#The Humanoid Torch

[zelly-raptor]

Date unknown - The Humanoid Torch.

Johnny Storm of the Fantastic Four may have been the Human Torch but he wasn't the first Superhero to have that Title.

The First Hero known as the Human Torch was born from Failure. Professor Phineas T. Horton was a Pioneer in the field of Artificial intelligence and built one of the worlds first Androids in 1939.

Unfortunately it burst into Flame when exposed to Oxygen.

In time the Android learned to control this Ability, took on the Identity of "Jim Hammond" and became a Crime fighter.

Later he would join the likes of Captain America, Bucky Barnes and Namor the Submariner to fight in the Second World war and after that founded the All-Winners Squad.

For our interpretation of the Human Torch, Since Jim is an Android I made him look Abit more Mechanical, more Robotic looking!

Jim Hammond/ The Human Torch is property of Marvel comics™ all rights reserved.

Text acquired from "Avengers the Ultimate Guide" written by Tom DeFalco.

[toacody]

Smelter - The Great Forgemaster

Dude just can't stay in one place.

Source

Creator: BionicleNewAge

[archaicbones]

The elders

Digital

[plasma-tree]

anyways im gonna play skyrim and fuck the living tits off of some orc blacksmith or whatever

[nutellavvv]

Eyes That Wander (Humanoid! Enderman x F!Reader)

Summary:

“Beware of the purple eyes.” In an alternate Minecraft universe, Y/n is warned of Endermen, a mythical humanoid species that come from The End. Y/n lives in a humble village, living with a weary overbearing mother, and a missing father. In Y/n’s youth she wanders into the forest and encounters a young Enderman. A naive decision gives her a taste of freedom, but leads her down a path of risky decisions and a forbidden romance.

Themes: Romance, Drama, Angst, Smut, Childhood friends to Lovers.

Disclaimer: In this universe Endermen and other select monsters are humanoid compared their original Minecraft designs. The Endermen in this series look more human!!!

——————————

Prologue: Love at First Purple

wc: Almost 2k

A/N: I feel like this is so niche… But I hope yall like it. Find me on AO3 @/nutellav !

“Whatever you do… don’t look at them.”

“If you catch a glimpse… pretend you didn’t.”

“… Don’t look them in the eyes.”

5 years later…

When Y/N was 5 years old her father had gone missing. And asking about it wasn’t an option, her mother avoided the question. But there was one thing Y/N knew for sure, purple eyes meant danger.

"Endermen, a species of lost souls reborn through The End Kingdom.” At least— that’s what she had learned about them in school. It was vague, and her mother had a heavy dislike of them.

“They’re dangerous, that's all you need to know, okay sweetie?” A teacher explained to her once.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts when suddenly she heard someone call out to her.

“Y/N! We’re going to play hide and seek’ today… when the moon comes out!” The little boy, Jax, exclaimed with a mischievous smile, “Can you join us?” 

Y/N’s friends all stared at her, the silence hanging heavy in the air.

She spoke hesitantly, “I don’t know guys… My mom wouldn’t allow that—“

”C’mon Y/N! Your mom doesn’t let you do anything—! You can't even play with us in the morning, what's up with that?” Another friend of Y/N’s whined, frowning.

”H-Hey…! Don’t be mean to Y/N. Her mom is strict… we can’t do anything.” Lilith, Y/N’s best friend interrupted, looking stern but supportive.

The little group of friends went quiet, the whole village knew Y/N’s father had gone missing.

Whether it was through their parent’s gossip or whispers throughout the town. One thing the community knew for sure— was that it had heavily impacted Y/N’s mom.

Y/N walked home, feeling down once again, it’d been years since she had properly gone outside.

The small girl entered her home, the air heavy.

”Ah! Y/N! I’m so glad you made it home safely!” Her mother gasped, tumbling over and gripping the girl tightly in her arms, “Dinner will be ready soon, sweetie.”

There was always this frantic undertone to her mother’s actions. She could never pinpoint why.

Later at dinner, Y/N scooped at the mushroom soup— but she was deep in thought. Debating if asking to go out with her friends was worth a shot. But before she could finish her thoughts, her mother spoke.

“Y/N… I feel like… I’ve been hard on you lately. I’m sorry, sweetie.” She spoke up hesitantly., 

Mother cleared her throat, ”You deserve to go outside, play with kids your age… Explore this world. That's what your dad would’ve wanted.” 

Tears began to bubble up in Mother’s eyes, “I’m sorry for shutting you in! You’re a growing girl! J-Just because I’m afraid of losing you… I shouldn't keep you trapped!” Mother gasped between words, her form looking weak and defeated.

Y/N was hesitant to speak— but then Mother wiped her tears. “Is there anything you want to do? Let me know, you’re a big girl now.” She said with an awkward smile.

Y/N paused, her 10-year-old brain processing the moment. Was this her chance to ask?

“M-My… friends are going to be playing at the park later tonight! It’s close to our house… there will be lots of adults there and lots of torches!” Y/N blurted out quickly, “… they invited me… can I go?”

Mother had a nearly horrified look on her face, but took a deep breath,

”Okay. T-That's… fine-“,

”YAAAY—!”

—————

“Really? Your mom said yes?” Lilith asked. 

Y/N nodded excitedly, her friends looking at her in surprise.

”Psh… Hurry up, guys! Let's play hide and seek already, I’ll count first!” Jax yelled.

Suddenly the children started to disperse, running in separate directions.

”Let’s hide over here Y/N,” Lilith whispered, the little girl grabbed onto Y/N’s hands, running into the forest together. 

The girls ran towards a bush, but it wasn’t big enough to hide the both of them.

Y/N whisperer, ”You hide here, I’ll hide over there!”

Y/N began to trek through the oak biome, the lights from their village lightly illuminated the surrounding forest they explored.

”Ready or not! Here I come!” Jax shouted from afar.

Y/N’s steps began to quicken, attempting to find a place to hide. This was her first time playing with her friends in a while, she would make this hiding spot memorable.

The air was cold, her eyes focused ahead, the forest getting denser, darker. 

”Found you!”

She heard Jack’s voice faintly from afar, nobody was going to find her at this distance—she thought.

“AHHH—“ Thump.

In Y/N’s haste, she tripped, falling onto the grassy forest floor. Scrambling off the ground, she suddenly heard the floor crunch behind her. The girl looked behind her—

purple.

purple.

purple.

Purple eyes that glowed in the darkness surrounded by a white sclera.

It appeared to be a young Enderboy. His skin was a brown tan with a grey undertone— he had black hair that appeared to be buzzed. He was tall but looked similar in age to Y/N.

But those eyes, it was like looking into a galaxy. His eyes were full of life… but most noticeably, they were purple.

Wait— purple?

“Don’t look them in the eyes.” She remembered.

Y/N gasped, covering her eyes. 

“I-I didn’t see anything!” She shouted. Y/N shivered in fear, heart pounding. She had made eye contact, it was clear as day! She looked into those beautiful glowing purple eyes and was going to die now! 

Any moment now...

Now?

Wait. Nothing's happening.

Y/N carefully, but cautiously, peeked out through her fingers.

"Hey!" The boy shouted, frightening Y/N to cover her eyes back up.

"You... didn't run from me. Why? Why didn't you run away?"

The boy knelt, looking at Y/N like she was some strange creature.

"W-What do you mean..?" She replied hesitantly.

"—Answer me! You saw my eyes, why didn't you run?" The boy snapped, a raspy distorted undertone escaping his throat at his slight frustration.

"I..." Y/N thought of his mesmerizing gaze, a cemented image in her mind

"I thought your eyes were beautiful... I couldn't look away. I don't know..." She mumbled awkwardly, fitting for a simple-minded 10-year-old.

The boy was silent. He stood up, resting his hands on his sides. He was puzzled, the first time he had been puzzled in his life. All because of this confusing human girl.

After a long drawn out moment, he took a deep breath,

"You can open your eyes..." He said gently.

"A-Are you sure—! But—!"

"You already looked at my eyes and I'm not attacking you, am I?!" The boy snapped. 

Y/N quieted down, realizing that it didn't seem like she was in any danger. And... this boy didn't look like the dangerous Endermen that were often described to her. He was... so little. With cautious hands, she uncovered her face, meeting the boy's gaze. 

The boy stared at her suspiciously, he looked puzzled and lost, but... on the other hand, he looked... intrigued.

"You're a strange human," He commented, his posture loosening up. 

Y/N gasped, "Hey! What do you mean by that?" She shouted, almost immediately regaining her composure.

The Enderboy paused, "I mean... most humans see me and run away. I'm scary, right? I-I'm a monster, you're supposed to run away!" He exclaimed insecurely. 

Y/N listened intently, he was right for the most part. But for some reason, he wasn't scary, and she couldn't find the instincts to run.

"You're pretty short for an Enderman... are you an Enderman?" Y/N questioned.

"I'm not short!" He snapped, "I'm just... shorter than most. B-But it's because most of the Enderman in the overworld are adults! I'm going to be tall like them too someday..."

Y/N nodded, the thought piqued her interest. "Oh! I see... are there other... Enderkids like you?"

"Tch! No! I'm the only one brave enough to explore the overworld," He said, with a confident smirk, "The End is so boring!"

Y/N raised a brow. "Really? But doesn't it get lonely without your friends?"

"Friends? I don't have friends, and... I don't need friends to explore!" The boy shook his head.

"No friends!?" Y/N gasped.

Then an idea dawned on her, her eyes gleaming with inspiration. An idea that would change the course of her entire life. But the kindness and curiosity in her heart wouldn't stop her.

"Hey! How about I be your first overworld friend? I could help you explore..." Y/N smiled.

The Enderboy froze, raising a brow. He took a moment to think about it.

