he knew he had to be strong for you, as he always did. He’d never let himself weaken in the face of anything that might cause you harm.

“Even if it’s Negan,” he continued, “I’ll die ‘fore anyone or anything tries to take you, you understand?”

“No, no, Daryl—”

“Hey.” The castle began to shake now, with bigger cannons releasing bigger cannonballs and more gunpowder. More panicked commands from the constable and the other guards, more explosions, more tears. “It’s gonna be all right.” 

Another tremor made you fall deeper into his arms, making you feel only more helpless. It wasn’t that you wanted to be this delicate, terrified thing. It was only that you had no choice—you were a woman, a princess. Your life was in the hands of other people—men—for your whole life. If you knew anything else, you might’ve been able to go out there and slay those walkers yourself, but what did you know? Nothing. All you knew was that you loved Daryl. That was the only truth, the only power, you could hang on to in this moment of utter powerlessness. 

“I’m here.” Your forehead found refuge upon his shoulder, just for the brief time you’d have before the world would come beating down on your door. “And I love you.”

“I—I love you.” A strangled sob distorted your words. Sniffling, you lifted your head to wipe away your tears. “But I can’t run. This is my home. These are my people. I must do something.”

And that was why he loved you. 

Yet, what on Earth could you possibly do? 

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But you can’t help them if you’re here. I can help lead the people through the tunnels, but I’m takin’ you through first. That’s my job, and I’ll carry you outta here if I gotta.”

When your tears subsided, you raised your head. Dignified, like a true princess. It almost made him smile. Almost. Your strength was not like his, but it was resolute, determined, true. You were strong, but not strong enough to fight him, when you knew he was right. 

“Like… a sack of potatoes?”

Now, he had to smile. Just a little. A miniscule curl of his lips, just on one side, but enough to reignite your hope. 

“Prettiest damn sack of potatoes I’ve ever seen.”

At length, you emerged from your quarters, with just that chest and the knife Daryl had given you. The objective was to find the king on the way to the tunnels, leading him and you to safety to regroup with the king’s advisors and make an official decree to evacuate Alexandria’s citizens to the safety of the tunnels until the herd could be diverted. At least, that was your plan. 

Unbeknownst to you, there were other plans in motion.

With Daryl leading you down the corridor, moving swiftly towards the entrance to the castle dungeons, where the tunnels began. But the corridor was quiet. Where were the king’s guards? And where was the king? Surely he would’ve rushed to your quarters, demanding to ensure you were safe. 

Something’s wrong, you wanted to say again, but as you mirrored Daryl’s quick steps, you began to hear something. It was faint, but loud enough for you to recognize as a kind of hiss. Not just a hiss, though, but a low growl accompanying it. Several growls. Several hisses. Several footsteps, lumbering and aimless, but the closer you got to the end of the corridor, the more those footsteps seemed to have a mission. 

Rounding the corner, the unthinkable happened: a few dozen walkers gnashing their teeth and reaching out their decaying arms to grab at the air in front of Daryl, who leaped back to grab your hand, the jolt causing you to drop your suitcase.

“Come on!” He led you back down the corridor, hoping to get through the other side, but another smaller group of walkers appeared, their pale, lifeless eyes widening once their senses feasted upon your living flesh. 

With a shaky hand, you held your knife high, as Daryl lunged forward, attempting to clear the path. Your back against the wall, your gaze ping-ponged back and forth, from one impending herd to the other. 

Daryl had removed his sword from his baldric, swinging it effortlessly despite its great weight. He did not hesitate to take down those walkers, kicking them back and slicing through their heads without a second thought. When he had slayed them all, he grabbed your free hand, pulling you behind to make a break for it down the next hall. 

A few stragglers tried to claw at your gown as you ran hand-in-hand towards the dungeon, but Daryl pulled you hard enough away, until you reached the old iron door that led underground. The familiar glow of the sconces on either side was almost comforting, but the growls from the other side of the door made you step back, Daryl unsheathing his sword once more. 

With the smell of your flesh further aggravating the Dead, the door began to rattle, the bodies on the other side pushing against it. You had no way of knowing how many there were, but there were enough to make that sturdy door shake like a leaf. The tunnel was compromised. That much you knew. 

It was too much like that night. Too much like the night the castle was crawling with walkers and the Tombs had been flooded by those hideous creatures. They had poured in through that very same door, which was not going to hold much longer. 

