#executioner's chop

[pesceterra]

Unstoppable.

UnSTOPPABLE!!! Prometheus i am coming for your liver!!!!

[bruciemilf]

No one

Absolutely no one

Me at 2 in the morning : Jason being taller than Bruce and both of them feeling sad about it Bruce because he's not a little boy anymore and so many things are proof of that, and he feel like he's been robbed of Jason in many ways when joker ki..ed him

Jason bc even if he lowered is guard and allowed himself to ask for some confort, Bruce wouldn't be able to take him in his arm and shield him from the rest of the world, maybe even feeling awkward in his own body bc yeah he's a fricking mountain and people are cautious of him, but for the same reason he sometimes don't know what to do with himself

“I thought I knew what death tasted like already. Then, my father couldn’t pick me up” something something

[molagbalapologist]

you've gotta hand it to the executioners in skyrim, they always manage to behead someone in one swift chop

from what I've heard about ye olde executions, it didn't always go so smoothly

[yoonyia]

[docholligay]

“Could you maybe give me some guidelines about what is and is not an abominable direction for the story? Just like, a handful of thoughts? Maybe? I would like to keep my hands? No? Okay.”

Please note I have never seen this and am watching spoiler-free! Please don’t confirm, deny, or explain anything, even if it’s historical or cultural! Thank you!

[apuppetmuseum]

also kojiro straight up doesn't trust people who uses an axe for a weapon. and I think we can all guess why.

[valtsv]

they should add an emoji of a guy getting decapitated

they should add a decapitation section to the emoji interface including a severed head, axe and chopping block, guillotine, executioner's sword, and headless horseman emojis. just for me specifically.

[eveningdawn222]

people who act like batman isn't "judge jury and executioner" because he doesn't kill people are like. genuinely so funny to me because. they're very obviously thinking of "executioner" as like. the stereotypical guy with axe who chops people heads off, and not, yknow, the literal definition of the idiom itself, which is about someone who has the ability to judge and then subsequently punish someone unilaterally. which is quite literally what batman does.

he has the ability to decide what is a "crime" to him, he is the one who decides whether people are guilty of those crimes, and he is the one who executes their punishment. the severity of the punishment doesn't matter - he is unaccountable to anyone else, and indeed is allowed to commit as many crimes as needed to reach his arbitrary ideal of "justice."

the ideal of batman is this: a man who is so fundamentally changed by an act of senseless violence that he takes it upon himself to fight back against the rot and corruption in the world. he does this not through political activism, not through ridding himself of his wealth in favor of a greater good, not through community outreach, but through an individualistic fantasy of being a hero.

and you'll say: charlie, but he does do that !!! he donates his money all the time, he funds social programs, hospitals, orphanages, gets people jobs -

and i will say this: so why don't things get better?

because here's the base of it. gotham, at its core, can't get better. no matter what bruce wayne does, there will always be more crime, more villains, more death, more people for batman to beat up in back alleys. because that's what sells.

reoffending rates don't matter in gotham, prison reform doesn't matter in gotham, what actually causes crime doesn't matter in gotham because that doesn't sell books.

and so here it is; dc has unintentionally created a world where batman can't win, but can't be wrong, and where thousands of nameless, faceless, only-created-to-die civilians must be pushed into the meat grinder that is gotham, to fuel bruce wayne's angst and vindicate his constant, tireless, noble fight against the forces of evil.

and then: a new robin, who is poor and who's parents are dead or gone because of this cycle; who is happy go-lucky and hated by editors and fans for being robin, for not being dick grayson, for being poor.

and this robin is written, unintentionally or not, to be angry at the ways in which batman's (the narrative's) idea of justice is detached from its victims. bruce seems perfectly fine to allow countless unnamed women to be at risk from garzonas in his home country, yet robin is the one who is portrayed as irrational and violent.

this robin is not detached from gotham in the way bruce wayne is: this robin is a product of gotham.

(and here's the thing. you can't punch aids. you can't fight a disease with colorful fights and nifty gadgets. and how would robin dying from aids add to batman's story; it would call into question the systemic changes that haven't been made in gotham. how does a child get aids, in batman's city?)

so robin dies, and then bruce (the narrative) spends the next couple of decades blaming it on him. it is jason's fault; he was reckless, he just ran in, he thought it was all a game. if only bruce had seen what was coming, if only he could have known that jason wasn't rich enough or smart enough or liked enough to be robin.

batman gets a little more violent, a little more self destructive. he hurts people more and almost (!!) kills a couple guys. this is bad because it's self destructive and "not who he is." it is not bad because batman should not be able to just beat people up when he's angry.

and then he gets a shiny new robin - who is all the things jason "wasn't": rich and smart and rational and he doesn't put who batman is into question. batman and robin are partners, and jason is a grave and a cautionary tale, and (crucially here) never right.

the joker kills thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be killed.

batman beats up thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be criminals.

and then jason comes back, and nothing has changed. there is a batman and a (shiny! rich!) robin and the joker kills thousands. (because it sells)

and jason is angry - he has been left unavenged - his death has meant nothing, just as willis' had, just as catherine's had, just as gloria's had, just as -

thousands. ten of thousands. hundreds of thousands. written to be killed.

but one of them gets to come back.