"Sure. You can be my friend." He said, a nonchalant expression on his face, but the sides of his mouth twitched, hiding a naïve excitement, "But we'll be exploring places far from your home."

Y/N's eyes widened, in interest and intrigue.

Suddenly,

"Y/N! Where are you!" Jax called out. "We're done playing now! Come out we're going to go home now!" Lillith shouted.

Y/N quickly turned around, thinking rashly, "Ah! I-I have to go now... let's meet here tomorrow! When the sun sets? I want to talk to you more!"

The steps of her friend's were getting louder, and closer. "Hurry, go! My friends might freak out if they see you!" Y/N whispered frantically.

"Wait, what's your name?" The boy asked.

"Oh— right! I'm Y/N!"

"I'm Eros." He smiled.

Suddenly Y/N heard loud rustling behind her, turning around to the noise swiftly.

"There you are Y/N! Geez, you're so competitive, we almost got the adults involved!" Jax said.

Suddenly his eyes widened, noticing what was behind Y/N.

He let out a scream.

Y/N panicked, "Wait! Jax, I can explain! I- its-"

Then Lilith burst out laughing.

"Jax, you're such a scaredy-cat, getting afraid of a chicken?" The girl began to giggle hysterically.

Y/N whipped around, seeing that Eros was nowhere in sight. 

"C'mon, let's go home." Lilith giggled.

The children made their way back to the village, conversing about the fun and eventful night.

Y/N was lost in thought, satisfied with the encounter she had. She was surprised, being told for years the vague and scary things about Endermen. But she had just met one— and he wasn't dangerous or scary! She had to tell her mom about this... she had to tell everyone! Maybe if her mom met Eros... she wouldn't be afraid any more—

"AAAAHHHH!"

A blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

"An Enderman! Someone— please help! HELP ME!"

Y/N's blood ran cold, she and her friends were frozen in fear at the sight before them.

A large Enderman held her mother up in the air with long grotesque limbs. His mouth was foaming with an odd black substance, his eyes a blinding purple— it was lifeless, nothing like Eros's eyes.

Suddenly a few men cried out, slashing the monster from behind— it let out a feral screech before teleporting away.

Mother fell to the ground, looking utterly shaken. Mother's frightened gaze caught site of Y/N.

"Y/N!" She screamed, dashing off the ground, her hair and outfit disheveled, "I-I'm so... Everything's okay... Mommy is okay. My baby is okay. We are okay..." Mother hyperventilated, holding Y/N in a tight grip.

The moonlight loomed over the town, setting an unsettling mood.

"Mommy's never going to let those monsters get to you... You're safe... If anyone touches my baby they're... dead." Mother mumbled in between overwhelmed gasps.

Behind Y/N she could hear the cries of her peers, her body locked in place by her mother's tight grip.

The sound of sobs, screams, and angry shouting commenced, Y/N's eyes focused on the bright full moon— thoughts raced through her mind.

No.

She couldn't tell her mom about Eros.

Not anyone.

Not now— not ever.

It was too late to turn back now, the young Y/N had made her decision.

From that day on, the connection between Y/N and Eros grew in secret.

—————————— End

Up Next:

Chapter 1: What's it like when an Enderman turns 18? Well... It's a lot more dangerous than you'd expect.

Tag List: 🦗

[lunarluvver]

The Summoning

MINORS DNI

Incubus × fem chubby warlock (nsfw)

TW: demon, anal, oral, double penetration, outdoors sex, blood

Tears streamed down Seraphine's face as she poured the red dyed eggshells in a neat circle all around her. The slight breeze in the clearing scattered the shells a tiny bit as they fell, but once they landed, they didn't go anywhere. As a warlock of high caliber, she had no doubt this would work. Once the pentagram was finished, she stood in the center, chanting while she sliced her thick thigh open, letting crimson blood drip drip drip onto the soil beneath her feet and into the chalace below. The wind picked up and the torches she had placed around her went out as her chanting grew louder. Her long obsidian hair flailed behind her, her arms raised and eyes blazing with the heat of a thousand suns, furious tears still pouring out. She was sick of it all. Sick of the humiliation and rejection and powerlessness of a male society. These thoughts fueled her rage. Soon enough, a purple spark swirled a few feet away, growing and turning into a violet portal charged with demonic energy.

"Yes, YES." Her chanting grew more frantic as she saw a hoof poke out of the portal, followed by a fuzzy leg. Someone, someTHING, was coming out. She had prepared for this. Practiced and studied for years, gathering resources for this moment. The skin. It's skin was a deep grey. This had to be it. She got giddy at the sight and her hand slowly sunk to her nether regions.

The rest of it stepped through, and she was in awe at its horrifying beauty. Standing at 6 or 7 feet tall, he was mostly humanoid, besides his legs. The deep grey skin above his fuzzy digigrade legs was deeply scarred, large rugged hands looking calloused and abused. His face was obviously masculine, bearing a few scars as well. His lips curled into a sneer around top and bottom fangs, the sight of which got her wet instantly. Best of all, his eyes. They were black voids. Nothing at all could be seen in them. The color matched his huge horns, hair, and long slender tail.

He looked her up and down, stretching his muscles. "Another shameless slut calling upon a demon for pleasure the mortal men fail to provide?"

"Yes, Ivorn," she squeaked, one hand rubbing her mound and the other groping her breast, turned on by his deep voice. "I need...I..." it was hard to speak with the tears still coming and her breath ragged in her chest.

The incubus chuckled. "I know what you crave, witch woman." he interrupted, pointing to a large rock nearby. "Lay." He demanded.

She did as he asked, laying herself on the stone, wincing at how cold and rough it felt to her hot skin. The Incubus approached, using both of his hands to stroke two very large cocks, eyeing her hungrily as she rubbed her sensitive clit with both hands. He smirked when he got a very good idea. Before she could react, Ivorn reached out and picked her up by her soft waist and hung her upside down. Her legs were splayed open in front of him, resting on his broad shoulders, her pussy at just the right height to be accessible. The blood rushed to her head as she squirmed and realized what he was doing.

"Whaaa.." She squealed and wriggled

"Settle down, human." His booming voice vibrated her wet pussy, making her hole clench. His lips met her folds but he did not lick, he merely kept talking, teasing her. "You are delicious smelling. Such a treat prepared for me, so soft and sweet."

With every word his lips grazed her sensitive button, his deep voice rumbling her core. His hands squeezed her tummy, making her blush and squeal. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his soft trail of fur above his erect cocks. His nose touched her clit and inhaled deeply as he spoke again. "I will deeply enjoy devouring you." Just as he said that, his long tongue dove into her pussy, probing and curling to hit her gspot, bottom lip teasing her pearl. She moaned and panted, inhaling the intense musk from his groin as she was ravaged. His tongue was replaced by two of his meaty fingers so his lips and tongue could terrorize her clit. She wailed as the orgasms hit her. Juices squirted out of her and dripped down her back and front while she cried out his name. Ivorn used her juices to lubricate her tight ass, sliding one finger first and making his way up to four, prepping her for later. Never had she imagined sex like this, her blank mind frazzled and incapable of thought could only whimper and moan.

"Now, it's my turn." Ivorn flipped her back right side up, making her head feel foggy and her vision go blurry. He sat on the rock, holding her by the waist and guiding her onto his two shafts standing at attention below.

"Is..is it gonna fit?" She asked when the tips touched her holes, gawking at the size.

"Let's find out, shall we." He smirked and made her sink onto them. Each inch was agony, but once she hit the hilt, the demon started thrusting, uncaring of whether she was ready or not. The pain burned away into pleasure and she fully submitted to him. He planted his lips on the woman. She kissed him back and grabbed the base of his horns while she got her guts rearranged. He let out a groan as she pulled on his head, her tongue going inside his mouth to explore. Demons horns were sensitive and she took advantage of them.

"Your holes are the most exquisite I've ever had." He moaned and breathed through gritted teeth as he thrusted up into her, setting her core on fire. "And your body looks," he sighed. "Amazing."

The first climax slammed into her and she buried her face in his neck, biting his shoulder while she moaned out in pain. The feeling of being full in both holes was akin to being in heaven and she squirted all over him, pussy fluttering around his cock. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her with something resembling tenderness for a moment, quickly replaced with the same lustful indifference from earlier when he saw her watching. His panting and groaning increased in intensity, meaning he was close to climax. She wrapped her arms around his torso in preparation for the final part of her ritual.

He moaned long and hard as his cock unloaded pump after pump of hot cum into her. The feeling was amazing and she almost regretted that she wouldn't be able to do this with him again. A long obsidian blade materialized in her hand behind his back and she whispered into his neck as he climaxed.

"Sorry."

She whispered a chant as her hand went up and then plunged down, sliding right into the middle of his back where his heart should be. He immediately started to dissolve beneath her, shock and anger in his eyes as he realized what she had done. She pulled out the knife and licked the blood off, grinning at him the whole time.

"You fucking bitch." The demon cursed her name.

"Thanks for the power, babe. The sex was good too." She waved cutely as he died.

"I'll be back for you." He growled as the last of his body disappeared.

She felt it as soon as he was gone. The power. The surge. It electrified in her veins and made her body feel as though it was buzzing. From her toes to her hair, she reveled in the mana that coursed through her body. Seraphine couldn't help but be giddy about the whole ordeal. Great sex, lots of power, she aught to do this more often. She got down from the rock, collecting all of her tools and supplies along with her unlit torches, and walked the 5 minutes back to her cottage. She lived alone outside of town. The villagers liked her and all, she just didn't want to be disturbed. She put her supplies back in her hidden cupboard, safe from prying eyes, and went to bed, feeling spent from all the sex, but drunk on power.

PART 2 COMING SOON!

Thank you for reading!

Feedback appreciated if you have some!

