#if nothing else making food for river is something that he will enjoy doing

[maruzzewrites]

love like you've been hurt.

Astarion reflects upon his growing feelings for Tav/Reader. cw: blood drinking, wrist biting, intrusive thoughts.

“If you need it, you just have to ask.”

A splendid, convenient offer to Astarion. When he was first given the opportunity to drink from their neck, he remembers thinking quick and immediate that the poor fool would be easy to manipulate. If one offers something as precious as their blood to the man who pointed a knife to their throat, before, and tried to sneakily have a bite, after, there is little Astarion can do before taking advantage.

He still remembers the sensation of the skin breaking under the pressure of his sharp fangs, the blood flowing warm and viscous under his lips as he started so suck, lick, and enjoy the flood of life surging all over his body. The blood of an intelligent creature nourishes like nothing else, he learned that night.

In his enjoyment, though, he noticed how they stayed put despite the pain. There were shivers, there was motion, but they never said to stop. It would be so easy to bite off part of their throat and feast on that delicious blood, but Astarion knew that letting that river of good will dry before he could get more wasn’t the most smart of options.

So, that night, he stopped. He thanked. And he promised to feed on animals unless he was offered again.

And he has been, offered again he means.

 Once, he even asked to their so-generous traveling companion why they were so invested in feeding him and how they chose the days. It was mostly a provocation, maybe a way to make them admit to some hidden erotic fantasy that could be his in for his usual manipulation, but they looked at him. They thought for a second, then they simply answered, “When you look a bit weaker.”

That was it, if one had to believe their words. The entire reason for their generosity was something as banal as the person traveling with them, the vampire spawn that was about to bite them in their sleep, was looking a bit weaker and they needed food.

Not even asked. There was always the option to let him continue his animal diet, but they went out of their way, every few nights or so, to offer their neck once more. At first, it was convenient and simply a gesture of a fool that Astarion didn’t mind putting to good use. It betrayed a weak will, in his mind, because there was simply no other reason to let a dangerous predator to take a bite from a lamb and hope it won’t get addicted to the taste.

Eventually, Astarion found his in. They slept together, as he assumed someone like them would.

They detected something off, though. Astarion, perhaps naively, never thought that would be possible. Not with the mask he perfected in two centuries of life. He was sure it was nothing though, and he waved away the thought and the worry by answering their questions with his usual charm. He couldn’t allow himself to show how nude he felt when that mask would slip, because that would imply the kind of vulnerability he wasn’t afforded since he was still alive.

So the night passed.

So this specific night comes.

They offer again. And Astarion cannot wait for the moon to rise and the stars to shine, for the fire to crack besides them as his companion will go to sleep and he can again sink his teeth into tender, alive flesh.

“Darling, you will spoil me rotten like this.” He chuckles at his own words, makes sure to drag his vowels with the usual catty inclination he is used to take with people he needs to seduce. They shake their head, but the faint smile on their face sends a signal to his brain he cannot quite explain. It’s not quite that his heart flutters, but he wishes to see that same face again soon.

It’s an odd sentiment for someone like him, who cannot afford it. It’s a pesky little thing, that will pass, and it’s only because they have been so naively kind to someone like him. Someone who could tear their throat apart with a single swipe of fangs, or perhaps his claws could take hold of their delicate neck and open a passage from which blood could flow freely. But he doesn’t need it, he doesn’t want to think about it that way.

He cannot let the monster inside of him win. He will take what’s enough for his survival and cultivate this relationship for his own gain.

He awaits the night as they travel. The Coast is filled with the unknown and the wonders he has never seen since he has been secluded into a caged life, but he cares not to help those who are not useful to his quest. They, instead, are generous not only with him, but with anyone in need. It’s irritating at times, but he must bite his tongue and put a brave face on so that same kindness won’t be denied to him.

Finally, night falls. The camp is quickly set and everyone tends to their own personal wounds, or they converse among each other, some even argue about useless things. At times he feels like this camp life lacks the spunk it had, like when Shadowheart and Lae’zel almost fought, but he isn’t one to be involved so much that he wants to cause trouble.

He is lucky enough the others didn’t demand his head on a silver plate when his true nature was revealed.

Even they are busy with talking, sitting down by the campfire and entertaining Gale as he babbles about something related to the Weave or magic, as he usually does. There is a lazy, tired kind of smile of their face as they listen on, and Astarion finds himself wishing again to be able to see it more often. It’s not even the desire to be the one to cause it, but just the wish to see them content and unbothered by the chaotic mess their life has become.

It's a thought that lingers even after, for hours until everyone decides to lay down for the night and they are there, leg raised as they watch the sky. Everyone else is fast asleep, but they stay up more than usual. Astarion isn’t sure if they remember the promise, but he waits silently by his tent.

At some point, they close their eyes. He waits a few seconds, until their breath seems to even out, and he sneaks out, slowly. From that night, he has swore to be as silent as a church mouse when he is to drink their blood, and he is sure to keep that promise so that he could stay on their good side. He is cautious to make just the smallest amount of noise as he approaches, but their eyes shoot open anyway and they turn their head to look at him.

He is sure he will be scolded or told he is noisy. But they simply shrug, still laying down, and whisper a simple, “Can’t sleep tonight.”

It such a straightforward answer to a question never posed, but they raise an arm towards him in offering. The other hand come to uncover their wrist, and they speak again, “You can drink from my wrist.”

So they didn’t forget at all. Astarion accepts with a sarcastic, “Don’t mind if I do.”

He comes closer, kneels down near their body and they, at the same time, sit up so they will be at the same height. Less awkward, Astarion agrees, but he can’t help the joke, “You looked so pretty on your back, darling.”

They frown, but here again that small smile that guarantees him there is nothing wrong with what he is saying. They won’t push him away or punish him for a word too much, and maybe that was it all along. Maybe Astarion’s defenses are coming down because there is nothing to fear from someone who is showing their neck to you.

Quite literally too.

Satisfied with that explanation, he takes the arm he is offered in his hands, rests a barely-there kiss on the wrist and lets his fangs grow in size as they sink down. Blood rushes to his mouth, wetting his lips and pooling on his tongue, as he drinks up the rusty flavor with his usual abandonment.

Strangely enough, it’s not the feeling of being sated that joins the hunger tonight. He feels a strange rush of compassion, of tension and just a sprinkle of adrenaline as he continues to suck the blood out of the minute veins in their wrist.

He wonders if this is normal. If blood is supposed to give emotions like this when it comes from someone you have more connection with. What could it be, if they were even closer?

There is a small amount of panic inside his chest, but he cannot stop the thoughts of how sweet and tasty it could be to lure someone and drink up their blood after making them hope for something deeper, after developing feelings and betraying them. Even stepping on his own heart would be worth it.

He stops himself just in time, as he feels his jaw clenching down.

He does his best not to let them see how worked up he is in this exact moment. He knows they would freak out, they would see what he truly is and realize that this whole ordeal isn’t convenient for them. He simply can’t have that, both because he doesn’t mind having someone offering blood and because he doesn’t want to lose their support. The only person whose smile, besides his own, he wants to protect, and he is so close to hurt his chances to even be close to them.

But they don’t freak out. Not in the way Astarion thought. They look down at their wrist, at the blood still falling from the two even, small injuries that dig into their flesh, and then they look at him. With their other hand, they reach out and let the tip of their fingers rest on his cheek, without cupping it completely.

It’s a delicate, intimate gesture. The closest Astarion ever felt to someone, and they are barely touching. They blink and ask, “Are you okay? Do you need a bit more?”

Days ago, Astarion would have grinned and took them up to that offer. Tonight, Astarion truly feels his heart flutter and wants to see them smile up at him, and he doesn’t care that they’re kind to everyone, until they are to him too. Until he is included in that generosity.

“No, thank you. I think I will go rest.”

They blink again. Then, they shrug again and the smile arrives. Small, tired, and the last thing Astarion wants to remember of that night.

[starsofjewels]

The Yellow Wedding

(Gregor Clegane x Bride! Reader)

Yes, I know, and I pinky promise I'm ashamed that I'm a Greggie C simp. Yes, I know, he's like the only GOT character who is completely morally unforgiveable. Yes, I know, I have a problem, blame it on the lack of stability idfk.

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A/N: This pookie has been in my drafts since before I made this account, so it's kind of my baby. If you think Gregor Clegane is bad, just wait and see what else I have in store for y'all. Gods bless.

This is the beginning of a series I like to call- Who the f*ck is writing for that character? I did promise questionable- You get questionable.

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CONTENT: Canon compliant! Arranged/ forced marriage, language, non descriptive! Sex/ nudity, alcohol use/ drunkenness

(Is Greggie C his own content warning? Probably.)

Word count: 3.3k

It is not a match you would ever make for yourself. You would spend no time begging your father for such a marriage or pleading with your mother to make your father consent. No, this was your father’s decision alone. You do not know what Tywin Lannister has promised your father, but you assume something great; more men to fish the rivers or more materials to make the small Riverlands village your father controls less sparse. No matter what it is, he is convinced it is worth the price, and so you will marry Gregor Clegane, the Mountain.

Although you have spent your childhood in the Riverlands, you have heard of the monstrous man. Beastly tall, and stronger than any man alive. Even you, with your quiet, humble education are well-versed in his ferocity, of the sheer terror he inflicts upon even the strongest of men. Although you were no older than three or four at the time of Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, you know full well what the Mountain did to Rhaegar’s bride and their children; and the horses he can behead with a single swing of his great sword. And it makes you sick to believe that you will wed such a monster. 

Crying to your father does nothing, nor does wailing endlessly to your mother, or the septa whose focus is now on your sisters. You are a low noble, your father tells you, it is better than you deserve and more than you will ever get again. Your mother cannot speak to you, she sobs when she tries, and you know there are things not even your mother can tell you.

Your sisters squeal with excitement at the idea of travelling from the Riverlands, and you realise that although you have gone as far as Highgarden, your sisters have barely seen Acorn Hall. You do not ride with them, no, Lord Tywin provides you and your father with a separate carriage, decorated beautifully and accompanied by grey horses. Your father promises he will let you keep one after you are married, and even as a grown maiden, the thought of another horse excites you.

You realise unreasonably quickly that this wedding is a Lannister wedding. Although you are not marrying into the house of lions, the entire event is tainted with their presence. You will be married in Lannisport, in a dress paid for by Tywin Lannister and designed by his tailors. The food and the wine from his contacts, and the guests Lannister supporters. Your father is impressed, he tells you what is gold, and what is silver, and how lucky you are to be such a finely kept bride.

“Lannisport is beautiful this time of year,” Your father takes your hand in his as you begin to ride, as though that helps you, “You will enjoy it, I think- The sea air may calm you��”

You nod, uninterested, as you begin to move further away from your home. He sighs,

“You may not be pleased with this arrangement, Daughter, but Lord Tywin has given you a better wedding than any girl could wish for. The Mountain may not be a kind husband or a good husband, but you will be safe.”

“If he doesn’t eat me first…”

Your father hears you, despite how lowly you mumble. He looks at you, displeased, and says nothing.

The ride to Lannisport takes several days. Each time you stop your sisters marvel over something new, so easily impressed that a fallen tree sparks hours of conversation. They spend all of their time “helping” the stableboys with the horses and chasing after innkeepers’ cats. Part of you wishes you were young enough to join them, to run along with them and hide from the cooks, sneaking sweets from the kitchen.

Instead, you are sat down with your mother and your septa. The latter very gently explains what will happen to you when you are joined with Clegane in the eyes of the Gods when you become man and wife and things are suddenly expected of you; and you realise it is nothing you didn’t already know from listening to your father’s guards, or from far too much time with only yourself for company. It will hurt, she tells you, it always hurts; he will not be gentle, he will not care for you afterwards, and you wonder how a celibate sister would know such things.

The rush of Lannisport is not like anywhere else you have been on your travels; it is busier, much busier. You know from your studies there are hundreds of thousands of inhabitants in this city, and you wonder if all of them have come out to meet with you. They haven’t, of course, aside from a few young children who stare at the gold and silver carriages, and the servants employed to assist your family. Anyone around you is far too busy with their own life to care at all about what you do. 

Your sisters are taken off to see the sights the city beholds, the high walls, the ports, and the beaches, utterly distracted by lights and sand. You, as always, are not as lucky. The septa dresses you in a fine yellow dress, in such a shade you immediately recognise it as Clegane colours. She fixes your hair with thin, silver ribbons which suit your hair nearly perfectly, and leads you along the bright halls of your apartments.

You have no time to awe at the Lannisters’ exuberant wealth - You see the gold-lined portraits your father could never afford, the jewels left in glass bowls with no fear anyone may steal them. No, you are brought swiftly, and with no fuss, across the halls, until you reach what you assume to be a sitting room. She leaves you at the door, slamming it shut before you can register you have been thrown in.

The room is darker, the curtains are pulled, creating a dusky light which draws only unease from you. Wine is laid out for you, and a selection of fruit, and other trinkets you cannot make out in the dim light.

The creature at the other end of the room stirs, and you yelp. You expect it to be Gregor Clegane, and your hands reach for the doorknob, only to find it locked. The man stands, and he is far taller than you could imagine. Taller than any man in the Seven Kingdoms, or anywhere else, you think. He grumbles and moves closer to you with slow, deliberate movements, taunting you.

Once you see the scars poorly hidden by his thick, long hair, however, you realise it is, in fact, not your prospective husband. But his brother; the Hound, Sandor. 

You have heard every rumour about the Hound. Savagery matched only by his brother, a rage fuelled by a young Gregor plunging his brother’s face into a fire, over nothing more than a wooden knight, no matter what their father told those around them. He fears nothing: not Gods, not kings or the lions they surround themselves with. And soon, he will be your brother-by-law

He laughs. Deep, and rumbling, and you know he is laughing at you. The Hound takes a cup of wine for himself, drinking it entirely with one sip. He eyes you up, and down.

“You are… my betrothed’s brother?” 

You try to sound like a proper lady. The Hound laughs in your face.

“Your betrothed?” He mocks, setting the empty cup down and marching towards you. You see the burns on his face - Ugly, pink things, still not healed after endless years and more ointments than you could imagine. “This isn’t a fairytale, little lady. I’d be surprised if you survived the wedding night.”

“I-”

He does not let you speak,

“If his hands don’t kill you, girl, his cock will.”

Your eyes go wide as he utters the word - Something you’ve only heard out of drunken peasants, and not knights. He notices immediately.

“He’ll say far worse than cock, petal. I don’t know why Tywin Lannister is making you marry my brother, but it won’t be pleasant.”

He sighs, sitting himself back down,

“The only reason I’m here is to make sure you make it to the bed- It’d look bad on the family if he killed you before then - As if we could be worse.”

There is nothing you can say to make the situation better or, for that matter, any worse. Sandor looks at you properly, and he realises how young you are.

“How old are you, girl?”

“I’m… nine and ten, Ser.”

He softens, somewhat. His scars seem less frightening when his face is not a scowl.

“Young-” He says, quietly, “young, little thing. By the Gods, his last ones have all been older.” His voice drops, but you hear him. “He might spare you…”

He fills the brief silence that follows.

“You’ve never had a man, have you?”

“No, Ser.”

“Ser. I am no Ser, lamb.”

You stare up at him, almost confused. You were certain he was a knight- Any king would jump at their chance to knight a man like Sandor.

“I refused. Ever since Rhaegar Targaryen knighted your betrothed. If a brute like the Mountain can be made a knight, I refuse.”

“That… I suppose that… makes sense.”

He sighs, reaching out to you and taking your hand, gently.

“If you do what he says, you might be fine. Don’t anger him, petal. Don’t ever anger him. Not even the Gods will save you.”

With that, he leaves you alone in the dim sitting room, until the septa returns and helps you back to your chambers. She asks basic questions, which sound as though she’s written them in advance.

For the next three days, you are primped and prepared like a fine ham, rather than a beautiful bride. Women engulf you nearly every moment of the day, bathing you in hot water filled with roses, scrubbing you raw.

You are taught the wedding procession, how the septon will join you together under the Seven, and what will be expected of you in the early stages of your marriage.

Upon the morning of your wedding, you are awoken to find your wedding dress already waiting for you; white and delicate, an apparent symbolism of your purity. Despite never having bedded a man, you wonder how pure you truly are. Of course, you look like the freshest, whitest snow in comparison to Gregor. 

Once you are dressed, and the ladies have swooned over how beautiful you look, you sit with the septa, awaiting the Mountain’s guests to complete their prayers, so you may be brought in.

There are private prayers for you, the septa blesses you and prays for a hopeful marriage. She sits with you and offers you wine. 

“Do you truly think this marriage is a good match?”

She sighs, taking a place beside you.

“Gregor Clegane is indeed a dangerous man, but all men can be tempted by the kisses of their lover, and enough delicate touches.”

