#long unlive the king

[melon-fodder]

-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: reader has a pussy and tits, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, demeaning pet names (doll, sweetheart, bitch), outdoor sex, forced proximity, toji is insufferably hot, kinda dub-con

♡ WORD COUNT: 3.5k

♡ NOTE: was so hoping I would get this one done and I did, so ha! For anyone who has been brought here by this piece, please know I do not regularly post JJK, so sorry! Enjoy reading~

This cabin is a joke. Unliveable. He shouldn’t be in a shithole like this. Toji comes from money. He’s used to living in luxury–penthouses with big screens and full bars, king-sized beds with sheets made from Egyptian cotton.

So the goddamn cot in this fucking Lincoln Logs-ass shack is frankly insulting, and if he wasn’t in hiding, he would march right into his pretentious boss’ office and give him a piece of his mind and maybe the barrel of his gun.

The only good thing about Toji’s current predicament is that he’s not alone. You are also with him, two assassins laying low in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Of course, he may as well be all by himself; it’s not as if you’re actually paying him any attention.

You’re pissed at him, acting like a little bitch because he may have almost botched a job the two of you were on. So what? The guy is still dead. Riddled with a few too many bullets, sure, but that’s neither here nor there.

At least Toji still gets to ogle you, watch you shuffle around the cabin in leggings and loose sweatshirts. No bra, either. Yeah, he’s seen the way your nipples peek out from under the material. Fucking tease. Just as tempting as the way spandex hugs your ass and, in some cases when Toji is lucky, perfectly outlines what he knows must be the prettiest little pussy.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you bite out, glaring at him from over your mug of steaming tea.

Toji smirks, spread out on the threadbare couch while you stand in the shitty kitchen about six feet away from him. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, doll.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’ve been watching me like I’m your next target. I’m getting tired of it.”

“Well, boo-fucking-hoo,” he sneers. “There’s nothing better to do in this pile of shit. May as well enjoy the view.”

You set your cup down too forcefully, liquid sloshing out from the side, then stomp over to him, leaning into his space in an oh-so tantalizing way. You’re putting yourself in a real precarious position, he thinks, smart enough to keep his mouth shut as you fume.

“You even think about putting your hands on me, and I swear I’ll turn you into a fucking Ken doll.”

Toji grins sideways. “That mean you’ll touch it?”

The force of your slap is a little jarring, he has to admit, but not at all surprising. You’ve been riled up since the two of you arrived days ago, and Toji is not doing anything to help you relax on your little getaway. The complete opposite, actually. Truthfully, he’s a little impressed that it’s taken you this long to hit him.

But, you made the first move (he loves that in a woman), so he has no choice but to retaliate, swiftly pulling you into his lap, unashamed of his now half-hard dick.

“Jesus Christ, you’re sick,” you yell, struggling in his grip, rubbing your plump little ass all over his cock. “Let go of me!”

“Keep squirmin’ like that, and I’m gonna make a mess in my pants, babygirl.”

Unlikely–he’s not some teenager who’ll cum at a little grinding–but the way your face morphs with disgust is too good. “Would you clean it up for me if I asked nicely?” he teases further, grunts when your heel comes down hard against his shin.

His grip loosens enough for you to escape his hold, and Toji mumbles a dejected, “tease,” as you shoot to the other side of the very small room.

“I will kill you right fucking here if you ever do that again,” you grit through your teeth, hands shaking where they’re balled into fists.

Toji shrugs, annoyed, unsatisfied, and throbbing in the confines of his sweats. “Try it. I’ll have you pinned faster than you can even reach your gun.”

You huff, knowing damn well he’s right. You’re good at killing; he won’t deny that.

He’s just better.

~

Toji starts playing with you more after that, seeing how many of your buttons he can press without actually facing your promised wrath.

It’s the way he stares at you, casually brushing up against you in seemingly innocent ways. He walks around shirtless, making it impossible for you to not look at him.

Really, he just takes up as much room as he possibly can, ensures that you don’t get a moment’s peace. It’s obviously affecting you. He watches you get more and more restless as the days go by. You’re both bored out of your minds with only a few channels on the fucking box television to keep you entertained.

There is literally nothing to do but sleep and fuck. Toji’s been doing a lot of both (though, he wishes it was your pussy he was fucking and not his fist in the shower).

You, however, choose walking over sex, going on long strolls around the perimeter. You say that you’re being vigilant, but Toji knows you’re just trying to get away from him.

“You know, if you’d let me, I could help you relax,” he offers one day, trying to tune out the sound of your never ending footsteps as you pace back and forth. “Seriously, you’ve gotta simmer down.”

“You realize there are several bounties out on both of us right now, right? Like, does that not bother you?”

“Not really,” he replies. “People have been wanting to kill me since I was born. This ain’t nothin’ new.”

You stop pacing and look at him, eyebrows pinched in adorable confusion. “That’s… actually kinda sad.”

“Right?” Toji agrees, pouting dramatically as he tries, “wanna help me feel better about my sad, sordid life?”

He laughs when you groan, scrubbing your hands down your face. “You just won’t fucking quit, will you?”

“Not until I get to feel your pussy squeezin—”

You cut him off, “just stop!” voice all pitchy and grating. However, the next thing out of your mouth is like music to Toji’s ears: “if I let you fuck me, will you get off my back about it?”

He lifts an eyebrow, ignoring the way his cock twitches, then lies through his teeth, “absolutely,” because he already knows that once he’s had you, he’s gonna want you over and over and over again.

Sucking your teeth, you cross your arms over your chest and grumble, “fine,” as your mouth twists downward. “But later. For now I need to be… not around you.”

“Whatever you gotta do to get ready, sweetheart. You know where to find me.”

Except Toji doesn’t stay still for long. He waits for just a few minutes, long enough for you to let your guard down. Long enough for you to get a head start. And then takes off in the same general direction that you did.

You’re nowhere in his line of sight, but you’re easy to follow especially since you don’t actually know you’re being tracked. Your boots leave trails in the brown, fallen leaves, steps echoing off every branch that surrounds you.

A chilly breeze whistles through the trees, but Toji is too hot to really feel it. You may be covered up head to toe in a flannel and tights, but you won’t be for long. Soon, he’ll strip you down, and by that time, you’ll be thankful for the wind.

You move slowly, absentmindedly, look lighter now that you think you’re alone. Your shoulders aren’t as tense, and your fingers move as if you’re rehearsing a song. Different from the high-strung little bitch he’s had to live with for the past week.

Too busy watching you, Toji isn't focused on the ground beneath his feet. The sound of a twig snapping may as well be a gunshot, and you drop into a crouch immediately, neck practically snapping as you twist to find the source: him.

You lock eyes with each other, and something must flash in his, something dangerous—something hungry. He stays still, watching you watch him. Assessing. Registering him as the threat that he is.

“You gonna run from me?” he taunts, and you answer by doing exactly that, taking off at a sprint.

It makes Toji’s blood race in a way he’s only experienced when holding a weapon, when spattered with blood. It’s the rush he feels when he’s holding someone’s life in the palm of his hand.

He hurries after you, not quite at his full speed—that would end this too quickly—but fast enough to keep his heart pumping, quick and heavy where it rattles in his ribcage.

You veer left and he follows, giving you enough space to make you feel like you just might outpace him, that maybe you’ll get somewhere safe.

Boots slipping on the foliage underfoot, you careen forward only to catch yourself on your hands and push forward like a track star. Toji is locked on to your every movement now, the pump of your legs and arms, the way your hair whips around your face, the panicked little noises that slip from your mouth that you think he can’t hear.

Oh, but he can. He hears and sees it all, and he wants it. He wants you.

You have no fucking idea how cute you are like this, eyes widening when you chance a glance over your shoulder to find him gaining on you.

A high pitched shriek, and then he sees it—the ghost of a smile, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of your chest.

Toji feels his face split into a manic grin, desire coursing through his veins, clogging his arteries, making his mouth water and his dick twitch. When he gets his hands on you…

“You havin’ fun?” he calls from behind you, blessed with another look from you, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of him, and it’s that curiosity that cuts this little game short.

You trip over a root and go down hard this time, grunt when all the air is pushed from your lungs. He doesn’t give you the chance to get back up, just puts his foot in the middle of your back to keep you in place.

Toji clicks his tongue in an admonishing tsk, presses down on you with a little more weight when you start to wiggle.

“I see why you’re so scared about those bounties,” he muses, “you’re way too fuckin’ easy to track down.”

“I wasn’t—hh—” he pushes harder just for the fun of it and is rewarded with a little squeak of desperation. “—wasn’t trying to hide.”

“No?” Toji removes his foot only to lower himself, squatting over you as he slinks a hand around your neck and tugs you toward him so that your back bends into a painful arch. “Why’s that?”

“Fuck you,” you manage to gasp, your fingers curling into the dirt, feet scrambling for traction to relieve some of the pressure he’s putting on your spine.

He laughs darkly, “you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? This your idea of foreplay?”

Without letting you answer, he lets go of you and flips you over, takes in the sight of your heaving chest and the wild look in your eyes.

“Tell me, doll, did that get your pussy wet?” He reaches between your legs, rubs your mound through your tights and smirks at how much heat is radiating from your core.

“Not so much fight in you now, is there?” he teases, licking his lips when you rub yourself against his palm.

“Would you just… nng fuck—just get on with it,” you grit.

“Get on with what?”

“Just fuck me!” you plead. It comes off as a demand, but Toji knows better, appreciates the position you’re in. You’re nothing but a scared dog, snapping at a hand that’s only trying to feed you.

“Right here?” he questions in fake surprise, “in the woods? Dirty girl.”

“Toji, I swear to God—”

He shuts you up with a harsh kiss, the kind that bruises, leaves lips split, swollen, and slick with spit. The kind of kiss that makes you chase him after he’s pulled away.

“You talk too much,” he states plainly, and all you do is slowly blink at him.

Yeah, he’s got you now. You’re fucking hooked, gazing up at him with blown out pupils, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

He’s nearly fully hard, grinds his cock against your stomach so that you can feel what you’ve gotten yourself into. You whimper and roll your hips, baiting him further, but he doesn’t go for it. Not yet.

Instead he sits back on his knees and paws at your tights, starting to pull them down before he gets impatient and simply tears. It doesn’t take much effort; they’re made of cheap material and Toji is, well, stronger than the average person.

You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when he spreads your legs and stuffs your already dripping cunt with two of his fingers.

“I knew you were getting off on that—just like I knew you’d have the most gorgeous fuckin’ pussy,” he drawls, watching the way his fingers split you open and groaning at how warm and soft you are. God damn, you are going to feel divine wrapped around his cock.

“Come on, baby, tell me you liked it…” he licks a stripe up your neck, his free hand slipping under your sweatshirt to grope your tits— “heart’s beating so fast. You excited?”

You shake your head and buck your hips all at once, and when Toji leans close again, you surge up to catch him in another cruel kiss. This time, you fist your hands in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt.

He lets you think you’re at least halfway in control, but the longer you taste him, the faster he fingerfucks you, his palm slapping against your clit as he increases the pace until you start to grow tense beneath him.

He knows that look, that tell-tale coil of muscles. You stop kissing him, breaths getting short and quick, but Toji keeps his face close to yours, growls at you to, “look at me while you cum,” as he pulls your first, messy orgasm from you.

You truly are a sight to behold, whole body spasming as your cunt sucks at his fingers. You break his gaze when your eyes roll into the back of your head, lips trembling around poorly formed pleas.

It feels like his last shred of sanity snaps. Seeing you run from him was one thing, triggered something primal in his brain that made him chase—hunt—but this, having you laid out on the dirt and the leaves…

This is how it was always supposed to be, Toji thinks to himself as he pulls his cock free from his pants. It throbs with every beat of his heart, pulsing in his palm and leaking pearly precum.

You’re soft and pliant from your orgasm, offering only a whimper when he readjusts and hikes your leg over his shoulder.

“Gonna be good for me, yeah?” he huffs, lining himself up with your sopping entrance, thick head prodding at your squishy ring of muscle. “Just take it like a good girl, just—”

He cuts himself off with a groan as he starts pushing in, bullying his way into your perfect cunt and reveling in the noises it makes. You suck him deeper and deeper, and Toji laughs at the expression painting your pretty face: shock, maybe a little fear as you struggle to look down at where you’re attached, watching as he fills you inch by inch.

Your body stretches around him, makes him feel like fucking Moses the way your spongy walls make room for his girth.

“Fuck… fuck, Toji, you’re—”

“Sh, sh, I know, sweetheart, just a little more,” he lies. He’s maybe halfway in, but there’s no way he’s stopping now, not until his cockhead is bruising your cervix.

You whine, back arching, and Toji tries to soothe you with a clumsy kiss only to hiss when you catch his lip and bite hard.

He grunts, tries to pull back, but you keep him still, drawing blood from his mouth first then his ribs when you claw at him. He can feel his shirt cling to the shallow wounds and growls when you release him, the sudden loss of pressure just as painful as the initial bite.

“Jesus, woman…”

“You—hah—deserve it,” you choke, stained mouth opening wider and wider with every inward thrust.

Your cry echoes in the woods when he bottoms out without warning, and Toji immediately sets a merciless pace. He watches you coat his thick shaft in cream, your poor little fuckhole so leaky and stretched. The noises you’re making are more animal than human, needy whines and pained grunts as you take everything he has to give.

Toji fists a hand in your hair, gives your head a little shake and watches the way your eyes slowly roll to meet his. Your lips are swollen, still red with his own blood, but they part when he tells you to, “open wide,” so he can spit on your tongue. Toji grins when you swallow, finally finally too out of your damn mind to talk back.

“That’s a good bitch,” he mutters, and when he sees your mouth twitch into a little smile, he pushes further, “that’s all you wanted, yeah? You just needed to be put in your place, huh, baby?”

He throws your other leg over his shoulder and locks both arms behind you, hands curling up your back to grip your shoulders. Rutting into you relentlessly, Toji kisses and bites all over your neck and chest, licking up the drool that slips from your mouth.

You’ll be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you’re tough, so you’ll live. And even if he has to listen to you bitch and moan, it’ll be worth it after feeling your sweet pussy wrapped around him, gushing all over his fat cock with every orgasm he forces out of you.

“T-Ji…”

It comes out more as a cough, one that Toji ignores as he feels his climax approach. He uses you like a toy, fucking into you over and over and committing the sticky squelch of your pussy to memory. He’s gonna replay this masterpiece over and over for years to come, fucking his fist while imagining the way you look right now—tears streaming down the sides of your face, lips spit slick and swollen, skin all bruised up from his own mouth and fingers.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, and you’re taking his cock so well, pussy swallowing him up and squeezin’ so so nice, he has to let go. He has to—

“Oh fuck, baby, gonna fill you up so good. You ready?”

You respond with a sort of gurgle that Toji takes as confirmation, and after a few more thrusts he empties his heavy balls inside of you. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum so much or so hard in his life, hot white painting your guts in viscous ropes until it starts seeping out around his cock.

Your poor cunt is so swollen, lips all puffy and messy with slick and cum. And that fat little clit—Toji pinches it, probably too mean, and coos at you to relax and take it when you start to sniffle.

“Sorry, baby. Gotta make sure you get yours too, right?” He knows you already have, but he can’t help but toy with you a little longer.

Besides, you’re being so good for him now, so docile as your body twitches, jaw moving like you want to say something but can’t, eyes rolling all around your pretty head until your muscles seize up and you cum for him one more time.

“There we go—that’s a good girl, see?” You blink teary eyes at him, a deep breath shuddering through you as one, maybe two senses return to you. “Feel better?”

You nod slowly as if confused. Or high. Probably the latter considering Toji is feeling pretty stoned too, a little dizzy as he sits up straight and leans back on his heels.

“Good. Next time you need the attitude fucked outta ya’, just tell me instead of actin’ like a bitch, ‘kay?”

A little smirk curls onto your face, and before Toji can react, you’re sitting up with two hands wrapped around his throat.

