#tall folks beware

[mochinomnoms]

I dont trust tall people. Except maybe jack but thats because he's a good boy.

NO CAUSE YOUR SO CORRECT tall people too shifty, why they so tall for? what do they need to be tall for? they dont have a reason the reason is that theyre demons and i have prime access to their kneecaps—

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Epilogue

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 3.7k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. A wedding, father/daughter dance, tears, laughter, unprotected p in v (reader's on birth control and they're married now so...), Sarah calls reader Mom, mention of Ellie...

A/N: This is the end, folks! They are a real family now. I'm not crying, you're crying. As we all know by now, this fic was inspired by the song Fall Into Me. Another song dear to me inspired a particular scene in this chapter - Butterfly Kisses. Check it out if you'd like. **it always makes me cry, so beware** This story is dear to my hear and I'm grateful for all the love it has received. Thank you for joining me on this journey!

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Eleven | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The autumn sun began its descent, painting the sky in beautiful shades of orange and red as it approached the horizon. Joel stared out the double-paned glass, too focused on calming his nerves to enjoy the rolling landscape of the vineyard below. Palms sweaty and heart thumping heavily in his chest, he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, popping the top two buttons open to help him breathe.

“Cold feet, son?” JB questioned from the doorway before slipping fully into the room. Tommy followed behind him, anxious to see why Joel was taking so long.

Their presence startled Joel and he grimaced. “Not me,” he grunted, still struggling to inhale deep, full breathes as his heart raced.

“You sure about that, brother?”

Joel directed a scowl in Tommy’s direction. “I don’t have cold feet, but I’m terrified she does,” he admitted gruffly. He couldn’t meet the other men’s eyes, feeling vulnerable.

“I promise you, son. Spud does not have cold feet,” JB soothed. “In fact, she has much the same worry about you.”

“A match made in heaven, I’d say,” Tommy chimed in with a grin, bumping his shoulder against Joel’s.

“Come on, now. Get your asses down to the vineyard before Maria comes looking for ya. She’s on a war path, that girl a’ yours,” JB directed with a wink to Tommy. “I gotta get back to Spud, make sure she doesn’t run off to find you before it’s time. Meet again at the altar, fellas.”

The brothers watched your dad leave. Throwing an arm around Joel’s shoulder, Tommy led him toward the door. “The ol’ bastard was telling the truth, ya know. She’s terrified of you getting cold feet. Emily and Sarah have been calming her down for an hour now, insisting that you can’t wait to marry her. That girl loves you more than anything, brother.”

Joel beamed, eyes softening at the thought of you walking towards him in a flowing white dress, wildflowers clutched in your hand, and eyes brimming with tears of absolute joy. The mental image soothed his nerves more than any words could and he finally let Tommy lead him from the room.

Fresh air with the slightest chill met them as they exited the building. The soft hum of a string quartet filled the air while guests arrived and took their seats. A charming wooden arbor adorned with colorful flowers, delicate greenery, and a white sash served as the altar at which the two of you would become husband and wife.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Joel walked down the aisle, nodding at some of the guests as he took his place in front of the arbor. He stood tall, looking undeniably handsome in a slate gray suit sans tie, the top few buttons of the ruby colored dress shirt left open offering a glimpse of his tanned chest and a sprinkle of hair. Thick curls were swept back from his face, facial hair trimmed to perfection with that little heart-shaped bare patch visible.

Stepping up to his left side, Tommy smiled broadly at the small crowd. His longer curls were tied back neatly, and he tucked a few stray locks behind his ears and sent a cheeky wink to his woman sitting in the front row. Maria rolled her eyes playfully. Tommy watched Joel’s hand flex, fingers bouncing against thigh in a nervous tick he had since childhood and braced a hand on his shoulder. “You got this, big brother.”

Before Joel could respond, the string quartet began to play Pachelbel’s Canon and he stood taller, eyes locked down the aisle in anticipation of seeing you. Tommy rushed off to the side to take his place in the processional.

Sarah appeared from behind a row of lush, thick vines, looking like an angel in a white dress with a ribbon of material matching Joel’s shirt tied around her waist. The little girl insisted that her dress match yours, not understanding that, traditionally, only the bride wore white. But you didn’t give a hoot about tradition, helping Sarah to find the perfect white dress, adding the sash as something unique. The recollection of the joy on Sarah’s face when she tried on the dress for the first time made Joel’s heart melt.

Sarah danced down the aisle; face lit up with glee as she scattered rose petals along the way from a small wicker basket clutched in one hand. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun in a circle, allowing her dress to flutter around her, and tossed the last of the rose petals into the air, much to the delight of the guests and her father.

“Hi Daddy!” Sarah called, bouncing over to the place she was told to stand the evening before. Joel melted at the happiness on his daughter’s face, and he beamed back at her proudly. The little girl’s antics drew a soft rumble of laughter from the guests before all attention turned back down the aisle.

Tommy and Emily stepped past the vines next, looking resplendent in their formal wear, the shade of Emily’s dress reminiscent of a glass of finest pinot noir, matching the hue of Tommy’s dress shirt. Joel nodded at them as they approached, lips quirked in a half smile. His hand clenched at his side as he fought back the nerves again.

Moments later, the rest of the world fell away when you appeared, one hand clasped around your dad’s arm. The charming colors of the setting sun were no match for your beauty. Joel had never seen anyone or anything so perfect in his entire life. A crown of vibrant flower blossoms secured in your hair, the breeze rustled a few locks and the short train of your simple white gown.

Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you – not as you walked down the aisle to him, or when JB shook his hand in that ceremonial way of giving you to him, and certainly not as the officiant rambled through the ceremony. To put it simply, you mesmerized him.

He would almost regret it later, but the entire ceremony was a blur. The only parts he remembered included your face smiling broadly at him, the love in your glistening eyes as you repeated the vows you chose together, and the kiss after being declared man and wife.

“You’re stuck with me forever now, darlin’,” Joel’s gravelly voice rumbled in your ear after the sweet kiss.

Your tinkling laughter carried in air, spreading merriment throughout the vineyard. “Oh no, whatever will I do,” you whispered back.

“Can we go dance now?” Eager to get on with the fun part, Sarah interrupted your little moment.

“Of course, nugget. Let’s go dance!”

The little girl squeezed her way in between the two of you and having tossed her empty flower basket aside without care, slipping her hand in yours and the other in Joel’s to tug you both back down the aisle.

“Someone’s eager to get the party started,” Joel chuckled, lips spread in a jaw-aching grin as his little family made their way to the reception area. Your eyes sparkled back at him, full of happiness and love.

