#ch: iris black

[darlingod]

Cardan being concerned for Jude will never get old

His eyes narrow at the blood, and he points the wooden stick at me. “You seem to have cut yourself.”

TCP Ch.16

“Jude?” I may never be used to the sound of my name on his lips. His brows draw together. “There’s a bruise coming up on your jaw.”

TCP Ch.30

“What happened to your cheek?” he asks, his gaze focusing blurrily on me. He’s close enough that I can see his long lashes, the gold ring around the black of his iris.

TWK Ch.5

[lalathemediterraneanmermaid]

What do ikeprince suitors smell like? Pt.2

Hi my beautiful Belles, it's such an honor to present you with part 2 of "What do ikeprince suitors smell like? I absolutely loved and had so much fun doing the first part. So here is the promised second part, where we will discover the perfumes that the princes from Rhodolite are most likely to wear. This is not entirely accurate - it's only based on their routes information and the vibe each boy gives me.

Jin Grandet

The big bro, seductive womanizer and alcohol lover definitely smells like seduction and playfulness with a mature vibe. I'm sensing some kind of citrusy freshness along with some spices on top of a woody warm bed.

Notes: bergamot, galbanum, tangerine, liqueur, pink pepper, ho leaf, amber, rosewood and oakmoss.

Perfumes he might like:

Sauvage - Dior (Basic, but it still works)

Cuirs - Carner Barcelona

Grand Soir - Maison Francis Kurkdjian (sometimes he takes this one from Nokto's perfume collection).

CH Men Prive - Carolina Herrera - His favourite, probably layered with "Grand Soir" for special occasions.

Stronger With You Intensely - Giorgio Armani

Chevalier Michel

King Highness, my man, your man, nation's man, world's man. It is said in his route that he showers a lot. It is also said by Belle that Chev smells like vetiver and winter. So I'm getting fresh clean boy vibes from our pookie man. He may also be a huge Byredo boy.

Notes: vetiver, green apple, wintergreen, sweet orange, white rose, white lily, jasmine, gardenia, ylang-ylang, sage and soap.

Perfumes he might like:

Sycomore - Chanel

Grey Vetiver - Tom Ford

Philosykos - Diptyque

Aqua Universalis - Maison Francis Kurkdjian - His favourite

Blanche - Byredo - His second favourite

Bal d'Afrique - Byredo

Mister Marvelous - Byredo

Clavis Lelouch

The Hellcat Troublemaker charming gentleman probably smells like sweat, chaos, trouble, chemicals and gunpowder, but let's pretend he doesn't. This mf brings joy and happiness to everyone's lives. He's the life of the party. We've all been charmed by him at any point in the series, don't you dare denying it. Yes, he is traumatized, but so are we. He is dazzling and fresh like a summer breeze, sweet and funny like an ice cream.

Notes: mandarin, lemon, sea salt, jasmine, rose, muguet, heliotrope, musk, vanilla, coconut and aromatic herbs.

Perfumes he might like:

Bleu de Chanel - Chanel (courtesy of Keith)

Aqua Allegoria Bergamote Calabria - Guerlain - His favourite (layered with "Pulp" to add playfulness).

Blu Mediterraneo: Fico di Amalfi - Acqua di Parma

Pulp - Byredo - His other favourite, he loves this one because he stole it from Chevalier's Byredo collection.

Allure Homme Sport - Chanel (this one is the one he uses while pranking people, just because the word "sport" in the perfume's name.)

Leon Dompteur

The gold digger girl dinner love of my life. He is a true gentleman, he treats you right, it's the princess treatment for me girl. He is classy, sweet, thoughtful, a liar friendly, masculine (in the best way possible) and sensitive. Roses seem to bloom whenever he smiles. A provider. Husband material. He gifts you PLUSHIES, how cute is that? Love him.

Notes: lavender, linalool, bergamot, roses, cinnamon, anise, clove, thyme, jasmine and cedarwood.

Perfumes he might like:

Fahrenheit - Dior - His favourite for high events

Y Eau de Parfum - Yves Saint Laurent

Rive Gauche pour Homme - Yves Saint Laurent - His favourite

Black Saffron - Byredo

L'Homme Ideal Sport - Guerlain

Blenheim Bouquet - Penhaligon's

Green Irish Tweed - Creed - His second favourite (layered "Black Saffron").

Yves Kloss

The Barbie Haughty Kitty. He definitely smells like flowers, especially roses, and something really sweet, gourmand with a soft clean base.

Notes: apple, peony, rose, apricot, jasmine, iris, musk, vanilla, praline, sugar, strawberry and peach.

Perfumes he might like:

Peony & Blush Suede - Jo Malone London

White Suede - Tom Ford

Eau Rose - Diptyque

Chanel Chance Eau Tendre

Love in White - Creed

The Favourite - Penhaligon's - His favourite

Bianco Latte - Giardini Di Toscana (layered with "Eau Rose") - His favourite combination (he uses this one to go see you Belle).

Licht Klein

The lone wolf, our cutie pie, Yves's baby. I feel like he smells like fresh rain on top of a sweet and clean base with some spices added.

Notes: orange, wintergreen, rain, mint, green apple, white lily, sweet pea, orchid, vanilla and sandalwood.

Perfumes he might like:

Silver Mountain Water - Creed

Acqua di Giò Profumo - Giorgio Armani

Royal Water - Creed - His favourite

Celeste - Giardini Di Toscana

Millésime Impérial - Creed (Silvio's gift).

Nokto Klein

Our frivolous womanizer, the slay and cunning fox, my baby. Chev's personal clown. He LOVES perfumes - Silvio and he are in some kind of competition about who has more perfumes. He is the layering king, not just because his perfume gets mixed with other girls' scents, but because he knows what he is doing. In literally everyone's routes, it's said that our silly boy who just wants to be loved and understood smells like a red flag "late night trysts", but what exactly that smells like?

Notes: Freesia, white rose, ylang-ylang, orange blossom, cinnamon, musk, sandalwood, heliotrope, queen of the night, vanilla and jasmine.

Perfumes he might like:

L'Homme Ideal - Guerlain

Noir - Tom Ford

Black Orchid - Tom Ford

Do Son - Diptyque

Flowerhead - Byredo

Luna - Penhaligon's

Grand Soir - Maison Francis Kurkdjian

Roses Musk - Montale

Intense Café - Montale

Reflection Man - Amouage (matching with Azel)

Royal Mayfair - Creed

Borabora - Giardini Di Toscana - His favourite

Blu Mare - Giardini Di Toscana (Silvio's gift)

Luke Randolph

Our own big (enormous) Winnie the Pooh. The Honey Lover. The Nap Lover. He is sweet, lovable and caring, the perfect brother you will never have. He will do anything to help you and to make you happy. He doesn't really care that much about his appearance, so the majority of his perfumes are gifted.

Notes: Honey, vanilla, herbs, honeysuckle, violet leaf, white musk and amber.

Perfumes he might like:

Mojave Ghost - Byredo (Clavis's gift, stolen fom Chev's perfume collection)

Oajan - Parfums de Marly (Jin's gift)

Chergui - Serge Lutens (Sariel's gift)

Honey Aoud - Montale - His favourite

And this is the end. Hope you enjoyed this silly little simulation, because I did. I had so much fun, especially with ma' boy Clavis.

This may not be the end of this series, next I'm planning to do the same dynamics (scents and perfumes) with our evil boys from Ikemen Villains. But if you have any suggestions let me know!!!

Kisses my beautiful little bunnies. xoxo.

[boydepartment]

@ iluvmygf nishimura riki x fem! reader: ch. 2

description: nishimura riki is a headache to his managers. as much as he loves being an idol and as much as he loves that he gets the freedom to travel. he hates that he can’t show you off. publicly… as himself… so he makes a twitter account called @ iluvmygf at first not a lot of people follow it. it goes unnoticed, for a few weeks. until it doesn’t. his account about you goes viral… and people are nosy as to who loves their gf so much to constantly post about her.

genre: romcom, crack, humor, something fun and lighthearted like a hallmark movie. it’s also set from november-february bc i said so and i want a christmas ark 😋🫶 this is an smau

warnings: cursing, most likely crude humor, probably kms jokes

no specific warnings for the chapter

“SHE ATE SHIT :/“

___

MASTERLIST

taglist- open

@yourmomscuntis2tighy @yannew @wzy3ka @stellarpsh @czlluvriki @im-yn-suckers @owotalks @filmofhybe @skepvids @ocyeanicc @amymyli @imsodazed @rikislady @j-wyoung @bangchansbangers @sassyfanlawyergarden @miko1ly @itsactuallylina @haewonluvr @entenen @cb97mylove @jxp1-t3r @ineedaherosavemeenow @str4wb3rizz @beomgyusonlywife @jiaant11 @sweet-kisses-and-bloody-screams @enhaz1 @mrchweeee @stryroses @riziwon @cholexc @soobiverse @tzuyusluv @hayleyrkbee @softiehee @captivq @yla-aira @svarcq @s00buwu @rodygr @ikeu4life @faraonatojishady @ohsjy @bts-iris @wqsty @en-gene2 @mrowwww @eumppattv @junsflow @ilurvriki @bunchofroses07 @ariadores @luvkpopp @asherthehimbo @realrintaro

comment, dm, send an ask, or reblog to be added :) i try to keep up with tag lists however i get a ton of notifications everyday so please lmk if i forget you

a/n: mannnnnnn i was watching black butler w my mom and the corset scene came on :/

[hyuuukais]

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, blood, pregnancy/giving birth (not in detail), minor character death (does it count if it's a memory? lol)

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 6 - RELIVING THE PAST (3.1k + 2 screenshots)

You once again find yourself flipping the sign on the flower shop door to 'closed' as you wait for Minho. This time, you're waiting in the back room; you may as well get some work done to pass the time. Another order came in last night, right before close. Changbin almost refused it, but the way the person spoke convinced him somehow, he didn't elaborate much. It was a beautiful arrangement of deep, richly coloured black dahlias with monkshood for a purple accent, all neatly tied with a purple ribbon. Although you loved the end product, you couldn't help the sinister feeling creeping up your spine

There's a chill in the air, but when you turn away from your workstation, there's nothing. Of course there isn't, you're closed. What were you expecting, another ghost? Jeongin, maybe? A part of you was hoping to see Jeongin, no sign of him since the last texts, but you know he's spent a lot of energy seeing you so often. You stay turned around on your stool, leaning against your workstation as you close your eyes and exhale loudly. It's silent, save for a faint dripping from a leak somewhere in the greenhouse connected to the workroom.

Standing, you decide to take a walk through the greenhouse; it's been a while since you took some time to just be with the plants and relax, letting your fingers graze petals and leaves of all shapes, colours, and sizes. You stop at the end, noticing one bunch wilting right under the leak, and you look up. Changbin put an order in to get it fixed, but it's clear you'll need a temporary solution before it kills your iris plant. Although it should be just water leaking, so you're unsure why it's having this effect...

"Y/n? Are you still back here?" You can hear Changbin bounding down the stairs, calling your name. "Where'd you go...?"

"In the greenhouse!" You shout, giving one last look to the flowers before heading back inside. "I'm here."

"Minho is here, I told him to wait in the front," Changbin announces, shifting uncomfortably. You can tell he's unsure of Minho's presence, having not spoken to him in so long.

"I'll go bring him back here," You say, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Feel free to escape upstairs."

He scoffs at your light teasing, a small smile on his face. "I'll wait at the front desk in case you need me to toss him or something."

You laugh a bit at that, the image of Changbin picking up Minho and throwing him out of the store. The two of you enter the storefront, Changbin moving to sit behind the counter, and you moving to greet Minho. He catches your eye before you get too close, and you offer a smile; he nods in return and waits for you to lead him away. When you re-enter the backroom, you sit on your stool and lean against the wooden workstation, letting him choose a seat.

The workplace isn't huge, with your desk on one side and Changbins on the other, a small, rectangular wooden table in between to place finished works on. There's a bit of an overhang to the table on one end that flips up, a spare stool underneath that Minho slides out and sits on, mimicking your posture against the table behind him. You watch him move his head to look at the painted table, teal and chipping to match the rest of the room, the black tiled floor tying it together. His fingers brush over a raw spot, and you wonder if he has anything to do with the chunk of wood missing from that part of the table, knowing it's been there longer than you've worked here.

"So, this favour," Minho doesn't look away from the table as he speaks. "What is it?"

"I need you to look into someone," You clear your throat. "Find someone, really. My brother."

"You have a brother?" Now, his head shoots up toward you, and so do his eyebrows.

"Apparently," You shrug, barely holding his intense stare. "Maybe you could look into birth records or something."

"Maybe," Minho agrees, hand curling away from the piece of wood.

After an uncomfortably long period of staring at each other, you speak again. "So, what is it you need me to do?"

"Ah," Minho readjusts on the stool, crossing his arms against his chest and briefly looking away. "That, right. Can you use your abilities on command?"

"Not really-"

"Can you try?" He cuts you off, and you sense a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Is this about your partner?" You ask, squinting at him. When he doesn't reply immediately, you have your answer. "You want me to find him, don't you?"

"Not exactly. I wanted to bring you back to where he and I were undercover and find the people who took him." You give him a look to ask, why me?, and he sighs. "Everyone left, but three men stayed behind to finish me off when I came looking for Jisu- Detective Han, but clearly their plan fell through because I'm still here. If we go back, maybe you can see them and we can force them to tell me where they took him."

You blink at him. "Do you forget that I'm not a detective of like, any kind? Interrogation skills are not something I possess, and besides, why would they tell you literally anything if they're already dead? What are the consequences for them?"

All the questions you pose register behind Minho's eyes, you can see the gears turning as he tries and fails to come up with an answer, leaning further back on the chipped table. He looks down, smirking and shaking his head, and you want to take him by the shoulders and shake the rest of him. After more silence, he looks back up at you.

"You're right, they won't want to tell me," He says, standing from his stool and walking toward you. Minho places a hand on either side of you, resting on your workstation. "Which is why you have to bring your friend, Jeongin."

"What's he going to do?" You ask, trying not to get intimidated by the closeness of his face to yours, or the way his eyes bore into you.