and he is angry - not only at the joker, but at bruce (the narrative) - because why is the joker still alive (when thousands-)

here is the thing - jason todd is right. not because the death penalty is good, not because criminals deserve to die, not because of everything he says -

but because of what he calls into question. why is the joker alive?

because he sells books.

and dc has written a masterful character, through no fault of their own, because jason knows what is wrong, and he knows who is at fault - batman. (the narrative)

so the argument that bruce can't kill because he's not judge jury and executioner; the argument that jason is a cop or that jason is insane or that jason is in the wrong here; they hold no weight.

batman can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

and jason can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

so he will beg and plead and grovel - he will betray everything that is himself, he will forsake his family and his city and kill himself - just so that bruce (the narrative) will let the joker die.

he was condemned to death by an audience, and after he came back he has spent his whole life looking us in the eyes and screaming, asking, pleading; why is the joker still alive?

why are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands (the number doesn't matter, see, because they're just a number. not people. not real.) why are we expendable for his story? why did i have to die just for nothing to change?

and the answer is money. and the answer is the batman can never be wrong. and the answer is shitty writing. and the answer is -

nothing jason can ever change.

which is the worst of it all. he is a victim with no power, and no one else in the world can see it. he is raging and crying and screaming at his father and his writers and you - and it doesn't matter. jason doesn't matter. and he knows it.

[i-wanna-b-yours]

ANOTHER COLLEGE ENTRANCE RESULT ON MARCH 9TH I'LL KMS

[heartfullofleeches]

Executioner Jester Darling....

Cheerful, bubbly human darling apart of Titus' [Space Emperor Yan] guard who's so tiny and sweet compared to their fellow guards most kind of forget they are the tyrant's most prolific Executioner. Their axe is almost twice their size and watching them drag it around is almost comedic to some, but they won't be laughing for long when Darling cuts them down to size.

Titus should have them measured for properly fitting armor, but it's cute to see Darling struggling to peer through the holes in their helmet as they line their blade with their next victim's neck.

"Wahhh! Mr. Titus, Mr. Titus!- I can't see! Where did everyone go!"

Prancing about the crowded hall, the jester stands blinded to the scowls daggered in their direction ad they search frequently for the light at the end of the tunnel. No sight would be granted for in their haste to arrive on time, the clumsy fool had thrown their helmet on the wrong way. As prisoners hiss in disdain over losing their lives to such a pitiful excuse of a guard, the emperor beams with pride and amusement knowing his favorite jewel never fails to entertain.

"Heyyyyy- I can't see! It'll be like hitting a pinata back home! I wonder how many swings It'll take to find you- Haha, this'll be so much fun! Mr. Titus, if I manage to chop off all their limbs before they bleed out can I have extra dessert tonight?"

"Anything for you, my silly little devil."

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun���. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

[assiraphales]

I like how when the crew splits up to explore an island, while luffy is doing something dumb/reckless zoro is often off doing his own dumb/reckless thing. in loguetown while luffy is climbing on the executioner's platform (and almost losing his head) zoro is throwing a cursed sword in the air to see if it will chop his arm off. while luffy is climbing a snowy mountain and befriending giant carnivorous bunny rabbits trying to save nami zoro is drowning in a river bc he thought a swim would b a good idea and getting saved by a giant duck. then when they're together they're actively planning reckless activities "hey won't it be great to meet one of the seven warlords and fight him"

[badjokesbyjeff]

A large and powerful kingdom conquered their wealthy neighbor only to discover its treasure was all hidden away.

Only the count from the conquered kingdom knew where the gold was hidden but he refused to tell.

The conquerors took him to the dungeon, placed his head on the chopping block, and told him:

“This is your last chance! Tell us where the gold is or off comes your head!”

Beads of sweat slithered down the count’s face but still he said nothing. The captain gave the signal, and the executioner brought his hatchet down, but just as he did, the count’s courage broke and he blurted out: “No! Wait! I’ll tell you where gold’s hid-“

But it was too late. The axe came down, off came the head, and no one got the gold.

The moral of the story is: “Don’t hatchet your count before he chickens.”

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 4: Staking Claim

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: virgin!reader, oral (f,m receiving), cunnilingus, choking, slight masochism, pussy slapping, slight degradation, p in v sex, hand job, konig is demanding & a perv, dub-con if you squint, slight humiliation, slight ownership, mentions of breeding, cuddles & fluff at end (lmk if i missed anything)

this is one of the many filthy smut chapters to come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

I just wanted to thank everyone for your support with this fic! I spent a lot of time on this chapter, I hope everyone enjoys! &lt;3

not proofread

.......

series inspired by the art below!

you could barely process the next few seconds. the moment konig heard your words, challenging him to completely ruin you, he picked you up like you were nothing but a feather and threw you onto his bed. he really did try to be gentle. the bed creaked when you landed, and you laid there, contorting your body in an unintentionally seductive position, as you stared up at him with eyes that betrayed lust and fear. he stalked towards you laying on his bed as you waited with bated breath. he now stood right at your feet, which slightly dipped off the mattress frame, and stared down at you. his breathing was labored as he stared.

