#feasting like a mother fucker

[king-galaxius]

The Moment I Fell In Love With You

The moment I fell in love with you was when I sat down and ate your home made hot peach cobbler topped with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream. Every bite was pure bliss. After that, I knew that I would be at your place soon. It was more than just trying out a new restaurant and adding you to my list. The moment I put my fork between the flaky, heavenly layers of your heavenly crust took me…

[bottombaron]

i kno he had a lot going on at the moment and he wasnt there for the Patton Oswalt-Batman event but i just know, deep down in my heart of hearts, 42 hours after he's been returned as a human, Guillermo De La Cruz is going to be spending a lot of time in that potting shed thinking abt Nandor's scary aggressive dom phase

[kit-williams]

Chaos Sanguinius

MOODY YOUR FAULT

(Maybe another day I'll do a true Incubi Sanguinius but today is not that day)

((ALSO SURPRISE MOTHER FUCKERS MOMRAD CAN WRITE SOMETHING NONSEXUAL)) (((Sorta)))

Tags: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

tw: Blood

Thank you @squishyowl for the dividers

You laid bound and gagged in the room... the lord of Blood had returned victorious which meant Eighty Eight people were drained of their blood for him to engorge allowing the Lord of the Blood Angels to engorge on Eight hundred liters of blood which would usually sate his thirst. You hardly knew a thing... never even seen the lord... but you laid there on the floor bound and gagged... wrists tied and blindfolded. You had spent all your tears long ago as the room got quieter and quieter.

You whimper as you are grabbed and carried... the smell of iron is so strong as is the smell of something else... you think its the smell of the Astartes... you feel several get close as jaws snap near your ears but soon much larger hands pick you up and you feel clawed hands delicately move over your throat. He coos at you, "You might just survive this yet little bird... I only need a few liters from you... some of your fellows had so much blood to give." The strong male voice says as you just sob again feeling a tongue run over the hollow of your throat... a large mouth wrapping around most of your neck... he could rip your throat out but right now he was licking and sucking on your neck.

You feel your bindings break with such ease, the painfully tightly knots sliced with his claws and you're scared as you keep your eyes closed when the removes the blindfold. A light and airy chuckle graces your ears, "Open your eyes little bird." He demands... and you obey.

The breath you were holding leaves you... as a beautiful man looks down at you... Deep Crimson curls run past his shoulders.... His crimson eyes glowing bright as fresh blood was running down his chin... your eyes glanced behind him as you saw movement of large blood red wings; your eyes fail to see how red his teeth are. "There we go." He praised as claws run under your chin as he looks at you like you're some timid prey creature in the jaws of a predator. "Such pretty eyes you have." He coos to you as you are utterly entranced by his handsome face... but the crunching behind your head makes you pull your eyes away to look over your shoulder- "Ahh I wouldn't look little bird... my son's are... feasting right now."

You kept your eyes on Sanguinius as it was a Charnel house behind you as blood ran down naked and mutated torsos but you sat in the lap of the blood soaked primarch just watching him glance away from you occasionally... speak with such prose in his voice but the loud cacophony of voices behind you has you scrambling close to hide. You had almost forgotten why you were here... his touch so soft... a gentle hand that you had long forgotten what it felt like.

"May... may I ask something?" You say softly.

"Of course little bird." He coos as engorging himself with so much blood is a challenge so it was always nice to end on such a sweet treat.

"What... what... what happens if I live?"

Sanguinius paused... as it was not often that there was usually some to spare... spare enough in their body to live... "Well little bird... you become a treat. You'll be taken care of... pampered but your blood belongs to me... perhaps I'll have my apothocaries get you to produce extra blood like a cow does with milk." He says with a dark chuckle as he caresses your chin with a thumb... his mouth moves to your neck as he kisses your pulse... licking the pulsing vein. "But those are fantasies for if you survive." He kisses your neck before kissing your chin and you whimper... "Yes little bird just let me take care of you... share your blood with me... come give me a kiss." He purrs in your ear as you continue to relax in his grip.

Your mouth brushes against his as his wing hide you from his sons. He always makes the last one feel special. You whimper as you melt into the kiss. His sharp teeth scraping your bottom lip as his hands rub your sides and again he chuckles, "Mmm such a sweet scent... and a sweet taste... I do hope your blood is as sweet as that swatch was." You purse your lips for a moment to ask but he bites your neck.

He drinks... and drinks... and drinks... and you grow weaker... and weaker... and weaker... till you slip into unconsciousness so easily... and not overly painful.

You felt warm... oh it was so nice and warm you whimpered at the feeling as everything felt fuzzy.

"There's my little bird." You heard the demon primarch say as your eyes slowly open as you're laying against him and you're wrapped in a soft blanket. You were confused... why would he have such thing but it's not your place to question him.

"You survived. So you have been rewarded to be my blood filled treat." You think he says... you feel so tired and dizzy still. "Little bird..."

"Hmmm?" You look up confused.

"Ahh still out of sorts... I was eager for you to wake up... as were my sons to see you not wake up. Such greedy boys but they love treats just as much as I do." He chuckles. "Return to sleep little bird and when you awaken I shall tell you of your duties to me."

You did not need to be told again as your eyes closed and sleep returned to you quickly.

[thelastbarricade]

Bloodhound.

pt. 1 of ? [ part 2 ]

[ read on ao3 ]

summary:

Cooper Howard is not a gracious, kind, nor giving man. When you wake bound and bleeding--seemingly left for dead after having previously traversed the Wasteland for months with him--you're reminded of this.

word count : 2.7k

tags: the ghoul x you, the ghoul x oc

warnings: violence, swearing, (will add more as the story progresses)

notes:

Say hello to my first fic attempt in...two years? Oh boy. All comments and feedback very much appreciated and feel free to hit me up in my messages and start a convo!

Narration and form may not be entirely polished so please pardon my dust.

xx korine <3

“You are not seriously going to fucking leave me here?!”

The warehouse you’re slumped over and hog-tied on the floor of groans and echoes around your shattering scream. Dust smears across your clothes; caked thick across the concrete floor as you squirm. The taste of metal and rust in the air causes your stomach to turn, bile bittering your tongue.

You came to consciousness like this. Tattered rope and torn clothing binding your ankles beneath you. Arms pulled so tight at the back you feared for the ligaments about your shoulders. Not that he’d cared to check for comfort. It was for the best, at least that’s what he’s decidedly convinced himself about now. Cooper Howard: wayward Ghoul and the Wasteland’s infamous Bogeymen was a dirty, dastardly, trifling man. He did things simply because he could. Didn’t matter the reason or rhyme, so long as the tune rang the same and the caps continued flowing. Who could blame him? World continued spinning regardless, and hungry a man as he was—fella’ had to eat.

“Mother fucker!” Blood trickles down your temple to bloom across your lips as you spit your words—venomous and vehement—in his direction. You kick and fight against your restraints, wrists red and angry to match their maker. Now that warrants a chuckle from your partner.

Partner? Captor?

Friend.

At least that’s what memories bound 'round the countless campfires and shared meals had lent their assumptions to at one point. Your mind reels over the titles and labels, if any, that you had once held Cooper to.

Oh you were fucked.

As if it even mattered anymore. He’d drugged you, some sleeping agent based on the sick in your stomach and thick weight of your limbs lingering. Whatever agreement you two had had as of yesterday seems to have gone up in flames.

“Nothin’ personal, darlin’.” The Ghoul's calm and cool facade only further enrages you. He eyes you with an eerie ease. That curious perk in his brow and tilt in his jaw ever-present.

You were going to rip out his throat with your bare fucking teeth. Tear what amalgamation of leathery ruin was left over that thick skull of his off and to shreds with your own two hands. Whatever nerve endings were left un singed by that almighty fucking bomb in his body were yours. You were going to dissect them inch by inch until all he could feel was you stripping him of the last thing humanity had granted him—pain.

Your chest heaved, blood in your veins threatening to set you alight thanks to all the adrenaline. Fuck the dehydration and starvation: come night the Radroaches would be having a feast. Not to mention the bloody fucking pack of fiends that’d been on your tails for the past week straight. You eye the bloodied tourniquet you’d bandaged so carefully the night before still dangling from the Ghoul's left leg. The grotesque blade that had torn into his already mottled and marred flesh had cut a mortal wound that would have felled any smooth skin. It had been taking longer to heal than usual. A sure sign Cooper’d been running low on his usual stock of vials. Shit, things like this had happened before and you’d both dealt with it. Got him back in his right mind and hit the road like nothing had happened. He hadn’t sold you then, hadn’t abandoned you then—but now?