Your eyes widen and you look at her, shocked. She smiles at you.

“Do you really think I wouldn't know of the ways of men, sweet girl? They are all the same, these brutish, knight types.”

For a moment, the septa becomes almost like a best friend, she laughs with you in a way you have never seen before.

“If I am still alive when you have daughters,” she says, “I shall serve them. And I shall pray every night they are as wonderful as you, sweet one.” She looks at you, “write me. Tell me you are safe, yes?”

“Yes. I promise you.”

Your father calls for you shortly after, you see his eyes widen as you emerge from your bedroom in that fine, white dress. You are walked rather unceremoniously to the castle’s great hall. There are decorations everywhere, flowers of white and yellow, blue and red. A true, rather fantastical, combination of your house being joined with the Cleganes and the Lannisters overseeing your union. 

Your septa waits for you by the doors and sets a crown of flowers upon your head; a bronze headdress, with flowers twisted into the metal. A small, inconsequential tradition of your house. An attempt to make you feel as though you haven't been entirely abandoned by them.

As you walk to the aisle, you recognise almost none of the guests. You see Sandor first, sitting right at the back of the hall. You can tell he is already drunk, and he refuses to look at you.   

Although you are not married in a sept, you are still joined by a holy man- You assume the septon is someone of reasonable importance within Lannisport, whose loyalty to the house of lions overpowers his devotion to the faith. Or, perhaps more likely, this septon has refused to marry a monster such as your groom in a place of worship.

You see the Mountain from a distance and, somehow, this man is far, far taller than his brother. You would expect such a man to be wed in his chain mail, or the heavy black armour you have heard so much about. Instead, he wears a tunic in such a yellow you immediately recognise it as Clegane colours, even from a distance. Although this is your first meeting, you notice how out of place he looks without his armour. 

The wedding procession is long and quite boring, and you understand why your sisters have each been given a new doll to entertain themselves with. They smile and wave and giggle as you eventually pass them, delighted to see you dress so wonderfully. Your mother shushes them, her eyes so red you can tell she has spent hours sobbing over this marriage.

The Mountain reaches out for you, and your hands grasp his own large paws, enclosed in black leather gloves. He makes no effort to speak to you, or smile at you, or do anything to comfort your terrified self, but you see him look you up and down and smile with desire. At least he is pleased with you.

His cloak is far heavier than you would expect it to be. Thick, black fur, which weighs you down to the point you are unsure how you can stand properly. It must be bear, you think, or something equally ferocious. He lets you take his arm to support yourself, as he pledges to protect you; and you wonder how long said protection will last.

One of those large, gloved hands takes your chin, lifting your face up to look at him. His hand is the size of your head, perhaps bigger. The Mountain is so large, he grasps you by the waist and pulls you up to reach his head. He carries you like you are nothing, cradling you with the same ease one would a cushion. 

You are announced as man, and as wife, and he kisses you with the ferocity expected of such a man. It is not loving nor fond, but it is certainly passionate. He refuses to let you go, holding you tightly and walking with you, like a child.

The celebration is far greater than anything you could imagine. The Lannister dignity and refinement thrown violently aside for drink and dance. You are placed at the head of the feast table, beside your monstrous husband. You watch him eat, and drink enough to kill any lesser man. You cannot eat, despite the cakes and pastries, and all of the things you would gladly finish off on any other occasion. 

You look at Gregor, and you sip your wine graciously, fearful of spilling something down yourself.

He catches your glance, and looks down at your barely touched plate. You anticipate anything but your husband lifting your spoon, and putting it to your mouth like a baby. Half out of fear, and half out of curiosity, you accept the spoonful of broth. It is too hot and not particularly flavoursome, not that you complain. Gregor smiles, looking you up and down once again, and he speaks. For the first time.

“You’re pretty.”

“Is that… good?”

He thinks for a moment,

“Aye, it’s good. You’ll make me good sons with those hips.”

You grow hot with embarrassment, unable to do anything but giggle slightly. He leans into you, out of your father’s earshot.

“Are you as delicious as you look, little thing?”

“I- Don’t know, my lord.”

He moves your hair to kiss the side of your neck. You can see this action garnering the attention of those around you,

“Mh, well- Just you wait, then, and we shall see.”

The rest of the evening is almost a blur, as you take more and more wine and honey mead. By nightfall you are flush with borderline drunkenness, and your equally-drunk husband could be a prince charming, for all you care.

He lifts you up to dance with you, too large for any form of regular dance. Your first dance as a couple is a spectacle to behold; and you cannot stop laughing the entire time. You cup his face in your hands, and you kiss him as though you do, truly love him, but you assume it is merely the alcohol in your system.

You mean to thank Lord Tywin, or whomever he has sent to oversee the wedding, or to visit your young sisters, brought out of the way of the wedding feast. There is not enough time, or sobriety, for you to do either. You are instead lifted from your chair and hauled off to Gregor’s chambers, for your new duties as his wife.

By the time he is finished with you, you can barely remember your own name. You do recall your septa’s warning of a man’s cruelty once his desires are fulfilled, and expect the worst.

Your husband rises from you, almost completely naked, and for a moment you think he will return to the festivities without his tunic. Gregor, however, returns to you with a cup of wine. You can barely drink it, giggling drunkenly as near half the wine dribbles down your bare chest.

Although you clean yourself, he holds you steady.

You spend the rest of the night in his bed, listening to the celebrations below eventually die down, as more guests retire. You sit up in thought, and he looks at you.

“No bedding ceremony?”

He snorts, pulling you closer.

“No. No other man gets to see-” His hands travel down your body, resting on your hips, “this.”

You groan, shivering despite the fire.

“Are you pleased, then?”

“Aye, aye. Pleased. I’ll be more pleased once you give me my sons.”

You whack his shoulder lightly. He does not even feel it, of course.

“Can we not enjoy our wedding night first?”

“Gods, you talk like a rich little cunt, woman.”

You splutter with laughter and he kisses your neck again, biting down on your shoulder just gently enough that it does not hurt.

“We can enjoy ourselves whilst you give me a son, love. That’s the fun of it.”

You sigh, resting a head on his bare shoulder.

“That was… quite fun…”

“Aye, it was.”

Eventually you shuffle down the bed, realising just how large it really was, to facilitate your husband’s massive form. It is warm, even if the sheets stick to your skin.

His arms wrap around you, and before you know it he is asleep, tucked into your shoulder. Gregor’s peacefulness seems odd, compared to the beastly Mountain you have heard stories of, and you wonder if he will, truly, treat you well.

You watch the fire for some time, until you too fall asleep. 

The festivities continue for a day and one more night, until the feast is truly over and you set off for your husband’s keep. 

You give the older of your sisters your crown of flowers and wave with the same enthusiasm they did on your wedding day as Gregor hands you his stallion’s bridle and wraps his arms around your hips. You leave Lannisport as the lady of the Mountain, and you wonder how he can be so pleasant to you, but so fearful on the battlefield. 

Not that you particularly care, not when you seem to have tamed the Mountain who Rides.

[spoiled-milk]

blush blush characters’ (kelby, volks, eli, ichiban, cashew, and cole personal headcannons (imo‼️‼️)

a/n: doing some of my personal favorites then some lemme know if y’all want more. ik this is probably done already but like i like yapping on company time 🤪 i'm so inactive i am so sorry i am not cooking

content warning: none except for mild swearing and not proof read lmao

word count: ~2.0k words

kelby

➤would love love LOVE it if his s/o made him laugh or laugh at his jokes (even if they’re all sports related)

➤since he is an athlete and all i think that he knows how to cook healthier meals, but if you cooked anything for him, he would probably eat it since it's from you as long as it isn’t like covered in grease

➤he loves being around you, so if you go on morning jogs or evening jogs with it would mean the world to him and he values that a lot (even if he has to carry u halfway through the jog / walk it with you)

➤i don't think he would be too pushy with his diet on you, respects people and their own diets but would gently push for a healthier diet such as salads and low carb foods

➤if i were to suggest an ideal date for him is kayaking. it's a great work-out for him and it's a great opportunity to show you all the breathtaking sights that the river y'all kayak has to offer

➤kelby has weekly basketball games, baseball games, and swim meets, and he understands that it is a lot, but if you attended some of them or go out of your way to support him, his insides get gooey, and he feels like he could run fifteen miles

➤he lives and craves for physical touch. kelby will take what you can give. hugs? great. holding hands? awesome. linking your arms in his? he's in heaven

➤ok, to be a lil saucy here i think kelby would think you're super mega hot when you work out. here you are running on a treadmill sweat on your face and chest and he's definitely staring at you and now he's got to go to the shower rooms and get his head out of the gutters

➤also think of this guy’s stamina c'mon you can’t tell me that this guy would only go one wahoo round with you yk (source: me don’t ask)

eli

➤if you and them are even remotely the same size clothing wise, they are going to take your clothes. no asking or nothing eli will just rummage through your closet and make a fit with a few of your borrowed clothes

➤one time they stretched out one of your baby tees and you were so bummed out when you found it after they wore it and now eli swears to never take another one of those shirts again

➤would probably date someone who can put a really good outfit so that they can steal it

➤would also love if someone would watch anime with them please just give ouran high school host club a chance pls pls pls pls

➤they probably enjoy watching shoujo or slice of life but if you wanted to watch something else, they probably would watch it with you bc they like you lots

➤if you watch something that you started with them and watch ahead of them? they’re heartbroken. devastated. defeated. the first and the only time you did that they were inconsolable

➤would take you clubbing if you were up to it but if clubs aren’t your scene, they totally respect that and won’t push you out of your comfort zone

➤they will also take really really REALLY good care of you if you get wasted around them and they are really good at keeping you safe

➤very very personal BUT ELI FUCKS WITH VOCALOID‼️‼️‼️NO ITS NOT A PHASE

➤if you listen to vocaloid and reveal that to him he will spam you with new songs that drop by the vocaloid producers that he likes

➤i am a firm believer that eli fucks so hard with giga p you can’t convince me other wise sorry i make the rules

➤if u don’t know what vocaloid they will make you listen to a couple of songs that he thinks pass off as normal but again if you fw vocaloid then he can start showing you some niche vocaloid songs

volks

➤such an acts of service man. if you played his lil date thing you would know (i need to go back n double check this by playing it again)

➤gives off his moody dark grumpy energy but fuck it I’ll be in the minority that believes he likes being small spoon please give him head kisses he enjoys them even though he will not tell you

➤i think that volks in the beginning of your relationship is uncomfortable with pda but as your relationship continues, he’s gotten used to holding your hand or giving you quick pecks in public

➤at home though? his hands are on you always. a hand on your leg, your legs on top of his legs, his arms wrapped around your waist. he always has one of his hands on you

➤if you go on hikes for either leisure or to exercise, he will join you as much as possible every single time

➤HAS 👏A 👏 REALLY 👏 GOOD 👏 SKIN ROUTINE. he’s a model photoshop can only do so much yk. expect to do skincare together and face masks at the end of the week

➤has a very early bedtime (like probably 11pm or like midnight at the latest) so when he’s getting ready for bed so are you by force

➤if you wake up later than him whenever he has an early photoshoot, he will always prepare you a portion of whatever he made for himself

➤he wants you to meet his mom once it’s confirmed that y’all are serious. you two are the two most important people in his life (and he doesn’t have a lot of people in his life who matter the way that y’all do) and he wants to make sure that his mom gives you a seal of approval (as long as you make volks happy, you win her approval dw)

➤he knows he’s not the most romantic person out there but makes sure that you’re taken care of. that’s how he shows that he cares. he hopes that the way that he makes your bed, organizes your work desk, and applies moisturizer to your hands after you’ve long fallen asleep is able to convey the feelings of love and adoration, he has just for you

ichiban

➤tries to keep your relationship a secret from his fans and it works in his video formats because duh you can edit those but when he’s live streaming? he’s cooked. tf you mean he can’t just talk about how cute you are when you nap or gush about the way that you cutely hog the blankets when y’all nap together?

➤he was scared that his fans would not be too happy at the idea that he was in a relationship, but most of his fans were not like that at all. most of his fans are the sweetest people

➤some of them even tag you in some edits of ichiban and not gonna lie you watch some of them because DAYUM your man is fine

➤ok, some of his fans immediately become your fans when they see you on for the first time on his stream and that ichiban was not prepared for but he also was not prepared for the edits of YOU that go around his community

➤his chat makes it well known that if he fucks it up with you they’re all gonna come n snatch you up because you’re such a treat

➤is not very good with words or actions he’s kinda like a cute boyfailure but you can’t fault him too much he’s just so stinkin cute at being clueless

➤does this say anywhere in his voice lines or in his phone fling? no, but i do not care. um anyways, i think ichiban has a thing for building personal computers

➤like everything in his PC is customized. from the computer case, the motherboard, graphics card, everything. he has so much fun building them to the point where he has like 5 fully built computers off somewhere in his house because he didn't know what to do with them. to ichiban, they're like adult legos, but if legos costed even more money

➤if you wanted him to build you one, he totally would. probably wouldn't even charge you because he loves building them and customizing them for you (and because he's probably loaded from being a popular streamer and whatnot). ichiban would be absolutely elated if you wanted to build a PC with you if you offered. he loves doing things with you

cole

➤clingy clingy man touchy touchy man

➤this might be a little controversial but i don't think that he would like kill anybody. injure somebody? most definitely probably. (i'm probably in the minority here but i'll die on this hill)

➤BUT he’s very very possessive of you. does not like it when other boys pay attention to you. he wants to be the only one to see the crinkle in your eyes when you smile, or the way the sunlight hits your eyes when you’re reading in the afternoon, or see how ethereal you are when you sleep on the couch in the evening with a movie on that highlights your face just right

➤has articles of your clothing. has stolen a used shirt from your house just so he can use it as a pillowcase and snuggle with it at night

➤he will show up at your place whenever he has free time. after work, before work, he will sleepover at your place quite frequently too if you let him. your landlord is convinced that he’s your boyfriend with how frequently he comes over

➤loves doing mundane chores with you. washing dishes, putting away laundry, going grocery shopping, you name it and if he can help you he will. it feels like you two are a real married couple. soulmates. it squeezes his heart just right when people see you two getting ingredients for dinner and mistake you for a couple

➤if you have work functions where you need to bring a plus one you better call him first, he would pounce at the opportunity to be yours, even if it’s just for one evening

➤he’s very good with his words. he’s so cold to others but with you he’s so sweet. he can just tell if something is off with you. he somehow just knows if you had a bad day. he’ll be there with take out, movies, whatever you need (red flag honestly, but i like wearing rose colored glasses)

➤if you let him embrace you pre relationship, now he expects some sugar anytime he sees you. a hug when he first sees you, a hug for when you have to leave, a hug when he “accidentally” runs into you in public, etc.

cashew

➤he’s inexperienced, but he’s a quick learner. you’re probably his first relationship and he would never tell you, but he’s insecure about it

➤loves reading to you. it’s just so intimate with the two of you pressed together under the sheets. he gets butterflies just thinking about it

➤tell him you love his voice. that you like hearing him. he is a little aware that some people think his voice is hot but coming from you? he’ll hold it to heart. maybe he should consider recording for audiobooks

➤makes a reading list for you, out of love of course. he asks you what genres you like, book length, etc. even if you don’t read, should you ever ask for his recommendations he will be ready for you

➤go to the library with him and read pls. it doesn’t have to be date just go with him. he goes by himself all the time please go with him. you don’t even have to read books with words you can pull up the graphic novels he won’t mind promise

➤i imagine cashew fucks so hard with dates where it’s just the two of you (like a picnic or a walk in the park) he has so many ideas because of all the romance books he reads, but he’s scared he’s gonna botch the execution of it

➤treat him nicely please, again you’re his first serious relationship so don’t break his heart too bad

[truefandemonium]

Hi sweetheart!! Your number 1 fan here 🤗

Can I request for a fic where King and reader have a very special relationship where both of them love each other, but they never admitted their feelings. One day she gets shot and King freaks out, almost crying and finally admits his feelings for her. The rest is up to you, love! Hope you like it, hun. Sending lots of love 🤗💖

Thanks so much again for the request! Sorry this one took so long to come out 😭 I hope this one is as good as the other you requested! I struggled a little bit with some of the emotional scenes but hopefully it fits what you were wanting to see!! Much love!!

“For Every Moment”

[Dr King Schultz x Fem!Reader] (Mature)

TW: Blood, violence, strong language, innuendo

Tags: fluff, angst, love confessions, soulmates, possessiveness, tending to wounds, kissing, bed sharing

5,285 words

…

You always wondered if King felt the same way about you as you did him.

The flirting, mostly from you, so it happened, was nice. As were the gentle touches— which lingered longer in the dark of campsites and after private interactions in tavern hallways. On long rides across desert landscapes, you would find King’s eyes wandering to land on you— his gaze rarely left your face, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from such a self-proclaimed gentleman. However, there was once when you’d been down at the river washing yourself and had forgotten to warn neither King nor Django, and the men happened upon you half nude.

