#tales from the crypt x reader

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 1,058

Picture NOT mine.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 9 minutes & 40 seconds

Is Billy awful? Yep. Do I care? Nope. It's Bill Paxton, so I could care less. I'd still let him hit it. I made the reader a singer in this story, and I wrote with the idea that your a singer similar in style to Lana Del Rey. But you can imagine whatever you'd like, because I never describe the music. I just feel that some of Lana's music fits real well with him.

Also if you've not seen this episode, you can find it here on YouTube. And if you're curious what season and episode it is, its from season 5 episode 5. "People who live in brass hearses" is the name of the episode, and it aired on October 13, 1993. If you'd rather check out the wiki talking about this episode, you can find that here. Also Billy is most definitely OOC.

"You'll really like her Billy, she's real nice, and pretty too!" Virgil beamed at his older brother, who'd just gotten home from prison earlier that day. "Yeah?" Billy smiled softly at his brother's enthusiasm, glad to finally be home, and back with his numbskull of a brother. "Yeah. She moved in next door a few days after you were sent to prison." Virgil yammered on and on about how he met the lovely girl from next door, and how much she helped him while Billy was gone. "If she's so great, then why'd she help a goof like you?" Billy teased his brother while playfully ruffling his hair. "I told ya Billy, she's real nice. You'll see." Virgil promised, continuing to lead his brother to their destination. "Where exactly are we going?" Billy asked as he took in his surroundings, not much had changed from the two years he was gone. Aside from a house or two that had been demolished, and a few businesses changed to something else. "She's a singer Billy, and she's got a show tonight. I thought you might like seeing her sing." Virgil explained, his words having caught Billy's attention.

"Why do you want me to meet her so bad? And see her sing?" Billy asked, pulling Virgil's arm, to get him to stop and answer his questions. "Well... (Y/n) doesn't have a boyfriend... And I was thinking..." Virgil looked away in embarrassment, trying to avoid actually answering his brother's questions. "You were thinking?... What come on spit it out already." Billy urged Virgil with a small sly grin, though he already knew where this was going, he wanted to hear Virgil say it. "Well I was thinking maybe you could be her boyfriend." Virgil said as he nervously rubbed his arm. "Virgil you sly dog you." Billy's grin widened as he playfully wrestled with his brother, which made Virgil laugh excitedly. "I told her all about you Billy, she was always smiling when I talked about you." Virgil added when Billy let up the playful banter. "Was she now?" Billy slung his arm around Virgil's shoulders. "Well then what are we waiting for?" He added as they continued walking to the bar. Virgil told Billy all about her on their way to the bar, trying to describe her appearance as best he could.

But by the time they reached the bar, Billy was woefully unprepared for just how pretty the young singer would be. They had gotten comfortable at the bar, ordering beers, and waiting patiently for the show to start. When the lights dimmed and a melodic music began to start, a hush came over the crowd, and everyone's attention turned to the stage. Then out she walked, the star of the show, in all her glory. Glimmering under the warm glow of the stage lights, her smile brighter than the sun itself. Billy nearly choked on his beer when he laid eyes on her, his jaw dropping as she crossed the stage with graceful steps. Her red dress hugging all the right places, and her jewelry sparkling like stars in the night sky. Billy could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest, from the very moment she began her first song. Her voice enchanting his very soul in ways Billy never could have anticipated. "See I told ya she was pretty." Virgil smiled brightly at his brother, happy to see that Billy apparently approved of her.

"No kidding." Billy chuckled, unable to draw his attention away from the enchantress on the stage. Her words rang in Billy mind, and the things she spoke of began painting a picture in his mind. A picture of him and her together, slow dancing together chest to chest, as she sings to him of her love and desire for him, and him alone. Song after song went by, and Billy found himself growing increasingly impatient about getting to actually meet her. His leg bouncing when she spoke to the crowd about how the next song would be her last for the evening. Her eyes swept over the crowd as she spoke, and when she spotted Virgil, and the man sitting beside him, her eyes visibly lit up. Sparking hope and desire within Billy's heart. She shot a quick wink their way, before starting her last song for the night. Virgil chuckled at the way Billy toyed with his appearance, happy to see that Billy was eager to meet her, and make a good first impression.

The show was now over, and Virgil and Billy eagerly tried to meet up with her outside of the bar. But unfortunately for them, a rather large crowd had formed around the young women, who smiled politely and thanked everyone for their kind words. "Fuckin people." Billy grumbled under his breath, growing increasingly impatient with the unwanted delay. Billy perked up a bit in anticipation, when he noticed a visibility drunk man push his way through the crowd to her. He made unwanted advances towards her, and she tried pushing him away. No one seemed interested in helping her, and that only increased Billy's anger. Similar to the drunkard Billy shoved his way through the crowd until he reached her side. And without a word he pulled back and swung, knocking the man unconscious in one hit. Protectively putting his arm around her waist, and pulling her into his side.

"Scram you vultures." Billy hissed at the crowd, who grumbled in annoyance, but complied none the less, dispersing in less than a minute. "My names (Y/n)." She peered up at Billy, who grinned at her words, holding her a little tighter against his side. "I'm Billy." He flashed her a charming smile, his chest swelling with pride when he noticed the blush dusting her cheeks. "Hiya (Y/n), the show was amazing tonight." Virgil cut in with a bright smile. "Oh thank you Virgil, I'm glad you enjoyed the show." She smiled at her friend, breaking away from Billy to pull Virgil into a quick hug. When she pulled away from her hug with Virgil, Billy noticed the shiver she gave from the chill in the night air. And without a second thought, she shrugged off his prized leather jacket, and slung it across her shoulders. (Y/n) turned to him with a bashful smile, thanking him in a soft tone of voice. "Mind if we walk you home?" Billy asked. "How do you know I didn't drive here?" She asked with a small grin. "Because there are no more cars in the parking lot." Billy pointed out, making her grin widen. "Well then in that case, I'd love it if you'd walk me home." She mused as she took his hand in hers.

Billy and (Y/n) took the lead, and Virgil followed closely behind them, smiling brightly at the sight of his good friend, and brother getting along so well. "So you've been looking after my baby brother this whole time huh?" Billy asked, smiling down at her. "Oh well Virgil was doing okay on his own. I just helped around the house, cleaning up a bit, cooking, shopping for groceries with him, and helping him manage his bills. Really it's what any good neighbor would do, and he's a sweetheart so I enjoy spending time with him." She explained with a fond smile. "Well I think little old Virgil got lucky to have such a generous neighbor such as yourself. And I got lucky to meet the beauty looking out for him." Billy flirted making (Y/n) giggle softly as she leaned into his side, grinning when he casually wrapped his arm across her shoulders. "Who knew you'd be such a charmer." (Y/n) mused as she peered up at him. "And who knew you'd be such a dame." Billy countered before suddenly sweeping her off her feet, and into his arms making her squeal in surprise.

"Billy!" She cried out with a laugh. "Can't have you walking through a puddle now can we?" Billy asked as he turned her attention to the large mud puddle in the broken portion of the sidewalk. "My hero." She leaned into his hold, again making his chest swell with pride. "Anytime babe anytime." He grinned still carrying her despite being well passed the mud puddle. "Hey (Y/n)." Virgil called to her. "Yes hun?" She turned her gaze to him, peering over Billy's tattooed shoulder. "Would you... Would you maybe be interested in dating Billy?" Virgil asked. His words made (Y/n) giggle bashfully, hiding her face in Billy's neck for a moment. Billy was unbothered by his brothers blunt question, but he was definitely curious about what (Y/n) would say. "Yeah what do you think darlin'?" He inquired with a grin. "Well... Yeah I think I might... He's just my type after all." She grinned at Virgil who was beaming with excitement. "Good to know." Billy muttered before planting a quick kiss against her cheek. (Y/n) again bushed and hid her face in Billy's neck with a bashful giggle.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

Billy is such a weirdo with his whole butter obsession, but again it's Bill Paxton so I'm in love.

Also I doubt this one will get much attention, considering how obscure it is, but that's okay, I mostly just write for myself anyways in all honesty.

[slasherparty]

i’m a freak for the cryptkeeper can we get some of him xx

dude thank you for being the only one ever to request him 😭 finally i can let my inner john kassir freak out‼️

the cryptkeeper 🪦 x reader 💭

he’d sweep into your peripheral vision like a poorly hinged door in a haunted house, all rotten flair and a grin that suggested he knew exactly where the bodies were buried. (they’re right under your floorboards. he helped.)

“my dear, you take my breath away… though that’s not saying much for someone who doesn’t have lungs anymore. but you? you’re to die for — literally, let’s pencil in a date.”

he’d offer his bony hand with mock sincerity. “care to dance, my darling? just don’t mind the occasional bone cracking. it’s… ambiance!”

“so, tell me, do you come here coffin? because you’ve put me six feet under in love, my sweet!” you’d feel an overwhelming urge to both laugh and groan — and perhaps book a séance.

a skeletal finger would present you with a dusty bouquet of nightshade and dried roses, accompanied by the comment, “these flowers are to die for. just like me!”

“your laugh, my dear! it’s like the creak of a floorboard, the kind that makes villagers grab pitchforks. truly, it sets my tibia a-tingle.”

after one of his more daring remarks, he’d lean in conspiratorially, as if letting you in on a secret. “i’m not usually this forward… but then again, time is relative when you’ve already passed your expiration date.”

should someone else glance in your direction, he’d pull you closer, whispering conspiratorially, “careful, my sweet, i don’t share. just ask my last competition — they’re still haunting me.”

“i’ve already got a plot picked out for us! literally. side by side for eternity. isn’t that gravely romantic?”

he’d offer you a perfectly polished skeleton key. “this unlocks the crypt where i keep my heart. mind you, it’s… err… not beating much these days. but it’s yours all the same.”

with a final gleeful cackle, he’d murmur, “now, my darling, don’t you go running off to the land of the living too quickly. you’d break my… well, ribcage.”

thanks for reading! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[yandere-wishes]

Hi! I don’t know if this was a question already asked but can minors interact? I just wanna make sure before I go around and read or like your posts

Hi Anon, it's very sweet and mature of you to ask this before interacting, I greatly appreciate it ~💋

I've answered this question before, but I'll use this opportunity to go into greater detail. And also link both of them to my rules page.