"I'm sure he can think of something," Minho only backs away slightly, hands still caging you in. "Now, will you do it? This, in exchange for the birth records?"

You grit your teeth. As much as you want Minho to just help you, no strings attached, you know it's not fair, especially with something so big. With him no longer being with any kind of department, you're sure him getting caught snooping through those records would have him in serious trouble, trouble you got him into that wouldn't have happened if he never agreed to help you in the first place. This is the least you can do for him.

"Fine," You agree, voice low.

"Thank you," Minho exhales, finally stepping away from you, his hands finding his pockets again. "And I have a suggestion for your part, but I don't know how much good it will do if you can't summon your ability yourself."

"What is it?"

"Changbin told me you've been going to places to visit Jeongin's memories and essentially reliving them, why don't you try that for your mother?"

"Okay, hold on. You and Changbin have been talking again?" He shrugs, clearly not thinking anything of it, but you can't believe Changbin didn't tell you. "Whatever. What do you mean by trying it with my mom? Like, going back to the graveyard? Because I'm pretty sure there's a super angry spirit that lowkey controls the place, and I'm not trying to get all of my energy sucked up."

"No, but going somewhere she might have memories of you and your brother," He says, blinking at you.

"She died during childbirth, she has no memories of us." But then you clue in, eyes widening. "She died during childbirth... the hospital, maybe, where we were born! Oh my god, you're a genius!"

You want to jump up and squeeze Minho in a hug, but that's both unlike you and you think he'd threaten you if you tried to. Instead, you rub your hands on your thighs and take a deep breath, standing up to retrieve your bag which is hanging by the greenhouse door. Putting it over your shoulder, you turn and see not only Minho now standing, but Changbin in the doorway. Changbin is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a worried expression on his face.

"You're not going alone," At the sound of his voice, Minho turns around, but Changbin keeps his eyes on you.

"Jeongin will be there too, Bin," You try to reassure him, but you know what he's going to say next.

"I'm coming with you, no arguments," Changbin props himself up straight, hands on his hips. "You told me before the hospital is shut down, so it's gonna be hard to get in there and I'm not letting you do that alone after all the close calls you've had! Besides, you need someone cute to distract any security."

Laughing at his last comment, you move past him and head to the front door. Night is setting in when you walk out, a cold breeze sending a chill through your body as you unlock your car. Changbin locks up after Minho comes out and you watch him head to his own vehicle, Changbin watching as he comes down the steps and puts a hand on the passenger's side door. As Minho drives off, you look at Changbin, unable to read the mixed look on his face, but not wanting to press about it either.

~

By the time you reach the hospital, it's completely dark out, the moon high in the sky and obscured by clouds. There doesn't seem to be any security, surprisingly, but there is a big metal fence surrounding the perimeter. The once busy area is a ghost town, but you hope not literally, all the buildings closed down and boarded up with washed out signs offering a lease. Approaching the main gate, you see the bolt has already been cut, the chain very loosely put back in place, probably by some teenagers who wanted to explore.

An eerie feeling washes over you when you cross the threshold onto the property, immediately sensing the tragedies that had to have occurred here for it to be shut down only a few years after opening. This whole area was assumed to be cursed, making you even more nervous as you walked up the steps and gently opened the creaky door, Changbin right behind you as you go inside. There's been no sign of Jeongin all day; you hope he's okay. You're immediately greeted by a nurse, her pale complexion telling.

"Hi there, are you here to visit someone?" She asks from behind the desk, ghostly fingers running over the keyboard to a dead computer. "I'll check you in in just a moment, okay? Sit tight, you can sit on one of those chairs."

She waves to an area behind you, but there are no chairs, only empty space. When you look back to her, she's focused on the device in front of her and you can see the dark circles under her eyes and the way she moves her neck uncomfortably, wondering how she died. Perhaps her unfinished business is her job, all of the patients left untreated once the hospital closed. You also wonder why she's working the front desk when she's not a receptionist, but maybe things don't have to make sense in the afterlife.

After a few minutes have passed, she stands and exhales, plastering a tired smile on her face as she nods you over. Telling her your mother's name, she begins to lead you down several corridors until you reach the maternity ward, which is almost completely silent compared to the groans and moans you heard behind closed doors on the way over. Whether that's more unsettling or comforting, you can't decide.

"Here she is!" The nurse opens the door, and you look around the empty room. As soon as you turn back around, she's shutting the door quickly with that same tired smile on her face. You panic, rushing up to the door and trying to open it, but it won't budge.

"Let me," Changbin moves you aside gently, sensing your rising nerves when the door won't open, but it doesn't move for him either.

A noise from behind you startles you, turning quickly to see a woman in bed, a man holding her hand from the side and using a towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. You immediately recognize your mother, and although you don't know him, you recognize your father as well. This is the first time you've seen his face, but the feeling of familiarity is overwhelming.

He's whispering encouraging thoughts into her ears and she shouts once the doctor at the end of the bed tells her to push, the sound of crying filling the room. Your mother has tears of her own starting to stream down her face, urging your father to take the baby from the nurse once she's done with him, a large smile on his face. Suddenly, the expression on your mother turns from elation to pain, and you can tell something is wrong when the nurse delivering the second baby calls for backup. As she's working, your mother's head lolls to the side, and a loud monotone beep sounds.

Now, there are doctors and nurses rushing around the room trying to save the baby and the mother, and you can't seem to tear your eyes away from the scene. There's a mass amount of blood pooling at her legs, no baby to be seen. Your eyes flicker back up when you hear the monotone beep turn back to normal, your own tears welling as you watch your mother open her eyes, but only for a moment until they're screwed up in pain again. The doctor is urging for a c-section, but she's already pushing before the decision is final, the other baby coming out in no time. She's breathing too heavily, shaking and sweating, and the baby doesn't cry this time. You watch her whisper something in her husband's ear, watch as he holds onto her sobbing when the line goes flat again, watch as he's pushed to the side to let the doctors work, and watch as the doctors slowly stop, announcing the time of death right as the baby cries.

Your father backs away when the nurse approaches with the second baby, telling him it's a girl, and he can barely even look her in the eye. He's holding the baby in his arms tightly, the one you assume is your brother, and shakes his head before his expression turns angry.

"She's cursed," He says, loudly enough to make you flinch. "I don't want her. Take her away!"

His voice raises with each word, and you shrink into yourself. Once the nurse backs away, you can see your father look down at the baby in his arms fondly, but there's still a hint of disdain lingering in his features as he cradles and soothes the baby's cries. As the nurse takes the other baby out, you watch her leave, and when you turn back around, the scene has changed back to what you walked into, nothing.

There are arms around you in an instant as you crumble to the ground, knees giving out under you and a loud sob heaving from your chest. You can't stop crying, hands out in front of you holding onto the floor and the only thing keeping you from curling into yourself is the hold Changbin has on you. It's like you can't breathe all of a sudden, the sobs rattling your body, drowning from your own tears. Eventually, you find Changbin has moved your back against him, rocking you back and forth until your eyes have run dry, but the soft hand that wipes the remaining tears away isn't his.

"Y/n," Jeongin says gently, taking your face in his hands. "Shhh, you're okay."

With the comfort of Jeongin and Changbin, you can feel your energy returning to you slowly. The memory still lingers in your mind as you hand Changbin your keys and let him drive you home, offering to stay the night. You stay silent, shaking your head and heading inside, catching Jeongin in reflections as you walk through the dark house. There's not enough strength in your legs to carry you to your room, opting to flop onto your couch instead. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don't answer, closing your eyes and letting sleep take you.

~

Minho sits across from you at your dining table, leaning forward slightly. He's damp from the rain outside, his coat hanging on a hook by your door. Rain hits your window aggressively, wind howling and whistling. You're staring at him with wide eyes, trying to process his words.

"It's Hyunjin. Your brother is Hyunjin."

Jeongin is pacing behind you, the chair next to you skewed from when he stood up. It doesn't make sense to you at first, but then you start to really think about it. Your adoptive family lived in the same area, but you never crossed paths, and being kept in all-girls schools until you moved across the city now making sense. And your mother being buried there too, somewhere close to the both of you. Thinking of your father's rejection still stings, but you remember the look on his face as he cradled Hyunjin in his arms, the hidden contempt well masked. You don't want to think about the childhood he had.

"You're sure?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"Positive," Minho keeps his voice low.

You remember the dream you had, back in a house you didn't recognize; the ruined family photos, the candlelit pathway, all leading to him. Hyunjin. And you realize something, something you should have thought of when you found out you even had a brother.

"He has the same ability, I think," You say, locking eyes with Minho, and you can hear Jeongin stop moving. You explain the dream quickly. "I think he's trying to figure out what happened to Jeongin too."

~

notes ~ chapter !!!!!! woo !!!!!!!!! i am actually so excited to write the next one though, there's one scene i literally cannot wait to share aaaaa!!!!!

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

[hexpea]

After the tragic passing of your husband by your own hands, you're set to marry his younger brother, Naoya, to maintain the alliance between your clan and the Zenin.

Under the facade of lending your family's influence in exchange for the Zenin strength, your task set by your father, the 24th Kamo clan head, is clear. Use your technique to discreetly weaken the Zenin clan, killing the heirs one-by-one.

But will you even have to when Naoya comes down with a mysterious illness?

*smut warning in some chapter cases, non-consensual and rough in some cases* *doesn't follow the manga/anime, no spoilers* *contains themes of non-con and death, trigger warning* *unplanned pregnancy* *hanahaki disease*

Prologue - Gladioli

Ch. 1 - Black Dahlia

Ch. 2 - Wolfsbane

Ch. 3 - White Lilies

Ch. 4 - Daffodils

Ch. 5 - Hogweed

Ch. 6 - Chrysanthemums

Ch. 7 - Pink Orchids

Ch. 8 - Seedling

Ch. 9 - Red Dahlia

Ch. 10 - Yellow Carnations

Ch. 11 - The Lotus

Ch. 12 - Iris

Ch. 13 - Lavender Roses

Ch. 14 - Petunia

Ch. 15 - Cherry Blossoms

Ch. 16 - Hibiscus

Ch. 17 - Anemone

Ch. 18 - Pink Ginger

Ch. 19 - Gardenias

Ch. 20 - White Hyacinth

Ch. 21 - Geraniums

Ch. 22 - Poppy

Ch. 23 - Pink Primrose

Ch. 24 - Bells of Ireland

Ch. 25 - White Carnations

Ch. 26 - Crocus

Ch. 27 - Sea Lavender

Ch. 28 - Queen Anne's Lace

Ch. 29 - Baby's Breath

Ch. 30 - Blackthorn

Ch. 31 - Tansy

Ch. 32 - Black Rhododendron

Ch. 33 - Forget-Me-Not

Ch. 34 - Red Spider Lilies

Ch. 35 - Azalea

Epilogue - Buttercup

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 63

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Daryl and Aaron return to Alexandria with a new ally in tow, only to find that Rick found a pet walker and decides to start a lot of fights. Iris breaks her nose. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; stranger danger; Rick ruins everything; somehow he's always covered in blood, I don't get it; Pete goes bananas; murder; canon character death; mourning; trauma; accidental (?) assault; broken cartilage; FLUFF? LIKE, WITH THE PAIRED CHARACTERS? WOAH!!!

Chapter 63 - Fate

Daryl chuckled to himself as the walker pressed its face up against the window, attempting to gnaw through the glass. Aaron frowned beside him, looking over.

“What?” He asked. Daryl sighed, blinking through the thoughts, trying not to think about his life. Trying not to think about a lot of things.

“I came out here to…” Daryl started, “to not feel all closed up back there.” One could admire the irony. He sighed, looking at his hands in his lap. “Even now, this still feels more like me than back in one of them houses. That’s pretty messed up, huh?” Aaron smiled sympathetically, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“You were trying.” He replied. Daryl blinked.

“I had to.” 

“No you didn’t.” Aaron denied. “Listen, I saw you with your group out there on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn. Storm hit, and you led your people to safety. That was it. I knew I had to bring you people back. You were right. We should have kept looking for that guy in the poncho. I shouldn’t have given up. You didn’t.” Daryl sighed again before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a package of cigarettes.

“I’ll go.” He volunteered, placing one between his lips. “I’ll lead them out. You make a break for the fence.” He lit the cigarette, leaning back in the seat and… refusing to accept his own fate.

“No, no, no. This was my fault.” Aaron argued.

“It wasn’t a question.” Daryl said sharply. “And this ain’t your decision. It ain’t nobody’s fault. Just let me finish my smoke first.” Aaron blinked at him, devastated. He shook his head lightly, then harder.

“Iris would… well, I don’t know what she would do.” Aaron tried. Daryl shook his head, taking a long drag. Aaron shook his head in response. “No. You don’t draw them away. We fight. We go for the fence. We do it together. Alright? Whether we make it or not, we do it together. We have to.” Daryl pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the face he was imagining, the tears that would trace down it if they… if he…

“Alright.” He agreed. He took another long drag. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” They gathered their weapons, forced only to use Aaron’s machete and Daryl’s short hunting knife. 

“We’ll go on three. One, two—“

The walker at Aaron’s window collapsed as a pole speared through it’s eye socket, blood spattering across the glass. The pair paused, unsure of what to do, if this was the ‘bad people’ they were warned about, or if miracles really did happen. Aaron’s door was opened, allowing him to get out as the man standing there shoved the walkers back with a long pole.

He was an average height black man, middle-aged but on the younger side, with the kind of look on his face that assured he’d been through hell and back. Aaron and Daryl clambered out of the car as he fought the walkers back, the two of them quickly joining the fight, standing with their backs up against the car. 

They fought their way through the parking lot, shoving walkers out of their way and behind them as they swung the closest chain-link gate shut.

Daryl shot an arrow, clearing the final walker on the other side of the fence, and they were left alone, the swarm of walkers once again trapped staring at their escaping meal. 

The man carried a backpack with knives and guns strapped into it, along with riot gear that looked similar to that which they had at the prison. He calmly wiped the gore and blood from his staff, throwing the soiled cloth to the ground. Aaron laughed in relief, gasping.

“That was— oh, thank you.“ He panted. The man nodded solemnly. “Uh, I’m Aaron, this is Daryl.”