What the hell changed?

Cooper turns away for a second; whipping the tattered fray of his trench coat aside and tucking something into his back pocket. You seize your seconds and shoot both heels out toward his injured leg sideways with all the might you can muster. It works. The ghoul is brought to his one good knee in a second before you. Not that you’ve any weapon or hands to follow through with anyway. It’d simply been in vain but even that you would take over letting him just walk away. From you. From this. Us. You feel his calloused fingers wrap themselves around your chin. He jerks your face within an inch of his. The growl in his chest barely escapes his lips as his other hand clutches the wound you’ve undoubtedly re-opened. You sneer through his hold on you. His breath is hot and vile. Comforting. Familiar.

How could he? No—how fucking dare he?! You grind out what moisture you have left on your tongue and spit it directly in his face. Saliva and blood freckle his marred cheeks. He shoves you aside. Like nothing. Like dirt.

Wasteland fucking scum.

Not that you weren’t. Cooper knew you were no angel, no savior, and sure as hell no saint. You’d more blood on your hands than any of the usual ruckus he’d found himself shacking up with or against. It could be said that was the reason he’d kept you around, but you knew better. Didn’t you?

Cooper could have partnered with any low-life Wastelander. Ones far bigger and far more dangerous than your likes. But it was you he stuck with. You who’d taken countless blades, bullets, stimpaks and Rad-X…all for him. The fucking horror that he was, you fucking took it all. Asked for nothing in return. Nothing more than a fucking voice in the void, not even a comforting one. Snide comments, limitless ridicule. Taken it all like tonic and swallowed it up like a naive child. You’d just not wanted to traverse the wastelands alone. Was that so much to ask? Apparently so.

Your stomach shifts violently; retch burning its way past your lips as you vomit beside yourself. Cursing yourself for your weakness you wrestle your restraints to kneel before him.

“Should’ve killed me when I was under, Cooper.” It takes all of your composure to stifle the sob in your throat and shove out a feigned a chuckle in its place. “I promise you…” Your eyes begin to burn, blurred. “I promise I’m going to make you wish you had.”

There’s a stiffness in his body language you chalk up to his wound. A hardened hesitation. You eye the loaded holster on his hip, wishing for once he’d just man up and use it. The ghoul straightens above you. The wide brim of his hat casts most of his face in a shadow. Hollowed eyes devoid of even the sentiment of emotion. Bastard. Behemoth.

Your binds smart and ache at your spine and your fingers flex instinctively. Even if you’d the luck about you to manage the gun away from him in his injured state, what would you do with it then?

'You’re a shit shot and you know it.' Cooper's words echo in the confines of your thoughts. They were warmer last they’d been spoken. A ghost of his touch fluttered at the memory. An uncharacteristically shaky hand. A rough touch pressed over yours as he guided you. Fingers finding yours like a self-conscious schoolboy. Like he was afraid if he moved too quickly you’d startle, leaving him standing alone in the fallout. You could have called it endearing once upon a time. Now? His comment just felt like a blade salted and shoved through an already gaping wound.

The ghoul catches your eyes lingering on his holstered belt. “Want me to put you onto somethin’?” He’s mocking you. You can hear it despite the salacious tone. He's eating this up. You steel your expression. Tears still paint your cheeks but you refuse to acknowledge their presence.

“Enlighten me,” You straighten yourself in slight, scooting closer. “I’ll even say please .” Your voice mock-softens. You pout, attempting to look as lost and vulnerable as possible. “Please, mister.” Your ignorant expression fades away. The smile teetering on your lips borders on manic. You could almost feel the pincers piercing your skin when the roaches descended upon you. Taste your own viscera bubbling up into your throat. Work out the curses you know would be solely meant for the man before you in your head. Even in death, you wouldn’t be able to escape him. Even in death, you would still be left wanting—him. How fucking pathetic. How fitting. So this was the Wasteland’s fate for you. Who were you to deny it?

It all happens in a blur then. You close your eyes, feeling the sweet scrape of a metal barrel press a bruising kiss at your already battered temple. Cooper's lips are gnarled, curled into a snarl as he descends upon you. A fistful of your shirt finds itself between his fingers. Always a temper, that one. It almost matched your own. You suppose that’s why you loved to play his game. Cooper’s nostril twitches as your eyes flutter open. You gaze up at him, knees ghosting the ground beneath you. The way he held you felt disgraceful. Divine.

“If I was a better man I’d paint this here pavement with those pretty little brains a’ yers.”

A scoff leaves your lips. Between the both of you, there was no good: only the bad and ugly. You’d committed no virtues in your twenty-odd some years on the surface and neither had Cooper in all of his. He drops you, pressing the barrel against your cheekbone and following the curvature of your cheek to your jaw. His eyes linger for a moment on your lips and you lick the blood drying itself there.

“Fiends’ll finish what I cant. Give me all the time I need to heal and with them on my trail—I can’t. Sorry sweetie, seems you’re the canon fodder today.” His voice echoed out across the warehouse, unrelenting and cold. The chill of his words drowned out the heat of the scorching sun.

What the fuck. What the actual FUCK.

Eyes wild, you buck—pushing the gun away with the thick of your skull. The ghoul relented then, reupholstering his weapon. In a second he’s stepping away from you. His blood-stained and grime-covered coat descends into the dark hallway across the warehouse. Walking away. Away. From you. Leaving you.

You scream and kick and writhe. Your voice blows out the entirety of the building you’re in until the walls and earth are shaking as above and so below. Everything about you had imploded. Every belief you’d been gifted and so naively accepted. Set aflame and blazing so bright you hadn’t realized such a thing could consume. Hatred. You felt your skin shed in your bindings. Heart a roaring scorch from deep within your chest. Much like you imagine the Ghouls may have at some point. You were birthing yourself anew. Alone. Bearing the weight of this world by yourself once more. You were better off alone. It was Cooper who’d had the dastardly deed of convincing you otherwise. Dangling a kinder fate before you only to rip it from you once the fruits of his labor had set their seeds deep in your psyche.

—

After you’d had your tantrum you settled in the dust and dinge of the cold cement floor. Your heavy breaths softened, silence becoming you. The sounds of the building had settled. When you were confident no lingering eyes or ears were upon you you whipped the heel of your boot back towards your bound wrists. Spindly fingers worked their way between the rubber and sole. Jackpot. The hilt of a pairing blade—one you’d more commonly used on your dinner—slid against your touch. Cooper was something of an expert with knots, but even these were shoddy and rushed enough that your rusted blade was up and through in a matter of minutes. You could blame it on your newfound vigor as well. Adrenaline seethed in your veins. You could taste your indignation over the copper of your blood and it only spurned you further. Quicker. Slice, cut, tear. Harder. Faster. There.

“Fucking—” You tear the fabric around your ankles free next, almost slicing yourself in the process. A slew of expletives falls from your lips as you stretch the cramps from your body. A few items from your camp still lay a few feet from you. You gather what you bother to into your bedroll, slinging it over your back. At least he’d the decency not to steal from a prospected corpse. The thought makes you snort.

Focus.

The daylight peaking in from the second-story windows was high on the horizon but fading ever so slightly. Daylight was on his side and he’d have at least an hour's lead by now. You were used to navigating the waste in the dark on your own but you wouldn’t prefer it, especially defenseless. Save an almost salvageable pairing knife. Great.

You eyed the dark hallway the Ghoul had exited through. Amongst the littered trash and mounds of dust covering the floor, you noticed the faintest trail of crimson splatter. Barely recognizable amongst the ruin to the naked eye. Almost black in its dried form until you mottle it with your touch. It splits and spreads. Fresh enough to tell its color apart from the surroundings. Not yours either. A surge of sadistic excitement fills your lungs and you find yourself moving. The blood continued to fall in steady, dropping off here and there where you’re sure Cooper had adjusted his stint. Poor boy really was wounded, wasn’t he? Your nostrils flared at the thought and you pushed it aside. No bother. The more wounded an animal was the more desperate its attempts to run. You crawled up through the broken concrete crevices that ran along the side of the building. Sand and grit slow your ascent, but not by much. Not nearly enough to throw you off his trail.

Cooper hadn’t kept you around for kicks. Hadn’t even kept you around because you could shoot after he’d taught you. You were still shit, after all. Cooper had come across you in an exchange. A dead end on a bounty even the best couldn’t manage to crack. And he would know.