"what does a princess even want with an executioner?" he asked as he climbed over you on the bed. you now looked up at him with your head against the mattress.

you blinked, appalled by his question. wasn't it obvious? it was how he was everything you were taught not to be. how he sweated and grunted and chopped heads off while you lazily picked fine fruits off of silver platters and slept in a down mattress. how he was dangerous and free and unrestrained while you were duty-bound and predictable and soft. how he lived his life, not caring about others' opinions of him, while you were always under a microscope. you couldn't breathe free, you couldn't sleep soundly at night, you couldn't just take whatever you wanted, like he could. it was how he was the rabid wolf while you were the pampered lap dog. it was how he was death and you were a sorry excuse for life.

but all you could manage to say was -

"i like fire."

his large hand flew up to your neck and wrapped around it so easily. he could easily crush your windpipe and kill you, and it made you soaked. he applied gentle pressure to the sides of your neck with his fingers. he leaned down until his hood brushed your bare neck.

"still like fire?"

you looked up at him. "yes."

he held your neck firm as he moved his hood up slightly with his other hand to kiss you. but this wasn't the type of kiss you see in fairytales, the chaste type of kiss that princes give the princess after they've won the battle or killed the dragon. no, this was a kiss that was needy, lustful, a kiss that promised ruin and death, a kiss that stung so sweetly, a kiss that you were never meant to receive. but you received it and gave it back to him tenfold, your wet lips haphazardly gliding against his own. your arms timidly wrapped around his strong torso while your thighs seemed to open on their own to allow him closer to you as he devoured your mouth. his tongue slipped inside with a groan, and you couldn't help but whimper as his hand closed tighter around your neck.

this was the filthiest thing you had ever done, and it was just a kiss so far. your mixed spit dribbled down the sides of your mouth and down your neck, and you could feel his calloused fingers digging into the sides of your soft neck. and you could certainly feel his throbbing length pressing up on your crotch as he began to slowly grind on you. he eventually released your neck when you both gasped for air, and he readjusted his hood. he dropped his head down until his clothed nose rubbed right against your own.

"you have five seconds to get this dress off before i tear it apart," he growled.

you gasped, hopped out of bed, and undressed as he commanded. you normally wouldn't have been like this: so willing, so easy. you'd never even been touched by a man like this before, but the urgency and power in his voice didn't give you any room to think of disobeying. not that you didn't want this. no, you wanted this more than anything. besides, how would you explain why you suddenly had a dress that had been ripped to shreds? that a bear came and clawed it? perhaps your parents would believe that sooner than they would that their executioner corrupted their daughter in the bowels of the castle.

you let your nighttime dress drop to the floor with a quiet thud, and felt yourself become every shy as konig raked his eyes over your mostly naked form. he didn't say anything about your panties, and you were nervous as it is, so you kept them on. but you weren't wearing a bra, so your boobs and hardened nipples were bare for him to see.

he reached out his arms and dragged you by the waist to stand in between his legs at the bed. he wasn't gentle with you by any means. his hands gripped your waist tightly before that same pressure was applied to your breasts. you moaned breathlessly and shivered as he lifted his hood up enough so that he could take one of your hardened nipples in his wet mouth. you placed your hands on his shoulders for support as you swayed from the pleasure he was giving you. his wet, lithe tongue swirled around your nipples before sucking on them. he grunted like an animal starved against your breasts, and you pressed your thighs together as you bit your lip.

"lay down," he rasped as he half threw you back down onto the bed. you squeaked but followed his command. before you could get adjusted lying down, he yanked your panties off and didn't even bother taking them off your ankle before he spread your legs wide open. you hid your face as you blushed, but when you peeked out from between your fingers, you saw how hungrily he was staring at your pussy. his fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed your legs farther apart so that you were completely exposed to him. you blushed as you lost control of your breath. he examined your pussy like it was the last thing he would ever do. he couldn't help but stare at your perfect clit, your folds, or your cunt that was weeping and eager to take him in. it made your face so red that you had to turn your face to the side. your movement shifted his eyes towards you.

he got closer to your heat and lifted his hood so that he could access your most private area while keeping himself concealed. you couldn't stop the loud whine that escaped you when he ran his tongue over your pussy, purposefully widening it so that he touched every crevice. he didn't give you any time to adjust before he devoured your cunt like a man starved. the sounds his mouth was making were downright obscene: he slurped and sucked and grunted against your pussy as he probed your clit with his tongue and sucked on it hard. you squirmed and tried to push him away, but he held you open for him.

"stop moving," he grunted against your pussy before sliding his tongue into your soaking heat. your back arched as his silky, wet tongue probed and caressed your walls. you clenched around his tongue, and he couldn't help but groan as he thought about how it would feel when you clenched around his length. he placed his hands on the back of your knees by your thighs and pressed you open so he could access your wet cunt better. you gasped and shivered as you approached your orgasm on his tongue.

there was no way he was a virgin, because he ate your pussy so well, knowing exactly where to lick and when to suck, when to lap at you and when to do little kitten licks on your clit. your thighs shook under his massive hands, and you squirmed.

"konig! I'm -" you gasped before reaching your orgasm on his insatiable tongue. this wasn't like the orgasms you've had as you fingered yourself in your room, with your hand over your mouth so that the knights on patrol wouldn't hear you. this orgasm was completely shattering, and you clenched hard around nothing as konig sucked your clit as you rode out the waves of your pleasure. but he didn't detach from your clit, and you feebly pushed your hands against his head.