“Morgan.” The man introduced. Aaron nodded.

“Why?” Daryl asked, squinting at the man. Morgan looked at him and chuckled lightly.

“Why?” He repeated. “Because all life is precious, Daryl.” Daryl stared him down, unsure whether or not to accept that as an answer. 

“Whoever set that trap, they’re coming.” Aaron stated, his smile faltering. “But I have good news. We do. We have a community not too far from here. Walls, electricity, it’s safe. If you’d like to come join us—”

“I thank you.” Morgan interrupted. “But I’m on my way somewhere. Fact is, I’m lost, so… if you could tell me where we are.” He extended a folded paper map, and Daryl took it, flipping it open. It was a little blood-spattered and torn, but legible. 

Especially the note scrawled in the ocean at the bottom. 

SORRY I WAS AN ASSHOLE. COME TO WASHINGTON. THE WORLD’S GONNA NEED RICK GRIMES.

Daryl knew this map. In fact, it was the very same map that Abraham had left for Rick when he took Eugene, Rosita, Tara and Glenn toward Washington. That was, of course, before Eugene was outed as an enormous liar and deprived Abraham of his remaining life’s purpose. 

Daryl looked down at the map, then up at Morgan, then down at the map, then up at Morgan. Of course the name was familiar. Morgan’s lips parted as Daryl stared at him, and for the first time since he left Alexandria, Daryl cracked a mischievous smile. 

-

Iris and Eric sat on the porch swing until long after the sun set. She could see down the street into Deanna’s backyard where someone had built a fire and the group was gathered around, listening to the discussion with varied levels of attention. Eric did his best to keep her company, the sweetheart, but he fell asleep quickly, still on a bit of pain medication for his ankle. 

She woke him after a while, helping him upstairs to his bed so he wouldn’t injure himself further by sleeping in an awkward position. She closed up their house, locking the door behind her and stepping slowly down the porch steps, dreading the next part. Which was just more waiting, only this time, she had to do it alone. 

Except, fate was a funny thing. One minuscule thing, and your whole evening could change. One minuscule thing, such as the sight of Rick, covered in blood, walking down the street with a body slung over his shoulder.

“Fuck me sideways.” Iris grumbled, taking off running. 

She got to the meeting at the same time he did, standing behind him as he leered at the gate, dumping the body on the ground. It was a walker, long dead, fluids seeping from its facial orifaces. A woman cried out in shock at the sight of it, covering her mouth. Rick was panting, and he stopped to look around at the others.

“There wasn’t a guard on the gate.” Rick hissed. “It was open.”

“I asked Gabriel to close it.” Spencer murmured in defence as Deanna looked to him for an explanation. 

“Go.” She said lowly. He brushed past her, jogging out the garden gate into the street. Iris watched him run to the gate. There was a beat of silence, and Iris mentally prepared for another of Rick’s sanctimonious speeches. One could likely get the same shit done without all the pep talks and overzealous arguing.

“I didn’t bring it in.” He announced, stepping to the centre of the semi-circle the community members had formed around the body. “It got inside on it’s own. They always will— the dead and the living. Because we’re in here. And the ones out there, they’ll hunt us. They’ll find us. They’ll try to use us. They’ll try to kill us. But we’ll kill them. We’ll survive. I’ll show you how.” He turned to face Reg and Deanna, the latter looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. “You know, I was thinking, how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives? But I’m not gonna do that. You’re gonna change. I’m not sorry for what I said last night. I’m sorry for not saying it sooner. You’re not ready, but you have to be, right now. You have to be. Luck runs out.”

Jessie’s face fell, and Iris barely had time to glance behind her before she was shoved into the brick wall at Deanna’s gate. She heard a loud crunch and suddenly her face was numb, blood pouring into her hands as she clutched at her nose. 

“Jesus, Iris!” Abraham grunted from near the gate, stooping down to help her up and check if she seemed at all concussed. She hissed, spitting out a mouthful of blood as she glared up at Pete. She was sick of being this bastard’s collateral damage. 

“You’re not one of us. You’re not one of us!” Pete yelled as he drew closer, hobbling toward Rick. He smelled like whiskey, his footsteps winding and unstable. They all backed away from him, especially when the light from the fire illuminated Michonne’s sword in his hand. 

“Pete, you don’t want to do this.” Reg pleaded, stepping in front of him before he could threaten Rick further. 

“Get the hell away from me, Reg.” Pete slurred.

“Pete, just stop.” He continued.

“Get away from me.”

“Reg. Reg.” Deanna called in warning. 

“You just need to stop.” Reg cried.

“Get away!” Pete yelled, shoving at him with both hands. But see, Pete forgot that he had been holding the sword in his right hand, and as such, the blade sliced clean through Reg’s throat, his blood and chunks of trachea spilling into the grass of his own patio. Deanna screamed bloody murder, the onlookers gasping and crying out in shock as Deanna sobbed. 

Abraham lunged forward, tackling Pete to the ground. He twisted one arm behind his back painfully, using his back foot to pin Pete’s leg while his other knee sat between his shoulder blades.

“This is him! This is him!” Pete screamed.

“Shut up!” Abraham retorted.

“Oh, God! Oh, my love. My love, my love.” Deanna sobbed as the life and blood flowed from Reg. His gasping and choking was hard to listen to, but even if Pete was sober, his surgeon experience would be of no use to them. There was no recovery. “No, my love, no!”

“It’s him! This is him!” Pete continued. Deanna’s face was contorted in rage and sorrow as she looked up at Rick. 

“Rick…” She sobbed. “Do it.”

With Deanna’s explicit permission, Rick didn’t hesitate to remove his gun from it’s holster, and fire a bullet directly into Pete’s head. Jessie cried out in shock, one hand covering her mouth. He looked up suddenly at the sound of his name, seeing a face he’d never thought he’d see again.

“Rick?” Morgan asked, his voice whisper soft. Daryl and Aaron stood on either side of him, the three of them frozen in shock and confusion. Rick froze in return, his eyes blown wide. Daryl frowned at the sight of Iris.

“The hell happened?” Daryl asked loudly.

“It’s over.” Abraham said lowly, standing up and toeing Pete’s body away. Jessie sobbed, brushing past all of them and running toward her house. 

This was the catalyst, the rest of the less directly-involved Alexandrians taking their leave after the traumatic events of the evening. Abraham and Eugene went back to check on Tara and Rosita. Tobin went back to his family. Deanna stayed kneeling over her husband, Rick and Michonne taking Morgan inside to speak directly. Aaron stayed for a moment before rushing off to see Eric. Daryl led Iris back to their allotted houses, as her vision was still a little spotty and uneven. 

“You’re back—“ Carl said, standing up from the kitchen table with Judith in his arms, only for his voice to fade at the sight of Iris walking in after Daryl, covered in blood. “What happened?”

“What always happens.” Iris grumbled, her voice muffled behind her hands and the broken nose. Daryl helped her upstairs and into the bathroom, silently pointing to the counter where she hopped up.

“Gone for a week and the whole place goes to shit without me.” Daryl murmured, wetting a towel and beginning to very gently clean away the blood from her face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left.” Iris replied, trying to joke, though it fell a little flat.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” Daryl grunted, shaking his head. Iris sat still, allowing him to clean her up even though he’d barely returned, still wearing his vest and jacket, still carrying his weapons. He barely noticed. “Gonna tell me?”

“Everything.” Iris sighed. And she did. She explained everything that had happened since he left, the Alexandrians’ weakness, Rick’s breakdown. Deanna’s denial and eventual acceptance. That was more surprising than most things that happened that evening. She even told him about Preston attempting to kiss her, at which Daryl had a visceral reaction. Well, visceral for him. He made a disapproving face and stood still for a moment, stewing in his feelings quietly. 

In return, Daryl told her everything, the man in the poncho, the mutilated bodies, the trap, Morgan. He even confessed his feelings about being cooped up in this place, and Iris shared the same sentiment. But he was proud of his effort, and he would continue to ‘try.’

Daryl finished cleaning up her wounds, carefully placing bandages where they needed to be, and even resetting her nose, which was painful and released another loud crunch, but he assured her it would heal, though perhaps not perfectly straight. 

“Am I still pretty?” Iris joked, playfully fluttering her eyelashes as he rinsed the cloth out in the sink beside her. She was angled sideways, prodding at her nose in the mirror and scowling at the dark bruises starting to form along the sinus and bone at her eye sockets. 

“It’d take more than a broken nose and some bruises to change that.” Daryl muttered in reply, his focus elsewhere. Iris froze, and if there wasn’t already so much blood in her face, she might have turned several shades redder. Daryl blinked, as if realizing what he had said, and continued to silently rinse the towel, even after all the blood was cleaned.

She put a hand on his face, bringing him toward her, forcing him to stand straight. He maneuvered in between her knees as she sat on the counter, looking him straight in the eyes. He turned several shades darker, feeling her hands on his face and his heart thundering in his chest.

“I really missed you.” She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned closer, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He brought his arms up, wrapping around her and clutching her to his chest.

“Missed you too.” He muttered into her shoulder, burying his face in her hair. They stayed like that for a short while, listening to one another breathe, soaking up their presence. Daryl pulled back a fraction, looking away shyly as he untied her bandana from around his wrist. He held it out to her, but she closed his fingers around it, pushing it back toward him.

“Keep it.” She murmured. “The bandana and your promise.” He nodded, registering the words as he tucked it safely into his pocket, noting a mental reminder to find a safe place for it. She brought him back into her arms, the warm embrace providing them both the comfort they had been missing the past few weeks. “You gotta come back. To me.” He was home. 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He breathed, holding her tighter. 

-

TAGLIST:

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[devi1sange1]

The Wicked King: My Favorite Jurdan moments

A selfish compilation because I want to look at this and smile in the future.

Ch. 1

During a lull, he glances up at me, raising one black brow. “Enjoying yourself?” “Not as much as you are,” I tell him. No matter how much he disliked me when we were in school, that was a guttering candle to the steady flame of his hatred now. His mouth curls into a smile. His eyes show with wicked intent. “Look at them all, your subjects. A shame not a one knows who their true ruler is.”

I would like to say he always hated me, but for a brief, strange time it felt as though we understood each other, maybe even liked each other.

Once, he tormented me because he was young and bored and angry and cruel. Now he has better reasons for the torments he will inflict on me after a year and a day is gone. It will be very hard to keep him always under my thumb.

Ch. 2

“I’ve never been in love,” I tell him, refusing to be rattled. “And of course, you can lie,” he says.

Ch. 3

I’m playing the High King in her little pageant, Cardan said once in my hearing.

Ch. 4

I think of his horror at his own desire when I brought my mouth to his, the dagger in my hand, the edge against his skin. The toe-curling, corrosive pleasure of that kiss. It felt as though I was punishing him—punishing him and myself at the same time.

I feel dizzy and a little sick when the poison hits my blood, but I would be sicker still if I skipped a dose. My body has acclimated, and now it craves what it should revile. An apt metaphor for other things.

Ch. 5

“Carda—“ I remember myself and sink into a bow. “Your Infernal Majesty.” He turns and, for a moment, seems to look through me, as though he as no idea who I am. His mouth is painted gold, and his pupils are large with intoxication. Then his lip lifts in a familiar sneer. “You.” “Yes,” I say. “Me.”

The disturbing thing about Cardan is how well he plays the fool to disguise his own cleverness.

“What happened to your cheek?” He asks, his gaze focusing blurry on me. He’s close enough that I can see his long lashes, the gold ring around the black of his iris.

He looks around in amazement, taking in the mess, “Where—Do you really sleep here? Perhaps you ought to set fire to your rooms as well.”

I can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin linen of his shirt, can feel the flex of his muscles.

He looks up at me with his night-colored eyes, beautiful and terrible all at once. “For a moment,” he says, “I wondered if it wasn’t you shooting bolts at me.” I make a face at him. “And what made you decide it wasn’t.” He grins up at me. “They missed.”

“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”

After a moment, his eyes flutter close. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”

Ch. 6

He is as ridiculously beautiful as ever, mouth soft, lips slightly parted, lashes so long that when his eyes are closed they rest against his cheek.

Cardan’s hands were clasped behind his back, and he stopped to sniff the enormous glove of a white rose topped with scarlet, just before it snapped at the air. He grinned and lifted an eyebrow at me, but I was too nervous to smile back.

“I am going to give you orders.” “Oh, indeed,” he said. On his brow, the gold crown of Elfhame caught the light of the sunset. I took a breath and began. “You’re never to deny me an audience or give me an order to keep me from your side.” “Whysoever would I want you to leave my side?” he asked, voice dry.

Ch. 8

“Perhaps.” The Bomb pushes herself up off the bed. “No tricks or traps. You think it’s safe to let our king in here?” I think if the boy in the crystal, of his proud smile and his balled fist. I think of the horned faerie woman, who must have been his mother, shoving him away from her. I think of his father, the High King, who didn’t bother to intervene, didn’t even bother to make sure he was clothed or his face wiped. I think of how Cardan avoided these rooms. I sigh. “I wish I could think of a place he’d be safer.”

Our eyes meet, and I am the one who looks away, my face hot.

“I kissed him on the mouth, and then I threatened to kiss him some more if he didn’t do exactly what I wanted.”

Ch. 10

Cardan gives me a look up through his lashes that I find hard to interpret and then rises, too. He takes my hand. “Nothing is sweeter,” he says, kissing the back of it, “but that which is scarce.” My skin flushes, hot and uncontrollable.

Ch. 11

A new ring glimmers on his pinky finger, red stone catching the flames of the bonfire. A familiar ring. My ring. I recall that he took my hand in his rooms. I grind my teeth, stealing a glance at my own bare hand. He stole my ring. He stole it and I didn’t notice.

I look into his eyes. His hand slides to my hip, as though he might pull me closer. For a dizzy, stupid moment, something seems to shimmer in the air between us. […] “You ought not to be here tonight, little ant,” he says letting go of me. “Go back to the palace.” Then his is cutting back through the crowd.

I still feel the warm pressure of his fingers against my skin. Something is really wrong with me, to and what I hate, to want someone who despises me, even if he wants me, too. My only comfy is that he doesn’t know what I feel.

