#human x lich

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

Short Prompt #1088

CW: gore.

Bones clinked against metal armor as the army of skeletons, and rotting undead traveled across the land. Their master stood at the front, riding atop a massive beast.

The Lich and his servants have arrived.

Human soldiers spilled from the city gates, spreading out across the grassy field. They gripped their swords, and shields in tight grips, preparing for battle.

The living and the dead faced each other once more.

The Lich sighed even though his form held no lungs. One of his hands moved to his skeletal face, sharp fingers gently caressing the old golden ribbon tied through his right eye socket.

Perhaps... this would be enough souls to bring her back.

[sizu-p]

the girls are fighing

[htonys]

Fiona and cake profile pictures!! Part 2

[aberrantundead]

Four Armed Embrace by octopushey.

[sweatandwoe]

I (and I'm sure a lot of us) would go feral if you wrote original monster content. I'm talking climbing the walls, screeching, hissing, bite bite biting feral. I wanna smooch the cryptids. The gonsts. The lil funky guys in the gloom under the moon. Please. One day. I loaf you sweaty for that thot alone

🩷

why not, let's do a little test run

MDNI - Lich x GN!Reader. Reader getting overstimulated, Skull Fucking (not in it's original context), Necrophilia maybe? Idk he's a lich and consenting, Oral Reader receiving, Fingering Reader recieving, Boning (this is linked to the fingering). Dacryphilia mention at the end.

-

"You can do it, my dear. What's one more little death?"

One more might actually lead to your actual death. But your lover was always so very thorough in his work, and you were never one to complain about helping him research. Well, not usually.

But now there are tears in your eyes, and you're starting to ache. It was bordering on painful now. "I don't know if I can."

The man, if he could still be considered that, peers up at you. Eyes a cold flame, ice blue lights dancing in wide, black sockets. His head is solid bone, a skull staring up at you. Long fingers, notched and thin, pause inside of you.

"Oh?" The skull leans forward, jaw moving. The little muscle left along the bone helped to stretch it out and let a shadowy tendril slip out; the ghost of a tongue. It hovers there, curling and flicking like smoke though it was far weightier than that. You knew from experience, and you can hear a chuckle when your legs tremble. "Would you like to make good on that assessment?"

Fuck. The tendril moves up, flicking along your sex while his fingers continue moving, searching and pressing inside you. He's determined and you can only grasp one hand onto his shoulder, gripping his robe, while the other roams over chilled bone. His true name spills from your lips, forbidden and complex but your tears are starting to slide down, warm and fat along your cheeks.

He doesn't let up. The ghost of the tongue does not mean he can't speak, even if it's busy. The lich's eyes light up with each word and let each of the following sentences hang in the air before sinking into your skin. "Such a good assistant for me. Helping me explore all kinds of death. How many ways we can achieve this one, the little death before it breaks you?" There's a pause, before he crooks his fingers, pressing them against that one spot to make you keen out. He chuckles, warm and full of delight while his gaze rakes over your body. With a single movement, he's pressing forward his skull right against you, letting the cold bone hit your inner thighs. "I think after this one it will be five? Is that correct, dearest one?"

You're panting. Nails dig into bone while your teeth dig into your lower lip. "That's c-correct, Gar-"

"I think that will be enough for today then. Just one more, my dear." He doesn't wait. The tendril is no longer flicking against your sex, but rather engulfing it. Sucking and licking, it feels wet and warm, a wonderful contrast to the coldness of his natural form. His magic was always so warm.

Tears continue to leak, you're so tired, but you can give him one more. One more and you will be done. He will treat you so well if you give him one more. You force yourself to relax, to let his ministrations guide you through, but you're cumming with a sob and grind of your hips against his head.

He's nothing but praise, sliding his fingers out once your orgasm ends. "So wonderful to see. Such a good test subject." The tendrils from his mouth descend back in, but not before letting it roll over your thighs like a final caress or a soft kiss. He stays between your legs, gently rubbing over them with too-thin and rough fingers. Bones pet your flesh, and you don't mind it.

Finally, he lifts himself up, to stand and get you a glass of water that he had kept nearby. He dips the cup himself, and you know there is no option here but to drink. Heavy mouthfuls are quick to come as you realize your thirst. When he pulls away, turning to set it down, your fingers run along his robes. "Thank you."

The lich chuckles, thin arms wrapping around your body, until he can settle behind you. Having you lay over him, the robe helping to smooth out all the hard lines of his body. "I should be thanking you, my dear. I've learned so much." He shifts beneath you slightly. "Was it too much?"

You consider the fact that you just had the equivalent of a talking skeleton eat you out and finger you open until you wept. Surprisingly, no. "It wasn't that bad. Just got too..."

"Overstimulated?" You nod and he hums. "Perhaps next time, we can have some longer breaks in between. That may help with preventing some tears."

You gaze at him, meeting the blue flames of his eyes head-on. "But you like the tears."

His hand dips, feeling along your waist and then your stomach. He can't grin anymore, but you could sense it in the next few words. "Perhaps I should keep going then?" Boney fingers dip lower, following the line of your hip, hovering over your sex once again. "If you have no objections, of course, my dear."

You pause, thinking. "One minute break? And then you can get another one."

His teeth press on the crown of your head, the whisper of a kiss he couldn't give. "Of course, my dear."

You smile, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw. "Thanks, Garbear."

Gary sighs, no air pressing through the slightly parted teeth. "You're going down to thirty seconds now, brat."

"You shouldn't have let a human pick your casual name."

"Twenty."

You had an odd feeling it would be a long, but enjoyable night.

-

Thank you to @golden-rats for the name of the Lich

[emerald11011]

old stuff

[monstersandmaw]

Are you going to pick up the Kalle x Raena fic ?

i am a creepy little vulture and would love if there were more to it

if not I completely understand

I hope you are doing well anyways 💞💞💞

Oooh! I hadn't planned to do any more on that story really, even though I left it on a sort of 'end of season one' vibe. I can definitely keep it in mind though for future ideas! They were really fun to write and I did have ideas for where to take them...

Thanks for asking and showing love for an older story!! (sorry i've sat on this ask for so long! It's been a bit of a crazy time here if I'm honest)

[mushabumi]

"The Lich and the Witch"

18+ Monster romance. 2053 words. Smut, romantic, and a shy Lich King.

“The Lich King”

She was never afraid of the things that crawl in the woods at night. The clacking of claws and whisper of behemoth wings in flight was a comfort to her. The villagers barred their doors and windows when the beasts prowled speckled in starlight, but what they didn’t know was that they were under His protection. She knew, though she’d never met the elusive Lich King that ruled this area, nor would she explain the true nature of the beasts that patrol at night. She simply let them believe she was the consort of darkness and bathed in moonlight each month. Sometimes she did. Moonlight did wonders for the skin. As for consorting with any darkness, there have never been the opportunity. Though she wouldn’t be averse to the idea.

All of these thoughts meandered through her on her walk. She needed ingredients for her commissioned potions and elixirs. The path was always droll, though she was thankful for its familiarity. She entered the gates of the forgotten cemetery and strode through the briarwood vines with a languid hand held aloft to brush them away. They parted with a sigh as an old lover trapped in memories of what was. It always made her smile when the plants talked to her. She had a gift for manipulating them, and often they were her truest companions throughout her life.

Down she went through the ancient stone steps leading to the entrance of the labyrinth. She saluted to the gargoyles standing vigil at the doorway and pressed a hand to the stone doors. She whispered an incantation and runic script bloomed beneath her palm in a pale periwinkle light. It arched along the hidden doorway, blinking as the stone parted. She slipped inside and with a blink, her eyes illuminated in the dark as a cat’s. It was clear as day for her. She gripped her basket and marched forward. The moss shifted away for her as she walked.

Little did she know that she was being watched.

She continued, humming a song her mother once did, in a language her grandmother spoke. She crouched every once in a while, to collect the mushrooms huddled in corners. They glowed as she touched them. She never noticed the icy chill that crept toward her, or the way the shadows became deeper; knitting together in a dense fog. It grew closer, tendrils of darkness stretching for her and stopping just out of reach. They shrank, bashful and forlorn. So he spoke instead.

“Is it a habit of yours to sing in the dark?” His voice whispered through her, reverberating in the darkness and enveloping her in a shroud.