Django couldn’t have cared less, stripping down and taking his own corner of the undertow to bathe in, not giving you a second glance, while King turned a shade of red you’d thought was reserved only for tomatoes, and after taking a prolonged look of shock at your breasts, turned tail and fled back to the wagon. He couldn’t even look in your direction the rest of that day, keeping his chin tucked into his chest and hat pulled low over his brow to avoid your eyes.

You’d found the whole thing quite funny, if not slightly embarrassing on your behalf, but King refused to speak of it again, shying away from the mere mention of the occurrence.

Which was why it made this whole thing so damn confusing. Did he love you or didn’t he? Perhaps in Germany, the men were simply more prone to shows of romanticism. You shake your head to yourself as you lean forward and stir the beans in the pot over the fire with a wooden spoon. Maybe you’d never know what was going on in King’s head. Either way, you’d enjoy his company until your last breath, and happily.

“Something on your mind, frauline?” King’s buttery voice breaks into your thoughts as you sit back down on the log in front of the fire, and you panic for a moment, watching him out the corner of your eye as he approaches and takes a seat across from you.

“No, nothing,” you say, wondering how to breach the subject plaguing you. Debating whether or not you should at all…

“You have the look of a kicked pup, my dear,” the man purrs, his tone so convincing and gentle. “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to ease your burden?” You just want to melt when you hear him speak— like a glass of whiskey; making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

But you shake your head again, suddenly choked at the thought of telling him your true feelings for him. “I’m fine, King— really.” The lie is obvious, and you regret it as soon as it leaves your lips, noticing the way the scorn hits King like an arrow to the chest.

He practically winces as he nods. “My apologies— I do not mean to pry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wrestling with yourself. You pull the pot off the fire and nod your thanks as King stands and holds out two small tin cups for you to scoop the food into cautiously. “It’s just…” You stop as Django returns from where the horses are tied several yards away, the thickness returning to your throat.

Django instantly senses your odd behavior, his eyes narrowing as he takes one of the tin cups from King’s outstretched hand. You blink at him, silently pleading for him to give you and King space, and thankfully, he picks up on your desperate expression.

Poking a spoon into his cup of beans, Django glances between you and King with a sniff, grumbling, “Need some air. I’ll be… over there.” He jerks his head sideways and starts off into the desert, and you instantly feel a twinge of guilt, alongside relief.

King, confused, opens his arms wide, gesturing to the wide open space around you. “You have all the air of Texas, dear Django!”

The ex-slave just waves one hand above his head, calling as playfully as you ever hear him, “Not with what you two got hangin’ in it.”

You flush at his words, and King’s gaze flicks back to you, his green eyes wide. “Oh?” he says, clueless, which only makes you burn further, setting the pot down after dishing your own helping. “I didn’t realize we had things to discuss,” he says slowly, sitting back down, his eyes still glued to you. As he sees your expression, suddenly teary eyes and red face, his own gaze changes; softens with realization. “Oh,” he adds in a near whisper, swallowing.

“Frauline,” he says gently, the firelight casting shadows across his worn face. “I do hope you know that you can always speak to me.” He tries to joke, adding with a stressed chuckle, “I cannot promise that my advice will be all that helpful, but—”

“No, see— King, that’s the problem,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “I… I can tell you anything— everything. And I do. But you—” You look up and see the way his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. You say gently, “You don’t tell anyone anything at all, King. Not even me.”

At that, he smiles ruefully, even the small gesture making your belly tighten. “Ach, mein lieb,” he sighs softly, “I am an old man. I do not expect a girl like yourself to be a confidant, and that is not something you should ever feel is required of you—”

“But I want to be,” you argue. King seems taken aback, even leaning up from where his forearms had been resting on his knees to look at you.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I need you to know this: I love you.”

Your heart stops in this moment, and you’re sure if physics weren’t against you— you’d be floating right up into the stars above your head.

King continues, gesturing to the dark desert where his partner has just disappeared to, “Just as I love our dear Django. You two are my closest compatriots— dare I say friends.” At that, he smiles, and you feel your chest begin to constrict, sadness creeping up your throat and threatening to steal your breath away. Friends, right. Nothing more. But as quick as it had appeared, King’s smile leaves again, in lieu of his expression growing deadly serious. “And that means that you are both at a greater risk for being the targets of unhappy acquaintances of bad men I have a duty to dispatch. I enjoy your company— and always have. But I will not allow myself to be the reason either of you get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you try to reason, simply wanting to hear him admit that he likes you more than he’s letting on.

“Then what—” King’s words are cut off by Django’s sudden and panicked return from the desert; the fellow bounty hunter practically sprinting to your side, eyes huge and breathing heavy.

“Damn rattlesnake ‘bout bit my ass up,” he pants, jerking one thumb over his shoulder.

“You what?” King asks, clearly having been so focused on snapping back at you that he hardly heard his friend.

Django frowns, saying in a choppy, disdainful tone, “A rattler, King. Almost bit. My ass. The hell up.” His brown eyes flick between you and King, trying to gauge the tension there. “You two done bickerin’, then?”

King looks at you, his gaze managing to still remain confused even after your outburst. “I did not think any bickering occurred, Y/N—?”

You stand up without looking at him, pushing your half-eaten tin cup of beans into Django’s hands. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight, Django.” You turn slightly and mutter, “Night, King.”

As you make your way toward the horses to acquire your bedroll, you don’t see the way Django shrugs and sits down to begin digging into your leftovers— nor how King watches you go with a broken expression. There was so much he wanted to say… he just didn’t know how.

Little did you know, this was the first time in King’s life he’d found himself speechless.

…

“Dammit fuck, King, he’s getting away!” Django curses, his burning eyes glued to the form of the desperado booking it across the sandy desert.

King smiles, his silver beard catching the sunlight beating down from above, his green eyes shimmering as he watches the horse gallop with his bandit rider atop him.

“Django, my boy— patience is one part of bounty hunting you need to learn sooner than later,” King tells him, his tone stern but affectionate.

“Yeah? Well I’d rather pop this sumbitch a bullet right up his ass before he has time to tell all his buddies that somebodys are skulkin’ around up in the desert,” Django barks back, seething.

“That ‘somebodys’ ‘d be us, right?” you ask, sitting placidly on the wagon, playing with Fritz’s reins.

King speaks before Django can annoyedly answer you. “I was going to let you figure it out yourself but since your common sense has seemed to have deserted you at this time, I will explain.” King leans over Fritz to stare at Django and say slowly, “We are missing two of three outlaws. That one—” King points toward the disappearing shape of the man on the run without looking away from his partner. “—will lead us directly to the other two, that we are looking for.”

Django’s eyes flash with understanding and he curls his lip in a growl.

“Do you understand now, why we are going to simply follow him instead of impulsively putting a bullet in his brain?” King asks him.

The other man glowers for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you don’t gotta be so con-sendin’ ‘bout it,” Django snarls, hopping atop his horse and clicking his tongue to steady the beast.

King just smiles. “I prefer the term patronizing, but yes, condescending works, too. I will continue to use that tone until you learn to trust me,” he says, and Django nods ruefully. “You know I only have either of your best interests at heart,” King reminds you both, getting onto the wagon beside you. With a grin, he adds, “And money, of course. You really think I’d sabotage a bounty for my ego?”

Django rolls his eyes, lips twitching up into a smirk as he replies, “With you, doc— can’t never be too sure.”

King chuckles, the sound making butterflies take off in your belly, and you distract yourself from his utter perfection by handing the reins off and awaiting departure.

“Ready, my dear?” King asks you, and you swallow, nodding. You want desperately to bring up the talk last night— but you can’t. You just wish you could poke around in his mind until finding the honest truth behind his affection for you.

But before you can even try to see past his gaze to find out the intention behind his words, he’s telling Fritz to giddyup and flicking the reins commandingly. You try not to watch the side of his face as he calmly drives the stage, his brow unfurrowed and a soft smile playing on his lips.

You wonder how he can be so unbothered by everything— when you feel like your very world is crumbling without knowing how he feels about you. You force yourself not to dwell on it. Getting into a deadly situation while stuck in your own head could spell disaster, and you need to be the lookout for your two partners.

After a considerable time following the tracks of your runaway bandit, you arrive in a near-ghost town, streets empty and buildings falling apart. No wonder the trio chose this place to hideout, they’d never be suspected to be found here.

King pulls the wagon up to a tree down the street from a saloon, where he glares and points out a familiar horse to Django, accompanied by two others. The two men dismount and begin muttering to each other, guns on their hips ready to go while you look on in awe. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still in wonder of their ability to work together like a machine, producing bodies of bad men like it’s nothing, and then profiting from it.

You wait atop the wagon behind Fritz until King turns to you and orders, “Stay on the wagon, alright? If you hear two or more shots, and neither me or Django comes out— take his horse to the nearest town, about ten miles that way, and get the sheriff.”

“You’re scaring me with that kinda talk,” you tell him, hating the moments that he gets so serious about collecting bounties. Most often, Django and King make jokes and promises for grand sleeping arrangements in hotels before going to do a job. But every once in a while, King gets a twinge of anxiety, and makes you promise not to try and avenge his death in the scenario he’s killed by his own target.

King chuckles softly, now, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, frauline. I do tend to catastrophize things. I will be out in six minutes, how is that?”

You smile. “Make it five.”

“I’ll make it two if you both shut up in the next ten seconds,” Django interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the saloon down the dusty street.

You and King fall silent, and changing one last (what you hope is meaningful) glance before the two hunters depart from you, and you wring the hem of your dress in your sweaty fist as you wait for them to return.

You watch with a knot in your stomach as they disappear one after the other into the saloon, your eyes finally wandering away from the door and coming to rest on the wagon seat you’re sitting on.

Your heart stutters at the sight of King’s crumpled paper sitting there, right next to your clenched fist. You scramble to pick it up and read it, recognizing it as the arrest order from the judge for the three men inside the saloon with Django and Dr King Schultz.

Shit. King needs this paper, he always takes the judge’s order with him on a job! Panic floods you, and you stand up, hurrying off the wagon and down the street, heart racing.

You’ll be quick. You’ll simply appear with the order, make sure it’s in King’s hand before racing back out— nothing more.

You reach the saloon and get close enough to hear voices. Fear grips you at the sound of arguing.

“You’ll never get all of us, you son of a bitch!” someone yells, and you hear the bang of a bullet being fired as the saloon doors burst open. A stranger races out and collides with you as scream, your head hitting the hard ground with a smack.

The world spins as more sounds ring out, and suddenly you’re being dragged to your feet by a man’s strong hand. An arm winds itself around your throat, too tightly for comfort, and when your eyes focus again, you see Django and King standing in shocked horror just outside the saloon.

The man holding you against his front calls, “Let me and Jake go and you can have the girl! Or else—” You suck in a gasp as you feel the cold barrel of a revolver dig painfully into your side, and you struggle against his hold.

You see King’s eyes fill with fury and pain at the sight of it, his fists flexing at his sides. Django, contrastingly, is calm and still as he stands before you, analyzing the situation with a careful eye. It seems like the first time that Django has ever been the collected one, compared to King.

“William—” King says slowly, but you can hear the way he’s nearing his breaking point. “Let the girl go, she is not part of this—”

“She sure as hell is, now!” the man holding you screams, and you wince as the gun prods you again. You finally notice now, another man standing only a few feet away, unarmed. He looks between all of you fearfully, malice radiating off of him.

“King, shut the fuck up,” Django hisses, not taking his eyes off the man keeping you in a tight chokehold. Panic begins to set in and you start to thrash in his grasp.

“Hold still, you bitch—!” the man grunts, his hand moving to cover your mouth. You shriek as his nails dig into the flesh of your cheek, and you strain, rearing back to elbow him hard in the stomach.

“Leave her alone!” King screams, his eyes huge and filled with terror as Django’s jaw clenches.

“King!” the other man yells, lifting his gun and letting off two rounds in quick succession. But you hear three.

The first man— Jake— drops to the earth in a moment, his corpse sprawled out and bloody.

You feel William’s hand slowly release your face, the marks his nails left already beginning to sting as blood pricks at the surface.

And then you feel the heat in your belly. Warm— no, hot. And wet— you glance down and blink a few times at the growing stain of crimson just below your ribs, on your left side. You don’t even feel the pain until you tip over.

The world must stop for a moment, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes again, King is there, clutching you desperately to his chest as he leans over your body.

“Ach Gott, mein Gott, nein, nein,” King whispers, his green eyes traveling across your face and body, tears pricking at the edges of his vision as he takes it all in. The blood leaking from your side, the pale skin of your face, growing paler by the second. “Please, no,” he begs in a breaking tone, his hands firmly holding you.

“King—?” you manage to croak, your hand slipping upwards and finding purchase around his coat collar. You grip it like a lifeline, your pounding heart beginning to stutter. “Don’t go—!”

“I’m here, frauline,” he tells you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m staying right here, I swear it.”

“It— ah— it hurts,” you whimper, the pain now ripping through you like a whirlwind.

“I know,” King says, his normally smooth voice breaking a bit. “I know, and I am so sorry, mein Liebling.”’

“Don’t be,” you cry, emotion starting to choke you. “I— I should have—”

“No, schiesse, Y/N, this is not your fault,” he says, stopping you. He shifts you in his arms so your chests are nearly flush— you can feel his heart hammering his ribs as he speaks. “I should not have let you get close enough for this to happen. Curse every moment I let pass without telling you… I should have just told you last night—”

“Told me…?” For a moment, the pain is gone. All you feel is a sudden rush of hope. Of affection.

King has never cried in front of you. This time is no different. But he gets damn close. His voice shakes and his verdant eyes grow wet with unshed tears as he confesses at long last, “That I love you.”

He shuts his eyes now, the tears dropping to land in his beard. The last thing you feel like doing is crying, however. Even with your gaping wound, you feel like you could dance. You’re lighter than air.

But King isn’t finished. He shakes his head to recenter himself and chokes out, “More than love, Y/N— I adore you. I crave you. Do you have any idea how long I have waited— longed to hold you?” His hand, calloused, yet surprisingly clean, and oh-so gentle, comes up to push a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked temple.

You shiver at his soft touch and decide to throw caution to the wind. If this is to be your last moment alive, you’re going out taking what you’ve always wanted.

Still holding tightly to his collar, you pull hard, half yanking him down to your level and half lifting yourself to reach him— and slam your lips against his.

The world erupts in butterflies and sun bursts of every color and magnitude. King’s lips against your own feel so right; interlocking with yours in an explosion of warmth and taste and comfort. His tongue finds yours, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, startling him to pull away in concern.

He pants, his cheeks already a quiet rosy red and his eyes wide and glittery with affection as he gazes at you in silent wonder.

You wish you had more time, more energy, but your strength is waning. In lieu of another kiss, you manage, “King— I’ve always loved you, too.”

King blinks in apparent shock, an almost disbelieving chuckle pulled from his chest as a smile tugs the corner of his lip.

But he has no time to say more, because then you hear the scuffle of boots on sand and suddenly Django is there, too. He crouches low and inspects your body with a scrutinous gaze— though you can tell how desperately he doesn’t want you to know he’s scared.

“I need to see how bad it is,” the man says, almost to himself before looking up at you. You thank the heavens he isn’t mentioning the atrociously dramatic confession you just received, nor the equally impulsive kiss. “I gotta lift up your skirts, girl,” Django says sternly, his brown eyes pinning you in place as you hang in King’s arms.

King’s grasp on you tightens defensively for just a moment before he returns to his senses and nods briskly. He looks deep in your eyes before laying you down on your back in the sand and ripping off his coat to cover your soon-to-be-bare legs.

You hardly notice as Django carefully but urgently pulls the cotton layers of your dress above your hips, then a bit further to reveal your belly (thank goodness you weren’t wearing a corset), because your eyes are intently glued to the way King’s white shirt sticks to his shoulders and chest, sweat making the cloth form to his muscular body as he watches Django study your wound. You wish you could see past his vest, too, but now is really not the time to ask for a strip tease.

You blink your thanks as King lays his coat down over your legs— not scandalous, as you’re wearing bloomers that reach your mid thigh, but still more than you’ve ever been exposed to either of these men (aside from the aforementioned fateful incident at the river).

Django mutters something for you to prepare yourself before laying his hands on your side and checking the size of the shot. You cry out, and King’s hand instantly finds yours, letting you squeeze him as the pain subsides.

You open your eyes after a moment and are surprised to see Django smiling, teeth flashing and everything. He looks at you and smiles wider. “You're one lucky bitch, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls your dress back down over your legs and uses King’s coat to wrap tightly around your injured waist.