“Why, our Queen of Mirth is none other than Jude Duarte.” […] I look over at Cardan and find something dangerous glittering in his eyes—I will get no sympathy there.

“Tell us what you think of our lady,” Locke asks Cardan loudly, with a strange smile. The High King’s expression stiffens, only to smooth out for a moment later when he turns toward the Court. “I have too often been troubled by dreams of Jude,” he says, voice carrying. “Her face features prominently in my most request nightmare.”

“Some among us do not find mortals beautiful. In fact, some of you might swear that Jude is unlovely.” […] “But I believe it is only that her beauty is… unique.” Cardan pauses for more laughter from the crowd, greater jeering. “Excruciating. Alarming. Distressing.”

“Perhaps she needs new raiment to bring out her true allure,” Locke says. “Greater finery for one so fine.” The imps more to pull the tattered, threadbare rag gown over my own to the delight of the Folk. […] “Wait,” I say, pitching my voice loud enough to carry. The imps hesitate. Cardan’s expression is unreadable. I reach down and catch hold of my hem, then pull the dress I am wearing over my head. It’s a simple thing—no corset, no clasps—and it comes off just as simply. I stand in the middle of the party in my underwear, daring them to say something. Daring Cardan to speak. “Now I am reading to put on my new gown,” I say.

Cardan steps closer to me, his gaze devouring. I am not sure I can bear his cutting me down again. Luckily, he seems at a loss for words. “I hate you,” I whisper before he can speak. He tilts my face to his. “Say it again,” he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head. His voice is low. The words are for me alone. I pull out of his grip, but not before I see his expression. He looks as he did when he was forced to answer my questions, when he admitted his desire for me. He looks as though he’s confessing.

“Will you dance with me?” I ask Cardan, sinking into a curtsy, acid in my voice. “For I find you every bit as beautiful as you find me.” […] Cardan’s smile is unreadable. “I’d be delighted,” he says as the musicians begin to play again. He sweeps me into his arms.

“Whatever you do to me,” I say, too angry to stay quiet, “I can do worse to you.” “Oh,” he says, fingers tight on mine. “Do not think I forget that for a moment.” “Then why?” I demand. “You believe I planned your humiliation?” He laughs. “Me? That sounds like work.” “I don’t care if you did or not,” I tell him too angry to make sense of my feelings. “I just care that you enjoyed it.” “And why shouldn’t I delight in seeing you squirm? You tricked me,” Cardan says. “You played me for a fool, and now I am the King of Fools.”

Our gazes meet, and there’s a shock of mutual understanding that our bodies are pressed too closely. I am conscious of my skin, of the sweat beading on my lip, of the slide of my thighs against each other. I am aware of the warmth of his neck beneath my twined fingers, of the prickly brush of his hair and how I want to sink my hands into it. I inhale the scent of him—moss and oakwood and leather. I stare at his treacherous mouth and imagine it on me.

I think of Locke’s expression while Cardan spoke, the eagerness in his face. It wasn’t me he was watching. I wonder for the first time if my humiliation was incidental, the bait to his hook. Tell us what you think of our lady.

Ch. 12

“I thought you were leaving,” he snaps. “And I thought the Queen of Mirth was welcome wheresoever she goes,” I hiss back.

“Out!” he says, at which point even Fala heads for the door. “Except Jude,” he calls. “You, tarry a moment.” […] “Give me an order again,” I say, “ and I will show you true shame. Locke’s games will be as nothing to what I will make you do.”

Ch. 14

He survived on cat milk?” I exclaim. The Roach gives me a look, as though I’ve missed the point of his story entirely.

I think again of the globe I held in Eldred’s study, of Cardan dressed in rags, looking to the woman in my chamber for approval, which came only when he was awful. An abandoned prince, weaned in cat milk and cruelty, left to roam the palace like a little ghost. I think of myself, holding in a tower of Hallow Hall, watching Balekin enchant a mortal into beating in younger brother for poor swordsmanship.

Ch. 15

We are alone in a way we have not been alone for a long time, and when he takes a step toward me, my heart skips a beat.

“Yes, well, I don’t think it would be politically expedient to put thumbscrews to a princess of the seas.” I look at him again, at his soft mouth and his high cheekbones, at the cruel beauty of his face. “Not thumbscrews. You. You go to Nicasia and charm her.” His brows go up

“Use your wiles,” I say, exasperated and embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ve got some. She wants you. It shouldn’t be difficult.” His eyebrows, if anything, climb higher. “You’re seriously suggesting I do this.”

He stalks toward me, close enough that I can feel his breath stirring my hair. “Are you commanding me?” “No,” I say, startled and unable to meet his gaze. “Of course not.” His fingers come to my chin, tilting my head so I am looking up into his black eyes, the rage in them as hot as coals.

“You just think I ought to. That I can. Very well, Jude. Tell me how it’s done. Do you think she’d like if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply into her eyes?” My whole body is alert, alive with sick desire, embarrassing in its intensity. He knows. I know he knows.

His beringed fingers trace over my cheek, trace the line of my lip and down my throat. I feel dizzy and overwhelmed. “Should I touch her like this?” He asks, lashes lowered. The shadows limn his face, casting his cheekbones into stark relief. “I don’t know,” I say, but my voice betrays me. It’s all wrong, high and breathless.

He presses his mouth to my ear, kissing me there. His hands skim over my shoulders making me shiver. “And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?” I can feel his mouth shape the light works against my skin. “Do you think it would work?” I dig my finger nails into the meat of my palm to keep from moving against him. My whole body is trembling with tension. “Yes.”

Then his mouth is against mine, my lips part. I close my eyes against what I am about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn’t kiss me as though he’s angry; his kiss is soft, yearning. Everything slows, goes liquid and hot. I can barely think. I’ve wanted this and feared it, and now that it’s happening, I don’t know how I will ever want anything else.

We stumbled back to the low couch. He leans me against the cushions, and I pull him down over me. His expression mirrors my own, surprise and a little horror.

“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. “What?” I can barely think. “That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say, it over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder. “I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.” At that, he makes a harsh, low sound.

I have never felt anything like this.

He begins to unbutton my doublet, and I try not freeze, try just to show my inexperience. I don’t want him to stop.

He leans up to pull of his own jacket, and I try to wriggle out of mine. He looks at me and blinks, as through a fog. “This is an absolutely terrible idea,” he says with a kind of amazement in his voice. “Yes,” I tell him, kicking off my boots.

He shucks his cuffed white shirt over his head in a single elegant gesture, revealing bare skin and scars. My hands are shaking. He captures them and kisses my knuckles with a kind of reverence. “I want to tell you so many lies,” he says.

I mirror him, fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. He helps me push them down, his tail curling against his leg then twisting to coil against mine, soft as a whisper.

His eyes are open, watching my flushed face, my ragged breathing. I try to stop myself from making embarrassing noises. It’s more intimate than the way he’s touching me, to be looked at like that.

I hate the way I cling to him, the nails of one hand digging into his back, my thoughts splintering, and the single last thing in my head: that I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.

Ch. 16

I do not want to consider what happened between us. I do not want to think about the way his muscles moved or how his skin felt or the soft gasping sounds he made or the slide of his mouth against mine. I definitely don’t want to think about how hard I had to bite my lip to keep quiet. Or how obvious it was that I’d never done any of the things we did, no less the things we didn’t do.

I don’t know how I will face Cardan again without behaving like a fool.

Ch. 18

His fingers trace their way down her arm to the back of her wrist, and I remember vividly the feeling of those hands on me. Me skin heats at the memory, a blush that starts at my throat and keeps going from there.

Kiss me until I am sick of it, he said, and now he has most certainly gorged on my kisses. Now he is most certainly sick of them.

Ch. 19

Our eyes meet. If I look away, then he will know I am embarrassed, but I fear he can tell anyway. My cheeks go hot. I wonder if I will ever be able to look at him again without remembering what it was like to touch him.

“It seems I have a singular taste for women who threaten me.”

He takes a step toward me. “The other night—“ I cut him off. “I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.” “And is it?” he asks. “Out of your system?” I look him in the face and lie. “Yes.” If he touches me, if he even takes another step toward me, my deceit will be exposed. I don’t think I can keep the longing off my face. Instead, to my relief, he gives a thin-lipped nod and departs.

It occurred to me that maybe desire isn’t something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatisn; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.

My spies tell me Cardan spend the night alone—no riotous parties, no drunken revels, no contests for lyres. I do not know how to interpret that.

Ch. 21

The last time we were in this house, in the maze of the gardens, his mouth was streaked with golden nevermore, and he watched me kiss Locke with a simmering intensity that I thought was hatred. Now he studied me with a not-dissimilar look, and all I want to do is walk into his arms. I want to drown my worries in his embrace. I want him to say some totally unlike himself, about things being okay. “Nice dress,” he says instead.

I know the court must already think I am besotted with the High King to endure being crowned Queen of Mirth and still serve as his seneschal. […] But what if I actually am becoming besotted with him?

Kill him, a part of me says, a part I remember from the night I took him captive. Kill him before he makes you love him.

“But if you’re planning on taking someone to bed—or better yet, several someones—choose guards. And then have yourselves guarded by some more guards.” “A veritable orgy.” He seems delighted by the idea.

I keep thinking of the steady way he looked at me when we were both naked, before he pulled on his shirt and fastened those elegant cuffs. We should have called a truce, he’d said, brushing back his ink-black hair impatiently. We should have called truce long before this. But neither of us called it, not then, not after. Jude, he’d said, running a hand up my calf, are you afraid of me?

“Go,” I say. “Forget our bargains. Forget everything. Get out of here.” “Why are you doing this?” she asks me. “For Cardan,” I say. I leave unsaid the second part: Because his mother is still alive and mine is not, because even if he hates you, at least he should get a chance to tell you about it.

Ch. 22

I hope Cardan misses me.

Sometimes I think about Cardan while I am lying there.

I wonder what would have happened if I’d admitted he wasn’t out of my system.

The High King has made a bargain to get me back. […] He has been free of me, and now he is willingly bringing me back. I do not know what that means. Perhaps politics demanded it; perhaps he really, really didn’t like going to meetings.

Ch. 24

Cardan’s face is impossible to read. He doesn’t look at his brother. Instead, his gaze goes to me. Everything in his demeanor is icy.

I am small, diminished, powerless. I look down, because if I don’t, I am going to behave stupidly. […] What might he have done for my return? I try to recall my commands, to recall whether I forced his hand.

“You promised her whole and hale,” says Cardan.

“Perhaps you no longer want her,” Orlagh says. “Perhaps you would bargain for something else in her place, King of Elfhame.” “I will have her,” he says, sounding both possessive and contemptuous at once.

She spits on the floor. “You don’t understand. Your High King did this for you. Those were the terms under which Queen Orlagh would return you. Balekin chose the Court of Termites as the target, the Undersea attacked us, and your Cardan let her. There was no mistake.”

Ch. 25

The only thing I wonder is why not let me languish beneath the sea?

I never thought he liked me enough to save me. And I am not sure I’ll still believe it unless I hear it from his lips.

“I remember you,” says the door. “My prince’s lady.”

Ch. 26

I crawl into Cardan’s bed, and although I fear I will toss and turn with nerves, I surprise myself by slipping immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep. Upon waking in the moonlight, I go to his closet and dress myself in the simplest of his clothes—a velvet doublet whose collar and cuffs I rip pearls from, along with a pair of plain, soft leggings.

I slip into Cardan’s room. […] I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth. He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I am scared that I’m not strong enough, that my training isn’t good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realizing who I am. He shouldn’t relax like that. “He sent me here to kill you,” I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

“Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder,” I say, flustered. “Yes,” he says lazily. “So why did I wake up at all?” I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. “Because I am difficult to charm,” I say. That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. “I could have told my brother that,” he says, with a softness in his voice I am utterly unprepared for.

“He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace.” “I will give them different orders,” Cardan says. He sits up in the bed. He’s bare to the waist, his skin silvery in the soft glow of the magical lights. He continues looking at me in this strange way, as though he’s never seen me before or as though he thought he might never see me again.

“I have thought and thought since you were gone, and there is something I wish to say.” Cardan’s face is serious, almost grave, in a way that he seldom allows himself to be.

“I wasn’t kind, Jude. Not too many people. Not to you. I wasn’t sure if I wanted you or if I wanted you gone from my sight so that I would stop feeling as I did, which made me even more unkind. But when you were gone—truly gone beneath the waves—I hated myself as I never have before.”

“Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me,” he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. “The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it. I can’t trust you. Still, when you were gone, I had to make a great many decisions, and so much of what I did right was imagining you beside me, Jude, giving me a bunch of ridiculous orders that I nonetheless obeyed.” I am robbed of speech. He laughs, his warm hand going to my shoulder. “Either I’ve surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed.”

“Please get out of bed, Your Majesty,” repeats the bomb. […] Cardan slips out of the sheets. He’s naked, which is briefly shocking, but he goes and pulls on a heavily embroidered dressing gown with no apparent shame. His lightly furred tail twitches back and forth in annoyance. “She woke me,” he says. “If she was intent on murder, that’s hardly the way to go about it.”

Cardan sighs and walks toward me. I know this is necessary. I know that he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I know the can’t glamour me. And yet I draw back automatically. “Jude?” he asks. “Go ahead,” I say. I hear the glamour enter his voice, heady and seductive and more powerful than I expected. “Crawl to me,” he says with a grin. Embarrassment pinks my cheeks.

“I find the more I listen, the more I am reminded that I have been awakened after very little sleep. I am going to send got some tea for myself and some food for Jude, who looks a bit pale.”

Cardan shakes his head and drinks another cup of tea. “We show her that I am no feckless High King.” “And how do we do that?” I ask. “With great difficulty,” he says. “Since I fear she is right.”

Ch. 27

“Oh ho,” he says. “My darling seneschal. Let us take a turn around the room.” He grabs me and pulls me toward the dance.

“Cardan,” I try again. “You must not do this. I order you to pull yourself together. I command you to drink no more liquor and to attempt sobriety.” “Yes, my sweet villain, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can.” And with that, he kisses me on the mouth.