She shivered, huffing out some of the warmth pooling in her belly. “Is it habit of yours creep around unarmed women?”

“And who’s fault is that? You were the one who left the safety of your hearth, knowing the things that prowl in the night. And on a full moon? Surely you’ve more sense than that.” Deep, resonant whispers echoed off the walls. A single tendril of darkness curled at the nape of her neck. “Am I to believe a woman such as you needs a weapon the be dangerous?” A sonorous laugh boomed, echoing in her ribcage. The tendril inched lower down her spine before retreating. “Surely you can do better at attempting to deceive one as ancient as I,” the voice enshrouded her, tickling her skin; soft as velvet.

“Ancient you say? Is your body withered among the roots and rocks, then? Long forgotten?” She said with a straightened spine as her eyes flicked toward the amalgamation of darkness. Her eyes slitted, calculating, before she lunged.

A gasp echoed off the walls as she held a limb of darkness. It was cool to the touch, velvet soft and utterly pliant in her grasp. Though she knew the strength and destruction it could wield.

“Or are you too much of a coward to face me fully?” She asked with an imperious tilt of her chin.

Darkness coalesced before her and grew, towering above her and melting away to reveal a bone-white creature. He was naked from the waist up and had a flowing black cloth draped around his hips. Plates of bone covered his black torso as a natural armor, mimicking the curves of muscle beneath. A circlet of bone crowned his head and flared to each side of his head as fused wings. It completely covered half of his face, leaving his pale cheekbones, and chin peeking from underneath. His lips were full and scowling at her.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed the black talons of his fingers and tilted his head with an unspoken question. He waited. They always ran at this point. Without fail.

“Hmm,” she hummed and surveyed him, dutifully ignoring the urge to close her fingers around his throat and push him against the wall. She reached her index finger up to his chest and gently pushed. “You’re about to step on them. Can you move, please?” She pointed to the patch of mushrooms inches from his feet.

He shuffled away, revealing an enormous muscled thigh under the cloth at his hips. She licked her lips and looked away. He loomed behind her as the stone gargoyles outside and she couldn’t bear it any longer. She cleared her throat and held her basket out to him. “Might as well make yourself useful… your highness? My liege? What do I call you?”

She could have sworn a blush bloomed under his bony headdress when he said “Phandros. I am the current Lich King of this domain,” he spoke gently as he grabbed the basket.

She crouched down and began harvesting. “I see. Nice to meet you.”

A palm sheathed in shadow appeared before her, waiting. She grabbed it, stifling a gasp as it helped her up with ease. His long fingers brushed against the pulse in her wrist as they closed around her hand. They were sharp, pausing at her pulse. The scraped against it reverently before releasing her.

He did not speak, but simply watched her with a curious tilt of his horned head.

“Are you … waiting for something? Someone?” She huffed a laugh. “Or deciding how you will eat me tonight? Sauteed with a pat of butter and garlic should do nicely.” She patted his gauntleted forearm and moved away.

He snatched her hand with lightning speed, imperceptible to the eye and held it with delicate grace. “I am waiting for you to run away; to scream or to fight me. But you haven’t. Why?”

She dropped the mushrooms in the forgotten basket at his feet with her free hand and looked up at him. “Because I’ve read about you. I know the story of the prince that bargained with the evil Lich to keep the winter horde at bay. The one who traded his mortal life to save the starving people of his realm. The same one who locked himself away from his people’s great-great-grandchildren and their pitchforks and raids. The one that learnt to command the night to protect his realm from the horde of demons that preyed on this land on their way to the realm between worlds. To me, he is not one to fear. To me, the humans that forgot his sacrifice and betrayed his kindness are the ones to run from. They are the ones to hide away and shield myself from their wrath. Not you. Not ever you or your kind.” She both her hands around his and squeezed gently. Just once, before turning away.

She felt tendrils of shadow cup her chin and turn her back toward him. She didn’t shrink away as he reached a hand to cup her face, nor when he moved a breath away from her. Slowly, he stroked her cheek. “Will you not tell me your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“I wish to know what name to say as you become undone above me.”

She slammed her hand against his chest, the other to his throat and shoved him against the ancient stone. He picked up as she caged him with her thighs and bit his lip. He licked her bottom lip and sucked as her hand tightened around his throat. He gasped as she writhed against him. Tendrils of smoke whispered around her. Brushing the shell of her ear, her neck. Trailing up her thighs and whispering at around her breasts all as he kissed her with barely restrained hunger.

“Hold on,” he ordered and held her tight. The blinked away in a shroud of night and appeared in a suite at the top of a tower. It overlooked the entire valley with glass panes covering the back wall. Black smoke meandered around the glass as if waiting to be let free.

He placed her gently on her feet and took a step back. “Are you sure?” He watched her. Trepidation and dread pursing his lips. Surely she would run now. Soon. Why hasn’t she already?

She sighed and regarded him as one did a particularly slow child while explaining the rules of the universe. “I want you,” she stepped closer, “on your knees.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the bed before she sat on its edge. She nodded in front of her and waited for him to kneel before reaching down to trail a finger along the planes of his cheek. She stopped, wickedly, at the corner of his lips. “I want you to scream your name until the sun rises. And again tomorrow. And the day after. Then will you believe that I shall not run?” She draped her finger across his bottom lip before his tongue slip out and curved around it and enveloped it into his mouth. As he sucked, the tendrils of night snaked around her body, mimicking the movements of his tongue. Her clothes faded into shadow as the tendrils embraced her. She gasped, gripping his horns in a vice as they curved around her breasts and thighs. They glided against her, teasing closer to her nipples and gently gripping as he sucked her finger. He smiled at her moan and leaned forward. Brushing his hands against the back of her knees he watched as a shadow flicked to the apex of her thighs in slow, agonizing circles. Another smile as the other flicked her nipples and retreated. He kissed a trail up her thighs as a shadow foretold the path his tongue would follow against her folds. She was nothing but deep, breathy moans as he lazily worked his way closer to his goal. Finally, a tendril pushed inside her as he gently pushed her against the bed and draped her feet on his shoulders. The shadow pulsed inside of her and grew as she moaned. It formed to the thickness she needed to prepare for, slowly stretching her as it pulsed inside of her. He finally licked his way the bundle of nerves and thrusted his phantom limb inside of her. He ignored his own hardness and hummed against her clit, relishing the sounds escaping her. He kneaded and thrusted until she was sure to be sore the next day and she became incoherent. Only then did he grip himself with his hands and stroked his length in tandem with all of his limbs. His rhythm became merciless. He felt her shudder against him and he reached for her hair and pulled. A scream erupted. He sucked her clit in a brutal rhythm and slid another tendril to her ass. He felt her tighten around him as she felt the velvet wetness of a tongue slide into her from behind. He pulled her hair with another thrust into each of her openings and held her as she released. He soothed her hair and back as she came, easing her onto his chest.

He waited until her breathing evened and gently laid her on the pillows. She looked shy as he stroked her cheek and held her against him.

“Phandros? Are you… what about you?”

He eased his eyes close and whispered, “say it again.”

“Phandros?”

He kissed her softly as if he had millennia to memorize her. “Hearing my name on your lips is reward enough. Sleep, for there is always tomorrow.”

[beebrown80]

Got the lil WIP videos to share too! Can't wait to start coloring this big poster soon 🤩✨️🎉

[yandere-writer-momo]

Immortal

Yandere Lich x Afab Reader

There was no such thing as magic or monsters. They were old tales once used to scare children… or so she thought.

What stood before her could not be described as a man… no. This was no man, but a monster parading around in the flesh of her lover. An undead monster with malevolent glowing ruby eyes in his pitch black eye sockets.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this, my dear…” The creature’s husky voice whispers. He outstretches his hand to try to tuck a strand of hair behind her face, but she flinched away when some of the skin falls off his hand to reveal more skeleton. “This skin had started to decay too quickly… I don’t mean to scare you-“

(Your name) could only scream as she tried to flee, but something invisible held her in her place. Her feet now stuck to the ground like a tree as her body trembles like a leaf under his intense gaze.

“W-who are you?”