“Call me that again, and I’ll show you what a bitch can really do.”

Your palm presses against his windpipe in a threatening way. Your eyes shine with dark promise.

And Toji’s cock twitches at the idea of riling you up all over again.

[thenewgirl76]

Do not Disturb, Or ELSE

Inspired by this interestingly humorous post

Danny as the living/unliving embodiment of the "don't wake the sleeper" trope.

While this works with just regular ole Danny, I've decided to throw in both Ghost King Phantom and Constantine and Zatanna as his bio parents.

As Amity's sole major hero, a struggling high-schooler, and last but not least the Fenton's and GIW's biggest sought after prize capture Danny's already dealing with a colossal amount of pressure and rarely has the time to get the proper shut eye.

Throw in his fairly new status as ghost king, and you end up with a massively stressed and cranky sleep deprived teenager that oftentimes reacts rather violently if you dare to wake him prematurely.

Constantine and Zatanna know this all too well, having gotten a front row seat to the mayor getting viciously maimed by this scrawny boy(?) after being abruptly aroused from his nap while looking into the excess death energy surrounding Amity. Which is why after finding out this powerful yet somehow familiar entity was both the usurper of Pariah Dark's throne and their long lost son they agreed to keep it all hush hush. No need to risk a possible bad first impression with the Justice League as well as further hinder their kid's chances of getting more sleep after all.

All is reasonably well until Con and Z fail to stop the newest in a string of cult gatherings attempts to summon the ghost king and have no choice but to get the rest of the JL involved. Suffice to say, their hands are quite full trying to convince the League that the child they just witnessed not only transform into an eldritch abomination then literally maul every last one of the cultists in anger and frustration over being rudely awakened, but also take seemingly forever for them to calm down isn't a ginormous threat that must be closely monitored.

It certainly doesn't help matters when Danny threatens to remove a vital organ from the next person that wakes him up before cuddling up to his mom and dad and going back to sleep.

[mirisss]

Tainted Love

Vampire Choi Beomgyu x human reader

Warnings: Blood, death, mentions of being chased, I think that’s it, let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Wordcount ≈ 8.5k

Another Halloween special! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Please reblog!

Third Person POV

Beomgyu was not just any vampire; he was the Vampire King, a title that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Born into the oldest generation of vampires, he inherited not only their timeless beauty but also their immense power and ancient wisdom. His castle, perched high on a desolate cliff, loomed over the fog-covered valleys below, its spires piercing the night sky. The moonlight bathed the stone walls in an ethereal glow, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around him as he stood alone in the grand hall.

Though his features were captivating—skin like alabaster, eyes a mesmerizing shade of crimson, and hair as dark as the night—Beomgyu often felt like a ghost haunting his own home. The grand ballroom, once filled with laughter and music, now echoed with silence, each empty corner a reminder of the life he could never truly embrace. For centuries, he had lived in this splendid prison, surrounded by opulence yet suffocated by an overwhelming sense of solitude. He had watched the world change from the tall windows of his castle, observing the fleeting lives of humans with a mixture of longing and despair.

A dark curse hung over him like a storm cloud, one that had been placed upon him in the early days of his reign. It had come from a rival who was jealous of his power—a sorcerer whose heart was as black as the magic he wielded. The curse decreed that anyone Beomgyu dared to love would meet a tragic end at his own hands, a fate he could not bear to inflict upon another. It was a tormenting paradox; the more he craved connection, the more he felt the icy grip of isolation. Every day, he awoke to the chilling truth that his heart was bound by chains of his own making.

For decades, he had resisted the allure of companionship, distancing himself from the fleeting relationships that could lead to heartbreak. He would watch from the shadows as couples strolled through moonlit gardens, their laughter ringing like sweet chimes in the night air. Each joyous moment only deepened his own sorrow. He had nearly convinced himself that he was content with his solitude, filling his time with the ancient texts and scrolls that chronicled the history of his kind. Yet, within him lay a simmering yearning for love, for someone who could see past the legend of the Vampire King and into the depths of his soul.

The loneliness gnawed at him like a relentless predator, whispering in his ear as he wandered through the dimly lit corridors of his castle. At night, he would often find himself standing at the edge of the balcony, staring out at the vast expanse of the world beyond. The stars twinkled like distant memories, each one a reminder of what could have been if he had only dared to break free from the shackles of his past. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin as he imagined a life where he could laugh, love, and be loved without fear of destruction.

Yet, the curse loomed larger than life, a shadow that clung to him and darkened every hopeful thought. Beomgyu understood that to love would mean to embrace the danger of loss, and so he remained in the fortress of his heart, alone yet alive through the stories of those around him. He had made peace with the idea that perhaps he was meant to be the guardian of love, rather than a participant in it, destined to watch over the joys of others from afar.

As the centuries dragged on, the castle stood as a monument to his isolation, a beautiful but haunting reminder of a life unlived. But in the quiet moments, as the night deepened and the stars shone brightly, Beomgyu would still whisper into the darkness, a silent prayer for someone who might one day break the curse—someone who could see the man behind the monster and dare to love him despite the risks. The longing in his heart remained, an ember waiting to ignite, and he held onto the hope that perhaps, one day, love would find a way to conquer even the most ancient of curses.

One particular night, as the moon hung low in the sky, its hue a deep, blood-red that cast an eerie glow across the landscape, Beomgyu found himself wandering the dense woods surrounding his castle. The trees loomed overhead like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting and reaching toward the heavens. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a reminder of the autumn chill that had settled over the realm. This night felt different; there was a strange tension in the air, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

As he meandered along a narrow path, lost in thoughts of his eternal solitude, Beomgyu suddenly caught sight of something unusual among the underbrush. A figure lay motionless on the ground, half-hidden by a tangle of brambles and mud. His heart quickened with an unfamiliar sense of urgency as he approached. When he drew closer, he could see that it was a woman, her once vibrant clothing now soaked and torn, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Her long hair was matted and filthy, strewn across her face and the earth beneath her.

Despite the monstrous reputation that surrounded him, Beomgyu’s heart was as gentle as a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. The sight of her, vulnerable and alone, stirred something deep within him—a longing to protect rather than harm. He knelt beside her, his hands trembling slightly as he brushed a few strands of hair away from her pale face. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint rhythm of her pulse, and it sent a wave of relief flooding through him. She was alive, but barely.

With an instinct born of centuries of solitude and the desire to nurture, Beomgyu carefully scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. As he stood, the night enveloped them both, the shadows whispering around him as if aware of the fragile life he now held. He could feel her heartbeat against him, a steady reminder that she was still with him, and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

He hurried back to his castle, his long cloak billowing behind him like a dark cloud. The path was familiar yet felt foreign in this moment; he had walked it countless times alone, but now it pulsed with the promise of connection. Upon reaching the castle, he carried her into the grand hall, the flickering candlelight casting warm glows across the ancient stone walls. He laid her gently on a lavish velvet settee, surrounded by rich tapestries and ornate furniture that seemed to sigh in the presence of a new soul.

Beomgyu moved quickly, his instincts kicking in as he prepared to help her. He retrieved warm blankets from his chambers and draped them over her shivering form, taking care to ensure she was comfortable. He filled a goblet with warm herbal tea, hoping it might revive her, and knelt beside her, watching over her as the night deepened. The blood-red moon filtered through the tall windows, casting a haunting glow over the room.

As he waited, he couldn’t help but wonder who she was and how she had come to be in such a dire state. What dangers had she faced that led her to this moment? The questions swirled in his mind, but they were overshadowed by a growing sense of protectiveness. For so long, he had watched from the shadows, observing the fleeting joys of others but never participating. Now, with this woman resting before him, he felt a flicker of hope that perhaps fate had smiled upon him.

Time stretched, and just as the clock struck midnight, she stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing bright, stormy eyes that widened in surprise as she took in her surroundings. Beomgyu held his breath, a mixture of hope and fear flooding his senses. He remained silent, giving her the space to gather herself, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Where am I?” she whispered, her voice hoarse yet melodic, echoing through the grand hall like a sweet song.

“You are safe,” Beomgyu replied softly, his voice a gentle murmur that seemed to soothe the air between them. “You are in my castle. I found you in the woods, unconscious and alone.”

Her gaze drifted over him, taking in the ethereal beauty that radiated from his being. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, processing the surreal reality of her situation. “I thought… I thought I was done for,” she murmured, a flicker of gratitude passing through her eyes.

Beomgyu felt warmth blossom in his chest at her words, an unfamiliar sensation that he had long since forgotten. “I will ensure you are well cared for,” he promised, though a shadow of uncertainty loomed in his heart. Could he allow himself to grow close to her, knowing the curse that bound him?

As she shifted to sit up, the blankets falling away, Beomgyu quickly stepped forward, offering her his hand. “You should rest. I will bring you something to eat, and when you feel ready, I can help you find your way home.”

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and in that shared gaze, he felt a connection that defied logic—a bond forged in the quiet understanding of two souls who had encountered darkness. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was the light he had been yearning for all along, a beacon of hope in his eternal night. As he turned to leave the room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter would change the course of his life, drawing him ever closer to the love he had thought was forever beyond his reach.

When Beomgyu returned with a tray of warm food and a steaming cup of herbal tea, he found Y/n sitting up, her expression a mixture of confusion and wariness. He set the tray down on the ornate table beside her and took a seat across from her, careful to maintain a distance that respected her space while still conveying his presence.

“May I ask your name?” he inquired, his voice soft and inviting, hoping to ease her anxiety.

“Y/n,” she replied, her voice still a bit shaky but gaining strength. She offered a tentative smile, and Beomgyu felt a rush of warmth at the sight. “And you…?”

“I am Beomgyu,” he said, inclining his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “The king of this castle.” The weight of his title hung in the air, but he delivered it with humility, not wanting to overwhelm her. “I found you in the woods. Can you tell me how you came to be there, alone and unconscious?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing as memories flooded back. “I was…” she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words. “I was being chased. I don’t know who it was or why, but they were after me.” Her hands trembled slightly as she recalled the fear that had gripped her heart. “I ran as fast as I could, but I fell into a lake and got soaked. Then, when I tried to escape, I ran straight into thorns and branches.”

She paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I was terrified, and I just… I couldn’t go on. Eventually, I collapsed from fear and exhaustion.”

Beomgyu listened intently, his heart aching for the pain and terror she had experienced. “You were incredibly brave to escape at all,” he said gently, wanting to offer her some comfort. “To face that kind of fear and still keep moving… it takes strength.”

Y/n looked up at him, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief in her eyes. “Thank you, but I don’t feel very brave,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I was running for my life.”

He nodded, understanding all too well the weight of fear. “You are safe now,” he reassured her, wishing he could take away all the pain she had endured. “No one can reach you here.”

As she sipped her tea, the warmth spreading through her body brought a sense of comfort that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Beomgyu watched her closely, noting the way the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease with each passing moment. He wanted to know more about her, to understand the depth of her spirit, but he was also keenly aware of the shadows lurking in the corners of his own existence.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” he asked, his voice low and careful, aware of the vulnerability in her situation. “Friends or family who might be looking for you?”

She looked down at her hands, tracing the lines of her fingers as she considered his question. “I… I had friends in the village, but after what happened tonight, I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore.” Her voice quivered, the hurt of betrayal evident in her tone.

Beomgyu felt a pang of sympathy. “You can stay here as long as you need,” he offered, the words spilling from his heart without hesitation. “This castle may be lonely, but it can be a refuge, a place where you can heal.”

She looked up at him, surprise flickering in her stormy eyes. “You would do that for me? A stranger?”

“Yes,” he said earnestly. “For now, I would like to help you. I want you to feel safe again.” The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope stirring within him. Perhaps this woman was meant to be part of his story—a bright light in the darkness that had shrouded his existence for so long.

Y/n studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit, but all she found was kindness and an unwavering resolve. There was something about Beomgyu that made her feel drawn to him, a connection that went beyond the circumstances of their meeting. Slowly, she nodded, a tentative smile breaking through the remnants of her fear. “Thank you, Beomgyu. I’d like that.”

In that moment, the barriers that had kept Beomgyu confined within his lonely castle began to crack, allowing the possibility of companionship to seep through. With every word shared, he felt the weight of his curse lift, if only slightly. Perhaps, just perhaps, love could find its way back into his life, wrapped in the fragile form of a woman who had weathered her own storm. And as they shared their stories beneath the watchful gaze of the blood-red moon, both Y/n and Beomgyu sensed the dawn of something beautiful, a new beginning crafted from the remnants of their pasts.

Beomgyu rose from his seat with a newfound sense of purpose, determined to make Y/n’s stay in his castle more comfortable. As he left the room, he couldn’t shake the feeling of warmth that had blossomed in his chest. She was no longer just a stranger; she was someone he wanted to protect, to cherish, and he felt compelled to do right by her.

He wandered through the winding halls of the castle, each step echoing against the cold stone walls. Memories of grand balls and laughter filled his mind as he made his way to the storeroom where his mother’s belongings were kept. The castle, once a place of merriment, had become a tomb of solitude, and he wanted to reclaim a piece of that joy for Y/n.

As he entered the room, dust motes danced in the beams of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Beomgyu scanned the rows of old trunks and forgotten treasures, his heart heavy with nostalgia. He opened a large chest, revealing a collection of exquisite gowns that had once belonged to his mother—each dress a vibrant testament to her elegance and grace. Though they had long since fallen out of fashion, the gowns remained beautiful, their rich fabrics and intricate embroidery telling stories of grand celebrations and heartfelt moments.

He selected a soft, flowing gown made of deep sapphire silk, the color reminiscent of twilight skies. It had delicate lace sleeves and a fitted bodice that flared out gently at the waist, its beauty nearly breathtaking. The fabric shimmered even in the dim light, and Beomgyu felt a twinge of guilt for not having found her something more modern, but he hoped the dress would be better than the wet, thorn-ripped garments she had worn.

As he held the gown up, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how Y/n would look in it. Her bright eyes would shine against the fabric, and the gown would lend her an air of grace and strength.

After searching through a few more trunks, Beomgyu also found a simple cloak made of soft wool, its deep emerald hue a perfect complement to the dress. It would provide her warmth and modesty, and he believed it would suit her perfectly for the chilly nights in the castle.

With the gown and cloak in hand, he returned to Y/n’s chamber, excitement bubbling within him. “I’ve found something for you,” he announced as he stepped inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room.

Y/n looked up, her expression curious. “For me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she regarded the fabric he held.

“Yes,” he replied, stepping closer. “It’s not exactly modern, but I hope it will be more comfortable than the wet dress you’re wearing.” He laid the gown on the settee beside her, allowing her to admire its beauty.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she gently touched the fabric, fingers gliding over the delicate lace. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, glancing up at Beomgyu with genuine appreciation. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he replied earnestly, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “You deserve to feel comfortable and safe, especially after what you’ve been through. Please, try it on.”

Y/n hesitated, her brows knitting together. “But what if it doesn’t fit?”

“Then we’ll find a way to make it work,” he assured her, his tone encouraging. “And if it doesn’t fit, we can always look for something else together. For now, let me help you.”

With a nod, she took the gown and stood, the blankets slipping off her shoulders as she stepped behind a screen in the corner of the room for privacy. Beomgyu turned his back to give her the space she needed, the air thick with anticipation.

As she changed, he felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. This was a new beginning, and for the first time in centuries, he felt as if he were moving toward something brighter.

When she finally stepped out from behind the screen, Beomgyu’s breath caught in his throat. The gown flowed around her like water, accentuating her figure while the sapphire hue made her eyes sparkle with life. The lace sleeves framed her arms elegantly, and the soft fabric seemed to dance around her as she moved.

“Wow,” she said, a shy smile creeping onto her lips as she caught his gaze. “It’s… really lovely.”

“You look incredible,” he breathed, unable to take his eyes off her. “Like a queen from a long-lost fairy tale.”

Y/n blushed at the compliment, the warmth of his words wrapping around her like the gown itself. She adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, and Beomgyu stepped forward, gently fastening it for her. The intimacy of the moment felt electric, a silent acknowledgment of the bond forming between them.