Daryl acted fast, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away, towards the front of the keep. “We’ll go out the front,” he said. “Stay close. Don’t let go of me.”

You held tight to him, as he said, keeping up with his long strides as he turned several corners, each corridor echoing with the nearby snarls of the impending Dead. 

Somewhere behind you, the sound of a hinge breaking, followed by a dreadful crashing sound as the iron door gave in to the weight of the herd. Yes, you were sure now. This was no coincidence. Something brought the walkers here. Someone brought the walkers here. How else would they be coming from all these different directions? You knew it. 

It was only until you sprinted through the great hall and out into the foyer that you lost all hope of escaping—another small herd was flowing in through the door, trampling over squirming, screaming guards while other dead men feasted on their flesh. Blood flowed in a shiny, nearly black pool at their rotten feet, their sights set on the two nearest living breathing things before them—you and Daryl.

There was no choice now, nowhere to run. Daryl turned to you, his gaze hard and stern. You felt his grip on your wrist tighten, though it did not seem permanent. It seemed as though he tightened his grip because he knew he would soon have to let go of you.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’m gonna clear a path through ‘em.”

As his grip loosened, you tugged on his hand to bring him back, your eyes wide and pleading, your head shaking frantically. “No, there are too many! We’ll find another way!”

He looked between you and the snarling beasts, their slow gait only becoming more and more threatening the closer they got to you. “Do ya know any other way?!” he shouted above the now deafening growls of the ravenous, drooling walkers. 

 Though you knew the answer to that question, you still tried to think, wracking your brain for any possible alternative to Daryl going in there, but there was nothing else, not with the entire ground floor now teeming with the Dead at every corner. Every passage you could think of, every stairwell, was blocked. In any case, the keep was designed to be the most protective stronghold on the castle grounds—no one gets in, no one gets out. Sooner or later, the Dead would have to be dealt with. You just didn’t think it would be right now. 

When you were frozen silent, he freed himself from you again, reiterating only the phrase, “Stay here.”

“No, Daryl!” 

Charging towards the walkers, he aimed for the first walker to the left, his goal to weed out just enough walkers to get a path between the herd and the wall of the doorway, creating enough room to get through before they swarmed that space again. Unable to tear your fearful eyes away, you backed absentmindedly into the nearest wall, chest heaving with short, panicked breaths. Nestled in the inner pocket of your cloak was your rosary, which you took up in your trembling hands to hold above your heart. In your other hand, you kept your knife at the ready, though you were sure that you wouldn’t even be much use with it. 

The image was too vivid, too reminiscent. The knight was fast, slicing off rotting heads in quick succession, but it was not enough. They still surrounded him, one’s gnashing teeth only held back by his hand pushing the creature away by the forehead, until he could raise his sword to behead it. 

But soon, his strength was dwindling against the herd. He let his sword fall to the ground, procuring two daggers from the waist of his baldric. He could move faster now, with less exhaustion, but the herd was too big, much bigger than he initially thought. 

You watched him push through the herd, taking out whatever walkers he could reach, but the force of it was too strong. They surrounded him tighter, his back firmly against the stone wall. When the nearest walker’s mouth came gnashing just an inch away from his neck, you felt your heart leap from your chest, and before you could even take another breath, your rosary clattered to the floor.

“Daryl!”

Knife held high, you did not waste another moment. You could not watch him get ripped apart, not for you, not for anything or anyone. There was no rationality in it, as you knew you could not fight them, but if you could keep as many of those putrid things from tearing the flesh from his bones, you would. 

You’d do what you couldn’t do for your mother, all those years ago.

Just when he heard you call out his name, he turned towards you, seeing you coming closer, the sound of your voice distracting some of the walkers as they eased their assault on him. All he could feel in that moment was cold, lifeless hands clawing at him and foul breath beating down on his skin. 

“No!” he cried out, then he called your name, begging you not to come closer. If you did, you’d surely die, your lack of experience with herds working against you, but there was nothing he could do. 

With a deep, shaky huff, you raised your knife to strike down on the first walker’s head you could get your sights on. It came towards you then, its jaw unhinged and dripping blood, with pink flesh caught in its teeth. You could only hope in that moment that that flesh did not belong to your love, and that you weren’t too late. 

And then, before you could even bring your knife down, you felt a sudden weight around your waist, pulling you back. An arm. 