[kiame-sama]

I think it's so funny that Vil is a baby snatcher. Stealing Neige's eggs, taking Jamil's baby, and Jack's one baby that has a human face for modeling. I thought out of all the characters that Lilia would steal all the babies. You take your eyes off Vil for one millisecond, and he has taken all of the babies and being a broody birdy

Warnings: yandere, yandere behavior, Vil is 100% platonic yandere towards the Half-Humans, Humans are extinct au, harem ending,

(now I might need to draw literal kidnapper harpy Vil)

Lilia has his hands full with 8 Dragon hatchlings and his own pup, and Silver's calf, and Sebek's hatchlings, he does not have the time to snatch unwatched young anymore. He also soothes that need to take the other young by being the main guardian during Holidays. Since all of the Harem come together

Thus far, Vil has his own four but has attempted/successfully taken six of the other Half-Human infants;

Jamil's look-alike snakelet

Jack's more Humanoid pup

Neige's two eggs

Rook's two driderlings (Orchid Mantis and Peacock patterns)

So I'm going to drop more lore for HAE Vil:

Vil is doing what almost every Harpy instinctually does; collecting.

He is collecting/trying to collect the ones he likes most because he collects things (and people) he considers beautiful. They are beautiful by his rather high standards and he is driven to collect all that is beautiful to him. The added- unknown to him- bonus is they are Half-Human and feed his platonic addiction better the more of them he has around him. Because of his inherent need to collect things he finds beautiful, he is likely to try and take more of the other young.

He convinces most of the other Households to "Socialization" days, where one Household travels to another Household for a few days. It is where the half-humans all get to play and the parenting duties are divided evenly between the Households for the days they are visiting. He also may try to keep one or more of the other Household's young if he can get away with it or be convincing enough.

He mother-hens Mallenite (purple) and has half a mind to keep the Dragon that has taken such a shine to him. Malleus is not pleased but can't outright torch the Harpy his Human loves. Mallenite is also extremely fond of the beautiful Harpy.

Vil has successfully convinced the Human to let him Babysit Leona's cubs alone for socialization days between the two Households. Leona is suspicious, but does get alone time with the Human while his cubs play, so he doesn't argue. Though he adores his cubs, they are needy. Vil is THRILLED to have the two unique shades of Nemean Lion gold to brood over.

Alistair's two foals are always happy to see their step-father Vil and prance around him excitedly. He adores their pretty feathers so very much and they are happy to gift him with them and make him flower crowns. He still doesn't get along with Alistair and feels a rivalry with him due to how pretty the Alicorn is.

[novaursa]

Legacy (of the past)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what whispers

- Next part: tomorrow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

Almost One Moon Ago

The icy wind howled through the darkened forest as Beric Dondarrion and his men approached the abandoned watchtower. Shadows danced eerily across the snow-covered ground, cast by the flickering torches they carried. The tower loomed ahead, its jagged silhouette stark against the oppressive darkness of the endless winter night.

“This is the place,” Beric murmured, his one remaining eye scanning the tower’s crumbling facade. “Lady Y/N said it felt wrong here.”

Lem Lemoncloak adjusted his grip on his axe, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with grim determination. “It feels wrong now,” he muttered, his voice low. “The air’s too still, and the shadows... they’re moving.”

Thoros of Myr stepped forward, his hands clasped tightly around his flaming sword, its warm glow providing a stark contrast to the chill in the air. He muttered a prayer to R’hllor under his breath, his words barely audible but carrying an intensity that made the others pause.

As the group moved closer to the tower, a sound echoed through the night—a low, mournful voice. It drifted toward them, faint at first but growing louder with each step.

“Beric...” the voice called, impossibly familiar. “Help me...”

Beric froze, his heart pounding. It was the voice of his long-dead squire, Edric Dayne. He knew it couldn’t be real. He turned to Thoros, whose flaming sword burned brighter now, as if reacting to the unnatural presence.

“Don’t listen to it,” Thoros warned, his voice steady. “It’s a trick. A shadow born of darkness.”

Another voice called out, this time sounding like Lem’s wife, long dead from fever. “Lem... come home.”

Lem gritted his teeth, gripping his axe tightly. “That’s not her,” he growled, his knuckles white. “She’s gone.”

The group pressed on, the voices growing more insistent. They reached the base of the tower, where the snow seemed untouched, eerily pristine despite the desolation.

“It’s watching us,” Beric said, his gaze darting toward the upper levels of the tower.

Suddenly, a shape moved against the darkness—a pale, humanoid creature scuttling down the side of the tower on all fours. Its limbs were impossibly long, and its head twisted unnaturally to fix its hollow, glowing blue eyes on the group.

“Seven Hells...” Lem whispered, taking a step back.

Thoros raised his flaming sword high, the fire illuminating the creature’s grotesque form. “It’s not alive,” he said, his voice firm. “Strike it down before it can do harm.”

The creature let out a guttural screech and leaped toward them, its claws extended. Beric reacted instinctively, his sword blazing to life as he swung at the creature. The blade connected, and the creature shrieked in agony, the flames licking at its unnatural flesh.

Lem charged in with his axe, cleaving into the creature’s side. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, sizzling as it hit the snow. Another of Beric’s men thrust a spear into its back, pinning it momentarily before it wrenched itself free with terrifying strength.

“Don’t let it get away!” Beric shouted, slashing at the creature again. His blade caught its arm, severing it cleanly, but the creature didn’t slow. Instead, it lunged at Thoros, its claws raking across his chest.

Thoros stumbled back but swung his sword in a wide arc, the flames catching the creature and igniting it fully. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the creature writhed, letting out one last unearthly scream before collapsing into the snow, its body reduced to ash.

The group stood in silence, their breaths visible in the cold air. Thoros knelt, his hand pressed to his bleeding chest, and muttered another prayer to R’hllor.

“What in the name of the gods was that?” Lem asked, his voice shaking despite his attempt to sound steady.

“A shadow of the dark,” Beric said grimly, his gaze fixed on the pile of ash. “One of the things Lady Y/N warned us about. And I fear there’s more of them.”

Thoros nodded, his face pale but resolute. “The darkness grows stronger. We need to finish what we started here.”

Beric turned back to the tower, his blazing sword lighting the way. “We press on. There’s more to uncover here, and I won’t let this darkness spread unchecked.”

As the group readied themselves to enter the watchtower, the voices faded, replaced by an oppressive silence that seemed to swallow even the sound of their footsteps. But the flicker of Beric’s sword and the determination in their hearts were enough to keep the shadows at bay—for now.

The Present Day

The winter winds howled outside the thick stone walls of Casterly Rock, the endless night casting a shadow over the realm that seemed eternal. Tywin Lannister stood in the doorway of the study chamber, his gaze fixed on his eldest son. Damon, still bandaged on the left side of his face and arm, sat at the long oak table, listening intently as Maester Aldren droned on about the histories of Westeros.

“…and so, the Field of Fire marked the first and only time all three dragons of Aegon the Conqueror were unleashed upon the battlefield,” Maester Aldren explained, his voice even and steady. “The combined might of Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes brought the Kingdom of the Reach to its knees.”

Damon’s right hand rested on a quill, idly tapping against the parchment before him. “And did they burn everything?” he asked, his voice carrying the curiosity of a child tempered by the weight of his recent ordeal.

Maester Aldren paused, adjusting his chain and glancing briefly at Tywin before answering. “Not everything, young master. Aegon was known for his calculated strategy. He sought to conquer, not destroy.”

Damon nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. “So they used their dragons wisely.”

Tywin stepped into the room, his presence commanding despite his silence. Both Damon and Maester Aldren looked up at him, the maester bowing his head respectfully.

“Father,” Damon said, his voice tinged with surprise.

“Continue,” Tywin said, his tone even as he took a seat near the hearth, observing his son with an unreadable expression.

Maester Aldren hesitated briefly before resuming. “Indeed, the dragons were tools of conquest. Yet, they also inspired fear. The sight of their shadows alone was often enough to ensure submission.”

Damon tilted his head. “Then why didn’t the black dragon in the mines submit to me?”

The question hung in the air, and Tywin’s jaw tightened. Maester Aldren chose his words carefully. “Dragons are creatures of will and instinct. They bond with those they deem worthy, and sometimes, they do not see what we see in ourselves.”

Damon’s expression darkened, his hand gripping the quill tighter. “I wanted to prove myself. To help protect the Rock. Like Mother.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the room with precision. “You are not your mother, Damon. You are my son, and that is no small thing. Strength comes in many forms—claiming a dragon is not the only measure of worth.”

Damon looked down at his parchment, his young face a mix of determination and lingering self-doubt. “I still want to try again. One day.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened. “One day, perhaps. But not now. You nearly lost your life chasing that desire. Focus on your studies, on learning the history and tactics that have kept this family strong. That is how you will prove yourself.”

Maester Aldren cleared his throat delicately. “Your lord father is correct, young master. Knowledge is a weapon as sharp as any sword.”

Damon sighed but nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Tywin’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “Good. Remember, Damon, a true leader knows when to act and when to wait.”

The boy nodded again, his resolve slowly returning. “I’ll remember.”

Tywin rose from his seat, the firelight casting a golden glow on his armor and the lined features of his face. “Maester Aldren, see to it that my son continues to learn what he needs. And Damon,” he added, turning to his son, “when you finish here, join me in the great hall. I want you to see how decisions are made.”

Damon’s face lit up with a small spark of excitement. “I will, Father.”

Tywin left the room with his characteristic grace, his thoughts a mix of pride and frustration. He knew Damon’s Targaryen blood burned fiercely within him, but it was his Lannister lineage that Tywin was determined to shape into a weapon worthy of their house.