“She’ll be just fine, we jus’ need a doc to stitch her up…” you hear Django telling King over you as you begin to drift off. The loss of blood has made you sleepy, unsurprisingly, and although it seems a bad idea, you just can’t help closing your eyes, just for a moment…

…

You wish you could remember the ride here— wherever you’ve ended up. You’re certain King held you the whole way while Django drove the wagon. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but the presence of a snoring Dr. King Schultz at your bedside confirms your suspicion that he hasn’t left your side since you were shot.

Speaking of which…

You shift with a wince and look under the covers to prod at your side curiously. It hurts, of course, but whatever drug they gave you sure has helped with the pain. Your head swims pleasurably, though perhaps that’s the after effects of your kiss with King.

You lie back down on the considerably cushy pillow and turn to gaze at the sleeping form of your beloved King Schultz. His body cocked sideways so he’s facing your bed, coat off, hat in his lap. His head rests on the back of the chair, brown furrowed deeply above his scrunched-shut eyes.

You decide to risk waking him from his gorgeous sleep and slide your hand upward to cup his bearded jaw.

As your fingers brush the stubble along his throat, King snaps awake, snorting gently as his hand snatches your wrist in an instinctive defensive response. His wide eyes pin you before recognition seeps in, and he softens his grasp on your wrist, bringing his other hand up instantly to gently cradle your palm.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sitting up and never taking his eyes from you.

You smile shyly, feeling bare beneath his gaze. Not that you'd exactly protest. King’s own lips turn upward as he stares at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks you concernedly, his hold soft and warm and strong. His grip doesn’t waver, like now that he has you, he’s not ever going to let go. And you want to bask in the safety of it forever.

You nod. “I’m alright, King. I’m doing just fine…”

King chuckles, in that way that reminds you of the way he broke down when he held you in his arms only yesterday. “My dear— you nearly stopped my heart with that little stunt of yours.”

“Stunt?” you echo, giggling at how suddenly nonchalant he sounds about the ordeal. Though you know he’s only trying to keep the conversation light.

His brows raise, and he plasters a mock-serious expression on his worn face. “Well, yes— didn’t you do that to get my attention?”

“You wish,” you snort, pumping his hands up and down once weakly with your own.

King smiles, warm and sweet, like honey. It’s contagious, it seems, because soon so are you.

“Y/N, truly— what possessed you to leave the horses yesterday, mein frauline?” King’s eyes grow genuinely serious, now, and you feel a twinge of guilt at the memory.

“I don’t know… I thought I was helping— it’s all so silly, now…” You hang your head, and King tuts gently, moving one hand to slowly lift your chin with his knuckle.

“We don’t need to discuss it if you don’t wish,” he tells you.

You argue, “No, I do! There’s— well, I’m afraid to ask you, but I need to know…”

The man before you blinks worriedly. “Anything.”

You feel a familiar sting at the back of your throat, tears threatening to choke you, but you force the words out around the lump. “Was it true?” You blink until your vision is clear again and continue, “What you said to me yesterday.”

King blinks, too, his eyes huge as he swallows thickly. You watch the bob of his throat and focus on the way he exhales softly, weighing his reply.

“It was a very tense moment and in tense moments I tend to say and do things that—”

“Was it true or wasn’t it?” you demand, pulling your hand out of his grasp, and you see the hurt enter his gaze instantly. You pin him with your burning eyes, not as furious as you’re desperate to hear him say he meant every word.

You sigh in relief as he stands from his chair to loom over your prone body, bringing his once-bloodstained hands up to cup your face. His eyes bore into yours as he mutters with a tone so deadly it makes your bones chill and alight simultaneously, “My dear, it was all true and more.” King’s green eyes flick across your face, studying every inch of you as he whispers, “If you were not so recently injured— and of course as long as thou doth not protest—” He momentarily smirked at his own quip before returning straight-lipped. “—I would take you apart in this bed right here and now. You deserve to be adored, mein leibe, every moment of every day.” Your breath stutters at his words, soaking up the sudden tears teasing the edges of his vision as he croaks out, “I was a fool for waiting this long to speak my truth, and for that— I offer my deepest apologies.” Without waiting for you to reply, King presses in to lock his lips onto yours. You gasp just before his teeth click against yours, his kiss firm and passionate, and speaking volumes. This kiss says you’re his, now. This kiss says he wants you, too.

You melt into it, arms wrapping around his shoulders and inadvertently toppling him off balance, dragging him down toward your body. He slams one hand down on the side of your head to keep himself from landing his weight on your injury, and you smirk playfully up at him through your lashes.

You take in the sight of his cheeks pink, his breathing heavy, hair falling in soft waves into his eyes as he hovers above you. You whisper, “I could get used to this.”

King sucks in a breath, embarrassment obvious in the way his face turns even redder, and he scolds gently, “Not until you are better, frauline.”

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t all alone in here,” you admit, and King’s brows raise again. You demonstrate your point by scooting to accommodate him and he pushes himself up and off of you, noticing the new space at your side in the bed. You lift the covers and pat the mattress, even, driving it home.

“Ah,” King realizes, his mannerisms screaming barely contained want as he wrings his hands. “I don’t think the nurses would be so keen—”

You shrug. “You kill thieves and murderers for a living,” you remind him, “and you’re scared of a few nurses?”

“I suppose you’re right.” King grins at your cheekiness and opens his arms wide. “Well, who can resist those charms of yours, you gorgeous devil?”

You giggle in victory as King kicks off his boots and pulls his suspenders down to hang at his sides as he takes the space next to you.

You sigh happily as you feel his body come flush to yours, and you’re quick to pin him with one arm draped over his belly, which softly heaves with each breath. “You’re perfect,” you whisper as you study his profile, fondling his beard with your curious hand.

King laughs softly. “My love, I don’t think you know what perfect means.” He turns and does his own fondling of your face, once again trailing his palm along your jaw. “Unless you have been studying your reflection in the mirror.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” you beg, suddenly, and King's eyes flicker with compassion and longing.

“Y/N,” he promises, leaning his head gently against your own. “I will do no such thing as long as I live.”

“And you’ll love me forever?” you ask hopefully.

Your heart thrums as a wicked, beautiful smile spreads across King’s face, nothing in his eyes but desperate devotion to you. “I swear, I’ll make up for every single second I ever let you doubt my affection for you, Liebling.”

With that, he kisses you once more, unlike the other times. This time it’s soft and tender and full of hope. It’s a promise. A promise that nothing will ever keep him from you again.

…

[theostrophywife]

please could you do 11, 17, 24 with az

happy holidays <3

little black dress.

Date night started innocently enough.

It had been a while since you and Azriel actually ventured into the city for a proper outing, so when Feyre asked you to join in on the tripe date with her, Rhys, Cassian, and Nesta, you were more than happy to accept.

You spent all afternoon getting ready at the River House with Feyre and Nesta, enjoying the process of getting dolled up and ready to go out. The former insisted that you wear the little black dress at the back of your closet that you'd bought ages ago, but never had the courage to actually wear out. You were unsure at first, but Feyre's suggestion seemed to pay off as soon as you saw the look on Azriel's face.

Your mate greeted you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, those hazel eyes raking over your body in appreciation as he pecked you on the cheek. The gesture was sweet and innocent, but the words Azriel whispered to you were anything but.

"You look good enough to eat, angel. I have half a mind to skip dinner altogether so I can feast on you at home instead."

You blushed, swatting at his chest. "Behave, Az."

The shadowsinger's gaze never left yours the entire night. You tried your best to participate in the conversation and enjoy the delicious food, but you were hungry for something else. You kept sneaking glances at Azriel, admiring the glimpse of golden brown skin peeking out from underneath his silk black shirt. The color brought out the golden flecks in his eyes and to add insult to injury, your mate had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows so that you could blatantly ogle his forearms, tracing the thick veins with your greedy gaze before landing on the silver rings littering his fingers.

You watched as he tapped them on the table, tipping his head back in laughter at something Rhys said. You liked seeing Azriel like this—inky locks falling over his hazel eyes, his expression warm and open, his cheeks flushed and rosy from the soft, summer breeze as his melodious laughter slipped past those full, sensual lips.

Forget the steak sitting in front of you.

You wanted to take a bite out of Azriel instead.

The shadowsinger twined your fingers together, looking over at you during a lull in the conversation and squeezing gently to let you know that he was enjoying himself. And then Azriel smiled.

The action lit up his entire face and brought light to this already devastatingly beautiful male. It was in that moment that you knew you wouldn't make it home without sneaking a taste of him first.

You rested his hand on your knee, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "I'm not wearing anything underneath this dress."

Azriel's eyes widened, his grip tightening on you as he scrambled to craft an excuse to the rest of the table for you two to sneak off.

And that's exactly how you ended up in the alley behind the restaurant, legs wrapped around Azriel's waist as his tongue slipped past your parted lips. You tugged him closer, pulling his hair roughly as you deepened the kiss. Shadows wreathe around you as your back pressed against the glass. From the corner of your eye, you could see your table, your unsuspecting friends still eating and laughing as your mate latched his lips onto your neck. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh, leaving his mark on your skin for everyone to see.

"Teasing me was a very bad idea, angel."

You sucked at his earlobe, grinning. "You started it."

"And I intend to finish it."

Azriel flipped you against the glass, his shadows hiding the two of you from view. You could see everything, but if anyone where to look at where you and Azriel were standing, they'd see nothing but darkness. Your mate smirked, seemingly following your train of thought.

"They can't see us. Unless you want them to," Azriel teases. His shadows lowered an inch, partially exposing you.

"What if we get caught?"

"Isn't that the fun?"

A rush of adrenaline shot through your spine. It was wrong, so wrong. But you'd be lying if you said that the possibility of getting caught didn't turn you on.

Azriel chuckled, scenting your arousal. A scarred hand disappeared underneath the hem of your dress as your mate bunched up the material around your waist. He growled when he found you soaking wet.

"I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it."

The rough and husky bite of his voice seduced you beyond belief and you scrambled to unbutton his trousers. You would've let Azriel fuck you in the middle of the restaurant if he damned well asked.

"Gods, yes. Please."

The shadowsinger smirked. "Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. I need you to fuck me."

Azriel hummed in satisfaction. "That's a good girl. C'mere angel, let daddy claim that pretty little pussy of yours."

He pumped his cock in one hand while holding you up with the other. You grabbed at him impatiently, swirling your thumb over his sensitive head and spreading the bead of precum on your finger before bringing it up to your mouth.

"Fuck," Azriel exclaimed. "I need to be inside you now."

At his request, you sank down onto his cock, moaning as he filled you deliciously, stretching your walls and bringing a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You wrapped your legs around him as he fucked you against the glass, his hand protecting the back of your head as skin slapped against skin. You wrapped your arms around him, clawing at his back but minding his wings while you moaned into his mouth.

Azriel swallowed the sound, slipping his tongue past your lips and relishing in the taste of his mate. It was a wonder that the whole restaurant hadn't heard your moans, because you were practically screaming his name. Your voice growing hoarse as Azriel fucks you so well that you couldn't even form a single coherent thought.

"Louder, they need to hear who can get you like this." Your mate slams into you, the tip of his cock hitting a heavenly spot that made your vision blur. "That's it, angel. Let everyone know how desperate and needy you are for daddy. Let them know that this sweet cunt belongs to me and me alone."

"Yours," you breathe. "I'm yours, Azriel."

"Forever and always, angel."

[yaut-jaknowit]

Probably lane, but the origin story of Uihoys blue feather? Uihoy boring Vic’tao with stories meant to teach him a lesson about his temper and impatience. I wonder what Uihoy was like in his younger days!!

An Elder and His War Stories

Pairings: Uihoy (Male Yautja) x Vic'tao (Male Yautja)

Word Count: 1559

Summary: Uihoy recounts the time he acquired the blue feather he usual sports. This shows he's not always the confident, sure footed male he would like everyone to think he is.

Author Note: Definity not lame! I promise you. Question's like these make me think, force me to worldbuilding and I love it. I have an app called Campfire that helps me keep everything in line.

Masterlist

Ao3

Uihoy isn’t the mighty, always sure footed Yautja you all know about. The male has had his fair share of falls and accidents.

How else do you think he lost a finger and a half on his right hand? Not from a hunt. At least not in the way you are all thinking.

As his feather, that’s a fun story to dive into. It’s a recent feather he acquired too. On a solo hunt without either of his mates.

Perched in the high trees of Yautja Prime, Uihoy had returned to his home planet. It was a once in a blue moon situation for him to step upon these grounds again. Not like he left on bad terms. But, his home was with his mates. He held no emotional connection here anymore. Any of his brothers and sisters are spread among the planet and stars. None of them were close to each other. Nothing to kept him tethered here.

The reason the purple Yautja found himself here was for a hunt. Food was low in stock on the ship. For some reason, he was craving Boor that could only be found in three rivers close to his home village.

This leads him back to where he once grew up over seven hundred years ago. Usual for a Yautja to live to that age, even more so. Anything beyond a thousand is where things become unlikely. This is a species of hunters. Death is always high. Which, Uihoy shrugged about. Many of his siblings are gone, living with Cetanu in his hunting grounds. Even both of his parents are gone. Sire perishing to a hunt some hundred years ago. Dam losing her life to childbirth.

At this point, he had found himself perched high in the tallest tree in the area, enjoying the calm jungle. A biome designed, evolved not to let the weak survive.

His eyes fell close while he opened his other senses. The scent of everything that filled the area with life filled his lungs. Uihoy let his upper mandibles pull up, tongue flicking out between lethal teeth.

Nostalgia struck him in the gut.

All the memories of him learning how not to die first before learning the ways of a hunter. They flashed behind his closed eyelids, a reminder of his younger, dumb self. He’s had to master more than usual. It was something he was born filled with. Not like a few of siblings and those of the same year as him.

But in that tree, close to home, was an abode of something else.

A screeching cry jolted him from his thoughts. His eyes snapped open just in time to see a Iot-oci dive bombing him. The size of the bird was terrifying to say in the least. Being around seven and half feet tall himself, it was about little taller than his waist.

Before he knew it, his hand slipped from the slimmed trunk. Uihoy had no time to react. The Iot-oci was coming straight at him, bright colors and all. A male. It flared its wings right before it struck him with short talons to his chest.

Uihoy fell back with a yelp at the sudden shift of weight. His hands freely clawed through the air but found nothing to latch onto. The Iot-oci soared over him and took up into the sky. Probably to make the job was done.

Air rushed past him for a short moment until his back hit a thin branch. Said stick bent under his weight and didn’t catch him. Uihoy fell again. His body weight was shifted so he could twist around and face the incoming ground. One of his- “you fell?” Vic’tao rumbled, voice monotone. His exterior body language read as lax, unconcerned after hearing of his mate’s fall.

A deadpanned look fell over Uihoy’s features, directed at the yellow Yautja standing across the counter from him. “Yes, I fell. Damned thing came out of nowhere,” Uihoy argued for his pride.

Vic’tao chuffed a laugh and tried to stifle it with only working partially. “I’ve heard their wing beats are loud. How could you miss such a sound?” the younger male teased his older mate. Vic’tao has never stepped foot on Yautja Prime in all his years. He only knows of Iot-oci from pictures and videos.

The latter scoffed and pushed off of the counter he once leaned on. His arms were held out at his sides. “I was having a nostalgic moment!” Uihoy defended himself then rest his elbows back on the counter again. “Now, as I was saying-“

He reached out, flailing about for a branch to snatched. A few unlucky swipes later, Uihoy was able to dig his claws into a thick branch. The jolt of weight nearly pulled his arm out of its socket but he snarled and held on. Another screeching cry met his ears. Mighty curses fell from his jaw. Uihoy scrambled back onto the new perch and whipped his head up.

Through the suns piercing rays, Uihoy spotted the blue form of the Iot-oci diving for him once more. Once a few seconds to spare, he leaped to the side, a branch down.

Higher pitched calls scrambled his brain for a moment. He looked to his left only to be greeted with the sight of a large nest filled with five newly hatched Iot-oci. Paya, fuck him sideways! He couldn’t catch a break while back in his own nest grounds.

First thing that came to his mind was to desolate the place as quickly as possible. The Iot-oci will do its damned hardest to slaught Uihoy for being in the same tree as its offspring, let alone the same branch.

Claws tore at his back, knocking forward and back down to the ground. Uihoy cursed out as he slammed into a thicker branch towards the base of the tree. All of the air in his lungs was forcefully shoved, leaving him heaving for nitrogen. His nails dug into the bark two seconds too late. Once more, he fell his way back to the ground.

Face first, Uihoy slammed into the leaf covered jungle. A grunt surpassed his vocal cords. Desperately, he wanted nothing more than to lay there in defeat but the swooshing through the humid air prevented him the luxury. He rolled to the side and used the momentum to get to his feet and face the Iot-oci.

