#chomping down on his offspring

[einleetermilch]

V1 devouring V2

[elizabebabe]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 ◟✿ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: a certain shipment delivers more than sweet, southern y/n could imagine.

| ”i love a good southern belle.”

minors dni!

| “right now? on my tractor?”

| “i’m gonna touch you now, okay sweetheart?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n, kissing, fingering, exhibitionism?, smut with plot, smut; softdom!matt, innocent!reader, physically&verballyabusive!dad, religion; saying grace.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: this idea came to me when matt said he loved southern belles in the dress to impress video from a month ago…i took so long now that i think about it. 😞

the warm wind pushed through your locks, you were hunched down providing your pigs with their daily diet consisting of corn and other grains.

they huddled around it, chomping on what used to be in the bucket clutched between your palms.

your boots dug into the mud underneath you creating little footprints everywhere you stepped.

“i’m comin’” your sweet, thick southern accent laced your voice once you heard your mama call you in for supper.

you chucked the pale onto a hook adorned in the barn before giving your beloved piggies a few pats, locking their gate and hiking towards the family farmhouse, your bows placed through your hair bounced as you skipped, ready to tuck in. 

a few plates scattered the table in front of you, abigail; your little sister properly sat at her “assigned seat.” truly the spot she sat at her whole life as-well as your little brother and mother.

“expect a shipment later today, tony should be bringin’ over a few goods.”

you nodded towards the voice, taking a seat at the chair across from your littles.

with such a big farm it was normal to receive constant shipments, you had a lot of animals to feed, including yourselves.

tony was the usual, he dropped a few things off casually and constantly rambled about his recent divorce it was tough to listen to but your dad always made you do it since you had the most cheerful face.

“how could he be sad lookin’ at those cheeks.” he spoke in a baby voice, one you recognized from when he spoke to your mom, finishing off his statement with a pinch of your cheeks.

the plate of oats and raised eggs landed in front of you, “enjoy sweetheart.” your mom said softly, delivering the rest of the plates she held like a server to dad and your little brother and sister. 

“make sure you flash him a smile, make him feel special.” your dad continued, sure you were almost eighteen but you couldn’t help feeling weird when he said things like that, uncomfortable almost.

you let it slide following with a “i know.” you all link palms, abigail coiling her fingers between yours and your dad doing the same.

"dear lord, thank you for this food we are about to eat. we ask that you bless this food and continue to guide our family along your path, amen.”

your mom shared a quick grace before letting go of austin and her husband beside her hands.

you dug into the meal in front of you, family around you doing the same.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

after supper you strolled outside, ready to tend to your sheep while your siblings were “old enough” to handle the chickens as they were only four and three, dad brushed it off expecting the best from his offspring.

the walk to the barn was calming, the hydrated grass underneath you squelching with each step.

seconds after stepping into their pen they crowd around you ready for lunch, you grab a bag out of a cabinet tucked into a corner, throwing the feed into the feeders and gently place the bag back where it belongs.

you kneeled at a stool sat in the same corner grabbing one of the few lamb’s and “throwing” it over your knees, giving it access to the bottle scrunched in your palm.

you were close with the animals, loving to take care of them especially your horses, you even named them all which was overridden by your younger siblings.

sometimes you still whisper the forgotten names towards them, ultimately making you sad that they don’t know it.

‘dong’, ‘dong’ 

the bell, tony was here, you picked the baby off you after a few more seconds of feeding deciding the shipment would be more important to dad than the babies right now, you hastily prepared yourself, adjusting your flowy pink dress and frilly socks that popped out of your boots, dusting off your butt as it came in contact with the dirty stool.

you strided outside the big red building, watching the tractor you recognized drive up from the gate that was being held open by your father.

‘did tony shave?’ you questioned in your mind, noticing his beard was absent from afar.

once he drove closer you observed the person not being tony at all, your hand’s immediately clammed now having to meet someone new instead of the normal routine.

your dad walked alongside the big vehicle, chatting with the man operating it.

“y/n!” your dad beckoned which hurried your speed, the driver wore a flannel and a cap, some dusty boots hung onto his feet.

“this is matt, tony’s nephew.” he mentioned with a nod, matt  made eye contact with you once you came a bit closer. his gaze was intense, eye contact was ten/ten.

the blue hue didn’t help the piercing that they did to your soul, he waved, “hey.” pushed past his plump, pink lips, he had a similar accent to you but it was lighter, softer but huskier at the same time.

you were speechless, ‘why have we never met?’ living on a farm that was a large distance from your small town resorted in you not getting any interaction with guys your age, your only friends were the chickens you raised and you grew content with that but this brief meeting started this idea that you were missin’ out on the world.

“hi.” you say bashfully, your head finding the grass underneath you.

“y/n, where are your manners?” you could tell your dad was scolding you but he did it slyly, not trying to embarrass himself.

“greet the young man, properly. i’ve got work to do.” he stated before walking to the stables parked away from your home.

matt stepped off the big tractor, walking towards you, the butterflies in your stomach were persistent making it hard for you to hold a conversation.

“where should i put it all?” he nodded towards the vehicle with things you knew too well hooked on the back.

“uhh..” you hummed, speechless, behaving like you’ve never directed a shipment before.

he was patient, watching your face scrunch as you thought deeply, placing his hands on the peak of his hips.

you looked between him and the essentials hooked to the back of the tractor, “feed goes to the coop.” you pause.

“hay and seed in the barn.” halfway through your sentence he’s already made his way to the supplies, unpacking and sorting the items you listed. 

“do you want me to install the heater.” he mentions the appliance your dad ordered for the winter, as the old one started collecting dust after being broken for the last few months.

“that’s okay, my dad likes doin’ stuff like that.” you smile cheerfully trying to keep your composure and give him the warm welcome your dad would want.

he chucked a heavy bag over his shoulder which flexed his clothed bicep, you just watched, stood there, your boots stabbing the grass beneath you. 

he heaved another bag under his unoccupied arm and trekked towards the coop. usually this is when you get back to work, leaving the unloading to the man that previously sat behind the wheel.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

hay picked out of your palm, the horse in front of you bucking its head towards the lush foliage. your other hand brushing down the side of tilli’s neck, tilli being the name of the large animal ahead of you.

beads of water suddenly tapped on your shoulder, bringing you out of the gaze you strongly held on your “baby”.

your head dragged up to the hole that poked through the roof of the stable you stood in, the once bright sky seemed clouded but was hard to make out.

you took a few seconds waiting for tilli to finish what was in your hand then stepped away from her gate, walking towards the arch you previously had entered.

the sky was light but had a darkness that seemed to loom, your eyes quickly averted to the man who interacted with your father, gestures moving through the wind as you noticed the almost empty cart before them both.

“perfect.” you heard faintly.

“y/n, get over here.” your dad beckoned, the man beside his eyes latching and lingering onto you as you strolled over.

“yes daddy?” your words pushed past your lips, the accent on you looping through your words which seemed to earn a subtle gulp from the guy you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.

the rain hurriedly fastened, starting to fall harder than before which sent a shiver down your spine.

“go on in, i’ll finish up.” you watched your mom poke her head out as your siblings ran inside your farmhouse doors.

“i don’t mind..” you mumble through the bumps collecting on your skin as well as the wetness, even the shakiness of your voice was evident.

you don’t know why you were adamant on staying out..maybe you wanted to impress a certain someone with your perseverance.

“don’t make a fuss.” your dad scolded, it was soft but it was there.

it snapped you out of the impression you attempted to make, your head immediately falling to the wet ground under their feet.

“now matt.” his hand swung to matt’s shoulder giving it a harsh squeeze, the palm sturdy on his flannel and the rain around you all turning to thunder which brought a squeal out of you and was a kick in the butt to rush towards the doors, not running in an attempt to keep your flowy now wet dress down.

you turned the nod, your mom seeming to have headed upstairs with your drenched brother and sister. you didn’t close the door behind you though you watched the interaction unfold through it.

it seemed normal and you expected matt to drop off the last bits of supplies tomorrow but those expectations were averted when you saw them both heading to you…or to the doors of your house.

‘what..?’ clouded your mind.

drips hit your hardfloor, splashing on contact.

“he’s gonna stay the night, too bad out there.” dad breathed.

you stepped away from the door as they both piled in your hand moving from the clutch you held onto the rustic frame.

your mind couldn’t help blocking out your dad’s words as soon as you heard, “he’s gonna stay the night.”.

a man that isn’t your dad? 

staying here?

under the same roof?

how is he okay with that?

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you all settled at the table ready for dinner, too busy working in the field you and father seemed to miss lunch, the man you averted your gaze from but couldn’t stop staring at sat at the head of the table, just like your dad. you could tell your little sister was giving him a curious stare as she sat ahead of you.

which meant you both sat beside him, both staring at him in different ways.

“here you are darlin’.” mama sat the full plate before matt.

“thank ya.” he thanked her his head swiveling towards her, he didn’t seem to speak much but everytime he did, your belly twirled hearing that accent lace his words. 

it was music, music to your ears.

your spoon scooped into the red beans and rice your mom decided to make for comfort especially with the kids being frightened by the loud rumbling outside.

“matt, y/n” your dad beckoned at the table which snapped your head, “we say grace here.”

“remember?” you could hear his disappointment, you were even disappointed in yourself as your mind must’ve been elsewhere as this was the first time you forgot to say grace.

“m’ sorry.” you almost whisper, the man beside you taking longing stares at your now somber expression.

your dad clears his throat, his hands clinging to mom and stretching your arm towards him, he didn’t hold your hand, he clutched onto your wrist which punished you even further.

the bruising you could feel around your squeezed wrist subsided when a large hand grabbed at your small palm, matt seeming to take to the tradition sent a chill down your back.

eyes closed and your dad begun,

"dear lord, thank you for this food we are about to eat. we ask that you blah, blah, blah”

the words slurred as you could only focus on the calloused finger that gently caressed the back of your palm. 

“amen.”

the word squinted your eyes open, fingers that once hooked together pulled away, the lack of the hand that weirdly but perfectly clicked in your own disappointed you.

the spoon you dropped from the reprimand you experienced was picked up, shoveling the warm meal into your mouth, attempting to keep your manners that echoed through your mind especially in front of your guest.

‘elbows off the table.’

‘chew with your mouth closed.’

‘small bites only.’

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you hooked your airy nightgown over your sticky body, the water beads you failed to dry clinging to the linen fabric.

you softly pushed your homely bathroom door that arched to your bedroom, walking towards the bed that typically hugged your body. you tugged yourself down, feeling the plush sheets that sprawled the mattress beneath.

while you tossed and turned your mind couldn’t help wandering, thinking about the boy walking your halls, sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms downstairs.

this has never happened to you, feeling something you’ve never felt before scaring you but enticing you at the same time.

you laid flat on your back, arms and legs stretched out not even tucking under your comfy covers. you lunged up your upper half, looking around your bedroom and through the window, water gently hit the glass softer than before.

….

water.

maybe you needed a glass of water to clear your mind, your legs swung off the bed, your hand ruffling the bit of your dress that seemed to lift.

the steps creaked on your impact, your descent to the cabinet was quick as you wanted to hurry back to bed before your dad noticed you were awake.

you knew you needed an early startup to make sure every animal’s needs were catered.

you shuffled through the cabinets, grabbing a clear glass from one of the shelves and placing it under the water dispenser.

“hi.” 

you jumped the cool liquid spilling out of the cup and onto your gown.

“sorry!” the voice continued, your upset ended when you realize who it was.

“it’s…fuck.” you huffed placing the glass to a nearby counter and patting at the big wet spot.

“whoa, didn’t think you cussed.” he pulled a few paper towels off the holder, bunching them up.

“pardon me.” you continued accepting the pats he made on your tummy, attempting to dry the spot.

you were close, his body heat radiating from him, his gaze fixated on the gown you handpicked.

“i-i..didn’t mean to cuss.” you pause averting your attention to avoid flusteredness. 

“it’s okay.” he breathed moving the paper from your belly and to the trash closeby. 

you both stood there awkwardly, the sound of birds chirping filling the silence.

“is it still raining?” pushed past your lips in an attempt to end it, whatever it was, he peered out the panels of your farmhouse door.

“looks like it.” your head snapped towards the bay window that decorated the open lounge room.

it had stopped contrary to your belief as you had witnessed it minutes prior. he walked towards the door, pulling it open and taking steps out onto the porch.

a breeze pushed through his t-shirt and shorts that almost covered his knees. you stepped outside alongside him, your nightgown flowing in the wind.

“it’s beautiful.” he mumbled, which drew your attention.

….

“i’m sure your farm is pretty….no?” you reply.

….

“me and my uncle have a small ranch..a horse or two comes on the land but we don’t own em.” he nodded, his head dragging to his feet.

you watched him, your eyes observing his mood.

“doin’ shipments to get by.” he continued, noticing your silence he took a few steps to the stairs, taking a seat and looking into the deep blue sky, the stars twinkling seeming to catch his attention.

you never worked a day in your life well..worked like that.

everything was made for you, the animals you kept being a fun hobby not something to have food on the table. you followed behind him, sitting beside him on the porch step.

“i’ve never been in that..situation..” you commented hopeful to ease his anxiety that exudes from his mannerisms.

silence…a long pause.

“the stars.” 

you looked up, acknowledging what he mentioned.

“they’re calming.” 

….

“had a sun roof last summer before my dad covered it up, watched the stars every night before bed.” you smiled at him which he reciprocated.

“why?” 

your eyebrow raises.

“why did he cover it up?” he softly nodded at your words.

“punishment.” you continued, your eyes bared into the soles of your feet that touched the wet grass. 

“maybe i didn’t shear the sheep enough, feed the lambs enough, milk the cows, train the horses, even not batting my fucking eyelashes enough for tony.” your eyes welled up as you rambled and his body tensed at the name of his uncle.

he placed his hand on your back, beginning to scoot closer and rub soothing motions on top of the linen fabric.

“m’sorry…” you whispered, tugging your head to look at him.

his eyes warmed at your now wet face, his thumb pricking at your tears. 

“don’t be.” he didn’t mumble or whisper, he wanted you to hear him, hear that.

“i’m just tired.” you choked out, excusing yourself, taking a stand which brushed off his hands.

you basically ran inside ignoring the squeaking of the floor and heading straight to your room upstairs. 

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you slid your tight shorts on, tied your blue gingham top around your bra and tugged on your brown boots. 

you were ready for a fresh day hoping matt had forgotten about your what you would call embarrassing outburst.

you hurried down the steps, noticing your siblings in their playroom and your mom in the kitchen. matt and your dad seemed to have settled near the porch.

matt was tucking things into a backpack he must’ve tugged in last night.

“y/n!” your dad noticed your presence peaking onto the porch.

“you woke up late, lambs are behind, help matt out the gate, his tractors in the barn.” a familiar stern pat landed on matt’s shoulder.

you were already ashamed and the dump of chores made it worse, you brought your head down, nodding and stepping off the porch you felt matt following behind you.

you walked him over, and he quickly chucked his bag on the vehicle that sat in the barn all night avoiding the thunder and potential rust.

“last night,” he stated.

your face scrunched up, cringe crawled your skin.