"too much! can't!" you whined. he finally removed his mouth from your cunt, but not before he lapped the juices that dripped out of your pussy. you lay back on his bed, breath ragged, sweaty, and very red with embarrassment as he stared at you, hovering over you.

"my turn," he said with almost a playful glint in his eye. you were confused, but you couldn't say anything before he manhandled you so that you were lying with your back on the bed and your head hanging upside down over the mattress. your eyes widened as you found yourself face-to-face with his massive erection. he pulled his pants down impatiently and threw them somewhere on his floor before he grabbed himself and brought his cock closer to you.

"open your mouth," he said as he pried your mouth open. he then grabbed your tongue and pulled it so that it was sticking out over your bottom lip before slowly easing his hard cock inside your mouth. he groaned the moment your soft lips wrapped around his length, and he pushed it halfway into your mouth. it was fucking huge, and tasted like salt and a little bit of sweat, but the feeling of the thick veins running through it pushing perfectly against your lips made up for the taste.

your throat bobbed, not quite used to the intrusion, as he stilled and groaned and enjoyed the feeling of your warm tongue and lips on his erection. he then, surprisingly gently, grabbed the sides of your head before slowly thrusting his length halfway in and out of your mouth. you needed some relief from the growing pleasure you felt, so you inched your hand down yourself as konig continued to use your mouth, and you stroked your clit. his eyes were currently closed, lost in the pleasure of your warm mouth, and you moaned against his cock. the vibrations sent shivers through him, and when looked down to see that you were pleasuring yourself, he bent over slightly, swatted your hand away, and rubbed your clit fervently with his index finger.

"you like sucking my cock, don't you?" he teased, and you could hear the smirk on his face. still rubbing your clit, he caressed your weeping cunt with another finger but didn't put it in.

he continued to thrust in your mouth, and his groans were like nothing you have ever heard. they were guttural, primal, and so overwhelmingly masculine. you came again on his finger, and he slapped your wet cunt, causing you to jump. he laughed quietly.

"does the princess like being handled like a common street whore?" he asked as his voice dipped several octaves. you were ashamed at how much that made you moan around his length. he grunted and his cock twitched before he extended your throat with his large hand and released his semen deep down your throat. you could feel the hot thickness of it sliding down your esophagus, and you coughed when he finally withdrew. but his length wasn't softening. was that even possible, you wondered?

when he caught you staring at his cock as you sat up, he laughed darkly.

"like what you see, princess?"

your eyes flicked up to his. "please, take your shirt off."

konig wordlessly removed his shirt, making sure his mask stayed on, before he threw his shirt on top of his discarded pants. you could now see him in his full glory, and oh did his body portray his profession. his biceps were so cut and thick, with prominent blue veins running over them. his chest and abs were defined, as were the deep ridges of his v-line. his thighs were thick and looked as strong as stone. if you didn't know any better, you would've thought he was a statue in the art wing of your castle. but your favorite part was the trail of thick hair that led down to his cock.

"you're...amazing..." you said breathlessly.

he looked like he could pounce on you at any second, like a spring just waiting to recoil.

"konig, i've... never had sex before," you admitted as you looked away from him nervously.

his energy, his demeanor, suddenly completely changed. his eyes grew dark, and his breathing almost stopped. he shook with how much he had to restrain himself.

"face down, ass up," he rasped. you were caught off guard, not expecting him to just completely breeze by that important detail, before you obeyed. you were glad for this starting position, since your face betrayed your embarrassment you feared you would never recover if he saw.

you could hear his feet padding against the cobblestone floor as he approached your exposed cunt. he slapped it again, and this time it stung. you whimpered. konig seemed to like giving you a little pain, since your whimper was met with a chuckle.

"i will take care of you, princess. just keep your ass nice and high for me," he whispered as he placed one hand on your hip and the other around his cock. you suddenly felt the tip beginning to penetrate you, and you clenched up.

"relax," he said as he rubbed his thumb in circles over your hip. "be a good girl for me and relax."

it was like konig had flipped a switch in your brain you didn't even know you had. you relaxed your walls and gasped silently as he slowly eased his hard length into you. you grasped onto the sheets at the intrusion.

"sc...scheiss," konig stuttered as he felt your wet walls take him in perfectly. he didn't let you get adjusted to his length before he grasped your hips with both hands and set a slow yet steady pace, thrusting in and out of you. his heavy balls slapped your clit with each thrust, and you moaned into the mattress.

"don't fucking hide from me," konig growled in your ear as he yanked your head up with your hair. the room was instantly filled with your moans and mewls. he held onto your hair and hip as he began to fuck you brutally.

"i never said i would be gentle," he said with a slight laugh in your ear. he seemed to be enjoying this, corrupting you and taking your first time in secret in the untouchable part of your castle.

he grunted loudly each time he sheathed his length into you, and your moans turned into barely audible screams. he was fucking you like a rabid animal, like it was his only mission to breed you and chase as much pleasure as humanly possible. it almost stung with how hard his balls now slapped at your clit, and you clenched around him.

"so fucking tight..." he rasped as he went back to holding your hips firmly in his hands. he manhandled your hips back onto him as he thrusted into you at the same time, making the experience so much more heightened.

"fucking. smiling. at me." he said with each hard thrust through gritted teeth. "tempting. me. this. whole. time." the sound of his skin slapping your own was like the steady rhythm that accompanied your loud, unrestrained moans.