“It’s me, Aeron.” The undead creature gave her a bow, his rotten hand now tenderly caresses her face. “I’m your lover of course-“

(Your name) fails to shift her head away, her body convulsing in sobs when he presses the teeth of his skeletal face in an attempt to kiss her. More of Aeron’s flesh fell off in the process, the soft skin now sat on her shoulder. Tears spill from her eyes in horror.

“This is quite a sight for your eyes, my dear…” ‘Aeron’ pulls back with a sigh, he peels off the rest of the skin off his face to reveal an entire skeleton save for his ruby eyes. “I sadly do not have the same appealing appearance I had a millennium ago… but I simply could not stay away once I sensed you were back in this world.”

Aeron grabbed her hands and held them up to his rotted chest. The black metal band on his skeletal ring finger terrifies her to her very core. This monster was not her fiancé… “My heart may long be gone but I swear it beat only for you. I had no reason to have flesh or organs once you ceased to exist…” Aeron pressed his teeth to her soft hands with a cry. “I miss being able to touch you… to feel you. I envy that man who was in my place for a brief time but he is no more. He hasn’t been for a few years now actually.”

Aeron then sat back, his terrifying face tilted to the side when her tears didn’t stop falling. “My dear why do you cry? Do you not remember me? My name? I… I don’t quite remember my name either so I borrowed your temporary lover’s.”

“W-what are you?” (Your name) stutters out. This monster has been by her side for three years and she never noticed… how could she not notice?

“Well I am what you would call a lich. I sacrificed my humanity for immortality so I could meet you again once you were reborn. I was once your lover over a thousand years ago.” Aeron threw his hands up in the air. “I eliminated all other magic in this world so nothing could ever harm you again. I didn’t want something as silly as priests to stop us from being together again. How lucky was I that you weren’t chosen to be the saintess again.”

(Your name) watches the lich ramble. She was lost and didn’t have a clue on what he spoke of. They were lovers a thousand years ago and he waited a millennium to be reunited with her? She was a saintess? Then what was he?

“My dear, don’t question it too much. You’ll hurt you head.” The lich snapped his fingers, the flesh flew back onto his body and repaired itself. A familiar handsome man with dark hair stood before her now. Aeron smiled at her. “We can just pretend this never happened again… just like he have for the last three times you found out.”

“The what?” A hand was waved over her face and (your name) no longer knew what she was about to say… or why she was upset in the first place. “Aeron? What happened?”

“You just had a bit of a headache my dear. How about I make you a cup of tea to help?” Aeron rubs her back in a reassuring manner, his red eyes filled with love. “Just sit on the couch okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

(Your name) nods her head and goes over to sit down on the couch. She plops her body down while Aeron fetches her a fresh cup of tea.

Aeron smiles at his reflection in the window. Yes… this human face will do for now. All he has to do is convince her to stay with him forever. He wouldn’t fail this time… he had her wrapped around his finger rather than on opposite sides during a war.

Aeron was no longer an enemy necromancer but her lover. Her fiancé.

He’d burn the whole world down again if he had to. Aeron would do anything for his love… he’s already sold his soul and waiting a millennium for her. What was another thousand years to a lich?

[huramuna]

even in undeath - chapter 1.

lich king aemond x reader a 'world of warcraft' AU. prev | next

The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.

word count: 2.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.

story playlist

It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums. 

This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?

You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off. 

How long has it been? 

Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human. 

But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.

Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.

What chance did you have? 

More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall? 

The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes. 

Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here. 

Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer… 

Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears. 

Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you. 

A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell… 

You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by. 

The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now. 

It all felt like a very bad dream. 

Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you. 

Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry. 

‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’

‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’ 

‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’

You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing. 

They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.

You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip. 

Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.

‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘

‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’

Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again. 

Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations. 

It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling. 

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’ 

That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated. 

Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer. 

Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew. 

You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was? 

You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body. 

But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken. 

Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones. 

‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’ 

‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’ 

‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’ 

‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’ 

‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’

You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.

‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’ 

‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’ 

‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’ 

You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you. 

What were you trying to remember? 

Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin… 

Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath. 

“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.” 

You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead. 

You wish you were. 

The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys. 

The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb. 

Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out. 

You should have listened to Alys. 

The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords. 

Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.

“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”

The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.

The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up. 

Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.

“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so… 

You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.

“Hello, little dove.” he mused.

It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose… 

But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–

Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.

Aemond Targaryen. 

Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.

“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.

[writing-fanics]

adventure time ideas🐌

posting ideas to see what yall wanna see

• Marshall Lee •

. mommy dearest: Marshall Lee x Fem!Reader

[angst: with fluff ending: blood]

summary: when marhsall lee mother Hana Abadeer. His partner is insistent on wanting to meet her fiancée mom so he brings her along.

serenade me to sleep: Marshall Lee x Gender-Neutral!Reader

. Summary: unable to sleep marhsall will serenade you to sleep

everything stays

.summary: y/n sings a song to her marshall lee two year old daughter after she has trouble sleeping

• Finn the Human •

together again (in the works)

.summary: finn is dead and while searching the death world for his wife and big brother he remembers the life he spent with y/n and their four kids

another time

.summary: what if? the lich posess y/n? idk tis just came to me

•Prince Bubblegum •

< Simon Petrikov >

[bitethedevil]

Strange Bedfellows (Lae’zel X Raphael): Chapter 1

Link to this fic on AO3

Summary: Lae'zel stayed on the Material Plane after the defeat of the Netherbrain. She vowed to rid Faerûn from Vlaakith's filth. She found plenty of allies to aid her cause, but not many people stand a chance against the ruthlessness and efficiency of the Gith, and she soon finds herself struggling.

Though she is not the only one who is struggling: Raphael has been left crownless, and he has angered the Lich Queen herself with his actions. He is in desperate need of assistance from someone who knows how Gith work and think.

Author’s note: I give to you: the cursed ship of Raph'zel (or Hell Frog, if you will). You're welcome and I'm very sorry. It makes sense to me. Both Gith and devils are lawful creatures, though still in very different ways...and I like to put characters who would hate each other's guts in a box and shake it violently <3 Also: the part about Raphael and Vlaakith and a certain object isn’t something I made up. You can find the slate in the Astral Plane.

I would strongly suggest that you read this on AO3 because there I have included a little Gith dictionary at the end.

After the defeat of the Netherbrain, Lae’zel had ventured out to wipe out every Vlaakith stronghold on the Sword Coast. She had vowed that she would not stop until every sarth and kith’rak had been defeated. She had found plenty of new allies to join her cause. People who she grew to trust and who she could call ‘friends’.

They were, however, not as efficient as her former group of allies. Her new friends were capable fighters, but no one else but her was Gith, and they stood little chance against the warriors who had trained all of their life. In the beginning they had been lucky and wiped stronghold after stronghold, but now, she was beginning to lose more people than they managed to kill. Morale was dwindling fast.

This time she had lost two dear friends when they had tried to storm what they thought would be a small camp. They were caught off guard and they only barely made it out alive. They had regrouped in a nearby tavern after.

“Lae’zel…” Tasar said in a gentle voice from beside her. “We couldn’t have known, so stop blaming yourself. Olyssa and Perth knew the risks and they still insisted to go in first. They wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up for it like this.”

She lifted her head to look at the elf. Tasar was a capable ranger and the one out of the group that always managed to stay positive no matter what. Even he looked like hell with the blood in his blonde hair and the tinge of sadness in his green eyes, even though he tried to hide it.

He was being strong for her and despite her appreciating the thought, she did not appreciate the gesture. She was not to be coddled. Though there was no reason to snap at him. No reason to make a bad mood worse. She only made a grumbling noise and turned her focus back to eating again.

She looked around the room. Her companions were dealing very differently with what had just happened. Murnum and Gulmin, the two twin dwarven paladins were drinking in silence. Grace, their tiefling bard, was drunkenly talking to strangers at the bar. Vincent, their human wizard, had been staring at a map and picking at his food for a good half hour by now. Tasar was still just staring at her in worry. It annoyed her to no end.

“We will set up camp soon,” Lae’zel said to those around the table. “Whoever is sober will keep watch. We will leave tomorrow at first light.”

Murnum and Gulmin took a gulp of their ale at the same time at her words, wanting to avoid being the ones to take the night watch. Vincent nodded a bit without ever taking his eyes off the map.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Tasar piped up. “You get some sleep tonight, Lae’zel.”