So my blog is completely SFW in the smut department. Meaning I do not write or reblog works that have smut or extreme nudity. I'm personally uncomfortable with those themes thus I don't really interact with them.

However, since this is a Yandere blog themes of blood, gore, violence, obsessive behavior and other dead dove things within that nature are common and recurring. Some of my stories also contain "suggestive scenes", but lightly at that. Which really means they include intense making out and nothing more. I love writing in a darker medium so all my stories have elements ranging from unsettling out right terrifying. That is a very crucial part of my writing.

What I'm getting to with both these points is that engaging with my blog is a personal choice. I started this blog when I was 15 (and depressed) and even before that, I was reading darker/yandere stories since I was 11-12. So I really think it's up to you. If you think that you are okay to engage with a blog that as such dark themes then I'm glad to have you on board and hope you enjoy your stay. And if not that is totally fine too I understand that such things are not everyone's cup of tea.

Overall I like to think I've kept this place minor firnedly and I won't ever be posting smut. You have my guarantee on that. Anyway Anon, I hope this answers your question, and thanks again for asking. 💜💜

[comfortless]

Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

[xerotiny]

╋━ SO IT GOES [Teaser]

SYNOPSIS

There’s something so forbidding about talking to a stranger about your relationship with your husband. Yet you find yourself in front of him, in front of this supposed stranger, every week; you fill him in on your time with your husband, including every detail. He’s only there to help you right? He’s only guiding you through the darkness to prevent your marriage from falling. Right? He’s just a sex therapist, right? And so it goes…

So it goes • Jeong Yunho x Female Reader

Sex therapist!Yunho, married!reader, cheating husband (?)

Warning: (18+/ mdni) smut, infidelity, corruption kink, size kink, sadomasochism, dacryphillia, unprotected/protected sex, huge dick yunho, all the other smut warnings apply.

TEASER [word count: 2,630]

Your POV

Eyes.

Eyes express a lot.

A simple variation can translate to sundry of emotions.

Crinkle by your eyes? A genuine smile.

Fluttering eyelids? Nervous, anxious, flustered.

Wide eyes? Fascination, incredulity.

Scrunched brows and squinted eyes? Anger, rage, exasperation.

It comes as it goes.

All my life, I’ve been compelled by eyes; they hold a myriad of tales, unspoken, see-through stories of existence, and some mysterious truths. Reading eyes has become a habit of mine, an amiable idiosyncrasy I can’t let go of. Some might call it an infatuation, and maybe it is.

Though, could I be blamed?

My senses go abuzz when I find my own interpretation of people’s eyes; sometimes, their eyes would express their sentiments even before their voice and body could. Interpretations and perceptions are not always based on impressions. I wouldn’t judge anyone for their way of leaving a mark on me, or their speculations for that matter.

The irises which harbour different colours, they are a delight to read at times. From a hazy brown to a mystic grey, perhaps a dash of green and blue to the specks lined with the stark white; an idiosyncratic attribute ensuing a plethora of tacit inklings.

I had grown accustomed to noticing people’s eyes first, an urge coming to almost immediately when I peered at anyone; I would stare into the depths of the furrows and crypts, uncovering the different shades in them. Although, I might parade my pride in being adept at this said quirk, but I could never read his eyes.

That one perplexing man who had become my fixation, unknown to me how he did. With how cordially speechless he was, I could write a novel about his silence. There’s beauty in his silence, in his words, in his eyes; unfathomable, yet still so alluring and hauntingly beguiling. Without saying much, his eyes would inveigle anyone into doing anything for him. They were a trap, a well-played ruse to hold you captive—anyone would fall into it, I did too.

Things have their own way of working out. I was told by some mistake of my past. As my days went on to become years of countless regrets and failures, I built my faith in his words more than ever. My beliefs were shaped by countless people coming in and going out of my life; although, the unpredictability of life can sometimes be a bitch.

Things don’t work out on their own. It only took one person to change my opinions, my beliefs, my perceptions, and my life. A man who willingly chooses to remain in the dark, in the obscurities of his mind; it only took one man to change me completely. Life’s full of regrets and satisfactions. You fall in love, and you imbibe resentment, you find joy at times whereas there’s also disappointment.

It comes and goes.

“I also work on referrals, Mr. Jeup.”

A coarse titter resonates through the empty hallway, followed by someone’s dainty footsteps. Curiosity breaks your bubble, and you stop twisting the ring around your finger, pausing for a moment to direct your attention to the sounds passing through. You narrow your eyes down at the two people conversing in the middle of the hallway; a taller man you were supposed to meet with, and a middle-aged man, somewhat shorter in his stature.

When your friends were forcing you to therapy, they were raving about this therapist more specifically. And from their rambling, you could sure tell why they wanted you to be here. Your therapist was a good-looking man—that certainly undersells the point, but you were tongue tied because of the band around your finger.

“Of course, Dr. Jeong. You don’t have to remind me.”

“I feel like I need to,” the therapist lets out another laugh. “I’ll see you in the next week, Mr. Jeup.”

Their conversation, seemingly muffled to your ear, was a pointless distraction from the anxiety crawling up your stomach. When you hear the man’s footsteps descend down the hallway, you look away, fixing your gaze on your newly manicured nails. You have the urge to chip off the fresh coat of polish off them, fidget with your fingers while this moment passed. The stranger’s silhouette grazes your skin as he walks past you, leaving you alone on the chair in the middle of a brightly lit hallway.

“Mrs. Choi, I suppose?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, sensing a certain type of warmth lurk on your side. His shadow forces itself on you, compelling you to suck in another breath and compose your nerves. A frail stretch graces your lips and you turn to face him, crooning your neck further up to meet his eyes.

You hum out a response, “yeah, that’d be me.”

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Can we take a moment? I’m sure you’re not in a hurry to get your session started right away.”

“I can wait.”

“There’s no reason for you to be…” he trails off, “anxious. I don’t bite.”

You could tell he was joking, but your anxiety couldn’t. Your brows scrunch up, and your lips tremble.

“Oh, not a fan of jokes, I assume?” he clicks his tongue, smiling down widely at you. “I won’t waste much of your time, mrs. Choi. Ten minutes is all I ask and I dearly apologise if what I propose is an inconvenience to you.”

“It’s absolutely not,” you retort, not even taking a breath in between. “Ten minutes is fine. I can wait. There’s no problem with waiting until you are comfortable.”

He lets out another chuckle, “it’ll just be ten minutes, I promise. I’ll heed you the moment I’m done.”

Nodding to him, you press your lips together and stare down at your quivering hands. An eventual gust of cold pushes through between you, making you raise your head up to find yourself staring his back; you keep your eyes on him till he disappears into the room, or his office—you can’t be too sure about it yet. And you were back to being along on the confining cushion chair, sinking deep into it while your thoughts ran amok. With nothing better to do, you tip your head back against the chair’s support and close your eyes, deciding to catch a few minutes’ shut eye.

Well, you could hardly relax in whatever time you were told to wait; your thoughts proving to be heavy on your mind and your shoulders. What are you doing here? Should you really be here? Should you really have booked an appointment with a sex therapist out of all? You had your doubts when your friends told you about it; since when have their solutions ever been fruitful to you? This takes you back to the night you were sobbing your sad story to them. You find yourself reliving the night, at that dingy bar, on a sweaty leather couch, a booth too dark for your own good, and the chaos of your friends.

It was a tough night, that one. Nightouts weren’t your scene anymore, not since you had gotten married. Spending your nights with your husband was more peaceful than going out to noisy clubs with your girlfriends. You had changed, and your friends gave you an earful about it every time they had the chance to. Regardless—that night—you wish to forget about it, burn the memory forever, bury it somewhere deep down within yourself, somewhere where you won’t retrieve it again.

Never again…

“Mrs. Choi?”

It’s a sweet voice that jerks you out of your daze, making your body flinch at the sudden sound. You sit up straight in the chair, coming face to face with your said therapist. His soft brown eyes bore into yours and his lips have a fragile curve etched on them; he shakes his head and straightens up as well.

You blink twice, retaliating. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“I never made any accusations,” he simply shrugs and turns on his heel. “If you’ve gotten too comfortable now, then you should see me inside, missus Choi.”

There’s spite laced to his words, so cleverly he enunciates them.

“Yes—yes,” you clear your throat and scamper on your feet, following a step behind him.

“I may have taken a minute over the proposed time, apologies,” he speaks up, and stands by the ajar door, guiding you inside his office, or the aforesaid room.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, purposely keeping your tone down. A soft shade of red coats your cheeks, embarrassed at the prior moment replaying in your mind.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” He states as he closes the door behind him.

The room is cosy. That’s the first word in your mind: cosy. There’s a long window to one side, overlooking the city. One of the remaining three sides of the walls is covered by paintings deftly hung on it, and the other two are left blank with a cream shade. The centre space is occupied by two armchairs facing each other at a slight angle, and coffee table separates the two. There are two floor lamps on the each side of the chairs, and some pages and a notepad are strewn about on the table. The rest of the room is neat, with necessary vacancies filled with furniture, and so on.

You sit down on the chair, focusing on a stray crease falling on the flounce of your dress. You have eerie fixations at times like these, times when your anxiety is speaking louder than your rationality. Murmured shuffling follows a soft grunt from him, he sits down on the chair opposite to you and crosses his legs. You hadn’t given him much of your attention before, though now, you’re gradually catching up on the little details. His hair is a dusky shade of blue, he has sleek and frameless glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose; and more precisely, he’s clad in a black suit with a grey shirt. He’s lean, but not so much; he has a good built, and his height makes up for it.

“Before we start,” he clears his throat, grabbing a hold of his notepad from the table. “I would like to assure you that this is a safe space, and the doctor-patient confidentiality secures your privacy—which we’ve already signed on.”

You look up at him and nod your head, not making a sound.

He sighs and continues, “I would very much prefer if you were to use your words than staying mute.” Leaning back against the chair, he presses his lips together and breathes out, “considering it’s "our first session", I’ll cut you some slack. But I can’t help you unless you’re willing to be comfortable with me.”

This time, his eyes grow heavy on you; the intense stare delving through yours, makes your body shudder.

“I understand, doctor.” You mumble, “I’ll try to be upfront with you.”

“All’s in vain if you’re not relaxed,” he adds, his words sounding wispy to you. “Let’s not take up much of your time now. We shall start, I suppose?” he asks you.