“my uncle won’t come down anymore.” your eyebrows knitted, ‘what.?’

“won’t let him, i’ll take over.” 

silence..

he stepped towards you, closing a gap that was wedged by a tractor.

“you won’t have to see him again.”

“it won’t fix your problems with your dad bu—“ he attempted to continue but your arms slung around his neck, pulling him flush against your body.

tears sticking up your eyelashes.

you pulled your head out of the crook of his neck, your eye’s connecting, embarrassment rushing over you after your mind caught up with your body.

there was a certain tension, a tension you couldn’t resist or solve, he seemed to have the same problem as he pulled you up into him, his lips connecting with yours.

it was surprising at first but then felt so right, it was sudden at first but felt so right.

the sun beamed into the barn, he pulled away from you, a quick peck being the only thing he gave you.

“m’sorry.” he nodded slowly, pulling his arms from your sides.

“don’t be.” you pulled him back into a tender kiss, it was slow and sensual, he took control, guiding you through it as you had no idea what you were doing but you could sense him taking his time.

taking a beat before poking through your lips, tongues swirling with each other after he interacted with yours.

he must’ve lost his balance, his knees buckling making him fall back towards the green tractor.

you were making out with a boy stalled on a tractor, it was like a dream.

thoughts of getting caught by your dad, the potential repercussions, scarring your little brother, planting ideas into your kid sister's head and earning a tattle from your mom flooded your mind but was forced to subside when his hand linked under your thigh hooking it up to his waist.

a slam of a door made you jump, your head swiveled and left boot tucked back into the ground, you watched matt readjust his flannel.

“alright, let’s hook these up and you’ll be off.” your dad scrambled holding a few sturdy hay bales , he didn’t seem to notice what had just happened.

“what’s that for?” matt turned towards him, beckoning towards the hay.

“payment, this will have to do for now.” he sighed, stacking the hay into place behind the tractor.

“you can feed those wild horses!” you squealed, budding in the conversation you weren’t a part of even though you were standing beside them.

he smiled at you but it quickly flattened, “you’ll have the money for me soon though, right?” he tucked his hand into his pocket gesturing with the free one.

a huff left his lips, “y/n, don’t interrupt when grown men are speaking.” he slammed his hands against the haystack, giving a few more pats as your lips twisted, matt took note of the expression, you can tell he did by his blatant staring which made you want the mud beneath you to swallow you whole.

“i’ll get you the money, send it through mail or whatever the hell.” he fixated on the cap on top of his head wiping sweat beads from his forehead before walking away.

matt took one last look at the hay tied to his cart before hopping on the tractor, you watched which is something you and matt seemed to have in common, observing the people around you before doing anything, it was definitely something that was instilled in you by your dad’s harsh parenting.

which is why your next move took even yourself by surprise, you stepped onto the ledge that gave you enough leverage to boost yourself on top of his lap.

he looked shocked but his face quickly faded as he met you halfway, assuming you wanted to continue your interrupted make out, reaching for your hips and pulling you closer on his lap, having you straddle his thighs, his hands firmly on your hips as he pulled you towards his chest.

his eyes ran all over your face and body, drinking in the sight of you on his lap for the first time, gently rubbing his hands up and down your torso. he leaned his head forward which signaled you to kiss his plush, pink, plump lips which you had no problem doing.

bringing him closer for loose, gentle pecks that carried what felt like love to you.

they began trailing down your neck, it was casual. he seemed to have no impression to move beyond the kisses but you wanted more, you craved something you’ve never had before and it was an “interesting” feeling.

“interesting”; the wet pool that hastily adorned your panties, the swirls in your stomach. 

his fingers digging into your skin and hands carelessly slipping under your shirt, caressing your soft skin underneath briefly contradicted the light kisses.

“matt…” you breathed, immediately gaining his attention which seemed to halt his movements.

“you okay darlin’?” 

‘“darlin’” where did that come from?’

“i…-i” you couldn’t explain yourself, embarrassment warming your cheeks.

“you want me to stop?” his head tilted his body somehow becoming more distant even squeezed on the tractor seat, “no!” you practically shouted, trying to remember not to beckon your family.

his eyes widened, his body warmth returning, “i need you…in ways i can’t explain.” you hum.

his mouth slightly gaped open, “right now? on my tractor?” he questioned rubbing one of his hands to the side of your head, the other returning under your shirt.

you nodded vigorously, impatience rising with his timid behavior.

he slowly leaned forward, his mouth attaching itself to your exposed collarbone and beginning to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of your neck, seeming to take your nods for gospel.

the hand that previously patted your head slid down, following the smooth expanse of your stomach to those tight shorts of yours, he teased with slow movements on the buttons which resulted in a whine from you.

“patience darlin’.” he smirked, a side of him you’ve never seen poking out under the circumstances, he needed to hurry before someone walked in the barn and he knew it, why was he doing this?

“i’m gonna touch you now, okay sweetheart?” he softly smiled, continuing to toy with the buttons and work your neck.

you softly nodded, hums and huffs slipping past your lips every once and a while.

he pulled at the buttons, zipping down your shorts and revealing your plain white panties, nothing special but he seemed to be amused as you noticed his glossy eyes.

“lift up.” he demanded his tone ruff and husk.

immediately complying, you lifted your lower half, giving him the leverage he needed to slowly slip his fingers underneath the fabric of your underwear, resting close to where you needed him most.

‘what a tease.’

“this okay, darlin’?” he breathed against your skin, looking up at your face.

“mhmm..” you hummed.

“oh baby…let me hear that sweet accent.” he hummed back.

“yes matt.” you squeaked, your thighs squeezing around his.

“good girl.” he nodded, his fingers moving lower, guiding themselves through your slickness. 

you winced at the feeling which made his head turn from below, “you okay?” his head turned which was rewarded with an eager nod, your hands that rested on his shoulder pushing forward as your arms no longer occupied the spot, allowing yourself to squeeze around him for any kind of leverage as he explored your soppy cunt.

focusing on staying lifted so as to not crush his hand and enjoy the feeling from your pussy was hard but you were trying your best and you could tell that’s all he would want.

your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his fingers pushing past your folds and sinking into your dripping hole.

a sharp exhale ensued from your body, your mind already cloudy as his long fingers explored your walls, your eyebrows knitted together while your hips attempted to move themselves but were quickly halted by a firm hand holding you in place.

“patience.” he hummed again.

his fingers scissor inside you, opening your tight cunt, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear once he noted your hissing.

“you feel so good.”

“it’s okay, sweetheart.”

“i got you.”

“just relax.” 

peppering soft kisses to your temple as he did lewd movements downstairs, your head quickly nods to his words, something about his accent making your head spin.. 

an unoccupied digit slipped onto your clit, slowly rubbing back and forth before gaining more speed with the wetness that trickled down your pussy.

your lips curled, not wanting to make any noises with these unexpected feelings.

you never knew what you were missing out on, he played with the noise of your wet squelching, pumping in and out of you just to hear it over and over again.

a curl happening every once and a while resulting in a curl of your back which only gave him more access to deeper inside of you.

you were crumbling, sweat beads dotted your skin.

lips firmly pressed together to avoid any slip ups, “i wish i could hear you.” he whispered to your ear lobe, bringing his palm that clutched your hip to your face, his thumbs gliding over your shut lips.

which allowed your lower half to work against his fingers, you couldn’t help it, your hips moving being instinctual.

he didn’t seem to notice though still paying mind to your shut lips that struggled, you tightened around his slender fingers once he made eye contact with you, his eyes narrow which only made your body tremble more.

you felt embarrassed, being so vulnerable with your pleasure written all over your face right in his sight but at this point you couldn’t worry about it.

you had too much to think about already.

the circles on your swollen clit died down, being more lazy and slow instead of the previous vigorous action. 

a sudden cramp in your belly made you cry, his eyes watching your own once they squeezed shut.

“you’re orgasm is building.” he said calmly, continuing his movements, which made your body buzz.

“o-orgasm..?” you continue to squint, “you’re gonna cum.”

your head turned to its side once you gained a bit of stability and strength.

“it’ll be okay.” he reassured, his hand giving those pats he previously gave on the head.

which lead to your nods.

he was trying not to show it, to remain in control but watching your face contort with pleasure, hearing a “humph” that escaped from your lips and watching your eyes roll back was making his mind fuzzy.

his cock strained, pulsing from beneath his jeans but he wanted to pay attention to you.

this was about you.

his fingers somehow found a deeper spot every time they pushed into you, his hand guiding you up and down the digits.

suddenly what felt like a balloon popped in your tummy, your jaw went slack, legs trembling and vision clouded as you came undone.

his fingers continued working against you, riding you through your high.

“good job sweetheart.” he huffed into your ear, his hip’s involuntarily bucking up into you, soft sorries quickly slipping past his lips.

first smut i’ve ever written.

this isn’t what i originally had in mind when i came up with this idea but it just happened as i continued writing, i also wanted to add more detail but i needed to post before next week anyway love you and forgive me for my inactivity. 🩵

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0

i hope you’re satisfied with your purchase!

© elizabebabe

[mysticdoodles]

hi i saw a post about the fish playing with the human child and even though your addition to that post is 3 years old by now i would love to hear more about ftm sheephead fish :3 (no pressure btw!)

Fish curiosity, in my inbox?? It's more likely than I think, apparently! xD

First off, there's actually multiple fish dubbed 'sheephead'! There's the sheepshead- note the extra S in there- and they look like this:

And yes those are their teeth. Horrifying tbh, but they're very good at what they do- crushing invertebrates and other shelled snacks! They're an Atlantic species that sticks to temperate and warmer waters, and they max out at about half a meter in length.

That's not the fish we're talking about today. The focus of today is the California sheephead wrasse- note the lack of a second S- also known as the 'sheephead' for short. Not confusing at all! We definitely don't bash our heads into walls over the naming conventions and lack of record-keeping of our scientist predecessors.

THIS is the sheephead wrasse, the species of the lovely and now Tumblr-famous Red! :D With a length of up to a FULL meter, they're a whole different size class of fish! They can be found along the west coast USA from the Baja Peninsula all the way up to Monterey, and dwell almost exclusively in kelp forests and nearby environments. I will use one of Red's pics as an example of female coloration-

The lighting isn't great but you can see how her body is streamlined, and besides the white underside of the jaw, has a salmon-pink coloration! Females can be pink or a dull silver-beige. And much like other large marine wrasse, MALES have a drastically different appearance.

This thing is built like a damn tank!! Sheephead are a species of wrasse that shift colors to gain those striking black scales and physically bulk up when becoming males- because guess what? ALL OF THEM ARE BORN FEMALE! By default, all male California Sheephead are FTM trans :) They use that bulky head and extremely tough set of jaws to not only hunt their preferred prey- mollusks, gastropods, and bivalves, etc- but also to bash and chomp down on rival males. This one has won many battles, look at that scarred up muzzle!

The sex change is determined by several factors, as it's not guaranteed all sheephead will eventually become males. Because sheephead school in a harem system- many females to very few males- in order to maximize pressure of stronger offspring, the biggest and healthiest sheephead male will drive out competition from the school. Naturally, a sheephead that lives longer and gains a greater size will have a much higher chance of shifting from a female to a male, if the conditions are right. Stress induced from competition can suppress the hormones that stimulate this transition in females, so they're less likely to gain size and shift from female to male if there's already strong competition taking place. However, in the event there are too few males to mate with the females, or no males present at all, the biggest female will start transitioning to fill the empty slot! It's a long process that can take as few as a couple months, or up to years, depending on resources available.

Conversely, if there are TOO MANY males, they can revert back into females! This process also takes a long time, and is a lot more rare to witness, especially because right now male California sheephead in particular are being spear-fished into becoming an Endangered species :c Sheephead adult males in good condition are considered a trophy animal in spear-fishing and similar marine trophy hunting off the West coast, and because males in particular are being targeted, the gene pool is being reduced when it wrecks the harem structure of schools.

As a fun fact- they're also an incredibly smart fish, and can form relationships with humans, as demonstrated with me and sweetiepie Red cx There's many documented cases of large marine wrasses forming long-term friendships with divers! Here's a humphead wrasse that made friends with a diver she learned would crack snails open for her with a hammer:

I don't work at the facility with Red anymore, but I currently work with two unnamed adult male sheephead, and once again they both like me and seem to despise all my coworkers, even if I never had the opportunity to train them like I did with little Red xD They pick favorites I guess? Now if only I could make friends with the garibaldi...

[bluestar22x]

The Future

The Outcast - Epilogue: The Future

Summary: Just like winter, the end is just the beginning

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,700 (ish)

Warnings: Mention of a baby goat (kid) having died, angst, pregnancy plot, non-graphic labor and birth, fluff, pov changes, quintessential happy ending

Author’s Note: This is a very self indulgent bonus part - you can read the first four parts and have a satisfying ending if this kind of ending isn't your thing. For those who do like this kind of ending guess what my favorite line(s) to write was.

Also, any names I used in this fic were themed and/or meaningful. And if one of my running themes of relating winter with life instead of death wasn't apparent, it should be now.

xxx

Death is far from a stranger on a functioning farm. Even though you usually sold your old, infertile goats to the nearest village's butcher instead of culling them yourself, that still left a whole slew of other ways for you to witness it. Illness, lethal injuries, stillbirths, and difficult deliveries that ended badly for the doe or her offspring or both had all occurred on your farm more than once.

You'd accepted it, and your need to hunt, a long time ago, because you loved the simplicity of this kind of life. You loved being mostly self reliant, knowing you could be fully self reliant if need be, and you loved the companionship of the animals you were dependent on.

Sometimes though, the deaths still hurt. Like when River, your first horse and Meadow's mother had died a few years after you'd moved onto the mountain, due to colic. She'd been in so much pain for so long you'd been forced to end her misery with a knife. The senseless guilt you'd felt after had lasted for weeks.

That was the most you'd ever cried over losing an animal, until one spring morning a year after Pero had decided to stay.

You tried to hide how upset you were by the latest death on the farm when you returned to the cottage to cook a morning meal for you both, but as soon as he followed you inside after an hour of chomping wood, you uncharacteristically started sobbing on sight of him.

Eyes filled with concern, your husband silently approached and gathered you up in his arms, kissing your temple as he did so. You took a deep breath and focused on his soothing warmth, his reassuring broad hands that slid up and down your spine, trying to put yourself back together.

"What has you so upset, mi esposa?" he eventually asked, nuzzling the side of your face, his short beard scraping against it lightly.

You stepped away from him, leaned against the kitchen counter top on one hand, and looked back to him. "It's one of Sweets' kids, the one who was sick, I found her dead this morning."

"I'm sorry cariño," he said quietly, dark eyes serious. "I know how hard you tried to save her."

You shook your head fiercely. "It's not that, I could handle that, it has happened several times before, but it's the way Sweets reacted when I removed the body from the paddock. She started bleating and desperately searching for her, even though she had her other new kid alongside her, even though the body had been cold when I discovered it. Hearing those sounds from her broke my heart."

"It doesn't help I kept thinking -," you paused, eyes widening as you realized what you'd been about to say.

Pero frowned at the way you'd cut yourself off. "It doesn't help what?" he prompted gently.