The winery boasted a lodge with an oversized deck suitable for your small celebration and enough rooms for the guest to stay the night. The path from the ceremonial area back to the lodge weaved through thickets of grape vines, plump fruit nearly ripe for the picking as the three of you ducked under and around the vines.

The vineyard was charming, a lucky find in your search for the perfect wedding venue. It was the only compromise Joel willingly made on a venue – he longed for a quiet, backyard wedding, but you insisted on something slightly grander in scale.

Maria and Tommy did a great job of recreating the ambiance of that night long ago in Joel’s backyard for the reception. Fairy lights were strung high across the deck, music playing softly as the guests mingled with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in hand. High top tables were scattered about, centerpieces full of colorful hydrangeas.

It was perfect.

Wanting to save money, you kept the guest list to less than thirty people, mostly family and close friends, and opted for a bulk purchase of disposable cameras rather than springing for the cost of a wedding photographer. In addition, you insisted on a tier of cupcakes over an actual wedding cake, the icing matching the ruby red color of wine. Sarah and JB offered to put together an eclectic playlist for the winery to play through their sound system rather than put forth the cost of a band or DJ. All in all, it was an entirely family run affair that didn’t break the bank and you couldn’t be happier for it.

You and Joel mingled with the guests for a while before it was time for your first dance. Staying on theme, Joel had one request regarding your wedding song – it had to be Fall Into Me. You could hardly deny that one request, especially as the song meant so much to the both of you, practically telling the story of how you came together. Just like that night in his yard, Joel sang the words in a soft, quiet voice meant only for you, your bodies swaying side to side across the floor like you were the only two there.

None too soon, your dad led Sarah onto the dance floor, letting her stand on his feet as he danced around, just like he used to do when you were little. Maria and Tommy soon joined them, along with Emily and her husband. Before long, the party was in full swing.

You fought back tears during the father-daughter dance. Just as Sarah insisted on her dress matching yours, she wanted to dance with Joel during the traditional time. You were more than happy to have them join you. The battle against the tears was lost during the first chorus of Butterfly Kisses.

JB held you tighter as the first tear fell, brushing it away with a calloused thumb. “Feels like just yesterday when you would dance around on my feet like that,” he said, voice rough and quiet with the choke of tears in his throat. “Now here you are, grown up and married, with a family all your own. You’re not my little Spud anymore.”

Thank fuck for waterproof mascara, you thought as a sob escaped. “Dad,” you drew out the word in a sob, tears flooding your eyes, falling faster. You could barely get out the next words, throat aching and vision blurry. “I’ll always be your little Spud, no matter how old I am.”

Joel danced closer to you, checking in with a concerned look as you cried. “Darlin’, you alright?” His eyes darted between you and JB, the shimmer in the older man’s eyes matching his own. Dark eyes softened into molten chocolate, and he gestured to your dad to switch partners.

JB let you go after a bone crushing hug and a kiss to your forehead. “Take care of my girl, ya hear?”

Nodding solemnly, Joel shook JB’s hand. “Always.” He ushered Sarah into JB’s arms, letting them dance for the rest of the song as he pulled you close. Joel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I told you this song would make you cry, darlin’.  Let me wipe those tears away.”

Sniffling, your lips tilted up in a watery smile as he dabbed gently at your face. “I know, it always does. But it’s so beautiful, I had to include it.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Joel murmured, head nuzzled against yours. “Sarah already told me she’ll have this song at her wedding, too. I just know I’ll be crying like a god damned baby during the dance.”

That earned a laugh from you, the tears finally easing as the song ended. “Has she started planning her dream wedding already?” Joel nodded, a chuckle rumbling softly in your ear.

The evening carried on, dancing and drinking and laughing with everyone in celebration of you and Joel. You never really imagined your wedding as a kid, more concerned with being a tomboy and other, more important things. But you think now that if you had it likely would have imagined something exactly like this.

“Come on, Mrs. Miller,” Joel said when the lights finally dimmed, and the notes of the final song faded into the night. “It’s time to say goodnight to our guests.”

“Congrats, brother!” Tommy called cheerfully when you and Joel approached. His eyes large and glassy, a slight slur to his words providing evidence of a thoroughly enjoyable evening. “You two throw a great party. Do you need us to watch Sarah for the night so you can—”

“Alright you,” Maria jumped in, cutting the younger, drunker Miller brother off. “I doubt they want your drunk ass watching Sarah. Do you have someone lined up?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re good there. My dad is hosting a sleepover now that he is officially a grandpa. He’s insisting on being called Poppy just like I called my grandad.” You laughed at the memory of that conversation. JB was so excited to have a new nickname just for Sarah.

“Great! I would have been more than happy to help out but I’m going to have my hands full with this one,” Maria said with a gesture to Tommy where he swayed on his feet with a cheesy grin plastered on his face.

“Alone at last,” Joel whispered, carrying you through the threshold of the wedding suite. “You look beautiful in this dress, but I can’t wait to get you out of it.”

Any exhaustion you felt from the long, exciting day vanished at the smoldering look in your husband’s eyes. Your husband. Holy hell. Suddenly nervous, you slowly slipped the dress from your shoulders. Though you and Joel had been together more times than you could count, this would be the first time you had sex as a married couple.

Would his expectations be different? Should they be? Were you expecting something different? Should you? Fuck, why didn’t you think to ask Emily about this earlier?

“Darlin’?”

You glanced up to see Joel’s brows furrowed, realizing that you zoned out with your dress still around your hips. Warmth spread through your cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Joel. I’m… I’m a little nervous for some reason and got in my head about it.”

His lips tilted upwards as he stepped closer to help ease the dress down your body with gentle movements, knowing exactly what you needed to hear. “There’s no need to be nervous, sweetheart. It’s just you and me, like it always has been. We just have rings on our fingers now.”

And just like that, all worries fled your mind.

Once your dress was out of the way, Joel helped remove your bra and panties, leaving behind a trail of kisses on your dewy skin. His calloused hands, large but gentle, caressed every inch of bare skin before him, trousers growing tight as his body reacted to the sight of you.

His pupils dilated before your eyes and you pressed your lips to his, tongue teasing into his mouth to tangle with his in a searing kiss. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate and something so uniquely Joel, and you drank in the taste like a starving woman.

Still wearing far too much clothing for your liking, you ripped open his dress shirt, sending the buttons flying across the room. Oops. Manicured nails scratched down his bare chest, along his belly, until your fingers met the confining layer of his pants. After watching you fumble with his belt for too long – which, in reality, was only like two seconds, you swear – Joel brushed your hands aside and, without breaking the kiss, yanked the belt open and practically ripped his pants open to free his aching cock.