The long table at the center was surrounded by Tywin’s bannermen, advisors, and the unexpected sight of Tyrion Lannister seated with a goblet of wine in hand, his green eyes taking in every detail. The Unsullied stood at attention near the hall’s edges, their disciplined presence a stark contrast to the more relaxed stance of the Lannister guards.

Tywin sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, his piercing gaze sweeping the room as if daring anyone to waste his time. When the large oak doors creaked open, Damon entered, his steps tentative but steady. The boy’s eyes darted to the figures around him, lingering briefly on Tyrion, who offered a sly smile before lifting his goblet in mock salute.

“Come here, Damon,” Tywin’s voice commanded, firm but not unkind.

Damon walked briskly toward his father, his small boots echoing on the stone floor. He stopped beside Tywin’s chair, glancing at the table laden with maps, correspondence, and documents bearing the Lannister seal.

“I see the little lion has joined the pride,” Tyrion remarked, setting his goblet down with a soft clink. “Careful, Damon, this is where the grown-ups argue about how to divide the spoils.”

Tywin’s sharp gaze cut to Tyrion. “Enough.”

Tyrion shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “As you wish, Father.”

Tywin turned his attention to Damon. “Do you understand why I asked you to be here?”

Damon straightened, his small frame radiating determination. “To learn. You said a leader needs to know when to act and when to wait.”

A flicker of approval crossed Tywin’s face. “Good. Pay attention. Decisions made here will shape not only our house but the realm itself.”

Damon nodded, his gaze fixed on the maps as Tywin gestured for the discussion to resume. A bannerman stood, pointing to a map of the Westerlands.

“We’ve received reports of increased activity near the southern roads, my lord. Travelers claim to have seen pale creatures roaming the hills. If this continues, it will disrupt trade routes.”

Tywin’s expression darkened. “Send a detachment to investigate. Ensure they are well-armed and prepared for anything.”

Another advisor leaned forward. “And what of the settlements further north? Supplies are scarce, and winter’s grip tightens with each passing day.”

“We ration what we can,” Tywin replied coldly. “The Rock will endure, as it always has. Those who cannot adapt will perish.”

Damon glanced up at his father, absorbing his words. There was a harshness in Tywin’s tone, but beneath it lay an unyielding resolve that Damon couldn’t help but admire.

Tyrion cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention. “Speaking of adapting, Father, the supplies at Dragonstone dwindle faster than anticipated. Daenerys sent me here to negotiate, not to beg. But it seems the mighty Lannisters hold all the cards.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “And what does the self proclaimed Targaryen queen offer in exchange for our charity? We have been down this road for weeks, Tyrion. None of your offers are enough for risking my House to starve.”

“An alliance,” Tyrion said smoothly. “One that ensures our combined forces are prepared for what lies beyond the Wall. You’ve seen the reports. You know what’s coming. We talked about this extensively.”

Damon’s eyes widened slightly, but he remained silent, his father’s earlier advice to observe and learn echoing in his mind.

Tywin’s voice was cold and measured. “And my answer remains the same. We do not align ourselves with instability.”

“Instability?” Tyrion chuckled bitterly. “The dead marching south seems quite stable to me. Unstoppable, even. Unless, of course, you have a secret weapon hidden beneath the Rock?”

The tension in the room was palpable. Tywin’s gaze locked with Tyrion’s, a silent battle of wills. Finally, Tywin broke the silence, his tone a cutting dismissal. “This conversation is over. Damon, come with me.”

Damon followed his father as Tywin rose, his long red cloak billowing behind him. Tyrion watched them leave, swirling the wine in his goblet with a faint smirk. “Always the family man,” he muttered under his breath.

As Tywin and Damon exited the hall, the boy glanced up at his father. “What’s beyond the Wall, Father?”

Tywin paused, his hand resting on Damon’s shoulder. “The same thing that threatens every family in this realm, Damon. And it’s up to us to ensure the Lannister name endures, no matter what comes.”

You sat in the nursery with Maelor, the faint glow of the hearth illuminating the room. The little boy was on the floor, his pale curls catching the firelight as he carefully arranged wooden blocks into a tower. Ser Barristan stood by the door, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, a watchful guardian even in this domestic setting.

Maelor looked up suddenly, his wide, curious eyes fixed on you. "Mother, what was it like when you were a princess? When your father was king?"

The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you were silent, your gaze flickering to the flames in the hearth. Memories stirred, some bitter, some bittersweet.

Ser Barristan stepped forward slightly, his expression softening. "Your mother was the jewel of the court, young prince," he said, his tone reverent. "Everyone admired her."

You smiled faintly at Barristan's words, though your expression remained pensive. You looked at Maelor, who was waiting intently for your answer. "It was...different, Maelor," you began, choosing your words carefully. "The Red Keep was grand, full of life and color, but it was also a place of whispers and shadows. My father was the king, and he ruled with power, but not always with wisdom."

Maelor tilted his head, his small fingers tapping against one of the blocks. "Was he a good king?"

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Barristan for a moment. The old knight met your eyes and gave a small nod, silently encouraging you to answer truthfully.

"He was a complicated man," you finally said. "Your grandsire had a great burden placed on him, and sometimes...he let it consume him. But he loved us in his own way, even if it wasn't always easy to see."

Maelor frowned, clearly trying to process your words. "Did he love you?"

The question hit you like a blow, but you kept your composure. "Yes," you said softly. "In the way he knew how."

Barristan spoke then, his voice filled with a quiet respect. "Your mother was the light of the court, even in its darkest days. She had a kindness about her that was rare in such a place."

You glanced at him, gratitude flickering in your eyes. "Ser Barristan always had a way of seeing the best in people," you said, your tone affectionate.

Maelor's curiosity seemed insatiable. "What about Uncle Rhaegar? Was he a good man?"

Your expression softened further at the mention of your elder brother. "Rhaegar was...a dreamer. He was kind and thoughtful, and he carried the weight of our family on his shoulders. But he was also human, and he made mistakes."

Maelor looked down at his blocks, his young mind clearly working through your words. "I wish I could have met them."

You reached out, gently brushing a curl from his forehead. "I wish you could have too," you said. "But you carry them with you, Maelor. You are their legacy, as is your brother."

Barristan cleared his throat, his voice gentle. "It is good for the young prince to know his history. To understand the strength and the struggles of those who came before him."

You nodded. "Yes, but he must also know that he is not bound by it. He can forge his own path, just as we all must."

Maelor looked up at you again, his expression serious. "Will I be a king one day? After Tommen?"

You paused, your heart aching at the innocence of the question. You knelt down, placing your hands on his small shoulders. "You will be whatever you choose to be, my sweet boy. But remember, being a king—or anything else—means putting others before yourself. It means being strong, but also kind."

Maelor seemed to consider this, then gave a decisive nod. "I’ll be a good king if I have to be."

You smiled, pulling him into a gentle hug. "I know you will."

Barristan watched the scene with a quiet smile, his hand still resting on his sword. As you released Maelor and he returned to his blocks, you glanced at the knight.

"Thank you, Barristan," you said softly.

The old knight inclined his head. "It is an honor, my lady. Your children are a reflection of you, and they give me hope for the days to come."

You looked back at Maelor, your heart heavy but full. "They are my light," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Maelor’s tiny fingers continued stacking the wooden blocks, his attention shifting once more as his young mind wandered to another question. He glanced up at you, his eyes filled with curiosity. "What about Father? How was he when you were a princess? Did he live in the castle with you?"

The question drew a soft laugh from you, though there was a trace of wistfulness in it. "No, sweet one, your father didn’t live in the Red Keep. He ruled here, over Casterly Rock."

Maelor frowned thoughtfully. "But...why didn’t he marry you then? He’s your husband now. Why not back then?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you exchanged a quick glance with Ser Barristan, who stood by the doorway. The old knight’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. You turned your gaze back to Maelor, brushing a stray curl from his face.

"Things were...complicated, Maelor," you said gently, choosing your words carefully. "Back then, I was promised to someone else, and your father was serving as Hand of the King. He was very loyal to my father, even when others weren’t. Until the Rebellion."

"Promised?" Maelor repeated, tilting his head in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I was supposed to marry someone else," you explained. "Marriages are often arranged to strengthen alliances between families."

Maelor’s brows knitted together. "But you didn’t marry the other person?"

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the fire. "No, I didn’t. Things changed, and your father and I...we found our way to each other later."

"Why didn’t Father marry you sooner?" Maelor pressed, his voice filled with innocent determination.

You smiled faintly, though your heart ached at the simplicity of his question. "Because sometimes, Maelor, life doesn’t work out the way we plan. Your father and I had to wait until the right time. And when the time came, we made a life together—a life with you and your brother."

Maelor seemed to consider this, his small hands fiddling with the edge of his tunic. "Do you think Father loves you?"

The unexpected question startled you, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. You glanced at Barristan, who quickly turned his gaze elsewhere, giving you privacy.

You knelt down again, taking Maelor’s little hands in yours. "Yes, my sweet boy. I know your father loves me. And I love him too."

Maelor’s face lit up with a smile, and he leaned forward to hug you tightly. "I love you too, Mother."

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "And I love you, my little lion," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Barristan cleared his throat softly, breaking the tender moment. "It’s nearly time for the evening meal, my lady. Shall I escort the young prince to the dining hall?"

You pulled back from Maelor, smoothing his curls. "Yes, thank you, Barristan. Come, Maelor, let’s go see your brother and father. They’ll be waiting for us."

Maelor nodded eagerly, taking your hand as you stood. His earlier questions lingered in your mind as you walked toward the dining hall, his small hand warm in yours. Life had indeed been complicated, but as you glanced down at your son, you knew every choice you had made had led to this moment—a life worth protecting.

Tywin sat at the head of the table, his commanding presence unmistakable even in his silence. Damon sat beside his father, his posture straight despite his visible discomfort. He fiddled with a piece of bread, glancing up as you entered with Maelor and Ser Barristan.