“Thank you, Beomgyu,” she said, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. “I didn’t expect this at all. You’ve been so kind to me.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’ve been through so much, and you deserve to feel at home here.”

As they shared a moment of silence, both of them could feel the weight of their pasts begin to lift. In that instant, the castle felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary, a place where they could both heal. Beomgyu couldn’t shake the feeling that Y/n was meant to be part of his life, a light that could dispel the shadows that had loomed for far too long.

“Would you like to explore the castle now?” he asked, his voice breaking the stillness. “I can show you some of its secrets.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and she nodded eagerly. “I’d love to!”

And so, hand in hand, they ventured into the depths of the castle, their laughter echoing through the halls—a sound that had been absent for far too long. Each room they entered held memories of the past, but together they began to weave new stories, the promise of friendship and perhaps something deeper blossoming in the heart of the ancient fortress.

As the days turned into weeks, Beomgyu and Y/n’s bond deepened, woven together by shared laughter, stories, and moments that lit up the shadowy corners of his castle. The once lonely halls, steeped in silence, now thrummed with life as the two explored every nook and cranny of the ancient fortress. They ventured through forgotten chambers, read old tomes in the library, and shared meals in the grand dining hall, where Y/n’s infectious laughter echoed off the stone walls.

Beomgyu found himself captivated by Y/n’s spirit—her resilience and warmth were like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky. He loved how she made him feel alive, pulling him from the depths of his solitude and into a world that felt vibrant and full of possibility. The gentle hum of their friendship became a melody that played in his heart, a soothing reminder that connection was not just a distant memory.

Every day, they created new traditions. They would take long walks in the moonlit gardens, Y/n admiring the blooming flowers while Beomgyu listened to her recount tales of her life before she had stumbled into his castle. He cherished the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams and aspirations, and he felt a sense of peace he had never known. The castle was no longer a prison; it had transformed into a haven filled with the promise of companionship.

However, amidst the joy they shared, Beomgyu felt an undercurrent of something deeper—a longing that grew with each passing moment. He couldn’t deny the way his heart raced when Y/n laughed or how he found himself stealing glances at her when she thought he wasn’t looking. Each interaction felt charged with an energy he could barely comprehend, and yet he welcomed it. In Y/n, he saw the possibility of something beautiful.

And yet, the curse that had haunted him for centuries remained a distant echo, fading in the warmth of their connection. Beomgyu had grown so absorbed in Y/n’s presence that he forgot, even for a moment, that he had ever been cursed. He was no longer the Vampire King bound by fear and loneliness; he was simply Beomgyu, a man enchanted by the light of the woman who had wandered into his life.

One evening, as twilight settled over the horizon, they found themselves on the balcony overlooking the valley below, the sky ablaze with shades of orange and pink. Y/n leaned against the stone railing, her hair dancing in the gentle breeze as she took in the breathtaking view. Beomgyu stood beside her, his heart swelling at the sight of her illuminated by the dying light of day.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Y/n murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

��Not as beautiful as you,” Beomgyu replied, unable to hold back the words. The moment he spoke, he felt a rush of vulnerability, but he also sensed the warmth that bloomed in her cheeks at the compliment.

Y/n turned to him, surprise lighting up her features. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his tone earnest. “You bring life to this place, Y/n. You’ve changed everything.”

For a moment, silence enveloped them, the air thick with unspoken words. Beomgyu felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, as if time had momentarily stopped. He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of fear or hesitation, but all he found was warmth and curiosity. It struck him then that perhaps he was not the only one caught in this web of emotions.

But as they stood there, lost in each other’s gaze, a flicker of doubt brushed against the edges of Beomgyu’s mind. What if the curse still loomed over him, waiting in the shadows? He had been so caught up in the joy of their companionship that he had forgotten the warnings that had haunted him for centuries. He had never mentioned it to Y/n, and the thought of it now felt like a stone lodged in his throat.

Yet, as he reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the doubt slipped away, if only for a moment. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady, “I want you to know how grateful I am that you’re here. You’ve given me something I thought I’d never have again—a sense of belonging.”

Y/n smiled, and the light in her eyes made his heart skip a beat. “You’ve given me that too, Beomgyu. I was lost and afraid, but here, I feel… I feel like I can breathe again.”

The vulnerability in her voice made something stir deep within him—a yearning to protect that precious connection. He had never felt so alive, so anchored to another person, and he wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. The curse that had once bound him felt like a distant nightmare, overshadowed by the vibrant reality of their shared moments.

“Let’s promise to always be here for each other,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “No matter what happens, I’ll always protect you.”

Y/n nodded, and for a heartbeat, the world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in that moment of promise and connection. As the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Beomgyu felt a surge of hope—perhaps love could indeed conquer even the most ancient of curses.

Yet, in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered caution, urging him to remember the shadows that lingered just out of sight. But with Y/n by his side, he allowed himself to believe that love was powerful enough to break any chains—an unwavering belief that filled his heart with warmth and light as they stood together, overlooking the vast expanse of a world that felt, for the first time in centuries, full of endless possibilities.

As the cool night air swirled around them, Beomgyu felt an irresistible pull towards Y/n. The moment seemed suspended in time, as if the universe itself held its breath, allowing him to savor the connection they had forged. He leaned in, the distance between them shrinking to nothing, and gently pressed his lips against hers.

Y/n gasped at the unexpected warmth of his touch, her heart racing in response to the electric spark that ignited between them. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced—a blend of surprise and longing that sent shivers down her spine. But within that heartbeat of uncertainty, something deep within her urged her to embrace the moment fully. She closed her eyes and melted into the kiss, her lips responding to his with an eager softness that spoke volumes.

As their mouths moved together in a tender dance, time seemed to dissolve. The world around them—the grand castle, the night sky, the distant whisper of the wind—faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the connection they shared, a beautiful intertwining of souls that felt as natural as breathing.

Beomgyu’s heart soared as he felt Y/n return the kiss, a wave of warmth washing over him. He had been so afraid of what his feelings might mean, terrified of the curse that had haunted him for so long, but in this moment, all his fears melted away. There was only her—her warmth, her sweetness, and the undeniable truth that he wanted to cherish her.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathless. “Y/n…” he murmured, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation. “I—”

But Y/n cut him off, a soft smile breaking across her face. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed. “Just… let’s enjoy this.”

Beomgyu felt a rush of relief and happiness at her words. Instead of voicing the swirling thoughts in his mind, he simply nodded, basking in the glow of their shared warmth. He took her hands in his, their fingers intertwining like the branches of a blossoming tree, and they stood together, savoring the stillness of the night.

The kiss had ignited something deep within him, a flame that dispelled the shadows of doubt and fear that had lingered for centuries. With Y/n by his side, he felt alive, truly alive in a way he hadn’t thought possible. It was as if she had reached into the depths of his soul and drawn forth the light he had thought extinguished forever.

“Can I ask you something?” Beomgyu said after a moment, his voice soft yet laced with curiosity.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, her gaze steady and warm, encouraging him to share whatever was on his mind.

“Do you… do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, his heart racing at the vulnerability of his question.

Y/n’s smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. “I think love can grow in unexpected ways,” she said thoughtfully. “But there’s something about this… us. It feels like it was meant to be.”

“Meant to be,” he echoed, the phrase resonating deeply within him. “I feel the same way. Being with you has brought a light back into my life that I thought I’d lost forever.”

As the stars sparkled above them, Beomgyu’s heart swelled with the realization that Y/n was not just a passing moment or a fleeting dream. She was a part of him now, a beautiful melody that resonated with his very being. He knew he wanted to protect her, to keep her close and cherish the bond they had formed.

“Promise me something,” he said suddenly, a seriousness entering his voice. “Promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

Y/n’s expression softened, and she nodded firmly. “I promise, Beomgyu. Together, no matter what.”

In that moment, as they stood on the balcony, hand in hand, the weight of the curse that had once burdened him felt almost nonexistent. With Y/n by his side, he believed they could face anything—even the shadows that haunted him.

As they turned to watch the horizon shift from twilight to night, they felt an unspoken promise settling between them—a promise of love, of courage, and of a future that held the potential to shine brighter than the stars above.

A year had passed since Beomgyu had first found Y/n unconscious in the woods, and with each day that unfolded, the castle had transformed into a sanctuary of laughter and warmth. The shadows that had once consumed Beomgyu’s heart slowly dissipated, replaced by the bright light that Y/n brought into his life. They shared countless moments—quiet evenings spent reading by the fireplace, long walks in the moonlit gardens, and intimate dinners where their laughter echoed off the stone walls.

Beomgyu couldn’t help but marvel at how seamlessly Y/n had woven herself into the fabric of his existence. Each morning, he woke with a sense of purpose, and each evening, he fell asleep to the soothing sound of her voice. She had become his anchor, grounding him in a reality filled with joy and companionship.

Yet, amidst the happiness that surrounded him, a flicker of anxiety lurked in the back of his mind. Beomgyu had never once mentioned the curse, the dark shadow that had loomed over him for centuries. He felt a mix of guilt and fear; guilt for keeping such a significant part of himself hidden from Y/n, and fear that revealing it would shatter the beautiful life they had built together.

He was certain that the curse had either been revoked or was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a remnant of his past that no longer held power over him. Y/n had been with him for a year now, and in that time, not a scratch had marred her skin. No danger had befallen her since the day he had rescued her from the woods, and with every passing moment, he felt his conviction grow stronger. Surely, if the curse were real, something would have happened by now.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of selfishness that crept into his heart. He knew that keeping the truth from Y/n was a heavy burden. What if she ever found out? Would she feel betrayed? Would she leave him, seeking safety from the shadows of his past? The thought sent a chill down his spine. The prospect of losing her was unbearable, and so he clung tightly to the belief that the curse was a relic of a bygone era—something that had no place in their lives now.

One afternoon, as they strolled through the garden, Y/n paused to admire a cluster of blooming roses, their petals glistening with dew in the soft sunlight. Beomgyu watched her, the sunlight casting a golden glow on her hair, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. She was a gift, a reminder that love could flourish even in the most unlikely places.

“Look at these roses,” Y/n said, her voice filled with wonder. “They’re so beautiful, just like this place.”

“They’re breathtaking,” Beomgyu replied, stepping closer. “But they wouldn’t be nearly as vibrant without you here to appreciate them.”

Y/n turned to him, her expression softening. “You always know what to say to make me smile.”

Beomgyu chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “I only speak the truth. You’ve brought life back to this castle.”

As they continued to walk, Y/n suddenly stopped, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at him. “Beomgyu, can I ask you something?”

His heart raced at her serious tone. “Of course. Anything.”

“What’s your greatest fear?” she asked, her brow furrowed slightly as she searched his face.

A million thoughts raced through his mind, but he hesitated, caught off guard by the question. He wanted to answer honestly, but the truth weighed heavily on him, a dark cloud looming over their otherwise bright day. “I… I suppose it’s losing those I care about,” he said finally, opting for the safer route. “Being alone again.”

Y/n’s expression softened, and she took a step closer to him, her hand finding his. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

He squeezed her hand, grateful for her reassurance, but the doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. “I know,” he said, forcing a smile. “But the fear still creeps in sometimes.”

“Then let’s promise to always communicate,” she suggested, her eyes earnest. “If something’s bothering you, just tell me. I want to be there for you, Beomgyu.”

“I promise,” he replied, wishing he could muster the courage to share everything with her, including the truth about the curse. But in that moment, all he could do was hold onto her, cherishing the warmth of her presence and the promise of their connection.

As they walked hand in hand, a newfound sense of hope began to bloom in his heart. Maybe it was time to let go of the past and embrace the future they were building together. Perhaps the curse was indeed behind him, and with Y/n by his side, he could forge a path filled with love, trust, and freedom.

Later that night, as they settled into the quiet of the castle, Beomgyu watched Y/n as she shared stories about her life before she had entered his world. Her laughter filled the room, a sound so beautiful it warmed his very soul. He knew he had to protect her, not just from the shadows of his past, but from any darkness that might threaten their future.

And as he listened, he realized that the curse he had carried for so long was no longer his to bear. The true magic lay in the love they had cultivated, a bond that felt unbreakable. It was a love that could withstand the weight of secrets, fears, and uncertainties.

In that moment of clarity, Beomgyu made a silent vow to himself: he would cherish Y/n, protect her, and never let the shadows of his past dictate the beauty of their future. Together, they would carve out a life filled with joy, laughter, and love—a life where the chains of the past would have no power over them. With Y/n by his side, he finally felt free.

Despite the warmth and light that had enveloped his life since Y/n had entered it, Beomgyu felt the shadows of his past stirring uneasily in the corners of his mind. He had built a fragile cocoon around them, convinced that their love was enough to keep the darkness at bay. Yet, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the very nature of his existence could threaten everything he held dear.

As a vampire, Beomgyu was bound by his need to feed. It was a primal instinct, a hunger that gnawed at him like a persistent shadow. He had tried to suppress it, to deny its existence in favor of the blissful moments he shared with Y/n, but the call of his nature was relentless. It was time again for him to seek nourishment.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Beomgyu felt the familiar twinge of hunger surge through him. It was a hunger that was different now, a craving intensified by the love he felt for Y/n. He tried to push it aside, but the pull became too strong to ignore.

Y/n, ever perceptive, sensed the change in him. She turned to him with concern in her eyes, and he felt his heart twist at the thought of her worrying about him. “Beomgyu, what’s wrong?”

“I… I need to feed,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, shame flooding through him.

“What if I offered you my blood?” Y/n suggested, her tone both gentle and resolute.

He felt a rush of warmth at her offer, a mixture of gratitude and dread. Accepting her gift would be an intimate act, one that deepened the bond they shared. But it also held risks he couldn’t ignore. “Y/n, it’s not just that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I trust you,” she replied, stepping closer, her eyes unwavering. “I know you would never hurt me intentionally. This would be an expression of our connection, a way for us to share something deeply intimate.”

Her words resonated within him, igniting a flame of desire he hadn’t anticipated. The thought of tasting her blood sent a rush of need coursing through his veins. He wanted to accept her offer, to partake in the most profound aspect of their connection. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear.

“Okay,” he said softly, his voice laced with vulnerability. “But you must promise me to stop me if I go too far.”

“I promise,” she assured him, her gaze steady and trusting.

As they settled onto a plush couch in the candlelit sitting room, Beomgyu felt the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. Y/n guided him to her wrist, exposing the delicate skin. Beomgyu’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, seeing not just a meal, but the essence of everything he cherished. He leaned in, his fangs grazing her skin lightly before piercing it.

The moment he tasted her blood, a flood of sensations engulfed him. It was warm and rich, a divine nectar that awakened every part of him. He drank deeply, feeling her life force coursing through him, filling the empty void that had plagued him for centuries. With each sip, he felt stronger, more alive, and yet, something within him began to twist—a primal urge taking over.

Y/n gasped, her breath hitching as he drank from her, but rather than stopping, Beomgyu lost himself in the ecstasy of her blood. The sweetness intoxicated him, and he couldn’t help but want more. He was a man possessed, caught in a fever dream of desire, and the world around him faded into obscurity.

“Beomgyu, please!” Y/n’s voice broke through the haze, panic lacing her words. She began to fight against him, pushing at his shoulders, but he was lost in the whirlwind of his hunger.

“Just a little more,” he murmured, though a small part of him screamed in protest. He had never felt such an overwhelming craving, an insatiable need that pushed him beyond reason.

But with every heartbeat, Y/n’s strength began to wane. He felt her body grow weaker beneath his touch, and yet he couldn’t pull away. His instincts took control, and he continued to drink, his mind drowning in the heady intoxication of her essence.

Y/n’s struggles grew weaker, her breathing shallow, and a flicker of clarity sparked within Beomgyu. Horror crashed over him as he realized the gravity of what he was doing. “Y/n! No!” He pulled away, panic flooding his senses.