You paused. His trail rounded the far back corner of the warehouse, turning on a whim and abandoning the lower ground for higher. Heading…east? You checked your markers, double-checked, triple-checked. Either he was just a fucking idiot or was blood loss even a thing for ghouls? Nearest settlement was west and the fiends would be steering far and wide from the larger ones. It’d be suicide to pivot back the way they’d come.

Come on, Cooper. You’re making it easy.

Low on vials and bordering insanity in some podunk rinky-dink saloon back room you’d convinced him or he’d convinced you, once upon a time. It didn’t matter (probably) that you were basically being bartered to him for your services. It was the man in the cheesy cowboy hat or being sold for parts. Pissed off the wrong bunch and with no allegiances on the surface to put faith in you…well, didn’t really matter now, did it?

Your jaw pulsed under a constant grind, realizing you’d be abandoning safety if you continued on after him. You had to trust yourself—but it’d been so long. An eternity with how the Wastelands days came and went. You cursed the Ghoul for cradling you in the farce of safety over these past few months. Always having someone at your back, your side. An extra pair of eyes and weaponry…it’d been a luxury you couldn’t afford. It was all just borrowed time. You just had to remember who you were. Before Cooper. Before The big bad Ghoul swept you up in fantasies and make-believe and made you forget how horrendous this world could and would be. With or without him. Tension crept between your shoulder blades as you continued to climb. You rolled it away with ease now. Fingers clawed themselves into the mounds of sand and you wiped the salt and sting from your head wound. You would force yourself. Shove the reality down your throat like a loaded barrel just to remember. Remember that between the big cities and the wilds on either side, you were known to all lowlife and company as a ‘Bloodhound’. No one could outrun you. No one could outtrack you. Cooper Howard should have known that. --

[the-heartlines]

someone on my curious cat asked me "what position or sex act is each main HOTD character’s favourite?" and ofc i wrote paragraphs for each of my fave characters 😭

pretty much how i've written them in ALL my fics 💀😭 

aegon loves doggy style, especially face down ass up, loves to grab nyra's thicc hips as he takes her to pound town, rubbing her clit furiously and pinching it, while her moans are muffled by his pillow, but he's also a filthy fucker and wants to hear her scream for him, reassured he's still a better fuck then their uncle 😜 

he also loves to hold her close and cry into and suck ons her titties while he ruts into her hard and fast until he's cumming so hard he blacks out. 

rhaenyra loves to put her hands around aegon's throat as she takes a (albeit most times short) ride, poor boi never lasts too long especially once she starts choking him until he almost passes out :/ (good thing he can get hard pretty much right away while cock warming her!)

aemond loves it when helaena rides him cowgirl style (YEEHAW GIDDY UP!), he also loves to stand and bounce her on his cock, and watch her big titties bounce! ALSO aemond loves to have the ankles on his shoulders to get a hard-deep-wants-to-penetrate-your-cervix- type of stroke, while he toys with the clit slowly until the ultimate grand finale, making hel 💦💦💦 😩

daemon fucks rhaenyra from behind but with his arms wrapped tight around her, with  sharp shallow and staccato thrusts into her cunt, like she'll escape or runaway from him, while his fingers thrum her clit EXPERTLY! rhaenyra's orgasms are as violent as her uncle is, both of them howling and roaring and screaming 😵‍💫😮‍💨 (wrote this in my sweet poison aka daemyra fic of all time that i've written) 

criston fucks missionary style imo, and he may be a violent smug soldier but when it comes to his green queen he takes her slow and deep, thrusting for her pleasure vs. his (for once!)

now alicent...alicent is bendable and moldable to whatever position (ding ding a metaphor!) especially whatever position her queen (or king) wants to put her body through. anything BUT man on top lmfao!

mmm jace is a BOOB man through and through and doesn't stop sucking titties (especially mommy's) and he's very tender wanting to hold you in his arms, skin to skin, lips to lips contact the entire time...pretty much the act of making love (poor boi's climax face is so pretty makes you want to cry ! 🥰 )

otto...oh otto...i feel like he can fuck good, especially his daughter...he likes it when she's on her hands and knees, submitting so he doesn't have to see the tears in alicent's eyes because she reminds him so much of her mother :/

cregan...oh he fucks passionately...a mixture of  making love and the roughest most brutal fuck of your life...the wolf growling grunting in his dragon's prince's ear...he eats pussy like it's the last meal on earth! LOVES period sex, makes him primal, wants to feast on a bloody cunt until it's squirting and making a mess of his beard!

[parkkrys]

We really need more jealous Lucerys.

But like, instead of grabbing a knife and claiming what's his, Lucerys instead gets self destructive. He starts doubting himself and starts comparing himself to the other woman and gets himself so worked up he will cry.

(as much as I love jealous Lucerys with a knife, I see him doing this more then grabbing a knife)

Like there is a feast and Lucerys is sitting beside his mother, seething as he watches Aemond laughs with a woman on the floor.

His hands balls into fists as anger settles in his belly until he can't take it anymore so he stands up and marches over towards where Aemond is.

Now he knows he can't move Aemond unless Aemond allows him to, and it only proceeds to make him more upset as Lucerys drags Aemond out of the room and into a small space where they wouldn't be seen.

"What are you doing?" Lucerys demands and Aemond only smirks at him, the fucker probably enjoying his torment on lil Luce.

"I was having a nice conversation until I was dragged here."

"You are playing games is what you're doing Aemond."

"Jealous are we?" Aemond asks and Lucerys only glares.

"Now why would I be jealous?"

"I mean you did drag me away from her and here where no one can see us, away from a party where your mother watched you drag me away."

Lucerys doesn't say anything, instead he glares before he huffs in annoyance. Aemond wasn't his to claim, yes they may be dancing around each other and the idea of someone else taking his Uncle's attention makes him want to lock himself in his room or stab something.

Why would his Uncle want someone as pathetic as him? Lucerys doesn't like swords or knives after what happened in their childhood, he can't flutter his eyelashes and gets what he wants, he isn't confident on himself.

He was useless. Coddled and spoiled. He had nothing going for him.

"Whatever, go back to her, I don't care."

Aemond pins him, pushing in close as he doesn't allow Lucerys to leave.

"But you do care or else we wouldn't be here would we?"

Aemond is right, Lucerys does care and that night Aemond doesn't go back to the dance. He instead stays with Lucerys and claims him as his. He wipes away the tears that Lucerys cries and holds him close.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

I wish you would write a fic where... aiden & lambert, one gets badly injured and the other has to make the decision of going after the monster (stop it from killing people) or saving his partner, facing the consequences of his actions, if you want to! 💕

This ended up evolving into a multi chapter. I'll be posting the full thing on A03 also but for now. Chapter 1!!!

Aiden could only stare. There was blood. Too much blood, and not all of it coming from the warg. He and Lambert had been ambushed by four of the fuckers and the two of them had taken it in their stride. Nothing they couldn't handle. At least - it wasn't- until an unexpected fifth one took Lambert by surprise, teeth sinking into his shoulder and shaking so hard it had pulled the Wolf Witcher off his feet. Both he and Aiden had cursed as they heard Lambert's collarbone and shoulder splinter under the force. Aiden hadn't even thought before sending a blast of igni at the other four to hold them off whilst he drove his sword straight through the skull of Lambert's assailant. The others bolted at some point during this, whether from the fire or what had happened to their packmate, Aiden didn't know and didn't care.

"Shit, Lambert. It's ok, you're ok."

Even pale and half unconscious from blood loss, Lambert still managed to fix Aiden with a deadpan stare as he tried to assess the injury around the sharp teeth. Apparently even in death the thing was unwilling to give up it's grip, jaws locked into Lambert's flesh. Perversely, it also looked like that was the only thing preventing Lambert from bleeding out completely and potions would do next to nothing until they figured out a way to remove it. Aiden swore under his breath. This was bad, this was very bad.

He became aware of distant screams - probably from the small collection of shacks that had called itself a village that had thrown rocks and insults at the two of them after they had the audacity to merely pass through. Fleabags would be going for the sickly looking livestock. He internally shrugged. So long as the villagers did the sensible thing and stayed indoors until they moved on, they'd be fine while Lambert was barely clinging to consciousness at this point. He slowed in his work when it occurred to him that those who randomly attacked two Witchers probably had very skewed ideas about what was sensible and stopped completely when he thought on little faces peering out from doorways or from behind their mother's skirts.