You sucked in a deep, shaky breath. You figured you might as well not hide it from him. "It doesn't help I kept imagining what she was feeling. Putting myself in her place. I don't think I could handle it if I lost the baby that way."

"The baby," Pero repeated, lips parting in surprise. He reached out to you and tugged you back to him, his arm looped around your waist. "Mi amor, are you saying what I think you are?"

You nodded, fresh tears flooding your eyes, joy overcoming your trepidation. "I am. It's still early, I'm probably only two months or so along, but I'm certain."

You hadn't bled in that time, and had felt nauseous many times over the previous month, neither of which was normal for you. Your emotions had been all over the place lately too. You'd never been a super stoic character, but you were usually far from the emotional wreck you felt like that morning.

Pero beamed at you and the shock of it left you breathless. It was a rare sight, his smile, let alone one that obvious. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek softly, lovingly, showing more affection than you'd once thought him capable of. "Everything will be alright, cariño," he reassured you.

It was not something he could actually promise, no man could act as a god, but his words comforted you anyway.

"I'll need to find a midwife who would be willing to stay the winter with us," you told him nervously. "If I'm correct, the baby will be born in the final days of the year or the early ones of the next. The passage will be closed off by then. When my sister visits I'll ask her to help me search for one."

Pero caressed your cheek with a thumb. "I'm sure an older one without family to care for would agree to stay with us in exchange for coin and free room and board. If not, I will convince them."

You arched your eyebrows, understanding what he meant. "I appreciate the offer, but please don't threaten any of the village midwives, especially the elderly."

"I cannot make any promises, mi amor."

x

Winter had never come faster. Not because it actually arrived sooner, but because there was so much to do before then. In the late spring you and Pero planted your garden and a part of the field with enough crops to keep all the animals and yourselves through the winter.

In the early summer your sister and her husband visited with their four children, two girls and two boys, and for a week the tiny cottage was chaotic. The children were always running off doing something adventurous while your sister helped you milk the goats and Pero and your brother in law worked together to build an additional room to the cottage.

As summer neared its end and your belly rounded, you began to focus on smaller tasks. You still cooked and cleaned, you still took care of the horses and goats, and some of the weeding in the small garden behind the cottage, but Pero assisted you and he took on the tasks that were more dangerous by himself, like hunting. He did the extra work gladly, wanting to do everything he could for you, never feeling like he could do enough.

Harvest came around and your brother in law returned to help with the crops, the midwife your sister had found for you in tow. Her name was Franny, and she was strict about what you could and could not do, having you rest most of the day when she wasn't helping you knit baby clothes, but she was kind, reminding Pero of the one grandmother he knew for only a decade before she passed. It took him time to get used to another adult being in the cottage for so long, but he figured a newborn would be an even bigger adjustment, so he adjusted.

The first snowfall was almost a shock, the months having flown by in a blur, and Pero began to feel anxious. Even with Franny in the spare room, what would later become the baby's room, being closed off from the village for a whole season with you in your condition and eventually a newborn worried him. So many things could go wrong, you of all people knew that, but you would have never agreed to leave the farm. As far as you were concerned if Franny couldn't help you, nobody could, and he supposed you were probably right.

Your prediction about your due date turned out to be precise, your first pangs of labor beginning during an early afternoon at the start of the new year.

He'd found you in the barn, sitting on a square bale of hay with an arm curled around the huge swell at your abdomen, grimacing as you endured the first painful wave.

And then everything moved far too slow. He helped you into the cottage and watched as Franny got to work, prepping for the delivery, clueless about what he could do. Franny was no help there. Traditional as could be, she would've shooed him out of the cottage for the day, no matter the cold, if you hadn't insisted he stay.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to stay, as useless as he felt, as fearful as he felt, but he did it for you. He scraped his mind for ways to help all the while, assisting a dubious Franny in setting up the bed for you, gathering enough firewood to keep your home warm for a couple days, and caring for all the animals on his own as quickly as he could before returning to your side to let you squeeze his hand as your contractions continued to strengthen at an agonizingly slow pace.

It wasn't until morning the next day that Franny declared it was time for you to push. She had you sit up in bed and undress halfway with Pero's help before she prompted you to spread your legs and bend your knees. You pressed your back to Pero's chest after, using his body to support your own.

Through gritted teeth you bore down with several contractions, panting and breaking out in a sweat from your efforts. Pero kept his face close to yours, murmuring encouragement into your ear as you struggled. And when you reached back and grasped one of his a thighs tightly in an attempt to distract yourself, he let you, not caring whether or not it bruised under your fingertips if it helped you cope.

As the minutes passed, as you tired, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your legs trembling, he became concerned something might be wrong, but Franny remained calm, continuously urging you to keep going.

"A couple more," she promised you. "A couple more good solid pushes and it'll be over, sweetie. Don't give up now."

Pero saw it in your eyes, the moment you mentally and physically dug your heels in and began pushing with renewed determination, and he was awed, not sure how you'd come by the reserve.

Finally your laboring paid off and you slumped backwards into his arms, relief washing over your face as a sharp wail pierced the air.

He glanced from you to the small, wet infant flailing in Franny's arms, and his world shifted.

Outside, snow began to fall.

x

Ten years later...

"Why do I have to go?" the seven year old girl before you bemoaned. "Why can't I stay here?"

"You're not old enough to stay here by yourself, Stela," you explained. "Your brother wouldn't even be allowed to stay by himself and he's three years older than you."

"He's old," she stated and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Maybe, but still not old enough."

Stela pouted at you then continued to put on her winter coat and boots, a long dramatic sigh slipping from her as she stood up from the kitchen chair she'd been sitting in. You thought she was far too young to be turning into a moody teenager, but guessed it was the part she'd inherited from her father breaking through.

You finished assisting her five year old sister, Lene, with her coat before leading them both outside into the frigid night. Lene immediately dove head first into the fresh snow layered on the ground gleefully, while her older sister folded her arms and stomped her way over to the front of the barn where Pero and her brother William were waiting for them.

Out of all of your children, William looked most like his father, his eye shape, chin, and nose all miniature copycats of Pero's. Stela had his eyes, but was more like you, physically, and Lene reminded you of your sister. However, they all shared Pero's dark hair and eyes.

"Ready to ride?" Pero quizzed Stela as she trudged right past him. He frowned when she showed no sign of hearing him and met your eyes. "What is she upset about this time?"

"She's angry about being outvoted," you replied. "Said she didn't want to see the stupid lights again and wanted to stay home. She's definitely your daughter."

Pero chuckled and pulled you against him at the hip with one hand as you both trailed your children into the barn to saddle up the horses.

Lene assisted her father with Orion, a four year old colt who was the youngest offspring of the since retired Clover and Thor, grandson to the deceased Meadow, and Pero's new mount. Like his sire, Orion was jet black in color, except for the small crystal shaped star marking that was usually hidden under his forelock. His surprisingly calm disposition was more like Clover though.

Your latest mount, a five year old solid bay mare named Aspen who was Orion's full sibling, was equally as quiet once she'd settled into adulthood, and you had her tacked in no time as Stela watched, still moping.

Last was Thunder, an eight year old bay gelding with a stripe shaped like a lightning bolt running down his face. The most well behaved and eldest offspring of Clover and Thor, Thunder had been assigned to William when he got old enough to start riding on his own.

He was still too tall for William to saddle him, so Pero flung it over the horse's back for him, but the young boy took care of the rest, a true horseman despite his youth.

Once you, Pero, and William led your horses outside the girls approached, Stela hesitantly letting Pero boost her up onto Orion, and Lene begging you to set her in Aspen's saddle. You and Pero climbed on your horses so you were behind them while William found a stump to help propel himself onto Thunder's back.

Someday the children would learn how to ride bareback, but it would not be that night, so you lived with it, though the wind was making you shiver and yearn for the shared body heat.

You led the way up the mountain as was tradition, your family making the trip at least once a winter, more if the children wanted to ride out that far in the dark.

Lene loved it. Loved everything, really. The girl had more positivity and enthusiasm than you and Pero could've ever had combined.

William enjoyed it as well, already into nature as much as you were, and just as quiet about it.

And Stela, well, she often spent most of the ride brooding and complaining about the cold. That night was no different.

Once you reached your destination, you, Pero, and William slowed your horses to a stop a few yards from the edge with your horses shoulder to shoulder so everyone had a great view of the lights.

While the children had grown older (far too quickly), and you and Pero had long since started to grey, the lights had remained the same, seemingly everlasting, tying the years of memories you'd shared together as they shimmered in the sky.

You looked to each of your children in turn and smiled at the delight on their faces, even Stela's, before you glanced to Pero, who was studying your face. You hoped he would never tire of it, cause you certainly wouldn't tire of looking at him, especially when he was holding your middle child by the hip to steady her, to make sure she wouldn't fall off Orion. He was always watching out for his children like that and whenever you witnessed it first hand your heart always threatened to combust.

Fate was not something you'd believed in when you were young, but the older you got, the more you weren't so convinced there wasn't something bigger out there at least nudging you towards the future you were supposed to live out. How else could you have been so lucky to find Pero in time? How else could he have been so lucky to have been chased up your mountain instead of any of the others in the chain that were uninhabited?

One change in events and you'd have never met, or he'd have never turned back come spring. And then you would've never married, and your children would've never been born. You would have spent the rest of your life in tranquility, happy, sure, but never quite fulfilled.

Whether or not fate was real, you were grateful.

You stretched your hand out towards Pero's and he automatically intertwined his fingers with yours, having long lost a hesitancy he'd had towards sharing that kind of intimacy with you.

"Let's head back home," you said simply, and he nodded, turning Orion away from you, for once choosing to take lead.

Guiding you into your future, like you had guided him home.

xxx

Tagged: @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[thiccweebtrash]

Cursed Father, Strongest Mother - Playtime

((This is not proof read I am sorry 🤣😅))

- straightening up around the shrine you hear your son scream and burst out in laughter. So naturally you had to be nosy and know he was okay.

- you quietly sneak toward the thrown room and peek through the door. Your mouth dropping open.

- (s/n) was sitting on Sukuna's lap facing him, Sukana had his head resting on one of his arms, three of his eyes closed except for a side one, that peered at his, as he would say offspring. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other two resting on the arms of his throne.

- (s/n) was concentrating, focusing on Sukuna's belly when suddenly it split open and a large tounge stuck out. Again the loud laughing as he darted his hands forward and tried to grab the muscle which quickly retracted back into the belly mouth, the mouth shutting tight.

- "daddy do it again!" He exclaimed, claping his hands. Sukuna hummed as if thinking about it. This time opening his belly mouth wide, rows of teeth came into view as the large tounge lulled out again.

-this time your son grabbed it, and you watched Sukuna grimace. Pulling the tougne back in (s/n) still didn't let it go and his arms made was into the large belly mouth. You would have swore you heard a "chomp" whispered from Sukuna as you watched him very gently close the mouth around the boys arms.

- "Don't eat me daddy! I taste bad!" (S/n) laughed, easily pulling he hands free. "I beg to differe, children made great stews, ask your Aunt Urume." Sukuna teased. "Well I bet you'd make a good roast!" The boy pointed at his father. All eyes opened now, one brow cocked up in amusement. "Hmm, is that a threat child?" One hand moved from the arm rest and grabbed (s/n) by the foot.

- suddenly the child was hanged upside down, the belly mouth once more opened wide and slowly Sukuna lowered the child toward it, who in turn cried out in pure laughter and fun. Of course, you however, were about to have a heart attack as your son's head was lowered into the mouth.

- "SUKUNA RYOMEN!" You shout and he looks at you, expression unchanged. "GET HIM OUT OF THERE I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT MOUTH HAD BEEN!"

- "Hmm," He lifts the child out, "I'm sure you know very well, where this mouth has been." He shoots you a smug smirk, the same one he knows makes you weak.

- "what's he mean mommy?" (S/n) asked, yiu froze while Sukuna laughed. "You'll understand when your older, child."

[i-cant-sing]

Kai and pregnant First Lady and the babies are kicking and Kai tells them “stop kicking or else-“

Hmmm okay but like:

Kai watches as you waddle over to your room, dragging your feet as the Secret Service follow behind. You're 22 weeks pregnant now, and while its perfectly reasonable for you to be tired, he thinks that something else is bothering you too.

Then again, you're having triplets, so maybe that's what's been making you so sleepless.

Kai wish he could help you, but you still avoid him like plague, still mad over the fact that he got you pregnant.

He called in your Secret Service to ask them what's wrong with you, but they just shrug and say that you haven't been getting some good sleep, only barely able to get a couple of very short naps throughout the day.

Kai doesn't understand what could be the reason for that though. He had suspended you from all of your official duties when he'd heard that you were carrying his offspring, and he made sure that you were eating healthy, and provided you with all kinds of things to make this pregnancy go smoothly. He even got you the stupid body pillow that was totally unnecessary since you could've used him instead.

So, he decided to call your doctor for help.

"Well, at 22 weeks, the fetus are moving around a lot in the womb, even kicking her ribs. Many people don't know how strong a baby's kick can be in the womb. Maybe thats the reason why the First Lady hasn't been able to get a good night's sleep."

"So, what do I do?"

"Hmm, well try to get the babies to settle. You can rub her belly gently to encourage them to move down, maybe talking to them, or even a small walk around the block can lull them to sleep. If it still doesn't stop, you should drop by my office."

So, here Kai stood outside your door. He knocks and waits for you to answer, a grumpy "Come in!" comes from the other side of the door. He walks in and has to bite the inner part of his cheek from laughing at how adorable you look sitting on the floor, eating a Mars bar, hair all out of place as you run a hand through them frustratedly.

"Why... are you on the floor?"

Your cheeks burn slightly as you furrow your brows and look away.

"My chocolate... it slipped out of my hands and I got down to pick it up and.... I couldn't get up so I'm eating it here." You mumbled the last part, muffling up the words by chomping on the chocolate.

But Kai still understood every word, and he nodded and simply walked over to you. Gently picking you up, he carried you to your bed and laid you down. Covering you with your blanket, he sat down on the bed with you.

"I've heard you're having trouble sleeping. Is everything okay?"Kai asks.

"Who told you that? It was Shotou, wasn't it? I told him not-"

"No, I figured it out by the heavy bags under your eyes."

Your nostrils flared. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I too ugly for you now? Well damn, how the hell are we gonna sleep now? Oh that's right- YOU ALREADY KNOCKED ME UP!"

If Kai wasn't trying to get on your good side, he would've told you how illogical your argument is. But knowing that its just your hormones talking, he decided to be the more "patient", more "understanding" partner (like he always is).

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Now that he thinks about it, he sure has been apologising a lot ever since you came around. "I'm just worried about you and the babies is all. Come on, just tell me what's up so that we can solve this."

You looked at him for a moment before huffing. "They're very active. Always moving around and kicking me in the ribs. Even when they move the slightest bit, they just press on my bladder and I have to go running to the toilet." You teared up, frustrated and tired by your own condition. "I've tried everything- I've watched movies, I've sang to them lullabys, Miruko even massaged my belly but they just wont rest and won't let me either. They keep me up all night, Kai. Not to mention the heart burn!"