It had landed at the spot he once was and flared it large wings. Uihoy took a step back, it followed with two of its own to keep up. But he wasn’t going to kill it. It’s only protecting its nest from him. Not a worthy kill. It was against the honor code as well.

Carefully, he took mindful steps backwards until he felt a safe enough distance away from the tree. The Iot-oci followed him all the way but he read the way it grew weary of the gap spanning between it and its nest.

This was what Uihoy was wanting.

The Iot-oci will turn away to protect it nest. Males were smaller than females. They were the protector of the nest while the dam left to retrieve food and mark their territory. With the dam nowhere near, the male took back to the skies and head back to its nest. Uihoy breathed a sigh of relief and checked himself over for injuries.

Nothing was broken, bones at least. His skin had been sliced by the short but deadly claws of the Iot-oci. Small enough he could forget about.

As the purple male turned to leave, a flash of blue caught his attention. He gazed at the spot the Iot-oci once stood to find it left behind a feather. A short hum sounded from his vocal cords. Uihoy leaned over and claimed the feather as his now. He tucked it away in his belt for later and begun his trek further in towards one of the rivers for Boor.

“And that’s how I got my blue feather,” Uihoy finished and gave a minute bow to the male before him.

Vic’tao still looked bored then sat up in his high stool chair. His hands came together in a slow slap, mockingly congratulating Uihoy for his story. “Such a wonderful story, old man.”

“Oh, hush, young blood. You know nothing of the dangers. You’re mothership bred compared to a home world bred. You lived life with little danger.” The words sounded harsh, but it was just playful jester between the two of them.

“When the elder can’t even defend himself from a Iot-oci because he was ‘distracted’.” Vic’tao used his fingers to create quotation marks around the last word. One of his upper mandibles was lifted as he stared at his mate across him.

Uihoy groaned and leaned back. The counter used as an anchor point so he doesn’t fall back. “I told you it was nostalgic! I was reminiscing my time in my youth.” He reached across the counter to tap at Uihoy’s hand. “You should remember the time before your bones creak like mine.”

This got a huff from Vic’tao. Said male stood up and walked around the counter to stand next to his mate. As the taller of the two, he wrapped his arms around Uihoy’s torso. Vic’tao nuzzled his head into Uihoy’s cheek. “Mine already do.”

[moonlight-prose]

In Love With Love weekend! 😍 Could you please do 18. hello/goodbye hugs that linger with Tommy Miller? I love the way you write him. Thanks!

FALLING

a/n: first off thank you thank you thank you!! literally over the moon you like my version of tommy. genuinely i don't know what happened. i started writing and forgot it was supposed to be fluffy, so i went in and added as much fluff as possible. but somehow it still came out slightly angsty. i think it's still pretty soft and well it's the apocalypse so there's bound to be angst. i hope you enjoy it darling!

summary: "a fleeting moment of you being tugged forward and wrapped into the safety of his arms. it ignited something in you. caused your heart to quicken its pace whenever he was around—reminding you of what he felt like so close."

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: tommy miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, angst due to apocalyptic circumstances, fluff, tommy being smitten, oblivious idiots in love, the romance of a hug.

It started with his smile. The way it lit up something inside of you, drawing out the warmth that hadn’t been there before. That smile hooked you, kept you wanting more, until you could do nothing else but reach out to him. That smile made you smile, made you believe that for a moment…nothing was wrong. The world wasn’t bad, you weren’t alone.

It started with his smile.

But grew into more.

He hugged you the first time as a quick way of saying goodbye. A fleeting moment of you being tugged forward and wrapped into the safety of his arms. It ignited something in you. Caused your heart to quicken its pace whenever he was around—reminding you of what he felt like so close. You could recall replaying the hug over and over in your head after that. Wondering when it would happen again, yet too afraid to initiate it yourself.

That is until he realized you were okay with them.

At first they were small, yet another layer added to your friendship as you both found what it meant to have people close to you. He’d come into your small shop in the town, offer you food or conversation that flowed easier than water in a river, and leave with a hug. And as expected, you’d fall into his arms every time. Craving more even after he walked out, the bell above the door ringing sullenly.

You trudged up the snow covered path towards your small shop—your jacket barely thick enough to keep the cold from Fall out. Winter was a whole different ballpark. You shivered as you tried to open the door, the key slipping slightly—your breath forming a thick cloud in the air.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, trying yet again. But to no avail it seemed you were trapped outside of your own place, the cold seeping in by the second.

“Need some help?”

His voice so close startled you, the key falling from your hand and landing soundlessly on the snow below. Tommy stood behind you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and cheeks stained red from the cold. He looked like he’d been out working, trying to get the place as settled as possible. Yet somehow he still remained perfect in your eyes. His hair was ruffled, boots and jeans scuffed.

It did nothing but make him more attractive.

“Hi,” you said, your breath blocking him from sight for a few seconds. Long enough for him to bend down and grab the key.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He smiled, moving past you slightly to swiftly slip the key in the lock and turn the knob for you. “Figured you knew I was here.”

“How could I when you’re so quiet.”

He chuckled, following you into the place—the door shutting softly behind him. “I’m sorry.”

The light flickered on with a soft buzz, illuminating his face in the soft glow. You wanted to tell him everything on your mind. Let him know how your heart ached for him on days when you were feeling lonely, when the world was too much for you to bear. No one told you how hard surviving was—how you felt the loss of your past life so thoroughly. Yet when you were in his presence, all that pain and suffering faded to the back of your mind.

Until it was just you and him and peace.

“Guess I’ve been in my head a little too much today,” you joked, smiling softly when he shifted on his feet slightly—as if he was nervous to be here.

“We all get like that sometimes.” He wasn’t wrong. “You know you can talk to me right?”

That jerked you out of your melancholy daze. “Tommy…”

“Don’t worry darlin’. Who am I gonna tell your secrets to?”

Heat seeped into your face, spreading up the back of your neck. “I don’t want to burden you with things you can’t fix.”

He stepped closer, half expecting you to step back, but your feet were rooted to the ground. As if you were a part of that deadly fungus, unable to do anything but remain in place and grow—spreading throughout the building. He grinned, his hand reaching forward and brushing against yours. Never clasping it, never moving further, just remaining as far as you’d let him get.

So close yet so far away you felt the familiar ache begin to seep into your heart once more.

“You tellin’ me what’s in your pretty head wouldn’t be a burden.”

If you had the courage, you’d pull him in for a kiss, but you were never brave when it came to romance. Too hesitant of something going drastically wrong. Your heart raced in your chest, the heat from your face down curling low in your stomach. Causing you to fall silent on his request to spill all your secrets to him, all the grief and pain you hold onto.

“I’ll tell you,” you whispered, eyes tracing the shape of his cheekbones. “But not tonight.”

He nodded, his fingers quickly curling around yours before letting go. “I’m here when you’re ready.”

The double entendre of his words wasn’t lost on you and something told you he knew it too. He was going to be there when you were finally ready to take the jump. When you felt okay enough to let him into your heart permanently. Because with Tommy you knew…once he settled into your bones, found his way into your very being, he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t. Not when you were as much a part of him as he was you.

So you smiled, gave him a small nod, and allowed him to envelop you in his arms for a goodbye hug. One that lasted longer than either of you intended, but you didn’t want him to leave and he didn’t want to let go. How could he? When you felt so perfect nestled right against his chest—the warmth of your body seeping into his. He smiled, pressing his nose softly into your hair and savoring every second.

“Thank you.” Your voice was muffled into his denim jacket, but you didn’t mind.

He tightened his arms around you before finally letting you go, his hand lingering close to yours. “Anytime darlin’.”

The name ignited something in you, causing a flame to come to life in your chest. Whether you wanted to or not it was clear to you that you were falling in love with him. He gave you another heart stopping smile, nodding slightly before heading towards the door. The path of your future together, now carved out and clear in front of you.

Simply waiting for you to follow it.

[nightfurylover31]

I really love Adam Bryce Thomas's cover for the 5th Year Anniversary issue! It's so cute! I was hoping the mini issue we were getting was centered around it, but we got something else. So I decided to write something about it! Capturing everything that happens in every picture, keeping it within canon range. I hope you all like it.

*takes place before #57*

The air was refreshing. Much warmer than it had been, yet the breeze had a bit of a chill. The cherry blossoms had bloomed and some of their petals had begun to fall. Other flowers had started opening. A clear sign of early spring. As such, the Riverside Romp was the place to be. 

“Wow, it just started but the place is already packed,” Sonic said as he and Amy walked through the entrance. 

“It is one of the biggest celebrations around the villages in this area,” Amy responded. 

The river in this zone branched out into several villages. As such, everyone gathered in the field outside of Riverside, celebrating the new season. Sonic recognized folks from Vista View, Windmill Village, Barricade Town, Spiral Hill, and more. There were tents and food stands set up all over. The festival lasted all weekend, but even the first day was filled with guests. 

“I’m glad you decided to join us, Sonic.” Amy was going with Cream and Vanilla, but decided to ask Sonic as well. Things had been tough on him lately, so she thought he needed to relax a bit. And she figured having the Rabbit family would put him more at ease about coming.

“Sure thing, I’ve always wanted to come to one of these.” 

“With all that’s been happening, this is just the kind of break we needed. Especially you.” 

“Oh come,” Sonic rolled his eyes. “don’t start that again. The last few adventures were rough, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

Amy put her hands on her hips. “You were violently electrocuted, and then nearly brain swapped with a robot. And both times your leg was injured.” 

Sonic let out a sheepish chuckle. “What can I say? Trouble always seems to find me.” 

The pink hedgehog sighed, resting her hand on her forehead. While she admired Sonic’s spirit, she wished he didn’t take these kinds of experiences so lightly. 

“My point is there’s nothing wrong taking it easy.” 

“I know, and you’re right. Let’s just enjoy today. I hear they got special chili dogs at these things.” 

Amy couldn’t help but laugh as Sonic licked his lips at the thought of trying the food. 

“Mr. Sonic! Ms. Amy! Hurry!” The two turned to see Cream calling them as she and her mother had already entered the gate. 

“What are we waiting for?” Sonic smiled. “Let’s go!” 

The group spent some time together until Cream saw a face painting booth. She got the artist to paint Cheese’s face while Sonic and Amy continued. There were souvenir stands with handmade clothing, bags and accessories. Naturally, the former stopped when he saw a hotdog stand. With so many toppings he had to try one with everything. Next to it was a backed goods stand, which Amy was drawn to. The large heart-shaped cookies hanging overhead looked especially delicious. As the two headed over to the picnic tables to eat and rejoin their friends, Amy noticed a familiar woolly figure making their way to the river. 

“Sonic, go ahead,” she said as she gave her treats to him. “I’ll catch up.” The blue hedgehog shrugged but did as he was told. 

Outside of the festivities, Amy met up with a lone girl sitting on a log. 

“Hello Lanolin.” 

The sheep turned her head. “Oh, Ms. Rose. I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Lanolin was part of the Restoration. She joined just after the Neo Metal incident. She had been helping regularly. If memory served correctly, she was now an assistant to Jewel.

“I came with my friends, and please, call me Amy. No need for formalities.” Amy sat down beside her. “What are you doing here instead of the party? It looks like something’s bothering you.” 

Lanolin hung her head low, looking at her hands folded in her lap. “I just wonder… if I’m really making a difference.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When you and Sonic saved my town, I realized how helpless I was. I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to do more. So I joined the Restoration to help. But even so, I feel like I haven’t done anything.” 

“That’s not true,” Amy quickly defended. “You’ve helped with the evacuations when we were dealing with the Metal Virus. You even protected the survivors when we were in Spiral Hill and Angel Island. That’s something.” 

“Barely. Most of the Zombots were focusing more on the areas I wasn’t in. And when the Zeti attacked HQ, I didn’t fight back either. I just grabbed as many people as I could find and hid. I feel like a coward.” 

“Protecting people is just as important as fighting. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“But it’s…” The sheep went quiet. 

Sensing her discouragement, Amy took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s not enough. You want to contribute more.” 

Lanolin nodded. “You and the others do such amazing things. I know I can’t do anything like that, but-" 

“You just haven’t found it yet.” 

“W-what?” Lanolin was caught off guard by Amy's interruption.

“You haven’t found your special skill yet. Something only you can do. I had my own problems figuring it out, but I kept trying.” With that Amy started fidgeting with her fingers. “Honestly, you remind me of how I used to be. I wanted to go on adventures with Sonic, but I was just getting in the way. Even after getting my hammer, I still felt like I was a bother most of the time. But even if I can’t run fast, fly, or anything super special, I still try to help in any way I can. No matter how small.” 

Hearing this caused Lanolin to smile. She rubbed her cheek, as if wiping a tear. “Thanks for that, Amy. I’m still not sure what I could do to help more.” 

“Well, is there any way you can think of to make the Restoration more effective?” 

The sheep blinked for a moment, then put her hand to her chin to think. After a while, she spoke “Considering all the havoc Dr. Eggman has caused… if there was some way to get the jump on him…” 

“Like a response team? That’s a great idea!” A way to stop Eggman before things get too out of control. That way there would be less collateral damage, and less Sonic would have to deal with. Amy knew he loved the thrill of the fight, and she didn’t want to take that from him, but so much weight had been put on him lately. Some have even blamed him for certain events due to his actions. If people did more, they wouldn’t have to keep relying on him or turn any distress towards him.  

“It’s just a thought. I don’t know how to pull it off—” 

“But it’s a start, and that’s what matters,” the hedgehog assured. “As a very special friend of mine says, ‘nothing starts until you take action.’” 

“Smart advice,” Lanolin agreed. 

Amy got up and motioned her hand. “Come on. Let’s get back. There’s still plenty of fun to be had.” 

The two headed back to the festival. Lanolin saw her friends before Amy did, so they split up. She saw the gang still at the tables eating. Though she couldn’t help but notice a few bites missing from her cookie. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Amy,” Cream apologized. “Cheese was hungry, and I couldn’t stop him.” The Chao still had crumbs on his face. His face painting had also been smudged trying to wipe them off.

Amy simply patted bunny on the head. “Don’t worry about it, Cream. There’s still plenty left, and we’re here to have fun." 

After going around to more of the stands, the last event of the day was about to start. Sparklers were passed out some people. Amy watched the lights dance around, careful that the sparks didn’t hit her hand. Everyone gathered as the mayor of Windmill Village stood at the front. The old ram cleared his throat and began to speak. 

“Thanks to all of you for coming out and joining us! I know the last year has been hard on us all, but that’s exactly why we need to celebrate the good days we have. We must cherish everything and everyone around us and let them know how they mean to us. Spring is a time of new beginnings. I’m sure new stories and opportunities are awaiting each and every one of you. So let us welcome it all with open arms.” He raised his fist in the air. “To a wonderful year!” 

“Yeah!” 

The crowd cheered with absolute bliss. Amy was so in the moment she didn’t even realize she was holding Sonic’s hand. Soon the music picked up, and everyone was singing and dancing. This went on for a few more hours.

As the sun began to set, everyone began to head home. Cream and Vanilla waved goodbye as they parted ways from Amy and Sonic. 

“That was so much fun,” Sonic exclaimed as he stretched his arms in the air. “Thanks for inviting me along, Ames.” 

“I’m glad you joined us too,” Amy beamed. She felt much more at ease than she had been in a while, and she could tell Sonic did as well. The way his quills bent down, the way he smiled. She knew how to read him by now when he was tense. She did not see that now. All cares and troubles were out of mind. It felt great to finally be able to relax without Eggman or anyone else ruining it. “We should come again next year. We could invite Tails, Knuckles, Tangle, Whisper, and the others to come too.” 

“Or it could just be the two of us and make it a date,” the blue hedgehog said casually.

Amy froze in place. Her face turned bright red. She looked at Sonic, who was sporting his smug grin. 

She gave him a playful shove. “Don’t tease me like that!” 

“What? I thought that’s what you wanted, right?”

"Sonic, you-" 

The two friends continued laughing as they made their way home. 

[somethingclevermahogony]

5 Lines Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @illarian-rambling !

My lines: a line describing liquid, a line with anger, a line about light, a line about a drink, a line with a half-truth

Your lines: A line describing the weather, A line with fear, a line about the earth(stone, dirt, caves, etc.), a line about pain, and a line about confusion

A line describing a liquid (Does a river count as a liquid?):

Narul stepped into the current. He watched the water rush over his feet, washing away five days worth of grime and dust. He bent to drink, cupping the water in his palms. It was cool, crisp, and to his parched mouth, almost sweet.