He gazed at her, eyes wide with horror. She was pale, the vibrancy that had once illuminated her features now dulled. Beomgyu’s heart raced as he fought to process what he had done. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

His voice cracked, tears brimming in his eyes as he cupped her face with trembling hands. “Please, forgive me. I lost control.”

Y/n looked up at him, her breath shallow but her gaze steady, filled with a strange mixture of fear and understanding. “Beomgyu, it’s okay… I’m here,” she whispered, though her voice was barely above a breath.

“No, it’s not okay! I should have stopped. I should have been stronger!” His voice trembled, panic clawing at his chest as he fought to keep the darkness at bay. He had promised to protect her, and yet he had become the very monster he had feared all along.

“Just… breathe,” Y/n said softly, trying to reassure him even in her weakened state. “I’m still here. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But the weight of his actions crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He had taken too much; the warmth of her blood that had once filled him with pleasure now felt like poison in his veins. He had nearly destroyed the one thing that mattered most to him.

With desperation, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her fragile form against his chest. “I’ll make it right. I promise,” he vowed, tears spilling from his eyes. “I won’t lose you. I won’t let this darkness take you away from me.”

He felt her heart flutter weakly against him, and he would do anything to mend the fragile thread of life that connected them. It was a vow etched into his very soul: he would protect her from the past, from the monster within, and from the shadows that threatened to consume them both.

But as he held her, Beomgyu couldn’t shake the feeling that the curse he had thought long forgotten was creeping back into their lives, and this time, it could take everything away from him in the most cruel of ways.

Beomgyu felt as if the world had crumbled around him, leaving only the unbearable weight of reality. He cradled Y/n in his arms, her once-vibrant form now frail and pale, as if all the life had been drained from her. Her heartbeat, which had once pulsed steadily against his chest, was now a fragile whisper, fading with each agonizing second. Panic surged within him, a tidal wave of desperation crashing against the shores of his heart.

“What do I do? What do I do?” he murmured, his voice trembling as he rocked her gently, as if trying to soothe the life ebbing away from her. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the cold night air as he fought against the overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

He had lived for centuries with the curse that shadowed his existence, but never had he felt its cruel grip quite like this. It was a relentless beast that had now taken the one person he cherished most. Y/n was slipping away from him, and the realization gnawed at his soul like a ravenous predator.

He had never wanted this. The love he felt for her was supposed to bring him joy, yet here it had become a source of unimaginable pain. He pressed his lips against her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin fade beneath his touch. “Please, Y/n. Hold on. Just hold on for me,” he pleaded, though he could hear the tremor of fear in his own voice.

But the truth weighed heavily on him like an anchor dragging him into the depths of despair. He knew he could not turn her into a vampire—not until the full moon, which was still two weeks away. Two weeks that she didn’t have. The thought was suffocating.

“Why didn’t I stop?” he cried, anguish spilling from his heart like a broken dam. “I should have listened to you. I should have been stronger.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, weak but filled with a tenderness that broke him further. “Beomgyu,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “I’m not afraid.”

His heart shattered at her words. “But I am! I can’t lose you. I can’t let you go,” he begged, holding her closer as if he could somehow shield her from the inevitable. “I love you too much for this.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “And I love you. Just… hold me. Please.”

He tightened his grip around her, as if afraid that letting go, even for a moment, would send her spiraling away from him forever. He couldn’t bear the thought of life without her, and yet, the cruel reality remained. He was powerless to change their fate, a mere spectator to the tragedy unfolding before him.

“I’ll find a way,” he vowed, his voice choked with emotion. “I’ll do anything—anything to save you. I’ll beg the moon to rise early. I’ll barter with whatever dark forces I must. Just… don’t leave me.”

Y/n coughed softly, a faint smile gracing her lips. “Beomgyu, you don’t need to make promises you can’t keep. Just being here with me is enough.”

As the warmth of her body began to wane, Beomgyu felt a sense of despair clawing at his insides. “No! I can’t let this be the end!” he shouted, desperation spilling over.

But as he gazed into her eyes, he could see the light dimming, the vibrant spark of life that had captivated him slowly fading away. The reality of his situation washed over him like a bitter tide. He had always feared the curse, but now he understood its true cruelty: it didn’t just threaten his existence; it threatened the very essence of what made life worth living.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could protect you. I thought we had defeated the past.”

Tears streamed down his face, pooling on Y/n’s pale cheeks. “You gave me the happiest year of my life, Beomgyu. Don’t let this darkness win. I want you to live… to find happiness again. Promise me you’ll be okay.”

He shook his head vehemently, the thought of moving on without her unfathomable. “I can’t do that. You’re my everything. I can’t just let you go.”

With great effort, Y/n raised a trembling hand to his cheek, her touch soft yet tinged with urgency. “You must. You deserve to be happy, Beomgyu. Remember me. Live for both of us. Please…”

The weight of her words crushed him, a deep ache blossoming in his chest as he fought against the rising tide of grief. “I can’t… I can’t lose you,” he sobbed, clutching her to him as if she were the very breath of life he depended upon.

“I will always be with you, even if you can’t see me,” she murmured, her voice growing weaker. “Just hold onto our memories. Let them be the light in your darkness.”

The room felt colder, the shadows creeping closer, and Beomgyu could feel her slipping away. He pressed his forehead against hers, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could take her pain, that he could absorb it all and leave her free from the burden of this cruel fate.

“Y/n… please don’t go,” he begged, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion.

But as the seconds ticked away, he felt the warmth of her body begin to fade entirely. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the rhythmic beat of her heart grew fainter until it was but a whisper on the wind.

“Y/n!” he cried out, his voice filled with despair as he realized she was leaving him. The world around him dissolved into a haze of grief and darkness, the walls closing in as he fought against the tide of despair that threatened to consume him.

And then, as if in cruel mockery of their love, silence fell. The beat of her heart ceased, the life that had once shone so brightly in her eyes extinguished in an instant. Beomgyu felt as if the very ground beneath him had shattered, plunging him into a chasm of endless sorrow.

He had failed her. The curse had won, taking the light of his life and leaving him in the suffocating darkness once more. Wracked with grief, he held her lifeless body, a haunting emptiness echoing through the halls of his heart.

In that moment, Beomgyu understood the true weight of his curse. It was not merely the threat of death—it was the certainty of loss, a reminder that love could be as cruel as it was beautiful. He was a king without a throne, a vampire without a purpose, condemned to wander the shadows alone.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity plunderers want to buy Simon & Schuster

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Last November, publishing got some excellent news: the planned merger of Penguin Random House (the largest publisher in the history of human civilization) with its immediate competitor Simon & Schuster would not be permitted, thanks to the DOJ's deftly argued case against the deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/07/random-penguins/#if-you-wanted-to-get-there-i-wouldnt-start-from-here

When I was a baby writer, there were dozens of large NY publishers. Today, there are five - and it was almost four. A publishing sector with five giant companies is bad news for writers (as Stephen King said at the trial, the idea that PRH and S&S would bid against each other for books was as absurd as the idea that he and his wife would bid against each other for their next family home).

But it's also bad news for publishing workers, a historically exploited and undervalued workforce whose labor conditions have only declined as the number of employers in the sector dwindled, leading to mass resignations:

https://lithub.com/unlivable-and-untenable-molly-mcghee-on-the-punishing-life-of-junior-publishing-employees/

It should go without saying that workers in sectors with few employers get worse deals from their bosses (see, e.g., the writers' strike and actors' strike). And yup, right on time, PRH, a wildly profitable publisher, fired a bunch of its most senior (and therefore hardest to push around) workers:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/18/books/penguin-random-house-layoffs-buyouts.html

But publishing's contraction into a five-company cartel didn't occur in a vacuum. It was a normal response to monopolization elsewhere in its supply chain. First it was bookselling collapsing into two major chains. Then it was distribution going from 300 companies to three. Today, it's Amazon, a monopolist with unlimited access to the capital markets and a track record of treating publishers "the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/31/seize-the-means-of-computation/#the-internet-con

Monopolies are like Pringles (owned by the consumer packaged goods monopolist Procter & Gamble): you can't have just one. As soon as you get a monopoly in one part of the supply chain, every other part of that chain has to monopolize in self-defense.

Think of healthcare. Consolidation in pharma lead to price-gouging, where hospitals were suddenly paying 1,000% more for routine drugs. Hospitals formed regional monopolies and boycotted pharma companies unless they lowered their prices - and then turned around and screwed insurers, jacking up the price of care. Health insurers gobbled each other up in an orgy of mergers and fought the hospitals.

Now the health care system is composed of a series of gigantic, abusive monopolists - pharma, hospitals, medical equipment, pharmacy benefit managers, insurers - and they all conspire to wreck the lives of only two parts of the system who can't fight back: patients and health care workers. Patients pay more for worse care, and medical workers get paid less for worse working conditions.

So while there was no question that a PRH takeover of Simon & Schuster would be bad for writers and readers, it was also clear that S&S - and indeed, all of the Big Five publishers - would be under pressure from the monopolies in their own supply chain. What's more, it was clear that S&S couldn't remain tethered to Paramount, its current owner.

Last week, Paramount announced that it was going to flip S&S to KKR, one of the world's most notorious private equity companies. KKR has a long, long track record of ghastly behavior, and its portfolio currently includes other publishing industry firms, including one rotten monopolist, raising similar concerns to the ones that scuttled the PRH takeover last year:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/07/books/booksupdate/paramount-simon-and-schuster-kkr-sale.html

Let's review a little of KKR's track record, shall we? Most spectacularly, they are known for buying and destroying Toys R Us in a deal that saw them extract $200m from the company, leaving it bankrupt, with lifetime employees getting $0 in severance even as its executives paid themselves tens of millions in "performance bonuses":

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/03/private-equity-bosses-took-200m-out-of-toys-r-us-and-crashed-the-company-lifetime-employees-got-0-in-severance/

The pillaging of Toys R Us isn't the worst thing KKR did, but it was the most brazen. KKR lit a beloved national chain on fire and then walked away, hands in pockets, whistling. They didn't even bother to clear their former employees' sensitive personnel records out of the unlocked filing cabinets before they scarpered:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/09/23/exploring-the-ruins-of-a-toys-r-us-discovering-a-trove-of-sensitive-employee-data/

But as flashy as the Toys R Us caper was, it wasn't the worst. Private equity funds specialize in buying up businesses, loading them with debts, paying themselves, and then leaving them to collapse. They're sometimes called vulture capitalists, but they're really vampire capitalists:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2022/05/private-equity-buyout-kkr-houdaille/

Given a choice, PE companies don't want to prey on sick businesses - they preferentially drain off value from thriving ones, preferably ones that we must use, which is why PE - and KKR in particular - loves to buy health care companies.

Heard of the "surprise billing epidemic"? That's where you go to a hospital that's covered by your insurer, only to discover - after the fact - that the emergency room is operated by a separate, PE-backed company that charges you thousands for junk fees. KKR and Blackstone invented this scam, then funneled millions into fighting the No Surprises Act, which more-or-less killed it:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

KKR took one of the nation's largest healthcare providers, Envision, hostage to surprise billing, making it dependent on these fraudulent payments. When Congress finally acted to end this scam, KKR was able to take to the nation's editorial pages and damn Congress for recklessly endangering all the patients who relied on it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

Like any smart vampire, KKR doesn't drain its victim in one go. They find all kinds of ways to stretch out the blood supply. During the pandemic, KKR was front of the line to get massive bailouts for its health-care holdings, even as it fired health-care workers, increasing the workload and decreasing the pay of the survivors of its indiscriminate cuts:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/11/socialized-losses/#socialized-losses

It's not just emergency rooms. KKR bought and looted homes for people with disabilities, slashed wages, cut staff, and then feigned surprise at the deaths, abuse and misery that followed:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/kendalltaggart/kkr-brightspring-disability-private-equity-abuse

Workers' wages went down to $8/hour, and they were given 36 hour shifts, and then KKR threatened to have any worker who walked off the job criminally charged with patient abandonment:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

For KKR, people with disabilities and patients make great victims - disempowered and atomized, unable to fight back. No surprise, then, that so many of KKR's scams target poor people - another group that struggles to get justice when wronged. KKR took over Dollar General in 2007 and embarked on a nationwide expansion campaign, using abusive preferential distributor contracts and targeting community-owned grocers to trap poor people into buying the most heavily processed, least nutritious, most profitable food available:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

94.5% of the Paycheck Protection Program - designed to help small businesses keep their workers payrolled during lockdown - went to giant businesses, fraudulently siphoned off by companies like Longview Power, 40% owned by KKR:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/20/great-danes/#ppp

KKR also helped engineer a loophole in the Trump tax cuts, convincing Justin Muzinich to carve out taxes for C-Corporations, which let KKR save billions in taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/02/broken-windows/#Justin-Muzinich

KKR sinks its fangs in every part of the economy, thanks to the vast fortunes it amassed from its investors, ripped off from its customers, and fraudulently obtained from the public purse. After the pandemic, KKR scooped up hundreds of companies at firesale prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/30/medtronic-stole-your-ventilator/#blackstone-kkr

Ironically, the investors in KKR funds are also its victims - especially giant public pension funds, whom KKR has systematically defrauded for years:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/22/stimpank/#kentucky

And now KKR has come for Simon & Schuster. The buyout was trumpeted to the press as a done deal, but it's far from a fait accompli. Before the deal can close, the FTC will have to bless it. That blessing is far from a foregone conclusion. KKR also owns Overdrive, the monopoly supplier of e-lending software to libraries.

Overdrive has a host of predatory practices, loathed by both libraries and publishers (indeed, much of the publishing sector's outrage at library e-lending is really displaced anger at Overdrive). There's a plausible case that the merger of one of the Big Five publishers with the e-lending monopoly will present competition issues every bit as deal-breaking as the PRH/S&S merger posed.

(Image: Sefa Tekin/Pexels, modified)

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/08/vampire-capitalism/#kkr

[merakiui]

thinking about soon-to-be king rollo who learns the sweet maid he’s been occasionally fooling around with has fallen pregnant. he’s a man of tradition, and so naturally he has to follow tradition by marrying you. it doesn’t matter if you haven’t a single madol to your name or where you sit on the social ladder. now you’ll be his wife who will raise his heir. you’ll have no say in the matter as he’s your king and you’re merely a maid. rollo can’t possibly have anyone know of such a troubling and highly untraditional situation, so he locks you away in a tower to ensure you’ll be kept as his perfect secret. if you wish not to marry him, then you can remain a servant condemned to confinement.

however, he’s a kind and fair ruler, and so he can be reasonable with you. after all, he cares immensely for you and it would be utterly callous if he forced his pregnant maid into an unlivable, unsafe environment. he isn’t a monster, or so he’ll say when you spit the nastiest insults at him—some he’s never even heard of before. perhaps that’s just a class difference. after all, he would expect that of a filthy maid who was raised in poverty. though he isn’t your usual storybook monster, he’s mean and narrow-minded. you really can’t stand him, but then he’s just barely tolerating you as well. and you’re both tethered by the child growing within you, a little miracle rollo refuses to get rid of. he’s grown attached, and once he’s attached it’s impossible to pry him from the object of his affections.

he visits you every night to check in and bring you anything he thinks you might need. you can fight him all you want, but it does nothing to sway him. he reprimands you for your foolishness, saying it was your fault for tempting him all that time ago and insisting it was safe for him to cum inside! now, as a result of that recklessness, this is your punishment.

although it doesn’t have to feel like a punishment. reciprocate his adoration, respond willingly to his touch, and you’ll find he can be quite pleasant and merciful when you aren’t actively avoiding him like he’s the plague. you’ll love him soon enough. this he’s certain of because with enough time you’ll realize he’s your only source of companionship. and with each passing month, your bump only grows more prominent and you’ve become so hormonal lately, craving the affections and attention of another. he can give that and more to you, so long as you love him.

he’ll ask again, but it never sounds like a question. you’ll marry him, won’t you? perhaps this time, rounded with his child, you’ll agree. there’s only one right answer, and rollo’s certain you’re aware of this. after all, you’ve spent too long locked away in this tower to continue holding onto hope for a future of freedom. such a thing is not to be found here, but perhaps if you finally accept your king there may be far better things awaiting you. he’s kind and fair; you just need to say and do the right things for him to show you those sweet sides. and he’s more than willing to as long as he receives your undying love in return.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from PBS/Wildlife Conservation Society:

Cassandra, daughter of the King and Queen of Troy, knew that if her brother Paris went to Sparta and came back with Queen Helen, the destruction of Troy would follow. Cassandra had the gift of prophecy bestowed upon her by Apollo, but because she refused to give herself to the god, he added this curse: No one would believe her.