I feel a cacophony of things at once. I am furious with him, furious and resigned that he is a failure as High King, corrupt and fanciful and as weak as Orlagh could have hoped. Then there is the public nature of the kiss; parading this before the court is shocking, too. He’s never been willing to seem to want me in public. Perhaps he can take it back, but in this moment, it is known.

But there is also a weakness in me, because I dreamed of him kissing me for all my time in the Undersea, and now with his mouth on mine, I want to sink my nails into his back. His tongue brushes my lower lips, the taste heady and familiar. Wraithberry. He’s not drunk; he’s been poisoned. I pull back and look into his eyes. Those familiar eyes, black, rimmed in gold. His pupils are blown wide. “Sweet Jude. You are my dearest punishment.”

“Jude Duarte, you will leave the High King’s side,” Balekin says. At that tone, Cardan’s focus narrows. I can see him straining to concentrate. “She will not,” he says.

Ch. 28

He reaches up and presses my hand to his face. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how I mocked you for your mortality when you’re certain to outlive me.” “You’re not going to die,” I insist. “Oh, how many times have I wished you couldn’t lie? Never more than now.”

“I saw your mother tonight,” I say. “All dressed up. The time I saw her before that was in the tower of forgetting.” “And you’re wondering if I forgot her?” He says airily, and I am pleased that he’s paying enough attention to deliver one of his typical quips. “Glad you’re up to mocking.” “I hope it’s the last thing about me to go. […]”

“You should go.” “Why?” I ask, annoyed. For one, this is my room. For another, I am trying to keep him alive. He looks at me solemnly. “Because I am going to retch.”

“You’ll stay with him?” I ask the bomb, she nods. “No,” says Cardan. “She goes with you.” I shake my head. “The Bomb knows about potions. She knows about magic. She can make sure you don’t get worse.” He ignores me and takes her hand. “Liliver, as your king, I command you,” he says with great dignity for someone sitting in the floor beside the bucket he’s retched in. “Go with Jude.” […] “Damn you,” I whispered to one or maybe both of them.

“But how did she make you agree?” I demand. “She has no power. She could pretend to be me, but she couldn’t force you—“ He puts his head in his long-fingered hands. “She didn’t have to command me, Jude. She didn’t have to use any magic. I trust you. I trusted you.”

Ch. 29

“If Taryn had given me a command, I would have known it wasn’t you. But I was sick and tired and didn’t want to refuse you. I didn’t even ask why, Jude. I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that you didn’t need to give me orders for me to do things. I want to show you that I believed you’d thought it all through. But that’s no way to rule. And it’s not really even trust, when someone can order you to do it anyway.”

“Faerie suffered with us at each other’s throats. You attempted to make me do what you thought needed to be done, and if we disagreed, we could do nothing but manipulate each other. That wasn’t working, but simply giving in is no solution. We cannot continue like this. Tonight is proof of that. I need to make my own decisions.”

“You made me the High King, Jude. Let me be the High King.” I fold my arms protectively over my chest. “And what will I be? Your servant?” […] “Marry me,” he says. “Become the High Queen of Elfhame.”

I feel a kind of cold shock come over me, as though someone has told a particularly cruel joke, with me its target. As though someone looked into my heart and saw the most ridiculous, most childish desire there and used it against me.

“So let me guess, you and me to release you from your vow for your promise to marry me? But then the marriage will take lace in the month of never when the moon rises in the west and the tides flow backward.” He shakes his head, laughing. “If you agree, I will marry you tonight,” he says. “Now, even. Right here. We exchange vows, and it is done. This is no mortal marriage, to require being presided over and witnessed. I cannot lie. I cannot deny you.”

This is a solution, but it doesn’t feel at all practical. It’s the stuff of absurd daydream, imagined while dozing in a mossy glen, too embarrassing to even confess to my sisters.

I imagine what it would be like to have my own crown, my own power. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be afraid to love him.

“Yes,” I say, but my voice fails me. It comes out all breath. “Yes.” He leans forward in the chair, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t wear his usual arrogant mien. I cannot read his expression. “To what are you agreeing?” “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I had no idea it would be such a sacrifice.” Frustrated, I flop over on the couch. “That’s not what I mean.” “Marriage for the High King of Elfhame is largely thought to be a prize, an honor of which few are worthy.”

He slides my ruby ring off his finger. “I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte, mortal ward of Madoc, to be my bride and my queen. Let us be wed until we wish for it to be otherwise and the crown has passed from our hand”

Time seems to stretch out. Above us, the branches begin to bud, as though the land itself heard the words he spoke.

Catching my hand, he slides the ring on. The exchange of rings is not a faerie ritual, and I am surprised by it. “Your turn,” he says into the silence. He gives me a grin.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening. My hand tightens on his as I speak. “I, Jude Duarte, take Cardan, High King of Elfhame, to be my husband. Let us be wed until we don’t want to be and the crown has passed from our hands.”

He kisses the scar of my palm. I still have his brother’s blood under my fingernails. I don’t have a ring for him. Above us, the buds are blooming. The whole room smells of flowers.

“You look as if you’ve barely rested.” I rise to be sure that if he falls over, I can grab him before he hits the floor, although I am not so sure of myself either. “I will lie down,” he says, letting me guide home toward his enormous bed. Once there, he does not let go of my hand. “If you lie with me.”

We trade kisses in the darkness, blurred by exhaustion. I don’t expect to sleep, but I do, my limbs tangled with his, the first restful sleep I’ve had since my return from the Undersea.

“Well, wife,” he says to me, a chill in his voice. “It seems you have kept at least one secret from your dowry. Come, we must dress for our first audience together.”

Ch. 30

“Give us your seneschal, Jude Duarte.” […] Cardan’s eyebrows go up. His voice stays light. “But she’s only just returned from the sea.” “So you don’t dispute her crime?” Says Orlagh. “Why should I?” Says Cardan. “If she’s the one with whom he dueled, I am certain she would win; my brother supposed himself an expert with a sword—a great exaggeration of abilities. But she’s mine to punish or not, as I see fit.”

“Hear my judgement,” Cardan says, authority ringing in his voice. “I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.” […] “But I am the Queen of faerie,” I shout, and for a moment, there is silence. The everyone around me begins to laugh. I can feel my cheeks heat. Tears of frustration and fury prick my eyes, a beat too late, Cardan laughs with them.

“Deny it, then,” I yell. “Deny me!” He cannot, of course, so he does not. Our eyes meet, and the odd smile on his face is clearly meant for me. I remember what it was to hate him with the whole of my heart, but I’ve remembered to late.

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster.” Ch.5

Masterlist

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3

You sharpen your knife, toning out the annoying scrape against the metal. You hummed the song “Do You Remember The Rain.” and peered over the porch to Rick and Michonne talking. They were leaving for something. You weren’t quite sure, but you guessed supply. Your dad will be here in a few days. 

Iris was walking down too, drinks in hand and smiling when she looked up. You smiled back and waved, getting up and placing your knife on the railing. “Let me help you.” You said, grabbing the cups from her hand and setting them on the porch steps. You captured her hands and helped her up the stairs, letting her sit in your previous spot.

She held her stomach as she leaned back, groaning slightly. You handed her the drink and sat on the railing. “Why’d you bring the lemonade?” You asked, taking a sip and humming. She shrugged and rubbed her stomach. 

“I wanted to.” She paused and sat up. “Start thinking of names.” You coughed and looked at her. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows, handing over a piece of paper. “I get to pick one of their names and you the other.” She said You looked down at the car. It had a line in the middle and on one side, it had two different genders and names. 

Baby A

Girl; Nova

Boy; Oliver Rome

You smiled and took out a pen, placing the sheet on the railing before writing down names.

Baby B

Girl; Isha

Boy; Ian?

You gave the card back, and she smiled. “In your shadow.” You said, kissing her cheek. She tucked it into her black sweater and got up. 

“I’ll see you later.” She walked off, waving to Carl with a smile when she passed him. Lucky, instead of hating her because she was married to you, (Mostly) everyone Loved her. They thought she was kind, sweet, helpful, and pregnant with twins.

You sighed and plopped back into the seat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You looked at your knife and placed it down. You cracked your neck and leaned back, relaxing as you closed your eyes. There was a slight breeze where the opened trees lay and where you sat. You Breathed in the smoke and breathed back out, allowing your nose to smell the tobacco coming out. 

The breeze stopped briefly, making you open your eyes and peer at the younger brunette by the stairs. “Carl.” You asked, tilting your head at him.” He hummed and looked over with boredom writing on his face. “You gotta’ look after your sister today?” You questioned, only to get a slight head shake from him as he walked inside. 

You sighed, threw your cigarette on the ground, and smashed it, getting up from your seat. “I didn’t just ask for no reason, Carl.” You stated, walking in after him. He turned with one eyebrow raised and took off his hat. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything today, Y/n.” He said, brushing through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. You huffed and groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward and whining like a child. 

“Come on! We're supposed to be friends. Do you know what friends do? Trick question.” You asked, walking over to him. He rolled his eyes.

“I only said Yes because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Carl said, heading upstairs. 

“Is that your final answer? If it is, I need you to repeat it, I didn’t catch any of that.” You said, following him once again. He sighed and slammed his room door. You huffed once again and left downstairs.

You went outside, rounded the house, and climbed the side of it, reaching the window where Carl's room was. You banged on in. Carl looked down at you through the window with disapproval. “Let me IN,” You yelled, hanging onto the side of the roof like a cat in a tree. Carl laughed and opened the window.

“You're a dumbass, you know that right?” Carl stated, closing his window when you were finally in. You flipped him off and fixed your shirt. Before he could say anything else, you interrupted him.

“I’m going somewhere, that means your following.” You said, Throwing Carl's shoes at him and unlocking the door. 

"Do I have a choice-"-Nope."

You yanked him by his hand and pulled him down the stairs. You picked up your bat and bag as we went to the “escape wall” and climbed over. You felt the slight breeze from the top as you quickly went over the wall and slowly climbed down. Carl then jumped down beside you and huffed, fixing his hat.

“It's rude to huff at people.” You say, smiling at him slightly as you begin to walk into the woods. Carl only huffed louder and more dramatically. You smile and huff louder than him while you turn. “Hush pretty boy.” You said, flicking his hat and walking deeper into the woods. 

It was relatively quiet, with few groans here and there. They would stop when you threw a knife at them. You watched the ground as you walked, but still acknowledged the world around you. You glanced at bushes here and there, looked into the mud, and listened to each and every sound.

“Boring.” You whined, huffing at the silence. “You bore me.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ toy,” Carl said, raising his eyebrow. You raised your arms in defense and laughed. Carl raised an eyebrow at your response. “You act like I'm Woody from Toystory.” He said sarcastically.

You laughed again. “Well, if you are woody,” You stopped and put a finger on your chin, tapping it twice. “That makes me” You pointed to yourself. “Buzz lightyear.” you did jazz hands as he looked at you stupidly. 

“Did your mom drink in the womb?” You gasped and hit him on the arm when he walked by. “I’m just asking, you act like you have a disorder or something.” 

(I am switching from the Second POV to First person From here on out :) )

I glare at him and Hit him again. “That's offensive you know,” I said as we continued walking. 

We stopped in the middle of the woods when we came across a lake. It had a lake cabin and a road leading down to a hill with fields. “This what rich people used to buy?” I started as I looked out at the lake with my hand covering the sun. Carl only shrugged.

I looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, so I walked around the lake. “How crazy would I be to jump into this right now?” I asked, dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes. Carl just stared at me in disbelief. 

“Walkers can be in there.” He said, pointing into the dark, green water. I shrugged and stripped down until I was in my boxers. “You are crazy, Your gonna fuckin’ die in there,” Carl shouted as I dived in. Carl watched bubbles go up and then stop. “Y/n, it's not funny.” He shouted from the edge of the lake. He put his backpack down and crotched by the edge of the water.

A firm hand pulled him down by his ankle as he yelped and was pulled in. A hand held the back of his neck and arms had him pulled into the other person. A finger went over his lips, which of course made Carl freak out, There wasn’t much he could do from in the water, but a scratch. 

He was pulled back up and onto the wet mud as I held my face. My het hair covered my eyes as I had my mouth gaped open and blood dripped down my cheek. “You asshole.,” I said, staring at him.

“Im an asshole? You pulled me under!” He half yelled, shoving my face angrily with his hand. “Thought you were dead, and then you pulled me under, what the hell is wrong with you?” He said angrily, shoving me off and trying to get up. The mud under us made him slip and slide as he went backward and his ass landed on my stomach. I felt the wind be knocked out of me as I coughed and shoved him off. 

“Oh my GOD..  you fat ass.” I wheezed as I got off of the ground. I coughed and grabbed onto the grass, making my way up. Carl glared at me as I laughed at him. “Get up dumbass,” I said, seeing that the whole side of his face was covered in mud.

“You shoved me into the fucking.” Carl grabbed a pile of mud. “MUD.” He yelled as he threw it at me. I flinched and covered my face as it landed on my stomach with a splat and rolled down. For some reason, that made Carl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked, shuffling my foot under the mud, that move made Carl stop laughing and plead with me. “I thought it was funny, but when I do it, it’s not?” I asked, then kicked the pile of mud onto him. 

His mouth opened in shock when it covered the other side of his face. Carl wiped it off and tried standing this time, he balanced himself out as I held out my arm for him to reach out and grab. He refused and started to walk. “You’re gonna fall, Woody.” I teased. Of course, he ignored me. And of course, I was right as I watched his feet slip.

I started to laugh loudly, and It was cut off by a scream as he grabbed my hand at the last second, pulling me down with him. “You fucker.” I said, pulling my face out of the mud and spitting out. I wiped it out of my eyes and looked down at him with a glare.

His hair is now covered in mud, as well as his back and clothes. Both of us sit up and cough, wiping the mud off of each other.

We lay in the field, covered in mud, and looked at the sky. Carl had his flannel beside him and wore his white t-shirt as he leaned against his bookbag. He had re-did his eyepatch after drying off and sent me back into the water to grab his hat.

Carl sighed and looked over towards me. “How did you stay underwater that whole time?” He asked, his brows together. I yawned and sighed.