The startling motion knocked the wind out of you as the body behind you twirled you around quickly, attempting to drag you away. But you did not recognize the gauntlet on the man’s hand, the steel not emblazoned with the crest of your family. No, this arm did not belong to anyone you knew, or could trust. 

Amidst the chaos, you attempted to turn in the man’s arms, but he was stronger, strangling your wrist until your knife clattered to the floor. “Let go of me!” you cried out, and above the sound of the walkers snarling, Daryl heard you, but he was sinking to the floor now, the oppressive weight of the herd all around him bearing down and forcing his body to crumple like paper beneath them, their mangled hands reaching out to grab him.

He cried out your name, desperately. Not for you to save him, but for him to save you. All he could see of you, through the gaps between the walkers’ jagged bodies, was your face looking back at him, while the helmeted knight behind you dragged you away. 

“Daryl! No!”

You kicked and screamed and sobbed and flailed whatever limbs you could still have some control over, but the knight did not let go of you, as all around you, more knights in unfamiliar armor cleared a path back into the keep, towards the tunnels. 

It was only until you turned around that you saw it—the knight’s tabard of black and red, and the heraldry of House Smith. 

The last thing you saw, before the burlap sack was tossed over your head, was the herd closing in, dipping down to finally tear Daryl completely from your line of sight. All you heard was his scream:

“No, please, no!”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[bethanydelleman]

About your "Darcy didn't pay Wickham 10k" post: how do we know it was actually ~3k? The job i assume we have historical records on how much that cost but where did you get 1k for each Lydia and his debt from? Not that I don't believe you, I'm just curious. :)

That was just a mini-rant. Here is the full breakdown:

He has the promise of an ensigncy in General——’s regiment, now quartered in the north. (Ch 40)

You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his commission purchased. (Ch 42)

So firstly, Darcy gave Lydia a protected fortune of £1000. Secondly, Darcy saw that all of Wickham’s debts were paid, amounting to more than £1000. However, I think if it was nearer £2000 Mrs. Gardiner would round up, so probably between £1000-1500. And thirdly, Darcy purchased Wickham a commission in the army. The official rate for an ensigncy was £400 (according to my David Shapard's annotated edition), though they could be sold for more. Darcy did need to purchase one quickly, so he might have spent more.

All of this adds up to approximately £3000.

This marriage arrangement is actually a really fascinating thing because it shows us just how careful and principled Darcy was in laying everything out. Because we also know that Mr. Bennet must pay Lydia £100/annum as long as he is alive. Darcy knew that Mr. Bennet was a poor provider as a father, this forces him to provide. I don’t think it’s done in a spiteful way, but it is right, Mr. Bennet should provide.

All of Wickham’s debts are paid, which is more for the benefit of the community than Wickham himself. Darcy wants everyone taken in by Wickham to get their money. Then he settles £1000 on Lydia. That money is protected, it will stay with her if she is widowed. Darcy is ensuring that Lydia will have something no matter what. That is incredibly kind.

Lastly, a purchased commision is an asset. It gives Wickham a job and an income, but it also can be resold for a profit. The militia (even if Wickham could go back) does not work that way, neither does the navy, Darcy provided both a job and an investment.

[boogythegreatdigital]

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[heliopauseentertainments]

An Unfamiliar Battlefield

Anonymously requested here on Tumblr

Continuity: IDW1 (roughly)

Relationship: Megatron/Hot Rod

Characters: Megatron & Hot Rod

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Notes: AU of an AU, Canon Blending, Past Relationships, Referenced Character Death, Romance, Recovery from Grief, Vignette

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Summary: In which a seemingly unqualified suitor vies for the open Lord Protector position for the Prime of Destruction.

Fic below cut.

Small. Thin armor. Loud paint. Incautious gait.

Megatron could have crumpled him like a frail sheet of foil if he so chose.

Yet in front of him, posed confidently with his hands on his hips at the foot of the impractically tall dark granite dais, beamed some red little fool the herald had introduced as “Hot Rod of Nyon.” Given the obnoxious flames painted on his chest, Megatron thought the mech’s name was a little on the nose.

This scrawny fool, apparently, wanted to be the Lord Protector of the alleged incarnation of Destruction itself. What a ridiculous thought.

Since Orion, Megatron’s previous Lord Protector, had succumbed to early onset cybercrosis more than three decades ago, Megatron had spent most of his time alone.