She gave him a short nod before going back to tearing apart the piece of chicken in her hands. Her eye twitched when she heard Grace’s high-pitched drunken laughter from somewhere in the tavern.

“Someone is talking with your girl, Vince,” Tasar said and looked at Vincent.

Vincent briefly looked up from the map to look behind him at the highly intoxicated tiefling woman. He sighed and looked back at the map.

“She is not ‘my girl’,” Vincent mumbled. “Let her drown her sorrows…We all mourn differently.”

“Mhm,” Tasar hummed and leaned over the table. “It looks like she’ll drown in that fancy lad’s brown eyes if you don’t do something. Come on, Vince…you like her. You should say something.”

“You should mind your own business, Tas,” Vincent retorted with a tightlipped smile.

They kept talking. It was irking Lae’zel how they could talk about such trivial matters when two of their friends were dead. They had lost many people, but it was angering her how desensitized they were all becoming.

There was one more high-pitched laughter from Grace behind her over the bickering of the two men, and that made her snap. She hammered her fist down into the table. The sound of it and her fiery gaze was enough to silence the whole table.

“Tasar, go out and scout for a place to camp,” she ordered cooly and then turned around. “Grace!”

Grace turned around two tables away from them with a lazy smile on her lips. Lae’zel froze for a moment when she saw who she had been talking to before her eyes narrowed at the man. A wide smile spread over Raphael’s face and his eyes lit up in recognition when he spotted her.

Lae’zel stormed over to them. She made a sharp gesture towards their table to Grace.

“But—”

“Now,” Lae’zel hissed at her.

Grace’s face was like that of a child that had just been told ‘no’, but she complied. She smiled politely at Raphael before moving to their table as she had been asked to. Lae’zel stared down Raphael.

“Lae’zel of K’liir…” he said with a charming smile. “Fancy seeing you here. One would expect that you—”

“No,” Lae’zel interrupted him with a sharp gesture. “No talking. Leave.”

Raphael’s smile got slightly tighter at getting interrupted.

“Now, now…” he said in a low tone. “There is no reason to get so defensive, my dear. My grievances are with your former leader, not you. Whyever, would I harm you for the sins of someone else? Perhaps—”

“I will harm you if you ever speak to one of mine again, chraith,” she warned coolly.

Raphael chuckled at that, though it was a cold sound. He did not like how little he was in control of the current situation. Lae’zel was not Tav, and she would not give him the time of day.

“You have grown quite sentimental, it seems,” he said. “How unlike you. Though I suppose it is only natural with how your little crusade is progressing…I hear that your allies are dropping like flies…”

Lae’zel walked away from him. She went outside to retrieve something from their packs. When she came inside again carrying the Orphic Hammer, a few of her allies got up from their seats. They only saw her carrying a big hammer and walking towards a man in a very determined manner, so they looked prepared to fight.

She dropped it at his feet. Raphael did not look particularly impressed. He glanced down at it with a bored expression and then smiled lazily at her.

“I was wondering what became of it,” he purred. “Is this supposed to bribe me to stay away?”

“Yes,” she said in a cold tone with a small smile and narrowed eyes. “If that is insufficient, perhaps a sword through that horned skull of yours might persuade you. I don’t deal with devils.”

“Ah, I see,” he said with a smirk. “You merely get others to do so for you, isn’t that so?”

Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword in warning. This was not the day to test her.

“Don’t forget who is responsible for you ever getting your hands on that silver sword of yours and who assisted you in freeing your people,” he said and then made an expression as if just remembering something. “Or, of course, who now owns your dear Tav’s soul because of it. In a fair world, would it not be yours instead, Lae’zel?”

Lae’zel drew her sword and the whole tavern fell quiet. Raphael looked at her with that grin of his and then at the patrons around them. He glanced down at the sword and then took one last look at her face.

“See you soon,” he purred and snapped his fingers.

The patrons gasped when flames danced around him, and he disappeared. He left the Orphic Hammer behind.

A few days passed. Lae’zel was seated on a bench a bit outside camp while she watched her companions train. She was eating her second lunch while looking at the map beside her, planning their next move.

“Does it get tiring?” she heard Raphael’s voice behind her, making her pause her chewing. “Eating enough for two simply to stay alive in a realm that you were not made for? Your body disagreeing with you constantly as it is dealing with a world it has not adapted to? And, worst of all, aging…”

Lae’zel finished chewing, placed the bowl of food beside her on the bench and reached behind her for her sword. She grabbed the hilt and pulled, but felt Raphael’s hand on hers, stopping the movement.

“Tsk tsk,” he tutted. “I only wish to speak with you. Just a little talk between former unlikely allies, and then I will leave you alone for now. I promise.”

“G’lyck,” she groaned in annoyance. “Speak if you must, devil, but do not expect me to listen to your mindless chatter.”

Raphael moved the map that was sprawled over the bench to sit down beside her. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned his arm on the backrest as he looked at her.

“I have always admired the Gith,” he said. “They are without a doubt one of the worst mortal races to make deals with, but I admire them all the same. In truth, your societies are not much different from those of the Hells.”

She stared at him with a blank expression.

“It is clear that you have failed in all of your dealings with Gith if you begin by insulting them,” she grumbled. “We’re not the same.”

“No?” Raphael asked. “We both believe that strict adherence to order, laws, and hierarchy will uphold our societies and cultures, do we not?”

“A devil might be orderly compared to a demon, but a devil’s order is nothing short of chaos.”

“For an outsider with no real understanding, perhaps,” he mused. “We wield order like a sword, and like a sword, it does not need to have pretty adornments or modifications to serve its purpose. As long as it works. I am sure a pragmatic woman like you would agree.”

“A sword, yes…A curious metaphor for someone who does not know how to wield one.”

“Pardon?” Raphael said, sounding slightly offended. “I am perfectly capable with a sword. I have fought in the Blood War, same as any devil.”

Lae’zel gave him a dismissive gesture and took a bite of her food.

“You are a bard,” she said once she was finished chewing.

“Of some, as I am sure you are aware, use swords,” he said in a slightly annoyed tone. “I am still quite proficient with a rapier even though it has been centuries since I was last on the battlefield, I can assure you.”

“You would call a rapier a sword?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “I have never seen much sense in hacking and slashing away at a target, when one well-placed thrust could do the trick. I do, of course, know how to handle a longsword as well.”

She shook her head and finished her bowl of stew. She folded the map and put it in her pack.

“I am returning to camp,” she said. “I do not have time for chatter about your lack of martial prowess, istik.”

His eyes narrowed at her and his nose was wrinkled in annoyance when she started to walk away from him. Lae’zel discarded the bowl into a bucket and drew her sword as she walked towards her tent. Raphael appeared in front of her in a flash of fire.

“I will talk, and you will listen,” Raphael grumbled. “We have a common goal, you and I. You want to rid Toril of Vlaakith’s influence, do you not?”

Lae’zel sat down with her sword in her lap and looked up at him with a bored expression.

“You do not care about the liberation of the Gith,” she said. “You cared about the Crown of Karsus. I do not have it. Leave.”

His jaw clenched and he looked around as he noticed the stares he was getting from her companions who recognized him from the tavern. Lae’zel raised a hand as to dismiss them from taking action and kept cleaning her sword.

“I would not waste my time here if our interests did not align,” Raphael said in a low voice to her. “Your little merry band here are not suited for the task they have been given. I could lend you assistance. Soldiers whose sole life purpose is to fight.”

Lae’zel looked up at him again. She studied his face. His tone was off.

“You are afraid,” she said as if it was simply fact. “Why?”

His already sour expression soured further at the accusation.

“Careful, Lae’zel,” he warned in a dangerous tone. “You do not want to make an enemy out of me. Especially when I might prove to be your best ally in this little endeavor yet.”

She got to her feet, sword still in hand.

“Do you think me so naïve, devil?” she asked. “Do you think that I would give my soul for an incompetent group of devil soldiers? We have nothing more to discuss.”

“I am not asking for your soul, you stubborn child,” he hissed. “I am asking you to do what you set out to do and kill every last trace of Vlaakith’s vermin on this plane. I am asking you to—”

He was interrupted by the loud sound of Lae’zel’s silver sword getting sharpened on the grindstone. He saw red. He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and snapped his fingers.