“My dad made me do a bunch of sports. Baseball was one of the main ones, he coached that.” I said, looking at him. He looked a little confused by what I said. “My dad worked as a gym teacher and a coach before the world died… but he got fired a few months before everything happened,” I stated, playing with my hands. “My mom would take me to the beach on hot days, but mostly a pool. We would have competitions of who could stay under the longest, whoever one got to pick out supper or lunch.” I said, looking up at the sky and smiling.

I felt Carl’s fingertips touch mine and looked at him. He was looking at the sky with a bit of a saddened look. He started to speak. “My mom… She and My dad would get in fights, though she would be the only one fighting. Even after the walking dead, they fought. But she protected me from every bad thing out there, or tried to at least.” I watched his eyes close and I moved my fingertips closer until they touched each other. I watched our hands. 

Our feet squashed onto the concrete as we walked back home. We walked closer than earlier, our arms skidding together as we spoke. “You think elephants are still alive?” I asked, looking around. Carl looked up at me like I was stupid. “Well, you never know…. They could be the last ones standing.” I joked.

Carl hit my arm and laughed a little. “That wasn’t funny.” He said and stopped laughing almost instantly. I laughed loudly and hit him harder.

“You're an ass,” I said, bumping our shoulders together a letting out a little laugh. He nodded while smiling. I watched the trees sway in motion with the wind as it blew through them. 

We got home shortly and climbed back into the walls without anyone noticing, thankfully. I ran upstairs with Carl chasing me into the bathroom. “Fuck you, I’m getting one first,” I yelled as he pulled my foot from the stairs. He managed to get passed me and tripped my legs up. “You ass!’ I said, landing on the top floor. I heard the door open and the shower turned on in a matter of seconds and huffed, getting off of the floor.

I entered the bathroom, almost tripping over Carl's clothes, and looked at the mirror, peering at the cut on my face that was now covered in dirt. I turned the sink on and splashed water onto my face and wiped the blood off. I looked at the closed curtain and hit it. “You're a dick,” I said, sitting on the toilet seat. Carl only laughed as I took off my shoes and socks. “Turn around,” I said, hitting the curtain. “I’m getting in,” I stated, opening the shower curtain.

Carl huffed and turned around before I got in. I grabbed the shower head and pointed it at my head, rubbing the dirt off and watching it sink to the bottom of the tub. I looked down at Carl's slighted hunched-over body as he washed off the dirt on his arms. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it through my hair, rinsing it quickly. My eyes roamed his back, there were a few freckles and one scar. Without thinking, I rubbed my finger over it, making Carl's head sharply look over. 

I mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before taking my hand off. His eyes looked at my torso and widened a little. Scars scattered around, large cuts, two bullet shots, and scratches that have yet to heal. I laugh and rub the mud off of my stomach. “I’ve had quite a few interactions with some bad people,” I muttered. “I don't show these much. My dad hates them, felt like it was his fault,” I said, closing the shampoo and placing it back on the rack.

“Was it?” Carl asked. I paused, looking down at him. 

“You still haven't gotten the mud out of your hair,” I said, wiping the soap I had in my hand in his hair. He pushed my hand away and huffed as he started to scrub his head. I got out of the shower as the water dripped down my now wet boxers and hair. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair quietly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my towel over the rod holding the curtain. “I’m gonna go throw our clothes in the washer,” I said, grabbing the clothes off the floor. I heard him hum as he grabbed the towel off of the rod. I walked downstairs slowly and to my bag, grabbed my dirty clothes out of it, along with my jacket, and walked into the laundry room, throwing the clothes into the washer. 

I threw in some detergent and turned it on. I hummed as I walked out and walked down the hall. I hear my radio go off in my bookbag as I walk into the living room. I sighed and Ignored it as I went upstairs. Carl was reading some comics in his bed with fresh clothes. “You got extras I could borrow?” I asked, pointing to his closet. He nodded as he flipped his page. I opened it up and all there were was boring plain clothes. I grabbed the black rusty jeans and black long-sleeve shirt before putting them on and plopping on his bed beside him.

Chapter 6☝️🤓

[anderscim]

may or may not be slightly reaching with this theory

but i just wanted to talk about what i’ve noticed with david’s sprites and eye-color

(please take this with a grain of salt)

//drdt ch 2 spoilers

okay so let me just get straight to it

these are two of the sprites for david’s “public persona” that we get introduced to in the beginning:

here, david has lighter(?) grey eyes with yellow stars placed in the center.

as we probably all know david in this state usually tries to maintain a constantly optimistic and semi-professional demeanor, and as long as he keeps this up this is usually what his eye color pattern looks like.

however, he breaks character a couple of times and we can see his eye pattern change accordingly. there’s probably like four or five total sprites that show this, but i’m going to place two sprites that show the difference very clearly (which also happen to be some of my favorite pre-ch2 david sprites for some reason):

as you can see his eye color here is just solid grey. no other embellishments or anything minus a light gradient which makes it slightly darker at the top of the iris.

these sprites often appear when his “genuine” emotions surface and/or when he drops his facade, so we can kind of assume by extension that this eye pattern shows up only when he expresses his true personality.

but the thing is, his “post-reveal” look that is seen in ch2 ep 11 has different eye patterns.

it’s subtle, but for these sprites the gradient for his irises is significantly darker, going from nearly black at the top to a slightly darker grey than is seen in his “breaking character” sprites. additionally, we also see the little white circle as per traditional danganronpa style (which we see in the eye color patterns for david’s public persona as well, but not when he breaks character)

so in summary:

the eye color pattern for his public persona looks like this:

for his “real personality” it resembles something similar to this:

and then for his post-ch2 pessimistic asshole demeanor his irises look more like this:

(i eyeballed these without looking at a ref so these are kind of inaccurate, unfortunately)

what this could mean:

i assumed that david’s real eye color is shown when he’s breaking character from his public persona (aka the solid grey one), and i explained why i thought that earlier.

as is implied from the actual series, his “star-eyes” connected to his public persona show up when he’s putting on an act—or essentially, hiding behind a fake smile and pretending everything’s gonna be alright.

the thing is, david’s “post-reveal” eye color/pattern looks so different from that of when he’s expressing what’s implied to be his real personality. it almost seems to suggest that his current demeanor is yet another facade that he’s putting up in order to hide his true emotions—just rather than being more optimistic, he’s being more cynical.

in summary, the difference in the iris color/pattern could be another smaller detail indicating how he’s essentially making himself appear more manipulative and evil than he actually is

oh—sorry for not saying this earlier, but i don’t think he’s fully faking everything for either “facade.” i think david still expresses some of his more… genuine emotions and sentiments during his act, it’s just that he’s emphasizing or exaggerating some of them even if they’re not how he actually feels.

and as always, take this with a grain of salt as i may be terribly wrong

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis

(Part 3... Atleast two more parts to come 🙈)

Part 1, Part 2

The Dreaming had stopped. There was no other word for it. Above, the clouds danced and drifted to an artistic halt. Below, the burning embers of chaos stopped their consuming crawl. It appeared like an unending painting. Part fantastical, part macabre, captured on canvas. In Hob's arms, its little king in waiting sagged. Fine features smoothing, muscles softening, as he gently sank into a peaceful rest. 

Hob looked to Dream inquiringly, who shook his head in bewilderment. Not his doing then. He turned to Death who shrugged her shoulders mystified, though her gaze was sharp, alert, glancing hither and there. Like prey, Hob thought. Checking its way was free of jeopardy. 

He passed Daniel carefully to Dream, who took him tenderly, ever so gently rocking his charge. And stood, casting his gaze about the realm from their high vantage point. Nothing… nothing moved, time had seemingly frozen mid breath. 

"We hail you, Father."

Hob spun on his heel, arms raised defensively. His body instinctively forming a protective shield over Dream and Daniel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dream's eyes widen, before he pulled the boy further into his embrace, one hand curled loosely about his head, nails elongating and sharpening, like a snake baring its fangs. Behind them, he heard  the sounds of  great wings unfurling. Good, Death had taken the rear. The Dream's sandwiched between them. 

Before them stood three women, Hob, recognised instantly from the tales Dream had wove for him on quiet nights. Mother, Maiden and Crone. Yet this was not fate before him, this was fury and retribution. Smoke and grime clung to their skin like grotesque war paint. Blood dripping from their fingers like scarlet talons. This was carnage, bloodshed and frenzy. This was Dream's judge, jury and executioner… Ravenous for their pound of flesh. 

Hob's blood thrummed with adrenaline and rage. "You! What have you done?" 

They cackled in unison, a jarring sound with no warmth to it. It set his nerves on edge.

"We do nothing, All Life." 

"All Time." 

"You wish this to stop? Make it so."

"You will not mock him! Those are our father's titles, and you shall use them with more reverence than to deride a man you are not fit to look upon." 

Hob turned to Dream, shocked at the venom in his voice. His lips were twisted into a growl, fangs sharpening. 

"Father's,  lover's …" 

"Both, neithers…" 

"But always so." 

Dream's head reared with a snap, mouth set in a violent snarl. Darkness bled from iris, through his pupil, until his eyes were a pitch, fathomless black. Starlight pinpricks flaring in the centre like a nova. 

"Desist talking in riddles you harpies!"

They let out another hideous cackle. Hob's anger soared. For once, he wished he was more than mere flesh and bone, more than human…So he might have the power to smother them.

"Harpies are we? So cruel, landless king." 

"You wound us, once of the seven."

"Mind your tongue, Dream no longer, lest we rip it from you." 

Dream made to rise, before stopping short, looking down at Daniel. The sudden movement had caused the youth's head to slip from Dream's shoulder and now it lay on his chest, nose nestled into Dream's breast. He watched as Dream took a deep intake of  breath, expression calming. Before resettling on the ground, Daniel cradled protectively in his arms. Glaring fiercely at the Fates. Hob felt something primal surge through him at the sight. 

"Look at him snarl, look at him coo." 

"With babe in arms." 

"What a sweet, fierce mother."

Dream's eyes turned to deadly slits and Hob mentally prepared to throw his everything into halting the charge of an enraged Endless, all righteous vengeance and protective bloodlust. Child still wrapped to breast, like a glorious trib warrior of legend. Until two great wings came down, wrapping about  Dream and his gleaming ward. Like the old nativity scenes, Hob thought in passing. Of blessed mother, sacred child and divine angel. 

And oh, what wings! A kaleidoscopic array of colours, casting rainbow hues as a crystal refracts light. All about her sang with life and vibrancy in their presence. Then, with a shift of their feathers, they were immense, dark windows to the universe. Utterly devoid of all light, pulling forth energy from everything that surrounded her, as if she bore two black holes at her back. 

This was truly the second child of Night and Time. All existence, yet absolute absence of life. They crossed in front of Dream, to guard or to barricade, Hob could not rightly say. 

"Dream, cool your temper brother. Do not let them goad you. Be careful."

"Yes, do be careful. Not like sister Death."

"You're one to talk, mistress of cradle and grave."

"Look at what your mishap has wrought."

Death swept back her wings, flaring them out tall, proud, imperious. How many painted Michael's, Gabriel's and Raphael's hand stolen her likeness? Yet come nowhere near close to capturing her splendour.

"I will be your death one day, Great Ladies," she warned. Tone unusually foreboding. "Do not seek to play games with me."

The Fates looked upon her, unabashed. Maiden, pitying, Mother, knowingly, Crone, gleeful. 

"Death of all indeed." 

"Death, sibling slayer." 

"Death, parent butcher." 

Death flinched back violently, as if struck, posture curling inwards. The crone stepped forward, pointing a finger, gore covered and gnarled towards Hob. 

"Filled him up with too much time, didn't you dear? Were you foolish enough to believe there would be no repercussions? "

Death looked to Hob, staring at him intensely. The kind of penetrating stare you could feel against the hairs of your skin. A stare that seeped through him like vapours, clawing its way down his nose and mouth, stealing away his breath. Flooding down his throat in torrents, making him gag and splutter. Down, down it travelled. Along veins, sinew and marrow. Filling every crack and crevice, until it finally every inch of him sang and screamed. Then out through every pore it fled, back to the eyes of Death. Who swayed on her feet, once, twice, before regaining her bearings somewhat, gazing at Hob with a look of pure astonishment. 

"All this time?" She croaked. "I felt him ebb, I felt another flow. And I searched. Yet there you were in, the whole time in plain sight."

Hob felt his head fill with static. "Death have pity, for pete's sake! What are you talking about?!" 

"There is a reason I do not withhold my gift from mortals often. For a life without death, is no blessing… But a curse. Oh you shall live forever, immortal, undying. But I cannot halt the march of time. You will continue to grow old, age, your body will decay about you ... .Unless, I ask a boon of our Father." 

"Please keep him young. " 

"Please keep him fair." 

"Please keep my brother from despair." 

Then, the Fates were upon him, circling like wolves closing in on wounded prey. Salivating at its dred. He twisted and pivoted, trying to keep track of their movements. But it was futile. One went, another appeared in her place. To his right, to his left, infront, behind. His heart pounded… Thud. The Maiden, fair but fickle. Thud. The Mother, warm but grasping. Thud. The Crone, wise but cruel. 

"And Time fed you, unworthy mortal." 

"Heartily took the teat didn't you?" 

"Greedy human, took and took and took." 

"Took too much, gluttonous childe."

"Full to the brim, overflowing with life." 

"Poor old Time. " 

"Left him waning, while you waxed." 

Hob back away from them, head swimming, "I didn't.. I… Please, I don't understand any of this?" 

Death lifted her head, sending him a look, part sympathy, part contrition. "Oh Hob. It will all make sense, when the time comes." 

"The time can go fuck itself off Tower Bridge!" 

A strange sound, out of place amongst the tension, rang through the air. All eyes shot to Dream, who sat, head thrown back in unrestrained, near hysterical laughter. 

"Oh ladies. This is his divine retribution for loving me? Then you have grown soft in your dottage." He smirked smugly at the Fates. 

"You think robbing him of humanity shall break his spirit? No. You see before you a man who rejoices in the time. Every second of it! The good and the bad. The nostalgic memories of time past, the everyday wonders of time lived. The hopeful potential of time to come. He doesn't waste a minute of it! He respects and revels in time." Dream looked to Hob, features aglow with pride and adoration. "He shall embrace its dominion and make a masterpiece of it."