Kai took your hand in his and rubbed soft circles with his thumb- yes he did google how to comfort your pregnant wife when she's hormonal. "I'm sorry you're going through that. I just wished you would've told me sooner." You rolled your eyes. "Yeah? And what would've you done?"

Kai thought for a second. "How about you let me try? May I?" He asked pointing to your belly. "Take your shot." You said, resting your head back on the pillow.

Kai pulled up your shirt a bit and got closer to your exposed your round bump. "Hello, children." You snickered at that. He's definitely a psychopath.

Kai cleared his throat. "I'm your father, Kai Chisaki. You may have heard about me from your mother. Now, I know this is the first time we're talking, but I have an important matter to discuss with you. Its about how you've been keeping your mother up at night. I understand that there isn't much to do around in there and that you're probably just bored inside, but you will not be kicking your mother, especially at night. You will not fight amongst yourselves either. You will be very good children and you will be on your best behaviour inside there, and I expect nothing less. Do I make myself clear?" He said before placing his hand over your belly button. After a few second, he felt a small kick to his hand. "Good children. Now go to sleep." Kai smiled. "Well, I think that worked splendidly-" He looked up to see you already asleep.

Did he really bore you to sleep or did his strategy work?

It was the latter. It turns out that the kids, by some magic, decided to listen to him and you finally got a good night's sleep for the first time in a week. But they began kicking again the next day, and the day after that. Finally, not being able to take it any longer, you got out of bed and out of your room, where your Secret Service looked at you with worry as they looked at the time. It was 1 am, was everything alright?

"Take me to the President."

"But ma'am, its late. He's sleeping-"

"Take me to the President."

Kai woke up to incessant knocking at his door. He got out of bed, irritated because this was the only time of the day where he was able to get some rest.

"What- Y/n? What are you doing at this hour? Is everything okay?"Kai asked, worried as he took in your form- standing there in your white angelic nightgown with tears in your eyes, looking completely pitiful.

"I- I can't sleep." You sniffled, pointing to your belly.

Ah. Kai immediately let you in, hugging you as he carried you to his bed. He laid you down before laying beside you. Resting on his elbow, he rubbed your belly with one hand and your hair with the other. "Its okay. I'm here, now, Just close your eyes and I'll handle the rest." Kissing your temple, he watched as you nodded and closed your eyes. Then he began talking to your belly. About taxes.

"-and thats why tax evasion is illegal and this should be taught in schools. Don't worry though, I'll teach this stuff to you guys." Kai said, sighing as if he'd just finished reading a fairytale.

He turned off the lights before returning to your side, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling your from behind.

See? You totally didn't need that body pillow.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Because I finally changed my icon after, uhhhh... two years? I’m gonna make some more ghoul headcanons. Yes, this is an excuse. Below the cut.

-When Dew was first summoned, he wasn’t really as feral as he is now, in fact he was pretty subdued, because he didn’t want to get kicked back to the depths. After the ministry decided to hold onto him like a weird cat they found behind a 7/11 and befriended with convenience store ham, he became a lot more wild as he got more comfortable in his new surroundings. 

-Ghouls closer to the surface tend to be a lot less aggressive towards humanity, no one is really sure why, but they seem a lot more well behaved and more inclined to mimicking human behaviors. There are, as always, exceptions to this rule though. 

-Some ghouls are born, others are created, but at the end of the day, nobody can really tell unless they just straight up ask them. Even other ghouls have a hard time telling who came from where, but ghouls from the depths usually know more about the various layers of the depths and ghoul culture.

-Changing elements isn’t unheard of in ghoul society, sometimes it just happens, and, well, what can you do? Sometimes the change is necessary to maintain control/keep groups together, and other times a ghoul might decide to shift elements out of curiosity. Multi ghouls are a lot more common down below than topside because of this, but they do exist; Swiss and Sunshine for example. However, once a group has settled on their dynamic, it’s harder for ghouls to move around as much element wise.

-Aether tends to be one of the gentler ghouls, but he had a nasty habit of biting people when he was first summoned, not because he wanted to hurt anyone really, he’d just get curious if someone waved a hand or a tail too close to his face. He did it in depths, too. He still manages to get a good chomp in here and there from time to time, and it startles the hell out of whoever was unlucky enough to be on the receiving end.

-Ghouls sometimes link their tails together if they’re traveling in groups in the depths because it’s easy to get lost. It’s mostly something ghouls with small... kits(?) will do in order to keep their offspring from wander off. Kind of like how elephants make a chain with their tails and trunks.

-Some ghouls have a very “eggy” smell about them that doesn’t really go away, and gets worse when they’re wet. A ghoul getting caught out in the rain is a one way trip to sulfur town.

-Ghouls are fairly good at taking care of children, even if kids tend to be a bit startled by their appearance, that usually goes away after they realize they’re safe and in good hands. Some ghouls don’t enjoy having to deal with kids or kits, but they would never intentionally hurt one just because they would prefer not having them around. Woe unto anyone who’s mean to a child in their presence, because the ghouls can and will destroy them... or, ya know, kick them out. Whichever gets the job done honestly.

And, finally...

-Copia isn’t sure why, but sometimes the ghouls go absolutely feral and won’t stop screeching and clawing at things. He blames the moon cycle, because it always seems like on the night of the new moon that the ghouls will go from, “How do you do, sir?” to yowling at the sky and scampering around in the dark. In reality, it’s because the darkness makes them feel like they’re back in hell, and some ghouls don’t like that feeling.

[boyfriendsmalec]

Pran always wished he’d had a sibling. As a child he would watch out his window at Pat playfully bickering with his sister. He always wished he'd had something like that. Maybe if Pran had a sibling he wouldn’t feel so alone. Maybe if Pran had a sibling his parents would place all their weighty expectations on him.

Pran was a miracle baby. The results of months of IVF and years of various fertility treatments. When Pran begged for a sibling as a child his parents would just sadly shake their heads and tell them it was impossible. He was the only child they would ever have.

Despite wanting a child so badly his parents didn't seem to like children. Or at least other people's children. They refused to let him to have friends over. They thought children were messy and highly unpredictable. Pran wasn't like other kids though. From toddlerhood he was taught to keep his room clean and up to his mother’s standards.

In some ways he felt his parents didn’t even want a child. They wanted a mini adult. They wanted a son who could pass down the family name. A perfect son with a perfect wife and perfect offspring that could carry on the family legacy.

It didn’t help that Pran always knew he wasn’t attracted to girls. Knowing he had feelings for boys was also something he always knew but tried to deny.

And it didn’t help that his discovery of his attraction to boys was because of Pat, his rival in every facet of his life.

It happened one day when he when he was ten years old. Pran was sketching under the shade of a tree in the school playground, eating his rather depressing-looking, but healthy lunch. He savored each grape, trying to keep the sweetness in his mouth for longer.

The sound of a candy wrapper opening, loud and rustling next to his ear startled him.

There sat Pat, chomping down on a chocolate bar.

“What are you doing?” Pat asked, peeking over his shoulder as Pran snapped his sketchbook shut, cheeks burning.

“Leave me alone,” Pran spat back.

“You always sit alone for lunch. Why?”

Because kids didn’t like Pran. They thought he was too proper and neat. He wasn't like other kids, like his parents told him. They always said it like it was a good thing.

“I like it. It’s quiet,” Pran huffed, turning back to look at Pat. “I like quiet.”

Pat hummed loudly while chewing his candy bar open-mouthed.

“Chew with your mouth closed,” Pran gagged, echoing the words his mom said to him at the dinner table every night.

“Hey you want to try some?” Pat offered, holding the spit-covered chocolate bar in front of Pran. His nose wrinkled in distaste.

“You really are disgusting, you know that?”

Pat rolled his eyes and broke off the saliva-coated portion, handing him the other half of the bar. Pran took it in his hand and looked at it. Almost studied it. He hardly ever had a chance to eat chocolate. He was only allowed to on special occasions like his birthday and holidays.

“Why are you looking at it like you've never seen a chocolate bar before?”

“My mom… she says chocolate is bad for me. I have it maybe three times a year?” Pran shrugged, while Pat’s mouth dropped in shock.

“Three times a year? I have to have at least one of these a day,” Pat said. “No wonder you seem upset all the time when all you eat is a rabbit’s diet.” Pat gestured to Pran’s rather sad looking and wilted salad.

“It’s healthy,” Pran frowned. Did he really look upset all the time? Maybe that’s why the other kids didn’t want to hang out with him.

“Yeah maybe if you were a guinea pig,” Pat snorted. “Come on, try it.”

Tentatively Pran brought the chocolate up to his lips and took a small bite, his eyes widening as the creamy chocolate melted over his tongue.

“Good right?” Pat beamed.

“It’s alright,” Pran said, words muffled, his mouth now half filled with chocolate.

“It’s just ‘alright’ but you ate it all in about five seconds,” Pat raised an eyebrow.

Pat wanted to rebut that but he’d already swallowed all of the chocolate.

Pat tugged out his lunch box and popped it open, pulling out a bag of chips.

“Your mom let you eat these?”

“No,” Pran’s mouth began to salivate. He’d only ever had a potato chip once after he stole a bag at the store when his mom refused to get him some. When his mom found out he lost his television privileges for a month. It’d been worth it.

When Pran shared this story with Pat he looked horror-stricken.

“Pran... that really sucks,” Pat said. Pran didn’t understand why Pat seemed so upset on his behalf.

“It’s not a big deal, not really,” Pran said with a shrug.

“You take it,” Pat handed him the chips. “You need it more than I do.”

“Uh, thank you?” Pran said, confused as to why Pat was suddenly being so nice to him. “You want to trade it for something?” Pran pulled out a container of baby carrots which Pat turned his nose up to.

“You don’t need to repay me,” Pat insisted.

“Really?” Pran’s eyes lit up as he tore open the bag of chips, smiling as he breathed in the salty aroma. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“Your smile is a gift enough,” Pat said, and though he said it as a joke, it jarred Pran and he turned to look at Pat, really look at him. He felt a warmth rise in his cheeks and he felt his heart catch in his chest and it only took him a moment more before he realized this is what liking someone must be like. He’d heard so many other boys in class talk about crushes on girls. He thought they were just making it up.

Turns out it wasn’t made up. It was real. Totally and completely.

Pran was screwed. And he already knew it.

Every day after that, without fail, Pat would bring Pran some kind of treat. A candy bar or a bag of chips, a cookie, once a box of taffy. Pat would watch him eat it with an interested look on his face. He seemed to like bringing Pran new things to try, while also trying to bring back favorites that Pran had. Pran never even told him what he liked, but Pat seemed to tell just from the look on his face.

Some days Pran would even find a sweet placed on his windowsill. He had to tell Pat to stop doing that though, because once his mom almost caught him.

Pran felt bad that Pat was just giving and giving with nothing in return. He didn’t have any money of his own or he would go buy Pat something in return. So instead he drew. He drew and drew and drew. He drew Pat and all Pat's favorite things. Rugby and chocolate bars and dumplings. After months he had filled a full sketchbook with Pat’s favorite things.

He was going to give it to Pat too, had it in his backpack and everything. But that very same day at lunch Pat didn’t come. He got up to search for Pat and when he found him he was behind the bleachers with a new girl from their class. The first thing he saw was Pat smiling as he handed her a chocolate bar. The very same one he gave to Pran the first time he sat with him at lunch.

Pran felt tears burning in his eyes and hurried to the boy’s bathroom, trying to calm himself down in the stalls for the rest of the lunch period.

After school Pat approached him, apologizing for missing lunch and saying that he would make it up tomorrow and give him two candy bars.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Pran said. “Stay away from me.”

He turned away from Pat’s confused face and made his way home, sniffling and hiccuping the whole way home. And when he finally got home he threw the sketchbook in the trash. He didn’t want a reminder of what he and Pat used to have.

He laid in bed for a while, moping until he heard a small, tentative clatter from his window and to Pran’s surprise it was Pha. And in her arms was his sketchbook.

“I saw you throw it out,” she said, leaving it on his windowsill. “I don’t think something like this should be thrown away. I’ve seen you working on it everyday.”

Pha has been watching him. She’s been watching him and Pat. His ears burned.

“Keep it,” Pha said. Pran looked at the girl whose life he saved. How could he deny her that?

So he kept it. All these years he kept it. He almost forgot about it too until Pat snuck into his room one night.

Being boyfriends with Pat was still new. Still tentative, they were still searching and trying new things with each other. Exploring each other in ways other than the physical.

It was winter break so they were both at their parents’ houses for the next couple of weeks. So every night, after their parents would fall asleep, Pat would sneak into his room. Then they would set an early alarm so Pat could sneak back. And they would spend their nights talking and kissing, mapping out the new parts of each other that they’d never known before.

Now Pran sat cross-legged on his bed, head in his hands, watching as Pat poked through his closet at old photo albums. He cooed over Pran as a kid.

“You were so cute back then.”

“And I’m not now?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, baby,” Pat said dryly.

“Like you don’t,” Pran snorted.

“I guess we just have another thing in common then,” Pat grinned. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll compliment you as much as you want.”

“Stop calling me baby. You know I don’t like that.”

“The smile on your face indicates otherwise,” Pat pointed out and Pran ducked his face quickly.

“Shut up,” Pran grumbled, peeking over at Pat when he didn’t respond. Pat seemed suddenly distracted by whatever old yearbook he found, and Pran sat up straighter, straining his neck to get a look at whatever Pat was looking at and froze.

It was one of his sketchbooks. And not just any sketchbook.

“Hey, what’s this?” Pat smiled.

Just his ten year old self’s love confession in physical form. No big deal.

“You were always good at drawing,” Pat smiled, thumbing at a drawing of himself. “You never showed me any of these.”

“It was supposed to be for you, you know,” Pran said, surprising even himself when the words slipped out of his mouth.

Pat looked at him startled. “What?”

Pran’s smile grew sheepish. “I wanted to give you a gift for giving me all those snacks. But then I saw you one day giving a girl some chocolate and I… well, I guess it made me mad at the time. So I didn’t give it to you.” He left out the bit about throwing it in the trash. Pat didn’t need to know that part.

Something flickered across Pat’s face.

“I remember that day too, you know?” Pat said. “I wanted to give you more every day after that, but you told me to leave you alone… so I did.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Pran admitted.

“And I shouldn’t have left you alone at lunch that day,” Pat countered. “But Pran, we were ten years old. We didn’t know any better.”

Pran got up off the floor, joining Pran on his bed, settling his warm palm over Pran’s knee, his thumb sweeping across his skin in gentle, soothing motions.

“I’m sorry,” Pat said and Pran’s eyebrows came together, confused as to why Pat was apologizing for something that happened over eight years ago.

“For what?”

“For ever making you feel I didn’t want you,” Pat said. Pran’s throat tightened, the salty sting of tears making his eyes water. “I think part of me always wanted you. Wanted to be close to you. Even if I didn’t understand it at the time. And even when you hated me, part of me was glad. Because it meant I still mattered to you.”

Pran gripped at Pat’s hand, his forehead falling onto Pat’s shoulder. Pat pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head and the small touch made Pran inch closer. Pat separated their hands to wrap his arms loosely around Pran’s waist.

“I never hated you, you know,” Pran whispered, gripping at the material of Pat’s shirt. “Even when I wanted to hate you. I couldn’t.”