"coming to my fucking room," he slurred as he continued pounding you. "following me."

you moaned and whimpered, feeling very self-conscious and embarrassed at his words. it didn't help his dick was filling you up to your skull.

"saying you can handle fire," he said in between grunts and groans. "you've...no idea..." he said as he thrusted "what you've...gotten yourself...into."

he was right, and you couldn't give a damn right now as his cock perfectly stroked your walls. he was just so deep, and hard, and you could see stars each time his tip kissed the entrance to your cervix. but your loud, guttural moans told him all he needed to know.

you knew his grip on your hips was going to leave bruises, and you didn't have the mental capacity in the moment to think of how to explain to the servants who bathed you where those marks came from. but you couldn't care less as konig claimed you again and again and again with his cock.

"take it," konig growled before his hips came to a halt, and he released his hot, thick load inside you. pregnancy chances be damned, all you wanted was his semen inside you. it was like setting a fire in your core, a fire that you never wanted to go out. he pulled out with a hiss, and you collapsed onto your stomach on the bed, panting and spent. konig also was catching his breath when you felt a gentle caress on your back. you jolted at the touch, feeling a bit overstimulated. he pulled his hand away.

"i'm not done with you yet, princess," konig whispered against the sweaty skin of your back before he kissed down your spine. you shivered at the feeling of his warm lips gliding over your skin, all the way down to the top of your ass.

"can't....take anymore," you murmured tiredly. konig exhaled against your back.

"you have hands, don't you?" he asked, only half teasing. he rolled you onto your back and laid next to you in bed. he wrapped his large arm around you, holding you in close to his side, and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard cock. he threw his head back as you began to pump him. you nuzzled your lips against his hood, and he eventually got the hint and lifted his mask up slightly so that he could capture your lips once again. he pulled you closer to him by your neck as his tongue invaded your mouth. his hips bucked up into your hand, and you squeezed him. he groaned in your mouth.

"so gut," he whispered against your lips. you pumped him faster, your lips never detaching from his, before he came all over his stomach with a groan. you both lay panting once again, you trying to catch your breath from the kiss and him from his orgasm. you pulled your hand away from his softening cock and laid it awkwardly on the side of your body.

konig rolled slightly over and picked up a cloth that was lying by his bed on the floor. he wiped his stomach clean, and then sat up.

"spread 'em," he said as he grabbed one of your thighs and held it up and open.

"wait, is that the cloth I gave you?" you asked him, blood rising to your cheeks.

"ja," he said simply before gently wiping your cunt clean.

"that...that cloth was...to wipe your sweat, or something..." you murmured as you watched him clean you.

"it's mine now. i can use it how i please," he said before he threw it back on the floor. he laid down next to you once again. you cuddled up into his side nervously and hesitantly laid a hand on his chest. he wrapped his arm around you and held you close by your back.

"don't tell anyone about this, ja?" he said against your scalp.

you nodded. "of course."

"you are mine now," he declared. you looked up at him, your cheek resting on his chest and your brows lifted in confusion and disbelief.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your voice rising in pitch a bit.

"you are mine." he repeated, and he didn't speak for the rest of the night. eventually, you got up out of bed and sheepishly put your clothes back on while konig admired the view, still laying down with his hands behind his head. he laid on his bed, completely naked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. the man oozed confidence. when you stumbled a bit as you walked, he chuckled quietly. you rolled your eyes at him.

"well...goodnight, then," you said awkwardly as you turned to go to his door to leave. but he got up suddenly and placed his hand on your shoulder. you looked back at him, confused, before he lifted his hood slightly and gently pecked you on the lips. and so you left his room feeling giddy, sore, and much too obsessed with the executioner.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope

[bottlehawk]

hs kids' first day on the earth c minecraft survival server

jake: starts digging straight down as soon as he spawns. keeps digging. keeps digging. keeps digging. no one ever sees him again

jane: enters ready to get everyone organized. half the server immediately runs off doing their own thing. stops the remaining crew before they wander off so they can start building a base before it turns to night. gives everyone roles and then has to go afk because she was on her lunch break and is actually playing minecraft on her company computer. comes back hours later and finds the entire server on fire.

karkat: gets a stone hoe and some wheat seeds thrown at him and is told to set up a wheat farm. nods even though he's never played minecraft before and doesn't know how. clicks the ground with the hoe and it seems to do something so he does that for a while. dave comes over and asks him why he's been just plowing the ground in one really long straight line. tells him to fuck off so he does. wishes he hadn't when he realizes he could've asked him for help. figures out that if you click on the ground with the seed it plants it and decides he's actually a minecraft genius and doesn't need anybody's help at all. dusts his hands off proud of the work he's done and then goes to try to find kanaya.

kanaya: is given a stone axe and is told to chop down some wood for the houses. does and gives roxy some stacks and goes to chop down some more wood because she honestly finds it kind of therapeutic. ends up clearing an entire mountain. night comes and mobs start sprouting up and she chops them down too. is surrounded by fields of floating rotten flesh and bones and cursed armor when suddenly she sees flames in the distance near the base. starts marching down there with the grim resolution of an executioner, ready to now start chopping some necks.