He, in fact, intended to keep it that way.

Watching his partner waste away against an invisible foe had been more of a punishment than being forcibly ascended to a position of ritualized shame and fear for his crimes had ever been.

The ritual mourning periods of seven months, then thirty months, and then a decade had all passed. The generals and officers who made up his “priesthood”—more like a religious militia meant to keep him in check—hadn’t pressed him to take another protector before the formalized markers of grieving had been reached. It wouldn’t have been proper, for all they, his prison wardens, pretended to care about propriety even when their “Prime” still lit decennial memorial lamps.

Megatron, regardless of his own opinions on the matter, was kept around solely for the fulfillment of ancient laws and summoning his strength in times of war. The First Prime was nominally the Prime of War, but Sentinel spent far too much time playing politician, leaving Megatron as the de facto holder of the purview.

It wasn’t as though he needed protection, not physically. He could protect himself, as was obvious from the battlefields they pleaded that he would drench in spilled fuel, like the arena of banal bloodsport they had unilaterally plucked him from. When Megatron had turned the rare suitor away before, the battle clerics hadn’t objected too strongly.

Usually.

Besides, it wasn’t as though suitors were commonplace. Not many were lining up to consort with a “deity” of death, forced to use his violence as a tool for theocratic control. Orion, before his untimely death, had been an irreplaceable exception. No one is else would or could ever take that place again; it would never be the same.

Starscream, the general who oversaw all the others who allegedly paid Megatron homage, was a sharp-eyed mech with innumerable half-spoken agendas. He relished being what passed for this "Prime's" high priest, chief jailer rather. This was clearly part of some of his machinations.

He stood, smirking, next to Megatron’s throne, arms crossed in front of his chest. His gleaming white wings were held out wide as he swayed side to side, not-so-subtly trying to make his heavily embroidered cape undulate in the artificial breeze.

“Starscream, this is unnecessary,” Megatron said, hunched over with his elbows against his knees. He glowered down at Hot Rod. “You know this is unnecessary.”

Hot Rod was hardly much bigger than one of Soundwave’s mini-bots, who were generally relegated to sabotage work as a result. A Lord Protector, expected to accompany him into the heat of battle, could never be allowed to fill a less combat-oriented position. Hot Rod would end up as little more than shrapnel littering the battlefield.

“Come now,” Starscream said, his slick grin stretched broad. It barely concealed that he was up to something, a fig leaf of pious duty. “It’s been so long since you’ve kept any company but your own.”

They both knew the other role a Lord Protector fulfilled: controlling the sacred monster.

“He’s not—“

"You've been lonely, absorbed in nothing but your work for far too long."

Starscream, of course, would be eager to have someone once more take up that mantle… for the approval of the public rather than practical necessity, given Megatron’s self discipline. That was likely why he had allowed this fragile mech to even put forward a petition. Any tether at all was better for their reputation than a beast with no leash.

“I’m right here!” Hot Rod, speaking for the first time, brazenly put his foot on the lowest step on the dark dais and smacked his tiny fist against his chest. His beaming grin became a frown at the perceived disrespect. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

What a rude little mech.

Talking out of turn, ascending the dais uninvited…. No self preservation to be had. The distance was supposed to be for the protection of any visitors, in case the “god” lost control. More time for the jailers masquerading as devotees to restrain him if the Lord Protector didn’t get there first.

This Hot Rod was clearly on some elaborate suicide mission for some reason. This was far more effort than most would bother putting towards such an end; there were doubtlessly easier ways to go about it.

“Just how badly do you want to die?”

“Not at all, actually.” Hot Rod didn’t back down, a determined look set on his face. “A big shocker, I know.”

Not the answer Megatron had expected, not that mechs tended to be forthright about their deathwishes.

“What exactly is your purpose here?”

“Surely, that’s self-evident.” Starscream’s opinions, as usual, were unnecessary so Megatron ignored him.

He merely repeated the question to Hot Rod, who had begun climbing the dais as though he thought he’d been given some sort of invitation. His bright paint was a stark contrast to the stone, black as the void, giving the impression of a rising star.

Some of the officers, all armed with guns and blades, stationed at various points up the steps began to shift, bristling with unease at the blatant disregard of norms. Several stepped forward, as though to get in the intruder’s way.