His gaze flitted between his injured Wolf and the direction the wargs had gone in. His Schoolmates would be encouraging him to ignore it right about now. Afterall: He and Lambert had done nothing to earn their ire and it wouldn't even be a paying job. Fuck the village. Lambert on the other hand....

"Fucking Hell." Stupid Wolf school and its stupid moral code rubbing off on him. "I'm sorry Lambert. I have to..." Lambert's eyes fluttered as his head jerked in what may or may not have been a nod, Aiden pressed a kiss to dry lips, "Just hold on a little longer for me. Don't go anywhere." Lambert made a guttural noise Aiden chose to believe was a laugh as he sprinted out into the open pastures they'd ridden through not twenty minutes earlier.

He caught sight of four large, dark shapes just on the outskirts of the village, feasting on an unfortunate heffer while a handful of very stupid village men appeared to be making their way over, armed with nothing but various pieces of farming equipment. His anger rose with each step closer. The image of Lambert's face, the sound of his scream replaying in his head over and over again.

"Oi!" He barked out, drawing both swords as he charged and ignoring the surprised exclamations of the men as he overtook them, zeroing in on the largest Warg, "To me, you fucking mutts!!!"

Aiden remembered absolutely nothing of the fight. All he knew his clothes were sticking to him wetly and he had blood dripping from his hair directly into his eyes as he stood heaving in front of four absolutely decimated carcasses which no longer bore even a passing resemblance to the things they'd once been. The villagers who had dared venture out of their homes stood in a semicircle absolutely reeking of fear and unsure if or how to approach. One little face that had stared at him curiously earlier was now absolutely terror stricken. Not that Aiden blamed them, no doubt he looked like something out of a nightmare right now. He growled instinctively when he saw someone raise a hoe and attempt a shuffling step forward out of the corner of his eye, causing them to immediately lower their makeshift weapon.

"We don't want no trouble."

"Neither do I." Aiden rasped out as he sheathed his swords, his throat feeling like he'd also been screaming at some point, "I'm going to get rid of the bodies and then you're going to let me pass."

Before anyone could say anything else he once again cast igni, setting each corpse alight in quick succession and using the momentary surprise to bolt through the crowd that parted seemingly on instinct. His footfalls mocking him the entire way.

Lam - Bert, Lam - Bert, Lam - Bert.

"Pup!?" Aiden yelled as he stumbled back to where he'd left Lambert and paused. The Warg's head which had been imbedded in Lambert's shoulder was now lying nearby, the lower jaw at a grotesque angle where it had been near snapped off. Lambert himself was unconscious and propped up against a pack, naked from the waist up and with bandages wrapped around his shoulder.

"What the-"

Aiden was cut off as he was sent flying backwards by a powerful blast of Aard.

"Get the fuck away from him!!"

[inkformyblood]

into the belly of the beast (Ghost x Konig, MerMay 2024)

Pirate Ghost x Mer Konig

The lower decks of the ship are the closest to its innards; dark and damp, something scuttling just beyond the weak light cast by Simon’s lantern. He lifts it higher all the same, some old fear twisting in the pit of his stomach as the hair on the nape of his neck prickles, trying desperately to rise against the rough knot of his bandana. It’s grown too long while he hadn’t been paying attention, falling in a sprawl of tangled curls across his forehead and creeping down over his ears. He had caught a glance of his reflection earlier, his eyes blackened by ash and soot, his mouth curled into a snarl, every bit the monster the crew expected him to be and he’d only thought how much he looked like his mother. 

Simon will cut his hair later.

Yet another fucking thing for him to do, responsibilities pilled on top of each other until his bones creak and complain like the ship he is picking his way through. His boot punctures the rotten wood of a broken support and he catches himself roughly on another, his lantern swinging wide and plunging him into darkness. Pain spikes across his palm, the sharp bright agony of a surface cut instead of the slow burning pulse of a shard of wood lodged beneath the skin.

In the dark beneath the ship, swallowed whole by the same beast he’s devoted his life to, Simon blinks, his breath loud in his ears. 

The air hangs heavy, copper-soaked and stale like he’s cut his teeth on a penny plucked from the ocean’s sagging tits. Something moves closer in the dark, could be from his left or behind him, everything too loud and not loud enough, and Simon bares his teeth at the intruder. He’ll rip their throat out before he lets any fucker drag him above deck again, he’s done fighting for Roba but he is not quite finished being Ghost, terror of the seas, just yet. Just needs to get off this fucking ship in mostly one piece and he can haul his sorry carcass onto another, work his way up that way. Handful of years choking on his pride, bloodying his hands all over again, in exchange for his freedom.

Simon presses his hand to his mouth, licking over the cut on his palm. Even his blood doesn’t taste right in these depths, too much salt for it to even sting, burrowing straight to the bone and making sure nothing would ever grow there. He steps forward, sliding his boot across the uneven ground. No time for hanging about with his fingers in his mouth like he’s a child too scared to creep out of his room to piss. 

It takes longer than he would like when Simon stumbles into the main room in the belly of the ship. It is the light he notices first, tiny flecks spiralling across his field of vision, larger dappled sections splashed up over the walls and the ceiling, the floor mostly gone to expose the deep dark water beneath. One of the walls moves.

Simon drags the heel of his uninjured palm against his eye, squinting at the pale light. He must be going mad, too long spent wandering in the dark searching for something he only half-believes exists. He is a dead man either way, strung up against the masthead until his flesh rots from his bones or lost wandering in the dark until he breaks something vital, bleeding out for long enough that something would draw close and feast on him. 

Why not go looking for a mermaid?

It had only been a rumour when Ghost had first heard it, a whisper over a puddle of spilled beer and sick in some no-name brothel he can barely remember. There had been a girl tucked at his side, murmuring information into his ear as she pressed sweet-scented kisses into his curls, brave enough for the task but her hands never strayed onto the spread of his thigh or away from his shoulder where he’d placed her hold. Clever girl too. His attention had been torn between her — close enough to slide a knife into the delicate hollow of her throat, closer than he’d been to another living body in weeks that he hadn’t been trying to kill — and the pair across from them, drunk past the point of sensibility and somehow, still talking. 

“I saw it,” one of them insisted, leaning on his companion more than the table he’s aiming for, his bottle knocked over next to his elbow. “Some huge fucking monster in the belly of the ship, it was a mermaid, I’m telling you. ‘S how the ship moves when the wind abandons us.” Beer soaked into his sleeve as he leaned back, waving his other arm wildly and Ghost’s attention drifted to more important matters. 

Even so, he can barely believe what he is seeing. 

The mermaid lifts their head where it had been resting on their crossed arms, settling their chin in the same place as they stare up at Simon. Their eyes glow, the same flickering luminosity as the markings flickering over their flank, a pale circle catching the chain looped around Simon’s neck before it falls to his feet. They are chained as well, the metal softly clinking together as the ship sways. The chain is heavy links, rusted with age and keeping the mermaid tethered to this spot with the wide cuff locked around their neck. 

“Would you like to be free?” Simon asks, his voice barely louder than a whisper. It has been half a lifetime since he’d been in a church but he can remember it feeling something like this, a heavy oppressive judgement folded over his scalp like a hand pressing him to his knees. He crouches carefully, pressing his palm to damp wood and keeping his injured hand curled close to his chest. 

The pale gleam of the mermaid’s eyes flicker to his face and Simon thinks that this is what it would be like to be consumed, the final glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel before everything is dark. 

“Yes.”

Simon breathes in, salt layered thick over his tongue. “If I free you, can you take me away from here? Don’t care if you drown me but I won’t die here.”

“Yes.”

“Got a name?”

The mermaid leans forward as much as they can, one huge hand stretching out across the scant space towards Simon. The webbing between their fingers is thick, pitted with scars. A claw curls beneath Simon’s chin, drawing his face upwards. He swallows, his throat pressing against the intrusion.

“König.” The mermaid releases Simon, their hand falling back to the deck before the mermaid takes hold of the chain, pulling on it once. The ship sways, Simon bracing himself against the floor. “You free me and I’ll take you away.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Simon stands carefully, his knees weak and hope, broken and bloody but still alive even after everything. “I’ll get to work.” 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Forsaken

This is for @tolkienpinupcalendar Monster Fucker May

Pairings: Werewolf Thû x Lúthien 

Rating: E

Themes: Smut / NSFT | Dead Dove

Warnings: Major character deaths prior to the beginning of the story | Captivity | Thralldom | Oral sex | Penetrative sex | Monsterfucking | Knotting

Wordcount: 1.7K words

Summary: Lúthien learns of Beren’s fate and decides to make peace with her new lot in life.  