A line with anger:

“Why not? Why shouldn’t I? Here I am in this dingy camp fighting Apunians, and who for? Another Apunian. Akard was born in Apuna of an Apunian whore. Not that I mind, I just find it a bit humorous don’t you? He better be careful though, it's easy to make a mistake out on the…” Tizanush was interrupted as Zatar’s hand wrapped round his throat. Zatar made not a sound, nor did his expression change in any discernible way as he lifted and slammed the lordling down into the table with such force that the cedar splintered and the goblets were ejected into the air. Tizanush gasped and lay sprawled on the ground. He clawed at his bruised throat and struggled to draw breath. Zatar loomed above him. The Spearmaster’s tone was soft, yet it dripped with an unmistakable rage, “Watch your mouth.”

A line about light

“What are you doing?” All Narul could muster was a breathy whisper. They began to lead him, pulling him, stumbling through the darkness. He could hear the padding footsteps of the thing behind him, the heels of his strange footwear clicking softly. He could feel the hot breath on his back, less than an arm’s length away. Then there were more footsteps, and then more. Narul could hear them breathing. No one spoke. He could see light up ahead. The tunnel had been, for the most part, devoid of any scent. These people, if they could be called that, smelled faintly of leather and earth but nothing else. But now, a new scent made itself familiar, one he had smelled before, many times in the courtyard of King Hutbari. Roasting meat.  Narul and his ghoulish companions rounded a corner. There was a doorway blazing with firelight. Narul looked behind him and had to stifle a shout. Where one had been following now, there were ten figures, men and women, all with the same white skin, all with sunken black eyes, all dressed in the same leather clothing.

A line about a drink:

“Do not worry, Narul. You have traveled a long way and I’m sure your mind is clouded by what you have learned and by this delicious food. Eat! Drink! I have brought my brew with me. The stars are bright and the tongue heavy with stories. Let us enjoy the night!” He reached out and took a great bite of a roasted songbird and groaned happily.  Ninma needed no more convincing and was soon stuffing her face with food. It was all delicious, though lacking in spices and oils.  Narul followed suit though more conservatively at first. The man opened the jar and pulled three wooden cups from the air itself. These he filled and handed to Narul and Ninma, saving one for himself. The beer was warm, as was the style in those times. Sweet, like honeyed bread and orange peels. Warmth spread through Narul’s chest and he felt soothed.

A line about a half-truth

Narul turned to Wadikir and grimaced. “Okay. But, Ninma has to stay here.”  “Of course! We wouldn’t send a princess to do something so dangerous! She will be treated with the utmost care while she is here.���

I'm tagging @kckramer, @kosmic-kore, @the-octic-scribe, and @scribble-dee-vee

[ultramagicalternate]

ULTRAMagic Interval Chapter 4

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Master Post - Patreon

“Alright, pizza’s coming through!” Faustus announced as he walked over to the kitchen counter.

“WitchHaven is such a nice place,” Mayhem commented. “Fairly calm, no overt crime… such places are few and far between when it comes to humans.”

Antonio set the boxes up side by side. “I take it things went well?”

“Without a hitch, but a few people were giving us odd looks. Our human forms probably need some adjustments…”

“His, not mine,” Faustus interjected. “Mayhem, no one rolls around in medieval clothing these days…”

“Renaissance, not medieval.” Faustus gave Mayhem an incredulous look, causing the others to chuckle.

“Sorry we couldn’t make a proper dinner tonight, Adrien,” Antonio said as the others took turns getting their slices.

“No te preocupes, there’s not much we can do about it. Besides, I’ve been craving some pizza lately. I was on a mission to Italy recently and I would’ve gotten some there had I not been bushwacking it with Antares and Marcus.”

“You know what?” Will said after swallowing his food. “When I was living with my parents, this was not the kind of action I was craving.”

Adrien laughed sympathetically. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Will.”

“Yeah… so what’s next?”

“Well ideally the cargo helicopter will arrive tomorrow at 2 PM. Once we make sure everything’s good to go, we’ll get moving.”

Sam nodded. “I take it M.A.I.G. knows what’s up by now?”

“Yup,” Adrien said as he wiped his face. “Apparently Dr. Reynard was two steps ahead of us as he was ready to go when Antares called Trumna.”

Randalph stroked his chin in contemplation. “Interesting, lending credence to my theory that he’s a reincarnated primordial…”

“A primordial?” Will inquired. “What’s that?”

Before Randalph could answer, Sam put her hand on Will’s. “It’s nothing, Boyo. Just stuff from a long time ago.”

Randalph gave her a mildly confused look. “Er, right. Either way, it shouldn’t be too relevant to us as I doubt other ones are involved. What is the plan of attack once Will is at M.A.I.G., Adrien?”

“Not sure. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there… haha, get there, hehe.”

The rest of the meal went smoothly, with Adrien telling the group more about his recent missions. After a fascinating tale about one that took Adrien all the way to Greenland, Will got out a movie for everyone to enjoy. The following day everyone kept an eye on the sky for the helicopter. 2 o’clock rolled around with no sign of it. Will sat around on the grass, waiting patiently with Faustus.

Growing bored at around 4 o’clock, Faustus whistled for Adrien. “Hey, Adrien? Where’s the van?”

He was tuning up his motorcycle. “Probably some paperwork and clearance hooha. Antares cautioned me about that.”

Will tapped Faustus’ arm. “He did say ideally after all.”

“I know, Champ. It’s just that I feel like we’re sitting ducks at the moment.”

Another hour passed and it was 5 o’clock. Sam joined Will and Faustus as they looked bored. She had finished packing their essentials and had nothing else to do. Things then grew a little too quiet, followed by everyone sensing something awful. A small torrent of grisly smoke erupted from the road and up rose what must have been Valentin. Despite his regal looking attire, he did not seem like the most pleasant individual to be around. Still, he was a bit handsome and even a little charming in a maniacal sort of way.

Adrien and Antonio sprung into action, pressing the barrels of their guns into him. Valentin laughed and waved a white handkerchief around. “Parlay, Gentlemen. Parlay. Besides, if both of you blow my brains out, it’ll end poorly for all of us.”

Antonio groaned as he realized the blast from his shotgun would potentially hit Adrien and lowered it. “Damn it… alright, what do you want?”

Valentin’s head twitched as a smile stretched across it. It was unnerving to say the least. “I just came to announce that it looks like our little dance will be moving to Red River. Bethany has already returned to her crypt, so you all best not be late…”

Adrien moved the barrel of his handgun to Valentin’s temple. “What do you want? Spill it.”

Valentin would have been lying if he said the gun did not make him a little nervous. Adrien had been known to pull the trigger when the chips were down. “Zasiel’s soul, for it is coveted by my… my…” he growled, struggling to hold back a string of profanities. “...master,” he said through gritted teeth.

Faustus walked right up to Valentin and flared his nostrils. A plume of black smoke came from them. “You have no right to refer to him by that name.”

“You’re not going to get it, Perkele!” Will shakily declared. His legs were twitching a bit from the distress he felt.

This made him laugh. “Ooh! Are you honoring me or insulting me?” He then handed him what looked like an invitation. It was unclear if this was provocation or courtesy.

“What the Hell even are you?” Will asked, confused and terrified.

“An agent of chaos, no different from you, o’Zasiel. You have quite the legacy given that you’re one of The Nightmare of Old, a fragment of the wicked Tyrant God…”

Something about that struck a nerve with Sam. She went right up to him and began slamming the intruder around with inhuman strength. Everyone panicked as Sam was going berserk, hollering and screeching like a mad warrior. Valentin tried to fight back, but was slammed right into the road. He then tried to crawl towards Will, but Sam dragged the demented jester towards a tree and pinned him up against it, bruised and bloodied.

“DON’T YOU EVER CALL HIM THAT AGAIN, YOU WASTE OF HUMAN LIFE!!” Sam shouted at the top of her lungs as she readied her fist. Her voice was echoing and making the ground tremble.

Just as Valentin braced himself, there was a loud rumbling approaching that was not Sam. They all looked up as the cargo helicopter thundered over them. As the rest covered their ears, Sam looked back at Valentin.

“Good bye!” he cheekily said as he vanished.

Once the noise was gone, Will cautiously approached his girlfriend. “S-Sam? Are you…?”

“WHAT!?” she barked, a hint of power still left in her voice. This made Will recoil in fear, falling to the ground.

Adrien went and grabbed her by the arm. “SAM! What the Hell’s gotten into you!?” he demanded to know as the others helped Will up.

This made her come to her senses. “What the… Oh God, Boyo! Don’t worry, it’s alright, I’m not mad at you…” Sam tried her best to hug him. “Sorry sorry sorry…”

“Alright, everyone get inside Sam’s house!” Adrien instructed. “I’m going to go get the van and then we’re off!” He hopped on his motorcycle, started it up, and sped off down the road.

Randalph remained outside with Mayhem. “I think one of my theories just got proven right, Mayhem.”

“You don’t think that’s Morrigan Devilfay, do you?” Mayhem asked as he picked up the invitation Will had dropped.

“The strength, the way her eyes turned purple, and the way she reacted to what Valentin said? I’m sure of it.”

Mayhem scratched his chin. “Speaking of what he said, you don’t think Anne is foolish enough to try Karnage’s failed plan again?”

“No. They would’ve tried to capture Will already if that was the case.”

“And given the insinuation, should we assume Valentin is in league with the cult?”

Randalph nodded. “Absolutely.” He started to pace. “Why they would be after Will is anyone’s guess… unless he has something they need.”

Mayhem had a lurking suspicion. “Do you think he has the potential?”

“I don’t think, I know he has the potential for ULTRAMagic, Mayhem.”

“Then it’s a case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“It would seem so. I don’t think we’re seeing a repeat of the past. I think this is a new plan. And unfortunately for Will, he’s the only one with the potential for the trait at the moment. The others who have already achieved it are in The Unlight, making them untouchable for whatever Valentin is scheming.”

“I see why you brought me along now,” Mayhem concluded. “It pains me to see him get wrapped up in our conflicts.”

Randalph tapped his staff on the road and sighed. “The best we can do is keep him safe for now. We’ll call in the guild if we have to. Keep your eyes and ears open once you get to Red River.”

“Of course. I just hope we don’t have to call in the guild in the first place, as that would mean things are worse than we what thought.”

“As an aside, Will is a capable mage,” Randalph said as he tapped his staff on the ground once more, creating a magical barrier around the area. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it, a little encouragement goes a long way with him.”

“Duly noted, Randalph.”

Steel Cat vans were a more casual means of transport for The Liger Brigade, but provided fantastic protection in a fire fight. Adrien pulled into Sam’s driveway and shut off the engine. It was dinner time, he was stressed out, and his stomach was growling. Walking inside the house, he was greeted by the smell of spaghetti and the sight of everyone eating peacefully, despite what had happened earlier.

“Ha, well what’s all this?” Adrien asked.

“Hey, Adrien!” Will said from the table, followed by everyone else welcoming him back. Will sounded noticeably better, and so did Sam.

Antonio sat Adrien down at the table. “Welcome back, Adrien. I was all worked up, so I went and made us a nice and big dinner before everyone heads out.”

“Gracias, Antonio,” Adrien replied as Antonio put some food on his plate. “Getting the van off the helicopter was a pain, but we’re all good to go. Pretty comfy in there too, not going to lie.”

“Thankfully nothing else happened while you were gone,” Buster pointed out. “Hey, Adrien? Do you think the people at M.A.I.G. would be up for interviews as a part of a piece I want to write about the organization?”

Olivia was flabbergasted. “Now, of all times? And everyone said I was a workaholic…”

Adrien chuckled. “Just don’t leak any classified stuff and you should be fine.”

Kyu finished slurping some noodles. “Oh, Trevor did talk to Umuka before you got back, Adrien. He’s already on his way to Red River.”

“I see. I guess that means Valentin was being truthful about Bethany heading back to Mt. Steadyrock then.”

Will sighed. “I’ll take that reprieve.”

It was 8 o’clock when Will, Faustus, Sam, Buster, and Olivia began to get into the van. Mayhem went ahead and teleported to M.A.I.G. headquarters. Faustus could have gone with him, but he wanted to keep Will and the others safe. Trevor and his parents were there, having popped in to say goodbye before they all left.

“Don’t you darlings fret, we won’t let anything happen to this place while you’re gone,” Nathaniel assured. “I’ll even call on General Washington’s ghost if I have to!”

Adelaide giggled. “Dear, I don’t think we’ll have to go that far. Still, stay safe, everyone.”

Trevor gave Will a hug. “Look, Will? This is not me doubting you, but if things go south, you’re more than welcome to stay with us as a ghost.”

Will chuckled. “Thanks, Trevor. Don’t worry, they’re not going to get the best of me. Bye for now, everyone” he said as he got into the van.

With everyone inside, Adrien closed her door and rolled down the window. “Adios, amigos. Wish us luck.”

“Give us a call when you get there and teach Perkele a lesson he won’t soon forget” Antonio said as the van started to pull out of the driveway.

It was worrying and surreal to see the van drive down the hill. Everyone who was staying behind watched until it disappeared into the horizon. The silence was haunting as the nighttime chill crept in.

“I’m sort of hoping they turn around because it turns out to be safer here…” Kyu stated.

“I know how you feel, little buddy,” Antonio reassured.

Randalph clapped his hands. “No need to be so glum, gentlemen. How about I teach you some magic so perhaps we can join them if need be?”

“A capital idea, Mr. Scarfe,” Nathaniel complimented. “Trevor, Adelaide? Shall we head off on a nightly patrol?”

“Certainly,” Adelaide agreed. “We better make sure that scoundrel didn’t leave any nasty surprises for us.”

“The arrogance and irony of calling yourself ‘Perkele’ is something I’ll never understand,” Trevor remarked as the ghosts vanished.

Antonio subtly nodded to that point. “Alright, Randalph, show us some tricks.”

“Just note that I am partial towards alchemy” Kyu stated as they all went into Sam’s house. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around necromancy.”

“Kyu, my friend, I started out as an Alchemist,” Randalph replied. “Personally I think alchemical doctrine is the true foundation of all magic. Also I think you have more potential than you realize…”

Next: Chapter 5

ULTRAMagic Alternate © 2022 William Ford II (ChaoticTempleKnight)

[the-prsc]

Day 1:

Previously On PRSC... 

Five clueless bands have entered an unknown wood in Scotland claimed as "The Arena" 

They're not quite sure how they got there and they’re pretty cold (especially Peter Gabriel who decided to wear only a tight, black bodysuit) 

Death count: 0 

AAAAAaaaaand on with the game! 

After hours of bickering following the revelation that this is NOT a “nature retreat”, Yes have finally unanimously agreed to settle in a small clearing in the south of the arena. This is due to Jon’s connection to the ‘pretty view’. They are currently trying (and failing) to light the all-important first fire. Chris and Rick are crowded around what will be the centre of their campsite with two small rocks attempting to make a spark. It’s not particularly successful so far. The last remains of summer’s fruit are left on the early autumn vegetation so Jon goes on a mission gathering this valuable food into his only possession in the arena, his small thatch basket. Steve is mainly wishing for home, security and structure (unlikely Stevie!). They are making slow but evident pro(g)gress... 

Further North... 

Further up the same side of the river, Emerson Lake and Palmer (or as the fans call them, E L P) still haven’t decided on a camp location (but have decided on some mildly camp outfits). This is mainly due to their tendency to...errm...piss about. They have mainly been doing absolutely nothing but arguing for the last few hours, with it being difficult to tell what it's really about. Keith is currently trying to explain the drum part of Karn-Evil 9 to Carl (he still doesn’t get it. It's like this only in the woods): 

To The East... 

Genesis are...managing. It is obvious that Peter (Their esteemed vocalist) has either developed acute frostbite or doesn’t quite realise the gravity of the bands’ predicament. He is quite enjoying prancing around what we will christen after the beloved Genesis song (and actual forest), "Epping Forest", occasionally putting on various pieces of Headwear. Tony Banks is pretty much refusing to do anything, making his Tony face (you know the one) and focusing on his Etch-a-Sketch on which he has decided to recreate the Mona Lisa from memory. He is obviously pretty unimpressed by the situation and more importantly, Peter’s ridiculous behaviour. Steve, Mike and Phil on the other hand are getting their hands dirty, (successfully) making a fire and creating basic shelters for the band in the form of a cosy, semi-waterproofed den within the branches of a collapsed tree. 

Somewhere else... 

Rush are doing a frankly smashing job. They are fewer in numbers to most of the other bands and are outliers in their nationality, but have far more team strength and spirit (plus the camping gear helped!). All the guys are working together in perfect harmony. Neil oversees heavy lifting and jobs that need strength and commitment, Alex is in charge of fishing and cooking, and Geddy does all the important gathering (wood and possibly dangerous wild mushrooms). By the end of the day, we suspect the band will have something together and defined in the arena. Good job, Rush!

And Finally, Keeping Their Distance Across the River…

Robert Fripp has pretty much forced the other members of King Crimson to settle far North at the top of the river, away from the interference of others. Here he will establish a camp he refers to as, "The Court of the Crimson King" (God, he’s pretentious). He’s taking a “somewhat” autocratic approach to leading the others. It's working to an extent but John and David are angry that they weren’t in fact going to Disney World as he had promised, and what else would one expect?? Fire and basic shelter have (reluctantly) been built.