terezi: learns how to craft a flint and steel and discovers the magic of fire. laughs maniacally as she starts burning cows she runs into and laughs even more when she discovers they drop cooked meat. wants to find more things to burn. finds a raider's base and the sound of the wood torching up into flames does something to her and she starts setting fire to the entire forest. stumbles across the base. sets fire to one of the buildings. karkat comes over and yells and asks what the fuck she's doing. sets karkat on fire. laughs as she watches him run in circles not knowing how to stop the flames. suddenly gets murked by kanaya who's sneaked up behind her, and continues being hunted down by her as she respawns for the rest of the night.

jade: wanders off and finds a cute little village. decides that she's adopting it now. places some flowers she's picked along the way around to make it look nice and pretty. tames and places some cats around the perimeter and puts some torches nearby to keep away mobs. builds a water fountain in the middle of the town square. waves goodbye to go find some wolves to tame and promises that she'll be back.

dave: builds elaborately detailed dirt penises all over the farm while karkat works and negs him. karkat tells him to fuck off and go do something useful. fucks off accordingly and finds jade's village. raids everything from the chests and all the crops. puts dirt dicks all over the place. kills the cats for string and free exp. kills some sheep and creates beds and pushes some of the villagers inside a shitty little acacia building he made with a sign on it saying "breeding pen". throws some potatoes at them and then blocks up the entrance. turns around and immediately gets blown up by a creeper.

calliope: is the only one given op privileges as she is the only one that everyone can trust to have it. decides she wants to build a big cool glass castle in the sky. has just finished building the base when jade types in chat that whoever destroyed her village is going to pay. types "oh no!!!" in the chat. gets a dm from dave asking her for sanctuary because jade is going to KILL him. remembers that he's made NFTs. sends jade screenshots of the exact incriminating parts in the server log and happily continues building her castle.

rose: has debug screen turned on. immediately crafts several stone axes. runs off to the nearby desert and finds a desert temple and raids it, crafting an iron bucket. fills it with water and goes to a lava pool and builds a nether portal. enters the nether. speed bridges over to a nether fortress and makes a wither skeleton farm and proceeds to grind for ~3-4 hours. collects enough wither skulls. readies her bow and summons the wither and starts using its detonating blasts to mine down for ancient debris.

roxy: tried to convince everybody at the beginning to download 727378282 mods to make the server "more FUN!!". was unsuccessful. gets told to make some houses and beds for the base so she does. looks for other things to do and finds karkat's wheat farm and is flabbergasted. why is it in one long straight line. there isn't even any water. where is the water? tells john to go get her some redstone while she fixes it up so she can automate it.

john: not sure what to do. roxy tells him to start mining for redstone ("its red and shiny lol you wont have to dig that far"). digs straight down into a cave. realizes he forgot to get wood but decides to go on anyway. uses up all his stone pickaxes mining copper because he doesn't know what it is and it looks cool. hits a slime and it divides into more slimes and he freaks out and runs away with two hearts. keeps running and finds a door in the side of the cave wall. opens it. wanders around in a cool maze and then enters a weird room with some yellow and green chest like boxes. suddenly gets attacked by a little bug making a screechy sound and panics and dies.

dirk: rounds up some animals into pens for the base and then busts out a boat and a fishing pole to try to get them a book of mending. is chilling in the middle of the ocean and then sees that dave gets blown up by a creeper in chat. asks if he's okay and if he needs someone to come over. sees that karkat got killed by terezi. sees that terezi got killed by kanaya. asks what is going on. is now rowing back towards base. jade types that her village has been destroyed. jane has logged on and is asking why the entire base is on fire. is crafting buckets and filling them with water. sees that rose got an achievement for summoning the wither. texts her "Dude did you just summon the Wither???". rose ominously replies "I've got it handled." sees john got killed by a silverfish and roxy asking when the hell john found the stronghold. jake gets a cheating death with a totem of undying achievement. proceeds to have a total aneurysm.

[moongreenlight]

Ptolemaea P. 1- Huntsman!Ghost x Runaway Princess!Reader

CW: BRIEF mentions of animal death, description of gore and violence, noncon implied. No smut yet.

Your kingdom was once powerful, revered by others for its political prowess and strong army, but it does not have the sway it once did. Hordes of wealth dwindled into something unrecognizable. Subjects growing poorer and more restless with only wormy apples and stinking meat and moth-eaten fabrics to barter at the market. War raging to the East, word of civil unrest in the West. Your father was left with few other options than to auction off what little possessions of worth he had left.

He was given four daughters, you, the youngest and the last to be married off. Sold like swine to the highest bidder with no consideration for character or condition.

All your other sisters went gracefully save for a few tearful goodbyes in the privacy of their quarters. Bowed heads pushed together, shaking hands clutching and grabbing at others for stability. Weeping softly for the loss of company, for the fate that awaited them, for the mystery of when you’d be reunited. Four, then three, then two, now one.

You’d been trussed up in your best dresses and jewelry. Made a spectacle of for a few days as suitors came and went from the great hall. Slobbering their way through promises of riches or alliance or armies in an attempt to win your father’s favor.

Their eyes were wild and hungry when they threw spare glances at you. Lecherous smiles showed sharp, clenched teeth. And each offer of an extra five men to an army or hundred gold pieces more than the last brought you closer to being shoved to their chests. A twine-wrapped packet of mutton scraps tossed to a pack of starving dogs.