Thousands of years separate us from this story. But dire prophecy, deeply rooted in truth, is staring us in the face. Like the ancient Trojans, we refuse to take action. The arrival of New York Climate Week that coincides each year with the gathering of global leaders for the UN General Assembly meetings must inspire us to do just that.

Until recently, a stable climate persisted through the past ten thousand years of Earth’s history, enabling human economies and the civilizations that depend on them to flourish and grow. The integrity of nature, in all its complexity, provided this “Goldilocks” period – nestled comfortably between too cold and too hot — for humanity to thrive. But in recent decades, we’ve eroded nature’s integrity and exceeded its capacity to absorb the ever-increasing stresses we’ve thrown at it.

Years ago, climate scientists saw the approach of the days of reckoning we are living through. They warned us—in thousands of pages of peer-reviewed publications, in tomes of assessment reports produced over 35 years by the venerable International Panel on Climate Change, in an infinity of PowerPoint presentations, and even at the movies.

We know that nature regulates the earth’s climate through the powerful buffering effects of the world’s oceans and forests that absorb heat, dampen what would otherwise be unlivable temperature extremes and regulate the movement of water around the planet. Nature’s biogeochemical processes also maintain the balance and flux of carbon dioxide between the atmosphere and terrestrial and marine ecosystems.

Carbon dioxide is the main “greenhouse gas” that locks in heat from the rays of the sun and keeps the Earth’s surface warm. The integrity of terrestrial and marine ecosystems had kept the balance of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere fairly constant for millenia, but that balance depended on keeping enormous reservoirs of fossilized carbon inert and buried beneath the Earth’s surface.

Those deposits of coal, oil and gas formed from the biological residue of ancient ecosystems subjected to millions of years of pressure within the earth’s interior. At the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, we didn’t know that burning billions of tons of fossil fuels would wreak havoc on the climate we depend on. But we’ve known for decades, even as fossil fuel companies conspired to bury the truth.

Late in the war, when Odysseus conceived the ruse of gifting to Troy a giant wooden horse, filled with the invading armies’ deadliest soldiers, Cassandra knew it was a trick to get the Trojans to bring the enemy inside the city gates. She shouted the truth at the top of her lungs, lit a torch and ran toward that wooden beast to burn it to the ground and incinerate the enemy within. But the people of Troy held her back. They loved that horse. And they knew Cassandra was out of her mind. Until that night, when the finest warriors ancient Greece could muster stealthily emerged from the hollow belly of the horse and destroyed their city.

Like the ancient Trojans, we’re in denial. And like Cassandra, today’s climate scientists are tolerated but the urgency of their facts and fears is ultimately dismissed.

The question at hand is whether, unlike the Trojans, we have the wherewithal to change our fate. The odds are not in our favor. Time is short. Because we’ve waited so long to act decisively, we now have just a few years left before we’re fully committed to a future hotter than any that has existed on earth since humanity emerged.

What is to be done? The answers are not particularly complex. But their implications are manifold.

[audhdnight]

I’ve been hesitant to read Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi because of all the hype it’s been getting (I usually get burned by really popular books) but I gave it a shot and oh my god. Please read this book. It is INCREDIBLE.

It’s also very applicable. We talk about the parallels between the current genocides and The Hunger Games, and Children of Blood and Bone has them too. One in particular that I keep fixating on is the oppressor’s way of framing violence.

The violence of the oppressor is just self defense, or else a “right idea, maybe not the best execution” deal. Whereas the violence of the oppressed is just too far, it’s inexcusable, it’s the reason they need to be oppressed.

King Saran thinks magic is simply too dangerous, no one deserves that amount of power, they could hurt so many people with it. Which is why it’s okay for him to slaughter entire villages, burning everything to the ground. That’s why it’s okay for him to enslave children; he has to keep their spirits broken so they never turn magic against him. And when the people whose lives he’s ruined fight back? Well that’s a perfect example of why he’s doing all this. Just look what one magician did to all his soldiers! People like that are exactly what he’s protecting the kingdom from. They’re just too dangerous.

Almost like the way “terrorists” are talked about by my own government and the IOF. It’s okay for soldiers to completely decimate Gaza and make conditions unlivable for its entire population in the name of eradicating Hamas, because they would probably destroy everything if they were left alive. It’s okay to murder thousands upon thousands of innocents, as long as there are no terrorists left. Because who knows how many innocent Israelis those terrorists might kill or rape if they were allowed to live. It’s just too much of a risk.

[sepublic]

My eerie theory is that the Titan Trappers are Collector(The Species) descendants.

It would explain their appearances somewhat.

I jus wannts to share it w/ u nothing else.

...Hold on-

The Collector and Tarak have similar eyes, and it wouldn’t be so shocking if other Collectors’ had different color combinations, corresponding to those we see in the Trappers...!

After all, they had to come from somewhere, right? Mayhaps a dead Titan from a previous generation long before the Collectors arrived... But then there’s the question of this enormous Titan Trapper we see, who seems to have been the first and, if his size isn’t exaggerated for artistic purposes, must’ve been enormous;

Did he and some Collectors, y’know... leading to the Titan Trappers, with Bill coming from one of the first generations? Or was the Trapper created by the Collectors? Given the similarities between witches and Titan Trappers, are they just the same species? JBO did release an in-universe poem a while back, written by a witch speculating on the origin of their species. Despite imploring King’s father for an answer, they get nothing, as usual. This could indicate the writers plan to touch up on this soon (that or it’s an unlived concept due to the shortening, so may as well share it here if nowhere).

It’d be interesting if demons were born of the Titans, and witches descended from Titan Trappers, born of the Collectors! After all, Hooty does create a distinction when mentioning that bipedal demons can also perform magic like witches, which suggests bile is more of a witch thing. And they say Titan magic cancels out that of the Collectors’... Is the magic of glyphs that of the Titans, and the magic of the bile from the Collectors, whom witches inherited this feature from? Quick I need an X-day for the Collector, stat-

Of course, we don’t see glyphs or the presence of the isles really do anything to counteract witches’ magic. Unless their magic used to be Collector-level, but over generations they evolved and acclimated to the Titan’s, which weakened it over time to our mortal scale. That’d be interesting, if demons started off using glyphs, and the switch to bile was introduced by witches, who probably had kids with demons, which led to the bipedal variants.

That’d be interesting, if Collector magic basically overtook that of the Titans’ through their descendants, creating a posthumous victory of sorts? Or not, since witches and demons naturally co-exist, possibly representing reconciliation in future generations as is foreshadowed with King and our Collector.

Since Luz’s glyphs are framed as a solution and work around to stuff like Eda’s curse, which is itself Collector magic, that could be rather symbolic... Esp since glyphs can bypass the coven bindings, which are likely Collector-derived too! The author of that ‘Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles’ book speculated witches evolved magic from exposure to the Titan, but in reality they probably didn’t evolve to use the Titan’s, but instead worked from another source entirely! The reintroduction of glyphs might serve as a way for the Titans to live on past the Collectors’ genocide, as does the survival of King!

Also, our poem from JBO speculates that witches came from the eyes of King’s dad. And since we last ended off here, with the Collector...

Who knows? We might get some lore on the origins of witches after all (as well as Grimwalkers for Hunter, directly below), with the Collector able to explain how his disc was imprisoned in the skull! Maybe...

[patricida]

That the great serpent's quest for the radiant egg is a fool's errand, akin to the punishment of the Phrygian King, doomed forever to evade the object of its desire, is an oft repeated interpretation. Such unceasing glutonny, indeed, seems quite puerile on consideration.

The egg, invincible and absolute, stands in defiance of its own nature. An embryo enclosed in an unbreakable shell is fated to perennial gestation. No different, indeed, from a true mineral, unliving and eternal.

Clearly, the allegory means to convey the futility of eternal childhood and, indeed, all manner of longing toward immutable existence. The snake, incarnation of man's ever-exceeding lust resulting in cruelty to their fellows (see: the hateful blades), vainly deigns to conquer that which cannot be touched.

Additionally, the unaltering resplandescence of the egg could be taken as a corporeal image of the Future always untouchable, which the unvirtuous animal takes as a portent of its own irrevocable mortality.

The final inquiries, paradoxical in their nature, oblige the reader to confront the absurdity of their own state, accepting the truth of the ephemeral beyond mere fact: Could you, creature of flesh that you are, ever hope to achieve a desire so base and hopeless, even under the guise of a noble wish? Would that path not lead, despite itself, to the very same suffering and hatred? Is it not tempered in the salt tears of the world (sea as metonym)?

[tathrin]

I’ve been working on that LotR Zombie AU that I talked about a while ago, and it’s been fun! I’m actually several chapters in, and still enjoying it mightily, so I’ll hopefully start actually posting it soon but.

I keep going back-and-forth on whether or not I want to include this chapter or not. It’s pure exposition scene-setting, and while I enjoyed writing it and it was very helpful initially when I was figuring out the background for it all, it’s mostly exposition that gets covered better in other places now.

And I just can’t find a good place to insert it. I keep moving it around in between other chapters, and every time I’m like “yes, there, it fits there”...until I change my mind and move it again. So I think it might be time to just admit that it doesn’t fit anywhere, and cut it completely.

But before I do that, I figure I might as well share it with all of you:

It started, at least in Mirkwood, when the king came home. He was dead, of course; had been dead for three thousand years at that point. The world had changed so much in the years since his death that he would have barely recognized it—had he been conscious enough to see the lands he walked through. But he wasn't; he was dead.

He was Dead, and the Dead followed after.

Oropher, and Gilthawen, and Rhosslas, and Teithion, and Hebinastor, and all the others who had died with their king in the land of Mordor where the shadows lie. It started when the dead came home.

Their bodies should have rotted away to nothing long ago, nothing but the ghosts of dead faces staring up unseeing forever out of the fetid waters. They should have; but the Necromancer who had ruled that dark land, who had clawed his way out of his own grave more than once before, had left a mark on Mordor too deep to be erased even by his own destruction.

He had been a craftsman, after all, that maia once called Sauron and once called Mairon and even, once, named Annatar. He had been a craftsman, and his favorite medium was souls.

Perhaps someone should have worried more about those bodies in the Dead Marshes outside the land of Mordor. Perhaps someone should have worried sooner about the way their faces did not fade from the foul waters, even when their flesh was centuries gone.

Perhaps someone should have remembered that “Necromancer” had been one of the names by which he had been known, too. Perhaps someone should have remembered why.

The bodies in the Dead Marshes had drained to dust and rot centuries ago, leaving nothing but dead echoes rippling in the water. But that water lay outside a Necromancer's lair, in lands that had been long poisoned by his arts. Dead and gone they were, those Men and Dwarves and Elves and Orcs who had died fighting there so long ago; dead and gone and rotting…

But even dead, the echoes of their souls endured. Trapped, corrupted, their spirits rotting from within, they endured. And, eventually, they Rose.

The Risen Dead were no army to be commanded by the Wraiths who held dominion over the ruin of Mordor now. Their unliving corpses were driven only by hunger for life, for flesh.

Many of the Dead eventually followed the smell and sound and flickering lights of a great city to Minas Tirith, and there they fell on the white walls of Gondor's great capital first in a trickle and then as a tide. By the time the city knew to shut its gates, death was already inside the walls. An army of the dead stands there now—frothing and snapping, moaning with mindless hunger—outside the walls they cannot breach, while the few who slipped inside before the gates were shut lurch and spread through the winding tiers of the city so that Minas Tirith rots from within.

Others scattered, wandering off in whatever direction their lifeless eyes turned to in pursuit of any whisper of life that caught their senseless attention enough to draw them onwards. The Dead are everywhere now, found far beyond the reach of the rotting legs of those first corpses, for their infection spreads even faster than they do: it passes silently through air and water, undetected, not strong enough to kill…but inescapable, too. Now those dead who die in Middle-earth by other means Rise as well, and they spread the infection ever onwards in a growing wave of corpses and moans.

But Oropher…Oropher came back to Mirkwood.

Some said it was Dol Guldur looming like a lodestone, drawing the Dead. Others said it was because even in death, the forest still called her old king home.

Whatever the reason, he came, and Death followed with him.

Oropher came home, and the Rising began.

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: Worked themselves to exhaustion Rating: G Word Count: 2570 I whumped England but I actually whumped Ireland. England works himself to exhaustion because he makes bad life choices, Ireland begrudgingly picks up the pieces because England's life choices also affect the people around him. @badthingshappenbingo

Usually when Éire showed up at England's place in the middle of the night, he showed up to return to himself the things which England had stolen from him over the years.

Éire got a kick out of giving England no part in the transaction. It was a turning of tables long overdue... so, silent as the night, he’d take his things and leave no trace of himself.

He'd retrieve an old sword, a king's crown, his wand their mother had given him, his henri hippo money box... the usual objects his kleptomaniac of a little brother had seen and somehow immediately sensed that this, this had sentimental value attached, and dragged far misplaced from the original steward.

Usually when Éire showed up at England's place in the middle of the night, he would slip through the window. The old dusty one behind the garden rose bush, the one which had lost all its screws, which England still hadn't realised, and the same one which had lost the short decorative awning lip over the top to small faerie teeth. The window had a sideways damaged flair— that was why England planted the rose bush in the first place.

He was terrible at hiding the problems he refused to fix.

And Éire had gotten deftly skilled at dealing with the hurricane of problems left in the wake of what his youngest brother refused to fix.

But tonight was different even if his entry stayed the same.

Éire slipped into England's house with feather-feet. The storage closet heaps around him absorbed sound between their packed boxes, keeping him secret as if they, too, were on his side, begging to be rescued from the dust-forgotten corners of England's dragon hoard.

His fingers wrapped around the knotted bour wand in his pocket to retrieve the tool. A spell whispered under his breath caused a warm faerie glow to light like a firefly from the tip.

Then, stepping light-pawed around the boxes, Éire continued soundlessly. In the dark he was obscured: a lanky man dressed in brown tweed wool, a narrow movement between narrow spaces that moved a swift pace in a cat-like-gait.

He manoeuvred to leave the closet and he entered England's relatively new house. 

The halls were stoic to his presence as usual. They were oddly protective of the ugly deep green imitation of toxic Victorian wallpaper they drowned in, but the sheer number of paintings, posters, framed letters, photographs, and swords hanging over the painful paper drowned even the wall's colour.

Éire disliked this house less than he disliked the last one.

This house, particularly, had only actually been England's house for a few decades. The new residence was government owned rather than having been gifted to him by royals, which was almost a plus for Éire. See, after England’s last home had been rendered unliveable as it was a bombed, fifty room, bleed-your-taxes-out, museum of a pile of rubble, the UK authorities had leapt at the chance to shove him into a smaller, twenty room, bleed-due-to-your-housing-crisis-out, hoarders' paradise of an estate.

In Éire's opinion, the 'house' could probably squeeze five Westminsters and the Palace in it if England threw away his hoard.

Which, to him, meant the ‘house’ was way too large to justify one man living in it... the UK authorities should move his things into a museum or send them back to their owners and put him in a normal house like all the other privileged Britons.

And each of his brothers had been plushily treated to the same British bribery while Éire still lived on the same stoney island he'd claimed since Vikings would knock down his door. No one could make him budge.

He didn't understand why his siblings had all stumbled after similar impractical lifestyles.