Lae’zel’s eyes were furious when she saw that she was in the House of Hope. She grasped for her sword, but it had not been transported there with her. A flash of fire danced around Raphael as he took his devil form. His wings spread out behind him and his eyes bored into hers as he adjusted his clothes and schooled a smile onto his features.

“Please, take a seat,” he said in a dark but calm tone and gestured to a chair at the table.

Lae’zel did not budge. She stared him down from where she was standing.

“You will send me back,” she hissed. “Now.”

“No,” he said in a warning tone. “You will sit down. You will behave and you will not leave the Hells before you have listened to every word I have to say. That can take minutes, hours, days, and it is entirely dependent on your behavior, my dear.”

She gave him a low growl of discontent before dragging out a chair and sitting down.

“Speak,” she ordered sharply.

Raphael sat down in front of her and crossed one leg over the other as he studied her for a moment. He would not be rushed in his own home.

“Did you ever wonder why I had the Orphic Hammer in my possession?” he asked.

She just kept staring at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to get to the point.

“I suppose not,” he said. “You and your dear friends were no doubt too busy at the time to ask the right questions. Had you done a little digging, you would have learned that you, in a sense, owe your miserable lives to me.”

She raised an eyebrow. There was a glimmer of something in her mind. An inscribed Githyanki slate that they had found in the Astral Plane. It depicted Vlaakith and a devil making a deal for the Astral Prism.

“Continue…” she hissed.

Raphael smiled at her.

“Come now, Laezel,” he said. “One must know a lock intrinsically in order to make a key to said lock, do they not?”

Her suspicions were proved correct, and she felt her blood boil at the revelation. Her nails dug into the armrests of the chair. She wanted to kill him.

“You made the Astral Prism…” she said in a fiery tone. “You helped Vlaakith enslave Orpheus, and you ask for my help! I should drive a sword through your skull for what you have done!”

Raphael held out a hand in a gesture to calm her.

“And I helped free him as well, did I not?” he countered. “It was business. I made most of my fortune from that deal, but I did not enslave your prince myself. Your former queen did. I did however make the Hammer as an insurance policy after I saw the mess she made. It was merely a question of time before her little scheme would be discovered.”

“And now she wants your head for defying her,” Lae’zel replied. “Should I return to the Astral Plane, then I will make sure that every living Child of Gith will want the same thing for what you have done in the first place.”

“I have done what you say,” he said. “But as I have told you, our interests align. You need allies to your cause, not enemies. I am motivated to help you.”

“Chk,” she scoffed. “You are motivated to help yourself, devil.”

“You need all the help you can get, Lae’zel…”

“You need my help,” she said. “Or else you would not be here filling my ears with your drivel.”

Raphael’s fist hit the table so hard that she thought it might split in two. She looked at him with an unimpressed glare. He leaned closer to her with fire in his eyes.

“I am being hunted for sport by Gith on the Material Plane,” he said in a low, angry voice. “I have Tiamat’s dragons circling my home here. I would never have given you or your friends the Orphic Hammer to break your precious prince’s chains, had I known you would not keep your word. The Crown of Karsus was my insurance that this would never happen. Had Tav kept her word, Vlaakith would have been snuffed out long ago.”

Lae’zel sneered at him but that did seem to calm her down for some reason.

“It was not my idea to snub you of it,” she said.

“I know,” he grumbled. “I admit, I should have made the deal with you instead of her. A mistake that will haunt me for millennia.”

She huffed in response.

“I am offering you soldiers,” he began in a softer tone. “Some who will be from the Material Plane and others from here in the Hells. In return I am only asking for you to lead them. I will guide you, of course, but you will lead them. Laws prohibit me from directly interacting in such a manner on the Material Plane.”

“I will not do it,” she said and shook her head. “Find someone else.”

Raphael looked at her with the disbelief of someone who was absolutely certain they already had the deal in the bag.

“What do you mean you will not do it?” he asked.

“What I said.”

“I can’t ‘find someone else’,” he said in an annoyed tone. “You know how Gith fight, where they hide, how they think. You will fight them regardless and I am offering you help to do so. Why would you not accept?”

“Would I sign a contract?”

“Obviously,” he said impatiently. “Though it would only be a necessary formality. I have to abide by Infernal laws.”

“Then your offer does not interest me. I will kill every last one of them, and I do not need your help, devil.”

Raphael’s claws dug into the arm of the chair to the point that she could hear the wood creak, and his jaw clenched. He raised his fingers to snap.

“Perhaps you will reconsider once more of your new friends die to your incessant stubbornness,” he grumbled. “Insolent child…”

He snapped his fingers and sent her back.

[monsterfloofs]

Ignatius Murkia Knellmorne (Dark Spirit x Anonymous Reader) Sfw

(Oh man, this is another beanie that has been in my head for years, if you enjoy the silly kinds of bad guys that run around shouting “fool!” acting like really passionate theater kids, and trying a little too hard to be evil while bumbling in the process, this one's for you! Ignatius is trying his best to have his wicked heart in the right place! :3c )

It’s another day, in Knellmorne castle, you wake up to an explosion that rocks the bed you were sleeping in. The cold stone walls rumbling as dust trickles down onto the floor and your face. You cough and cover your head with your blanket as you roll over to protect yourself from any more debris. You blink your bleary eyes as you scrub the dust away with a corner of your sleeve. Then, sleepily throwing back the blankets you stand up to stretch. Muscles tensing as you roll back your shoulders and arch your back. Before you can finish your yawn you tip sideways as another shudder runs through the castle. You stumble to stay upright reaching to grab a hold of the thick iron chains that hang from the walls.

Another day, another adventure.

Your bedroom was made up of an old repurposed dungeon. One that had been hastily redecorated for your stay. Even one of the older skeletal residents had been accidentally left behind from the move to make the space slightly more homey. Your roommate laid forlornly on the floor, their jaw hanging slack in a scream, or perhaps a yawn? You weren’t entirely sure. You pull yourself upright, and carefully step over the sprawling form. Making your way over to the thick dark bars that made the walls of your new home. As a prisoner of the castle, you had learned that the quickest way to get your freedom was to simply. . . ask the guards not to lock the door. Despite being dark revenant creatures, with shadowy purple bones and grinning ghoulish skulls, you were surprised by the level of hospitality they had shown you in the beginning of your stay.

"His lord has given you more blankets, prison scum, these walls get cold at night,"

"His lord was curious if you enjoyed your dinner,"

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how has your stay been at the dungeon? Is there anything we can do to make it more comfortable?"

You stride through the open wrought iron cell, making your way across the room. The walls lined with rows and rows of wickedly sharp and strange torture devices that gleamed menacingly in the wisps of a strange purple and blue fire light. You reach the huge door that blocks the dungeon from the other part of the castle. Careful to avoid setting your hand on any of the nasty black spikes that were set into the door. You press your weight against the door and it creaks open with a ghastly moan. You find yourself facing a dark hallway illuminated with more sputtering purple torches hanging on the wall with sharp wrought iron fixings. From what you gather, this spectral firelight runs through the entirity of the castle grounds. You peek your head out into the hallway. Looking left then right. Closing the door carefully behind you and tiptoeing stealthily down the hallway.

You have actually escaped the dungeon many times. Typically being caught by the guards you make up the most soppiest story that you could think of on the spot. You felt that you were no great wordsmith by any means. However, your great tales of woe held surprising results. You would watch the dark skeletons dab at their hollow eye sockets, snuffling and blowing into handkerchiefs.

Then you would be scooted out along secret passageways, your captors promised that they wouldn't tell their great and terrible master. As long as you came back, you were free to go. The first time you had done so, it was exhilarating, how foolish they were! You had thought, running over the dark drawbridge and into the forest. More than eager to take advantage of the gullibleness of your keepers. Yet, as your footfalls slowed and you walked the rest of the way towards town, something had tugged at your back. Perhaps your own conscience was making you feel guilty at tricking the guards, who had appeared so distraught by the story you wove.

You had gone into town to buy supplies, and had bought a map to begin your journey home. Yet, against your better judgment you had come back to the castle. Reassuring the guards that your family was well. You had accomplished what you had set out to do, and that it was alright for you to return. If they had let you out, chances are that they would do it again. At least that was what you had initially hoped. Perhaps the next time you make a daring escape, you would be able to come back with a story to tell the local starry eyed children.