"Mother!" Damon’s voice held a note of relief, though he quickly masked it with a more composed expression, clearly trying to mimic Tywin’s demeanor.

Tywin looked up from the parchment he had been reading, his stern gaze softening slightly as he watched you approach with Maelor holding your hand. “You’ve taken your time,” he remarked, though his tone was devoid of irritation.

You smiled faintly and let go of Maelor’s hand as he darted toward his father and brother. "I was answering some very curious questions from your youngest," you said, taking a seat beside Tywin.

Maelor clambered into the chair beside Damon, who gave him a small, protective smile. “I wasn’t asking too many questions, was I, Mother?” Maelor asked, his voice filled with the innocence of youth.

“Not at all,” you replied with a chuckle, glancing at Tywin. “He wanted to know about you—how you were back when I lived in the Red Keep.”

Tywin’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Did he now?”

Maelor nodded enthusiastically. “I wanted to know why you didn’t marry Mother sooner. She said it was complicated.”

Damon’s lips quirked upward in amusement as Tywin gave a faint scoff, setting aside the parchment he had been holding. “Complicated is one word for it,” he muttered, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he glanced at you.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your hand on the edge of the table. “I also told him how everything worked out as it was meant to,” you said, meeting Tywin’s gaze. “Because it gave us this family.”

Tywin’s expression softened just a fraction, his hand brushing against yours briefly beneath the table. “Indeed,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting to Damon and Maelor. “Though perhaps next time, the boy’s questions can wait until after the meal.”

Maelor wrinkled his nose. “But I wasn’t hungry then. I’m hungry now.”

Damon chuckled, reaching for a plate of roasted vegetables to pass to his brother. “You’re always hungry, Maelor.”

“Because I’m growing,” Maelor retorted, puffing out his chest dramatically, which earned a rare, subtle smile from Tywin.

As the meal continued, the warmth of the room and the steady rhythm of conversation eased the lingering tension from the past few days. Damon occasionally winced as he moved his injured arm, but Tywin kept a close, watchful eye on him, subtly instructing him to rest when needed.

After the plates had been cleared and the servants began bringing in a light dessert, Tywin leaned slightly toward you, his voice low. “We’ll need to discuss the matter of those missing settlements after supper.”

You nodded, though your gaze lingered on Damon and Maelor, who were now quietly talking about dragons. “We will,” you said softly, your voice filled with resolve. “But for now, let them have this.”

Tywin followed your gaze, his stern expression easing as he observed his sons. “For now,” he agreed, his tone quiet but firm.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, squeezing it gently. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Tywin glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he returned the gesture with a small, firm squeeze. "They’re strong,” he said after a pause, his voice carrying a note of pride. “As they should be."

“They take after their father,” you replied, your lips curving into a faint smile.

Tywin said nothing, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes as the quiet hum of family filled the hall, shielding you all, for a moment, from the encroaching darkness beyond the castle walls.

The warmth of the fire crackled softly in the chamber as you removed your cloak and draped it over the back of a chair. Tywin stood near the window, his posture rigid as he gazed out at the snow-covered landscape illuminated by a pale sliver of moonlight. His hands were clasped behind his back, his face catching the firelight, making him appear every bit the stoic lord he was known to be.

You approached slowly, sensing he had something on his mind. “You’ve been quiet since supper,” you said, your tone gentle yet curious.

Tywin turned, his green eyes meeting yours. “Maelor asked an interesting question tonight,” he began, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity. “About why we weren’t married sooner. What exactly did you tell him?”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before replying. “Not much,” you said honestly, moving closer to him. “Just enough to satisfy his curiosity. I told him it was complicated, which, if I recall, is a word you yourself used when Damon asked something similar.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. “And did you tell him about Lord Darrick?” he asked, his tone dropping slightly, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Lord Darrick?” you repeated, searching your memory before realization dawned. “Ah, the man my father betrothed me to after rejecting your proposal. No, I didn’t mention him.”

Tywin gave a faint scoff, moving toward the hearth where the firelight danced against the stone walls. “Good,” he said curtly. “I never cared much for Darrick.”

You followed him, folding your arms across your chest as you leaned against the table near the fire. “I remember,” you said softly, your gaze flickering to the flames. “You made that quite clear when you refused to acknowledge him during court sessions. Aerys was furious, as I recall.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Aerys was a fool,” he said bitterly. “He rejected the strongest alliance he could have forged for something as petty as spite. And instead, he tethered you to a man with neither the strength nor the wits to hold his own lands, let alone the loyalty of the realm.”

You sighed, the weight of those memories settling over you like a heavy cloak. “It was never about Darrick,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with melancholy. “It was always about you. My father wanted to ensure you never regained the influence you once held.”

Tywin turned to face you, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with the intensity that always seemed to pierce straight through you. “And yet here we are,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Despite his efforts. Despite everything.”

A faint smile touched your lips as you stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. “Yes, here we are,” you echoed, your tone softening. “I told Maelor that everything happened as it was meant to. And I believe that, Tywin. Even if it wasn’t the path we would have chosen.”

He studied you for a long moment, his features softening ever so slightly. “Perhaps,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the wasted years.”

You reached up, gently brushing a strand of golden hair from his brow. “Then don’t dwell on them, like we talked before,” you said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “What matters is now. Our sons. Our family.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to rest over yours. “You’re right,” he said, though there was still a flicker of lingering frustration in his gaze. “But if I ever hear of someone speaking fondly of Darrick in this castle, they’ll regret it.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Noted,” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “Though I doubt anyone remembers him well enough to speak of him.”

Tywin gave a faint smirk, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. “Good,” he said simply, his tone final.

The warmth of the fire wrapped around you both, and for a moment, the shadows of the past faded into the background, leaving only the present to fill the silence.

[evileyedoll]

Psylent Platinum

Metal Masked Machines, gleaming as they always have, like torches in the Night, hold vigil until the bells all toll

Anyone that looks at these usually can probably fairly quickly tell they're often accidentally becoming Warframe 2, even if they're a long ways away from catching up to the spiritual inspiration.

I don't quite know what to think of that impression, I guess my main response is that there is a lot of Warframe, and within that there's also many different eras of Warframe deisgn - it takes a village to make those real after all.

Maybe the main differentiator will be getting back to some non-humanoid designs, which there's meant to be a lot of in the universe these are in - the rough part about those is just not being able to use my own poses as reference.

Lost a fair bit of progress because of an unusual save error, so some parts of this are a bit more haphazard since they got done a second time. compromise compromise.

Guess it's also a little strange to choose bright silver after the last few have been so colourful, I usually avoid this and keep the main figure more neutral when I can, because having both be bright can make it feel like the picture is "screaming" at you. Subconciously or not I think the colour choices for each piece are sometimes informed by how good I think they look in a profile grid, which is a really strange incentive to not be braver with these. bleh.

[themaclean]

We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

[betamash]

Knife to Meet You!

Read on AO3 here.

Word Count: 2,963

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood

---

Patton was always terrified of being killed by monsters, he just thought they wouldn't look so human...

Or...

Patton Hart is kidnapped by a cult and stabbed, left for dead in the woods as a sacrifice for a monster. He finds someone impossibly human instead. Well, except for their size...

---

@delimeful Look!

Based off of Delimeful's "hold my body down"

Growing up, Patton had heard tales of monsters. Selkies, the fae, driders, (he especially hated those tales, always ending in someone being eaten alive) but one monster was so outlandish he was sure it was made up. Giants. Maneaters. Large, humanoid creatures that lived far from human territory, and would snatch up unsuspecting victims if any were unfortunate enough to get too close.

Even as a child, Patton couldn't believe it, beasts that caused the earth to tremble as they walked, larger than the trees. It was so outlandish, not as believable as ghosts or witches, who were based in some reality. He was always paranoid of walking too close to the edge of town and coming face-to-face with a drider. Every time he saw a spider, he had to quell the hammering in his heart, afraid of even the tiniest orb weavers, no matter how safe they were. He was always a coward, and the townsfolk didn't like him, always threatening to sacrifice him to the woods and rid themselves of him.

He was always terrified of being killed by monsters, he just thought they wouldn't look so human...

They caught him on a night of worship. The townspeople dragged him, kicking and screaming, far outside the village, to a worn trail in the woods. Their torches gave the barest hint of light, but Patton could still see a circle of stones and an ominous crucifix, which had the clinging odor of blood leaking off of it.

Finally, he thought, they're going to kill me. I've been weighing them down, and they're going to kill me. He was wrestled into position and tied to the wooden cross unceremoniously. Then, what he assumed was the leader of the cult, stepped out from behind a thick sycamore, chanting something in a language Patton had never heard, before pulling a long, jagged dagger from their cloak. They approached with a threatening sort of determination, slowly raising the dagger higher above them like a death sentence. His shirt was ripped upwards, leaving no barrier between his vital organs and the cult leader, who never paused or wavered in their steps.

Patton braced himself.

The dagger sunk into his skin, and searing pain spread through Patton's stomach. The cult leader carved through his belly until the dagger met his hip, where they pulled it out with more force than necessary, splattering Patton's torso in crimson flecks. Then, as if they hadn't doomed him, the cult marched back into town, disappearing into the night, the sounds of their cheering and menacing laughter fading into the trees and out of sight. Patton finally let himself sob, fat tears rolling down his chin and falling into the darkness below his feet.

He forced himself not to writhe in pain, worried about jostling his wound and blacking out. His only solace now was choked out prayers and mumbled coos, meant to soothe his tears, though he never stopped crying. If he strained his ears, he could hear the barest wisps of wind, cooling his eyes and prickling the back of his neck. And they were getting louder, no longer drowned out by Patton's cries or the cult's excitement.