Éire whispered a second spell under his breath, an old one he'd created, "dul sa tóir ar dhuine namhad." 

He flicked his fingers to his shoes, flicking magic as if it were water. The leather shoes absorbed the words and whispered back, d'aimsigh mé an deargnamhaid.

They began to walk and Éire trusted their direction.

Two things happened at once after a nice stroll through England's hoard.

Éire rounded a corner with cozy fire-feet.

A fizzle of sparkling firecracker-green wizzed by his head.

The crackling spark missed him by a lot. It struck a poor undeserving photograph of a horse and immediately splintered the glass like a shrieking spiderweb.

So that was how the little dragon was today...

Éire's magic smoothed an immediate fire-gold shield in front of himself.

England let loose a string of curses.

"Watch your magic. And your aim. That was horrendous on every front," Éire said.

His littlest brother cursed again.

He looked worse than he'd looked several days ago when Éire'd last seen him. England might've been attempting a furious glare, but the bags under his eyes were taking all of Éire's attention, and Éire couldn't focus on anything else except the massive purple bandit bruising on his face.

My God... those bags were three times larger than usual. He looked like a raccoon.

It suited the greedy little bastard.

"Get out of my house!" England said. He swayed on his feet like a goblin fortress threatening to collapse in the wind. 

"No thank you," Éire didn't smirk as he usually would. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the little beast yet, and he felt he should know before he began kicking anthills.

"What's got you leasing brain power into the void this week?" Éire said sceptically. "Three days ago, you missed your queue to imitate a frazzled pup when I called your latest political stunt the world's most irrelevant tantrum. Then you said, 'thank you' when I tossed a note containing a list of GIS data demands in the general direction of your head."

England narrowed his eyes. 

He looked deeply concentrated.

Then, "sorry," he said

Sorry? Éire almost laughed, because that was the wrong answer.

England must be feeling economically sick already to be that delirious. England didn’t say ‘sorry’ to him, ever.

"I'll ask Scot to write your obituary if he hasn't started already." Now Éire smirked. "Do you have a fever? Immediate global backlash? Investors betting on your poor choices? Well well well, consequences of your own actions." He was going to sprinkle salt in England's wound just to watch him squirm.

"Please get out of my house."

"Your house? Could've sworn I stood on public land. British taxpayers bought this place-"

"I don't have time to fight you tonight!" England growled. He stomped, but it was a weak stomp, and he nearly stumbled with the motion.

This pulled Éire off his elusive high horse and back onto his original mission, which was to make sure England wouldn't kneel over dead. A ruin of fun, really, but there was an unfortunate responsibility that came with being the eldest of four magical island men without a mother in sight.

"Are you drunk as well as sick?" Éire asked.

"What?"

"Are. You. Drunk?" Éire pronounced each word clearly and slowly for England's aid.

England's wrinkled raccoon peepers widened slightly and he shook his head adamantly. "Why'd you always think 'm drunk." He sounded genuinely puzzled and upset.

"It's a Saturday night, you're alone, yesterday you were withdrawn. Believe it or not, Arthur, you're an incredibly habitual creature."

"I'm not drunk!" 

"You're like a toddler trying to bike without stabilisers."

"Leave!" England boldly moved forward. Very pathetically he tried to push Éire.

His bones were fish floppy, his feet were flippered messes without stance, and his resolve faded before Éire could bother lowering his magical barrier to help England save his dignity.

"This is the worst attempt you've ever put forth in controlling me; this should earn you tears." 

Even in this poor state, England was desperately clutching filing cabinets and alphabetized dictionaries. Éire was a wild card no matter how desperately England attempted to tame him into his perfectly organised box of a universe. But this? This was a particularly resigned attempt to settle his order.

England's grip loosened and he wobbled more, steadied himself, and drooped. He was a staggering drunk.

He dropped further as if gravity had grabbed his shoulders and tugged him eagerly for a hug. 

"England, are you drunk?" He asked again. He was sterner and teasing in the same tone.

England didn't respond this time.

Was the little bastard going to kneel over and die? 

Éire... didn't know how to feel about that. He'd need at least a week to ponder whether to sing and dance or sacrifice a single tear or do both at once during his funeral.

Suddenly England's droop sloppily straightened, his fingers glowed a magic green, and Éire's barricade prepared to take another missed shot.

England's hand waved up at his own head as he muttered 'wake' at himself.

The green glow fizzled over England before sinking into his skin.

Immediately his littlest brother straightened fully. His eyes glazed sharp. His face contorted angerly as a mask over his tiredness.

"I'm not drunk, thank you very much, dear brother."

You had got to be kidding...

He was just sleep deprived?

And cursed?!

A magical method to force wakefulness didn't negate the necessity of sleeping!

"You're cursing yourself!" Éire accused. 

"Jealous?" England taunted.

"Of sleepless torture? Why would I be?!"

"That you didn't get to curse on me by your own hand," England clarified. He sneered in his ugly pug-face way which always made Éire want to swing a nice left hook into his flat Saxon skull.

The purple sagging under his eyes made Éire think twice about pummelling him. He was already pummelling himself.

"I can solve that problem and curse you now, you little bastard," Éire flicked his wand upwards. The wand summoned an opaque white fog of faerie dreams which twirled, misted, and glinted, in small, dreary loops around his wrist, ready to curse England into a deep sleep.

Alarmed, England put a few feet of distance between them.

"No, no, no you can't do that, I forbid you!" His hands waved up as if they could shield him.

"Oh yes I can." Éire grinned sharply. "You can't forbid me from anything."

"I'm not done working needs to be done before tomorrow I've a deadline another stack of documents— this pertains to you! This is interests you!" England shouted.

Éire lifted his chin. 

Clever intentional little bastard. Manipulative baby brother. Lying kid.

"Really?" He said, tilting his head. England brightened.

"Yes, very important," he gestured mindlessly at his desk, "this needs to be-"

Éire flicked the faerie fog off his tangle-bore wand into England's face.

England fell like a stack of bricks.

"You forgot that I don't care for your words," Éire told the soundly sleeping English lump. "... but, er, sorry mum," he mumbled as an afterthought. She never liked it when they fought. 

Éire stepped over England's sleeping form and strolled over to England's desk to check what he'd been forcing himself awake to finish.

A stack of documents lined one side. A smaller stack lined the other side. Highlighted on the paper in the centre of his desk was an EU document.

So... England was starting to fill out his divorce papers.

Éire would chuckle to himself if he wasn't tied to his brother's fate. The deadlines were indeed short, England might've been working for days without sleep if he wasn't being helped with all these documents.

Éire picked up a page and flicked the thing straight before reading aloud.

"The bilateral arrangements between the Union and the United Kingdom under the Protocol do not give rise to rights and obligations for third countries," he read the part circled next to a note scribbled illegibly.

Ouch... England getting labelled a 'third country' by the EU was exactly the cold shoulder which England had signed up for. It was different to see it first hand, though.

"Consequently, any imports pursuant to Union import tariff rate quotas or other import quotas applying to goods originating in a third country that are brought into Northern Ireland..." Éire paused as he focused much deeper into the document, "cannot be counted towards that third country’s rights vis-à-vis the Union, unless agreed by the third country. That situation poses a risk to the proper functioning of the Union’s internal market and the integrity of the Common Commercial Policy by allowing the possible circumvention of the Union’s tariff rate quotas or other import quotas."

England hadn't lied.

This was about him and his Union membership.

That made Éire feel odd. The little dragon's whole mouth was silver, to have heard him actually use the truth as his defence was weird.

This wasn't just England's battle, how'd England not bring this up to him three days ago? The foot Éire still had toward his little brother's United Kingdom would cause scruples over import and export tariffs as goods flowed freely without strict regulation between all of Éire's land regardless to which side it belonged. It was a tentative measure to ensure peace.

Dealing with that without contacting him? Ridiculous.

The fact that this made space for squabbling between England and his fresh break with the Union meant England should be meeting with Éire more often about this topic at hand. The Union wouldn't like how plausibly England could escape tariffs by utilising Éire's scar.

And if the Union got their ideal way, England might be further split from Éire's Northern half by regulation. The ordeal depended on how this particular negotiation ended. It wouldn't be a wise choice to put a customs border in the middle of Éire, as reinforcements of his split would call back to more violent times in his history.

But a customs border on the Irish sea would put Éire fully a fence away from the United Kingdom, separating his North half from their main source of imports.

Éire hummed and tapped two fingers to the corner of his mouth.

This... was a stick poking a delicate tower of cards. Éire could sense tension and riot material already.

Loyalists and Nationalists, back at it again with bricks and sticks and fire wicks.

No fun. Especially for Éire.

"You've tripped me for the thousandth time," Éire said to his sleeping brother. The thorn in his side always, the deep splinter in his foot which his own mother had made. England honestly couldn't help but jump off a cliff and knock Éire over in the process. 

England: professional discord sewer. 

An ironic situation considering England spent every second of his life attempting to control and sort everything into his own perfect order.

Éire sighed.

"If you didn't exist there'd be nothing on earth that could keep me humble. I might've been king. Let's get you to a proper bed," he begrudgingly told the little bastard. He was going to drag him over every stair-step like he and his other siblings did when England was passed-out drunk.

Then, he was going to make him sleep for three days before he lifted the spell. Mainly, because Éire didn't want to deal with him; secondly, when Éire did deal with him, he should be well rested and thinking with a clear head. This was his fight before it should be England's, but England had a part to play and he’d better play well. Éire wouldn't take the consequences of England's choices without driving his stake into the ground first.

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity: Masterlist

It's the distant future. The civilizations we know are long gone. The majority of what was once the US is now a nigh-unlivable desert. The remaining northeastern population clusters around the shrunken St Lawrence River. Christian fanaticism runs rampant.

Leannan is a concubine descended from a fallen angel, the last of his kind, immune to disease and not quite human, tasked by the will of God to serve his masters and bring them pleasure.

So he thinks, anyway.

Phineas is an accomplished bounty hunter with a rare gun and a rarer streak of luck. They steal Leannan, and see in him their ticket to power - but not before getting attached.

One dead king later and Leannan thinks he's scored big by becoming the whore-on-call for a dictatorial Council, but Phineas' plans don't stop there.

Will Phineas achieve their lofty aspirations? Will Leannan survive the Council to see them? And when things go wrong, will anyone come to save them?

Forged Divinity is a 53.9k word original fic. Blanket warnings for religious themes, institutionalized slavery, eugenics, abuse, noncon, dubcon, and an open/downer ending. And Google Translate.

Completed!

As a final note, Forged Divinity is very... uh... different from what I've put out previously. If it's not for you, no sweat!

Part 1: We Have a King to Kill

Chapter 1: Phineas Acquires Leannan

Chapter 2: Phineas Kills Some Bandits

Chapter 3: Phineas Strikes a Deal

Chapter 4: Leannan Talks Back

Chapter 5: Leannan Falls in a Hole

Chapter 6: Leannan Has Some Thoughts

Chapter 7: Leannan Meets an Old Master

Chapter 8: Leannan Has a Time of It

Chapter 9: Leannan Meets James

Part 2: This Place Was Supposed to be Perfect

Chapter 10: Leannan Meets Jeanette

Chapter 11: Leannan Hears a Book

Chapter 12: Phineas Plays With Leannan

Chapter 13: Leannan Befriends Maeve

Chapter 14: Enjolras Shows Up

Chapter 15: Leannan Breaks a Vow

Chapter 16: Enjolras Interrupts

Chapter 17: Leannan Learns the Plan

Chapter 18: Phineas Fucks Everything Up

Chapter 19: Leannan Gets a New Name

Chapter 20: Leannan Has a Panic Attack

Chapter 21: Leannan Makes a Choice

Part 3: Welcome to Goat Island

Chapter 22: Enjolras Puts Everyone to Bed

Chapter 23: Enjolras has a Misunderstanding

Chapter 24: Enjolras and Leannan Chat

Chapter 25: Leannan Comes Home

Chapter 26: Leannan Learns the Truth

Chapter 27: Leannan Fucks Everything Up

Chapter 28: Leannan is Miserable

Chapter 29: Phineas Makes a Threat

Special thanks to @angst-after-dark and @sunshiline-writes for beta reading!

SEQUEL:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Additional links:

Esperanto to English

Picrews

[suiseisyojo]

skip, step, turn♪

「tenshouin eichi x vivian // kiteichi」 ↳ commission for @yumebait ! wc: 1842 a/n: yay more kieichi! some angst lingering between the lines, but i hope you enjoy all the same! thank you for commissioning me, viv!

“Eichi—Eichi, are you awake?”

Wispy and nearly muted, Vivian called out to her childhood friend settled next to her in the king-sized bed; and when she heard silence, she knew she had to make the venture out of the bedroom alone.

The incredibly daunting venture.

What if she ran into one of Eichi’s family members? Or the on-site staff? They’ll look at her like she’s a nugatory bug worth no more than the dirt beneath their shoes as they always do whenever their haughty eyes meet hers.

Swallowing anxiously, the seam of her throat exacerbating in dryness, Vivian slowly slipped out from underneath the covers and left the only safe spot she knew in this mansion.

Vivian still hadn’t retained the layout of Eichi’s capacious home, and she knew for a fact that she was going to get lost at some point.

Crystals and ornate glass sculptures reflected purity all around her—or rather, perhaps, it was a lack thereof as it all felt so hollow. Even if her countenance was mirrored in the pellucid ornaments, Vivian surmised it didn’t seem right because she knew that Eichi truly doesn’t feel at home here.

Continuing to wander the contrived hallways with a sense of wonderment for the decorations, trying to navigate each lengthy stretch, Vivian felt utterly hopeless.

All she wanted was a glass of water⋯!

Vivian peered into a random room, discerning what appeared to be a bedroom within—although it seemed as if it was memorialised with the clear tarpaulins enveloping each piece of furniture. It clearly hadn’t been used in a long, long time.

And she kept discovering more and more rooms like that.

The entire house felt so empty, unlived in. The thought made Vivian sad, believing that even Eichi’s home imitated the vacant hospitals he was often confined to against his own will. Were all rich people so thoughtless with their homes? Aren’t homes supposed to parallel a feeling of solace and closeness?

Upon meandering some more, Vivian made her way into a grandiose room—veneered on the walls were ostentatious designs of unbridled luxury, golden and white in colour. Of course. Multiple chandeliers were casted from the high-rise ceiling; it was almost too much.

With the beams of moonlight filtering through the diaphanous curtains, Vivian for a moment felt like an itinerant princess in olden fairy tales.

Ambling into the middle of the space, Vivian couldn’t help but twirl fatuously to revel in the ambiance that would never belong to her. Yet the daydream was interrupted by the creaking of the doors, the clamour resounding and echoing not only throughout the room, but in the crevice of her chest.

Preparing to throw herself to the floor in shame and apols, Vivian scrutinised Eichi as the one stepping inside. Wasn’t he asleep?

“Vivian, here you were,” Eichi laughed, padding into the ballroom to come closer to her, “I woke up and you weren’t there. I was lonely, you know.”

“Not worried?” Vivian bantered back with a sheepish chortle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she realised he caught her playing around like a child.

“Well, I know you’d be safe in the Tenshouin home, so no; I wasn’t worried♪” Eichi said as he marvelled at her alluring movements, the sight of her embarrassed visage made his skin tingle with a featherlike ripple.

Once Eichi reached her side, Vivian could perceive the lurid exhaustion rimming his blue irises; and she thought that he shouldn’t have gotten up to look for, even if the gesture made her nerves burst with exultation. 

“I see you found the ballroom.”

“Are you sure you don’t live in a castle?”

Shaking his head, Eichi swept his gaze upwards; an almost wistful glisten shining in his eyes. “It must feel like that to you. What do you think? Do you like it?”

There seemed to be some sort of implication in his question, with how he spoke it so subduedly and yet with a barely concealed yearning.

“Do I like it? Well, I don’t think it matters?” Vivian softly began, although she knew she always dreamed of being like a real princess⋯ walking through the halls earlier just made her sick to her stomach. “I think I’d only like it if you were constantly by my side.”