It was a heavy feeling, sinking ever deeper as each new suitor strutted down the long walk toward you. Peacocking and vying for favor. You imagined it felt like watching the executioner approach the stand while you waited with your head laid on the chopping block.

You’d read your sister’s letters after they left. Poured over every word and learned of their new realities. Their dogs and horses slaughtered, gowns burned, all former possessions seized and thrown to the river to be replaced with tokens of their new kingdoms. Branded over their old marks like cattle in a trade. You noticed that as the weeks and months drew by, the letters became more and more censored. Stopped detailing the further horrors and discomforts they faced at the hands of their husband and opted to regale you with detailed descriptions of their gardens or their plans for children.

The same wretched sickness you felt when you read the letters ate its way into your belly as you watched the funeral procession of suitors and remembered the way your sisters’ neat, loopy writing slowly turned into something rushed and sloppy. You imagined the way it would happen to you.

Perfect cursive lettering that had been learned to you for years by a sour schoolmarm that rapped your knuckles with a ruler when you dawdled during your lessons shoved from your mind to make room for brainwashing. You sat on your hands and dug your nails into your palms until they bent backward to keep your attention away from the scream packing itself into your chest.

You were promised to a king from the South. Some larger country near the capitol that wielded far more power than your kingdom, even at its pinnacle. The new king brought to you from across the channel because of his surliness. You’d heard stories of him whispered among the maids. He was cruel and choleric by all accounts. Not to mention fat and old and ugly and impatient to produce an heir. Made it all but impossible for him to find a bride.

He brought lavish gifts with him to sway the vote. Chestfuls of diamonds and precious stones and gold that his men laid at your father’s feet. Thick furs, expensive perfumes, and silks in colors you’d only ever heard of for your mother. A new dress in his kingdom’s colors for you.

You were escorted from the room by your father’s guard when he began negotiating a deal with the new king. You’d tried to sink your slippers into the stone, tried to kick and scream your desperation for your father to reconsider. But you were thrown from the room. Dragged out under the armpits by knights whose armor shone so brightly you were able to see your teary, crumpled form on the floor reflected in their chest plates before the heavy door was snapped shut on your nose.

You heard your maids and the castle guards whispering after the new king left. Saw your mother gracefully swipe away a single tear after dinner when she kissed you goodnight. The new king’s guard would be by early the next morning to snatch you up. The narrative you knew to be true only confirmed further by gossip. Two or three days of showboating, a decision made, negotiations, and then the next sunrise another sister is plucked up.

So you waited until darkness was cast over the castle. Until you were certain your maids and the guards at your door had gone to their own quarters for a few hours rest. You made your escape barefoot and in your thin nightdress. Stole one of your mother’s new fur cloaks to help protect yourself from the bitter cold that had settled over the land. Padded down the winding halls and staircases until you were able to slip through the grand double doors of the front. Evaded the indolent guards that were no doubt sneaking a smoke or a nap in the garden and moved quickly down the path to the stables. Tacked your horse with a knight’s saddle and took off into the night.

It took no more than four hours for the castle to know of your absence. Your maid had gone to wake you up in the wee hours of the morning, pack a bag before you were picked up by your new husband, and all but flew to your father’s quarters to alert him of your empty bed. It wasn’t half six before both your father’s and the new king’s men were set out on the land in search of you. Horses and hounds kicking frost off the lawn as the sun rose.

You managed three days without capture. Traveled through the skirts of the forest. Slept for a few hours at a time huddled close to the belly of your horse wrapped in your fur cloak. Ventured into small villages and cities to see if you couldn’t convince a vendor to spare you a cup of soup or a stale loaf of bread. Heard snippets of the news of the nearest kingdom who’d lost their last princess and tucked your chin close to your chest on your ride out.

The deep woods were unforgiving. Thin, winding paths that connected kingdoms littered with wolves and marauders and hunters. It was safer to stick to the edges where trees were younger and light could still filter in. Moving West as long as you could with no real plan as to what the permanence of your situation could look like. Maybe find a city far enough away from your kingdom to settle. It was a half-cooked idea from the beginning, you knew that. Born out of fear and anxiety and bull-headedness. Freedom without direction was better than being forced into the arms of a man that would sooner cage you like an animal than see you leave.

So you followed the wood and the few slow-flowing creeks that were not dammed by slush or ice. Kept your head on a swivel and your guard up. Anyone you ran into was presumed foe, so you set a punishing pace to minimize the chance of an encounter.

–

It was an act of desperation when your father called on a huntsman. Needy for the power trade tied to the contract of your marriage and looking to stop the simmering of his people under him from boiling over. His guards had returned in couples every few hours to give him bad news. They’d sent ravens to ally cities asking them to look for you and still they’ve come up empty.

Ghost refused to meet with your father or the new king directly. Sent a tawny hawk with a scroll tied to its leg that detailed the conditions of his employment. Your father promised anything for the return of his youngest princess. The new king offered obscene riches and painted whores. And privately, in a post script penned in tiny font on the back of the scroll, he promised an opportunity for Ghost to lay with you after you’d produced an heir.

Ghost sent his hawk back a few hours later. His letter was short, only responding to your father like he couldn’t be arsed with the superficial promises of the new king. He requests ten gold pieces, some of your perfume, and a cutting of fabric from one of your dirtied gowns.