“What a lucky wife I am,” you purred, breaking the kiss, as your hand grasped his length. Your thumb traced over the bulbous head, smearing the precum pooling there, before bringing it back to your mouth for a little taste. “I get to experience this for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t tease, darlin’,” he growled low in his throat. “Besides, I’m the lucky one. I have the sexiest wife.”

Pants and boxer briefs shoved to the floor, Joel ripped off his socks and swept you right off your feet. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips as he walked to the large bed. Kneeling on the mattress, he never let go as he settled you on your back.

Already dripping for him, and too anxious to have him inside you already, you didn’t need any foreplay to be ready. His cock slid, with torturous slowness, inside your warm walls with the slightest nudge of his hips. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re so tight,” he breathed against your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as he fucked into you.

A pleasurable burn spread through you, his cock splitting you open. “Mmm, so good. Fuck me, dear husband. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As my wife wishes.”

Hips snapping, Joel set the perfect pace to bring you to the edge, heels digging into his ass with each powerful thrust. Fingernails scratched down his back, piercing the skin as he brought you to the peak, the orgasm causing your back to arch and muscles to spasm.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing my cock like a fuckin’ vise. Gonna make me come too soon.”

The orgasm seemed to last forever, pleasure washing over you in waves until you trembled beneath Joel. “It’s never too soon. Come for me, babe,” you gasped when the ability to speak finally returned.

Joel’s thrusts became sloppy near the tail end of your climax, and he spilled inside you as soon as the words left your mouth. His ragged breaths tickled your ear, sending gooseflesh down your body from neck to toes. Your name fell like a prayer from his lips, praising you for how good you made him feel.

“I love you, Mr. Miller,” you said, peppering his handsome face with kisses when he slipped from you and fell to the side with a heaving chest.

“And I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

You don’t know where either of you found the energy, but you made love twice more that night and once again in the morning. After each time, you admired the sparkle of the rings adorning your left hands, the jewelry a tangible symbol of your commitment to each other in this life and the next.

“Mom?” Sarah asked from where she sat doing homework at the breakfast bar while you made dinner. Joel would be home any minute.

“Yeah, nugget?” You grinned, heart swelling every time she called you that. You lost count in the year since the wedding, but Sarah calling you mom would never get old. It was a treasure you never thought you’d experience before you met Joel.

“Do you and Daddy want more kids?” At twelve years old now, Sarah’s voice lost that babyish tone you used to love. She looked and sounded more grown up each day, but she was still her Daddy’s little nugget.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ve talked about the fact that I don’t want to have a baby and he doesn’t want one either. But I wouldn’t be opposed to adopting a child in need, if he wanted to. I’d have to talk to your dad about it though.”

Sarah went quiet while you stirred the pasta and checked the sauce. It was nearly ready, just another minute or two.

“Why do you ask, kiddo?”

Sarah looked up from her work to meet your gaze and shrugged her shoulders in a way that told you she was searching for words to explain herself.

“I dunno. I guess I always thought it would be cool to have a sibling, but then all my friends that have one or more always complain about them.”

Tilting your head to the side, you dug a little more. “So, you’re just curious?”

Dark puppy eyes gazed up at you again. “Yeah… well, no. There’s…” She paused as the timer went off and you drained the pasta and mixed it into the sauce.

“There’s what?” you questioned, placing the large bowl of pasta on the table along with a plate of warm garlic bread, hearing Joel’s truck pull into the driveway. “Come sit and tell me.”

Before Sarah could begin, Joel walked in and kissed you both hello. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink before joining you at the table and you both listened with rapt attention as Sarah explained her friend’s situation.

“You know my friend, Ellie?” she asked, to which you both nodded.

“The snarky one in the grade below yours? Yeah, I like that one,” Joel replied around a mouthful of food. “What about her?”

Sarah grimaced at her father’s poor table manners, earning a smile from you before she continued. “Well, she’s in foster care but her foster parents are awful. They drink a lot and don’t care about her. She ends up hiding out in the detached garage all the time, even staying there overnight just to get away from them.”

“That’s awful, nugget. I’ll look into her file on Monday, see if there’s anything I can do,” you replied. You didn’t realize she was in foster care. As a fifth grader, you haven’t had her in class yet.

Joel looked at you with big cow eyes, brows arched in question. You could practically hear him thinking – he hated the thought of a child suffering in any way. Before either of you could say anything, Sarah spoke up again.

“Well, I was hoping maybe we could adopt her, and she could live with us,” she said hopefully. “You know, since you don’t want a baby and I still want a sibling. It’s like a compromise or whatever.”

Turning to Joel, you could see the same hopefulness in his dark eyes, and your heart thudded in your chest. “Why don’t you invite her over for a sleepover this weekend so we can get to know her a little more. And in the meantime, we’ll look into what we’d need to do.”

Dinner forgotten, Sarah bounced in her seat and asked for your phone to call Ellie. “You guys are gonna love her, I promise!” Bounding away from the table to call her friend, Sarah stopped short at the edge of the room. “Oh, Ellie loves dogs. Do you think we could adopt one of those, too?”

fin

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@cuteanimalmama

[citizensun]

The Wall's Monochromatic Girl Gang. I was going to make a joke about what, exactly, they're talking about, but... I shan't.

A few notes:

• Isn't if fun how they're dressed for the same weather? Melisandre's outfit is inspired in this one Hanfu I keep seeing on Pinterest, though I don't know which dynasty it's inspired by. Song? Anyway Asshai is further east from Yi Ti, so chinese inspiration makes sense for me. (In terms of historical accuracy, we would be wearing Ming Dynasty inspired clothes, which is what I imagine for northern Yi Ti tbh). Beware the Arcane Asshai'i magicks of the Ye Olde Push Up Bra.

• I've been bouncing back and forth with Inuit-inspired or Siberian-inspired clothes for the Free-folk. Siberian/Eastern Russian clothes makes more sense in terms of the Slavic-inspired North continuity, but I guess I seeing too much of these giant baby-carrying Inuit hoodies and thought they looked fun. Val uses it to carry Gilly's baby on. occasion. It was originally meant to be a gift for Dalla.

• Val is actually pretty tall, Melisandre is just like. A giant. Originally Val was blushing (because of the cold) but that got weirdly romantic and I cannot handle shipping Mel with anyone other than Selyse, so yeah. Also afaik we don't have any indication that Val is a spearwife, but I wanted her to hold something, so she can at least carry a spear around. Is a free folk spear supposed to be this size? This question will haunt me for eternity.