Quickly, Vivian realised what nuance those words might’ve held, and got flustered over the notion that Eichi might catch on to the wrong idea. “L-Like, or a staff member? Who needs big hallways like that to make yourself just feel smaller, you know?!”

A gale of effervescent laughter oozed from Eichi’s vocals, the noise resonating with Vivian’s timorous feelings and making her heart flutter. “That’s a good way to put it,” Eichi couldn’t help but affirm her thoughts, “it’s like imagining an idol on stage with no one in the audience.”

“That would never happen to you!” Vivian felt the overwhelming need to reassure Eichi, a firm and staunch worry laced in her voice; so completely protective over his well-being. “I’d always be watching you! I promise!”

A genuine smile curved on Eichi’s lips as his precious childhood friend avowed her loyalty to his career; to him.

Eichi strode further into the ballroom, admiring it for all that it is—and isn’t. A snapshot of a desolate venue coruscated across his vision, his gut twisting with wretched inquietude. For Eichi, it wasn’t only himself he concerned himself with⋯ it was all idols.

“That makes me happy. I’d be able to give it my all if you were in the audience at every performance,” airy and light, Eichi said that to her; another heap of a faraway longing glazing over his eyes. “But I know it’s impossible for you to be at every single one as much as I wish for it.”

Feeling her heart squeeze, Vivian made a silent pledge to herself to do her best to fulfil that wish—even if it seemed impossible. After all, the princesses in every fairy tale always find a way! Although, maybe her role was better fitted for the loyal sidekick⋯⋯

“What’s with that sad expression, Vivian?”

“O-Oh, nothing⋯!” Vivian hastily dismissed his solicitousness, before saying, “We should head back to bed, right? It’s not good for you to be missing sleep like this.” 

“You got up from bed for a reason, didn’t you? Besides, I heard that staying up late to cause chaos is commonplace for sleepovers, fufu♪” Eichi was insouciant, impervious to the concern in her words and she didn’t know why.

“I just wanted a glass of water,” Vivian shyly laughed at the thought. “I ended up finding this place instead.”

For a moment, Eichi looked lost in thought.

“Before we head back, why don’t we take advantage of having the ballroom to ourselves?” Eichi queried, extending out a hand to her, “Usually it’s filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces; strangers I’m supposed to pretend to know, when I never truly will.”

That statement along only accentuated the loneliness Vivian knew Eichi was endlessly plagued with, and she reached forward on a rupture of courage to seize his hand into her own as he offered it. “I-I don’t really remember a lot of the fancy dance moves you taught me, but I’d love to dance with you, Eichi!”

Those were the words he wanted to hear.

“We don’t have anyone to play music for us, so I’ll hum, how does that sound?” Eichi asked whilst gently pulling Vivian back into the middle of the dance floor.

Nodding her head eagerly, Vivian chirped, “Perfect! Your singing voice is so pretty anyway.”

Vivian was sincere in her plaudit, trying her best to stave off the embarrassment beginning to swell in her gut as she felt Eichi press his body against hers.

Guiding her hands around him, placing them on his shoulder and into her hand, Eichi leaned down and whispered in her ear, hot breath fanning over the shuddering lobe, “Are you ready?”

Humming once she quietly voiced her willingness, Eichi’s euphonious and mellow voice filled the room; imbuing grace and pulchritude in the clefts of solitude and emptiness.

The two of them were garbing their pyjamas in the middle of an exalted ballroom, streams of glorious moonlight highlighting their frames as they slowly began to move together in tandem with Eichi’s beats.

There was something so cherished and splendid about the scene.

And for a moment, with the light shining upon his mien, Vivian thought she saw Eichi blushing. Was he feeling just as self-conscious as she was? Being this close to Eichi in such an intimate setting⋯ it made her heart take flight. Was that weird of her? But what if he was feeling the same? No way⋯ they’re just friends.

“Ah, Vivian, it’s a step back here,” Eichi genteely corrected her, albeit she heard a tincture of mirth underscoring his tone. As if he was covertly amused by her faults.

“I-It is⋯?!” she squeaked, desperately trying to fix her posture and steps. How many times had Eichi taught her this simple dance? And yet she can never get it right. It wasn’t her fault, she thought, having him stare at her with such rapt attention as they dance was making her too tense and nervous. “Sorry⋯”

“Fufu, don’t apologise. It’s cute to watch you being all fidgety♪” Eichi’s voice is hushed in the air as he took a cursory moment to respond to her, his singing stopping; yet he was still able to guide her immaculately as if it never did stop at all.

Beneath her flustered state, Vivian couldn’t help but be in awe at how impressive Eichi was. Even though he looks patently exhausted, he’s still able to effortlessly swirl her around to perfection whilst talking; balancing all that on himself.

“Geez, d-don’t call me that!”

“Cute? But you are,” Eichi innocently remarked, although he was anything but. “Can’t someone compliment his favourite friend?”

Ah, right. Stop getting ahead of yourself, Vivian. She chastised herself, telling herself it was completely normal for friends to compliment each other. As a plethora of thoughts gyrated in Vivian’s head, it only magnified her diffidence.

Abruptly, and not in accordance with the dance he taught her, Eichi spun Vivian and dipped her; displaying his strength, discombobulating her and causing her to yelp.

“You’re making that face again, Vivian,” Eichi started, almost tentatively, and kept her suspended in the air as he supported her with all his might. “I suppose it’s rude to comment so often on a lady’s appearance, though. I’m sorry.”

But for Eichi, it was difficult. He was ceaselessly paying attention to Vivian’s diverging faces and expressions, but he could never tell her why.

Bringing her back onto her feet, Eichi wondered why the distance between them suddenly felt so large. Their bodies were flush against one another, with Eichi feeling her heat and how the fabric of their silken pyjamas slid together with every motion they make together, yet he couldn’t reach into her mind; her heart.

This home of his is truly lonely, isn’t it?

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #282: CAPTIVES

August, 1987

Prisoners of the GODS!

In one sense, prisoners of the gods, yes, that is going on. The Avengers are clearly imprisoned by one or more gods.

But did you ever consider that from the gods’ perspective, its a gotta catch ‘em all of the Avengers?

I mean, Neptune (geez Marvel, stick to either Roman or Greek pantheons ffs) went out of his way to catch Namor and Namor hasn’t been on the team since before the Masters of Evil thing.

That’s completionist energy.

Wait... is the Collector behind this? Yeah, he died but when has that ever stopped anyone in comics for long?

ANYWAY

Last times on Avengers: the Masters of Evil attacked the Avengers and managed to smash up the mansion and beat Hercules into a coma. There was a roster shake up as Thor and She-Hulk cycled back in, Dr Druid joined for some reason, Wasp went on a well-deserved vacation, and Hercules was in a coma.

That last point is the sticking point of this arc, it seems. Because Hermes kidnapped Hercules out of the hospital and then lured Thor to Olympus so Hephaestus and Ares could beat him up. While Hermes, Dionysus, and Artemis beat up the Avengers on Earth, partially by tricking She-Hulk into eating a drugged cherry Italian ice.

With the Avengers sufficiently beat the shit up, Zeus appeared to tell them they were on his shit list for letting Hercules make bad decisions and get beaten into a coma.

And rather than seek revenge on the ones who did the beating, Zeus is taking it out on the Avengers.

Because Zeus is a dick.

The story continues!

The story continues with Namor minding his own business for a change, just enjoying hanging out with his new wife Marrina (oh hey, congrats!) when the ocean goes nuts with the shaking.

Namor saves some people that rocks fell on and then swims out with Marrina to investigate.

They notice some Atlantean refugees fleeing and go to help them because they’re the cool guys brave enough to join Namor in exile rather than live in Attuma ruled Atlantis.

But then Neptune pops up out of the ground, yells at Namor for questioning his will when Namor asks about the earthseaquakes, and then drags Namor down to hell.

Saying “that happened” can be a cheap joke but really, the Atlantean refugees and Marrina standing around looking at the crack in the ground that a god popped out of and then sank back into after kidnapping their king has peak “that happened” energy.

Of course, I was joking about Neptune dragging Namor to hell.

He brings him to Hades instead.

Because god of oceans, he can just pop right out of the River Styx.

Neptune expresses some regret that things gotta be how they’re being and that Namor deserves better than this (open to debate). Why, if it weren’t for Neptune’s covenant with Zeus, Neptune never would have reverse raptured Namor to Hades.

But the brotherly covenant is a thing so Neptune turns Namor over to Cerberus to bring to Pluto.

EXCEPT HOLD ON

THIS INDIVIDUAL MAY BE CALLED CERBERUS BUT HE IS NO CERBERUS OF MINE!

Greek god dammit, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, are there no monsters of myth you won’t just turn into a grimacing dude in Kirbarian armor??

Boo!

Anyway.

Namor comes to while I Refuse To Call Him Cerberus is hauling him across the dismal fields of Hades like a sack of damp potatoes.

The Abstastic Avenger slips loose and tries to choke Not Cerberus with his shackles despite the dude wearing a helmet that covers his throat. And Cerberus just breaks the chain anyway so the whole exercise was a little pointless.

Well, almost pointless.

Namor was looking for answers and he got answers and stepped on to boot.

Namor: Tell me now -- who are you? Where am I? Why have I been brought here? Speak!”

Not Cerberus: “You think to threaten Cerberus?! Truly you are bereft of all reason! Know ye, mortal, that Cerberus is guardian of Hades, land of the unliving! ‘Tis there you be... by the grace of my Master Pluto and the will of Zeus!”

Namor throws Not Cerberus off of himself and then decides that really what he needs to do now is take a nice refreshing dip.

Except the nearest water is the River Styx and its full of monsters and it flows into the River Phlegethon WHICH IS ON FIRE!

He’s having a bad time.

Namor washes up unconscious on the shore observed by a shadowy figure.

But this is apparently one of those beneficent shadowy figures because when Namor regains consciousness again, he finds that his shackles are gone and burns that should have taken months to heal have gone away with a quick nap.

(Is Namor an JRPG character?)

(No.)

The shadowy figure introduces himself, or rather doesn’t introduce himself, but at least announces his presence and explains to Namor that he healed him with various poultices.

Oh, I see. Just an ordinary doctor passing by, is it?

The mysterious cloaked figure who pointedly does not tell Namor his name also tells Namor that he was brought to Hades to join the Avengers in captivity and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW IT, the Avengers are being held in the garrison of the accursed Fortress Tartarus just to the right.

Can’t miss it.

Then the mysterious cloaked figure vanishes into the mists rather than answer any more questions.

Mysterious cloaked figure, vanishing into the mists: “I can say no more. The fate of the Avengers now depends on you! Do not fail them, Namor... do not fail”

I guess people don’t become mysterious cloaked and/or shadowy figures unless they love drama.

Anyway.

Namor heads to the doom fortress and finding no entrances makes one by punching the crap out of a drainage duct.

Where he immediately runs into some soldiers of Hades. Who he immediately beats up because he’s Namor. He also steals the armor off of one because yes, we’re going full... whatever you call this. Death Star infiltration? Its a trope and it definitely predates Star Wars.

Before long, Armored Variant Namor finds the deepest dungeon that the Avengers are being held in.

And I guess the order of the day is just random torture? The gods beat up the Avengers and threw them to Hades and now they’re just being randomly tortured?

Captain America is attached to a big wheel, Dr Druid is here for some reason and hanging from shackles, Captain Marvel is in a metal sarcophagus which is blocking her powers, and in an effective but cruel twist She-Hulk is chained to Black Knight.

Maybe the dungeons of Hades didn’t have anything strong enough to hold her but by chaining her to Black Knight, they made it so the only way She-Hulk can bust herself loose is to tear Black Knight in half.

Afraid of the torturers using the imprisoned Avengers as hostages, Namor pretends he’s just another guard who wants to steal the spoils for himself.

He punches all the guards who are pawing over what they took from the Avengers, claims that its all his now, and dismissively throws away Cap(tain America)’s shield as gaudy.

It just so happens that the throw bonks the shield off the chains holding She-Hulk and Black Knight together but nobody notices that over what a dick disguised Namor is being.

His secret superpower is taking up so much oxygen in the room that nobody notices anything but ‘and now here’s this asshole.’

The torturer that was about to torture Black Knight goes to attack disguised Namor with Black Knight’s blade but freed by the shield bonk, Black Knight does that thing he can do that he doesn’t get enough chances to do.

He summons the extremely cursed Ebony Blade out of the torturer’s hands and into his own. And then he knocks out the torturer with the flat of the blade.

While She-Hulk joins disguised Namor in beating the crap out of the guards, Black Knight rushes over to cut Cap(tain America) loose from the big wheel. But Cap(tain America) tells him to free Cap(tain Marvel) first instead.

In fairness, she’s maybe their biggest gun.

Black Knight figures that the metal sarcophagus is probably enchanted to contain Monica but luckily Black Knight’s extremely cursed sword can cut through it.

Captain Marvel is ready to get some revenge for being locked in a box but She-Hulk and Namor didn’t leave any guards left unpunched.

But the breakout isn’t complete as Dr Druid notices that Thor isn’t in this dungeon so now they gotta go find him.

Of course, that just makes Namor wonder ‘hey actually what the here is going on here?’

Because he still has no idea what the plot is. He’s just been acting on punchstinct.

Of also course, the Avengers had no idea they were in Hades so everyone is a little surprised right now.

Captain Marvel does her Avengers chairperson duty of expositing the previous issue, to fill in Namor.

Actually though, the recap is only one panel and one additional narrative caption. The rest of the flashback is new content.

Pretty neat although it does mean that the entire previous issue gets smooshed down to ‘Hercules’ family ambushed us and took us to Olympus so Zeus could yell at us. What a dick.’

And yeah, what a dick.

When Zeus blames the Avengers for Hercules’ condition, Captains America and Marvel defend themselves by saying it was Hercules’ own dumbass that got his dumb ass beaten to near death.

Which... maybe not the best tone to take to a grieving, vengeful father?

Zeus: “Lies! I have learned how Hercules suffered your taunts and torments! I will not hear the lies of mortals!”

Thor suggests that maybe the truth will sound more believable coming from a fellow god and longtime friend to Hercules like.... well, Thor.

But Zeus takes the bold move of claiming that Thor isn’t Thor because hey what’s with that new armor. Also, even if you are Thor, screw you Thor, mighty Zeus don’t listen to a god that’s “so servile to mortal beings”.

Thor gets angry at being called servile and just FLEXES out of his bonds, then runs over and punches Ares who had the misfortune of being the wrong extremely punchable face at the wrong time and place.

But Zeus just zaps Thor, which I presume freezes or knocks out Thor. Dunno, flashback ends.

Either way, that’s how they got from last issue to now. And the bonds the Olympians put on the Avengers prevented them from using their powers. The Olympians knocked them out and then next thing they knew, they were in a dungeon.

Namor blames himself for being absent because maybe if he’d been around, Hercules wouldn’t have gotten so hurt.

Which Black Knight dismisses as ‘no, dumbass would still have managed it.’

The Avengers run into a massive army of Hades’ soldiers? Goons? Guards?

Why does Hades have so many employees??

The Avengers start making short work of them because c’mon. They’re a faceless army of mooks. They exist to make the Avengers look cool.

She-Hulk even hits one dude with another dude.

The only thing they have going for them is numbers. Thousands of numbers.

But that’s just a ‘don’t let them surround you but do keep doing your cool moves’ moment, not a ‘we should retreat because we’re massively outnumbered.’

Dr Druid even gets to make some of the warriors see an illusory image of him to get them to hit each other.

Pretty good.

I like that his powers require him to be a little creative.

Black Knight continues being a dude with a sword who doesn’t like hitting people with a sword. But he can hit other peoples’ weapons with your weapons to break their weapons.

The things that cannot be cut by his Ebony Blade, forged by Merlin, are next to none.

Captain America takes a moment out of punching dudes to watch Namor punch dudes and pines for him to rejoin the Avengers.