Minors DNI | 18+

Thû finally honored his part of the bargain they struck. He presented Lúthien with what remained of Beren’s bones, his sword and shield, his armor. Lord Mairon had sent the fallen warrior’s remains in a great cedar chest bound in gold. A master’s indulgence, his herald had said, for Thû prevented Lúthien from aiding Beren and seizing a silmaril from Lord Melkor’s crown. It would also serve as a reminder, Lady Thuringwethil had gone on to add, of Lúthien’s new place as Thû’s thrall and bedmate. 

The daughter of Melian refused to believe the word of either at first. She called the chest and the contents it held an act of trickery, a ploy to deceive her. Then Thuringwethil clapped her hands, and her own thrall stepped forth to open the lid. 

“Tis no trick, little halfling,” Thuringwethil bristled, her voice thick with anger. She reached into the chest and lifted a silver ring that was tarnished with old blood. “Here. Observe the ring for yourself.” 

The ring was no ordinary trinket. It was crafted in Valinor, and it once belonged to none other than Prince Findaráto himself. Lúthien fell to her knees even as Lord Mairon’s herald held it up to the lamplight. Two serpents were wrought in silver, their heads meeting beneath a crown of golden flowers in full bloom. One upheld these flowers, while the other devoured them. Their eyes were comprised of emeralds. They seemed to burn like green fire.  

“This was his,” the Maia said. She dropped the ring into Lúthien’s outstretched palm. “I trust you will not call our words trickery now.” 

Overcome with grief, Lúthien clutched the ring to her chest. This was his, she thought. This was the ring of my beloved, and Felagund before him. 

“Beren was the last to perish,” Thû told her after Thuringwethil left in a swirl of rustling silks and leathery wings that dragged behind her like a cape. She retired to the chambers he had set aside for her own particular use, and she gave her word to attend a feast he had arranged in honor of her visit. “And he would not have been the last had Felagund not sacrificed himself to save his life. Take comfort in the knowledge that they are now gone and can suffer no more.” 

Such words offered little peace to Lúthien, for they were the words of her captor. “What will become of me now?” She whispered and reached up to touch her eye, thinking she would find it wet with tears. To her amazement, she found it cold and dry. It was then that she realized that she had already begun to move away from Beren and the memories of all that they shared. 

“Continue to serve me,” Thû said, and he smiled. He rather enjoyed the sight of the halfling princess on her knees before him, her spirit nearly broken. “And make peace with your new lot in life. There is nothing else that you could do. Your beloved is no more. The elven king who foolishly agreed to aid him in his quest is no more. That wretched hound who carried you is no more. You have no friends, no saviors. Your family will not welcome you should you return to them, you who sullied yourself by coupling with one such as me.” 

“That is not true.” 

“Oh? Then, where is your mother? Where is your father? Where are the elves who serve them? By now, word of your capture would have surely reached their ears, so why has no one come to find you and free you, princess?” 

Lúthien lay where she fell on the stone floor, silent and unmoving. Part of her silence was due to her grief. The chief of it, however, lay in the knowledge that her kin, her own flesh and blood, may have truly forsaken her. 

Her father had counseled her against leaving. He could not bear the notion of a most beloved child endangering herself for the sake of a mortal. Her mother counseled against it also, saying such a union was destined to end in doom. There would be no joy to be found, she said, and her sorrow would be hard to bear in the end. Yet Lúthien left anyway, braving strange lands and orcs and dark magic and elven princes under the influence of a dreadful Oath. And it was all for naught. Her defying her mother and father, her endangering her life, and the life of the great hound who dared to defy his own master for her sake, were for naught. Now she was here, doomed to serve her captor for as long as she lived, while the elves of Doriath would continue on regardless of what became of her. 

Perhaps Thû is right. Perhaps I should make peace with my new lot in life, she thought, for my fate is bound to his now.  

“How am I to serve you, my lord?” She finally asked, her decision made. 

Thû bellowed out an order that she did not understand. Sentries standing to attention just outside his bedchamber left their posts and closed thick, iron doors behind them. 

“You know what you must do,” he said.

Lúthien nodded and rose to her feet. She disrobed her master the way she had done the first time they coupled: his leather tunic she removed first, then his belt and his boots, and finally, his breeches. Her own raiment joined his on the floor. Then she turned to look at him. She no longer flushed from cheek to chest when she took in his exposed form, nor did she find it as repulsive as she did in the beginning; she discovered that she had come to find it somewhat appealing instead. Once he was free of his garments, Thû walked over to his bed and made himself comfortable on the edge, his legs spread. Then Lúthien joined him. She knelt before him and gazed up at him from under her thick lashes. Thû found it bewitching to see her like this, though he made no effort to put such a discovery into words. She, despite being a high-born princess, was his thrall, after all, and thralls, in his opinion, did not deserve such the honor of such fine praise.   

“You know what you must do,” Thû repeated, and he closed his eyes. 

The halfling princess was more willing to heed him. And she proved herself to be more willing to please him. She bent down and pressed kisses against the inside of his thigh, going higher and higher, and then, she swallowed his erection to the hilt, putting her hands and her mouth to good use. She tasted the seed already beading at the tip and then ran her tongue along the underside of his length before taking it into the wet heat of her mouth again. Thû moaned softly. He brushed his hand over her dark hair, then gathered it into a fistful to keep it out of the way. 

“This is how you will serve me,” he murmured, his voice already thick and hoarse with lust. He tugged hard on her hair. The sound she made at the back of her throat was muffled, but he heard it all the same. It aroused him to no end. “By submitting to me this way. By continuing to warm my bed and bearing my offspring, should my seed ever quicken in your womb. Do you understand, princess?” 

Lúthien understood well enough. “Yes, my lord,” she replied when she drew away. Then she stood and moved to sit astride him, closing her eyes as she did so. She had no desire to witness the change that took place, but she heard it nonetheless. Bones cracked and reformed. Muscles broadened and hardened. Tufts of coarse, wiry hair rose and brushed against her fingers and the insides of her thighs. Hands that were larger and more powerful than before came to rest over her hips. She whimpered when nails scoured her flesh. 

“Go on,” Thû commanded as one who knew he would be obeyed. 

“Yes, my lord,” Lúthien said, lowering herself onto him. Her master shivered. 

It was quick and brutal after that. Thû lost himself in the warmth of his bedmate’s flesh, the sharp edge of his nails raking down her hips and leaving thin red lines in their wake. Such pain was nigh unbearable to Lúthien once, but now she discovered herself finding slivers of enjoyment in it. She brought her hips down on him, harder and harder and harder, the trill of her voice crying out her pleasure. 

“Yes,” Thû growled approvingly. “A little more. Harder. Harder.” 

It only took another moment before he spilled into her—a hoarse cry tearing free from him—and another before her own release came. Lúthien collapsed against him, gasping, while that rigid part of him swelled and kept him locked within her until he had emptied himself of his seed. Her master’s chest heaved against hers, and his breath was ragged and unsteady. She took a deep breath herself and slowly opened her eyes.

Thû was still in his beastlike form, all coarse hair and unyielding limbs full of hardened sinew. Her hand glided up his arm. She found great strength in that arm, enough to cause her harm should she ever give him a reason to use it against her. 

Perhaps I could learn to enjoy him using his strength in other ways, she told herself.

“When should I come to you again?” She dared not to look at his face. She was not yet ready for such a sight.

“You may stay here,” Thû remarked, triumph surging thick through his veins. Lúthien willingly offered herself to him. It would not be long before she, too, agreed to swear herself to his master. What a victory it would be to see a daughter of Melian aligning herself with his master’s great vision for Arda! “And I will come to you. A thrall will come to wash and dress you for the feast. I will not have it known that those who serve me do not know how to appear at their very best.”

tags: @cilil

[kaittalkstoomuch]

Hey guys, how you doing? Chapter Twenty-Four: Welcome to the Jungle is OUT NOW!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Welcome to The Jungle

THE NIGHT OF MARCH 23, 1986

Roxie’s POV

Tw: mentions of wounds, blood.

My eyes stun wide open as the roar of thunder erupts my ears. My eyes move around the daunting, red landscape. It’s almost familiar. I feel uneasy as I lie on the ground regaining consciousness. “Where have I seen this?” “Have I been here before?” I ask as I try to remember the events that occurred before I ended up here. Fighting with Nancy… NANCY. I said I fell in love with her and fell into the lake - it hits me the moment I remember Henry’s taunting. I’m in the Upside Down.