[ms--lobotomy]

@liar-anubiass-blog hi! Tumblr has a habit of deleting the very ask I want to write for when it is its turn. Here's your Emps being a bit of a silly billy.

---

summary: you are a poor unfortunate immortal who the emperor happened to take an interest in before the whole imperium of man thing. have fun with that

word count: 1353

content warnings: a bit of gore, a bit of longing for death, a very yandere man (god?) thing, also this shit is TOXIC toxic so beware, also he uses female words so if youre not a girl just pretend he used masculine pronouns i guess

---

It all started when you were minding your own business, crossing the street sometime in the 3rd millenium. It was late at night, and you were walking alone to your car, parked a little ways away from your workplace. You started to cross the street. A car barrelled towards you, moving haphazardly through the street. You barely had time to turn your head before it collided with you, flattening your frail body. Bones cracked open, flesh fell apart and blood poured from every opening.

After the offending car had frantically drove away, you felt your bones moving back to where they should go and fresh blood oozing back into your form. Soon you were standing up right where you had been before you were struck, work uniform and all. You raised a hand to your cheek. The blood was inside, where it was supposed to be.

You never told a soul about the event. After all, who would believe you? But this was not the only thing you found strange. As you grew older, you never aged. It was a little strange around your 30s or 40s, but you knew something was up once you hit 50. Faking your death was challenging, but you somehow made it work, ready to start life in a new city.

And city to city you roamed, never staying in one place for too long. You began to hate, loathe this curse that had been put upon you. One part of humanity that everyone else had shared was no longer yours. You wanted to die, you wanted it to end when your time was up. But time marched on, and so did you.

You'd moved onto your next city, ready and resigned to this process you had carved out for yourself. Get some crummy job serving slop to people who sometimes yelled obscenities at you, find a place to rent for a little while, and hunker down and hope your secret would be safe.

But something was different about this city, you felt a pair of eyes on you no matter where you went. You weren't sure where they came from, but you now walked a little brisker and you certainly now slept a little less soundly. You requested, you begged to work at the back of the seedy restaurant you worked at, a request which was never granted. So you toiled away at the front, ever cautious to remain inconspicuous.

But all of that would be for naught in the end. You were once again walking home from work, complete with a disheveled uniform. He was a taller man who hadn't had to do much to keep up with your brisk place. He was adorned with long black hair, honey-brown eyes and golden skin. His voice was deep and commanding.

"I know what you are." He put a hand around the back of your neck, his index finger tapping it lightly.

You froze. He stopped walking next to you, looking down on you. "Hell of an opener," you said after a few moments of silence. "Ever introduce yourself?"

"You'll know who I am soon enough," he replied. He tightened his hand around the back of your neck. How tall was he? Maybe around seven or eight feet? "Keep quiet and follow me or I'll snap it."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You'd been very careful to keep your secret from the outside world. If your neck was snapped in broad daylight and you somehow came back from it, there would be no more secrets to keep.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

You walked through the busy streets, never meeting the gazes of the city folk. Some of them looked at their feet when you stared back at them, some of them kept looking. "What a lovely couple!" exclaimed an older lady before meandering past the two of you. You thought your feet were going to fall off before the strange man turned into a more suburban area of town. "Not too far left to go," he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

As soon as you felt you couldn't do it anymore, he led you up the steps of a beaten-down two-story house. His grip was tight enough that you couldn't even consider running away. With his free hand, he pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the door. As he turned it, his hand trailed town towards your waist, grip tight as ever.

"Welcome to your new home," he smirked.

"My rent is due tomorrow," you remarked.

"You're not going to need it ever again," he said, pushing you into the house. This strange man had a maximalist aesthetic, little decorations were crammed into every corner of the place. He closed the door and led you through the halls, going slow to let you take in every little bit of it.

"So you're kidnapping me," you said flatly.

"That's a bit of an unkind way to put it, don't you think?" he asked. He pulled you close to him. You felt your heart beating in your chest. Not now, you thought.

"Think about it this way. You have a secret. A secret that I have as well. Don't you want to hide? Don't you want to slip under the radar?" he asked again. His hand slipped off of your waist and he knelt towards you, taking your hand in his.

"Do I know you?" you asked. You tried to pull away, but his grip was so tight it was bound to leave a nasty bruise.

"You may not know me, but I know you to your heart," he replied. "I've seen all that I need to see. You working long hours at that dead end job all but broke my heart. Those customers didn't see what I saw. I saw a beautiful individual stuck in a terrible existence. I saw you before me, living in fear. Don't you think you deserve to be freed from that existence?"

Your mouth hung slightly open. "You were the one following me," you said softly. "How did you have the time for that?" You pulled your hand away from his, and this time he relented.

"You can't explain the day you died and came back, can you?" he asked. "It's a little bit like that, don't you understand? I'm like you. I can help you. I can save you."

Your expression softened. "How?" you asked.

He stood up. He towered over you still, casting a shadow over you. "How about we head upstairs," he suggested, grabbing your arm and tugging you up the wooden stairs.

His bedroom was just as cluttered as his house was, if not more. There may have been around a dozen pillows on his bed, partially obscured by silky curtains. Light filtered through a window on the side of the room, illuminating books and statues and other little pieces of art.

"Where did you get all of this?" you asked. His hand trailed down your arm to meet your hand, engulfing it.

"I've lived a long time," he replied, leading you to the bed. He sat on it, pulling you onto his lap. "Longer than you have. Longer than you could comprehend." You could hear your heart beating in your chest again as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you sat there for a moment, still. The curtains to the window fluttered slightly, the light made its way onto the both of you.

You weren't supposed to feel safe. You'd never seen this man before today, he all but kidnapped you. But you thought of your old life, hiding in nooks and crannies that the world couldn't find. Even if you would have to leave this area one day, you knew you weren't the only person afflicted with this curse.

You leaned back into his touch. You relaxed, going limp in his arms. He turned and planted a kiss on your exposed neck, just above where your collar ended.

"Good girl," he said.

[lovingmayday]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

warnings : fluff, cursing, innacurate-ish depictions of hobie's speech

notes : hobie is about 16-17 here (and so is the pov). halfway writing this, im overwhelmed by how much of an extrovert hobie actually is 😭 btw, i know nothing of classical music concerts so beware! all of this just because i wanted to write hobie sneaking in your window but i didnt even get to fit it in 😭😭

Two words that you've used as an excuse and an apology when you couldn't join your friends at house parties, when a classmate asks you out, or when your phone notifications go crazy because you still weren't home at 5 PM — it was a tiring cycle.