One escape became two, then three, then four. Each time the crowd of skeletons waving goodbye to you as you walked away grew and grew. Honestly, it began to make you feel worse about planning your breakouts. You were determined to leave without being caught at the very least. Perhaps then you could leave with a clean conscience.

Now, as you are a seasoned veteran and resident escape artist, you notice the lack of guards at their typical posts. This area is normally crawling with skeletons. You had even been invited to sit down and join their card games on the nights that you couldn’t sleep. Where could they be? Another loud crash makes the stones shudder under your feet. You entertained the thought that perhaps they were dealing with some kind of battle elsewhere. Though the thought made your gut twist uncomfortably. Could skeletons like that get injured?

It wasn't right to hold people hostage no, but from what you had seen of your so called captors, they were really quite harmless. They tried to put on a facade of being these gruesome creatures, but truly their actions gave them away. They didn't have the metaphorical heart to keep you trapped in the dungeon, they even cooked for you. Although. . . you have had to go into the kitchen and make food for yourself. No taste buds meant no way to tell if ingredients were spoiled or not, or even if it was made right at all. You had smiled around too many terrible dishes before you gently prompted the depressed cook to let you make your own meals.

You didn't wish to see them get hurt. Goodness it wasn't above your imagination to think that someone could lie their way in just as you lied your way out. Someone could enter the castle ground just as easily under false pretenses and then begin hacking away at those poor undead creatures. You stop and sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. Wrestling with what to do. It was the worst you had seen their security.

"Perhaps I am an even bigger fool than the skeletons," You grumble sulkily, turning towards the source of the noise and confusion.

You would go and see what was causing all this noise. Perhaps there was something you could do. You didn’t have access to a weapon, that was the one thing the residents of castle Knellmourne did seem to be careful with. In your previous escapades through the castle, you had never stumbled upon a discarded weapon that you could borrow for self defense. What were you going to be able to accomplish if you did find out some of them were in trouble? You supposed you would have to cross that bridge when you got there. Perhaps you could go alert the others once you stumbled into more of them. You took one of the large life-sized portraits off the wall to reveal one of the many secret passageways the skeletons had shown you. Following the cacophonous sounds you follow a path through the tunnels of dull flickering torchlight to a place you had never been before.

You peer around a tapestry, into a grandiose circular room with ornate torches of even darker purple fire. More tapestries were hung from the dark stone walls depicting a manergierie of ghoulish creatures and dark spirits. At the far end of the room, embellished by a dark purple rug that trailed across the floor sat a huge throne made of rich blackened wood and carved with many ornate depictions of screaming human skulls. This had to be the throne room of the skeleton's master. They talked about him constantly, Ignatius Murkia Knellmourne. You had never seen the lord of Castle Knellmorne, and honestly you didn’t want to test your luck by running into him now. Thankfully the room was empty, although it made the interior feel even more ominous. As if he could appear at any moment, and the longer you lingered, the greater the risk you took with his remergance. You concluded that this wasn’t where the source of the noise was coming from, and must have taken a wrong turn.

Just as you were about to slip back behind the tapestry, the great dark door across the room burst open. A human figure dressed in blue and silver dove out of the way of a swirling darkness. Their hand touching the ground as they skid to evade the reach of dark shadowy hands. Bright purple eyes flicker to life within the abyss, another figure manifested from the swirling well of darkness. A knight clad in dark armor, some places so black, it looked as if it was forged from the place they had manifested from. Two long twisted black and purple horns curled from the helm they wore. A monstrous sized morning star gripped in their hands.

Your eyes dart back and forth from the dark knight to a heroic looking figure with their sword drawn. The human eyes land on you, their expression going from shocked to outraged.

"Y-You liar! You do have a prisoner!" The human turns back to the dark knight using their sword to gesture at you, and you stiffen.

A deep voice slithers from the depths of the armor. An evil chuckle as violet eyes smoke ominously. "Fool!" The armored being laughs, "Of course I have prisoners! Not that you'll be able to save any of them." He jeers. "It is in your best interest to stop this foolish game, lay down your sword, and perhaps I shall be merciful."

"Well, I hate to bring this up, but your ‘prisoner’ is escaping."

"Uh?" The glowing eyes shift to tiny circles as an awkward silence passes through the room. The figure gestures towards you again, and Knellmourne whips their head around towards you. You give a small squeak as the looming knight appraises you with wide eyes.

"You!" His booming voice intones, "How did you get here!?" Having no plans to answer, you shimmy back through the secret passageway, hearing a snarl behind you.

"You need to keep better track of your hostages, Ignatius!" Laughs the hero's voice, the vocal banter fading into the sound of yet another scuffle. You rush back the way you came, pausing to catch your breath only when you felt you had gotten far enough away.

“Forget the skeletons— they’ll be fine.” You sputter. “If I stay any longer I’ll be mashed potatoes!”

You were still in the winding secret tunnels, and while you had been focused on getting away from the two figures you hadn’t paid attention to where you had gone. While you know the areas that lead to the outside or the staff’s dusty kitchen, this was unknown territory to you. You typically had other thoughts in your mind than wanting to wander around and explore. Also choosing to avoid certain parts of the castle that you deemed too dangerous. Looking down the hallway you tried to remember the layout of the passageways you previously traversed, scratching your head. You had been so careful to remember what turns you took earlier, and you push yourself to try and recall them.

“That way— I. . . think?” You murmur uneasily, letting your hand rest against the wall for support as you begin to tentatively move forward again. Your eyes scan the dimly lit area, looking for any telltale landmarks to help you navigate.

You jolt as your foot steps in something that gives under your weight. Nose wrinkling, and lips spreading into a thin line, you pray you haven’t stepped on any poor critter that was scuttling around the tunnels. Hurrying to lift your foot, you find a mound of strange gelatinous looking black sludge. Your eyebrows lifting, as your eyes slowly move across the floor. There was more of it, and it was ambling towards each other, something dark and shadowy was forming along the floor. Its presence was seeping up from the cracks in the cobble stones. Creeping forward as it became denser and darker.

"Wh-what the–"

You stumble back, as dozens of shadowy skeleton hands shoot from the newly formed swirling darkness. The formless writhing shape began dragging itself towards you along the floor, gaining momentum. You yelp, not needing more encouragement to turn on your heels and sprint through the corridors.

The great shadowy mass began scuttling along after you, its skeletal hands propelling the beast along the walls and ceiling like some massive spidering creature. Another of those strange beings were manifesting themselves to form up in the corner of your eye. The corridors you had walked so freely and with ease had turned into an utter nightmare in a matter of moments. You dove away from one, only to almost throw yourself into another. Your ankle twinged as pain shot down your foot. Ignoring the pain you managed to direct yourself between them. The shadowy beings collide with one another, little fragments of bones falling from the beasts as their forms wobble and disappear.

A moment of breath, before something grips your ankle and you yelp. Shadowy hands rippling and blooming up from the floor as you jerk your leg free. Skittering around the grasping appendages you duck into yet another thin corridor. A crack of light beyond the tunnel now filled with flailing reaching hands. You burst out into the main castle, ramming into one of the full length portraits and falling to the ground. Your hands take the brunt of your fall and sting as they land on the rough stone floor. Scrabbling to stand you watch as the flailing limbs dissipate and seep back into the floor. Chest heaving in gasping breathed as a stitch burns into your side, you let out a half gasp, half incredulous laugh.

How many times had you been bumbling around in those dark corridors without seeing a hide or hair of those creatures? How lucky had you been before? Practically coming and going however you pleased. Nervous glances were cast back at the broken portrait on the floor and the dark chasm in the wall that lay beyond. Unsteadily rising to your feet, wanting to gain as much distance as you could from where you had last been.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to evade the strange beings for long. You had paused for just a second to gain your bearings when hands burst out of the wall beside you. Your turn is just a fraction too slow as skeletal hands grip you. You try to fight them off, thrashing in their grip. Trying to dig your heels into the cracks of the stone floor. You are dragged through a wall that oozes with darkness. One moment you were in the castle hall, next you were pulled into a black void, a chill of wind whistled past your ears causing your skin to tingle with gooseflesh. You resurface in the throne room. Coughing and sputtering, you attempt to tug free of the dark hands that grip your arms.