Then, there was a cracking sound, as if the trees had split around him, and thundering, almost like earthquakes, which were deafening. He realized hopelessly that the sound was approaching him. He silently hoped that whatever it was granted him a quick death.

Alarm swept through his thoughts, memories of tales he'd heard long ago echoing in the back of his head, warning him that these sounds were described to him in great detail before. He thought he should be afraid, but his energy was drained, his demise already certain. He let his chin rest against his chest and drifted off, the pain numbing slightly as he succumbed to blood loss...

Until he was torn away from his bindings by a colossal hand. He jerked awake, somehow more terrified than before, and looked up to see two immense eyes staring directly at him from behind a pair of handmade glasses. His breath stuttered, his heart hammering in his chest, causing even more blood to leak out of his gut, and he whimpered in pain.

The giant looked... Worried?

He was being cradled in two enormous hands. Thick, leathery skin blocked his view of the forest below, which he was thankful for, but it was hard to ignore the swaying as the giant hurriedly stepped away from the small clearing. It turned away from the village, and Patton's stomach dropped, the motion eliciting raw panic, causing Patton to pass out again.

---

When he finally came to, he was lying in a nest of blankets, surrounded by warmth and the scent of peppermint. He was peering upwards towards a large ceiling hundreds of feet above his head, distant from his thoughts as all he could think was danger, before he remembered what had happened to him and shot upright.

The first thing he noticed was the vast expanse of the room, the floor impossibly far below him. The second thing he noticed was the giant from last night, sitting across the room, reading a massive book that Patton would have a hard time even opening. The giant didn't notice Patton watching it, so he slowly slipped out of the blanket den and tried his best not to scream when he pulled at his wound. The third thing he noticed, very late, was that he was shirtless, and that there were clumsily applied bandages wrapped around his frame. He suddenly felt very exposed.

The giant had yet to turn around, so Patton slid down the rest of the blankets and tried to catch his breath. He was sitting on a massive table, in a giant's house, with said giant sitting across from him. Not an ideal situation, but Patton, ever the optimist, was certain he could figure out how to escape. He was sure he was going to die last night, anyways, so it's not like it could get worse.

And then, Patton had the misfortune of looking past the table, down, down, down at the floor below, and feeling hopeless all over again. There was no way he could climb down, especially not with a giant (heh) stab wound. He backed away from the edge of the table, sitting himself against the pile of blankets and trying to figure a way out of this. Sure, he was trapped, but that didn't mean he was doomed, right?

He just had to wait for a better opportunity to present itself, then he could slip away unnoticed. He might as well let his body rest, then. He climbed back up the hill of soft, surprisingly warm blankets. When he reached the top, he turned to look back at the giant.

Who was looking right back at him.

Patton's skin drained of any color he might have regained from being asleep, and he froze, unsure of what to do. The giant just kept staring at him, expression unreadable. Patton couldn't look away, and it seemed neither could the giant. In the distance, a kettle began screaming, snapping them both out of their staring contest.

Patton dove into the blanket pile, covering his head with his hands and hiding as best he could, suddenly very aware that he was in a giant's home. He heard the distant scraping of a chair, and the sound of the giant's footsteps receding into another room. Patton focused on calming his racing heart. He could hear the sounds of ceramic mugs clinking against a countertop, and water being poured generously into them. He wondered if he was going to be boiled alive, before the giant returned, this time walking closer to Patton's hiding spot. He was shaking.

He heard the mugs being placed down against the wood, and the chair from before being dragged over to the table. Then, the giant reached into the blanket nest and pulled Patton out, much to Patton's absolute horror.

Patton tensed "W-Wait!" He covered his mouth, afraid to say anymore as the giant looked at him, regarding him with a cold, assessing gaze. The giant did not wait, instead placing Patton onto a large piece of cloth, likely a handkerchief of some kind. Then it reached over Patton to grab a giant bowl. It placed the bowl gently next to Patton, and pinning him with a gaze, likely meant to scare Patton more, it got up from the table, presumably going to grab something else it'd forgotten.

Patton bolted, adrenaline masking the pain of his still very gaping stab wound and pushing him to keep running, no destination, just the primal fear of a prey animal who knows it's been cornered. The giant immediately noticed, letting out a very annoyed sigh, and reached over to pluck Patton back up and deposit him onto the cloth again. Patton let out a blood curdling scream as his was lifted into the air.

The giant did not dignify him with a response, instead going to leave the room again. Patton went to get back up, still full of terror, and the giant paused, seeming to think through its options for a moment before scooping Patton up into its hands again, taking him with it as it left the room. Patton couldn't breathe.

He tried desperately to suck air into his lungs, to fill his chest with much needed oxygen, but there was a band of tightness constricting him, and he started hyperventilating in the giant's palms. The giant, ever vigilant, noticed this, and made a weird expression that Patton didn't recognize before bringing Patton up to its chest and...  Holding him there. All Patton could hear was the giant's breathing, its immense lungs rising and falling under its chest. It didn't move, just stood there, pressing Patton into its chest and breathing. And the worst part was, it was helping.

Patton, after a few false starts, was able to greedily suck in a breath, and then another, until he could see the black spots in his vision fizzle out, leaving him fixed on the kitchen in front of him. A rather normal looking kitchen, for a giant. No blood or corpses strewn about. There were cabinets set into the counters, and a breadbox in the far corner. Jars of various preserved fruits were stacked along the backsplash, and it smelled like mint and honey. It was homey, not something you would expect from a maneater. After Patton had calmed down, the giant brought him in front of his face, and much to Patton's surprise, actually spoke.

"Are you alright?" It- He had a deep, sultry voice, and Patton flushed a deep red color at the purring emanating from behind him, through the giant's hands and up his back. The giant looked even more concerned. "Hello?" He tried again, but Patton was too focused on melting into a puddle of shame at the thoughts running through his head. He thought he was going to die, he should be terrified, not-! Patton tensed as the giant poked at him with a thick finger.

"D-Don't touch me, please..." The giant retracted the finger, and Patton took a few deep breaths to compose himself. "Thank you..."

The giant nodded. "Of course." He started walking again, stepping into a small bathroom and grabbing bandages and gauze. He returned Patton back onto the table in what he now knew was the giant's living room and placed the new items nearby. Then, the giant took one of the previously steaming mugs of water and poured a small amount into the bowl from earlier. Testing the temperature with his finger, the giant deemed it was cool enough and moved to Patton.

The giant reached out to Patton.

"Stop! What are you doing!" Patton wrapped his arms around himself, stepping away from the giant's hand.

The giant looked confused. "I need to take your clothes off so I can wash them and so I can bathe you. I also need to change your bandages, since you've been asleep for about two days now." He started reaching for Patton again.

Patton flinched, his head spinning from the information. "I-I can take my clothes off by myself, thank you!" He made no move to remove his pants, though.

The giant hummed. "Alright. Just make sure you replace the bandages, and wrap them tight, you are still bleeding. I will leave you be." The giant stood, his vast figure overshadowing Patton, before he moved to leave the room.

Patton sighed, relieved, and stripped. He placed his dirty, blood-soaked clothes and bandages in small, separate piles and climbed into the makeshift bath. The water was pleasantly warm, and Patton found himself humming as he lowered himself into the water. He sat there for a while, just soaking in the warmth, before he started lightly scrubbing at his face and hands. he didn't realize before, but he was absolutely caked in dirt and grime.

Once he was done, he stepped out, shivering slightly at the drop in temperature, and wrapped himself in the handkerchief, covering himself as best he could. The giant returned shortly after, knocking gently on the doorframe.

Patton sighed. "C-Come in!" The giant stepped into view.

"I am here to collect your clothes." And the giant did just that, focusing on delicately gathering up the piles in his hand. "I'm going to wash your clothes and discard the old bandages." He narrated out loud, which Patton was grateful for, and left him alone again. Patton sighed. He moved to sit down, careful to not tear his guts open again, and grabbed the bandages and gauze to patch himself up.

Patton was almost certain he would have to leave, that the giant did not have good intentions for him. And yet, his emotions were telling him that, maybe, he really was safe. There was a war happening inside of him, between his optimism and his unyielding sense of panic and terror. It was made worse by the fact that he was severely injured, every time he felt afraid, that fear also translated into pain, white hot and distracting. It felt like his terror was winning. He felt helpless.

The giant returned once again, carrying soggy clothes in his right palm, and a teabag and thimble in his left. He carefully lowered the items onto the table, and sat, gaze flitting over Patton before resting on the other remaining mug of water. It had tiny wisps of steam curling over the lip, still a little warm, but not boiling like before. The giant looked back at Patton before slowly reaching for the teabag and placing it into the mug. The whole time, Patton watched, completely still.

The giant looked over at the thimble. "You must be thirsty. I don't own any human glassware, but I have this." He reached over and plucked the thimble up between his thumb and index finger. "I hope you don't mind..." He mumbled.

Honestly, Patton couldn't care less. he would have drunk out of a water trough if he had to. Two whole days, while not a new record, was a very long time for him to be asleep. Patton finally noticed how chapped his lips were, how gummy his eyelids had become, and how dry his throat was.

He nodded eagerly.

The giant looked bemused, dipping the thimble into his own mug before handing it to Patton. He had to hold it with both hands, but other than that, it was perfect. He tipped the makeshift cup back into his mouth and drank wildly, unable to pace himself. The giant looked a bit concerned, but Patton was busy trying not to waterboard himself.

He finally pulled away from the thimble, desperately heaving in air, and staring blankly into the distance.

The giant cleared his throat. "Well, I hope you are feeling better." Patton nodded nervously. "I found you tied up, and I am assuming you are another offering from that cult located in the village?"