You know they were simply looking out for you but you can't help but feel overwhelmed and exhausted for always being monitored and left out. You couldn't possibly ask your peers to adjust to your parents' standards, you thought it shameless because they already had a hard time with your folks reaching out and interrogating them about your school and social life.

With so much of your life being tracked by them, you deserve at least one thing in your control, right?

Hobie Brown, the school troublemaker. Skips class, vandalizes school property, and actively participates in movements against authority. Frankly, he just does whatever he wants. And he had your respect (+ jealousy). It must've been nice to be so free.

You and Hobie were never given the chance to befriend each other before — you had some classes together but he rarely ever showed up to any of them. You had no reason to approach him and vice versa.

Until, Wednesday — your cello performance. God, you don't know why you insisted to your parents you could handle commuting to the concert venue on your own with the heavy as fuck cello slung around your torso. You had your book bag with you as well because you had just finished school. The bus stop was a few more blocks away but you were tired.

You weren't paying much attention to your surroundings, busy focusing on your aching shoulder. So once you saw the pedestrian lane green signal, you didn't think twice before walking, failing to notice the bicycle riding full speed to your direction. Your eyes widen when a strong force pulled you back, making you stumble a bit and see the bike dart just in front of you.

"Aye, watch it!" you hear the cyclist exclaim.

You back was leaning against the tall figure, looking up to see a familiar face. You regain your balance and face him — Hobie Brown, the boy that just saved your life. "I-It was green– green meant it was safe to walk... I should've looked first, 'm sorry," you say quietly.

"Nah yeah, it's straight. He was the arse," he replies, hands in his pockets. "Dunno where he got the audacity to tell you off when he was in the wrong. Don't worry abou' it." He gives you a reassuring smile, noticing your still dazed expression.

"Thank you, Hobie," you say, a small polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back and nods, "'Twas nothin'." His eyes hover on the unignorable instrument case you were carrying. "Ya headed somewhere?"

"Uhh, yeah," you say, watching the pedestrian stop light turn red again and pouting a bit. You probably won't be late to the performance but you'd miss most of final rehearsal. "Nueva Hall. I have a cello performance in a bit."

"Nueva Hall.. That fuckin' massive, fancy lookin' museum along 5th Ave?" he asks, his eyebrows rising a bit from amazement. "Didn't know you were a big shot musician. Let me get for ya, then." He swings the case from your torso and starts walking across the street before you could protest.

"Hey!" you exclaim, running after him, dodging the other pedestrians walking past you.

"It's a bit distant from here, innit? Let me take you there, I got time. Wouldn't want you to croak before the big show," he jests, turning around and walking backwards. "If it's fine with you, [Name], of course."

You weren't too keen on traveling alone; you only did so so that your parents would think you were independent enough. You consider it for a few moments. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you with this?"

"'Course not. 'Was the one who suggested, wasn't I?" He smirks before turning back around to walk properly and you catch up to his side. "What're you playin'?"

"Tchaikovsky, Rococo Variation. It's a cello and orchestra performance and I got to play cello," you say excitedly. "You're in a band, right? It's like a lead singer but cello!"

He smiles softly at your energy, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit. "How'd you know I was in a band?" he asks almost teasingly.

"I walked by one of your public concerts with my family. I would've stayed if my parents let me," you answer with a small laugh. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Thanks, mate. You're probably not too bad yourself," he says, chuckling as you playfully hit his shoulder.

It was safe to say you hit it off well, which was surprising since you didn't think you would. You thought your personalities would clash, you being at the quieter side while Hobie, you could hear his ruckus from another dimension (and there was a tiny part of you that was intimidated at him, at first).

You arrived at the venue earlier than expected — still late to rehearsals but not by much. "Hey, thanks again. I really appreciate it," you say to him just outside the concert hall doors.

He handed you your cello and waved off your thank you. "It was a pleasure," he teases and you roll your eyes. "Break a leg, [Name]." You thank him once again before he turns around to leave.

Seeing him walk away gave you an unfamiliar ache in your chest. After a much needed self-courage-boost, you let out a soft but loud enough "Wait." for him to hear. He turns around with a small smile and raises an eyebrow, silently asking you to go on. You wet your lips before taking a deep breathe. "Do you want to stay for the show?"

His smile widens, a handsome grin reaching ear to ear. "Finally. 've been waitin' the entire trip for that offer." He laughs and jogs back to you.

He sits at the back row. When he entered the room, he got a few stares and hushed whispers from the other audiences but he couldn't care less, his attention was unwaveringly stuck on you. It was just rehearsals but it overwhelmed Hobie to think about how you'd do in the real thing. He was entranced by you the entire time. The movement of your bow and the emotions you protrayed. It was magnetic.

Once practice was over, the musicians left the stage for a bit as audiences started to pour in. With guests on the older side with more formal attires, it was so obvious that he was out of place.

Meanwhile, you were panicking a bit because after you got changed out of your school uniform, you neared the stage's curtains to check up on Hobie. Your mouth gapes when you see him sat at the back row, almost directly behind your parents. Your parents! You forgot about your parents!! How did you forget about your parents??! They'd go crazy once they knew that you had invited this boy to your performance — you never invite your friends, let alone anybody, to watch your performances.

The second it was time for the musicians to come on stage, Hobie's head rises from his phone and looks for your figure immediately, smiling once he notices your wardrobe change. It was a simple long-sleeve black dress but it was pretty on you. Hobie thought so.

Your take deep breathes to calm your nerves before situating the cello between your thighs. You wait for the violins, the flutes, and the organ to start playing the intro before propping up the cello's bow. With your head held high, you play the first few notes — the position of your hands finding its own way around the fingerboard like muscle memory.

The music closes to an end, claps and praises erupt the venue. You smile and stand to find Hobie. He was already making his way to you. You leave the cello leaning safely on your chair as you scurry to the stairs of the sides of the stage.

"Hobie!" you greet as you reached him. "How did I do? Was I rushing? What'd you think of it?" you ask, rambling almost. If Spiderpunk gets his adrenaline from his fights, you get it from instances that make your heart feel like its about to burst into a million burnt pieces of flesh in your chest.

He smiles back at you, amused. He's never seen this side of you before. He's never seen anything of you other than your surface-level calmness and pliance. "'ts not usually my thing but I know to appreciate talent. Credit when credit is due and all tha' and, luv, you absolutely smashed it!" he exclaims as quietly as exclaiming can allow, placing both hands on you shoulders and shaking them.

"Thanks," you giggle out, placing your hands on his arm. From the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice your parents on their way to you, confused looks on their faces. Your smile falters as you gently loosen Hobie's hold on you, the adrenaline slowly dying down.