“Baby,” Pat whispered and Pran isn’t quite sure if it was because the soft cadence of Pat’s voice or the exhaustion of the night of the way Pat’s arms made him feel safe from the world but he let out a small sob against Pat’s neck. Pat held him and held him and Pran clutched onto him tighter.

“Thank you,” Pran whispered, words muffled into Pat’s neck.

Pat paused. “What for?”

“For being here for me now,” Pran said.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Pat said and as Pran pulled back, Pat brushed carefully under his eye. “As long as you want me to be.”

Forever, Pran thought, but he couldn’t say it. Even now, feeling laid bare and open before Pat’s eyes.

“I love you,” Pran whispered, and when he said it there was no hesitance. No second thoughts. No thoughts about the silly little bet they'd made several weeks back. He didn’t know how else to express what he was feeling. And for a moment he wasn’t afraid. Maybe Pat was right and everything would work out for them. Maybe they would survive their parents wrath and make it out better and stronger. Maybe he could have the courage to defy his mom for once in his life and take what he truly wanted.

Maybe for once he could give himself something good.

Because for once in his life, Pran knew he’d never be alone again.

And with Pat’s hands cupping his neck and pulling him closer, as he laid kiss after heartfelt kiss to his lips, Pat returning Pran’s words in a soft whisper against his lips.

“I love you too.”

The words were soft against Pran’s lips. He liked how they tasted. He would savor it like he savored the chocolate that day when they were ten. Pat’s lips was sweet but his words were even sweeter.

And when they returned to their dorms three weeks later, Pat got into the habit of leaving Pran little candies. On the countertop, in the fridge, on his pillow. Pran complained that he’d get ants but they both knew he loved it.

And some months after when Pran admitted he felt bad for Pat’s constant gifts, Pat simply said: “Your smile is a gift enough.”

[inpizzawecrust]

Letter Writing

Dear Moons,

Prongslet helped save me and sent me off with a fucking hippogriff, Merlin is he Prongs’ offspring. I’m sorry for how I left things in the shack. I wish I could have spent more time with you. I wish we could have talked about things—about us. I know it’s been a long time, but I never stopped thinking about you. I don’t know when this will get to get to you, I don’t know where I’ll be, but I know that eventually this letter will find you and I hope one will find me too.

xx Snuffles

Dear Snuffles,

I wish we had more time to talk as well, but you know just as well as I do that I stopped wishing for things a long time ago. I’m not entirely fond of you spending another year on the run. I would offer my place to you, but I’m unsure of how much safety that would provide. I make no promises for what the future will hold for us. I’ll do my best to properly articulate my feelings in letters, though I can’t promise you’ll always be able to read them—I apologize in advance for the shitty handwriting, I suppose it’s still better than Wormtail’s and Prongs’s. Please do your best to stay safe and keep in touch. I’ll do my best to send things with letters.

xx Moons

Dear Moons,

I think you’ve forgotten who I am in regards to staying safe, but as always, say the word, your wish is my command. Though it’s been years, I can still read your shitty handwriting just fine—it’s comforting for some reason. Thank you for the treats, but I can’t let you continue to pay for food. I hope you still have my key to Gringott’s, as always, what’s mine is yours. If you even try to say no, I will find you and walk into that bank myself. This bloody hippogriff has far too big of an appetite, it’s like he doesn’t know we’re supposed to be keeping our heads down.

To my understanding, the world cup is approaching. My money’s on Ireland, I hope it’s already happened by the time you receive this so that I can revel in sweet victory when I receive your next letter.

Ps. I know the task is out of your hands, but if you’re able to keep an eye on Prongslet, please do so. I sent him a cake for his birthday since his cousin is on that awful diet. If I could send more, I would and if I could keep an eye on him, I would. Please do what I can’t.

xx Snuffles

Dear Snuffles,

I’ll do my best to keep an eye on Prongslet, but I’m afraid there I can’t do much more than you. You’re also a liar if you think for a second that I didn’t use the money from your vault to send you food. I know very well how much you—never mind a hippogriff—eat and if you think for a second that I’m taking money from my own vault to satisfy your needs, well our letters must be getting intercepted and you must not be the marauder I fell in love with.

Ireland won the world cup a few weeks ago, go on and smile that big smile of yours wherever you are. Sorry for the short letter. I haven’t got much time to write in between finding jobs. Please stay safe.

xx Moons

Dear Moons,

As much as I hope the job hunting is going well, I do have to ask what the fuck were you doing to allow Dumbledore to let Prongslet compete in that fucking tournament AT 14 YEARS OLD? As soon as I send this letter, Buckbeak and I are going back to Hogwarts to have a few choice words with that old man and no, I will not hold Buckbeak back from chomping that old man like a fucking dead ferret! Not only did he let me rot in prison for twelve fucking years, but he let you live in poverty when he knows the prejudices society has against werewolves, and now he’s letting our godson compete in this fucking suicide mission of a competition? Absolutely not.

xx Snuffles

Dear Snuffles,

I thought I told you to stay safe, love.

xx Moons

Dear my love,

Love? We’re skipping first name basis and jumping to love? Fine by me.

Also, I’m already back

xx P

Dear love,

you’re an idiot

xx M

Dear my love,

only yours

xx P

Dear love,

I’m sure Prongslet has already told you about the first task. Even though you’re still ready to fight the Ministry of Magic, I know that wherever you are, you’re at ease knowing he’s safe. And you’re probably grinning like an idiot.

I’m still upset that you came out of hiding, but at least Harry is still safe. Don’t do anything stupid. Again.

xx M

Dear my love,

I’m sorry and not just for making you worry about my safety. I’m sorry for everything, for not confiding in you all those years ago, for questioning your loyalty, for not trusting us and everything we had. I’m sorry.

xx P

Dear love,

I’ve been worrying about your safety since we were eleven and I doubt I’ll ever stop. I’ll be at the place in three days time.

xx M

Dear my love,

I cannot thank you enough for the food and warmth you always bring. Just like I said before you left, I promise we’ll be together again soon. The third task is approaching and I’m worried about Prongslet. He’s been practicing the defense spells I sent in a letter, but I doubt they’ll be enough. Each day I curse Dumbledore for letting this happen. I didn’t escape Askaban to watch my godson be torn to shreds from stupid tasks in this tournament bullshit and he’s just off doing who knows what letting all this happen!

I miss you

xx P

Dear love,

Prongslet should be fine, he has his friends to help him out. It’s a miracle he left that dragon almost entirely unscathed, not to mention saved two people from the lake. He’s Prongs’ son, of course the kid will put up a fight.

I miss you too

xx M

Dear my love,

I think you meant that Prongslet takes after his mother, seeing as she was the only person who had all of the marauders fumbling their wands during dueling practices.

xx P

Dear love,

I love you, please tell me you’re safe.

xx M

Dear my love,

I love you too, open your door to find out

xx P

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that. 

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching. 

Taglist: @lemonzoey​, @babayaga67​

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder. 

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record. 

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you. 

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try. 

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent. 

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google. 

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals. 

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead. 

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water. 

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you. 

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind. 

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities. 

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night. 

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!" 

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in. 

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous. 

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me." 

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great. 

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest. 

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you." 

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?” 

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar. 

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?” 

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction. 

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization. 

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?” 

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?” 

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.” 

“S-stop it.” 

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.” 

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“ 

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop. 

“-You might be.” 

“Shut it, shark bait!” 

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?” 

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?” 

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.” 

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

“Prick.” 

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should. 

You lean forward. 

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.” 

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game. 

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl." 

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all? 

“How old are you?” 

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?" 

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs." 

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction. 

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!" 

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales. 

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case. 

Some things are universal, it seems. 

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice. 

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows. 

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water. 

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious. 

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw." 

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?" 

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?” 

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa." 

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that? 

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.” 

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you. 

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to." 

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity." 

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?" 

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.” 

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow. 

“Thanks…  I think?” 

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please." 

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on." 

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. 

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.” 

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?" 

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention." 

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!" 

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman." 

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close." 

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me." 

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard. 

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything. 

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much. 

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

[soullesscoffee]

Hi there! Had a bit of an interesting request for a playful encounter among the Lost Boys with fem! dhampir (offspring of a vampire father and mortal mother)? Perhaps they might take a liking to her?

a/n: hi! thank you for requesting this!! i had so much fun writing it!! i hope it fits your idea. if you want head cannons i would def post some because this was so fun to think about!! thank you again!! 

halfie.

{ the lost boys x fem!reader }

rating: pg-13

word count: 2452

warnings: fem!reader, minor action of sexual assault, blood, death, use of tobacco, curious lost boys, tension, and sexual innuendo.

The night was just a regular night on the boardwalk at Santa Carla. The Lost Boys found themselves in a booth in a corner of an establishment that served primarily diner foods. The classical American food that is fattening just to even look at. Paul and Marko wanted cheeseburgers on a clear night, and there was nothing stopping them from doing so. It was a way to curve the hunger as the night was still too early to go hunting. Marko haphazardly scarfed down his cheeseburger occasionally sipping his cola in between the big chomps of food. He and Paul always ate so messily, mainly Paul. Yet that was a debate for another time. At the end of the booth sat Dwayne and David who shared a basket of fries and had a shake each. Both of them were not really hungry at the moment and didn’t want to be too full of human food to not be able to eat. Their mindless conversation was interrupted as the trilling of the bell chimed off of the walls of the diner. In walks, a woman, her looks about her were borderline perfect. The way she walked into the establishment was convincing as if she owned the place. There were only four other people who walked on these grounds like that and it was The Lost Boys. 

Paul paused mid-bite, his jaw locked mid-bite as he watched the figure travel their way towards the bar that was in the middle. Their boots clicked against the vinyl flooring with each daunting step they took. However, though their appearance was rather daunting they gave the waitress the kindest smile they have ever seen on such a cold face. As the woman sat on the bar stool Marko nudged Paul hard in the side. “Keep staring like that you’re going to choke on your food. You’re such a slob, dude!” Marko laughs before popping a pinch of fries in his mouth chewing quite loudly. David peers over at the rambunctious two and gives a look by squinting his eyes. He tilts his head before looking at Dwayne. “You can sense it too?” Dwayne asks, not even looking at the female figure who walked in. He twisted the straw between his fingers as he kept a piercing stare on David, trying to read his expression. Nonetheless, the leader was deadpan through and through. “Yeah, I can smell it on them too,” David finally admits after a beat of silence. David brings the straw to his lips, taking a long drink from the vanilla shake. His piercing blue eyes stare at the side profile of the woman. He tilts his head as he tries to push his way into their mind. What are you? David questions mentally as there was a large blur blocking him from seeing anything, it was as if she was pushing him out. How was that even possible? Just as he questioned that the woman’s head snaps in David’s direction making direct eye contact with the vampire. The woman only gave him a sly smirk as she shook her head bringing her attention back to the waitress.

David’s eyes widened slightly, he was taken aback by the sudden action and it takes a lot for David to be shocked in any way. The two other blondes at the table leaned on their elbows to look at David. Their minds read his right away. There was something off with the woman who walked in. Paul just thought she was hot. From the boots to the hair it was a style he dug. He couldn’t notice anything off of her but the perfume and a unique scent. However, that didn’t trigger anything in his mind that she wasn’t different from any other human. Yet, David’s expression and his mind were saying two different things. Was this person a threat? Why were they here? Should they confront or leave? Just as Paul started to ask these things via mental message to Dwayne the woman grabbed her to-go order, which consisted of a cup and a paper bag filled with grease at the bottom. As the woman turned on her heel to head out a rather slimy man filled with tattoos and piercings landed his hand on her bottom. The clap echoed through the diner. Everyone went still, a pin could be heard if it was dropped at that moment. 

Dwayne shifted to get up, to act on the action but David’s boot was stopping him. The brunette switched his focus to David who shook his head. The look in his eyes was that of a warning. Yet when Dwayne looked back on the woman she was walking out of the store with the man. Seeing this scene Marko was practically vibrating in his seat with excitement. “Hell yeah, time to start the night boys,” he cheered as Paul snickered along pushing his empty plate in the middle of the table. David tossed a twenty bill at the edge of the table while he got up, “Oh shit, this is going to be rad, I can feel it!” Paul whooped following behind Dwayne. The boys didn’t look which way the strange woman and the man went. However, all of the boys could not dismiss the attraction to her since the moment she walked into the room. Curiosity filled them to the brim. David inhaled the salty air as he stepped out only picking up on a hint of the male she walked out with. “This way,” he directed and started the group down the alleyway towards the back parking lot. 

The parking lot was deserted, nothing lighting the space but three orange-lit street lamps that didn’t grant much for regular human viewing. Perfect spot for anything to happen. Dwayne took a step in front of David, his eyes peeled in the dark. Then it hit all of them in the nose, blood. The fresh smell of iron and warmth. Dwayne was now in the lead he made his way around the corner to find the body of the abuser on the ground. Lifeless and cold. “Holy shit,” Paul whispers, there was another vampire in town. 

“Y’know, following a lady in the dark can send her the wrong message,” the voice piped from behind them. The tone was coy and filled with entertainment. They all whipped around, silent and staring with intense stares. “What? Cat got your tongue?” She questions with blood dribbling down her chin, yet her features were as perfect as they saw them in the diner. Did she not transform? Did she have no fangs? How did she get behind them without them noticing? Her head tilted before giving a knowing smirk, she reached down on the ground grabbing her to-go bag. The rustling of the bag is what broke David’s trance, “What are you?” he asks bluntly, stuffing his hands in his pocket, acting not the slightest amused. Dwayne on the other hand was silent, while Paul and Marko were doing their best not to shake with excitement. Fuck yeah, a female vampire. Hot.

“Normally people ask for each other’s names first.” She bounces back wiping her face off with cheap napkins and tosses them to the dead body behind the boys. 

“Well we aren’t people, and clearly you aren’t either.” Dwayne piped and her attention switched to him. 

“I know I could smell death coming off of you boys, especially you, Twisted Sister.” Her finger points towards Paul who jutted out his lower lip in curiosity as he sniffed himself out of insecurity. “So I am guessing you are the ones causing all the missing posters to go up? Kinda sloppy work if you ask me.”

“We didn’t ask for your opinion. We asked you what you are.” David interjects and tilts his head giving her a squint as he took a step forward, he was once again trying to get into her head. Figure out what she was and what she was doing here. Yet no matter how hard he pushed the boundary he was only greeted with a deep chuckle. Her teeth were pinching the straw from her cup. 

“You can try all you want but I won’t let you in,” the woman tilts her head no approaching the boys. Her body swerves theirs, her teeth gnawing on the straw. Her piercing eyes looked each of them individually up and down. Her eyes took in their jackets, their earrings, and how they presented themselves. Approaching Paul first her eyes flickered through his features, her hand raised to his chin and she pinched it, “You’re the troublemaker,” Paul can only grin at this, living for the close proximity drowning in her hypnotic scent that was the perfect mix of perfume and her blood. How could he smell her blood? His grin faded as she walked away to Marko who was next to him, his blue eyes connecting to David who was stoically watching the woman carefully. Paul shrugged and tilted his head as he was fully entertained by this. The woman approaches Marko, carding her fingers through Marko’s long curly locks, “I like you, you’re the ambitious one,” Marko smirked and brought his fingerless gloves to his lips to hide his smirk. He scanned the group trying to read Dwayne and David but both were rather expressionless. Was he the only one who wanted to keep her around?