I swear, nobody likes Namor more than Captain America does.

And She-Hulk punches dudes but then grabs one and demands to know where Thor is.

This is the army of the dead so do they have anything to fear from her? I mean, aside from pain. Nobody wants to be punched by a Hulk multiple times.

Apparently the guy does tell She-Hulk where Thor is because the scene cuts to where Pluto is keeping him prisoner by having a giant rock block placed on top of him.

Is this comeuppance for all the people he’s pinned under Mjolnir?

Also, like many fictional depictions of Hades/Pluto, he is just a jerk.

Pluto: “It has been centuries since brother Zeus allowed me any new subjects to do with as I wish! Having you at my mercy is a treat far sweeter than this honeyed wine, Asgardian -- you’ve interfered with all too many of my plans!’

Dang, Pluto Hades hasn’t been the same since his wife left him, I assume.

(It’d be funny if Persephone was around and was like ‘you’re doing great, dear’)

The guy I will never acknowledge as Cerberus comes in and tells Pluto that Namor jumped into the Styx so is probably super dead and Pluto calls him an idiot for just assuming that a guy called the Sub-Mariner wouldn’t survive being dunked in a dangerous river.

Instantly proven correct because the Avengers and Namor bust in right after Pluto tells Not Cerberus to go find Namor. Namor and She-Hulk punch Cerberus and knock him out and right on top of Pluto.

Black Knight breaks the giant rock block on top of Thor with a pretty sweet sword throw and Captain Marvel CHOOMs Thor’s shackles off.

Captain America notes that Thor doesn’t seem alright lately and Thor decides to confide in his best mortal friends, the Avengers and also Dr Druid who is there for some reason.

You know the deal or should if you’ve read Walt Simonson’s run on Thor, which you should.

Thor: “The death-goddess Hela has put a curse ‘pon me... rendering my bones brittle and unable to heal, while granting me life eternal... so that I would have no escape from the pain! In recent days, I have known agony beyond imagining. I created this armor to hold together my shattered body, that I might still function as befits a son of Odin. I... regret I did not tell you this before.”

Pluto, who of course is still in the room and hasn’t even been too inconvenienced by having a not-giant not-doggo dropped on him comments that he wished he knew about Thor’s curse so that he could have arranged more painful accommodations than just putting a giant rock block on him.

Thor warns that Pluto’s power is second only to that of Zeus (wow, get fucked Neptune Poseidon I guess) which the Avengers doubt until Pluto shoots some pew pew blasts at them.

Its not really selling the second only to Zeus who is equivalent of Odin thing even if he says he’s trying to torment them, not kill.

Either way, Captain Marvel blasts the ground so Pluto loses his footing and then everyone RUN AWAYYYYY on her command.

Fall back, technically. Its the more tactical version of FLEEEE but either way its a retreat which Namor hates but does anyway.

And She-Hulk busts the door on her way out so it’ll be harder for Pluto to chase them.

Because yes definitely the room only had one entrance and I bet he can’t just OH YEAH through the wall, being second only to Zeus and all.

Since Mjolnir is trapped on Olympus and none of the other Avengers have portal powers, the Avengers head towards the only path between Hades and Olympus.

THE PATHWAY OF INFINITY!

Its called a pathway, Thor calls it a bridge, and Black Knight calls it a stairway to heaven.

But it looks like a particularly wide ramp.

Cool of Olympus to be wheelchair accessible.

Maybe the grade is too steep? I really can’t tell.

The Avengers set up? down? the PATHWAY OF INFINITY! Thor tells Captain Marvel not to fly too high above the path because it is all the links the two realms of Hades and Olympus and to stray risks becoming lost in the abyss.

And Monica has gotten lost in an abyss enough for one life, thank you.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take Pluto long to catch up with his hell army and his giant hell tank and his giant hell tank blows up a portion of the bridge (he calls it a bridge. Can a pathway be a bridge? I swear, it looks like a ramp).

The Avengers all stand near the broken portion discussing how they don’t have time to fly or jump across before the army of Hades is upon them.

Maybe if you spent less time verbally establishing that fact and more time hustling?

Also, the bridge looks a lot less wide now for some reason.

Thor volunteers to stay behind and hold off the hell army.

Which has to be reminding him of something in his recent past. I mean. A bridge. A hell army. Is he thinking of Skurge right now? Thinking it should have been him instead?

Didn’t Skurge bonk him on the head and send him away with the others at the time because he felt Thor was less expendable? Could be a survivor’s guilt thing.

I don’t know if that was on Roger Stern’s mind when he was writing this though. Could be a coincidence.

Anyway, Captain Marvel, as leader, tells Thor fuck that idea. They’re not leaving anyone behind.

Captain Marvel: “Stand or fall, we’re all in this together!”

Thor: “I cannot dissuade you? Then, so be it! Though every demon in Hades rises ‘gainst us, let the Netherworld rock with the power of the Avengers!”

Heaven or Hell, Lets Rock!

Gosh, how will the Avengers get out of this one?

I mean, the hell army is no big deal. They’ve already beaten up thousands of Pluto’s guards.

The big man himself and his big tank are more of a concern.

Also: WHY DOES PLUTO HAVE A TANK??

Follow @essential-avengers​ to learn the answer for why Pluto has a tank. Just kidding, I have no idea! Like and reblog please!

[dragons-ire]

Gold from Galvanth's Hoard - The Legend of the Dullahan

Howard Shore - The Doors of Durin

A long time ago, in a place long since forgotten, there was a king who ruled over a vast kingdom.

His demesne stretched for malms around, twisting beneath the earth, out of sight from the sun and the forest above. For in those days, mortals still lived in fear of the elements that held dominion of the worlds above, and hid their faces and lived beneath their sight.

Still, buried as it was, the kingdom did well. They grew foods that thrived with little light, and they flourished in the dark and prospered there.

In his hall beneath the earth, the king prospered as well above his subjects. His riches and treasure were numerous - a vast trove of coin and jewels and other things pulled from the depths of the ground.

To keep his wealth safe from the larcenous and the ambitious alive, he appointed his most faithful knights to keep watch over his treasure hoard and to keep it safe from those who might seek to plunder or corrupt it.

The king’s knights knelt to swear a powerful oath to their liege, and they took up their vigil. No one got in to look upon the king’s magnificent treasure, and none who had seen it in those times spoke of it to the outside.

But - as all things do - the world began to change. The king grew old and eventually died. His people, bereft of his leadership that had kept them united, began to scatter. Eventually, some of them began to venture towards the surface and the sunlight, to make peace with the elements and bright world above.

Others followed, and the ones that remained swindled until they no longer had the numbered to keep up the great domain they’d once flourished in.

Eventually, it fell to ruin.

As for the knights who were sword to protect their king’s riches, the, too, fell to the passage of time. But it’s said the power of their oath was such that their spirits did not pass to the next life in their final moments. Instead, they remained behind, bound by duty to the armor and weapons they had borne in life.

It was bound such they continued to keep silent vigil even as their kingdom crumbled around them. Their king passed into the next world, and they could do naught. The people left and their home abandoned - at least, until legends of the riches that had been left behind reached the ears of treasure hunters on the surface. They came in small bands here and there to plunder what they could by the handful.

It’s easy to imagine the first of them surprised when a costly suit of armor in the middle of the hoard first roused of its own accord to strike out with a weapon. But a surprise is not always a deterrent. The dead are slow, after all, and the living are quick.

Slow as they were, however, they were yet strong  - fueled by the unholy strength of the unliving, a single placed strike could easily cleave a foolhardy adventurer in twain. And their duty, in death as in in life, would not go unfulfilled. Pursuing thieves in the ruins turned to hunting anyone who ventured too close, or wandered too far into the remains of the old kingdom.

The dullahan, as they came to be called, came to herald the doom of any who crossed them.

Clever travelers in the Black Shroud know to avoid the old places where the haunted armor still wanders in search of thieves long dead and treasure long scattered. 

Or, if they must brave those places, might carry a bit of wealth out of superstition. A coin, a bit of jewelry or some other precious thing.

Perhaps if offered to a dullahan - if they should be unlucky enough to encounter one - it will be enough for it to be mistaken for a bit of royal treasure returned.

At least, long enough for them to pass safely by.

[critter-in-skyrim]

Healing Ulfric (chapter 1)

Ezra knew coming here was a terrible idea, even before he stepped into the Palace of Kings. He stood outside the castle in the snow, staring at the doors for several minutes, fiddling with the letter in his hands. 

“Are you going in, or what?” a Stormcloak Soldier asked him suddenly, causing Ezra to flinch. 

“Y-yes, yes, I am…” he stuttered out. Taking a deep breath, Ezra reached out, pulling the large doors open.

Ezra had been inside the Palace of Kings a handful of times, but that had merely been to visit with the court wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving. Never had he dared to enter the main part of the hall before, let alone speak to the man who resided there. Ezra hesitated, gazing at said man.

Ulfric Stormcloak, in all his glory, sat upon an imposing stone throne at the very end of the great hall. He was a large, intimidating man, much larger than Ezra. Wild, golden blond hair erupted from his head, and he wore a combination of elegant Jarl’s robes and armor. He was speaking quietly with his right hand man, Galmar Stone-Fist. His steel gray eyes suddenly focused on Ezra.

“You there. Boy,” Ulfric Stormcloak’s voice boomed through the hall. Ezra shivered. “Stop loitering. Approach the throne.”

Ezra swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He followed Ulfric’s directions, though, coming to stand before him. Ezra suddenly felt very self conscious of the ragged robes and scarf he wore around his head. Unsure of what to do, he bowed.

“Only the brave or the foolish dare to come before me. Which one are you?” Ulfric asked, his voice even.

Ezra hesitated, unsure whether to answer that question or not. 

This seemed to royally piss off Galmar. “When the Jarl asks you a question, you answer, Redguard,” he snapped. Ezra flinched. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Ezra said quickly. “I just…I received this letter from Wuunferth the Unliving, asking me to come help…”

“Help?” Ulfric asked, narrowing his eyes. “Help with what?”

Ezra swallowed hard, glancing at Galmar. Focusing on Ulfric again, he held out the letter. “It’s all in this note.”

Ulfric frowned, but took the note. 

Ezra shifted from foot to foot as he watched Ulfric read the letter. His expression remained passive the entire time. When he finished reading, he folded the note and tucked it away. “I see,” was all he said.

Ezra bit his lip. “If…my services are no longer required-”

“Go wait upstairs, in my private quarters,” Ulfric interrupted him. “I will be along shortly.”

Ezra’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He made his way over to the door that led to the Jarl’s Quarters, where a guard was waiting to escort him

“What’s going on? Who is this Redguard?” Galmar asked, clearly not enjoying being out of the loop.

“Nevermind that,” Ulfric said, a note of finality in his voice. “Let’s get back to what we were discussing before…”

Their voices faded away, as Ezra and the guard made their way up the stairs. They came to a long corridor with lots of doors on either side. The guard led him all the day down to the end, to a large, reinforced door, holding it open for him.

The Jarl’s private quarters were dimly lit and smaller than Ezra would have expected. It gave the room a rather homey feel. In the center of the room was Ulfric’s bed, draped in velvet and furs. It looked so plush - Ezra longed to sleep on something so elegant. 

Ezra took a seat by the fireplace, to wait for the Jarl. It took much longer than he was expecting, though, as eventually, he began to drift off to sleep. 

He was awakened when the door opened rather roughly. He lurched to his feet as Ulfric entered the room. Immediately, gray eyes were focused on him.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbled, sounding less-than pleased. “You’re here.”

“Y…yes sir,” Ezra gave a small nod. “I’m here to help…”

Ulfric sneered, going over to his wardrobe. He removed the heavy fur mantel he wore. “Do you know how you can really help?” Ezra opened his mouth to respond, but Ulfric didn’t give him the chance. “You can put an end to this bloody war.”

“I…I’m sorry…” Ezra said, helplessly. “I-”

“Nevermind,” Ulfric interrupted, turning back to face Ezra. He looked the smaller man up and down, frowning. “What is your name?”

“Ezra,” he said, wringing his hands anxiously.

“Right. And you are…” Ulfric crossed his arms.

“A healer,” Ezra answered the unspoken question.

“Hmph,” Ulfric made a sound. “I see.”

“Ezra shifted nervously. “I…I assume Wuunferth sent that letter to me without your knowledge…?”

“You would be correct,” Ulfric sounded almost tired as he said that. Ezra didn’t blame him.

About a week ago, Ezra had received a letter from Wuunferth the Unliving, concerning Ulfric Stormcloak’s health. He had said that Ulfric was dealing with a severe form of Rockjoint that was progressing rather rapidly. Wuunferth had been trying to help him, but his specialties lied in making poisons and destruction magic, not healing. That was why he had decided to contact Ezra, as Ezra was one of the best Healers he knew, who also wasn’t on the Imperial side of the Civil War. 

Ezra swallowed hard. “I’m…I’m so sorry…If my services aren’t needed, I will be on my way…” Ezra turned for the door.

“Wait…” Ulfric said, stopping him. Ezra once again turned to look at him. Ulfric looked as though he was waging an internal war. “While I am…displeased with how Wuunferth handled this, I believe his heart was in the right place. After all, I…do require your assistance with something.”

Ezra’s eyes widened. He had half-expected to be tossed out of the palace after he had learned that Wuunferth’s message had been sent without the Jarl’s consent. But instead, it seemed like Ulfric was willing to accept help.

“Your joints must be very painful…” Ezra guessed, his voice sympathetic.

“The feeling is not one of pleasure,” Ulfric admitted.

Ezra began rummaging around in his alchemy satchel. “Could you remove your armor and outer layers of clothes? I need to get a feel for your joints to see what I’m dealing with.”

Ulfric looked like he was going to protest, but instead, he sighed, following Ezra’s instructions. Eventually, he was wearing nothing but an undershirt and pants. While he was a little less intimidating like this, Ezra still hesitated to give him orders.

“What now?” Ulfric asked, prompting Ezra to point to a chair by the fire.

“T-take a seat, and I’ll look you over…”

Ulfric did as instructed. Ezra approached him cautiously, like one would an injured bear. After a few moments of him standing there awkwardly, Ulfric let out an irritated sigh.

“What are you waiting for, boy?”

“S-sorry. I just…” Ezra stuttered. “I-in order to properly assess things, I need to…touch you. Is…that alright…?”

Ulfric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said eventually.

Ezra nodded to himself. After another moment of hesitation, Ezra reached out with thin, scarred hands, touching Ulfric’s shoulder. 

Ezra worked quickly, so as not to make Ulfric too uncomfortable. First, he started with his arms, feeling his way from shoulder to elbow to wrist. Then he moved onto Ulfric’s legs, feeling his way down to his ankles. The last major place Ezra needed to check was Ulfric’s back - that was usually where Rockjoint revealed how severe it was.

Ezra’s hands were gentle as they worked, often lingering on areas he could tell were especially painful. By the time he had completed his assessment, he was frowning deeply.

“With how severe your Rockjoint is, it’s a miracle that you are upright, let alone able to move!” Ezra exclaimed.

“Just tell me you can help me,” Ulfric said tiredly.

“I…I can help you,” Ezra said haltingly. “But…it might take a while before you’re fully healed. A-and…the healing process might be a little more…invasive, than you would like…”

“Invasive?” Ulfric questioned. “How so?”

Ezra pulled a potion bottle from his satchel. “This is a topical healing salve I made. It works alongside a healing spell I cast…which means-”

“You have to apply the salve, I can’t do it myself,” Ulfric pieced things together. “How many times would this have to happen?”

“As many times as it takes,” Ezra said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Likely twice a day, for at least a week…”

Ulfric let out a heavy sigh at that, gazing into the fire. After a moment, he spoke, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Ezra nibbled on his lip nervously. “I promise, I will do everything in my power to heal you. You can count on me, sir.”

“I will hold you to that,” Ulfric said seriously. Ezra was unsure if that was a veiled threat or not.