He shook his head disparaging, seemingly both amused and despairing of himself. " How did I not see it?" 

Rising elegantly, despite carrying the burden of Daniel's unconscious form. Dream stood, head raised proudly, eyes aflame. Shining with absolutely certainty. King no longer he may be, thought Hob. But here still stands a monarch born. 

Dream passed  Daniel carefully to Death. Gazing tenderly at the youth with a serene smile. He stroked a finger through the  white curls, then learnt closer, whispering, as if not to wake him from his slumber. "How lucky you shall be, little Dream, to have such a guiding hand."

Turning he threw a haughty, disdainful look at the ominous trio. "You wish to wound me, by tearing me away? Well you do not! For I am content in the knowledge my siblings will be cherished and protected. I rejoice that I leave sweet Dream and kind Time behind me. And know creation will be all the better for it!"

Oh, Hob thought. You brave, glorious, kind creature. We do not deserve you. 

Dream turned to Hob, features softening at once as he took a step, then a half stride, half run towards him. Hob opened his arms, capturing him, drawing him into a tight embrace. He tucked his nose into Dream's hair, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent. 

" I do not wish to be Time. He can take it back! "

Dream ran soothing hands over Hob's arms, shushing compassionately. Hob's heart flooded with shame. Here was Dream on the brink of death. So courageous in the face of it. And he was offering comfort to Hob, with life and power incomprehensible ahead of him. 

"I know. I know my love. But you have no more choice in this than young Daniel does. Are no more to blame then he is for any of this." 

Taking Hob's face in his hands, Dream  looked at him, eyes full to the brim with admiration and affection. 

"But oh my darling, you shall be glorious!"

Hob exhaled, part bitter huff, part sob.. leaning his brow upon Dream's. "I just wanted you Dream."

"Dream no longer." 

"The King is Dead." 

"Dream lays in Death's arms." 

"All Hail the Boy King." 

"Be silent, you vicious hags!" Dream hissed vehemently. 

Pulling back enough to properly look into Hob's eyes, Dream beamed at him. Hob clenched his eyes shut, clutching tighter at his slim hips. He couldn't bear the sight of  Dream's compassion, Dream's strength, Dream's hope. Not when he knew its bittersweet intent. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard to save him. He had failed. This was goodbye. 

"Remember me" 

A kiss was placed on one cheek, 

"My pride in you"

Then the other. 

"My love for you."

A devotional kiss to his lips. 

"Teach them as you taught me. That they have so much to live for." 

Be brave for him. He took Dream by the shoulders, taking in every part of him. Frantic to burn the sight of him to his thoughts for all time. Running his hands across neck, face, through his dark locks before holding him about the jaw, thumbs running along sharp cheekbones. Memorising those eyes… Those eyes. Who could compare to you? I shall never love another. I will wait for you. I have waited before, I will wait again… until we find each other.

He leaned in, and tried to pour everything he had ever felt, everything he would continue to feel, into their last kiss. 

…....

"We hail you, Dark Mother" 

Dream sprung away from Hob's embrace. They were no longer on their high perch, overlooking his realm, but now stood on the shores of creation. The skies above were that of midnight, causing the dark sands and waters to take on an even inker hue. As if all about them was night sky. Glancing frantically about, he sort his sister and successor with alarm. "Daniel, Death?!" 

"Do not fear for them love. This fate is not theirs to share." There was the Maid, expression almost affectionate. 

Hob placed an arm about his shoulders, pulling him close. "Why have you brought us here?" 

The Fates, stains of slaughter now gone, an adopted air of sageness now present. Stood observing them. 

"The wheel has turned."

"Once maiden…" 

" Fickle, flighty. Always chasing whims and wishes."

" Now mother…" 

"Loving, protective, selfless." 

"What?" 

The mother gestured to Dream. "Change always comes with sacrifice. We fail, we fall, we learn. Some. Slower than others.." She cast a critical eye at Dream. Who would have baulked in offence, if he did not accept the truth of it. 

Hob's face contorted with anger. "So all this cruelty, was what? A test?!" 

The Fates stared back impassionately. 

"Fate is cruel." 

"Life is cruel." 

"Time is cruel." 

Hob stared down at them, serious and commanding. "I am not." To Dream, it sounded like a promise, a pledge. He leaned into Hob's side. My tender hearted man.

The Crone stepped forward, nodding at Dream with an unaffected air. 

"You wish to keep him?"

Hob's hold tightened about him. "Oh yes."

The Mother shook her head at them in exasperation. 

"Then do it! Foolish boy."

"Where there is Time, there must be Night."

"Order, Chaos" 

"Life, Unlife" 

"Father, Mother" 

The Maiden smiled sweetly at them. 

"And found your Night, long ago, did you not?" 

The air around them filled with sounds, oh so familiar of centuries past.

"Did I hear you say you have no intention of dying?"

"Err, yeah, yeah that's right."  

"So do you still wish to live?"  

"I've got so much to live for."  

"Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong. "

"I'll be here… In 100 years… And if you are too.."  

"You're late."

"I've heard it's impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

"Find him."

"Name him." 

"Claim him."

And then, they were gone…

.......

"Me?" 

Dream gazed blankly at the dark sand below his boots. The grains were beginning to shift under his weight. A slight breeze blew in from the waters, sending them drifting. Time was gradually returning to the Dreaming it seemed. He twitched his fingers, calling it forth. It rose lethargically, twisting and furling about him in intrinsic patterns, before slowly, almost reluctantly drifting from its master. Swirling back to settle on the dunes below, laying in rest for the command of its new lord. He looked then to the skies, the stars twinkled back shly, as if unsure if it was yet appropriate to greet their new little master. The transition was not complete then.  

"Me?" 

He pondered on all that had gone before. Look at you, shining like a star. The stars… They're singing… This has never happened before. The knowledge settled about him. Yes, him…It had always been so. Had it always been so? Father had always lamented he had too much of his mother in him. Was that why mother had clung so hard to him? Had she known, deep down. Looked at him and saw her end. 

He felt Hob caress his cheek and looked up into bright eyes, shining almost golden like a sun, despite the darkness. And that smile, that smile that had lit his way for centuries. 

"Who else would it be?" 

With an elated laugh, Hob lifted him by the waist, twirling him about in the air. "Then the most beautiful, wonderful being in the world."

Dream let out an overjoyed shriek before  Hob settled him against his stomach, arms still wrapped tightly about him, holding him off the ground. Dream grasped at his hair, pulling him into an ardent kiss, then another. Then another. 

Breaking apart, Hob quirked a brow at him mischievously, before asking, "Did I hear you say, you had no wish to leave me?" 

Dream laughed, before smiling widely. "Yes, that is right." 

Hob fought back a grin, before adopting a smug, haughty expression. "Then you must tell me what it is like." 

Dream rolled his eyes at the impression, then captured Hob's mouth in another kiss. The events of the past day poured through his mind. He was free, he was free! Free to live, free to love, free to love Hob, forever. No one could ever again forbid his happiness. 

Hob set him down, arms still tight about him. He looked at Dream like he'd received every answer to every prayer he'd ever begged for. 

'My once Dream… My beautiful Darkness…my Night'.

(Uff, that was a roller-coaster to write! Rubs hands together gleefully. Next up... The transformation!)

[astarionsdarlingjade]

The End of Love

Chap. 1

word count~ 1253

Iris strode down the long hallway of the manor, her sword held out in front of herself. Her red eyes scanned the array of shut doors before the smell of iron reached her nose. She rushed over to a door at the end of the hall and threw it open.

A necrotic aura flooded out of the room and into the hallway, but the woman pushed her way through. Her black and red armor clinked as she entered, and her gaze fell on a small child, lying prone on the ground. She scoffed before a clatter sounded out from the hall.

With a quick spin, Iris thrust her blade through a man, a kitchen knife held tightly in his outstretched hand . The tip of her sword burst through his chest, and blood leaked down his mouth as his body fell limp.

She pulled her blade back , and the body dropped to the floor. She stared down at the corpse, a look of distaste on her face, before she wiped the blade off and stepped back into the hall.

The sound of her sword returning to its sheath rang out through the hallway before a scream reached her ears.

She sighed to herself before continuing on.

As she reached the end of the hall, Iris glanced up at large door, embedded with an intricate script.

"Can this day get any worse?"

The sound of creaking floor boards reached her ears and she spun around, her blade drawn and ready to strike.

It felt like hours had passed when she came across a door concealed with magic. After dispelling the warding spell, Iris took a moment to collect herself before stepping into the room.

She stood still, her eyes closed as her ears searched for a sign of life. When she heard none, the woman slowly opened her eyes.

A dingy cell like room surrounded her, illuminated only by a flickering lantern. She took a deep breath before the sound of something shuffling drew her attention.

Iris followed the noise, her sword raised. She stepped around a large crate, her gaze moving past it, when a loud thump caught her attention.

She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes met with a man's, his gaze locked onto hers.

A clacking sound echoed from the walls as she slowly turned around, her ruby eyes widening.

"What in the...?"

Iris' gaze landed on a ... walking skeleton. Although she supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. She had come across far worse in her travels thus far.

Its bony hands and feet tapped on the floor as it approached, its jaw hanging by a few tendons and its empty eye sockets locked onto her.

Her grip on her sword tightened as the creature continued toward her.

"Hells, " she muttered under her breath.

It moved closer, and she tensed up.

Just as it was about to reach her, her body shot forward. She swung her sword in an upward motion, and the blade knocked or back.

She turned back the man behind her. She shook her head. She was there for one thing and one thing only- the head of Cazador Szarr.

Iris sheathed her blade and began looking around the room. As she neared the man, her gaze focused in on his hands, tied with a chain.

"You, spawn, where is your master?" she asked, her matching red eyes not leaving his.

The man said nothing, his eyes glued to her blade.

She looked him over. His clothes were covered in a layer of dirt, his face bruised and bloody. A stray silver curl lay askance on his forehead.

"Need I repeat myself?" Iris asked, her tone firm.

Still, he said nothing.

Iris' patience wore thin. She grabbed the chain and lifted the man off the ground. He let out a grunt as she slammed him against the wall.

"Tell me where he is," she growled, "or I'll cut out your tongue."

The man glared at her.

"Do what you will," he spat.

"Tch," she clicked her tongue and sighed.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, frustration and rage filling her. It had taken months to track the bastard down- years, really, and now...

She needed to stay focused. He was in here somewhere, she knew it. She just had to find him. And then cleave the head clean off of his shoulders.

She knelt down and placed a finger under the elves chin, lifting his head so he was looking her in the eye. 

"Listen here, spawn," she said, her voice low. "I am not here for you. You have done me no harm. But if you do not tell me where he is now, I will cut you down and leave you here to die."

He sneered. "Go ahead then," he said, his eyes ablaze.

Iris' eyes narrowed, time spent here interrogating was precious time wasted.

She stood and walked to a table set against the wall. Her eyes fell on a large butcher knife, the blade caked with blood and gore. She picked it up and turned back to the man.

"This is your last chance," she said. "Tell me where he is or-"

"You'll kill me? You'll cut me up? Do your worst. "

Iris' expression grew dark. She shuddered under his gaze, a chill racing down her spine. She suddenly remembered the book she had found in one of the rooms, on filled with names. 

She licked her lips before she spoke, hoping to get some reaction from him. "Astarion."

His eyes widened as his head snapped up. "How do you know that name?"

She was surprised, it was a simple guess. And the first name from the list that came to mind when she first set eyes on him. The meaning wasn't lost on her either. 

The knife fell from her hand as she turned to him. 

"It was written in a journal," she said plainly. She needed to calm her temper, he was still a vampire after all. Even if he was just a spawn, he still had an edge on her.

He took a deep breath and turned away. A strange circle of scars spread across the planes of his back.

"You have two choices. Tell me where he is and live, or don't and die."

He stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on her, before he began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Iris asked, her tone growing more confused than the threatening tone it was supposed to take.

He looked at her.

"You are. Nearly two hundred years and not a single soul has come here. Well, not a living one. And yet, here you are."

"Two hundred years?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, not bothering to further elaborate. Instead his eyes scanned her, a glint of a familiar hunger in his glowing eyes. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

"Well, then," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "It looks like you've been waiting quite a long time."

Iris smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she took a step forward.

"Let me give you some good news."

He eyed her, a smidge of curiosity and a look of apprehension filled his visage as she approached.

"I'm here to kill him."

His eyes widened slightly, the anger and hatred that was once present replaced with something that resembled shock .

"You... what?"

Iris' smile widened, her sharp canines poking out.

" Your master, I mean. I'm here to kill Cazador Szarr. "

Notes~

This is in a similar vein as my other fic, but it's set in an au where Tav found Astarion a year before the game, and the events of the game never happen. This is also on my ao3.

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 12

Chapter 12: Taste the Autumn Air

Words: 6900 (hehe nice)

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

Azriel and his boy problems. Featuring a flashback to the High Lord's meeting (what did he say and where did he disappear to that night?) and a flashback from when Azriel and Eris first met.

Snippet below the cut. Read on Ao3

Eris swallowed his unhinged laughter and Azriel watched, following the movement of his throat. His head spun when he felt that the air around them had changed, from ice cold to unbearably hot.  “Not up to killing in her name after all? Pity.” Eris clicked his tongue, his voice no more than crackling embers. He knew he was goading the animal but he wanted this finished once and for all. Let him get it out of his system and then maybe he will lay this obsession to rest.  Azriel’s face was screwed up in anger but he dropped his fist to his side. “It’s not about her. It’s never been about Mor. Ever.”  “You strangled me in front of everyone. Nearly killed me!” Eris scoffed and turned his face away. “Maybe you should have, then we could be done with this.” He finished a little quieter.  When Azriel didn’t answer him, Eris chanced meeting his eyes again, the black of his iris’ nearly swallowed the hazel completely and Azriel’s breathing was ragged. His wings flared and his shadows grew behind him, making him look like a true omen of death. Beautiful and terrible.  ‘Do it.” Eris rasped as Azriel’s grip on him tightened, his anger reflected in the fires he could feel dancing in his eyes and shown back to him from the surface of Azriel’s obsidian ones. They breathed in one another’s ire, beat after infuriatingly slow beat, then without warning, Azriels lips were on his. Eris was burning and he was going to die, he was sure of it. Azriel crashed into him, his teeth tearing at Eris’ mouth, his throat, his collarbone as he elicited sounds out of Eris that he had never heard himself make before. He returned all of it and more, their teeth clashing against each other in the fever of drinking each other up. Eris arched up to meet Azriel’s body as it pressed into him, their hands clawing over arms and chests and faces, trying to get closer.  Closer, he needed to get closer. He needed more. As soon as the thought was out of his head Azriel stopped, seeming to come back into himself, realizing what he had done. He took his trembling hands from Eris tunic and gripped the trunk of the tree behind Eris, placing their foreheads together. Eris was shaking, he wanted to scream, to sob, anything to compete with the dizziness from the abrupt loss of him. His hands fisted at his sides where they were trembling uncontrollably.   “Yeah,” Azriel’s voice was shredded, “Maybe I should have. Then at least we would be free.” 