Her boots click against the concrete as she approaches Dwayne, her drink now by her side. Her free hand rubs her fingertips over the hand-painted leopard on his sleeve trailing to the breast of his jacket and down his zipper. Her slightly warmer skin ghosted over his chest, the action caused him to tense his abdomen, flexing on instinct. “Mmm,” she hummed admiring his chest, “You’re the advocate.” Dwayne didn’t give her any satisfaction of a reaction but if his heart could beat it would be racing to jump out of his chest. Then her head tilted to David, she plucked the cigarette from behind his ear, but as quickly as she did it David was just as quick to snatch her wrist in his gloved hand. “I don’t think we are going to ask again, what are you?” This time his tone was dark with groveling.

A smirk paints the woman’s lips, “And you are the leader,” she states the obvious before placing the cigarette back and patting her palm against David’s cheek. Giving two blunt slaps before taking her place next to food once again she leaned against the brick wall. “I am what you are, only half.” The boys all furrow their brows, looks of pure confusion on their features. 

“Wait what do you mean, only half?” Marko asks tilting his head as he takes a couple of steps closer in interest.

“Well when a mommy and a daddy meet each other and are very happy-” 

“Vampires can’t procreate,” Dwayne states rather objectively and this causes the woman to raise her brows.

“Well, then you better explain that to my mom. She was the one who banged a vampire to have me,” her eyes brows quirk up at the silent one’s sudden choice to talk, “It is a possibility. Have you boys not been taught the birds and the bees? Haven’t been able to keep your little stake in your pants?”

“Enough,” David commands his jaw set and tense. The woman’s brows remain raised, “Why? Scared you might have a little one of you running around? That would be terrible,” she muses which causes snickers to come from Paul and Marko. Yet once David looks behind him to glare at the two a sudden gust of wind blows the cigarette off of his ear. The half-vampire was now only hair away from him. “I am called a half-vampire, a dhampir, a spawn of satan, hybrid, really anything you’d like. I can do anything you can do, with a little more benefits.”

“What benefits?” Dwayne asks and her eyes flicker to him.

“Thank you for asking nicely. I can for one walk around in the sunlight. Just like a vampire who is transitioning, except I can stay in the sun for long periods of time. Like all the time. Secondly, I don’t need blood to survive-”

“Then why did you kill this guy?” Paul questions, nudging the lifeless figure with his foot as he stood adjacent to it.

“Because he was a dick and slapped my ass. Sometimes the world doesn’t need people like that. I had to teach him a lesson and I did.” She responded matter-of-factly as she crossed her arms and looked down at the body. A sigh leaving her nose while she made her way to her food. Grasping her food she started to walk towards her classic car in the empty parking lot. 

Marko and Paul pushed past David and Dwayne to catch up to her, “So you’re telling me a babe like yourself is as strong, fast, and as cool as us?” Paul asks as Marko slings an arm around his friend’s shoulder. The woman smirked as she tossed her paper bag in the topless car. “Yeah, you could say that, who knows, maybe I am better at most things than you are.” This was an obvious shot of teasing. Marko laughed at her teasing and shook his head, “She’s hot, kills deadbeats, and drives a sick car. I don’t Paul, I might be in love.”

“No way man, I was the first one to see her,” Paul argues, pushing Marko playfully. The half-vampire rolls her eyes with the same warm smile she gave the waitress earlier in the diner. David maneuvered around the now two wrestling vampires. The woman started her car and looked up at the leader, her smile still warm, “It was nice meeting you boys, I hope to see you again soon.”

“We’ll see about that,” David responds tilting his head. He got a chuckle in response which caused him to smirk, “Only time will tell,” she comments, putting her car into drive and peeling off out of the parking lot leaving the four curious men behind in her rearview mirror. David stood watching her car drive away with his hands crossed amongst his chest, a smirk plastered on his features. Dwayne approaches after breaking up Marko and Paul from their match. “I think we have a new friend, boys,” David pipes into the clear night as he plucks a new cigarette from the breast pocket of his jacket and places it between his lips, lighting it swiftly. With an inhale he let a puff of smoke into the starry night before turning on his heels, “Now let’s go get some real food.”

footnotes: if you would like to request please send them my way!  🖤

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Judge You Not (Blue-Black Arrogant Prick)

Judgement Oneshots (Book 1 Murtagh and Brom Centric Stories): Judge Me Not //  JUDGE YOU NOT