Out of nowhere, almost near me, I hear a guttural scream. My head snaps in the general direction. What the fuck is that? I get on my feet to explore the hellscape when something seemingly bites me. I try to conceal my scream. I look down at the tiny, vicious creature. I just know Dustin would dub it, “Demobat.”

I shake it off my foot and look around for something to kill it with. All while collecting my thoughts on the events leading up to this moment. Did I really tell Nancy I “fell in love with her”? In front of Robin and Eddie? I finally come to terms with my feelings. It should feel good. Why does it feel dreadful? Oh yeah, it’s something I’ve kept so internally that I didn’t know it was a thing.

I find a stick finally and go to kill the creature with all the fury with me. An army of screeches erupts and I look up in shock. “Oh fuck.” I then hear more guttural screams and realize who it is. Harrington. Fuck. Absentmindedly, I start sprinting, not giving an single fuck, as the bats swarm in. Not today mother fuckers.

I race against time as I run into vines and trip. Bats begin to nip at me, but adrenaline runs through my veins. Hands and a stick is all I have. Fear is not an option. I also have anger belt up, I yank their bodies off and throw them with force. I stop in my tracks seeing Steve getting strangled and pinned down.

I don’t bother looking back at what looms. More adrenaline kicks in as I run toward Steve, who could pass out at any second. I yank the bats off of him as they bite my wrist. Some bite my body, it stings so bad. But I don’t care. I’m the fucking Dungeon Mistress and my friend is in danger.

“Henderson…” Steve croaks out. “Shhh, I got you.” I say straddling him to try to get the bat off him. I feel one bat sink its teeth into my left leg and feast on it and I groan at the pain. I try to swat it away with my hand when more bats force me on my back and pin me down. Are you fucking kidding me? “STEVE!” I cry out as I try to fight off the menacing creatures. I start crawling to hims

I’m weak from the wounds that I almost pass out when I feel the tiny weights being forced off me. “Rox…” I can hear someone shout faintly. It sounds like Nancy? But I can’t be too sure. I go in and out because of the pain. “Roxie, baby, stay with me.”

The voice registers immediately and I look over in its direction. Eddie, the Dungeon Master. I also see Robin and Nancy keeping the demobats at bay. I grab Eddie’s pant leg. We look at each other frantically. “Always.” I respond as I get the strength to get back up and he examines my leg.

“Rox, sweet-“ “I’m okay, just a flesh wound. Let’s just go help Harrington.” I almost growl as he hands me an oar. “Thanks babe.” I grunt, swinging the oar striking the bats. It feels so good to fucking hit the bastards. One gets to Nancy and I spring into action. Robin holds her shirt while Eds follows behind me. Our first mission as Dungeon Master and Mistress. I’m so fucking proud.

I stab the bat Nancy had a hold of and we look at each other. “Thanks.” “It’s whatever…” I start nodding and look down at Steve. “Let’s kill these bastards, yeah?” She looks at my leg worriedly then furiously. Eddie hits one one full force as the four of us protect Steve. It’s calmer now, so Nancy shouts “let’s move.” She and Robin grab Steve and hold him up while Eddie helps me walk.

We head into the direction of Skull Rock to hide. I’m limping and grunting, to which Eddie lifts me up and carries me bridal style. “Is Ro-Rox okay?” Steve stutters and I yelp. “I’m okay. I’m more worried about you.” Steve leans against the rock formation and Nancy looks at his wound. Eddie has me sit on the other side and looks at mine. “How’s your leg?” He asks.

I inhale sharply. “I’m okay, just a scratch. How about you? Are you okay?” “We should check and see if they have rabies!” Robin freaks as she looks out for bags. “They’re demobats. They’re not going to have rabies!” I try not laugh as Steve grunts and winces. Nancy is wrapping his wounds.

“We need to wrap your leg.” Eddie looks closely at my leg and lips up my dress. I can’t help but to be distracted by Steve and Nancy and feel awful about my behavior. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I just felt the hurt I did years ago. That’s definitely not fair to Nancy.

“Here, use my sweater.” I say taking off the bloodied sweater and hand it to Eds. I still look over at Steve and Nancy pathetically. Eddie takes notice as he wraps my thigh gingerly. “Want me to cover him up?” Eddie teases, which earns a choked laugh from me. “He’s not bothering me.” Eddie understands completely.

“It’s Wheeler.” I look at him regretfully. “Yeah… I can’t believe I said that. Especially in front of the person I love.” Eddie holds my hand tenderly and tears form in my eyes. Fuck. “I understand, darling. You’re still understanding your feelings.” “Thank you. I love you so much, forever and always.” “I love you too, sweetheart.” We hug and share a kiss.

He holds me and turns to Steve and smirks at me. “Do it.” I mouth as Eddie takes off his vest and throws it to Steve, catching him and Nancy off guard. “For your modesty, dude.” Steve scoffs as the other four of us try not to laugh. Nancy looks at me through my peripheral vision. I smile in response.

“We need weapons.” Steve says as we regroup. “Those bastards are covering the ‘watergate’. How are we going to escape?” I ask. Nancy has an idea. “If this place mirrors Hawkins, I have guns in my bedroom.” Eddie is stunned. “You, Nancy Wheeler, have GUNS in your bedroom?” “Full of surprises isn’t she?” Robin says. Nancy begins to speak once the atmosphere begins to shake.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 29

Cw:mentions of injuries, some harassment, mentions of murder

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @aemondx @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Gif by @netrunners

Aegon’s recovery is odd.

He lives, his broken bones heal faster than they should, and the burns are suddenly not as horrible as they were.

He must recover his strength, however, at the moment he is unable to even sit up in his bed without assistance.

But at least he was not in the shit state he was last night. He had been so hopped up on milk of the poppy that Aegon was very sure he had died last night.

He had seen his lovely wife help the chambermaid kill him, but Orwyle dismissed it as poppy dreams, like the one of the dancing bears carrying off his mother.

The Chambermaid, sister to the one that looked like Bee that he had taken by force when he was drunk, had acted alone.

Mother shares his suspicions about Aemma, after all, they did kill her mother ---unintentional on his part, very intentional on his mother’s or so he heard her tell Alys.

And he did kill her grandmama, so there was that too.

‘This is for them’ she had whispered as she put the pillow on his face, it had been so lifelike and so real. Like Ellyn’s little snores and that scared little gasp before she died in his dream.

Aegon heard a great many things while he was asleep.

Cole felt guilty for killing Rhaenyra, Cole fucked Rhaenyra and had believed himself to be Aemma’s father when she was born and, worse, Cole fucked his mother.

His first words this morning had been mother fucker.

He won’t geld him; fucking is perfectly natural. Besides, it sounded like something mother regretted and that sounded like punishment enough.

But Westeros does have a new insult.

A shame he is still too weak to leave bed yet and must wait until he has regained his mobility through horrid exercises Orwyle and his grey rats had been talking about with Alys.

“Where do you think our dear Prince Regent is this morning?” Alys asked Cole as she flirted with him while Aegon feigned to have dozed off. "Her grace has sent servants to collect him and has yet to find him.

He used to get flustered like a man maiden before this, now he acts like she might kill him.

Should he tell him about that dream where he saw her covered in bloody seven-pointed stars after she made mother kill sweet little Ellyn?

Perhaps not, they might use it as an excuse to keep him here longer.

At the moment he is being cared for by Alys and if he is good, she has promised to let him feast from her teat.

Mother’s milk heals all, the witch had said when they used to fuck.

“We are sworn to protect their secrets, my lady.” He answered and Aegon snorted.

He was with Aemma, no doubt fucking her thinking they’d gotten rid of him.

Aegon cannot wait to see him gone.

Did anyone beside mother give a shit about him here?

“Yes, you protect them so well, Lord Commander.” The witch said loving how uncomfortable she makes him. “Doesn’t the little queen sound just like her mother when she’s in the throes of passion, Ser Criston?”

Criston colors, angry, ashamed or both, and turns away making it impossible for the bedbound king to hear more of this mummery.

They also see he has awoken from his short nap giving Cole the excuse to run.

This was very entertaining and so far the only entertainment he has had in his sickroom.

Oh well.

But his visitors are a sight for sore eyes though.

Aemma’s pretty face looks a little fuller than when he last saw her, the nightgown is a little snug now, and Aegon is relieved to know he won’t be needing his brother to seed her anymore.

He will put Criston’s advice to the test, he will be a good and loyal husband to her and love the little bastard as much as if it were his.