"[Name], amazing as always," your mother says, holding your hand in hers' and caressing your cheek with the other. "Who's your friend?" she quickly asks. Her judgmental eyes scan his appearance from head to toe, attempting to hide her expression with a faux smile.

Hobie was about to introduce himself when you cut him off. "–He's a classmate, Hobie Brown." You look into his eyes apologizing and almost pleading to him to go along with whatever you were about to say. "He came here by pure coincidence, could you believe that?!"

"Yeah, a friend gave me an invitation," he follows up seamlessly, a polite smile on his lips. "'Didn't know your daugh'er was performin'."

"Well, it's a nice surprise, isn't it?" you mother says, pulling you to her side.

Your father had yet to contribute to the conversation so you checked up on hi.. He was glaring at Hobie so harshly you could see burn marks starting to appear on his forehead. "Did you enjoy the show?" he finally asks, tone almost threatening.

Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment. It wasn't uncommon for your parents to ask about the boys you talk to but it never felt any less humiliating every time it happens. You see each and every one of them get uncomfortable and you couldn't do anything to stop them because they'd think you were hiding something.

"Yeah, I enjoyed [Name]'s performance a lot. You must be very proud of her, Mr. [Last Name]," Hobie answers. You've talked to him long enough to notice the slight teasing in his voice. He smirks at you which makes your father's hands turn into fists.

"Honey," you mother calls, "We'll be late for our dinner reservation. It was really nice to meet you, Hobie, but we have to go." Her smile was still plastered across her face, you wonder why her cheeks hasn't hurt yet. She tells you to collect your stuff and you do so quickly. You bid Hobie an apologetic goodbye before you leave.

On the car to the restaurant, you were given the 'no boyfriends' talk again. You tried to respond with 'mhmm's and 'uh-huh's here and there but you weren't listening to a thing — having heard them repeat the same points many times before. You wondered how to approach Hobie the next day, thinking of stuff to say, how to bring it up, and how to act once he says he doesn't want to get involved with you anymore. It was a shame since you really enjoyed his company.

You wished that Hobie went to school the next day and he did, surprisingly. After classes, you catch up to him leaving the building to speak to him.

You were supposed to explain to him the situation but it seemed he was already up to pace and accepting. "The things is," you pause for a bit, "I really liked hanging out with you.." you confess.

"Hey, wait up!" you yell, running to reach him before he got too far. He paused in his tracks, hands in his vest pockets as he watches you catch your breath. "About yesterday..–"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts you. "Strict parents and shit. It's cool if your folks don't want you hanging out with me anymore. It sucks but I get it." He was disappointed but chill about the entire thing which made your heart sink. You really didn't want to stop seeing him again. You wondered if he felt the same.

A small gentle smile stretches his lips. "I really liked hanging out with you, too. A lot. Best time I've had in a while, honestly."

You contemplate on what to say next — whether to let them out or not. You mouth gapes open, waiting on your next words. You were about to give him an apology but seeing his eyes, hearing that he liked your company maybe as much as you did, it made the decision so much more difficult. ..Fuck it. "I'd like to continue spending time with you.. even if it meant disobeying my parents. If it's alright with you, of course." You feel your ears heat up as you look down, scared of what the other's reaction might be.

It was rather obvious that Hobie didn't expect it, his eyes widening by a fraction. A big smirk appears on his face as he leans down to catch your eyes. "'Must've left quite the impression on you, huh?" he teases. He watches your eyes roll as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Well, I do love a good rebellion."

"It's not a rebellion."

"It's painfully close then, isn't it?"

[hannahbarberra162]

Country Mouse, City Mouse Chapter 2

Now on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 2 - Oh, Fiddleheads.

“Would you like to view the accommodations of the castle?” Mihawk addressed you, after completing a tour of his farm. You were a little impressed, he hadn’t done a terrible job. Especially since this looked like his first foray into farming. You’d definitely seen worse. He was a man of few words, telling you only the names of the fruits and vegetables he’d planted. That’s ok, you didn’t mind silence either. You were sitting on your haunches and making a rough sketch of the farm with paper and pencil you’d had in your sack. You stood up and said “sure enough.”

The afternoon sun had come and gone, and you were hungry. “By the way,” you said, walking towards the castle “I’m not much of a cook. I can grow your food but I cain’t cook it. Er, not well by any means. I can try, but you might not like the results.”

“It is no matter. A cooking schedule has already been established. Perona and I switch off, as Roronoa is also…not inclined towards cooking.”

“Oh, there are other folks here? And they don’t help you on the farm?”

“Roronoa is dedicated only to his training. Perona prefers to remain in the castle.”

“Oh, she’s what I call an indoor cat. Ain’t nothing. Takes all types to make the world run.” With that, you continued walking in silence together. You didn’t feel the need to say anything and neither did he. Walking along together, you occasionally pointed out wild edible flora. “Let’s keep our eyes on that fiddlehead fern. Once they’re ready, they taste great sauteed.” Mihawk looked over at the fern but said nothing. 

Upon reaching the castle, he opened the large door with ease. “After you,” he said gesturing inside. It was a grand place, you supposed, all bricks and tall ceilings. “There are many unused rooms inside the estate, you may select whichever suits you.”

“Oh no need, I’ll just be here to eat. Maybe to bundle vegetables when the harvest comes.”

“What do you mean.” he said the question as a statement, as though the thought of not living in the castle was unfathomable.

“This ain’t my kinda place. Too grand for the likes of me,” you said with a kind smile. “I saw you have a shed out by the farm. I’ll live in there. Nice ‘n comfy.”

“The garden shed is not a suitable accommodation.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind hunkerin’ down outdoors. Weather seems fine tonight.”

Mihawk sputtered. You’d rather sleep in the grass than in his grand castle? 

 “You alright there, Boss? We already fightin’ each other?”

“There is no fight. If you wish to live in the shed or outside like the animals, you may do as you please. Beware the humandrills. I will give you no further warnings.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Mihawk POV

You did know your craft of farming. He enjoyed listening to you talk about the wild vegetables and their practical applications. You did not feel the need to prattle on when there was nothing needing to be mentioned, something he appreciated. You had a certain spark that made everything more interesting. It was charisma, he realized. Not like Shanks, who weaponized it to manipulate those foolish enough to fall for it. You were artless in your charming personality and it shined through your words and actions. You were not unpleasant to be around, which Mihawk appreciated.

He was going to show you around the castle when you told him your preposterous idea of living outside in the shed. He had never heard of such nonsense. But you were an adult woman capable of making your own foolish choices. He didn’t have to understand it. 