“Surely.” You don’t know why you even spewed that word out, you didn’t want to sputter the first thing that came to your head.

“Great. First and foremost, I want to know what’s on your mind right now.”

It’s a simple question, right? Simple enough to answer without seemingly crushing down under the weight of your anxiety and stress. Right?

“Well, I’ll be honest. I’m not sure about seeking therapy for my intimate relationship with my husband.” You blurt, rolling your shoulders out. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s all new to me; how am I not supposed to be uneasy with this?”

“Alright,” he hums, his eyes straying off of you for a long minute before they’re back on you, piercing through your soft and confused gaze. “Think of me as someone whom you would share your feelings with. A friend? Maybe. We’re still bound to other liabilities though. If we were to, supposedly, take them into consideration, I believe that would make us friends with benefits—strangers with benefits sounds more cheerful on the ear, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod to him, acknowledging his speculations, however eldritch they might sound to you right now.

“Right. We’re both associated with each other in some sort of welfare,” he smiles weakly at you, “I’m not asking you to let your guard down, but I suppose, you could begin by telling me what your issue is. We can work out why you need therapy later on, that is after I understand your problem, Mrs. Choi.”

“You make somewhat reasonable points,” you mutter under your breath, looking away to peer out of the window, noticing the sudden change of hues in the sky. “I guess, I can comply with what you’ve proposed. I need someone to talk, anyway. Need to get these things off my mind—and why won’t a stranger, whom I’m paying a huge fee by the hour, be a better person for it.” You shrug, redirecting your attention to him.

He raises a brow at you, a blank look in his eyes, a stoic expression written all over his face. Leaning to the side in his chair, he rests his elbow on the armrest and lets his forefinger graze his lower lip. He wants you to speak your mind, you could see it in his eyes.

“My husband and I—my husband and I have been struggling with intimacy.” You squeak, “it’s starting to affect our relationship—our marriage. It’s too soon for us to bend.”

He hums again. “And how long have you been married for?”

“We’ve—almost eight years now.” You answer, “we met in college, became friends, graduated together, and destiny brought us here.”

“Marriages aren’t meant to be perfect,” he begins, “it’s very common for couples to face challenges, struggle with their emotions, their differences and time becomes completely irrelevant in such situations.” He lets out a soft sigh, “have you voiced out your feelings to him?”

“Many times,” you croak, “it always ends with him misunderstanding me. We grow further apart when it happens.”

He starts scribbling something on his notepad, “arguments are common too, Mrs. Choi. Your emotions are running high and if there’s anything you want to avoid, is creating misunderstandings or misconceptions.”

“I’m aware.” You look away from him, staring down at the ring tied around your finger, the diamond glinting ever so gently under the bashing rays of dwindling sun.

“Is there, perhaps, something else on your mind, Mrs. Choi?” he questions, his words striking nonchalant to you. In all seriousness, he’s hit the right spot; your mind had been elsewhere since you spoke about your problem with him.

Your mind is dwelling on your husband.

“I—I—I shouldn’t be saying this,” you stutter, fumbling with your thoughts and your words, your tongue growing heavy in your mouth.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Mrs. Choi.”

His voice is what stays reverberating in your head when the silence grows, neither does he tend to break it nor do you; the weight of your emotions starts building up on your shoulders, till you’re physically slouching, till you grow heavy to your notions. You fidget with your ring, twisting and sliding it along your finger. He watches you quietly, noticing your lower lip trapped between your teeth, which dent it in till it starts bleeding gently, your chest convulsing to the erratic rhythm of your heart, and your trepidatious mannerisms.

He’s about to break the silence, but a sharp intake of his breath, snaps you out and you finally say out the words trapped between your teeth.

“I think he’s cheating on me.”

[COMING SOON]

SO IT GOES [M.LIST.]

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Epilouge

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,212

CW: MDI, 18+, refrences to pregenacy, miscariges stillbirths and death, happy ending! lots of fluff (all the bad tags where small and lead to a very fluff, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part |

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: this epilouge is largely based of cregan starks wiki page, thats why they have a hell of a lot of kids. find it here.

Cregan Stark had been many things, the lord of Winterfell, warden of the north, hand of the king. But most importantly he had been your husband. Married for 66 years before your death in 200 AC,

Your marriage with filled with tragedy and triumphs, but most importantly love.

A love that inspired songs, poems and stories.

Though you and he had your ups and downs, he stayed by your side during your worst and your best times.

And even after years of struggling, years of sadness and tears as your moons blood came, you and he ended with ten children to call your own.

First there had been Rickon, followed by Saera, Alys and Rhaeya, then Mariah, Jacearys, Edric, Lyanna, Lucerys and finally Brandon.

The birth of each of your children had filled your halls and your heart, the ache you had felt after the war had finally been filled, and you had felt whole once more.

You had found the happiness you had been chasing and felt contentment and happiness more and more each and every day.

Your love for each other continued to bloom and grow, love so deep that Cregan himself passed only moons after you, your son Jaceaerys, know as Jace ‘one eye’, becoming the lord of Winterfell after his death, though it was your youngest son Brandon that the stark line continued from.

Your legacy was one that would be remembered even a hundred years after your death, songs were still sung in your honour, halls and castle erected in your name, there was even a castle built in your honour on the wall, after your help in the victory against Sylas the grim.

But where your legacy blossomed still was within the walls of Winterfell, where your kin ruled to this day.

“we have Targaryen ancestry, or one ancestor to be precise” Ned Stark spoke to his children, as he walked them down the crypts of Winterfell.

He speak your name, bowing in respect as he approached your statue, your stood beside your husband Cregan Stark, your hands adjoined in a symbol of your love, a love that had become famous amongst the pages of history.

“she was the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Veleryon, the last rider of Silverwing and the last dragon rider in history. “

Sansa seemed giddy as she looked at her, her ancestor a Targaryen princess.

“did she fight in the dance of the dragons?” Jon asked, looking at his ancestors, noting the similarity in your features with his.

“aye, though she played the role of a diplomat more than a fighter, but she is too thank for several victories, even after the war she helped defend the north against wildings”

His children gasped in surprise, eagerly listening to their father recount the tales of you and your legacy.

“did any of her children have dragons?” Jon asked eagerly.

“aye, each child was given an egg, though only two hatched” he looked to the left towards were your children statues stood, “the ones belonging to Lord Jacearys and Lucerys, named after her brothers” he looked down to Jon, the most egar to here of his ancestors, “though it was said they died and grew no larger than cats“

A sound of disappointment left Jon at the news.

“is it true they were so in love that he died of a broken heart after her death?” Sansa asked.

Ned chuckled, “it was said he did, aye”

Sansa let out a small squealed, “imagine being so in love you can’t bare to live in a world without them” she gushed.

“aye, there love is famous” he said looking up at his ancestors.

“can any of you tell me about their children?

Robb raised his hand enthusiastically, “they had ten in total, though it was their second son Jaceaerys, named after her brother who died in the dance who succeeded Cregan…he then died with no children and was succeeded by Lucerys also named after one of her brothers whose death started the dance of dragons”

“very good Robb…but who succeeded Lucerys?”

“there youngest child, Brandon, who we are descended from” Arya spoke up, as she gazed at the sword at your hip. “was she trained with a sword?” she asked eagerly.

“most likely, she was a fighter, a warrior though most accounts was due to her fighting on the back of silver wing, it was said she killed several men who insulted her brother, King Aegon III and was known to have fought several who questioned her mother, Rhaenyra being a legitimate queen.”

Arya seemed very please with this response, as did Robb and Jon as they admired their 4x great grandmother.

At the feet of their statues laid 3 dragon eggs, long turned to stone, and though neither of them noticed at first, as Ned light the lights surrounding their statues, behind them sat the skull of Silverwing.     

A reminder of house Targaryen, and their power even now years after they had been defeated and banished.

And though you had become a stark you were forever remembered in house Targaryen, with your named reused countless times, a holdfast in the red keep named after you, and gardens throughout Westeros grew a rose named after you.

But whilst you had grown a legacy and left an indent on the history of Westeros, you had not lived to do so.

Your life had been one you had ended up devoting to your family, to love and happiness, no care if your section of the history books was a long one or not.

The first five years of your marriage where the one filled with the most hurdles to cross, with fertility issues and you suffering from depression, it truly tested your marriage but the day your eldest Rickon was born, was the day your life truly became filled with Joy.

Your pregnancy had been spent bed bound to nervous to venture out of it for fear of another miscarriage.

Cregan had moved his office to your shared chambers, insisting on spending every moment you would allow with him. His days spent with you, his meals shared with you in bed, he only left when necessary and even then, he was racing back to be with you.

The birth had scared him, his mind remembering the last birth, how you had laboured for hours knowing full well the babe was already dead.

But this time the babe was perfect, a healthy boy you named Rickon after his father.

You watched him grow and as the years passed more children followed, each and every one of them filling your life with more and more love.

You and Cregan grew inseparable, your duties becoming one as you both ruled Winterfell together.

And after fifteen years of marriage, and the birth of you first five children, Rickon, Saera and Alys, Rhaeya and Mariah, your brothers came to Winterfell on their tour of Westeros.

Aegon and Viserys both married with children of their own were more than happy to see you again, years of letters making up for little of how much you missed your brothers.

“Aegon, Viserys” you greeted as you they rode into Winterfell with the pride and fancy house Targaryen always brought.

“sister” they greeted, coming straight towards you, their boyish looks still in full effect despite being adults in their own right, “I have missed you”

“no more than I have missed you” you replied before introducing your family and household to your brothers.

Your sons and daughters presenting themselves proudly, with your daughter Saera pointing out the similarities between herself and her cousin Daena, they could practically be twins. In both looks and nature.

They caused many a problem during their time in Winterfell, with many pranks and havocked caused as they spent their days freeing horses or practicing with Sareas crossbow, shooting apples above servants heads.

Your eldest Rickon spent most of his time with Daeron, many time spent in the courtyard, sparring or exploring the dragon nest Silverwing had left upon her most recent return from Winterfell.

You watched as your children created bonds with their cousins, bonds that would stick even after the tour. Letters exchanged and your sons Jacearys and Lucerys being sent to ward in Kings Landing.

And whilst they were here your sons Jacearys and Lucerys eggs hatched, small dragons, the first dragons born in near ten years.