And she will forget Aemond, Aenys will wed Daenaera or if it is an Aelicent she will wed Rhaenyra’s welp named after him and she will be his heir.

“Ah, I see motherhood agrees with you, dear wife!” he greets them all with good cheer despite Aemma looking at him like he has grown a second head.

He was only being nice to her, complimenting her in a way that wouldn’t make her glower at him or have mother chastise him for being crude.

It wasn’t like he told her he likes how he likes her pert breasts now that they have grown a little.

“I suppose it does, or it will until the morning sickness kicks in.” she said and somehow her talking like that was as surprising as Aegon awaking better than before.

Aemma refuses to retreat again, she’s lost time grieving and now that her first attempt has proven a failure, she must try again.

But she needs to plan, to ensure the time is right and make sure this piece of shit laughing about everything dies.

Aemma will be damned if she lets them steal her life away again.

Her mother and grandmother cannot be avenged if she is a shell of herself.

“Please tell me you had nothing to do with it.” Aemond whispers the moment they are kicked out of the king’s chambers and he pulls her into the linen closet at the end of the hall.

Aemond corners her against the wall, and instead of being afraid he will rat her out, the queen is excited as he cuts off any chance she has or leaving the little room.

Danger can be so addicting and after being numb for so long anything that reignites that spark in her soul is as welcome as Aegon’s death.

“I heard the commotion, I simply believed I was free of him.” She lies and he rolls his eye knowing she is lying.

Aemond knows her so well, she could never lie to him. She was a fucking idiot for believing she could. Aemma should’ve known better.

“Fine, I put the pillow over his face until he stopped thrashing, and the maid took the blame when your mother heard we killed him.

I do not care that it is sin and a crime and everything in between because gods-damnit it felt good to know I was finally free of him.” she cannot stop once she gets started and by the end of it, the queen sees the shock written in his face.

“How easy it was to forget you had the blood of the dragon just as I did these past weeks.” He says in response, his voice low and holding that hint of amusement, as if he finally had confirmation she was as much as a Targaryen as he was.

This fucker, he had assumed she didn’t have what it took to be a dragon queen!

If she wasn’t so in love with him, she’d knee him in his jewels.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, forgetting she had just confessed to regicide.

“You are not the pathetic little princess I feared you’d become.” He answers with a smirk as he pinned her to the cupboards behind her. “Don’t leave me like that again, kingslayer.”

[scarisd3ad]

Till the end [steve harrington x f!reader] zombie apocalypse!au

Chapter one

Masterlist

Taglist

Next

Steve didn't really remember when he had fell asleep during his lunch break but he guessed he did.

He lifts his head up off of the table glancing back at the wall clock. It was 5:30. His lunch was at 12:45 and he was supposed to be off 2 hours ago. Robin was doing the closing shit today, why the hell didn't she wake him up he thinks to himself.

"Hey robs why didn't you wake me up?!" He shouts. He can't see anyone through the translucent window, and he can't hear the normally loud sounds of scoops and the mall. There was no way barely anyone was here. It was a Friday during the summer. He pops his neck as he stood up. He was supposed to go to his girlfriends once he got off, but he guessed he was just going to have to call her, hoping she'd forgive him. "Robs?" Still no answer god could she not here him. Then he spots a piece of paper taped to the door. It was short, the hand writing was messy like the person leaving it was in a hurry. The hand writing was definitely robins though.

DONT LET THEM BITE!

He furrows his brows. Don't let who bite? He thinks he gulps as he walks up to the door pushing it open. Scoops is a mess. Chairs pushed around, tables laying on the ground, blood everywhere. The mall was also equally a mess. Blood why was there blood though. Then he spots one. A groaning, stumbling, person?

He doesn't bother calling out to it he's seen enough zombie movies to know better.

Then he sees another, and another. One was feasting on a woman's barely recognizable body and her infant. He felt like he was going to throw up. How was he even going to get out of here was his second thought but his first was immediately worrying about y/n. Where was she and was she safe.

He knew he had to get out of here, to his car, and to her house, just to make sure she was safe.

He quickly retreated back to the break room to grab his things first, and some kind of weapon. He scrambles around grabbing his keys, and anything he thinks he'd need. He finds some type of metal pipe he thinks will work amazingly then he sets off.

He has the pipe over his shoulder to swing at any moment. He quietly walks out into the mall trying not to alert any of those things but he immediately does. One quickly turns around, sniffing before running at him. Steve swings hitting the thing straight in the head. Then he runs like the wind, he's quiet plan wasnt going to work. He had to get out as soon as possible. So he ran having at least five of those things chasing after him, he finds the first door to the parking lot and bolts out of it. Keeping them on the other side banging at the metal door.

The parking lot is in a similar situation as the mall. Cars askew dead body's. The parking lot is mostly empty except for the few brain dead things? Stumbling around. Steve sees his car and bolts towards it. He unlocks his car as he sprints towards the car. His foot steps somehow draw every one of those things in the parking lot towards him though.

As soon as he's at his car he opens the door, gets in and closes it, locking every door. he puts the key into the ignition of the car and turns it. The car growls as it starts up drawing even more. every one of them are banging at the glass of his car. They're covered in blood in guts, his heart is beating a mile a minute. He feels like he's going to cry. What if she's dead, what if she's one of those brain dead mother fuckers, what if he was just too late. He'd blame himself forever if he found out she died.

Their hand prints are smearing on the glass as they bang. He's scared their going to break the glass so he hits on the gas pulling out of the parking lot, and definitely hitting a few on the way out.

The streets of hawkins and basically the same, full of those things, and blood. Everything is recked, cars, houses. It looked like someone just stole everything living and replaced it with zombies. Windows are broken cars are crashed, it's terrible.

As he approaches her house his heart is leaping out of his chest. He's praying to god she's in there, alive.

Her house was crowded in the front. He sees her sister among some of the brainless bunch moaning and growling at his car. He wonders how she died, how she felt as she passed on turning into one of them. He sighs as he grabs his pipe from the backseat before turning off his car and pocketing his keys.

Getting to her door was the hardest part. He had to kill a bunch of those things, and then once he got to the door it was locked. He should've known that. He's covered in blood now, and even more of those things are coming towards him. He hops the fence to her backyard and sighs in relief as he sees none of them are back there. He pulls himself onto the roof, just like he did many times during high school, and carefully walks towards her window.

He relieved with he sees her balled up on her mattress.Her door is barricaded and she has a kitchen knife clutched in her left hand.

He taps on the glass a few time. He doesn't mean to scare her but she jumps. She has a frightened look on her face and tears stained cheeks.

"Oh my god"she sighs as she sees him. Relieved to see him. She unlocks the door pulling him into her room before locking it back. "Stevie" she says hugging him. He sighs with a smile as he's comforted by a familiar hug. He wraps his arms around her, as he presses a kiss on top of her head. "I thought you died, are you okay?" She asks as she pulls back examining him for any bites.

"I'm fine, are you okay?" He asks, "scared, my mom she came home but sh..she was acting weird" she says before burying her face into his shoulder as tears fell down her cheeks. "She bite my sister they are both one of those things now" she crys into his shoulder. He's rubbing her back as he asks "where's your dad" she shrugs in response.

He sighs as he decided they need to leave. This place wasn't safe they needed to get as far away as possible. "Your dad has a gun right?" She pulls away brows furrowed. She nods "yeah? Why?"

[hiseternalmayfly]

I fucking love the difference between how my S/I treats Va.sh vs How she treats Kn.ives

@ Va.sh shes like: No no no don't cry baby it's okay things are ok don't worry

@ Kn.ives shes like: You stupid mother fucker. You fucking buffoon. I'm going to rip you apart and feast on your soul. They'll never find your body. Love you btw

[horizon-verizon]

The biggest proof of daemyra love in the books is between the lines: their kids grew up happy and caring about each other before the war. Dae and Rhae created a functional family, with stability, affection and unity, resembling "ideal" Starks of ASOIAF. And this the biggest testament that BOTH of them were decent parents. That's all I want to say.

Yeah, I just wish the writers bothered to show Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffery's lives both in the Keep and in Dragonstone so that we witness how they interacted with Rhaneyra and Daemon, and the two's parenting styles.

I agree. It's obvious that they managed to raise young boys/men who do not treat those around them as if they are inferior (ahem, Aemond) and are relatively aware of accountability. And we see the boys begin to genuinely bond with Rhaena and Baela in episode 7.