Heavy slow footfalls cross the room, a figure looms over you.

“Ah, well, well. Here we are again. Long time no see.” Knellmorne spreads their hands in a feigned greeting. The shadowy skeletal hands that were holding you in place withering away.

"Where. . . where did that knight go?" You ask nervously, seeing no trace of the other figure in the room.

"Oh," Knellmourne purrs with venom dripping in their voice, "They are a little. . . shall we say, preoccupied at the moment. We can't have you wandering unsupervised, now can we?" Their smokey cloak of darkness flows in dark pooling waves as he shifts his stance. You turn your head away, expecting the worst.

"Guards!" He bellows, his voice ringing like a toll of death into the rafters above. "SEIZE THEM,"

Silence.

You tense and look around, eyes flitting towards the looming stone doorways that lead into the throneroom. No guards came, nor did the strange shadowy creatures you ran into previously. Knellmourne stays still, their clawed fingers still pointing accusatory at you.

"I said–" The dark spirit begins again, "Guards!"

Nothing.

From where you are standing you can see one of his glowing eyes twitch. You stare at Knellmourne, at this ill placed time, a tickle decides to bubble in your throat. You cough in the empty silence. The effect is very much akin to hearing someone cough in a silent auditorium or a library.

Knellmourne raises up indignantly, "Where are those blasted–" He growls, weapon dropping to his side in a reverberating thud. Your gaze is distracted from the looming figure to a small piece of paper that appeared out of thin air. It flutters through the air before settling gently on the ground in front of you. Your legs bend so that you can stoop to pick it up. While Knellmourne stands with his bulky arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for reinforcements. You look at the post card in your hands, reading the letter.

"They're on vacation."

"What?"

You look up and wave the letter.

"You're guards. They are on vacation. They sent you a postcard."

You stand and take uneasy steps towards the big knight. Handing the rectangular piece of paper to the dark creature. He snatches the paper from you, squinting to read the postcard. On the front in swooping pink letters it read “Fun in the Sun!” And there was the skeletal army in the photo. The few that were captured in the picture were laying on beach chairs wearing sunglasses and floral t-shirts. One was holding up a coconut half that had a little pink umbrella in it.

“Vacation— VACATION?!” His deep voice booms in outrage, you make a wide eyed expression and shrug. How would you have any idea of knowing that? You were supposed to be a prisoner. You watch the great knight’s bluster crumble, sitting down on his ghoulish throne and putting his helmed head in his clawed hands in exasperation. You rub the back of your neck truly unsure of what to do. You reach out a tentative hand, awkwardly patting the shoulder of the monstrous suit of armor.

“I. . . I'm sure you have all sorts of other traps that will catch trespassers." You say, looking around for inspiration. “Like those creepy shadowy things.” Your gaze fell to the grizzly weapon he had tossed aside like it was a toy. "And you still have. . . your morning star."

"I do love my morning star," Came a muffled harrumph. You regret mentioning that immediately, not wanting to become a messy smear across the castle floor, but you continued to try and stay positive.

"You're army won't be gone long I'm sure, how long were they supposed to be on vacation anyway?"

You give a small encouraging smile as the horned helmet swivels to look at you. "You are. . . a strangely kind human, I shall be sorry to have to kill you."

You take a cautionary step back, "But do you actually have to kill me?" You respond earnestly. Someone behind you clears their throat.

“Are you. . . Are you two done?” The hero passes their gaze awkwardly between Ignatius and you. “Is this a bad time. . . Should I. . . come back?”

Knellmourne glowing eyes blink, “Oh, no, no, you are perfectly fine.” He clears his throat politely, his fingers curling into the throne's wooden arms before standing, his cape flaring out dramatically.

The figure looks relieved, "Did you really have to drag me across the castle with those vestiges?" They complained. "It’s a bother to go running around here all the time."

"Yes," Ignatious replies gleefully, picking up their gruesome weapon. "Yes it was very nessicary."

“I think you’re just avoiding the inevitable,” The human snorts, unsheathing their sword.

You scramble out of the way as the two move to close the gap and collide into one another. Knellmourne was incredibly strong, as well as fast, but their small adversary was able to keep one step ahead of them. Tucking and tumbling past the morning star that shook the floor with every hit.

“Hold. Still!” Knellmourne huffed, pivoting on their heels, as the human figure darts around them.

“Hah! You should have picked another weapon!”

There was something that was weird about their fight, something that seemed off. when you saw it again you blinked. Knellmourne was missing, on purpose. It was the briefest of movements, but as the duo turned a certain way you caught it. The dark armored figure aimed purposefully behind the small hero. The slightest of hesitation as he moved, redirecting his attack to be slightly off, leaving the human unharmed. He parried all of the attacks directed at him flawlessly. A surprising deft hand at handling such a large weapon. Yet, when it came time to deliver his own assault, he slowed.

Preoccupied with tracking the smaller figure, the dark knight twisted their body to far to keep up pace with their adversary and accidentally ended up getting their legs tangled. Glowing eyes going round as he off balance and falls to the ground.

"Told you you should have picked a different weapon." The figure goads.

Knellmourne snorts in defiance, before his glowing eyes shift wearily to the blade in the hero's hands. Watching the owner prepare for one final thrust between the dark knights eyes.

You look around for a weapon, grabbing a broom from the wall. As you watch the hero draw back their blade in slow motion. Unlike when you had seen the armor clad lord of the castle fight, you can see no hesitation in the human's eyes. You do, perhaps the dumbest thing you have done during your whole stay at Castle Knellmourne. You take the broom and whack the heroic figure with it.

They lose their balance, and accidentally throw their weapon. Staring at you aghast.

"A-Are you an idiot?"

You wonder the same thing. Your eyes momentarily flickering to look at the broom in your hands.

"I am trying to rescue you! What are you thinking?"

An itch of irritation races up your scalp and your eyebrows furrow. "What if I don't want to be rescued! Actually, who ever said I wanted to be? Maybe I don't need to be! Perhaps I am perfectly fine here on my own."

"But you've been kidnapped?!"

You raise the broom over your shoulder like a baseball bat. "Oh for the love of, I have just about heard enough of that! If I am a prisoner, why am I allowed to come and go when I please??"

The hero takes one look from you to the castle's dark lord who is lying on the floor looking equally dumbfound.

"This place is a madhouse–" The hero breathed, “I’m going to finish what I started, whether you are coming with me or not!” They move to reclaim their sword, fingers just about the grasp around the grip. Then the next moment they were gone. A large dark hole had opened up into the floor and they had been engulfed by the trap door.

You slowly lean over to peer down at the dark abyss that opened up mere inches before you.

"Do. . . I. . . want to know where. . . this goes to?"

Knellmourne rises to their feet, looking all in all, quite cheerful despite their close encounter with death.

"It leads to the castle lake, it's a shallow one of course. Only a waist deep.” He chortles, as if that were the most amusing thing to send hero’s that invaded his home.

"To the lake? Not to some kind of death pit or. . . ? You're not worried they'll finish what they started? What if they come back?" Knellmourne's laughter fills the throne room.

"Heavens no!" The booming voice scoffed, "If I killed my adversaries, I wouldn't have any left! Besides, they can't kill me anyway,"

The great knight lifts up their helmet. Glowing eyes disappearing as little purple ghosts flit up from the armor.

"I'm already dead!"

You stare at the headless apparition. No face underneath the dark armor, heck, there was no head, no neck. Just a ghoulish emptiness.

" I–, " You began, at a loss for words.

"If I took victims they would just hover around here bothering me," His voice echoed eerily from his chest cavity. "I shall avenge my death, you won't get away with this forever, blah, blah, blah! They would be stuck here with me indefinitely, then what would I do?

You blink and think about that for a moment. "You would. . . take over a town I guess?"

"Take over a town." He mused, setting his helmet back onto his shoulders. His eyes flickering to life again, "I do like the sound of that, hah! Perhaps I shall! You can only have so many battles before it all runs together."