Jace’s dragon, a soft shade of white shade, easily blending into the snow. He had named the dragon sōna, the Valyrian word for snow. And though the history books would mark him to be as big as a small housecat, he in truth grew to be the size of a dire wolf, and though not big enough to take a rider on his back, he was known to fly the walls of Winterfell before his death, after falling victim to a stray arrow during one of house starks monthly hunts.

Lukes’s dragon had been named icefyre, he had claimed it was who he was, a merge of ice a fire and so was his dragon. With silver scales and a blue flame, similar to the blue flame of your uncle Daeron’s dragon Tesserion. He too grew to the size of a dire wolf, before accompany Luke south to Kingslanding, ending up on Dragonstone where she was killed by the now wild dragon, Sunfyre.

And though when the tour ended, after being extended moons, with neither side wanting to part from the other, the sadness and regret you felt before when leaving your brothers was no longer, as you where more than happy with the family you had in Winterfell. No longer did you dream of the ghosts of your family, wishing them alive, but now you saw them reborn as each of your children.

In Rickon you saw Jace, he was noble and kind, the perfect future lord. And you saw even more of Jace in him as he died fighting alongside his cousin Daeron, after he had been named king and set to conquer Dorne. Dying before his time, a hero’s death.

In Saera, you saw your mother, Rhaenyra. A fierce and defiant girl, egar and pride. She was smart and quick and though as time passed and you began to forget the faces of those you lost, however you looked at Sarea, you saw your mother.

In Alys you saw Joffrey, shy and kind but egar to prove herself. Going out of her way to prove her loyalty and her devotion to house Stark.

In Rhaeya, you saw your grandmother, Rhaneys. Though she was named in honour of bother her mother and grandmother, her grandmothers laugh, and smile shined through in your girl. She was always riding, though a horse not a dragon, she was a warrior in her own right, fighting in the conquest of Dorne, though she eventually chooses to sheath her sword after she found love in the son of Benjicot Blackwood.

Then there was Mariah, sweet Mariah reminded you of Rhaena, though alive and well with six daughters of her own, she reminded you in every way of your sister. With a fierce heart, hidden behind a sweet temperament.

Jace, who had become Jace one eye at the age of six and ten after an arrow pierced his eye during the conquest of Dorne, he reminded you of you uncle Aemond, before the cruelty took over him. He was determined and fierce, though hidden behind a shy demeaner.

Edric, was the very image of Daemon. Though Stark in looks he was the rouge of her stepfather, careless and wanton, so much so he died before all of his siblings after fighting and loosing a duel against the man who would later marry his sister Lyanna, Lynol Tyrell.

Lyanna, Was you. You looked at her and saw yourself, a girl born out of love, a girl desiring love more than anything in the world. A girl who would fight for what she believed in, no matter the cost.

Lucerys, of cause reminded you of Luke in every way he was your sweet younger brother. In looks and nature he was Luke reborn.

The Brandon, your youngest child, a big age gap, born near ten years after Luke. He seemed to be the image of your husband, fierce and wise, a good lord. Though often driven my lust.

Your legacy was fierce, your blood spread through Westeros as you were remembered in the page of history books for all to read.

“the dance of the dragons” Daenerys read, as she was gifted a book of the history of her family.

“not just the dance, Princess” spoke Ilyrio Mopatis. “this book tells the story of your Ancestor” he spoke your name, and printed out the portrait of you that covered the first page inside.

“A whole book dedicated to one ancestor?” Viserys scoffed, “what was she a conqueror?”

“in some ways” Ilyrio started, “she was a key player in the dance, without her diplomacy the war could have been much longer than it had been”

“Really?” Viserys asked sceptically.

“indeed, read for yourself My prince”

And so they read your tale, and you where once more brough back to life.

taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @valyriantargaryenblood-blog @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @clobobo @raynetargaryen2 @justbelljust @sukunassfinger

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to be added to taglist for my other works

[stellar-constellations]

Uppermoon trio + Muzan x female reader watching a horror movie headcanons? ;)

Muzan + Upper Moon Trio (separately) x Fem! Reader Watching Horror Movies

Modern AU (they're still demons and reader is a female human!)

Muzan: 

It's hard finding a movie for Muzan to genuinely watch. He's so nitpicky about them. What's the point of watching fake gore if he can just go outside, kill someone, and create his own horror movie?

Muzan glares at the screen if the gore is inaccurate or there's too much blood (or too little). Why lie? Where's the real stuff? 

Muzan probably likes torture gore movies but still wants plot. 

Muzan likes Silent Hill (2006), the Saw series, Silence of the lambs (1991), Truth or Dare (2018). He likes all the gore and the plot makes up for the inaccuracy of the gore (he likes Truth or Dare simply because the idea of controlling human's minds and bodies are amusing to him)

It's hard to make Muzan sit down and watch a movie with you since he'd rather do other things instead such as work, but once in a blue moon you can convince him. 

Muzan rarely ever cuddles you when watching movies, but if he notices you're scared, he'd pull you close by your waist so you're hugging his side. He acts like it isn't a big deal, but it obviously is considering Muzan's dislike for humans and their weakness. He doesn't bother trying to tease you about your fear, you're already scared and you both know this, and scary movies are supposed to ignite that sort of fear (he also might be engrossed in the movie you put on, but he'll never let you know that satisfaction). 

Douma: 

Douma loves gory movies. 

Douma talks to the TV like it can hear him. Will tell the characters to calmly run, makes remarks about them being too slow or how the killer is catching up (he might be fantasizing about being the one chasing them). 

Douma laughs at every joke in the script like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. He even laughs when background characters laugh (that's how you know he's a fake one). 

Douma likes obscure movies such as the Circle (2015), Last Shift (2014), the Final Destinations, and Wolf Creek (2005). Probably likes Human Centipede (2009) and laughs at the grossest scenes.

Douma forces you to keep your eyes open, like physically holds them open.

Douma laughs at your fear, he finds amusement in it. It's real genuine fear compared to the fake acting on TV. 

Douma will only comfort you if you cry or if you walk out on the movie to get away from him. He'll apologize profusely (mainly because he doesn't want to sleep alone on the couch). 

Kokushibo: 

Kokushibo doesn't care much for them. He prefers thrillers or mysteries instead.

Kokukshibo is genuinely a little bit freaked out of Scream (1996) because of the guessing who is the killer element, along with the technology of phones (he's traditional, refuses to use anything except letters or email). It was a fight to get him to use router phones. 

Kokushibo likes storytelling movies, or movies with multiple protagonists, or movies where you guess the killer.

Kokushibo likes movies such as Trick ‘R Treat (2007), the Tales from the Crypt series (1989), Stephen King's 1922 (from 2017), Psycho (1960). Nothing too graphic. Gore does not equal horror in his book. He watched M3gan (2022) and was uncomfortable of the advanced technology. 

Kokushibo will reassure you if you're scared. He'll tell you that the movie is fake and will turn the movie off if that's what you want, he'd rather read or do something else instead. If you want to continue watching the movie, he'll give you a blanket so you can hide your face when you get scared, or hide it in his chest, he doesn't mind that either. He finds it comforting that you turn to him when you're scared.

Akaza: 

Akaza is someone who yells at the TV. He'll be one to yell "Run lady run!" whenever the victim trips. Akaza understands final girls cannot punch a hole through their stomaches like how he can, so he just screams at them.

Akaza loves watching movies involving final girls such as the classic 80's and 90's movies with the most final girls. He likes seeing the women kick evil men's asses because the killer had the audacity to prey on someone they believed were weak. 

Akaza likes the first Halloween (1978). He walks you home so you don't get stalked like Laurie Strode did. He also likes the Nightmare on Elm Street series (and watches you when you sleep to make sure Freddy Krueger isn't getting you). He likes Joy Ride 1 (2001) and Joy Ride 2 (2008) [though, he likes the second one way better], and Unfriended: Dark Web (2017). Unfriended made him genuinely uncomfortable because of the invisible paranormal force killing the victims off. How can you fight if you can't see it?

Akaza notices the second you show discomfort or fear, he asks if you want to have the movie turned off. If you don't, he'll put his arm around your shoulder and pull you close to him. He likes when you hide your face in his shoulder or chest, he likes that you turn to him to protect you (because he obviously will). 

        I apologize sincerely for the huge delay! I had little time to write due to work so the only time I had to write was when I was supposed to be sleeping or relaxing, but I finally got this done! Better late than never!

         Want more Muzan content? Check out the Muzan masterlist!

        Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

        Want more Douma content? Check out the Douma

masterlist!

        Want more Akaza content? Check out the Akaza masterlist!

        At the moment my requests are temporarily closed, I'm working on other requests (that are months old...), but once I finally clear those up, I'll be accepting more requests!

[demonicbaby666]

Ignorance is Bliss

One Shot | Once Upon a Time Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Regina Mills x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst no comfort

Words: 1.3k+

Summary: You remember the wee little lass from season 1 who gets his heart crushed? Yes, Graham. He doesn’t actually exist in this, but you do... After a brief kiss with Emma it seems the truth has come to light and now you have to make a decision as to whether you want to confront it, or run away from it.

A/n: Don't worry, I hate myself for this one too </3

In the crescent moon’s light, faces seem distorted, shrouded in sullen tones. Dark figures cast their jaded shadows upon concrete roads and littered sidewalks as they stalked toward their destinations. Houses, apartments, or perhaps even a small diner treasured amongst the townsfolk. For you, your destination remained hidden, a secret, feet carrying you through the dimly lit streets to a familiar patch of land.

The wind whispered the lost tales of those who had their names etched on stone. Some old, some young, and some unable to talk over the endless possibilities they’d never been acquainted with, taken straight from the world before they were able to see the light, and dark, held within it. 

Stood in the distance was the mausoleum. Ivy crept along its sidewalls, the red door just bright enough to stand out in the dark and guide you in the direction you needed to go. 

Going off your rough estimations you had around ten minutes to find what you needed before Regina would discover you. Thankfully, without the use of magic, she’d have to drive over to the vault, giving you enough time to try and locate either a memory potion or the ingredients needed for one, though the latter required the fine skills of your long-term memory, which you were still trying to grasp. 

The vault was fairly organised, it was Regina after all, making it somewhat easy to locate the collection of neatly labeled potions. There had to be at least ten boxes, which meant dilly-dallying wasn’t an option. Immediately you sorted through the boxes, willing your eyes to read faster than they’d ever done so before. 