(A/N: A bit of a time jump continuation from Judge Me Not, we get some more interaction between Murtagh and Brom with Arya thrown in the mix. The secondary title is explained in the story.)

~~~

Murtagh rolled over, trying to find that one, inexplicably comfortable yet contorted position that would finally let him sleep. He was tired, very tired, after the headlong rush across the Hadarac and had been looking forward to the rest their hard won lead would bring.

But after at least a week and a half of traveling by night and sleeping by day, suddenly becoming diurnal again was not as easy as he had hoped.

He rolled over once more, mentally grumbling to himself when he saw that Eragon was sound asleep. The boy was tucked up next to Saphira, two thirds of his body under her wing and his head resting on a pile of unused clothes and blankets. He looked quite comfortable, his mouth open slightly and even a bit of drool on the side of his face.

Murtagh sat up, suddenly realizing that Arya was no longer stretched out near Saphira’s foreleg where she had previously laid down to sleep. The blanket was still there, but neither the elf nor her combat-jacket-turned-pillow were to be seen.

“–rather not go there so soon. I’ve only been able to teach them how to survive, and I’ve been having a tough time doing even that.” Murtagh whipped his head around as Brom’s rough whisper reached his ears. Two dim silhouettes sat on the short, rocky protrusion that hid their camp, keeping watch over the landscape. “Eragon has the uncanny ability to get into trouble the moment he moves more than fifty yards from Saphira. If we went to the forest now, they’d laugh at all of us.”

A light scoff sounded as the slimmer of the two figures shifted, pulling a leg up to their chest. “No, they’d sing praises to Saphira and pat you on the head for trying your hardest. Eragon would need a bit more work before they would go crazy for him, but they’d still clap politely, I’m sure.”

“…You’re probably right.”

“Yeah, well, I know my people. Always gotta be polite and proper in the pines.”

Murtagh grabbed his rifle and slung the strap across his chest before clambering up the rocks. Both Brom and Arya turned to him as he heaved himself over the edge.

“Can’t sleep.” He said at their questioning gazes. “Bloody body clock is shot to hell. Mind if I join you?”

Brom gestured with his unlit pipe to an open patch of stone. “Sit yourself down, then.” They arranged themselves in a roughly triangular position, each able to take in a section of the area while also carrying on polite conversation.

But, knowing the three distinct personalities arrayed before them, polite conversation wasn’t likely to happen.

In the quiet that followed, Murtagh became increasingly aware that Arya was studying him with a disturbing intensity. Her eyes flicked over his face, darting from one feature to the next, and he subconsciously leaned back a bit.

“…What?” Murtagh leaned back a little more, finally breaking the silence. “Oi, I know you’re taken in by all this–” he extravagantly gestured to his face and body with both hands, hiding how unsettled he was with his usual sassy smugness, “–like the other ladies, but no need to try and devour me with your eyes, lass.”

Still intent on examining him the elf responded offhandedly, “Don’t flatter yourself. And what did I tell you about calling me that?” Before Murtagh could protectively grab his rifle to prevent the magazine from being shoved up his nose, Arya suddenly sat bolt upright and snapped her fingers. “Got it!” She looked to Brom, a slight frown on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brom grunted, clamping his teeth on his pipe stem. With the amount of chomping the old man did on it, Murtagh wouldn’t be surprised if it had some magic worked into the wood to prevent it from splintering.

“What’s going on?” Murtagh crossed his arms. He didn’t like it when the two elder members of their little group shared secrets or their weird little nonverbal signals. “If it involves me, I have a right–”

Arya cut him off and pointed to his right eye. “Blue.” Then his left. “Black.” Her lip twitched into a surprisingly fierce snarl. “Arrogant, psychopathic, warmongering, traitorous, race-murdering PRICK.”

Brom let out an uncharacteristic snort, pulling his pipe out of his mouth. Murtagh realized it was a choked off laugh, and scowled at him. “Why is it that everyone only remembers my father, huh? He’s dead. Let me live my life, not his.”

“I wasn’t laughing at that. I’ve just never heard the bastard described so…simply.” Brom chuckled again. “I’m surprised it took you this long, Arya.”

“It’s not like I shook Morzan’s hand and got to know him as well as you bloody did.” Arya tossed her braid over her shoulder and clasped her hands together, her anger fading. “Besides, I never thought he’d have a son.” She regarded the aforementioned offspring with one of her signature blank expressions, eyes searching his face again. “His mother must have been the Black Hand, wasn’t she, Brom? You must have known.”

Just like before, Brom shifted slightly at the mention of Murtagh’s mother, a strange light flashing through his startling blue eyes. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, though, and the old man gave an affirmative grunt.

“Oi!” Murtagh snapped, rage starting to bubble in his gut. He could feel the vein on his forehead starting to stand out, and that made him even angrier. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not even HERE!” Both adults looked to him. “I am not my father’s son! So judge me not by his actions! I am my own man!”

A faint smile touched Arya’s lips, and she nodded. “Aye. Don’t worry, Murtagh. I judge you not by your father but by you alone. Family shouldn’t be the sole point on which someone is judged, especially if they were not raised by them.” The elf knit her fingers together and rested her chin on them, expression again serious. “Your father was a terrible person, and I’m sure out of all of us in Alagaësia, you know that fact better than anyone. But, unlike some children who would turn their rage against the entire world, you have chosen to take your anger and skills and do what you can to fight against what Morzan and Galbatorix wrought. From what I have seen of you, you are a good man, and don’t deserve any prejudgement based on your father’s actions.

“Unless you’re a spy, in which case I’d congratulate you on getting this far, and then promptly kill you.” She flashed him a dangerous, sharp toothed grin.

Brom nodded sagely in agreement, then locked eyes with Murtagh. “Oi. I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully, whelp.” Murtagh’s snarl returned at the old man’s use of his usual, insulting name for him, but Brom put his hands up. “Peace. Just hear me out this one time. I won’t repeat what I’m about to say. Ever.”

He took his pipe from between his lips and rolled it between his fingers before again looking Murtagh in the eye. “You’ve proved yourself quite a bit since you’ve joined us. I can say with confidence that you are not your father’s son, and I knew the bastard since he was younger than you are now. You have a sense of morality and sound judgement that he never had, even if your justifications for that judgement are usually driven by your survival code.” Murtagh’s scowl fell. As Brom spoke, the young man’s expression turned from one of red-faced frustration to disbelief, his mouth slightly open as the old man pointed the stem of his pipe at him. “You’ve been…invaluable, in helping me protect Eragon and Saphira. And you probably saved the Varden by rescuing Arya while at Gil'ead, as she’s the only one who can secure the elves support for the rebellion again.

"What I’m saying is that I judged you prematurely. And I…apologize.”

Murtagh stared at the old Rider, trying to find the words to explain the unexpected welling of emotion in his chest. “Brom, I…I don’t know how to…” He faltered, and resumed gaping at him.

“You can start by closing your mouth.” Brom snapped gruffly. “You’ll catch flies like that, whelp.”

Arya raised her eyebrows and leaned towards him. “I think you broke the poor boy.”

The young man shook himself out of his stupor. “No, no, it’s just…. I figured if I could get you, Brom, of all people, to see that I’m not some demon spawn then I could live my life in peace. And now that you just confirmed it, I can’t. I have to keep fighting the King.”

Brom snorted and stuck his pipe back in his mouth. “Oh, you’re a demon’s spawn, there’s no denying that.” He growled. “You’re just not acting like a demon. Kudos to you, whelp.”

“Lay off him, Brom. You can’t just turn around like that after giving him such a heartfelt speech.” Arya swatted the old man on the arm, to which he grumbled and pushed her.

Murtagh rubbed his face, feeling even more drained after the emotional joyride the two had just put him on. “Bloody children, the both of you.”

Arya smirked. “I’m not the one up past his bedtime.”

The young man threw his hands up. “Alright! Alright, I get it. I’ll try to sleep again.” He stood and moved to start climbing back down to the clearing, then paused. “Thanks for what you said. The both of you.”

“Don’t get all sappy on us.” Brom growled, crossing his arms. “You still have quite a bit of proving to do, whelp.”

“Sure, Brom. Whatever you say.” He smiled, and for a moment Brom saw a flash of bright teeth and dark hair, a laugh echoing in his ears. Then both the memory and Murtagh were gone, the man clambering down the short cliff to collapse on his sleeping bag.

The old Rider blinked, trying to clear his head, and found Arya regarding him with a slightly concerned expression. “Oh, what? Are you going to start telling me what my father looked like now?”

Arya’s light frown did not ease as shook her head, fringes of hair that had escaped her braid flicking about her face. “No. Just thought I saw something.” They lapsed into comfortable silence, once again facing out over the land. A warm, dry breeze wafted through the woods from the nearby Hadarac and brushed over them, carrying the scent of the sands.

“It was hell crossing that.” Brom muttered, chewing thoughtfully on his pipe again and silently lamenting that he couldn’t light it without revealing their position. “But at least we’re nearly to the mountains now. At this pace, another week and a half or two and we’ll be with the Varden.”

Arya hummed softly in agreement, her farseeing eyes picking out the distant campfires of the Urgal party following them. They blazed like bright candles to her sight, and she counted twenty before the camp stretched beyond her vision.

They stayed up for a while longer, talking about this and that and hashing out the possible responses the Varden could have to their arrival. It was an hour before Arya looked up at the sky, noting the new positions of the stars, and said, “You should catch some rest, old man. Your watch is over by my reckoning.”

“You keep calling me old, Arya. I think my physique speaks for itself; I’m still quite spry, thank you very much.” Brom stood and stretched his stiff joints, pointedly ignoring the chorus of pops and crackles that dampened his previous statement as the elf smirked. “I’ll wake Eragon for his watch.”

Arya waved him off. “Leave the kid be. Both he and Saphira have earned their sleep. I can take his watch.”

“Again?” Arya shrugged. “You can’t keep this up. You need to sleep just as much as we do, probably more since you’re still healing.”

“I’m fine, Brom. Really.”

Brom frowned. In the dim light of the stars he could see that she was lying. Her skin had regained its usual tanned tone after trekking through the Hadarac, but over the last day or so she had paled slightly. Despite the cooler temperatures, a slight sheen of sweat was on her brow and she wore her combat jacket zipped all the way up as if she were freezing. “Anything you want to tell me?” She shook her head. “Arya, I can tell when something’s up. Did another wound get infected again?”

“No.” And she added firmly, “I’m fine.”

“If you keep trying to deal with things like this on your–”

“Brom!” The old Rider’s eyes snapped to hers. Arya’s voice had taken on a sharp edge and held an unmistakable ring of authority that, despite the conversation they had held earlier, reminded Brom that some things were hereditary no matter the differences between parent and child. “Leave it. I’ll be fine. We can talk about it later. Just go to sleep.”

He regarded her with a steady gaze, keeping their eyes locked. His suspicions were confirmed when it was Arya who broke contact, looking away from him with her jaw clenched tight. “I hope you’re right. And I hope you will tell me when whatever this is gets worse.” He warned. “Remember what I told Murtagh, Arya. You’re the only one who can get the Queen start supporting the Varden again. So for not just your sake, but the entire damn Varden’s, I hope you’re right.” And he started the short descent back to camp.

Arya let out a breath and looked up at the pale stars. They twinkled above her, smugly winking as if they knew, as she did, that fire was burning in her veins.

The Shade smiled, pointed teeth gleaming. “It won’t kill you right away, little elf. It won’t even start to kill you until I tell it to.” Arya gritted her teeth as the clear fluid in the syringe slid into her wrist and rushed through her bloodstream. “My own modified Skilna Bragh. You know, little elf, if you escape, and you run fast enough, you just might make it to your people or the Varden before it destroys you.” And he winked at her, as if sharing in some private joke.

The elf closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She had to decide. Continue traveling with the others, leading not only the Urgals to the Varden’s doorstep, but Durza as well and probably slowing the group down until she succumbed to the poison in her blood, or try to run to Ceris and deliver a dying declaration that would force the Queen to resume aiding the Varden.

No, she couldn’t do that. It would lead Durza right to the elvish city.

Her last choice was grim. Leave the group at the mouth of the Beartooth River and turn back to the Hadarac. She could slow the Urgals as best she could, and die a warrior’s death. It was preferable than dying of thirst or poison in the hellish sands.

Another swirl of wind flowed from the aforementioned desert. Arya sighed as it ghosted over her skin, her nerves tingling with the first uncomfortable prickles of pain, and looked back to where Brom was kicking his sleeping bag out on the ground. “Yeah, Brom,” She murmured. “I hope so too.”

[dw-writes]

Krampusnaucht - The Unholy Trinity & GN!Reader

So! @whatafuckinnerd suggested “Hunting Krampus with Jesse Custer and Cassidy (featuring a very adamant Tulip that refuses to fuck with the thing because it might Ruin Christmas TM)” when I asked them for Christmas/Holiday requests and this came about!!! This IS a heavily implied Jesse Custer x Reader in this as well! :D I hope you guys enjoy this! Please let me know what you think!!!

December 5th, 20--, Krampusnacht

Tulip’s car was crowded. Really, it wasn’t meant to sit four people, let alone have them road trip in a search for God across the southern US for who knew how long. And, to top it off, her heater had broken. In December. Before a stake-out. This was Jesse’s fault, thought three of the four people in the car, because he used the Word of God too many times for selfish things and this was karma just coming back for him.

You kicked the front passenger’s seat when you saw Cassidy digging around in the brown paper bag at his feet. “Stoppit,” you grunted. Cassidy sucked on his teeth, wrinkled his nose, and swatted your foot when you continued to kick him.

“Stop kickin’ me!” he protested.

“Stop tryin’ to drink the booze!” you hissed with a well-placed kick to his shoulder. He unlatched his seatbelt and turned around, leaning between the seats to smack you back.

While you and Cassidy fought – with the occasional squeak of alarm and soft shout of protest – Tulip turned around and shoved Cassidy against the center console to get a better look at Jesse, who sat in the back with you. He wasn’t trying to hide his amused grin. “Why the hell are we out here, Jesse Custer?” she asked. Then, she huffed and drummed her open palms on Cassidy’s back. “Get back in that seat and stop fightin’ in my car!” she demanded through clenched teeth.

Cassidy swore up a small storm while he maneuvered himself back into his seat. He pulled the blanket – stolen from the last gas station your group had stopped at – around his shoulders and sulked. You, in turn, drew your feet up onto the back seat and tucked your also stolen blanket tightly around you. When that didn’t work, you tucked your feet under Jesse’s thigh.

Jesse sighed a bit when you did this. He didn’t mind too much – it was better than when you stuck your cold toes on him in the middle of the night – but he was still a little put off. You weren’t the only one that was cold in that car.

“We’re doin’ this,” he grunted as he shifted around. His (also stolen) blanket was a little thicker, and larger, and with a bit of maneuvering he got it around you both. You buried yourself into the blankets and tucked your nose against his shoulder. “We’re doin’ this,” he repeated, “Because we’re helpin’ people.”

“Bullshit this is helpin’ people,” Tulip shot back. “This is puttin’ my Christmas in jeopardy.”

“How?” chimed three voices. You popped your head out of the blankets to stare at her.

“Because if we fuck with Krampus—” Cassidy snickered, which made Jesse snicker, which made both you and Tulip take those ‘my patience is thin’ breaths. “—Then we run the risk of bein’ on Santa’s bad side.”

“You still believe in Santa?” Cassidy asked.

She jerked to face him. “You don’t?” she snapped. He started to reply. She held up a hand. “You’re a vampire. Jesse’s got the offspring of the universe’s stupidest hook up in his chest. We’ve seen angels. There’s a killer cowboy. And we saw heaven and whatever-the-fuck you wanna call God-Imposter,” she said while ticking up her fingers. Then, she added another one. “And then there’s that dog guy back in Nawlins.”

“Yeah, that made me question a few things, too,” you mumbled.

“What would you do with him?” asked Jesse, turning to you, wrapping an arm around your legs beneath the blanket.

“I mean, there’s a kink called ‘pet play’,” you said. Jesse’s mouth snapped shut. “God, I love ruining your perceptions of humanity sometimes,” you whispered.

Cassidy looked back, pulling the blanket over his head. “Oh, it’s a whole thing, Padre. There’s horse play – but not the kinda horseplay lil’ boys do, trust me – and there’s—” He tilted his head, “Dog play now, I s’pose.”

“Cat girls,” Tulip offered, “And bunnies.”

“Oooh,” Cassidy drawled, “Cat girls. Now there’s one thing the internet got right.”

“How do you know this?” he hissed after a moment.

You flashed him a sympathetic smile. “I read,” you answered.

“I’ve partaken,” Cassidy said at the same time.

Tulip clucked and sat back in her seat, pulling the sweatshirt Cassidy had loaned her tighter around herself. “I’m not surprised in that,” she replied.

“Can we change the subject?” Jesse asked.

“You started it,” you pointed out.

“I’m endin’ it,” he shot back.

“When this guy supposedta get here?” Tulip groaned. Cassidy started to rummage through the bag again. She smacked his arm with he back of her hand. “Knock it off.”

“There’s other shite in here ‘sides the fuckin’ schnapps,” he whined. He continued to dig. “Is it wrong to miss that Ratwater swill?”

“Yes,” you said, while Jesse said, “No,” and Tulip scoffed.

Cassidy sat back with a triumphant laugh and twisted open a bottle of whiskey. Jesse thrusted his hand over the vampire’s shoulder.

“Oh, there’s also those soul trading fucks,” Tulip said, adding to her previous list, “Soul harvesting?”

“I think it’s like blood donation,” you said. You moved your butt closer to Jesse’s thigh and flopped back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. “Like you can give a little bit over a long period of time.” The bottle was passed over you. “Can I have the chips that are in that bag?” you asked Cassidy.

“Don’t you dare make a fuckin’ mess back there,” Tulip warned. The bag was tossed over Cassidy’s shoulder. “Gimmie those Slim Jims,” she then demanded.

“Say please,” Cassidy taunted.

“Gimmie those fuckin’ Slim Jims before I punch you in the dick,” she replied.

Paper rustled. The bottle was passed back over you. You offered the open chips to Jesse.

“Have I told you I love you today?” Cassidy asked. Tulip sucked on her teeth, but said nothing, and Cassidy snickered. You held the bag out to Cassidy after Jesse took a handful. “You know, Padre, there’s also a kinky religion thing that I think you’d very much enjoy,” he said.

“How long are we gonna sit here ‘fore we call it a night?” Tulip asked.

“If it involves fuckin’ on an altar, then he’s done it,” you said through a mouthful of chips.

“Let’s give it another hour,” Jesse replied as he pinched your thigh. You squealed.

Something heavy smashed into the ground outside. Everyone jumped, sending chips flying and booze splashing on the windows, while screams pierced the air. Tulip fumbled with the headlights. When they flicked on, they revealed a massive creature in a dirty red suit. Its horns rose high into the air, and curled back in a slow, terrifying arch. It slowly turned its grizzled face towards the car. You four stared back at it.

Tulip flipped the headlights off. No one removed their eyes from the spot in the darkness you had seen the thing. The paper bag crinkled, and Cassidy slowly – hesitantly – pushed open his door. You heard the gentle tink of a bottle being set on the gravel, and then the door shut.

“Tulip, back up, and get outta here,” Jesse whispered.

“I fuckin’ told you,” she whispered back. The engine roared to life, and the headlights blinked back on. It was gone. You turned your eyes to Cassidy’s window, then started to anxiously pat Jesse until he swatted your hand and snagged it between his. Metal bells gently tapped the window glass as the bottle of schnapps was picked up. “I fuckin’ told you,” she repeated. Cassidy blindly reached over and pressed on her knee. The car slowly backed up, pulling away from the house it had sat in front of, and illuminating the creature one more time. She turned the wheel, corrected the car to face down the road, and gently guided it away.

You whipped around to watch Krampus disappear into the night. Jesse slumped against his seat, reaching into his pocket to pull out a box of cigarettes. The car started gaining speed.

“Bigger than I thought he’d be,” Cassidy said.

Tulip gripped the wheel. You fished around for the chips that had fallen around the back seat. “The next time you get a bad feelin’, Jesse, you better fuckin’ ignore it,” she grumbled.

Jesse lit his cigarette. The whiskey was passed back to him. You chomped on the chips. “Noted,” Jesse finally said. He dropped his face onto you blanketed knees with a groan.

Cassidy took the chips. “Tulip,” he said as he took the bag, “You may be onta somethin’ about Santa Claus.”

“I fuckin’ told you,” she repeated.

You flopped back against the seat again. “I wonder if he’ll come after us,” you mused.

“If this ruined my Christmas, Custer, I will hurt you,” Tulip threatened.

Cassidy whipped back around in the seat. “Near-death-by-festive-fuck aside, tell me about this fuckin’ on the altar, Padre,” he said. He took the cigarette from Jesse. You pulled your blanket over your face and groaned.

[strongbrew-hamstery]

#Advocaat was very happy to hear you all liked his babies. He says he's very proud of his vast army of golden offspring and hopes all their future humans enjoy their very soft coats and gentle demeanor. Advo is a very lovely little guy, and while not often big about snacks he was down for some strawberries last night. I love strawberries and they make the perfect snack to share with the hams. The leaves are safe for them, so usually once I'm done chomping in the fruit I give them the rest. While I used to feel bad for not giving them the tastiest bit I realised that was human thinking. Several of the hams specifically enjoy the leaves best. So I suppose it's best of both worlds! https://www.instagram.com/p/CPG-e2jAz68/?utm_medium=tumblr

[aion-rsa]

Mortal Kombat Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/3sJUwuD

Simon McQuoid was given an interesting challenge directing the 2021 cinematic reboot of Mortal Kombat. While it does have an R-rating to help prop it up, this is hardly the first adaptation in this universe. The story has been told in movies, comics, novels, TV shows, and even the games, which were rebooted for the sake of retelling the first few chapters in a more detailed fashion. Hell, they just came out with an animated movie a year ago that explained the first game’s plot from Scorpion’s perspective.

The new movie certainly finds its own route into the mythos, and barring some bad luck, we’re probably going to get a sequel out of this. After all, it is coming out during a nice, sweet spot where people are getting vaccinated and are equally parts confident and desperate to see a movie in theaters. When they’re bored with Godzilla and Kong’s brawling, I imagine this is the shiniest prize.

The Big Prelude

One of the surprising developments of the movie is that, while it’s called Mortal Kombat, it isn’t Mortal Kombat. It’s ABOUT Mortal Kombat. All that talk about the tournament and protecting Earth from Outworld and last chances, it’s really all setup for the next installment. It’s not so much a remake of the 1995 movie as a full-length remake of that scene on the boat where Raiden gets mad at Shang Tsung for sending Sub-Zero and Scorpion after his champions.

It’s probably more comparable to Mortal Kombat: The Journey Begins, the laughable animated movie that came out as a tie-in to the first movie. That one also showed off Sub-Zero killing Scorpion and ended with Raiden yelling at Shang Tsung for trying to screw over the heroes pre-tournament.

It also lines up a little with the Mortal Kombat novel by Jeff Rovin. The obscure 1995 release had various characters from the first game meet up in what ended up being a prequel to the story. Not only was it noticeably missing a certain movie star (more on him in a moment), but in this telling of the story, Scorpion was the ghost of Sub-Zero’s slain victim merged with the body of his son. Not quite the same as Hanzo and his descendant fighting alongside each other, but similar enough for someone like me to connect the dots.

The Return of Scorpion

Hanzo Hasashi is killed in the opening scene but his baby daughter survives under Raiden’s watch. We learn that a prophecy claims that his bloodline will one day unite a new group of heroes to prevent Outworld from winning their tenth Mortal Kombat in a row. Eventually, this is revealed to be our protagonist Cole Young, Hanzo’s descendant. This prophecy ends up being more literal than expected in the final battle against Sub-Zero as Cole is stabbed with Hanzo’s iconic kunai and it magically allows Hanzo to return from the Netherrealm (Hell) to exact his revenge on Sub-Zero.

After succeeding in getting his vengeance, Scorpion shows respect to Cole and vanishes. Presumably, he’s returned to the Netherrealm to he can rest as well as anyone can in a world of pain and fire.

We obviously haven’t seen the last of him. In the games, Scorpion returned once again due to what appeared to be the resurrection of Sub-Zero. It ended up being Bi-Han’s younger brother, Kuai Liang, who was actually a good person and ended up reforming the Lin Kuei clan for the better. Scorpion became rivals with this Sub-Zero but later made peace with him, their clans fighting alongside each other against evil threats.

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This is where things get interesting because in the movie’s continuity, Hanzo existed centuries ago instead of in the present. Bi-Han never aged during that time, presumably due to some magical reward of Shang Tsung’s. There would be no reason for him to have a brother taking his spot.

On the other hand, giving Sub-Zero his own Cole Young counterpart would make plenty of sense. Perhaps Kuai Liang will appear in the sequel as Sub-Zero’s conflicted descendant, having to decide between the duties of blood and virtue.

The Rise of Noob Saibot?

During Shang Tsung’s final speech, he mentions how death is itself like a portal. He then teleports the corpses of Sub-Zero and Goro into Outworld. He could have left them to rot, but he appears to have plans for them.

For fans of Mortal Kombat lore, the follow-up for Sub-Zero makes enough sense. In the games, Bi-Han went under his own Scorpion-like transformation after death. He returned as the all-black shadow assassin Noob Saibot, acting as a more warped and sinister version of his human self. Noob was also closely aligned with Quan Chi, Scorpion’s main nemesis and former handler, so we’ll see if that guy pops up down the line.

As for Goro, there’s no real instance in the games of him being resurrected, but it’s not like this movie doesn’t take liberties as is. Goro can have a little necromancy, as a treat.

The Replacements

Barring resurrections, Shang Tsung has lost Reptile, Goro, Sub-Zero, Kabal, Nitara, Reiko, Mileena, and Kano. He notes that these soldiers can be easily replaced. That opens up a lot of possibilities for who could pop up in a sequel. Perhaps Ermac? Skarlet? Erron Black? You could easily put money on Baraka.

Raiden also tasks the surviving heroes with searching for other champions for the tournament. Unlike the villains, there aren’t too many Earthrealm heroes to choose from. The blind swordsman Kenshi is very likely to join the crew. Nightwolf was also briefly referenced on Sonya and Jax’s wall of research, so don’t be surprised if he’s on the team.

Considering Mileena is a grotesque clone of her “sister” Kitana, you should expect Sisi Stringer show up in the sequel in a more heroic role.

Johnny Cage Cliffhanger

The money shot comes in the last scene. Cole quits his low-level MMA lifestyle and announces that he’s going to Hollywood. As he leaves the gym, we see a poster for Citizen Cage with the tagline “Fight For Your Rights.” The movie stars Johnny Cage (complete with large “CAGE” belt buckle), who we only see from the chest down due to the fact that the character hasn’t been cast yet.

Since the movie’s cast was first announced, fans have noted the blatant lack of Johnny Cage. Not only was Linden Ashby’s portrayal one of the most popular parts of the original movie, but Johnny’s the only character from the original game to not appear in this movie. A prominent theory before the movie’s release was that Cole was going to be Johnny all along and change his name at the end of the film.

But no, Johnny Cage is sequel bait and I’m right there chomping on the hook.

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Jonathan Carlton is a talented martial artist who used his skill to become a popular action star under the name Johnny Cage. Due to his outrageous skill and moves, he’s been accused of being a fraud who uses camera tricks and stunt doubles to pull off his fight sequences. He initially entered the Mortal Kombat tournament because he was under the impression it would revitalize his career and prove his legitimacy, not quite understanding the severity or even secrecy of the event.

Mostly portrayed as comic relief and the audience’s POV character, Johnny became a regular in the Mortal Kombat series. When they rebooted the games’ story, it was revealed that in case of Liu Kang’s death, Johnny was a back-up “chosen one.” He’s the descendant of a cult of warriors dedicated to making the most badass offspring possible capable of slaying gods.

Funny enough, when Street Fighter did its cinematic reboot with Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li, it also ended with a sequel hook about an upcoming fighting tournament and a quest to look up a series staple (in that case Ryu). I can’t help but feel that Mortal Kombat will be a little more successful in following up on its cliffhanger.

Now let’s see who they can get to fill those sunglasses.

The post Mortal Kombat Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3ew5Bup

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: Judge You Not/Blue-Black Arrogant Prick

Judgement Oneshots (Book 1 Murtagh and Brom Centric Stories): Judge Me Not  //  JUDGE YOU NOT

(A/N: A bit of a time jump continuation from Judge Me Not, we get some more interaction between Murtagh and Brom with Arya thrown in the mix. The secondary title is explained in the story.)