But the jump cuts still prevented us from really feeling them as people or agents since we do not get strong distinctions between them beside Jacaerys' older brother syndrome and Lucerys' reluctance and uncertainty. And how Baela is willing to thrown down, while Rhaena stands around and happens tohand a cup to Rhaenyra, because we had to give something for the girl to do.

Even though I already do feel something for these boys, I still feel a void. That the writers neglected them and Daemon’s girls.

I should be able to see them come up against the sneers, snipes, gossips of the errant courtier, Alicent's glares and open dismissal of them, and the green boys antagonizing them, like in the book:

The sins of the fathers are oft visited on the sons, wise men have said; and so it is for the sins of mothers as well. The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself. Though all six boys attended the same feasts, balls, and revels, and sometimes trained together in the yard under the same master-at- arms and studied under the same maesters, this enforced closeness only served to feed their mutual mislike, rather than binding them together as brothers.

(Fire and Blood; A Question of Succession)

Before any green/Alicent/anti-Targ stan tries to come for me, this passage also shows how green-leaning the show is without thinking of the lore’s context and how it changed the Alicent-Rhaenyra relationship for the worse it made a mess of their whole idea and narrative purpose of the Dance in ASoIaF lore.

Like they literally had to mask and cut out the lives of these boys in order to make their green kids’ misogyny, prejudices, drunkness, raping, and ever-present violence seem...CoMpLeX! and people have fallen for this cheap piece of framing. 

The writers exaggerate some people to create its villains and conflict, then underplay other aspects, actions, persons, or even hide events to make potato-chip spectacle. But his time, there are horrible consequences, because green stans and all those I already listed feel even more emboldened to claim that their babies are “just” victims or “just” trying to prove they are valid and that makes them CoMpLeX.

That the V boys and Daemons’ daughters are all “boring” fuckers who don’t deserve any thought because they are not giving. 

How shallow this show is, honestly.

[silentxxsoul]

The ‘please let Maddie have a no traumatic storyline after tonight pls I beg you take her and Chim and Jee to Disney’ reaction dump:

When I was setting this up I almost accidentally posted it and man would y’all have been hella confused 😂

For real though can we stop trauma dumping on that poor woman? Let her breatheeeeee

I want a Buckley-Han family vacation 😤

Also my fantasy football team was ass and I lost so incredibly poorly that I don’t even need to subject myself to another week of the broncos 😷

Charlotte what are you doing stay hidden they’re literally trying to break in!!!!

Also dispatcher Josh is baaaaack. Still got my eye on you tho 🤨 don’t think I forgot about Claudette and May

HER PELVIS ?????????

BROOOOOO NO

Detective Buckley with his drill lmao

a fucking raccoon of all things

JEEEEEEEEEE !!!!!!

SAYING BYE BYE 🥺🥺🥺

Nah I'm convinced she's got them bugged

LISTEN TO LINDA SHE KNOWS BEST

Athena's allergic to Hoover, isn't she ahahahaaha

PETTITION FOR BUCKLEY-DIAZ FAMILY PET PLS

PLS FOX I NEED THIS

THEY ALSO NEED THIS

BUT MOSTLY ME

Sue ♥♥♥

Robert Nash!! I know you didn't just use Denny to get Hen to take that dog lmao

He looked far too happy to say "yes it is!"

Is this how she finds out about the dog because that's going to be pretty funny ngl

Oh actually this is a hell of a lot funnier

Karen's going to be calling Bobby again, isn't she lmao

I really hope this isn't Noah - like, it would be a little lazy to reuse the 'new guy' angle but also its too blatantly obvious that they want us to think it's him.

OOOOh.

Wait.

What if--whatttt if it's the guy from the fire? The IT fella ?? idk how he'd get Maddie's info but maybe he chose one at random?

Maybe? No?? Definitely no.

I just don't want it to be Noah :(

Oh hell no--you're a nanny not marie kondo and you as sure as shit aren't ordering me around my own house

The man was too stunned to speak

Well he's for sure in on it

Dude she's putting on a clinic and I love it, guilting the fuck outta him

Its a little late bud

This is shitty all the way around

I hate it :((((((((((((((

Like I see why, but still makes me hella sad for him

Hen is a blanket hog I see

Oh hoover lmao nooooooooooooo

YES

YES DIAZ FAMILY DOG

YES

WE NEVER LOSE

ACTUALLY WE DO LMAOOOOOOO

The noise complaint hahaaaa

Hen rocking it I love it ahhhhh

low key they owe us a damn Diaz family dog

I AM FEASTING ON THIS HENREN CONTENT GIMME MORE

ALSO STAN A SUPPORTIVE EDDIE WHO WILL HYPE YOU UP

AND STAN A SENTIMENTAL BFF OUT OF CHIM

AND CRY A LITTLE WITH A SAD SETIMENTAL BUCK

also, yes that's all in caps but I was typing and watching and didn't realize that I'd hit caps whoops

She's not going to go through with it, is she? Between looking a little torn and next week having to save Karen and Denny -- I think she's going to play the what-if game, like what if she wasn't there to save them?

Also, feed me all the fucking Dad!Chimney content

BROOOOOOO GIVE ME A SPOILER ALERT FOR THAT 🥵

It should be illegal to look that good in sunglasses

I'm biting my gd nails over next week I'm ready but I'm not ready

NO I CANNOT HANDLE

NO

MOTHER FUCKER NO

CANNOT

WILL NOT

SURVIVE

FOX

I SWEAR TO GOD

I WILL POST UP

IN FRONT OF YOUR STUDIO

[driedaster]

Andy's Sacrifice

This is a summary of what happened when Andy got sacrificed because i'm bored

It starts on the summer solstice, the town gets together to host a massive feast in the fields on the outskirts of town (the centre is too small to fit the tables). Andy sits down with the rest of the kids (they sit in age order with a Father every 10 seats or so) but when she starts eating she finds shit goes wrong, her food tastes like sand and there's red all over her pretty dress and her plate. she continues to eat anyway as she knows the adults will be angry if she doesn't finish the meal. as she gets worse she realises the red tastes just like her friend daisy (who had just recently lost a tooth) said blood was like. then she feels the fear from the older kids, & the worried questions of the other kids and the subtle elbow from daisy makes her realise the danger she's in.

The other kids knew they couldn't help (the older ones passed down tales of the atrocities the Father's would commit if someone 'tainted' the sacrifice before it was time) but had to watch as Andy tried to stumble away, only to hit the floor after about 10 seconds of trying to run. (she passed out at this point, but what happens is she's left on the ground where she fell until the meal was done, then she was taken to the altar)

Andy wakes up less disoritented, she is tied up with silk fabric that is tied in complicated 'ritual knots' (arms spread, one tied to hooks on respective corners of the altar, the legs on one long piece, as she is a small child they hook it around the centre jook on the other end of the altar instead of the corner ones). big head Father comes in and begins the sacrifice, cutting the wings out of her back, flipping her over with practiced ease & pinning the skin to the altar using hooks that would hold it up when she was complete. then it starts to go fucky when the Father begins to speak in words not of their language, it was noises that sounded inhuman, like the singing of the stars. he began chanting words that are unfamiliar to the human ear, but the knowledge of them is engraved deep in bone marrow, in the tide's pattern; the perfect spiral of a snails shell; the difference in each snowflake. and other weird shit like that. he then pops her eyeballs & puts the additional binding silk over them & drawing a crude eye in the centre out of her blood.

he then seems to come back to himself and fuck off out the chamber. the pain has become more bareable for Andy and she knows that she's gotta get the fuck out (she passed out roughly half-way through the skin peeling), she looks around at her wrists & tries to free them, but while writhing & tugging on them she fucks it and tugs on the skin attatched to the table, tearing half of a wing off. this, obviously, hurts like a mother fucker and she only stops herself screaming in agony by biting straight into her lip, she knows this is her only chance to get away and she wasn't about to waste it. After some more cautious wiggling she manages to tear one of the ones holding her wrists from its hook.

overjoyed, she fogets to be careful when moving to remove the other one, accidentally tearing off her skin fully. she bit into the blood-soaked 'ritual knots' this time, they tasted like rot. she unhooks her legs & sneaks out to find the hideout to try and get help. while she gets out of the church window in the back, she hears voices coming closer, which motivates her to up and fuck off into the forest route.

Andy's far better at navigating the trees now, eyes trained on the tree roots & brambles, evading them with the help of adrenaline. when she finally gets to the hideout you can imagine the horror the group of 7 year olds felt when they saw their older friend/rolemodel (she's about 11) leaking too-red blood & watching them without eyes, begging with unspoken words for help