–

It’s the eve of your fourth day out before you run into trouble. Great plumes of thick black smoke alert you to either a brush fire or a village close off your side and it drives you further into the forest. You move slowly through the dusk, even slower as the light stops being able to filter through the dense leaves and branches. The ground is lost to darkness, and you’d already made the mistake of trying to stumble your way over the uneven terrain barefoot, so you opt to stay on your horse’s back until you find a clearing to settle in.

In the blanketed silence of the wood, it was easy to remember how alone you were. How defenseless. You cursed yourself every night for not swiping a kitchen knife or a hunting blade so that you had some security. Not that either would have done you much good, but it would have served to give you some peace of mind.

You were torn from your thoughts when you heard heavy footfalls in a thicket a few yards in front of you. Snapping of felled branches, two low voices carried to you on a breath of wind. You stopped your horse and tried to lay down close to its back, tuck your head in behind its big neck. You held your breath as the voices grew closer, tried to will your shivering muscles to still. But your horse is a massive beast; stark white and practically spotlighted by the faint light of the moon. It did nothing to hide you.

You weren’t sure if the men were poachers or thieves or member’s of the guard patrolling the area for you. It really didn’t matter because everything happened so fast. There was the distinctive thwack of an arrow burying itself in the tree just next to you. Bark exploded out like a bomb, grazing your cheek and spooking your horse. Somewhere in the chaos of the shouting of the men, and the hurried sounds of boots trampling crisp leaves and your lame sounding yelp of surprise, you were thrown from your horse. Sent crashing to the ground and landing so hard on your back that it knocked the wind out of you and left your vision spotted.

You would have cried out if you had any air left in your lungs. Your chest was burning. Legs weak and awkward from hours on hours of riding. All you could do was scramble back. Bury your fingers deep as you could into the semi-frozen earth and try to drag yourself away. Gasping for air, blinking away the flashes and pops of darkness that camouflaged your assailants.

You hit something hard, knocked your head on it in your rush and nearly went unconscious. It made your ears ring, adding yet another layer of distortion to your senses. A tree, probably. Or a boulder. You recoiled, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to make yourself small under the mass. Tried to make out where the footsteps and the muffled shouting were coming from. Your shaking hands felt clumsily along the ground, looking for anything you could use to defend yourself. A rock, a stick, a hard clump of mud.

There was a flurry of movement from a few yards in front of you, specifics of limbs or bodies lost to the inky darkness. And then your hands found something large and warm. Disturbingly so. Maybe a rodent or a stray animal caught in the crossfire. It takes two hands to lift the thing. You bring it closer to see if swinging the carcass of what could have been a hefty pest would provide you any defense.

Not an opossum or a raccoon struck down by an arrow. Not quite. It’s the head of a man. His face stuck eternally in a look of putrid shock. Mouth gaped wide, eyes bugging out, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He’s got a decent stump of what used to be his neck. Hot blood trailed down your wrists and arms and dripped onto your nightdress.

Someone was screaming. A tortured, twisted sound coming more and more clearly to you as you caught your bearings. The kind of mangled cry that tore its way up out of someone’s throat so ferociously that you were sure you could feel it in your own chest as well. The kind of scream that left your tongue bitter and filmed with iron.

You’re not sure where it’s coming from, but it’s loud. Almost deafeningly so. You wish it would stop. Wish whoever was making such a spectacle would realize the severity of the situation and pull themselves together for a moment so you could think. Maybe you’d find them and work together to get out of this mess. Get away from the forest and find your horse and get back on your path.

You think that maybe it’s the head still clutched in your hands. You remember a cook telling you stories when you were young about how the chickens from the farmers used to be able to run around for nearly eight minutes after they’d been decapitated. You wondered if their heads still squawked after they were severed. You wondered if humans operated the same way. If this poor man’s body was stumbling around meters away in search of his head.

A big hand clamps over your jaw. Forced your mouth shut with such punch that your teeth clack together. You taste blood and you’re not sure if you’ve taken off the tip of your tongue. The screaming stops. It takes you a long moment to piece the situation together. Sat there huddled in on yourself, still gripping at the head and letting the thick blood dripping from its- his- neck sludge down your shins and pool at your feet.

You almost forget about the hand shutting your maw in your daze. Muzzling you with the bitter taste of iron and leather and the vice grip of a bear trap. You’d almost returned to your mind. Remembered that this was not a friendly situation and the body attached to the hand was likely not of pure intention. But you were jerked up by the scruff of your neck. Another strong hand fisting a good portion of the hair at your nape in the process. It lifted you clear off the ground, left your feet dangling inches above the earth. Shocked you enough to get you to let the head tumble out of your hands and back to the ground from where it had come.

You tried to cry out, but your voice was shot. Shredded by the dryness of your throat or the screaming or pure exhaustion. You clawed at the hands, but they were wrapped in thick leather gloves that branched up the arms of your captor. Tried to kick out, but they were wearing thick armor that deflected the force of your blow straight back up into your leg.

You yowled as best you could from under the thick covering. Clawed and grabbed at the air feebly until you were shook by the neck like a rag-doll.

“You’ll quiet or I’ll cut out your tongue and quiet you myself.”