Six boxes down and five minutes in, door hinges creaked and bounced off the walls until they traveled down to the vault. She was early. There was only one exit, and that was the one Regina was coming through, which made the possibility of escaping this upcoming encounter impossible. 

All that was left to do was watch as Regina slowly became visible from the stairs of the crypt. Feet, legs, torso, then there she was. Her sculpted eyebrows knit together, curiosity becoming clearer and clearer with each step toward you, “What are you doing here?”

Looking her dead in the eyes, you made sure not to cower away from the truth, or from the powerful aura she exuded in anything and everything she did, “I remember. I remember everything. Us.” 

“How?” Behind her stony eyes you caught the flicker of panic, whether it was because she feared the curse over the town had been broken or whether she’d have to face the ramifications of withholding the truth from you, you didn’t know. 

“Emma.” 

“That doesn’t explain how you remember.” She frustratingly pointed out. 

There was undoubtedly some truth to her statement. The single name of her nemesis didn’t exactly provide a detailed outlook on the events that led up to you regaining your memories. Then again, you didn’t want her to know the truth. You also didn’t want to lie. Staying silent it was. 

Her nostrils flared, jaw clenched and eyes scorched. With one step forward and her targets set on you, she pushed for more information she deemed rightfully hers, “How?”

It was on command, with the tone she’d used you were right back in the enchanted Forest, heeding any and every one of her wishes, “Emma kissed me.” You blurted out.

“What?” Her eyes widened. 

“Don’t make me repeat it.” You sighed, dropping to sit on a closed trunk. 

“That means...” Regina whispered, “She’s your…”

“She’s the savior, that’s all it means.” You snapped. Regret set in the second you saw Regina flinch at your harsh tone, despite it being warranted. In truth, you already wanted out of this situation, but answers wouldn’t be found in running away, they’d only be located in the trenches of one woman’s mind. What was fairly annoying was the woman in question tended to keep such answers hidden behind a makeshift wall of lies and barbed wire, “I answered your question, now answer mine. Why did you take them, my memories?” 

“Judging by the fact you want them gone again, do I need to answer that?” 

Avoiding the question. Not a surprise. 

“I never had a choice in the first place. Do you know what it’s like realising your whole life is a fucking lie? Because I do and I can’t say shit to anyone without risking getting thrown into the psych ward. You took them from me, Regina. I should be given the option to keep them or get rid of them. So yes, I want to know what led you to believe you had any right to take what was rightfully mine.”

Quiet. The vault echoed the sounds of your heavy breathing as Regina began to search her mind for answers to questions she never thought she’d have to face. Her facade began to crumble before your very eyes, shoulders slumped, her face softened and her tear-filled eyes helplessly sought out comfort in yours. Humility was fighting to be seen once more, much like it had in the past, in moments where she felt everyone only saw the bad, the evil, in actions that were simply enacted to protect herself. 

“I was scared.” Her voice was small, barely a whisper. 

“Of what?” 

A single tear fell from her eye, working its way down her cheek and salting her plump lips, “That you wouldn’t pick me.” 

There, at that moment, she had shown vulnerability, something so raw and rare for a damaged soul prone to heartache and loss. Exposing herself to the tyranny of lies uncovered, to the pain that accompanies the idea that love may be unrequited, and to the reality that she had in fact stolen the essence of what could have been, meant opening herself up to the possibility she had truly lost you. 

And she had. 

“You took that option away from me when you decided to take my memories.”

If it was possible to hear a heart break, feel the sting of broken fragments shatter beneath your touch, you’d have heard and felt it. A rugged exterior did nothing to lessen the pain befalling every inch of your soul. You’d done it, looking into her tear-stained sullen eyes, you saw, you’d broken her dark heart.

Needing to look anywhere but at Regina, you let your eyes roam around the vault. Glinting in the candlelight was a small bottle, the words on it barely readable, but you saw them well enough to plan your next move. 

Standing up, you moved towards the vials you had previously been sifting through, “I have to forget you. I have to forget who I was, and what I did.” you muttered, back now facing Regina. 

“Feel everything you need to feel, regret, anger, sadness, everything. But not alone, feel it with me,” Regina reached out, wrapping her fingers around your wrist, “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.” 

As you turned around, you clung tightly to the bottle in your hand. You didn’t stop yourself, nor Regina when her lips found yours. Instead, you let yourself remember, only for mere seconds, what it felt like to have her tongue trace along your bottom lip, how her body felt pressed against your own, what it was to give yourself over wholly and exclusively to one person. 

Yet, it still wasn’t enough. It never would be. Not when you’d known a guilt-free life, not when you’d gone days, months, and years living without the weight of your past mistakes heavy on your conscience. 

“I was never yours to lose,” you whispered against her lips, delivering the final punch.

The bottle cork dropped to the ground. With one step back you brought the vial to your lips, swallowing its contents whole and watching a familiar face - a person you believed to be the embodiment of home - fade once again into nothing more than an acquaintance.

Ignorance truly is bliss.

Tags: @babygirlscout @7thavenger @five-bi-five-mind @mentally-unstable-gay | click here to be added to my tag list

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Riddlers with a s/o who really likes horror movies, old ones, news one, everything in between long as it's horror? Need to know who's ear I can talk off

"Riddlers and Horror Movies" Riddler party x Reader

Several of these riddlers share direct horror movie quirks with me have fun guessing which. Also listed favorite horror film(s).

TW: horror films, blood and gore descriptions, mentions of emotional self-harm

Gotham

He's the guy who is going to contradict and tell you every medical inaccuracy of the deaths and mechanics in the movies. Yes, of course there's suspension of disbelief but at some point things are just wrong.

Babe, that should be arterial blood but they're portraying venous blood consistency :(

If you don't mind him talking at length about how these things would actually go OR conversely how well the sfx portrayed real injuries, he is your horror movie buddy! None of it bothers him considering how many real life murder, suicide and accident victims he's had to perform autopsies on.

Cuddling with his gangly legs on the couch bundled up in a big blanket with you while the sounds of screams echo from the tv and fill the room. Huge smile. He especially old classics when you're in the mood. Black and white films and transatlantic accents... It sounds like a great night to him.

Favorite Horror Movies: Might be a surprise but he really loves "Freaks" from 1932. He will talk for a long time about how, even though many of the disabled actors were ostracized on set, the fact that they were present at all is significant. The ableist assholes get theirs in the end! He also has a lot of fondness for "Re-animator."

Btas

He's the one interested in the sfx rambles. What, you think he designed a video game and labyrinth for a theme park just because he's intelligent? He likes behind the scenes work. God help everyone if he and Scarecrow decided to get together to make a haunted house.

You ever see those huge animatronics in horror mazes, especially the huge end show pieces? That's where his interest goes.

Depending on how much you watch and express interest in that kind of thing, he genuinely might start making horror animatronics and programs. He has the know-how! His would be the realistic looking ones, especially for animals. Spooky but definitely based in forms you see in real life.

Well, beautiful, you might have helped him find a very profitable side gig. Everyone else might be sore at you for a while, though, given Edward scaring the fuck out of them with holograms and mechanics. Plus more team-ups with Scarecrow.

All this because you wanted to watch horror movies with him. His darling <3

Favorite horror movie: "The Thing" (1982) and while it's not his absolute favorite, he ends up enjoying "Willy's Wonderland" a lot for both the animatronics and video game nods.

60s

The old ones with little to no gore is fine! More modern hack and slashers might be a little too spooky for him :( definitely never show him "Hostel" or anything in that vein.

Truthfully, it's not the violence or the blood, he's seen that. It's the suffering that gets him. It all seems so pointless and needless. At least when he's attempting to cut batman into tiny pieces using a comically giant fan, there's a goal or point. In his mind, anyways.

Before dating you his idea of horror was "Dracula", "Frankenstein"... "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken".... Start with horror that has a more comedic or cheesy element- "Little Shop of Horrors" to "Tucker & Dale vs. Evil." "Creepshow" 1 and 2 from the 80s! If you ease him into it and don't go too extreme, he'll love watching horror movies with you.

Favorite Horror Movie: OKAY THIS IS CHEATING BECAUSE IT'S NOT A MOVIE BUT. He'd be a HUGE fan of the "Tales from the Crypt" show from the early 90s (that is almost impossible to find streaming rip my horror uncle The Cryptkeeper). Horror plus puns. He will always take a funny, morbid pun! Plus... man can appreciate a cackle. He also has several opinions about the original "Suspiria."

Zero Year

It has to have something of a decent story or he's not paying attention. Where is the BACKGROUND? Sidenote: if you get him into something like Bloodborne (I know, not a movie) with lots of lore, expect to not see him for a hot minute as he consumes all the information he can like a sponge.

He tends to favor psychological horror- Although, if it means spending time with you and gaining favor, he would watch most anything. Especially if there's the possibility of close physical affection... ANYWAYS. He's also the one who wants to watch a bunch of foreign language film horror such as "Les yeux sans visage" in original French.

Another thing is that he will watch things over and over and over again with you if you want. Part of it is the undiagnosed neurodivergency. Part of it is because you always catch new details when you watch things again. Him noticing something that you didn't and him getting to tell you and impressing you is a special kind of high. He will talk about movies for hours afterwards. "Jacob's Ladder" has been a several hours long dissection MULTIPLE TIMES.

Favorite Horror Movies: "Angel Heart" is his top all time favorite. If you haven't seen it, he will practically tie you up to watch it together- He also really enjoyed "The Lighthouse" and "Us."

Arkham

Similar to BTAS, he is also interested in the animatronics. His, however, would lean to body horror and sci-fi. Something about biology and machine blending together... it gets him kind of excited.

He will sit and work while watching you play something like Deadspace (sorry, a game again) for HOURS. Then he wants to watch the prequel movie with you. Also if you don't mind subtitles, he has this recommendation for "Tetsuo: The Iron Man" if you haven't seen it already. And if you haven't... You are in for an experience.

In short, this man is about the body horror. He likes other horror too, but that's his bread and butter. Sci-fi horror as well. Bonus when there is overlap. He's seen "Annihilation" at least twenty times and has the books dog-eared and rough from multiple reads somewhere in his belongings. Yes, they are ultimately different, but he's in love with the concept enough that to him he appreciates both.