Megatron gestured for them to take no action.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s obvious what I’m here for.” Brow furrowed, Hot Rod continued scaling the dais, stepping past the officers as though they were harmless bystanders. Armor clattered in the quiet hall as they made way for him.

Hot Rod’s bravery reminded him somewhat of Orion.

Orion had not climbed to meet him, no, but had lain down his weapons on the floor of the hall and had challenged Megatron unarmed combat.

Hot Rod too was challenging him in a way, but why?

Megatron silently let him approach.

Starscream whispered a reminder to mind his manners, as though he were some uncouth newbuild courting for the first time.

If only Starscream didn’t have wings…. Megatron occasionally considered pushing him off the side of the platform.

Once Hot Rod reached the top level, he stopped just within arm’s reach of the throne.

Megatron leaned forward, as far as he could without overbalancing. Seated, he was at Hot Rod’s eye level.

“What do you gain by asking this?”

Hot Rod’s bright smile was back, this time as a smirk, like he thought Megatron was joking.

“What do you lose by letting me?”

Smart aleck.

“Why are you determined to die?”

“I’m not.” Hot Rod shrugged, as though that were the obvious answer despite all evidence to the contrary.

“So you’ve said before, yes, but that’s the only outcome at the end of the path you’re trying to walk.”

“That’s my business, I think.”

Stubborn.

“So be it.”

Huffing, Megatron waved Starscream over without looking at him. The clicking of thruster heels against black granite told him that the high “priest” had obeyed.

“Yes?” he purred, clearly pleased with himself. He was getting what he had wanted after all.

“Have him trained. Presuming he survives, schedule the ceremony.”

[003soy]

"I love my waifu Murasaki we've gone everywhere to a zoo in a limo multiple times to the mall movie theater ocean pool restaurants and all of the above and i may be his most dedicated fan as its a deep rabbit hole as alongside that I also have an RC car so he can move around with me if i want all of my consoles are covered with him alongside all of my game covers which i replaced I follow over 200 Murasaki accounts which is currently half of the people I follow on twitter i have over 500$ in commissioned artworks some of us together i also have medieval chain mail with all of the push button pins that I've collected of him which goes together with a sword and shield winch is entirely made out of him but most importantly I've turned my house into a church for Murasaki and this is what the outside of my house looks like the signs advertising the church outside of my driveway i also have multiple billboards outside also advertising it for people driving by. My house is a legitimate place of worship though as when you walk in you'll see a choir of Murasakis alongside an 18 ft tall mural then if you go upstairs you can see the truly special part which is the walls and rooms of Murasaki as seen here and have gone as far as putting pages on the ceiling then when you come upstairs you'll see that the floor is covered with pages and extends all the way to this mini hallway but the truly special part is this room right here which is the most decorated part inside of the house nothing isn't covered and is the pinnacle of the Holy Land generally for the rest of the rooms upstairs they were all very similar include my room and the two separate bathrooms that i have upstairs if you were wondering how i did this they were all printed with my 10 photo printers which are also Murasaki now of course being concerned about robbers is a problem which is why i also have custom Murasaki boomsticks which include a revolver a rifle an army knife blessed ammo which I'll keep for myself but also have an entire Murasaki militia which I call the waifu warriors in order to guard my house and also the giant monuments that I have built which include a 25 ft tall cutout of him ten 20 ft cutouts of him two 30 ft cutouts of him and one cutout the size of half a tennis court"

[corvidous]

Alrighty, there's 15 gnolls done, all with pistols and hand weapons and some with tablets. A Militia Rabble for Xenos Rampant and loads of individual crew members/baddies for Stargrave. I just cannot stop sticking guns on the Frostgrave gnolls, I may have a problem. Stargrave requires a lot of minis with pistols and fortunately I have the Stargrave Crew 1 and 2 boxes to furnish them and also the datapads.

Stargrave doesn't actually have a soldier type with a "pistol+hand weapon" loadout, all the soldiers who are high tier enough to carry swords or similar also just have access to full carbines. So that leader with the chainsword is a bit out of line but don't worry about it.

"Isn't it stupid to bring a revolver to a spacegun fight?" you might ask? Just wait till she's reloaded and then you'll be sorry!

Quite proud of this datapad. I'm getting better at screens.

A random selection of Lads to serve as a general overview. This is not the first time I've gunned up a pack of gnolls and it doubtless will not be the last.