That’s all for today, so we’ll see you tomorrow for... 

The Prog Rock Survival Competition!

[purpleruneleaf]

so i played with the horror and farm dolls, but decided i didn't like them as much after all. not putting this on ao3, but putting this out in the universe in case someone else might enjoy it. i dunno, i don't feel like i captured either of them very well. rottoncrops (farmer/horror)

3am coffee

He'd heard the stories of UFOs and aliens beaming up cows and people, so when the flashes of light and strange noises seemed to be coming from his barn, Farm's first thought at 3am was Aw shit, I've got me uh intergalactic problem...

With that in mind, Farm did what any sensible person would have done in the same situation.

The skeleton got out of bed, stepped into his slippers, put on his robe, and made his way downstairs. In his kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee and whipped up a quick batch of biscuits. While the dough rested, he washed his hands, stuffed and lit his pipe, grabbed his shotgun and flashlight, and headed towards the barn. 

By the time he got over there, of course, the light show was over, and everything seemed normal. To the point that Farm briefly wondered if he’d dreamt it in the first place.

Better safe than sorry, he thought with a sigh, huffing out a puff from his pipe. Shotgun draped over his elbow, he clicked on his flashlight and got the barn door open. His eyes followed the beam his flashlight made. Nothing seemed out of place.

But he could smell it.

Something faint, bitter, and rancid tickled his nostrils. It was a smell Farm was familiar enough with that he smiled a little.

Fear.

“Yuh can c’mon outtuh hidin’,” he said out loud. Something tensed in the air like a held breath. “I ain’t gonna hurt you none. I got fresh coffee made, and the oven’s warmin’ up fer biscuits. Why don’chyuh c’mon out, an’ we can talk over some fresh biscuits ‘n’ gravy?”

“What’s the catch?” a voice hissed from the shadows around him.

He swallowed hard. Every instinct in him now warned Farm not to make any sudden moves. The voice almost sounded like it was behind him. Farm forced a smile. “Ain’t no catch, I swear. Just a peace offerin’. Yuh come a long way, right? Yuh must be hungry.”

There was a quiet while the stranger considered Farm’s offer. “I… don’t have anything to give in exchange.” A knife flashed in the corner of his eye, the blade curved towards Farmer’s throat. “This is some sort of trick!  You’re going to try and kill me for food!”

“Fer… what?”

The knife edged closer to his throat. Farm lifted his chin. “Food, you simpleton! There’s not enough to go around, remember? You ‘re going to kill me and eat me!”

Farm chuckled nervously, holding up both hands. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on on yer planet, friend, but we got plenty of food here. I don’t gotta kill nobody to live, I promise. ‘Cept fer the occasional pig ‘r cow… or chicken. Or rabbit, but that’s a treat I save fer the holidays.”

The hand holding the knife wavered; the blade came away from his throat. “Rabbits? You… raise rabbits?”

“Sure do!” Farm replied with a grin. “Got me some sheep and a goat too. And a funky little lizard that looks like a dinosaur. Got all sorts uh critters.” He laughed. “Darn learnt everything but uh fishin’ pond, and even then, river ain’t too far away. If yuh stay past sunrise, yuh can mee’ em iffin yuh want.”

Again that hand lowered a little more. “I don’t have anything to give in exchange,” the stranger repeated. “I can’t pay you back.”

“Don’ need tuh,” Farm assured. He shrugged. “But iffin it’ll help yuh feel better ‘bout the whole deal, I can put yuh tuh work. If yuh like, you can stay as long as yuh need. Ah don’ mind none.” His smile fell. “Awful lonely way out here since mah brother moved to the city. Could use some company.”

Finally the knife came away from his throat. The shadows to Farm’s left solidified and moved, taking the form of a skeleton that stepped into the light of Farm’s flashlight.

Immediately noticeable was the chunk missing from the stranger’s skull. Farm did his best not to stare, turning his gaze to the stranger’s bloody, dusty hoodie and shorts. The stranger was both taller and wider than Farmer, and his teeth seemed both sharper and harder. Like they could break bone… His single red eyelight stared at Farmer with wary suspicion as he slid the knife back into his sleeve.

Farm moved the flashlight to his other hand so he could offer it to shake. “Farmer Sans,” he introduced himself. 

The eyelight flicked between the offered hand and his face. “Horror,” replied the stranger, not accepting the hand.

Which didn’t offend Farm at all. He suspected his guest had a list of reasons why he should keep his guard up. Farmer shrugged and changed flashlight hands again. 

“C’mon,” he offered with a grin. “Coffee’s gonna burn iffin we let it sit too long undrunk. Yuh like coffee?”

The red eyelight shifted to one side sheepishly. “It’s… been a long time since I had coffee…” 

Farmer patted his back. “Well, lucky fer you, I grow mah own.” He led the way out of the barn and closed it up behind them. “I even got uh special greenhouse so I can grow ‘em out of season.” He laughed. “Yuh’d be surprised how nice it is tuh have good, fresh coffee in the middle of winter!”

The skeleton paused to look back at his guest when Horror didn’t reply and found the stranger standing several paces behind, his gaze turned up to the sky. Black tears trickled down Horror’s cheeks. Farm smiled and looked up as well.

“Stars are mighty purdy tonight,” he said with a wistful sigh.

“Stars…” mumbled Horror. “Real stars…” He nodded and wiped his face with a shaky hand. “Yes… They are rather… pretty…”

Farm took a hesitant step closer. “Yuh ain’t never seen the stars before, have yuh…”

Silently the other skeleton shook his head.

“Well tell yuh whut…” Farm’s grin returned. “How ‘bout yuh make yerself nice an’ cozy on the porch swing while I make our coffee? That way we can talk an’ watch the stars together, a’ight?”

Horror wordlessly nodded. Though he remained unspeaking and his expression betraying nothing, Farm still sensed a deep, profound sadness, like a wounded animal just about to give up hope. And a small flicker of wonder at those stars. Saying nothing else himself, Farm led his guest to the wide porch swing. The hinges and chains squeaked a little as Horror hesitantly sat, wobbling as it tried to swing under him. It didn’t escape Farm’s notice that Horror sat on the edge of the swing, ready to leap to his feet at a moment’s notice. He would have said something about it, but Farm knew his guest wouldn’t simply accept the words “you can relax, it’s safe.” 

“You jus’ wait right here,” Farm told him. “I’ll get started on them biscuits an’ bring out some coffee, a’ight?”

Again, Horror only silently nodded, looking more and more like a child unsure if they were in trouble or unwelcome.

I just wanna wrap him in uh blanket an’ hug ‘im ‘til he gets it, Farm thought with a sigh as he retreated inside. 

He put away his gun and flashlight and got the biscuits rolled out. Cooking was little trouble for Farm; he enjoyed the task and saw it as a form of meditation. There were certain recipes he’d make on certain days, based on the weather or his mood. Focaccia was good for when he wanted to punch something, and fudge was for when the humidity was just right. 

Rolling and cutting out the biscuits gave him something to focus on so his mind wouldn’t wander in worry to his quiet guest.

He got the biscuits on a baking sheet and in the oven, then made coffee. Unsure of how Horror took his, Farm mixed one with extra sugar and creamer and one with just sugar, and would let his guest choose. 

As he left his kitchen, booty-bumping the door since his hands were full, Farm expected his guest to be gone.

But when he stepped outside, he found that Horror was right where Farm left him, sitting on the swing, crying black tears as he gazed up at the stars.

“How do yuh like her coffee?” Farm asked gently as he sat beside Horror on the swing. 

The broken skeleton shrugged.

Taking that to mean he didn’t care, and figuring Horror needed the extra goodness of it, Farmer gave him the bug with the cream-and-sugar coffee, keeping the black with sugar for himself. Farm leaned back on the swing and stretched an arm over the back of it. He crossed one leg over the other and used his foot to slowly rock them. Horror fumbled a little about to spring up and flee, but once he realized the movement was only them, he relaxed visibly. Leaning forward onto his elbows and knees, Horror rocked the swing with him.

For a while, neither spoke. They existed together in a comfortable quiet, sipping coffee, rocking on the swing, watching the stars. Farm had all the time in the world, and his patience was rewarded.

“I’ve never seen the stars,” Horror admitted. “I’m from a place so far away from them, we had a room that mimicked the night sky. Sparkling crystals embedded in a high ceiling… There was even a telescope you could look through for five undollars.”

“But…” Farm nudged him. The broken skeleton was speaking in the past tense.

Horror huffed a brief smile. “But it’s gone now. We needed the room for something else. We needed the crystals for something else. The star room was the first to go.”

“You don’ gotta talk ‘bout it iffin yer not ready.”

The broken skeleton nodded, and that was the end of the conversation.

[lostonehero]

So another one this time vampire themed.

Museum rules and Clara is the evil one k cool

He remembers the bite. He was a shy 22 year old, in his first gay bar and wasn't even truly out of the closet yet. He was about to start his new job on his father's request, and he hasn't spoken to that man in years, but the note was in his mother's handwriting which actually made him take the job. It was an older man he slipped something into his drink, and then a younger one playing hero took him home, well, not home.

He woke up in the woods shirt covered in blood, a note taped to his chest, and a weird necklace. The note said good luck and try not to burn if you actually turned. He didn't really understand it at first, but when the sun started to poke through the trees, he put on the necklace, and that seemed to stop the burning.

Then came job he barely survived the beginning, he ran into another right before his new job started, he was starving and nothing helped. The older woman took pity on him and helped him out in exchange he described the man to the best of abilities to her, and she shoved a note in his pocket and gave him a cup of red liquid that seemed to fix his hunger.

He has seen enough horror films to know what happened, but a lot of fiction got things wrong. Like turning another person isn't erotic unless you're soul mates, garlic isn't deadly, you can eat normal food, and it just won't do anything. You can see yourself in mirrors because there is no more silver. Welcome mats are enough to let you into a house. It has to be wooden to kill you. He learned that in the scooping room.

Things fiction got right was the bloodlust. If he misses at least one maybe two days, he can not be around the living. Coconut water does work, but it will only work for a week before you have to drink blood again. If you drain a person, there is only a 25% chance they will turn, but giving them your blood is a 100% chance. That's where the erotic nature comes from. The sun will turn you to ash if you don't have a protective charm. They are pretty hard to make. He has three extras just in case. Silver burns like a bitch along with religious objects.

There is some weird something that he has confirmed himself to be fake, like the river thing and salt. He couldn't turn into a bat, but he did have bat wings and could turn to smoke. Also, not all vampires have red eyes, his turn purple when he can't control or uses his powers. He does have a coffin to sleep in for when he's traveling, but he prefers to sleep upside-down.

There is a system in place he has joined. It took him a bit, but he has a steady job of helping out other creatures. The money is decent, and he has a constant food source. He doesn't mind it, and he has gotten information about his family and the truth of what happened. He doesn't blame his father, and he does want to talk to him. It's also his partner, his soul mate, that convinced him to go to the museum. He wasn't ready to speak to his father, let alone explain why he hadn't aged. He hoped his uncle had passed on.

......

A blonde with a scar over his eye waved his hand. "Hey Mike, I'm over here! I saved you a spot on the line."

Micheal smiles and moves forward next to his partner. "I didn't think this place would be so popular, especially at night."

"You didn't have to bring that big thing with you." Jeremy huffs motioning to the coffin on his back.

Micheal gives a sheepish smile. "I don't know what else would have been a good example if he asked." He sighs. "I don't want someone to steal it again, I just put new straps on it."

Jeremy chuckles. "Alright Mr paranoid. Ooo, we're up next." He smiles. "Two people, please."

The man at the window smiles. "Of course, enjoy the horrors of the fazebear underbelly."

Micheal raised his brow and let him put the bracelet on. "Uh, right." He slips in with Jeremy. "I didn't think they would actually embrace the truth."

Jeremy puts his old security hat on. "There now you're acting the part, too."

Micheal snickers. "Yeah, yeah, come on." He grabs a map. "My father should be in the center. If his spirit lingers on."

"You know he has too. Maybe the kids moved on, so he's the only one left." Jeremy hums as they spill into the first attraction. "The mirrors are a neat addition. Look, they even have holograms of the children."

Micheal looks up at the first exhibit. It was the security puppet he recalled when his uncle made it. He said it was to protect the kids, but he knew it was for his daughter. Micheal crouched in front of the mirror. "I wonder how they got them so life like."

"I'm not life like I'm dead." The speaker crackles. "You have blue eyes like...." The girl jumps from the mirror and vanishes.

Micheal blinks. "Extremely life like, and they respond to voices too." He stands up straight. "Alright, on to the center."

"Wait, can we stop by foxy? I wanna see if there are any news articles about me." Jeremy smiles as he grabs Micheal's hand.

Micheal freezes as he hears static by his ears. "W-wait." He looks around but only sees the crowds of people. "Never mind, I must be hearing things."

"You probably need a new seal charm." Jeremy pauses. "Come on, let's go."

Micheal laughs. "Yeah, yeah."

.....

"Daddy, Daddy!" The dirty brown hair girl jumps into the mirror by the spring trap exhibit.

The old man gets up from his bench and walks slowly to the mirror. "Charlie, what's wrong? Do you need me to close up?"

"No!" Charlie huffs, crossing her arms. "Guess who's visiting?"

Henry smiles. "Your mom isn't due out for another week, and your aunt Jen is with your cousin."

"Nooooo, Daddy. Mikey is here." Charlie giggles. "Mikey's here."

Henry pauses. "Oh sweetie, I don't think that's possible he got scooped. Remember what Lizzie told us?"

"No, it's true." Charlie points to the tall brunette in an old security hat and a blonde man attached to his arm. "See, that's Mikey. He's got the same scar on his face."

Henry looks back, adjusting his glasses. That man did remind him of William. He was approaching said man as he stood there.

Springtrap stood up as the man approached. He tilted his head. He was carrying a coffin. "Who are you?" A raspy electronic voice layered with a familiar British one alerted the brunette to the moving animotronic.

"Huh, I didn't think you would actually stay." Haunting blue eyes stared at the rust impossible moving machine. "Hello father, it's been a while, and it looks like you've kept yourself busy."

The springlock suit twists and stares at the taller man. ".... Micheal?"

Micheal nods. "Yeah, it's me." He gives a small smile. "I thought it would be nice to drop by for a visit. I didn't think it would be so busy."

Henry taps Micheal on his side. "Excuse me, are you going to ignore your uncle?"

Micheal whipped his head around. "You're still alive?"

"Micheal, that's rude." Jeremy huffs. "Apologises, Mr. Emily. It has been a while."

Henry pauses. "Jeremy, I'm glad to see you're doing well." He smiles. "I'm in my 70s, Micheal. I'm not quite in the grave yet."

Micheal rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. "Sorry..."

"That being said, why do you have a coffin on your back?" Henry raises his brow. "You don't look like you need it."

"It's a bit morbid." William sighs. "Are you doing penace?"

Micheal shakes his head. "Well, it is for me, and I don't want it to get stolen, I just fixed the straps." He frowns. "I didn't expect this place to be so busy either."

Jeremy shakes his shoulder. "Don't be so nervous. Your father is literally a corpse, and I'm sure the other spirits here want to know why you have such a young complexion."

Micheal sighs. "Ok, ok." He takes a breath he doesn't need. "I'll uh show an example." He makes sure his father and uncle are looking even Charlie was watching. He opens his mouth, and his fangs double in length. "I uh well, uh." He retracts his fangs, looking at the shocked face of his uncle. "So it turns out vampires are real, and I uh was turned in 92, so I'm stuck at this age."

"He turned me by accident in 93. However, I'm not mad it fixed my brain injury for the most part." Jeremy hums rocking on his heels.

Henry takes a breath, unable to speak out of shock.

William pauses. "To be fair, I am a corpse trapped in a rusted spring lock suit, so I'm not as shocked as you are." He sighs. "So you're taking your bed with you?"

Micheal crosses his arms. "Do you have any idea how expensive coffins are? I'm not going to buy a new one every time someone steals mine, so I made straps, and I carry it with me."

Jeremy chuckles. "To be fair, he has to pay extra because of how tall he is."

Micheal huffs. "Jeremy, stop it." He pauses. "We do die if we are exposed to the sun, or it hurts very bad. Depends on the exposure. We do have these protective charms that allow us in the sun and dampens our abilities and cravings." Micheal waves. "We ate before this, and uh, our blood supplies come from rejected or expired blood donations."

"Or coconut water if we're in a bind, but that's a temporary solution." Jeremy adds.