He is going to scare you with animatronics he makes. Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes not. Have fun with that.

Favorite horror movies: Cronenberg period but he has a special fondness for "Videodrome" and "The Fly" (1986).

Telltale

Despite it being an excellent movie, he despises "Jacob's Ladder." It brings up too many unpleasant thoughts. Movies, especially horror, with medical experimentation are a trigger though he'll never say it out loud. You find this out as you discuss watching certain movies and see the connection between all of them.

That being said, the horror movies he likes have two themes: they have meaning/ a message or they involve transformation. The first is because anything too simple bores him. The second is totally absolutely NOT because of projection of his own trauma.

Show him "Get Out" and "Nope" and he gains a deep reverence for Jordan Peele as a writer and director. Intelligent, entertaining, and the perfect amount of horror mixed in. Kind of a fan, only you know, really.

80s version of "The Fly" makes him emotional and you probably only watch it once with him. He likes it a lot! Just... the slow transformation via a science accident is very relatable. Madness overtaking you.

Favorite horror movies: "An American Werewolf In London" it's a classic. Not to mention in his opinion one of the best transformation scenes in a movie.

2022/nashton

Ha... so here's the thing. He likes "Hostel" and movies like that with lots of violence and gore. He's even seen "Wolf Creek" and got some real excitement out of it. HOWEVER. Movies in that vein are a form of emotional self-harm for him. He likes them in the moment but they also usually trigger massive anxiety and depression episodes for him later on in the day/night.

Others like "Se7en" (I know it's a thriller not true horror), "Saw" and the like are usually okay. There's a distinctive difference that may only exist in his own mind, but the more you watch with him, the more you'll find out which movies are "safe" for him. Which is good! He does like horror movies, but as we know from the prequel comics, he's not always good at taking care of himself due to massive amounts of trauma.

He loves films that are gems that aren't super well known in the US when he can find them. Have you seen the Korean horror film "The Silenced"? No? You're in for a treat.

He likes movies that have a logic or puzzle to them. Complex mechanics and traps. A sick sense of justice dispensed.

Favorite horror movies: The "Saw" series. Also "The Collector." He sees the upside down shot with the reflective contacts and the spider allegories and his eyes dilate like a cat seeing it's favorite toy.

[supercap2319]

Okay, so I wanted to write an Archie Andrews x male reader for ep 7x05. But even I'm not sure how to handle all the Tales from the Crypt energy that happened in it. Also the fact that Archie died in almost every one of Jughead's stories tells me that he doesn't like him very much. Being split in half. Leprosy sex. And got his head cut off.

[rawiswhore]

Various Actors, Professional Wrestlers, Porn Stars x Fem Reader- "Swimming Pools"

This fanfiction may contain material things may find problematic, but viewer discretion is advised...

______________________________________________________________

You've had this sexual fantasy of being at a local community swimming pool, and the men at this swimming pool are Don Johnson in the early 1970's when he looked like this:

Even though Don Johnson looked sexy AF during the late 1980's when he had long hair, he also looked sexy AF in the early 1970's before he was famous, and in the early 1970's he looked like a teenager despite that he was a grown man.

Bubba Higgins from "Mama's Family" during the late 1980's when he looks like this:

Eric Stoltz when he looks like this:

Or maybe even how he looks in the film "Fast Times At Ridgemont High".

John Ritter in his "Three's Company" days when he looks like this:

Leigh McCloskey in the film "Alexander: The Other Side of Dawn" when he looks like this:

Wrestler Jerry Lynn in the early 1990's when he looked like this or when he first joined ECW:

Some of the other men at this swimming pool include Jeff Hardy at the beginning of 1997, Christian Cage in the late 1990's and the year 2000 when he had long blond hair, 90's and 2000's Chris Jericho when he has long hair and no facial hair, Bill Paxton in the "Tales from the Crypt" episode "People Who Live in Brass Hearses", late 1990's Shawn Michaels (specifically Shawn in 1997/1996), Triple H at the end of 1997/beginning of 1998 or even during his 90's blueblood Hunter Hearst Helmsley days, Nova from ECW in the late 1990's or even in 2001/2002, Brian Pillman in 1996, Raven during his ECW and WCW days, Leif Cassidy in 1996 (before he grew that handlebar moustache at the end of the year), Tommy Rogers either during his Fantastics days at the end of 1988 or during his ECW run in the late 90's (he looks better during his Fantastics days), Rob Van Dam either during his ECW and WWE/F days in the 90's and early 2000's or RVD during his Robbie V days in WCW in 1993, Razor Ramon/Scott Hall, wrestler Sam Houston in the 1990's, wrestler Wayne Bloom in the early 1990's, 90's MTV VJ John Sencio in 1994 or even in 1998 when he was on the short lived sitcom "The Army Show", Richard Tyson in "Three O'Clock High" and WCW wrestler Jim Powers.

Other men in this fantasy are male porn stars Biff Malibu, Gerry Pike, Jay Serling in the 1980's when he doesn't have facial hair and Shawn Ricks in the 2001 porn movie "Babewatch 4", Vince Van Patten on "Baywatch", John Bender in "the Breakfast Club", Thomas Haden Church in the 90's when he has long hair and looks like this:

And maybe even Mark Hamill in the film "Corvette Summer".

In this fantasy, Don Johnson in the early 1970's, Jeff Hardy at the beginning of 1997, Christian Cage when he had long hair, Raven in ECW and WCW, Leif Cassidy in 1996, Robbie V from WCW, Chris Jericho, Jerry Lynn in the early 90's, Eric Stoltz and maybe even Nova in his ECW days are meant to be teenage boys even though all of these aforementioned men are grown men.

Bubba Higgins on "Mama's Family", John Bender in "The Breakfast Club" and Richard Tyson in "Three O'Clock High" were teenagers even though they were played by grown men.

You are not a sexual predator or pedophile, all of the men in this fantasy were grown legal men even if some of them were playing teens.

The rest of the listed men in this fantasy are grown men playing grown men.

At this swimming pool, some of these men are lounging in pool chairs, whereas some of the boys like Don Johnson in the early 1970's, Bubba Higgins and Jeff Hardy are inside the swimming pool splashing about.

Some of the men in this fantasy are also lifeguards sitting in chairs.

Shawn Michaels, Triple H/Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Jeff Hardy, Christian Cage, Leif Cassidy, Chris Jericho, Nova from ECW, Tommy Rogers, Wayne Bloom, John Sencio, Biff Malibu, and Gerry Pike all have their long hair hanging down in this fantasy, although all of these men in this fantasy have their long hair hanging down except for Jim Powers.

You walked this community swimming pool wearing a rather skimpy pink bikini, like the bikini Susanna Hoffs wears on the poster for the movie "The All-Nighters".

When you step further into the swimming pool but not taking a dip into the swimming pool yet, just about all of the males' eyes were all on you.

Their heads turned and their eyes were all on you.

Some of the men in this fantasy lounging in pool chairs were smiling from ear to ear hollering at you and giving you those "wolf whistles" as they're called.

Teenage boys are infamously horny, and these teen boys eyes were focused on you where their eyes were studying your body up and down while their mouths grinned and erections were forming under their shorts.

They were no longer playing and splashing around in this pool but instead looking at you.

You didn't mind these men and boys staring and leering at you, in fact, you specifically wanted them all to look at you.

With a grin on your face, you stood there and would turn your body to show yourself off to all of these men and boys to leer at you.

"This little bikini top can barely cover my breasts" you stated loud enough for all of these men at this pool to hear, your eyes staring at one of your breasts saying that.

You said that to sexually arouse these men.

Later on in this fantasy, you got into this swimming pool, where you stood in front of these men playing teenage boys like Don Johnson, Jeff Hardy, Christian Cage, Raven, Chris Jericho, Eric Stoltz, Leif Cassidy, Bubba Higgins from "Mama's Family", John Bender from "The Breakfast Club", Robbie V from WCW and Leigh McCloskey.

They were all smiling and eager standing in front of you, and you lowered your chest down until the pool's water was above your breasts.

As the water was above your tits, your hands reached behind your back and untied the back of your bikini top, where you pulled your top off of your chest and let your breasts soak under the cold water.

The boys noticed your barenaked breasts under the water and pointed at them, where they smiled from ear to ear and got excited.

They'd probably cum in the swimming pool.

After your breasts were dampened by this cold water, you raised your body up until your barenaked tits were above the water, where you were showing your barenaked tits off to these men.

Your breasts were now wet and your nipples were erect from the cold water.

These boys cheered seeing your barenaked breasts and soon the rest of these men in the pool's eyes were glued to your tits.

Some of the men were cheering for your breasts out exposed.

You stood there topless with a wicked grin on your face showing off.

These boys were getting horny when you walked next to the pool and showed yourself off, but they were getting hornier when they saw your bare, wet breasts.

They weren't the only ones getting horny, so were the rest of these men at the swimming pool.

If you could, you'd ask these boys to dunk their heads under the pool's water and you'd sink down under the water as well, where you'd flash your barenaked breasts to them.

However, these boys aren't wearing swimming goggles, and when people open their eyes when they're underwater and don't wear goggles, their vision looks foggy.

Although, this is a fantasy.

Plus, you want some of these men lounging by the pool and lifeguards to look at your barenaked breasts too.

"I just love how cool and cold this pool is" you stated to these boys, "Feels good to swim in cold water during a hot day"

You were referring to this because the cold water is making your nipples erect.

"Y'know, boys can walk around shirtless, but girls can't" you added, saying that as an excuse to show off your barenaked breasts.

Meanwhile, these boys standing in front of you wouldn't take their eyes off of your breasts and all of them were smiling, some of their hands wanted to reach out and touch them.

They can look and they can touch.

Heh, you could've entered this swimming pool wearing a white T-shirt with a bikini bottom but no bikini top under your shirt, where you would've soaked yourself into the pool and your breasts and nipples are seen under your top after you've taken a dip, where you would've shown off your breasts to all of these men and boys without even raising and pulling your shirt up.

This fantasy could also take place at a summer camp, where these boys are all attending a summer camp and these men are camp counselors, and before these boys go swimming, you approach them wearing a bikini, where you show your body off to these men and boys while they all gaze happily with their eyes reading your body.

This fantasy almost did take place at a summer camp, but I decided on a swimming pool instead.