~~~

Murtagh rolled over, trying to find that one, inexplicably comfortable yet contorted position that would finally let him sleep. He was tired, very tired, after the headlong rush across the Hadarac and had been looking forward to the rest their hard won lead would bring.

But after at least a week and a half of traveling by night and sleeping by day, suddenly becoming diurnal again was not as easy as he had hoped.

He rolled over once more, mentally grumbling to himself when he saw that Eragon was sound asleep. The boy was tucked up next to Saphira, two thirds of his body under her wing and his head resting on a pile of unused clothes and blankets. He looked quite comfortable, his mouth open slightly and even a bit of drool on the side of his face.

Murtagh sat up, suddenly realizing that Arya was no longer stretched out near Saphira's foreleg where she had previously laid down to sleep. The blanket was still there, but neither the elf nor her combat-jacket-turned-pillow were to be seen.

"–rather not go there so soon. I've only been able to teach them how to survive, and I've been having a tough time doing even that." Murtagh whipped his head around as Brom's rough whisper reached his ears. Two dim silhouettes sat on the short, rocky protrusion that hid their camp, keeping watch over the landscape. "Eragon has the uncanny ability to get into trouble the moment he moves more than fifty yards from Saphira. If we went to the forest now, they'd laugh at all of us."

A light scoff sounded as the slimmer of the two figures shifted, pulling a leg up to their chest. "No, they'd sing praises to Saphira and pat you on the head for trying your hardest. Eragon would need a bit more work before they would go crazy for him, but they'd still clap politely, I'm sure."

"...You're probably right."

"Yeah, well, I know my people. Always gotta be polite and proper in the pines."

Murtagh grabbed his rifle and slung the strap across his chest before clambering up the rocks. Both Brom and Arya turned to him as he heaved himself over the edge.

"Can't sleep." He said at their questioning gazes. "Bloody body clock is shot to hell. Mind if I join you?"

Brom gestured with his unlit pipe to an open patch of stone. "Sit yourself down, then." They arranged themselves in a roughly triangular position, each able to take in a section of the area while also carrying on polite conversation.

But, knowing the three distinct personalities arrayed before them, polite conversation wasn't likely to happen.

In the quiet that followed, Murtagh became increasingly aware that Arya was studying him with a disturbing intensity. Her eyes flicked over his face, darting from one feature to the next, and he subconsciously leaned back a bit.

"...What?" Murtagh leaned back a little more, finally breaking the silence. "Oi, I know you're taken in by all this–" he extravagantly gestured to his face and body with both hands, hiding how unsettled he was with his usual sassy smugness, "–like the other ladies, but no need to try and devour me with your eyes, lass."

Still intent on examining him the elf responded offhandedly, "Don't flatter yourself. And what did I tell you about calling me that?" Before Murtagh could protectively grab his rifle to prevent the magazine from being shoved up his nose, Arya suddenly sat bolt upright and snapped her fingers. "Got it!" She looked to Brom, a slight frown on her face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Brom grunted, clamping his teeth on his pipe stem. With the amount of chomping the old man did on it, Murtagh wouldn't be surprised if it had some magic worked into the wood to prevent it from splintering.

"What's going on?" Murtagh crossed his arms. He didn't like it when the two elder members of their little group shared secrets or their weird little nonverbal signals. "If it involves me, I have a right–"

Arya cut him off and pointed to his right eye. "Blue." Then his left. "Black." Her lip twitched into a surprisingly fierce snarl. "Arrogant, psychopathic, warmongering, traitorous, race-murdering PRICK."

Brom let out an uncharacteristic snort, pulling his pipe out of his mouth. Murtagh realized it was a choked off laugh, and scowled at him. "Why is it that everyone only remembers my father, huh? He's dead. Let me live my life, not his."

"I wasn't laughing at that. I've just never heard the bastard described so...simply." Brom chuckled again. "I'm surprised it took you this long, Arya."

"It's not like I shook Morzan's hand and got to know him as well as you bloody did." Arya tossed her braid over her shoulder and clasped her hands together, her anger fading. "Besides, I never thought he'd have a son." She regarded the aforementioned offspring with one of her signature blank expressions, eyes searching his face again. "His mother must have been the Black Hand, wasn't she, Brom? You must have known."

Just like before, Brom shifted slightly at the mention of Murtagh's mother, a strange light flashing through his startling blue eyes. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, though, and the old man gave an affirmative grunt.

"Oi!" Murtagh snapped, rage starting to bubble in his gut. He could feel the vein on his forehead starting to stand out, and that made him even angrier. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not even HERE!" Both adults looked to him. "I am not my father's son! So judge me not by his actions! I am my own man!"

A faint smile touched Arya's lips, and she nodded. "Aye. Don't worry, Murtagh. I judge you not by your father but by you alone. Family shouldn't be the sole point on which someone is judged, especially if they were not raised by them." The elf knit her fingers together and rested her chin on them, expression again serious. "Your father was a terrible person, and I'm sure out of all of us in Alagaësia, you know that fact better than anyone. But, unlike some children who would turn their rage against the entire world, you have chosen to take your anger and skills and do what you can to fight against what Morzan and Galbatorix wrought. From what I have seen of you, you are a good man, and don’t deserve any prejudgement based on your father’s actions.

“Unless you're a spy, in which case I'd congratulate you on getting this far, and then promptly kill you." She flashed him a dangerous, sharp toothed grin. 

Brom nodded sagely in agreement, then locked eyes with Murtagh. "Oi. I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully, whelp." Murtagh's snarl returned at the old man's use of his usual, insulting name for him, but Brom put his hands up. "Peace. Just hear me out this one time. I won't repeat what I'm about to say. Ever."

He took his pipe from between his lips and rolled it between his fingers before again looking Murtagh in the eye. "You've proved yourself quite a bit since you've joined us. I can say with confidence that you are not your father's son, and I knew the bastard since he was younger than you are now. You have a sense of morality and sound judgement that he never had, even if your justifications for that judgement are usually driven by your survival code." Murtagh's scowl fell. As Brom spoke, the young man's expression turned from one of red-faced frustration to disbelief, his mouth slightly open as the old man pointed the stem of his pipe at him. "You've been...invaluable, in helping me protect Eragon and Saphira. And you probably saved the Varden by rescuing Arya while at Gil'ead, as she's the only one who can secure the elves support for the rebellion again.

"What I'm saying is that I judged you prematurely. And I...apologize."

Murtagh stared at the old Rider, trying to find the words to explain the unexpected welling of emotion in his chest. "Brom, I…I don't know how to..." He faltered, and resumed gaping at him.

"You can start by closing your mouth." Brom snapped gruffly. "You'll catch flies like that, whelp."

Arya raised her eyebrows and leaned towards him. "I think you broke the poor boy."

The young man shook himself out of his stupor. "No, no, it's just…. I figured if I could get you, Brom, of all people, to see that I'm not some demon spawn then I could live my life in peace. And now that you just confirmed it, I can't. I have to keep fighting the King."

Brom snorted and stuck his pipe back in his mouth. "Oh, you're a demon's spawn, there's no denying that." He growled. "You're just not acting like a demon. Kudos to you, whelp."

"Lay off him, Brom. You can't just turn around like that after giving him such a heartfelt speech." Arya swatted the old man on the arm, to which he grumbled and pushed her.

Murtagh rubbed his face, feeling even more drained after the emotional joyride the two had just put him on. "Bloody children, the both of you."

Arya smirked. "I'm not the one up past his bedtime."

The young man threw his hands up. "Alright! Alright, I get it. I'll try to sleep again." He stood and moved to start climbing back down to the clearing, then paused. "Thanks for what you said. The both of you."

"Don't get all sappy on us." Brom growled, crossing his arms. "You still have quite a bit of proving to do, whelp."

"Sure, Brom. Whatever you say." He smiled, and for a moment Brom saw a flash of bright teeth and dark hair, a laugh echoing in his ears. Then both the memory and Murtagh were gone, the man clambering down the short cliff to collapse on his sleeping bag.

The old Rider blinked, trying to clear his head, and found Arya regarding him with a slightly concerned expression. "Oh, what? Are you going to start telling me what my father looked like now?"

Arya’s light frown did not ease as shook her head, fringes of hair that had escaped her braid flicking about her face. "No. Just thought I saw something." They lapsed into comfortable silence, once again facing out over the land. A warm, dry breeze wafted through the woods from the nearby Hadarac and brushed over them, carrying the scent of the sands.

"It was hell crossing that." Brom muttered, chewing thoughtfully on his pipe again and silently lamenting that he couldn't light it without revealing their position. "But at least we're nearly to the mountains now. At this pace, another week and a half or two and we'll be with the Varden."

Arya hummed softly in agreement, her farseeing eyes picking out the distant campfires of the Urgal party following them. They blazed like bright candles to her sight, and she counted twenty before the camp stretched beyond her vision.

They stayed up for a while longer, talking about this and that and hashing out the possible responses the Varden could have to their arrival. It was an hour before Arya looked up at the sky, noting the new positions of the stars, and said, "You should catch some rest, old man. Your watch is over by my reckoning."

"You keep calling me old, Arya. I think my physique speaks for itself; I'm still quite spry, thank you very much." Brom stood and stretched his stiff joints, pointedly ignoring the chorus of pops and crackles that dampened his previous statement as the elf smirked. "I'll wake Eragon for his watch."

Arya waved him off. "Leave the kid be. Both he and Saphira have earned their sleep. I can take his watch."

"Again?" Arya shrugged. "You can't keep this up. You need to sleep just as much as we do, probably more since you're still healing."

"I'm fine, Brom. Really."

Brom frowned. In the dim light of the stars he could see that she was lying. Her skin had regained its usual tanned tone after trekking through the Hadarac, but over the last day or so she had paled slightly. Despite the cooler temperatures, a slight sheen of sweat was on her brow and she wore her combat jacket zipped all the way up as if she were freezing. "Anything you want to tell me?" She shook her head. "Arya, I can tell when something's up. Did another wound get infected again?"

"No." And she added firmly, "I'm fine."

"If you keep trying to deal with things like this on your–"

"Brom!" The old Rider's eyes snapped to hers. Arya's voice had taken on a sharp edge and held an unmistakable ring of authority that, despite the conversation they had held earlier, reminded Brom that some things were hereditary no matter the differences between parent and child. "Leave it. I'll be fine. We can talk about it later. Just go to sleep."

He regarded her with a steady gaze, keeping their eyes locked. His suspicions were confirmed when it was Arya who broke contact, looking away from him with her jaw clenched tight. "I hope you're right. And I hope you will tell me when whatever this is gets worse." He warned. "Remember what I told Murtagh, Arya. You're the only one who can get the Queen start supporting the Varden again. So for not just your sake, but the entire damn Varden's, I hope you're right." And he started the short descent back to camp.

Arya let out a breath and looked up at the pale stars. They twinkled above her, smugly winking as if they knew, as she did, that fire was burning in her veins.

The Shade smiled, pointed teeth gleaming. "It won't kill you right away, little elf. It won't even start to kill you until I tell it to." Arya gritted her teeth as the clear fluid in the syringe slid into her wrist and rushed through her bloodstream. "My own modified Skilna Bragh. You know, little elf, if you escape, and you run fast enough, you just might make it to your people or the Varden before it destroys you." And he winked at her, as if sharing in some private joke.

The elf closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She had to decide. Continue traveling with the others, leading not only the Urgals to the Varden's doorstep, but Durza as well and probably slowing the group down until she succumbed to the poison in her blood, or try to run to Ceris and deliver a dying declaration that would force the Queen to resume aiding the Varden.

No, she couldn't do that. It would lead Durza right to the elvish city.

Her last choice was grim. Leave the group at the mouth of the Beartooth River and turn back to the Hadarac. She could slow the Urgals as best she could, and die a warrior's death. It was preferable than dying of thirst or poison in the hellish sands.

Another swirl of wind flowed from the aforementioned desert. Arya sighed as it ghosted over her skin, her nerves tingling with the first uncomfortable prickles of pain, and looked back to where Brom was kicking his sleeping bag out on the ground. "Yeah, Brom," She murmured. "I hope so too."