Henry chuckles. "Micheal, you're both in a crowded museum, I trust you two to be safe." He sighs. "Maybe come by my old home tomorrow night open invitation. We have to talk when there aren't hundreds of people."

Micheal nods. "I think I would like that."

.....

[casspurrjoybell-25]

The Healer of Shakkara- Book Two

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 4 - The Descent - Part 1

To Galen's dismay, Sev chose the lower of the two tunnels...the one that led downward, deeper into the earth.

"We are at a high elevation, yet," Sev reminded him quietly as they slipped along in the eerie, twilight gloom.

"The peaks are above us but the Shakkaran plains are still far below. I would rather we not emerge to find ourselves stranded on a snowy precipice and have to retrace our steps. Hopefully, this way will come out lower down."

"Hopefully," Galen echoed.

Between freezing to death with a fine view of the heavens or being eaten by the barrowlings in the dark, he knew which fate he'd choose.

Fortunately, they had seen no more of the creatures and their journey continued in peace and while barrowlings were never far from his thoughts, Galen had plenty else to occupy his mind and found it easy to become lost in awe at the decaying splendor of the Dweller realm.

"What do you think happened to them?" he asked.

They had paused to rest upon the span of a wide stone bridge.

Beneath it rushed the waters of a subterranean river, the noise of which made it safer to speak above a whisper.

"To the Dwellers, I mean. Was it the barrowlings?" Sev sliced an apple in two with a small knife and handed one half to Galen.

"Doubtful. Look at this place."

He waved at their surroundings.

"The Dwellers were the most sophisticated race in Shakkara for their time and would likely remain so, were they still here. They would not have had much to fear from the barrowlings."

Galen bit into the apple, savoring the crunch of its flesh and the tart juice that burst across his tongue.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was until they stopped and hunger made everything taste three times as good as usual.

"What, then?"

"Who knows? It might have been a plague... something their physicians couldn't cure or a war. It might have been nothing in particular."

Galen chewed and swallowed before speaking.

Half an apple wasn't much but Sev was already rationing their food.

If they were lucky, they would see daylight soon... if they were not lucky, then it was best to be prepared.

"What do you mean?"

"Decadence... natural decline," Sev said, finishing his own meager portion in a few bites and wiping his fingers on his shirt.

"Perhaps no single, specific disaster led to the Dwellers' ruin. It might have been many smaller things and folly."

"Folly?" Sev raised a brow at him.

"Do you think Sakkara is the first empire ever to arise upon this land? There have been several, through the ages. Like living things, they are born and thrive for a time and then decline into dust, leaving nothing but ruins and memories that fade to myth. It is seldom invaders or plagues or rains of fire that destroy them... more often than not, they destroy themselves from within."

Galen pondered this as he finished his apple and studied their surroundings.

Sev's opinion was that the great cavern into which they'd first emerged was the largest and served as the central hub from which other caverns branched like the roots of a tree.

He surmised that each branch might have served like different districts in a city or perhaps housed different classes or castes.

"The scholars at Jana Val would kill to make a study of this place," he continued.

"I wish I had some parchment and ink to at least bring back a sketch or two."

"You speak as if you plan to return there," Galen noted carefully.

Sev got up and dusted himself off.

"Jana Val is more than the headquarters of The Order," he said.

"The monastery is like a small city unto itself and quite beautiful. There are gardens for growing food, medicinal herbs and alchemical ingredients and the libraries are spectacular. The scholars enjoy the most freedom from The Order's rule. Even the High Council understands that the advancement of knowledge requires a certain freedom of thought. I have good friends there. You would enjoy it, I think."

"I'm sure I would," Galen agreed. "At least until they sacrificed me."

Sev helped him to his feet.

"Obviously, I won't bring you there while that is even a remote possibility. I believe Anira and her theory is sound but I intend to confirm it. Someday, though, I wouldn't mind showing you the wonders of Jana Val."

Galen turned away and busied himself with his pack, rummaging for his water skin.

He found it and took a sparing sip. It was nearly empty.

"Too bad we don't have Zen's nose for water," he said, peering over the edge of the stone bridge at the rushing torrent below.

"This stream is ice-melt from high in the peaks. If it's clear and cold, it should be among the cleanest you will find. Bat droppings are about the only thing that could taint it. We'll gather some from nearer the place where it emerges into the cavern and we'll be safe."

Leading the way, he continued across the bridge before turning from the path and following the watercourse.

The stream ran in a deep channel with sheer sides and Galen wondered how they would reach it to refill their flasks.

Nearer the wall of the cavern, he saw the water spilled from cracks in the rock before falling to its stony bed and a long arm could reach the clear cascade with ease.

Sev filled his waterskin first and tasted the contents before replenishing Galen's.

"Drink as much as you like," he said.

"We don't know when we'll come across another good source."

Galen tipped back his flask and let the icy water wash across his tongue.

He was thirsty but knew better than to drink too quickly and took his time.

With their thirst quenched, Sev refilled both skins to the brim one last time and Galen stowed his carefully in his pack before addressing the next most urgent cause of discomfort.

"You don't suppose we could find a Dweller latrine, do you?" he asked, studying the scattered ruins in search of a suitable spot to relieve himself.

"Undoubtedly, if we had the time to search for one. I fear we must make do without."

Sev pointed a little further along the cavern wall, where a piece of the roof had fallen and smashed into a pile of dust and rubble.

"Go over there. Best not to risk contaminating the water. We may find ourselves downstream before long."

Galen left his pack with Sev and picked his way over to the spot.

Stepping behind a large chunk of stone, he saw to his needs and was on his way back when he spotted movement higher up the cavern wall.

Like a huge, pale spider, a barrowling made its way down the rockface head first.

On a ledge about ten feet above Sev, it paused and folded itself into a crouch, sniffing the air with its hideous face framed by fanlike ears.

Seeing Galen frozen with terror, Sev rose and started towards him, unaware of his peril.

Wide-eyed, Galen shook his head and pointed desperately at the barrowling.

Slowly, Sev turned and looked up.

For several long minutes, he remained absolutely still and Galen hardly breathed.

Above, the barrowling twitched its ears and clicked its long nails against the stone, though the sound was lost in the rush and tumble of the water's voice.

Finally, it turned and crept back up the face of the rock, disappearing into a shadowy crevice.

Sev's shoulders slumped with relief.

He picked up their packs, beckoned to Galen and pointed towards the bridge and their chosen path.

As swiftly and quietly as he could, Galen joined him.

"Some flow of air by the wall must have carried our scent to them," Sev whispered.

"Fortunately, they are blind. They hunt by sound and smell, primarily."

"Should we use more salt?" Galen asked.

"Not a bad idea. A little goes a long way but our sweat has likely washed it off by now."

Galen took his pack from Sev and retrieved the little wooden box from its depths.

Each taking a pinch, they applied the powdery salts to their exposed skin and sprinkled a bit in their hair.

Then, with their water-skins full and their packs on their backs once more, they continued on their way, careful to make as little noise as possible.

The ruins, at first so wondrous, soon grew tedious as fear replaced fascination in Galen's mind.

Any shadow could hide a barrowling or worse... more than one.

The cavernous canyon along which they traversed continued to narrow, the walls moving closer together until Galen could have thrown a stone from one side and hit the other easily.

The dim blue twilight that pervaded the place was both blessing and curse, for while it allowed them to see, it strained the eyes and provoked the imagination.

More than once, Galen nearly reached for Sev as a barrowling emerging from the gloom proved to be nothing more than a strangely shaped stone.

If Galen was glad of nothing else, it was that the cavern sloped always downward and that any stairs they encountered were to be descended, rather than climbed.

Going down was always easier than going up, though it felt as if they journeyed towards the center of the earth.

At last, the end of the cavern came into view and Galen breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a light there... a real, true light... the pale but unmistakable light of day.

He nearly shouted with joy before Sev grasped his arm so tightly he barely suppressed a yelp of pain.

Sev pointed and Galen looked towards the passage again and felt his heart trip in his chest.

He'd become so accustomed to the tricks his eyes had played on him that he had erred the other way and had failed to recognize a real barrowling when he saw one.

It crouched in the path ahead, blocking their way.

It had not detected them yet but the cavern had grown so narrow, with so much rubble piled against the walls, that there was no way around it.

"What do we do?" Galen mouthed, not daring a whisper.

Sev shook his head and beckoned for Galen to follow him.

Galen obeyed and trailed him to the side of the path and behind a large boulder.

Peering around Sev's shoulder, Galen watched the barrowling, trying to discern what it was doing but as far as he could tell it was simply... sitting there.

It crouched on its haunches, scratching now and then at its pale, withered flanks, as it chittered softly to itself in a series of clicks and growls.

Occasionally, it tilted its head from side to side and twitched its ears.

After several long minutes had passed without change, Sev nudged Galen's shoulder and pointed first to the barrowling and then to the rock dust at their feet. In it, he wrote a word with his finger...

SENTRY

Galen struggled to read in the gloom but understood.

The barrowling was guarding the way out.

Sev pointed up and to either side and then wrote another word in the dust...

HIVE

Galen shuddered.

There were many dark places among the jagged rocks, any of which might hide deep cracks leading to unknown horrors.

If Sev was right, there could be dozens of barrowlings surrounding them even now.

Sev tapped him again and pointed to the dust and Galen saw he'd written a whole sentence there.

It was a question he'd asked him once before...

DO YOU TRUST ME?

[themotherwitproject]

ELEMENTAL ENVY

There was a time when everything in the universe had free will; I mean everything. It didn’t matter how big or how small it was. The sun, the moon, and the stars, they all had options. Trees that were made to be rooted in the ground for life decided to wander and plant themselves somewhere else. After a while chaos showed up and decided that she liked ‘free will’. It made for some interesting evenings and even more exciting mornings. Soon you couldn’t count on anything to do what it was meant to do because it decided to do something else. One day; I think it was a day, the sun was feeling some kind of way about shining; fire was obsessed with how fluid and sensual water was moving in the world and he decided that he wanted to be like water. Fire thought of himself as not being as well liked as water also. People enjoyed his company when it was time to cook food and smelt iron, or warm a cold night. Fire was envious of water because people were much more intimate with her. They actually put her in their food and swallowed her to quench their thirst. They entered into the river and bathed, lavishly rubbing their bodies with cool water. The look of satisfaction that was on their face after bathing and drinking water didn’t compare with the apprehensive feel people had around fire. You know why right, there were very bad ugly incidents that gave fire a shaky reputation. You had to keep your distance and be mindful of how much fire you were using and not let it get out of control because fire was just too destructive. If you spilled water all over the ground or yourself, it wasn’t a big deal given enough time water would pick itself up and just evaporate. But if you spill fire look out! Fire could not only destroy your house and land it would eat you and your children, leaving nothing but ashes behind. Completely on his own without so much as how do you do fire decided to start acting like water thinking it would bring him the kind of admiration that water received. Fire started to form itself into a river and even threw itself into the air so it could rain down on people and win the love and appreciation. Well it really didn’t work out the way he planned it. The river of fire destroyed everything in its path carving great gouges in the earth that could not be approached or crossed by man or animal. The rain of fire was even more of a problem it set thousands of fires that when joined together created a wall of flames never seen on the earth. Both humans and animals sent an emergency delegation to heaven to request a meeting with God to deal with fire and his insistence on acting like water. At

first God was upset because he thought there was a barbecue going on and no one had sent him an invitation. After straightening that out God realized that she needed to make some adjustments with this free will option being available to everything in the universe. God called fire and water to heaven and had a long talk with both of them. The humans and animals had an opportunity to speak and express their gratitude for both fire and water. God revoked the free will clause for both fire and water. Fire had to adhere to fiery activities and water could only be watery. On special occasions there might be some slight deviations, but this needs to be pre arranged with chaos and fate who are in charge of special events

[izayoichan]

He opens the door, a chuckle from River making him smile as the silence of the house takes over. The only real sound is the low sound off the TV from the living room, where he sees Hayle sit with two pets sleeping on him. He takes River with him into the kitchen where he starts gathering ingredients.

“Can I help in any way?”

River looks at him as he starts, Rylan looking back, a smile on his face when he saw River watching him, pondering what he can do, then realizing he should, of course, decide what he wants on top of the pizza. 

“Well how about you check in the fridge for something you'd like on it other than the white sauce I'll make, if not it will be white sauce... oh yea, you can choose a cheese, we have a few to choose from.”

He smiles and goes back to making the dough, kneading it together before he lets it rest a little before he will make it into that round form that it needs. River walking over to the fridge takes some ham and notices three different kinds of cheese that have piqued his curiosity on taste. As he comes back, he sees Rylan shape and forms the pizza into a small round one, putting down the ham and the three kinds of cheese.

“You want to use all three? I mean it would be a three-cheese pizza, which sounds fancy.”

He chuckles as he starts on the white sauce, making sure to add very little of the spices he would normally add in it to make sure it would fit River’s taste buds. 

“Which one tastes better? We can use that one.”

River smiles gently, leaning at the counter and just watches him work. Surprised at how skilled he has become and how easy he is making it look. Rylan looks at the cheeses, taking the one he knows is the mildest of the tree. 

“This is the mildest one, the other two have a more sharp taste, why don't you cut a small piece of each and taste, see what one you want?” “So Vy taught you? Why?” “Yeah, Vy taught me and my dad, I think for me it gave me something to do, and it helps Vy when he is too tired to cook on top of healing my brother. Also, after a while, it became kinda fun. I mean after I stopped cutting my fingers and burning the food.”

River breaks a piece of one of the cheeses, tasting it carefully, grimacing making his nose wrinkle in a way that makes Rylan smile. 

“Wow! This one burns on the tongue! Like a tiny salame! Keeping your mind occupied?” “You can mix them too if you want, that way it will be a little less bland, but without too much taste... “

RIver looks away stealing another bite of another cheese, enjoying the taste of this one a bit more though still a bit strong. He turns off the heat under the sauce he is making waiting for River to decide.

“Yeah, when I cook I need to focus on what I am doing, follow a recipe and so on, and that stops the mind from thinking about everything else.” “About what?”

He gives the second mildest to Rylan, having quite enjoyed the taste. In reality, he wants Rylan to tell him how everything has been, what thoughts have been on his mind, everything. Rylan taking the cheese and a grater, grating some before he puts it all together on the pizza bottom and puts it in the oven. 

“How you were doing, what you were doing, if I still had a brother… “

He sighs and goes quiet for a while, still not all that willing to go into any detail, not wanting some silly panic attack to ruin things. 

“Some idiot at work, and well I guess how my parents were holding up if Vy was okay….”

River listens to him, noticing he is still holding back, just touching the very surface of things, but never going into any detail. He reaches out a hand and gently caresses his cheek. 

“If I stay tonight, will you tell me everything? Will you open your heart and spill it all, so at least you don’t have to carry everything alone?”

Rylan looks at him, staying quiet for a while. The “price” of having River stay is tempting, but the panic attacks are not. 

“You know you can stay here, right? Not just for one night, but as your home?”

He puts his hand on top of the one River still has on his cheek. Wanting more than anything for him to stay, to live here just like Vy did. It would be good for what his master had tasked him with too. 

“And I can try, it tends to trigger... well what you saw some off earlier today.” “Only if you're comfortable with it... But I have a feeling you have been holding a lot inside. Am I wrong?” “You’d get your own room… just like Vy has, not that he spends much time there but he has it.. And you're not wrong, It is how I tend to handle things, and if it hadn’t been for Hayden’s endless nagging to talk to him it would probably have been worse than what I am now.” “There's a lot you didn't tell me on the daydreams, that you could but chose not to. And I imagine why... but... Why didn't you tell me?”

He takes Rylan’s hand and gives it a gentle kiss, wondering just how much he has on his mind, just how much he is carrying on his shoulders. Rylan quickly casting a look at the pizza before he looks back at River. 

“I didn't tell you because I was afraid it would make me panic, and I didn't want to worry you with any off it, including my silly panic attacks. Mostly, I didn’t want the dream to break, like the first time.” “I still worried, And I worry that all this time you have been carrying pain and suffering on your own.” “I... I just thought that if you got my problems to worry about, it might take even longer for you to come back... Silly maybe.”

He gets distracted by the ding the oven makes when the timer is up, quickly taking out the pizza, placing it on the bench, taking the pizza cutter and cutting it into slices. 

“And now, you will be the judge of my pizza skills!”

River presses his lips to a thin line. Maybe if he had known what was going on he'd been less obtuse with his master, he would have given in earlier and be out of there sooner. He couldn't push back the guilt, the guilt that even though he had gone to them, angry at their verdict, he had decided to act like a tool and fight morgyn every step of the way until he figured out what he was really doing. How he was hurting the one person he had promised not to. he looks at the pizza.

“Yes, I get to judge it now and I can’t wait.”

Rylan hands him a slice of the pizza he has made, sitting down on a stool next to River, curious as to what he would think about it.

“So do I pass?”

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