It was Perona’s turn to cook dinner, and he could smell the stew she was finishing. Perona, as temperamental as she was, had a knack for cooking. It was easier to tolerate her outbursts on a full stomach. He walked you to the kitchen and showed you the attached mess room. Though he had a penchant for eating in the dining room, they most often took their meals in the mess. Perona was floating about, putting the finishing touches into the stew.

“Ooooh, what do we have here?” Perona said as she floated about, encircling you. “Did you finally get a servant like I wanted? This one is dirty. Ew! Make it wash!” Perona said as she grimaced in disgust. You just laughed at her words, taking her insults in stride. You did not even comment on the fact that she was floating about with her hollows following.  

“Ain’t no servant, but I am dirty, no denyin’ that. I’m Y/N, I’m workin’ the farm for a few. You must be Perona. Heard a lot about you, but didn’t do you justice. Why you’re as beautiful as the day is long,” you said, tilting your head to the side and smiling. You had quickly surmised the way to Perona’s heart - through her ego. 

“Ah, don’t be so silly! In these old rags? I’m usually so much cuter!,” Perona was waving you off while smiling and blushing. 

“No, I mean it. I’ve never seen hair like yours before - just the crowning jewel of your look. You must tell me how you get it that way.”

Mihawk would rather eat Roronoa’s cooking than hear about Perona’s hair care routine…again. But the two of you were having a spirited conversation as the table was being set. He noticed you correctly placed the plates, bowls, cutlery and glasses according to the rules of etiquette. Roronoa joined the rest of you in the dining area. He grunted as a means of expression.

“Roronoa, this is Y/N. She is aiding my work on the farm.”

“ ‘M Zoro,” he said, sitting down to eat the plated food.

“Nice to meet you Zoro,” you answered. Though when you said it, it had an amusing twang. It sounded more like “Zoh-roh.” Roronoa said nothing and you didn’t engage with him further.

Dinner passed easily between the four of you. You talked with Perona about various topics he found exceedingly tedious. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see your table etiquette extended past table settings. He had been subjected to Roronoa’s unrefined eating style, often eating without utensils. Perona would talk with her mouth full of chewed food, a truly odious habit. You, however, held all your utensils correctly, cut your meat with the knife in your right hand, chewed with your mouth closed, and had placed a handkerchief in your lap as a napkin. Mihawk was pleased to see that there was at least one other person on the island he could bear to eat near.

After the meal, you helped clean up alongside Roronoa. Mihawk poured himself a glass of wine, and offered you one as well. You accepted, and he poured glasses for Perona and Roronoa as well. He felt it was acceptable to have a toast to new beginnings. He handed you your glass and raised it. You did the same. 

“May our harvests be bountiful and may we have the time to enjoy it.”

You smiled, and gently clinked your glass against his. Roronoa chugged his entire glass in one go. Perona sampled the wine and stuck out her tongue, declaring that it wasn’t “sweet enough.” You sipped gently and thanked him for the glass. Hopefully the humandrills didn’t kill you tonight, he thought to himself. You were becoming rather useful to have around.

[2nd2ndalto]

here is a smol ides of march au

Leo taps Nico’s leg with the flat of his gladius. “Look sharp, di Angelo, the big boss is coming through,” he mutters. 

Nico shifts from where he’d been slumped against the wall of the Forum, pulling himself to his full (yes, really) height and tipping up his chin. It’s his least favorite time of day to be on guard; the midday sun is beating down on the stone walls and the gravel at his feet, and the damn helmet isn’t helping matters. He couldn’t find his own this morning, so he’s wearing Reyna’s, and it keeps sliding down his sweaty forehead.

Nico half-listens to the conversation as Caesar and his companions draw nearer.

“Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, to touch Calpurnia; for our elders say the barren, touched in this holy chase, shake off this sterile curse,” Caesar says, characteristically self-important. 

Leo quirks an eyebrow at Nico, and Nico tries not to laugh. 

Then, “Caesar!” someone calls. The voice is creaky, ethereal. Nico shivers. 

The general stops short, his entire entourage grinding to a halt around him. One of them knocks into Leo, then grabs Nico’s shoulder to steady himself. Nico grits his teeth. 

“Who is it in the press that calls on me?” Caesar asks, imperious. “I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music cry, ‘Caesar!’ Speak; Caesar is turned to hear.”

Nico lets out a long breath. Why use two words when two dozen will suffice? The longer this exchange takes, the longer he has to stand here, pin-straight in this stupid fucking sweaty tunic. 

“Beware the Ides of March,” croons that same spooky-sounding voice, and a tall figure draws forward. It must be a man, Nico supposes, if only from the height. The figure is robed in sky blue, head covered, his back to Leo and Nico. 

Nico’s mind wanders to the gnawing hunger in his stomach, the blisters on his sandaled feet. The heat on his armor is starting to make him feel as if he’s being slowly baked. A Nico panini, perhaps. 

“He is a dreamer!” Caesar announces suddenly, jolting Nico from his discomfort. “Let us leave him.”

Nico lets out a breath as the group in front of him begins to move once more. 

The man in blue - the soothsayer, Nico supposes, lingers. Once Caesar and the others are out of sight, he turns with a shrug. 

“They never listen.”

And his voice isn’t spooky, or ethereal. It’s light, easy. Nico blinks, surprised, taking in sparkling blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, a rueful half-smile. A spill of freckles, several blond curls peeking out around the edges of his hood. The young man appears to be right around Nico’s age. 

And he’s hot.   

Next to Nico, Leo seems to be undergoing a similar journey of revelation. He steps forward, holding out a hand and offering a toothy grin. 

“Leo Valdez. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Soothsayer, sir.” 

Nico rolls his eyes. 

The man in blue quirks a smile and takes the proffered hand. “Will Solace.” He steps back. 

“Fucking hot out here, isn’t it?” Will Solace says. He shoves down his hood, revealing a head of tousled blond curls, shining like gold in the sunlight, the blue in his robes reflected in his eyes. Nico feels a bit like he’s been punched in the face. In a really good way. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Will says, fixing his grin on Nico. 

“Nico. di Angelo,” Nico manages, extending a sweaty hand. Blue eyes catch on his and linger, curious.

“You sounded… different. Before,” Nico says.

Will’s grin goes wider, a bit sly. “I’ve been trying something new.”

“So it’s all an act, then?” Nico asks, curious, because… 

“Oh no,” Will shrugs. “He really does need to beware the Ides of March. I just find folks are more receptive to prophecy if I get a bit spooky with it. You know. Really lean into the drama of it all.” Will wiggles his fingers. 