Patton swallowed. "Y-Yes, that's right..." He suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands, squeezing them into fists repeatedly.

The giant sighed. "Well, I am very sorry." Patton was terrified all over again. Was he going to kill him after all?

"Y-You don't have to kill me! I can help you, just l-let me live, and I can help you, I swear!" Patton spoke before he could think, pleading with the giant. He tried to stand up and gasped painfully when he pulled on his stomach again.

The giant seized him quickly, shaking his head violently. "NO! You misunderstand; I have no intentions of killing you. And please, try not to move too much, you will only hurt yourself more." Patton tried not to flinch at the giant's tone.

Of course he wasn't going to kill him. The giant obviously wanted something from Patton. He just hoped it wasn't something bad, like hurting other people. Patton wouldn't hurt anyone, even if it meant he would be hurt. That's why he was here in the first place. He refused to join the cult, and it cost him. But he would never. The thought made him sick.

Patton nodded. "Right, okay. I believe you, giant."

The giant nodded, before fulling registering what he said. "Logan. You may call me Logan."

Patton smiled weakly. "Well Logan, you may call me Patton. And it's knife to meet you."

Logan groaned. "Please refrain from any wordplay, for my sake."

Patton giggled, a small, choked sound. "Sorry, I'm not so good at edge-y jokes!"

Logan put Patton down on the table again in favor of hiding his face in his hands. Patton smiled, his first real smile in forever.

Maybe things would turn out fine, after all.

[rippleclan]

[Image ID: The Loveland Frog, a humanoid frog holding a torch by its big white eyes, stands in the middle of the screen, surrounded by six buttons. The buttons read WOLF, FOX, OWL, HAWK, RAT, and COUGAR. A yellow star bounces between these options, turning them yellow. The All-Seeing says, "We are so sorry. We can't keep them away for much longer. We can only decide who appears first. In one year's time, who will announce their presence to the Clans?"]

[brykp]

THEORY: Lucifer Morningstar in Hazbin Hotel... Might Actually Be a Star

I was thinking of what Sera said to Charlie when she was first welcomed into Heaven... "Greetings, Daughter of the Morningstar"... or, did she enunciate morning-star? This is a real thing in the world that exists for us people on earth, in fact you can walk outside and see it very early every morning --- it is the last star shining in the sky. Tangent oncoming, but it gets back to the main point ----- Lucifer means "light-bearer", or, "light-bringer", because it calls forth the rising sun. In symbology, this has been interpreted as a man holding a torch. In Hazbin Hotel, we not only see Lucifer literally can produce fire from his hand, but this has been passed down to his daughter as well. They're light-bearers --- literally. Also, that is precisely what stars do... they produce light! Now let me advance to next bulletpoint of this post... Vivienne Medrano ALREADY used a "living" object, that can terraform into a more active form, in this web show. And that is none other than Kiki, the literal key to the hotel. She turns into a cat-semblant body.

On the same note, Vivienne Medrano is no stranger to humanoids or beings naturally being another thing. This was a primary feature of her extinct webcomic, Zoophobia, where every animal naturally has a humanesque form they can convert to whenever necessary. For example, Jackie is a great macaw (this isn't the parrot's true appearance, this is a format she takes alternatively):

Now, I know Lucifer is snake-coded, but I couldn't help but acknowledge how well-versed Vivienne Medrano seems to be in demonology and religion, to an extent, based on some videos from YouTuber cartoon analysis channels. And (I'm going to repeat, excuse my drawling), it is a common fact that the morning star.... in the sky... can be seen every morning. Hence, Sera uttered; "Greetings, daughter of the morning star". So, here's the next bulletpoint --- the acknowledgment of celestial bodies as sources of worship (astrology) is a key point in this universe. Stolas, a major character in the same world, studies and is a sort of regulator of the celestial bodies.

That's his whole schtick. Plus, he is royalty in Hell, so astrology is probably a no-shit presence of fact among the general population in Hell. On the the next bulletpoint: YouTube theorists and fans of both these web shows in general have expressed how they think Hazbin Hotel + Helluva Boss take place somewhere in 'outer space'. From the Pride Ring alone, we can see other celestial bodies IN the sky, like Heaven and a weird moon with a copy of Pride Ring's Pentagram on it. While I don't think the Hellaverse is in outer space exactly, I really think it's code for 'the heavenly realms'. Now on to the next and probably most important fact... now, what might the Pride Ring be? What does its parameter resemble? (Btw, follow this person on Tumblr and X, they are a great Lucy fan artist):

Not to mention the pentagram (which is also, coincidentally, and non-coincidentally a star-shape) floating right above it. What is a meteorite? A falling star. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is my final say on this? I might say Lucifer is... well, a fallen star. He may or may not be a literal star in the show, but this is a huge probability in the Hellaverse considering it IS Vivienne Medrano's brainchild. This is my headcannon now... that because these are the heavenly realms, the most powerful beings/ characters can and do exist likely in alternate/ first forms in the same existential plane. Charlie is half human and half angel... or further, half star. Also, this means Lilith fucked a star. (And Eve too, oop.)

[shirefantasies]

This is gonna be a weird one..

Azog and a human reader?

It can be smut or fluff.

Not weird, I like the challenge 😎 This is a fascinating concept to me I love human x non-human (as long as it’s still humanoid, I’m not a furry 😂) I’m sorry I don’t think this is very good though 😅😆 hope you still can enjoy!

Chains of Flesh- Azog the Defiler x Human!Reader

Warnings: minor language, implied past abuse

You had to be a liability. You suspected that from the moment they took you. That you could not fight well must mean little more than ill in your favor. Fighting was the last thing on your mind anyway as your body, consciousness fading fast, was slung onto the sloped back of a warg like a doll. You had fought enough in your days. Such was your last memory before you awoke.

Vines crept up stone walls. You had no memory of that place, no recognition as you clambered up from the battered cot frame. There was a haze in the air, a feeling like an unseen fog had drifted somehow inside and survived even the torch burning on a bent sconce outside the rusty bars. A prison cell?

Shuffling to the edge of the bars- though you dared not touch their jagged, soiled edges- availed you a greater view of your surroundings. A stone fortress of some kind, desolate and abandoned as it was, one hung with tight cages skeletons swung in. Clearly you didn’t have it so bad.

But why? What set you apart from men deemed little more than beasts? Greater importance or so stark a lack of threat?

Pounding footsteps had you straightening, stepping back again from the bars as boots echoed upon stone. Soon a pair of orcs stood before you and the first one, tall, dark, and broad, spoke slowly and intensely. His tongue was unknown to you, yet you knew it was the Black Speech; vile as it was said to be, the sound of it fascinated you.

The second, a shorter, leaner figure with scarred tan skin and an empty socket where his left eye once was, hissed in a quicker voice to you. “Information. You have it. Azog will deal with you.”

You’d heard that name before. Azog the Defiler was the sworn enemy of that dwarf named king, the one who’d brought destruction and strife to the town you unfortunately had called home. The bastard that called himself Mayor needed only one word of the riches beneath the mountain to change his tune completely on letting the town burn. If they wanted dirt on that villain and his filthy underling, they could have it and gladly.

The bars were wrest open and your upper arms seized by a leering orc on either side. Tempted as you were to smack the looks off their faces, you knew that would be a death sentence; instead, you bid them drag you up spiraling steps and toss you humiliatingly at the boots of the Pale Orc. His lip curled at the pair of underlings, then he looked at you with interest crossing his carved features. More Black Speech in a deep, richly imposing voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tell us everything you know about the mountain,” the one translating demanded, “and tell us fast if you know what's good for you." Just to hammer his point in further, he pointed a quite redundant blade at your chest.

Even though it spiked your heart rate, you couldn't help rolling your eyes- you had yet to do anything but comply. Stepping forward as far as you could without impaling yourself, you ignored the faint pressure that jabbed you and spoke.

"They are only granted reentry on the one day. The one who calls himself king has the key. First priority goes to the main treasure room where the dragon is keeping his prize. After that, they reclaim the kingdom. It sounded like there were lower entries that may be blocked, so they have to go in right by where the dragon is, but I could be wrong.”

For what seemed like far longer than it had taken you, the shorter orc relayed his message to the Defiler, whose piercing blue gaze kept sliding to you. Azog spoke back as his eyes practically bore holes in your head, giving some command that sparked shock across the tan orc’s face.

“You show great promise and you seem like good fun… someone like you could be the perfect addition. A spy, even, too if you swear to us. What say you?” He bared his teeth as he spoke, rows of sharp, dark points. From behind him, Azog smiled, a look of smug curiosity that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t exactly want to find out what their methods were at answering denial, and besides… something told you they were not opposed to letting Laketown fall. And, if you were lucky, taking the men who mistreated you down with it. Swallowing, you shakily mirrored their dark smiles. “I’ll do it. I have enemies at the foot of the mountain. Lay waste to them.”

The tan orc spoke again. Moonlight shone upon them both. In one sudden motion the Pale Orc took hold of your arm in his one flesh hand, wrest it such that you were pulled into him. Somehow, though, he’d done it without hurting you. Pressed against him as you were, you may have been trapped, but as you felt the rapid beat of his large heart against the back of your head all you could feel was a rush. Azog’s hand ran up and down your arm.

The shorter, darker servant tilted his head. “Those Laketown scum have not been kind to you, have they?”

Heartbeat still thrumming against you, you just shook your head. Warmth coursed through your body. Azog’s metal hand traced gently along the curve of your neck, scratching the skin lightly. It brought a gasp to your lips, the cold sensation of metal upon skin. As soon as the air left you, though, he stopped.

He stopped. Let go slightly. Something Alfrid never would have done if you hadn’t punched him so hard he saw-

“Swear your allegiance to us, then,” Azog’s servant demanded with a grin, his harsh voice cutting through the stab of memories that had your chest heaving.