You could've included wrestlers like the Young Bucks in the 2010's and Dean Ambrose during his WWE days, but you had this fantasy in the late 1990's and early 2000's.

There's other men---mainly professional wrestlers---you could add to this fantasy.

You can't decide if Triple H at the end of 1997 and beginning of 1998, Nova from ECW and John Ritter in his "Three's Company" heyday looks underage.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics:

1. Brian Lumley's¹ "The Outpost of the Great Elder (Ones)."

2. Metal Hurlant² ("Screaming Metal"): H.P. Lovecraft's "Murmurs & Whispers."

3. "Kadath³, the Unknown" - a version of "Quest For Unknown Kadath" in HPL's Dreamlands setting?

4. Macabros ("Macabre"): "Monster Tower From Kh'otshan⁴"?

5. Simply gorgeous detail work!

6. Live Beyond Fear - In madness?!

7. Cthulhu Calling - Are you going to answer it?!!

8. Horror for the Holidays - When you deserve worse than coals in your X-Mas sock!!

9. Crypt of Cthulhu - Is it back or not?

10. Revelations From Yuggoth⁵ - Some competition?!

Intro: Part 3.

So, it's 1915 & Lovecraft is putting together yet another journal.

One which he will use to spread his political views, print his poesy & just show off his ideas - from the 1700s!

Work:

It might be a good thing that Howard wrote - not for money - but, for his own artistic & intellectual satisfaction.

He bore the 'burden' of educating the members of the UAPA & the readers beneath him.

It sort of 'assured' that he produced works of 'quality & value'...

(Though he would later call these same works "crap"!!)

Lovecraft's ideals were born from his studies of Greek & Roman writings.

Who, he wrote, "completed the art & science of expression."

"Classical authors achieved", Howard thought, "simplicity, moderation & elegance of taste."

Setting the tone for his own society, HPL supported Prohibition⁶.

Being a teetotaler⁷, he saw drunks as degenerates & moral inferiors.

Politically, Lovecraft ridiculed the goals of the League of Nations⁸ & the idea that war should be prevented.

Unity, he felt, couldn't be achieved thru diversity.

Howard's reason for this view was that humans were rapacious⁹, hateful & greedy - always divided by racial cultures.

He was also aware of the disillusioning power of knowledge.

That "art relies, in part, on mystery & mystification."

For HPL, meaning came, both, from art & tradition.

He proposed that, in the future, art would need artificial limitations to be able to connect it to each person's consciousness.

Otherwise, rampant liberalism¹⁰ would make 'modern' life meaningless, banal¹¹ & worthless.

So, it's no surprise that Lovecraft's Conservative contains so many theories on the writing of weird tales.

The great bulk of his more famous stories would come later in life - after his disastrous NYC period...

But, we do get to see that Howard was a man 'out of time.'

This is best seen in his long, intricate letters.

(On average, HPL wrote 15-page letters & the sheer mass of them makes up the 2nd largest collection of letters in the world!!)

The most important ones have been collected & published - as works of literature themselves!

All in all, The Conservative provides us with an overview of Lovecraft's opinions on the important matters of his day & it lives up to its name.

Notes:

1. Brian Lumley was a British horror writer who died in January of this year!

He started his career by writing Lovecraftian fiction - thru the central character of Titus Crow.

Lumley's best work, however, was in his Necroscope series of the 1980s.

2. Heavy Metal was an American dark sci-fi, horror & fantasy magazine that started in 1977 & lasted til 2023!

Its relaunch (a giant #1) is on Kick- starter right now!!

3. Kadath is a mountain crowned by an onyx castle - the home of Earth's Dream Gods, the Great Ones.

It's full name is "Kadath In The Cold Waste" & its true position is still debated.

4. I tried every possible spelling & got responses for Kharshan:

A. Kharsa, a city in war torn Syria.

B. Kharsan, a botanical plant from India.

C. Iskander Kharsan, a boxer out of Henderson, Nevada.

D. Kharsan, as an Arabian last name, is popular in Yemen!

E. There's various spelling versions like: Khars, Kharsah, Kharsani, Kharse & Kharsen.

5. Revelations From Yuggoth was a short lived (1987 to 1989) weird fiction fanzine by author/poet Shawn Ramsey.

It published poetry, short fiction, art, non-fiction articles, either new work & 'classic.'

6. Prohibition (1920 to 1933) was the failed attempt to outlaw drinking from its manufacture to its point of sale.

It led to a rise in crime gangs fighting over booze's illegal production, its smuggling & sale.

Worse of all, taxes declined...

The market crash of 1929 & the Great Depression led to alcohol being legalized again & tax revenue grew once again.

7. A teetotaler was someone who never drank liquor.

The word was 1st used in the emphasized form of "total (abstinence) with a capital T."

9. The League of Nations was the 1st worldwide organization whose main mission was to foster peace.

But, it had no armed forces of its own & depended on the Allied Powers to enforce its edicts.

So, it existed from 1920 til 1946, when many of its components were given over to the incoming United Nations.

10. Liberalism is a moral & political philosophy based on the rights of individuals, consent of the governed & equality before the Law.

This word also denies supernatural phenomena, as science accounts for all objects & events.

11. Banal is lacking originality - as to be obvious &, worse, boring.

Next: We finally get into the contents of the 1st issue of The Conservative.

[stardancerluv]

Ford - Tales of the Crypt - Cold War - Masterlist #11

🎃 👻😈💀Halloween🎃 👻😈💀

Is Immortality the Ultimate Gift?

Centries ago you were ripped away from the man you loved. You were turned into a vampire, he was turned into a ghoul. When the two of you finally reunite your entire existence is tipped on its head. You had thought he had been dead this entire time. Now, that you know the other one is very much around what will that mean for the two of you?

Arthur’s Note: This is loosely based on the episode. He is certainly a ghoul. I maintain that ghouls and vampires are very separate. That is my jumping off point since I am making the reader a vampire. It will be quite a trip. Not till then will be know truly what will happen.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Four A

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part 11 A

Part Tweleve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Puzzle Piece

—-Is Ford falling for a human? Is this human falling for a ghoul? What is her story?

Part One

Part One A

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Four A

Part Four B

Part Five

Part Five A

Part 6

Part 7

Part 7a

Part 8

Part 9

Part 9a

Part 10

Part 10a

Part 10b

[sandinthemachine]

Eden

König x reader fluff

It's been a strange few days, full of quite a lot of emotions I wasn't expecting. I didn't think I'd be able to write much today, and yet when I sat down this came out pretty much on its own. And it made me feel a bit better. I hope it can do the same for you. If you'd like a soundtrack, Hozier's "From Eden" was mine, hence the title. Enjoy a little soft domesticity :)

Words: 659

-

You like him best in moments like this, you think.

Of course, you find yourself saying that so often now. When he reaches to the top shelf and his shirt rides up, showing just a sliver of skin that, to this day, has your breath stalling. When he rolls up his sleeves to knead bread and you get to watch the muscles of his forearms as he works, the patterns of veins running over his skin. Every time it makes you forget what you were supposed to be doing. Or on the rare nights when he falls asleep on the couch and you find yourself standing over him, entranced by the soft curves of his neck, the peak of his Adam’s apple, and the stubble beginning to grace his skin once again. You always bring your biggest blanket down for him, tucking it up to his chin as you kiss his cheek.

So yes, you suppose there are many moments you like him best in. And this is one of them.

He lounges in the plush armchair, hips pushed lazily forward, a single leg flung carelessly onto the coffee table. Slowly the other leg bounces, tapping out a rhythm known only to him. Long fingers curve around a worn paperback book, spine cracked a dozen times over, pages folded and flattened and folded again.

The old thing had caught your eye in a second-hand store a few days earlier, and when you had opened it the smell had wormed its way into your lungs, pulling forth dusted memories of childhood daydreams spent climbing mountains and exploring secret libraries, sword fighting skeletons in the crypt and racing home on the backs of dragons, telling tales of your heroic adventures to all who would listen.

You’d laid the book on the coffee table next to your jacket as you hurried to finish dinner before he got home, already imagining the look on his face when he walked in the door. You had a meal prepared for him every time he came back from deployment, and every time his eyes would widen as he smelled it, mouth opening just slightly as you reminded him that yes, this is for you. Welcome home.

That day had been no different, and the pair of you had collapsed on the couch after a movie too many, laughing and teasing each other.

The bedroom’s right there.

Too far. I want to stay just like this.

Me too.

You’d woken to find one of his arms stretched wide to the side, halfway through the book you’d completely forgotten about.

And now here he sits, nearly finished with it. His chin propped on one hand, eyebrows knitting closer together with each passing second, his bottom lip slipping gently between his teeth.

He doesn’t even notice you walking towards him until you’re already right in front of him, a hand wrapping around his wrist to lift his arm. His mouth opens in a sentence cut off as you duck under his arm, letting it fall back into place as you crawl on top of him. One of his eyebrows lifts steadily higher and higher as you scoot forward, arms wrapping around him.

“You alright?”

“Of course I am.” You smile, laying your head on his shoulder. “Carry on.”

He exhales, shifting, and you pull back, thinking that maybe that was too much, maybe he wants some more space now.

He switches the book to his other side as he straightens, and you shove your palms into the armrest to move off just as his other arm wraps around you, yanking you back into him and staying there, just a little too tight against your back as your own hands find his shoulders, squeezing just a little too much.

He rests his cheek against you, his soft sigh fluttering over your skin.

You fall asleep just like that.

Soon after, so does he.

After he finishes the book, of course.

-

-

-

taglist: @not-your-batty-babe

To be added to the taglist comment or message me. Thank you :)

[naelys-the-aster]

Masterlist

Here is a masterlist for some easy navigation of multiple stories and fandoms, listed by Fandom and followed by Character.

TO REQUEST A WORK BE PULLED FROM THE LIBRARY OF HOUSE ASTER THE RULES MUST FOLLOW:

You may keep your request Anonymous or Request using you House/Profile Name.

We ask you to be specific when requesting material, as our Maesters prefer to be precise in locating the specific work within our crypts, please name the character you would like the work to be about, as well as describe your desired prompt.

Be patient, House Aster has many tales and tellings in its libraries as we record and document not only history but tales from all word of mouth.

Please, we ask no underage 18+ situations, If the person you request is a child, our Maesters nor I will not pay mind to your request. (House Aster nor do our historians condone or catalog inappropriate imagery with minors!)