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ... Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77

[yndlings]

(I have the game on ps5 so I don't get the high-res textures)

A pet peeve of mine is when I see people call his eyes brown cause they've not looked at them closely. Like it really doesn't matter. But as a nerd I truly like his little genetic quirks. He has an untouched black streak in his hair, and central heterochromia. Which are misocastic mutations that either happened spontaneously in embryo, or something he inherited. And I just find that super cool.

In hazel eyes, the brown/yellow slowly transitions, and are scattered around the iris, but with CH, the dark brown has a "ring" around it. You have the true color on the outside. Then, comes a yellowish color surrounding an edged brown which surrounds the pupil.

[dysthanasia-series]

Apophenia Ch. 2

<< Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 >>

Patreon | Ao3

Words: 1,433

Summary: Often, the things we fear most don't happen. Often, but not always.

Content Advisory: Sexual situations and discussion (kissing, innuendo, touching), violence, choking/strangulation, threat of death/harm, mentions of traumatic past events (death of family members, bodily injury, survivor's guilt), abduction, hints of suicidal ideation

Not only was it nice, roomy with soft leather upholstery, it also had windows tinted enough that any passersby would’ve had to press their face against the glass to see him straddling Renato’s lap in the backseat. Not as private as an actual room, but good enough to let him switch most of his inhibitions off.

“Do you mind marks?” The question, breathed against the crook of his neck, set off a shiver.

“No.” His overheated brain cells sparked. “Well, yes. I mean…I don’t, but I, um. Have an important meeting coming up, so maybe keep them below the collar?”

“Gladly.” Renato immediately undid the necessary shirt buttons, single-handedly continuing down the line without fumbling. Practice had apparently made perfect.

Isaac’s attempts to return the favor were hampered by a series of nibbles along his shoulder. He got the job done, though, his reward a swath of chest and stomach tight with muscle as advertised. Isaac traced one of the neat, thin scars curved beneath a pectoral, then its twin on the other side.

“Enjoying the view?” Renato leaned back to give him some more of it.

“Well, I’m technically a tourist, right? It’s important to see the sights. Take in the culture.”

Fingertips skimmed over the ripples of his ribcage and slid down his waist, coming to rest just above his hips. “And what other ways do you like taking it in, Isaac?”

“One thing at a time. I don’t like rushing.”

“Would you follow my lead if I played the guide?”

“Maybe—if I like what you’re showing me.”

A laugh and then firm hands slipped around to cup his ass, pushing his hips closer, forcing his knees wider apart. “Ah, is that how it is?”

He reminded himself to breathe evenly, slowly. “Unless you’re going to convince me otherwise.”

One of the hands wandered up to bury itself in the curls at the back of Isaac’s head. A tug got him to tilt and expose a long, clean line of neck. Smirking, Renato leaned in and made an extremely persuasive argument with lips, tongue, and just a hint of teeth on the skin there. Reserves of dignity running into the red, Isaac squirmed. It wasn’t enough to break free, even if he’d wanted to. There was an amused hum against his throat, and the hand still on his rear left to creep under his shirt. Fingertips found the network of scars crisscrossing Isaac’s back. They followed the trails of decade-old agony upwards, skimming over growing knots of tension in the muscles beneath.

Renato pulled away, eyes half-lidded. “It looks like I got carried away and left a mark after all, lindo. Forgive me?”

The resulting rush of relief at not being questioned about the scars made Isaac’s head swim. Not only did he absolve Renato, he cupped his cheeks before bringing their mouths crashing together.

Stinging, searing pain pierced his bottom lip. Isaac jerked back with a gasp, eyes watering. Dabbing the spot, his index finger came away smeared with something dark. Blood, shining black in the sheltered gloom of the car. He must’ve cut himself on a tooth while attacking Renato’s face.

Glancing up, he understood why.

His mouth partway open in a pant, Renato had revealed a pair of fangs. He stared at the seeping cut with pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of blue-green iris remained around them.

“Shit! Bloodborn.” Isaac blurted. So far out on the coast? He’d been under the impression they mostly stuck to cities in the Central States where they had a steady food supply. Then again, what did he know beyond Coven basic training? He’d never met a vampire face-to-face.

The word induced a complete transformation. Renato’s brows leapt up, his lips parting further in shock, even horror, judging from the way he recoiled. Isaac inhaled, about to reassure him maybe, definitely to make some inquiries, but a hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his voice and air.

“Cast a spell and I’ll kill you.” Renato sounded out of breath himself.

Isaac tried to explain that he neither knew any type of witchcraft nor had he been born a sorcerer. The weak croak that came out didn’t quite cover it.

“Listen very closely. Either nod or shake your head to answer. Understand?”

He nodded to the best of his ability.

“Are there others here with you?”

Regret struck immediately after his head shake. Should he admit to being on his own? He couldn’t weigh the consequences—his mind was already curling up and crumbling around the edges from lack of oxygen.

Fangs snapped a hair’s breadth from his face. “Don’t lie to me.”

Isaac added whimpering denials to the head shaking. The world around him blurred and spun. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe he’d pass out before he was killed.

“Don’t scream. Scream and I’ll crush your windpipe.”

The pressure around his neck went from strangling to merely stifling. He sucked in whistling breaths as quickly as possible. Hyperventilation became the new reason for the white fog creeping over his vision.

“What were your orders? To distract? Delay?”

“Werew—”

Renato’s fingers constricted again. “I’m the one asking questions.”

It took another round of head waggling and tugging futilely on his shirt sleeves to get him to relent.

“Werewolfs,” Isaac gasped as soon as he was able. Not correct, and not even the type of animal he was there to see, but it was the first word his brain coughed up.

More white showed around Renato’s dilated eyes, turning them uncanny, doll-like. His hand slipped up Isaac’s shirt once more, probing the scars etched into his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he spat, retracting his touch, “you’re one of Mayer’s!”

“Who—”

A squeeze cut him off. “Of course. Why not? Because this job wasn’t miserable enough without adding wet dog to the list.” Renato scowled, his pupils shrinking a fraction. “Here’s what’s going to happen, my clever friend. You’re going to get out of my car—slowly. You try to run, you die. You signal to someone, you die. You attract any sort of attention, you and the witnesses die. I’m not in the mood to get rid of corpses, so it’s in both of our interests that you cooperate. Agreed?”

Not at all, but no viable ways to protest came to mind. Careful not to make sudden moves, he crawled out of Renato’s—the bloodborn’s lap. His hand went toward his tab, carelessly tossed onto the seat, but a disapproving hiss made him freeze.

“Leave it. Go.”

Isaac wound up standing beside the car, shivering and clutching the sides of his shirt closed, until the bloodborn joined him.

“Around to the back.”

Ice water flooded his veins when the trunk yawned open and he saw the contents. A rifle—the kind that came in matte black and could mow down an entire herd of deer. An accompanying metal ammo box. Two small bottles of lighter fluid, zip ties, a cannister of salt. Not tools usually associated with marine biology.

Renato picked up the ties. His eyes had returned to normal, but didn’t hold anything Isaac would’ve called human anymore. “Hands behind you.”

Coven field guides recommended resisting when it came to bloodborn. Fleeing, fighting, screaming, anything but being taken to a more private location. None of those actions had spared him or his family ten years ago, of course. The nightmare amalgamation of pale man and white wolf that had stalked into their campsite just couldn’t have been stopped by ordinary means. Once the ragged claw wounds had become scars and the weight of survivor’s guilt on his back, Isaac had come to understand that. He also knew the same applied in the present situation, with one exception.

His gaze turned toward the little rest stop diner. The silhouettes of people through its softly illuminated windows. People who had friends, families, a place in their community. A cursed werecreature would’ve torn through them indiscriminately. This monster with a human face tapping his foot impatiently was willing to settle for just Isaac.

He brought his numb, trembling hands around behind him. Winced as the zip ties were drawn tight. The bloodborn helped steady him as he crawled into the trunk.

Isaac didn’t bother to thank him. Just curled up, pulling his feet away from the rifle, and said, “You’re not going to get away with this.” It sounded weak, even to him.

Eyes glinted night-vision green above him. “My performance reviews say otherwise.”

The lid came down and sealed Isaac into the darkness of his lightly upholstered tomb.

Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @sunset-a-story @scoundrelwithboba

@extrabitterbrain @ashirisu

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 70

I’m not going to lie, I think the soundtrack from this scene traumatized me slightly. It still haunts me just looking at the screenshots of this section.

If I had the skills or willingness to do this I would badly place Ooishi’s and Ootaka’s faces over the fight scene between Ocelot and Old Snake from Metal Gear Solid 4 here. Thinking about it, since I’m like ninety percent certain it got an adaptation, there’s probably some animated yelling faces for Ootaka. It doesn’t quite make sense, but I’d make sure that it’d be Ooishi doing the “Russian taunt” to Ootaka.

It’s a bit premature, but you can already hear the trombone player just raring to go with the “wah wah wah waaaaaaaaaah.”

And so Ootaka was never seen again. Presumably he was thrown into Okinomiya bay with a lovely pair of cement shoes.

Just for funsies three separate Akane’s for your viewing pleasure. I have to once again comment on some appreciable, but admittedly somewhat small differences between the art styles. I enjoy the rather smug smile of the original version, the much more pronounced look of annoyance at Ootaka’s buffoonery with the console art, and the more detailed look of the kimono Akane is wearing in the remake style. I appreciate that you can see the detailed line work on the white obi, as well as the floral pattern on the kimono itself. But then again I can also appreciate the all black of the original as well.

Anyway, now that their one and only avenue to try to verify the truth about the “dead Rika” situation has been completely and utterly stopped, it’s time to see how Takano is handling this set back.

Looks like the news hasn’t arrived yet. Probably for the best really.

This is going to sound needlessly combative, but I don’t think I believe Irie’s narration. I sort of doubt he really has any desire to save Takano, he’s not a bad guy, but I just don’t think he really gives a damn one way or the other about Takano as a person. He merely wants to stop her from killing two thousand villagers.

Man, when things start going poorly it all just piles on at once doesn’t it?

Uh oh Takano!

[radix-outpost]

Hope you're not tired of seeing Porygon2, because I'm finally posting the dang pattern. :U (In part because I don't know if Ravelry accepts text files.)

[HEAD]

{hot pink} 0) MR 6 1) inc 6 (12) 2) [sc, inc] x6 (18) 3) [sc 2, inc] x6 (24) 4) [sc 3, inc] x6 (30) 5) [sc 4, inc] x6 (36) 6) [sc 5, inc] x6 (42) 7) [sc 6, inc] x6 (48) 8-13) sc 48 14) [sc 7, dec] x6 15) [sc 6, dec] x6 16) [sc 5, dec] x6 17) [sc 4, dec] x6 18) [sc 3, dec] x6 19) [sc 2, dec] x6

--

[EYES] x2

{white for sclera, black for pupil/iris}

0) ch 5 1-2) sc 4, ch, turn 3) dec, sc 3, ch, turn 4) dec, sc 2 {embroider pupil}

--

[BEAK]

{medium blue} 0) ch 5 1) sc 4, continue on other side, sc 4 (8) 2) inc, sc 7, inc, sc 7? (10) 3) sc 10 4) inc 2, sc 6, inc 2 (14) 5) sc, inc 2, sc 8, inc 2, sc (18) 6-10) sc 18

--

[NECK]

{hot pink} 0) ch 19 1) sc 18, join 2-6) sc 18

--

[BODY]

{start w/hot pink} 0) 0) MR6 1) inc 6 (12) 2) inc 2, sc 2, inc 2, sc 2, inc 2, sc 2 (18) 2) [sc, inc] x6 (24) 3) [sc 2, inc] x6 (30) 4) [sc 3, inc] x6 (36) {around this point, I started cc'ing medium blue on each fifth stitch of increase rounds} 5) [sc 4, inc] x6 (42) 6) [sc 5, inc] x6 (48) 7) [sc 6, inc] x6 (54) 8) [sc 7, inc] x6 (60) {until instructed otherwise, carefully cc medium blue such that the bottom third of Porygon2's body is blue} 11-22) sc 60 23) [sc 7, dec] x6 24) [sc 6, dec] x6 25) [sc 5, dec] x6 26) [sc 4, dec] x6 27) [sc 3, dec] x6 28) [sc 2, dec] x6 {hot pink only past this point; begin stuffing body} 29) [sc, dec] x6 {dec closed}

--

[TAIL]

{medium blue} 0) MR 3 1) inc 3 (6) 2) [sc, inc] x3 (9) 3) [sc 2, inc] x3 (12) 4) [sc 3, inc] x3 (15) 5) [sc 4, inc] x3 (18) 6-12) dc 18 14) [sc 4, dec] x3 14) [sc 3, dec] x3 16) [sc 2, dec] x3 17-25) sc 9 {note: this is a rough estimate of how to do Porygon2's tail correctly the first time; I had to go back and reinforce the stem}

--

[FEET] x2

{medium blue} 0) MR 6 1) inc 6 (12) 2) [sc, inc] x6 (18) 3) [sc 2, inc] x6 (24) 4-9) dc 24 10) [dc 2, dec] x6 (18) 11) [dc, dec] x6 (12) 12) dec 6 {dec closed}