Shakily, you inhaled, breathing in time with the one who held you close. “What will you have me do?”

“Let the Pale Orc decide that. He’s the one who wants you,” he chuckled, smacking the shoulder of the taller, broader servant as they stomped away toward the door they’d hauled you through.

Only when they disappeared, door slamming at their backs, did Azog loosen his hold upon you all the way, fully releasing his chains of flesh as he watched you step back. He could have broken your neck, kept you at blade’s edge, but instead he just peered at you like a rare treasure he dare not break, lest his time of admiration then cease. You weren’t used to such a look- did he…?

“I am not the strongest servant you could have. But I think you know that, do you not? What is it you want? Is it my hate? I am tired of being downtrodden!” Your voice raised with each word, but you didn’t care. “I will fight to live, but only if I can do so with my dignity. What is it you want from me?”

Smiling again in that way that tingled your spine, the Pale Orc stepped forward once more to meet you, reaching out his hand. At first you flinched back, but heaving another breath you steeled your body and met his eyes again. No fear. If allegiance they desired, with courage you would offer it.

To your surprise, all the motion brought you was a new rush of warmth as he took hold of your cheek, thumb tracing the outline of the bone therein thoughtfully. His blue eyes glanced up, searched yours, and your heart lurched.

Why you could not say, perhaps the relief that flooded your very heart and soul at the question in his eyes, the chilling stab to your chest of realization that an orc could possess better manner than men, the sheer desire you felt to seal the waste of the place that harmed you so, but you found yourself nodding.

Moonlight shone off of that infamous glistening white skin, illuminating every scar carved deeply into its tone. Surprise colored Azog’s scarred face, then triumph once more as he surged forward. His lips were rough and you could feel the cut of his scars upon them as they moved to dominate yours. Fighting back, you found your own lips moving faster, your own stance straightening, though you dared not move your hands or loosen the Pale Orc’s grip upon your cheek. Best not have him changing his mind, after all.

Moments of warmth and shocking passion passed before Azog pulled away, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head. Keeping your foreheads pressed together, he gazed intently once more into your eyes.

You understood. From the high towers of his smote-out ruins the Pale Orc had sought one not just to do his will, but to stand at his side.

Now all you needed to do was pass the test.

[badguyjohn]

Gallery Card S1 'At Your Service' - Fantastic Four

Welcome to the Baxter Building! I am a Humanoid Experimental Robot, B- Type, Integrated Electronics. But you may call me H.E.R.B.I.E.

I understand that you must have an urgent matter that requires immediate attention if you were willing to brave the streets of New York to seek out the Fantastic Four's assistance. Unfortunately, all our personnel are momentarily occupied dealing with other crises. Dr. Reed Richards [Designate: Mister Fantastic] is in his laboratory working on the prototype of a Timestream Reintegration Device with the help of Tony Stark [Designate: Iron Man]. If the device functions as planned, it could theoretically undo the damage caused to the Multiverse by the Timestream Entanglement. There is even hope it will break the curse that has locked New York City in a state of perpetual night. However, despite his ability to elongate his physical form, I fear Dr. Richards may finally be stretching himself too thin of late… Susan Richards [Designate: Invisible Woman] is currently on a reconnaissance mission in Central Park, seeking out information on the organizational structure of the vampire army that has invaded the island of Manhattan during this period of prolonged darkness. Her unparalleled stealth abilities have allowed her to gather critical intel on our new foes, putting her directly in the face of grave danger far more frequently than the rest of her family would like. Her brother, Jonathan Storm [Designate: Human Torch] is on patrol with Spider-Man [Identity: Classified], rescuing civilians who have fallen into peril and recruiting other heroes who have yet to join our cause. Now that the sun no longer rises, Johnny's flames have made him the center of attention wherever he goes, exactly as he had always hoped to be. He has become a beacon of hope to many in these dark times — and a constant warning to any creatures of the night who might dare to oppose him. Benjamin Grimm [Designate: The Thing] is on a supply run in lower Manhattan. His expert piloting skills have recently proven nearly as useful as his super strength and rock-hard skin. He has managed to single-handedly save hundreds of lives while retrieving vital equipment and valuable samples — including rare Chronovium crystals - for Dr. Richards to analyze. With all members of the Fantastic Four indisposed, that leaves me to run daily operations here at the Baxter Building. While I wish I could offer to support you in the field, I am afraid that the few times I have ventured beyond these walls have not gone as smoothly as hoped. Unless Dr. Richards upgrades my offensive capabilities or identifies a mission with objectives that only I can complete, I do believe it would be best for us both to remain within the safety of these walls until a qualified individual becomes available to assist you. Thank you for your patience. Please take a seat in our lobby with the other civilians who have come to seek our aid. You are currently number 1,961 on the wait list…

[flamingwordsinthesky]

It's Cold Outside, Babe.

A fic done for the @smellslikeburntspider's Secret Santa SpideyTorch Server. This one is for @leemuur

Everyone believed that Johnny - the Human Torch - hated the cold. Where they got that idea he’ll never know. In actuality, Johnny actually didn’t mind the cold. In fact, there were days where Johnny missed feeling cold.

Since the day Johnny got his powers from Reed’s rocket trip, cold had become a foreign concept. He’d seen people shiver and complain, How Peter and the other Spider-Man talked about wearing extra gear in winter when temperatures dropped. But for Johnny. It felt about the same as any other day. 

Yet there were days, when the snow was falling that Johnny would stick his hand out and watch as the flecks of white would dissipate and disappear before even hitting his hand. Even when he could control his heat enough that a snowflake would land on him. It was gone before he could blink. 

Even when he was fully flamed, soaring through the sky like a comet. snowflakes melted around him like a barrier of heat from the cold. But he didn’t really care about that, not at that moment. The only thing he wanted was to beat Peter, aka Spider-Man to the Statue of Liberty. 

What Johnny hadn’t expected was to be grabbed by the torso and plunged down, the present he carried, leaving his hands and flying into the sky. 

He hit the ground with a thud. Snow crunching as a boot stepped on his head. 

“Hey buddy! Watch the face!” Johnny’s voice was strong despite more feet coming into view. One with brown boots. A green tail with a pointed tip smashed near his face as loud footsteps. That made the ground rumble with every step. 

The Sinister Six. 

What were they doing trying to capture him?

“Well, it seems we caught ourselves a shooting star.” Said a voice like slime.

He didn’t even dignify that with a retort as he became a walking humanoid flame. Blowing back Doctor Octopus and the rest of the six. Johnny was floating before a hissing and a spray of white. His flames diminish instantly. Metal claws gripping his body and slamming him back into the ground. 

Even as his face was pressed to the ground. He still couldn't feel the cold. He could only feel the rocks poke. Dust and white powder clinging to his face. 

“Nice try, Mr. Storm. But we came prepared.” Doctor Octopus said as he leaned in close to Johnny’s ear. He wanted to say something else before a swift kick to the stomach killed any words or jokes he could have thought to say. 

“Now then, time to set the bait.” Said a growling Russian man who Johnny had guessed was Kraven. 

As Johnny squirmed against the boot holding him down, then there was a faithful twip and Kraven screamed. The sound of bodies fumbling, falling, the grunting of punches  hitting faces, was music to Johnny’s ear.

Of course he’s here. He’s always going to be there. 

Spider-Man, red and blue blurring past him as Johnny stands up. His flames out but he stands his ground as Kraven lunges at him. Johnny manages to duck and slide past Kraven. Before Kraven’s body hit the ground, a piercing pain stabbed him. his shoulder burned as poison was injected into his veins. The world around him fell black as he heard his name, from a familiar voice that sounded scared and angry. Then there was  another growl of rage or maybe it was the poison. 

The very last thing he saw was his wrapped present that had been crushed and smashed under The Rhino’s feet. 

When Johnny woke up he was in a familiar looking apartment, with a disheveled looking Peter Parker. 

“Hey! Hey, you’re awake! Thought I lost you there.” Peter said like a worried lover. Johnny gave a weak smile. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like that.” Johnny jokes, there  was a moment  the look on Peter’s face made Johnny want to lean up and kiss his creased brow. “You finally got your nursing licence?” Johnny asked and that got a smile out of Peter.

“Nah, They said my bedside manners needed work.” Peter said before flicking his finger against Johnny's forehead. 

“You’d be a terrible nurse.” Johnny said as he adjusted his shoulder and felt a stinging pain that stabbed at him like the wound was fresh.

“You’re a terrible patient. Match made in heaven,” Peter said, before kissing Johnny’s forehead and caressing his cheek. Handing Johnny a bag of ice before getting up to leave. As if it would help him. The bag felt like it was filled with breakable rocks while sloshing in water. It didn’t feel close to cold. Like holding a water balloon filled with warm water.

Before Johnny could tell him that the ice pack would do nothing. Peter came back into the room. A bundle of cardboard and wrapping paper opened as Peter pulled out a perfectly preserved pair of fantastic four socks. 

“Got your present.” Peter said, a smile on his face like Johnny had  gifted him a million dollars in cash. 

Before Johnny could say “Merry Christmas”, there was a present tossed onto his lap.. Johnny didn't bother looking up as he opened the present to see something he’d never thought he’d see again in his life. 

It was a framed picture of Johnny and Sue, covered in snow with Reed and Ben in the back, Ben, human and throwing a snowball at Reed. It had been taken one year before that fateful day. The day they got their powers. 

“Where did you-” “Your sister found it and showed it to me. I thought it’d be nice to get it framed, y’know?” Peter said as he sat down next to Johnny. “You like it?”

“I love you.” Johnny whispered out, staring at Peter like he’d just given him a puppy. Peter smiled as he pulled Johnny into a quick yet meaningful kiss. 

“Love you too.”