Your eyebrows shoot up, not for the first time, and by no means the last. You became an honorary underling of the dark spirit, after that day. There was even a ceremony, with the whole skeletal army when they had returned. They sat in rows of chairs at the celebration. They popped champagne and cheered, the first human amongst their thrall. It was also, as you could imagine, quite unpleasant watching dark skeletons drinking booze. They made an absolute mess of the mess hall and were ordered by an extremely irate dark lord to clean up the spillage.

One of the very first strategic meetings you appeared for, was to discuss your idea about invading and conquering the nearest village. You stood politely amongst the skeleton committee, listening to the banter.

"A whole town is an awful lot my lord," one began. "That would take a lot of planning."

“Perhaps we should start smaller,” another of his skeletons commented.

“S-smaller?” Ignatius stutters, “But I—“

"What about a merchant stand?” Says one, “If you control one of those you’ll surely have your wicked claws in the economy.”

"How about a hot dog cart?" Another pipes up, A murmur of agreement runs through the other skeletons. You bite your lip to stop from smiling, watching Ignatius sink further back into the purple velvet cushions of his throne. A clawed finger tapping against the arm rest as he squints in annoyance.

This surely was going to be a long debate.

♡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡♡

Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar! I also take writing and art commissions on kofi! ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

[jev-urisk]

OOPS, I dropped my laptop and Kazimier X Reader smut fell out! 😮 🌶 

Fang Kink | Monster X Human | World of 🌐7 Circles🌐

I sure hope the two people who voted for this on my poll don't find it~

And I don't know what I would do if @monstersflashlight knew they inspired me to post my smut directly on Tumblrrr....~

Notice: 18+ interacts only. Explicit sex, Ungendered reader insert, alcohol consumption, references to blood, author unable to resist worldbuilding

[Part 1/2]

You’ve been keeping a secret for a couple months now.

As a human, you’re not allowed into the monster empire, you’re supposed to live your measly life outside its borders in the Outlands. If you ever were to venture into the dark claws of Du’Preve, the closest monster district to your human settlement, you would be executed or worse if they discovered you weren’t one of them.

So you’ve taken extra care not to be discovered.

You could never pass as a vampire, with their red eyes and sharp teeth- nevermind a gorgon or gargoyle. But Liches… those looked just like humans until they put too many magic runes on themselves. A little black paint, and some inspiration from a Lich warning poster in your area, and viola, TOTALLY not a human.

Thus far, you’ve hopped the border just to look around for a little while. Du’Preve has some kind of strange curse over it that dims the sun, even at high noon it seems like late evening. You LOVED it. Something about it made you feel alive- you always did have more energy at night and it was a wonder to experience it at 2pm.

You would walk the dirty streets, trying not to stare as you passed people with hissing hair, barking owners of strange market stands, and old rune-riddled liches mumbling incoherently in the gutters.

You also tried very hard not to squint, to act like you weren’t used to the perpetual darkness. You’d overheard monsters spit that word onto the pavement, ‘Squints.’ ‘Damn Squints,’ ‘Filch-beggin’ no good fuckin’ Squints.’

It has the same other-ness that ‘Fang-Banger’ has back home, a term that’s spat at anyone who gets cozy with a monster, even when it’s not the person’s fault.

You might get called that just for visiting Du’Preve, honestly.

But no one back home knows about your adventures, just as no monster knows what you really are. It’s been working so well that on today’s trip into darkness, you decide to do something a little different.

Du’Preve was known to host all kinds of escapism- drugs, whores, alcohol, you name it. But the most interesting to you were the parties and the clubs that hosted them. Last time you were here you overheard talk of one club in particular, The Club Lascivia, where patrons are generally safe from gang involvement and getting drinks spiked by malicious strangers.

You had gone through what few Du’Preve-looking outfits you had, needing something to wear to a club- eventually settling for something skimpier than you’d usually wear in your excitement to dance the night- or the day, away. You slip through your settlement in an old cloak which you leave at the border, soon arriving at your destination- by all appearances just another monster looking to party.

The scene was electric, with colored lights and dirty music that hummed beneath your skin. You moved between the dance floor, enjoying yourself with your heart racing at how close you were to the monstrous patrons, and simply watching the crowd from the safety of a booth, seeing for the first time how human these monsters really were.

In the booth next to you were two gargoyles, their stone-colored wings slightly unfolded to give a sense of privacy as they gossiped about a third gargoyle between flustered giggles.

You see a male gorgon leaning too close to a disinterested woman at the bar and after a few heated words she throws her drink in his face, causing his snakes to curl back with a hiss.

On the dancefloor you watch a little lich flirting with a stunning vampire, dancing so close, rubbing against one another. The vampire brushes closed lips against the lich’s throat in a dangerous tease and you shiver unexpectedly, drawn to the tantalizing threat.

Hot.

Wait- ‘hot’? What are you thinking?! Are you.. a fang-banger? No but you haven’t-

Before you can really parse out your thoughts, you notice a man approaching your booth with a couple of drinks.

He’s in a leather jacket that he hasn’t bothered to zip up over his fishnet shirt, allowing you to see the shape of his hips and the toned ‘v’ of his pelvis peaking up over a studded belt and artfully ripped jeans.

He stops a pace or so away from you, looking at you through tinted glasses as the lights of the club backlight his mane of curly black hair. Something about the way he looks at you makes you flush. He smiles, as if he knows what you’re feeling, and you see fangs glinting in his smirk.

“Mind if I join ya?" He asks in this brassy yet silken voice.

“Yes.” you find yourself saying, “-You can join me, that is.”

“ ‘Preciate it.” he says, and as he sits a strange thrill buzzes through your skull. “Here, for your hospitality.”

He sets a tall drink garnished with a twist of orange in front of you and your voice of reason momentarily returns. Was this safe to drink? You didn’t see the drink made, so it’s possible this was a sexy trap to lure you into a surprise kidney removal or something, right? You rotate the glass, as if somehow that would help you tell if it was spiked.

As you’re grappling with how to politely refuse the cocktail, his hand and its many rings brushes against yours and he plucks your glass off the table to take a deep drink, smiling as he catches the look on your face.

He sets it back in front of you with about a third less liquid in it and leans back, his arms draping across the top of the plush seating. “You’re smart not to trust a stranger, but I don’t get my kicks at this club from unwilling participants.” he teases, not unkind, but with a hint of what those kicks may be, “Go on then.” he urges, looking at you, not the drink. “If you want it.. It’s here for you.”

You had never been propositioned quite like this. His air was pushy, dominant, forceful even. But in his words and relaxed posture he invited you to walk away. What if you did? He might chuckle as you excuse yourself with a scarlet blush.. but you don’t think he’d follow.

What if you didn’t?

In a streak of boldness you look him in the eye and pick up your drink, draining it entirely as you stare him down. You were a human with enough gall to sneak into monster territory, after all.

“Moxie.” he praises with a quirk of his brow. It crosses your mind that you’re impressing a monster with your bravery and you feel tipsy off that alone. He licks one of his fangs and you can’t take your eyes off him. You think to the vampire on the dance floor and wonder what it feels like to have those sharp teeth on your skin.. on your lips..

“Now that you're done with your drink, you wanna taste of somethin’ else?” He asks, and you blush at his ability to seemingly read your thoughts.

What.. What should you say? Obviously you were getting hot and bothered here but to do anything physical with a person from Du'Preve, to willingly walk into his grasp, that was a much much bigger taboo than taking yourself on a little adventure across the border now and again.

You feel a light touch on your wrist, the man has moved in the semicircular booth to sit beside you. “Hey now..” the man soothes, his fingers barely resting on your skin. “You can be nervous, moxie, or anythin’ between. If we do somethin’ I just need you to want it.”

Your voice comes out as a whisper, anxious and daring all at once. “I want it.”

[PART 2]

7C taglist:

@gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @katenewmanwrites @pencilpusher1000 @lychhiker-writes @autism-purgatory @wyked-ao3 @cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @fortunatetragedy @aalinaaaaaa @the-golden-comet @urbiggestfan-01 @quillswriting @nbkuhn @ddgraywrites (hmu to be =/- to the list)

[libbworl]

Adventure time x gravity falls because the two shows are the ones I get made fun of for liking.

It's easy, wendy is PB dipper is Finn (mason the human because if u know AT enough, Finn has a nickname which is "pen")

Tyrone is fern

Robbie is marcy

And Mabel's an adopted magical stretchy cat.

And bill is OBV the lich.