Instances of Sexual Activity that is non-consensual (adults!) may be insinuated for plot device, briefly, a Trigger Warning will appear before scene insinuation for comfort of other readers.

We agree that these were times of incestuous relations and our Maesters understand as well, but have not and will deny the cataloging following sexual relationships: Daughter X Father, Son X Mother, Daughter X Mother, Son X Father, Granddaughter X Grandsire, Grandsire X Grandson, Grandmother X Granddaughter, Grandmother X Grandson.

"Thank you for your support and readings of the works of The House Of Aster. I hope to hear of your requests soon enough." - Naelys of the House Aster.

House Of The Dragon

Daemon Targaryen

Jorrāelagon Zālagon CH. 1 (PREVIEW)

Jorrāelagon Zālagon Chapter 1

Jorrāelagon Zālagon CH. 2 (PREVIEW)

Jorrāelagon Zālagon Chapter 2

Jorrāelagon Zālagon CH.3 (PREVIEW)

Jorrāelagon Zālagon Chapter 3

Jorrāelagon Zālagon CH.4 (PREVIEW)

Aemond Targaryen

Comming soon! Our Maesters are currently searching the Library Crypts for this requested work.

Lucerys Velaryon (*Fluff Only*)

Coming Soon! Our Maesters are currently Searching the Library Crypts for this requested work!

[gravessyard]

To Have Loved and Lost

Notes from the Crypt: Hullo, I like to write stuff. My latest obsession has been Genshin, and I'm a huge sucker for angst so I hope you enjoy. Edit: Chapter 2 now out

Tags: GN!Reader, angst, cheating

Summary: Something is wrong, and it took you 2 months to find out what.

It started with week 1 where you first observed that Diluc’s lingering touches on Jean mimicked the same ones he gave you. The way he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear or squeezed her shoulder when they’re in deep discussion regarding Mondstadt’s safety. You never missed the way his hand would touch the small of her back when he was walking with her through the crowded streets of the city, with you acting as third wheel behind them. Once you even saw him rest his hand on her thigh when you and your boyfriend were having dinner with Jean and Kaeya at Good Hunter. Though it was quick, your keen observation was quicker.

Week 2 Diluc left you a note saying he wasn’t going to be home for the next x days and to not wait up for him. It would follow up with an explanation of how he was going on a mission with Jean, and you started to grow suspicious. You didn’t want to think too hard about them, you thought deep in your heart that he truly loved you and that the mission was surely to fight monsters or the abyss order to further keep Mond safe. You pushed down the dark feeling starting to eat away at you and decided an evening of self-care was in order.

By week 3, Kaeya noticed how stressed you were, with you juggling your work along with this new burden on your relationship with his brother. He can’t say he didn’t try to help when he went to the tavern during a shift Diluc was working and tried to use his charm to get him to at least see things from your perspective, only to be cut off early and kicked out. He thought how odd the entire exchange was, normally when it came to concerns involving you, Diluc would have dropped everything to make sure you were well taken care of and not, well, neglected as Kaeya suspects is happening.

4 weeks in, Kaeya suggests you take in a change of scenery, seeing as your current predicament is starting to affect your health. It took a lot of convincing but in the end, you decided 2 weeks back in your hometown of Inazuma should help you get back into the right mindset. In the past you were stuck outside of the nation, being in Mondstadt the day the decree began, and the nation had closed off entirely. Kaeya knew how much it had affected you; he was the first person who came across you after news broke out, and he was one of the people who helped ease you through your darkest moments following the decree. No one had any idea how long the nation would have been in solitude, and for you that meant you would never see your closest family and friends ever again. At least, until the traveler came to Teyvat and seemed to fix one nation’s problem after the other.

Following the abolishing of the decree, you felt a tremendous weight lift off your shoulders, grateful to the traveler for saving your nation. Of course, you made sure to return as quick as possible to check on everyone near and dear to you, but by then you had established a relationship with Mondstadt’s wine tycoon, having spent time with the Ragnvindr brothers and Jean after all. After reassurances of future visits, you return to the city of freedom for what you thought was your fairy tale ending, unaware of the nightmare ahead. Bidding farewells to your friends in Mond, you were personally escorted by the Calvary Captain to the boats of Liyue, where you were then shipped off to Inazuma so you could finally relax.

Weeks 5 and 6 were spent catching up with old friends. You were relieved when you first learned of Gorou and Itto’s safety following the overturn of the decree, and from then the three of you would make it a tradition to meet up at least once a year for the infamous hotpot game Thoma had once introduced you. Though he was often busy, Thoma would somehow still find time to spend with you, especially since he thought it was funny how he was a Mondstadter stuck in Inazuma and you were an Inazuman stuck in Mondstadt. You make sure to make your rounds along the island, catching up with the Yashiro commissioner and his sister, the peppy fireworks master and even visiting the Grand Narukami Shrine to chat with Yae Miko. You even pulled a fortune slip for fun but felt a cold chill run down your spine when you pulled a Great Misfortune, your thoughts immediately filled with Diluc and Jean. As quick as they came, you again push that feeling aside, you came home to stop worrying, why waste all that effort now? Before your trip came to an end, you made sure to take part in the upcoming festival, any previous lingering thoughts forgotten while you made special memories with your special friends.

Upon your return in week 7, you opened the door to the winery only to find your boyfriend is very much balls deep in the acting grand master. The very thing your gut was trying to warn you about and here it was, manifested. You froze, taking in the trail of clothes leading up to the couch and their shocked faces, clearly, they both forgot that you were to return today. You wouldn’t be surprised if they had forgotten about you altogether. Ice filled your veins, you wanted to scream, to scream about how you had suspected them of flirting with each other behind your back, you wanted so badly to tear into them about their lingering touches and lovey dovey gazes, but your mouth didn’t move. All at once, the pair were scrambling to cover themselves, telling you that it wasn’t what it looked like, that there was an explanation, but you were preoccupied in turning on your heel and walking away from the scene. You heard a shout of your name, and you broke out into a sprint, you didn’t care where you went but you had to get away away AWAY.  The more shouts you heard the faster you ran, the wind seeming to guide you to the city, thankfully since your vision was too blurry with all the tears you were shedding. Even after you crossed the entrance gates you didn’t stop, the adrenaline keeping you going until you ran into a body, taking them with you to the floor. With lungs full of air, you finally let your voice be heard in a flurry of pathetic sobs, clinging to the person you full body tackled, uncaring of who it was. To Kaeya’s surprise, he wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, sure he was aware that you had returned from Inazuma but because of how late it was, he was expecting to see you the following day so he could ask about your adventure. To see you in such a state could only confirm his suspicions of his brother having an affair with the acting grand master.

He had his suspicions for a few weeks now but didn’t think to act on them until your trip to Inazuma, where he could use the time to tail Diluc and Jean and attempt to get any information. At first it started out with him tagging along with the duo, from inviting them for drinks or to get food to even awkwardly interrupting their pseudo dates when he saw them both around the city. In the 2 weeks you were gone, he had noticed how Diluc and Jean would act much closer than they usually did, almost like a couple. At one point Kaeya had to watch from the sidelines to witness more acts like this, like Diluc bringing Jean flowers or how Jean would leave the city with what appeared to be an overnight bag on more than one occasion. It was clear to Kaeya that the pair were harboring feelings for the other, but to do it while he’s in a relationship with you? He never thought his brother would stoop so low. With the information he’s gathered, he was thinking of a way to break the news to you gently, the last thing he wanted was for you to walk in on their affair, but it breaks his heart to see he was too late, as you had done just that and was now crying in his chest, your form trembling in his arms.

“D-Diluc…. A-And Jean…!”, you hiccupped, and Kaeya pressed his lips to your hair, shushing you gently while he rubbed your back.

“I know doll… I had my suspicions. Come on, let’s get you someplace safe”, he sighed, helping you up to your feet so he could walk you back to his apartment. Even in the dead of night, the city wasn’t void of people and Kaeya would hate for anyone else to see you in the state you’re in and try to pry into what happened. You whimpered, clinging to his arm while you continued to shake, full on sprinting to the city from the winery is no easy feat, now that the adrenaline is gone your muscles were screaming at you to stop moving. You wanted badly to just drop right there and let the ground swallow you whole, but you knew you’d never rest in peace until you found out why the bastard had done this to you. You took a few steps with Kaeya until you heard your name called out by the very man who broke the heart you entrusted him with.

“y/n, please wait...!”, Diluc pants, finally catching up after he watched you dash from his front door. He managed to get his pants on but couldn’t fully button his shirt up, leaving his chest bare for you and his brother to see the marks littering his skin. Kaeya felt disgusted at the sight, disgusted at his brother, and disgusted with himself for not doing more to prevent this. He opened his mouth to begin to tear him a new one when he felt the temperature in the air drop significantly. For a moment he thought he had lost control of his vision, but when he saw snow begin to fall from the sky, he looked over at you and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Your face was blank, the light in your eyes gone and your tear stains were beginning to frost over. The sight alone was enough to trouble the brothers, both standing in shock while you continued to stare at Diluc, taking in his image. His disheveled hair, messy clothes and how his lips were still a little puffy, no doubt from a heavy make out session. You thought of all the red flags you had ignored, the times you had pushed aside your own gut feeling in favor of the ruined man in front of you. Memories flashed through your head, from the day you met Diluc to the many dates he took you on and finally the day he asked you to be his, each memory bringing more tears back to your eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“….. I wanna go”, you murmured to Kaeya, pressing closer to his side while you took a deep breath in, willing your heart to stop aching. The snow stopped falling, whatever did fall was already starting to melt while the air was returning to its normal temperature. By the time the sun rises there would be no indication of the temporary snow day the city experienced. Kaeya placed a hand on the small of your back, turning you both and guiding you away from Diluc Ragnvindr, the man you once loved, now lost. He could only watch you walk away, the consequences of his impulsive actions eating away at him. The only thing he could do was turn around and begin his walk of shame back to the winery, back to Jean.

Week 8 started with you finding out the supposed love of your life was cheating on you, but you were also on your new journey of self-discovery and reaching new bonds with the Calvary Captain of the Knights of Favonius.

Epitaph: This piece can also be found on AO3, I have also thought of adding another chapter, maybe. Soo,, about that new Diluc skin? >:3c