Nico nods. “Caesar does have an… aura of death. A thick possibility of it.”

“Nico,” Leo complains. But Will quirks an eyebrow, regarding Nico with more interest, a quick once-over and a half-step closer. 

“You know, I might have a prophecy for you,” he tells Nico. 

“Yeah?”

Will touches two fingers to his temple, closes his eyes, a flutter of dark blond eyelashes against freckled cheeks. “Yes. I see you, having dinner with me. Tonight.” Will’s voice has gone spooky again, but it’s edged with something warmer now.  

“Good grief,” Leo mutters. 

Nico nods. “Interesting. Do you see yourself picking me up at eight, maybe?”

“You know, I do,” Will grins “You’re good at this.”

“Maybe after dinner I can show you what else I’m good at,” Nico counters. 

Will waggles his eyebrows. “I foresee that I would enjoy that.”

They exchange details, and Will replaces his hood as he leaves, winking at Nico before turning to stroll away. 

“That was disgusting,” Leo says flatly.  

“Hey,” Nico shrugs, grinning, wondering if he can convince Jason to take his shift tomorrow morning. “There's no use fighting the power of prophecy.”

~~~~

Many thanks to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll for the quick beta & for enabling this ridiculousness

[mons-immortalium-if]

Mons Immortalium is a fantasy romance interactive story. Human MC falls into the magical land of the faeries, a mountain island that has been secluded from the rest of the world for over a millennium. Break curses, fall in love and beware of  wicked faeries. Whatever you do, never give them your true name!

Heavily inspired by novels such as A Cruel Prince and ACOTAR. MC will get a ✨ faerie ✨soul mate✨.

Genre: Adult Romantasy! Strictly 18+! WIP - some things may still change on the way. DEMO - Chapter 1 - 04/08/23  ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･   DISCORD

Warnings!!!

1. This story will be rated 18+ for sexual themes, violence, strong language, alcohol/ drug consumption (don’t eat the faerie fruit!), blood, etc.  Optional NSFW content. Slight, always optional, Dub-Con if you squint (everyone told you not to eat the fruit, MC!). Should age gap be a warning? Cause it ain’t optional and well... millennium old faeries the bunch of them.

2. All 3 ROs are MALE, just because of my limited time schedule and personal preferences. There will be 3 romance routes… and that’s all. This is a filthy fairy romance!

The ROs  more like titles than real names 

Solis - Lord of the Seelie Court - 1.95m

His pale freckled skin is covered from neck down in pale loose fabrics that do no justice to his muscular physique. Piercing jade green eyes would be startling if not for his kind smile. Long red hair reaches down his waist, flowing like liquid fire.  Which it might actually be, since every living thing he touches turns to ash.

Has dominion over Light and Fire.

Nox - Lord of the Unseelie Court - 2.05m

Tall and brawny, he towers over everyone in Court with his presence. He has steel blue eyes, short dark hair, slicked back and slightly messy, and a faint stubble beard. Lightly tanned skin is littered in tattoos, the most prominent being the inky tentacles that spill over his neck and chest. For someone who loves the night and shadows, you rarely see him once the lights are out.

Has dominion over Shadows and Water.

Arashi - Ruler of the Wild Folk - 1.85m

Tall and sinewy, with dark monolid eyes and flowing black hair that he usually keeps in a half ponytail. He keeps his beard short and neatly trimmed. His brooding demeanour is toned down by the colourful haoris he usually wears. Unbothered and mysterious, he is shadowed everywhere by his second-in-command who speaks in his name. But is his silence is entirely his choice?

Has dominion over Storms and Wind.

DEMO  - Chapter 1 - 04/08/23 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  DISCORD

Hit me up with questions if you have any in the meantime :)

[halfbakedreviews]

Half Baked Review: Miss Night & Day

Length: 16 episodes | ~ 30 min/episode Half Baked Jury: It's fun Emotional Investment Level & Binge Degree: Grill Cheese Sandwich Overeasy (Low to Medium) + Serial Murders FL: LOVE! ML: We love a strong lead 2ndML: He exists Genre: Rom-Com, Fantasy/Supernatural, Murder Mystery,

Characters Ingredients:

☀️: FL day time, ~ 50 years old 🌙: FL night time, ~28 years old ⚖️: ML, tall prosecutor 🎤: 2nd ML, kpop star with anxiety 🔪: murder, murderer 🚨: police

Plot Synopsis Instructions w/ a Dash of Spoilers

Okay so... 🌙 is an unemployed 28-year-old, and it's not because she hasn't been trying. 🌙 lives with her parents and becomes the victim of a scam and that's how she meets ⚖️. It's a really cute meet cue in all honesty. Anyway, 🌙 meets a magic cat and falls down a well and magically inherits a body that turns 50 years old in the daytime and then 28 years old at night. At first, 🌙 upset but then she gets over it and then finds a job at the ⚖️ office when she is ☀️. Her parents freak out though. ☀️ takes the name of her missing/deceased aunt as an identity. ☀️ is great at her job, she is really excited that she can land a job as an older woman and finally fulfill her dream of working as a civil servant (sort of). ☀️ is full of stamina and eventually gets promoted. ⚖️ is a bit ageist (just a heads up). Anyway, ⚖️☀️are chasing a drug/murder case by day, while ⚖️🌙 are catching feelings at night.

This is a fun light-hearted drama with a really interesting murder mystery in the background.

Recipe Hiccups

It seems that drug addiction is something that is being shown more and more in South Korea. Interestingly, there is a juxtaposition that is explored here -- drug addiction that is part of a societally rejected subculture vs. drug dependence that is a result of mental unwellness. Personally, I think this is a really sticky issue to be black and white on because everyone has their own story and struggles. I just hope that the portrayal doesn't result in continued misunderstanding. K-drama writers, what is it with dismembering bodies?!!! I will say this particular serial killer's approach is different & weird (hint it includes drugs and hacking of body parts). The only thing I can't wrap my mind around is why the two were combined. Are they making a case that drugs and heinous crimes are correlated? Is it an attempt to create a unique psycho? did the K-drama generator insist on the two?

Beware of the hideous CGI cat and some annoying people who thought beating up a cat was a good idea. There is a special place at the bottom of earth's broiler for people like that.

Baked till Golden

I love love love love love it when k-dramas explore different stories. This k-drama we get to interact with older folks in such a delightful way, it's almost like sitting in a high school cafeteria. The title sequence is so cute. It's a mashup of Sailor Moon influence & comic books. super cute 🥹✨💕

Jung Eun Ji APINK queennnn is our FL so obviously it's wonderful and so is Lee Jung Eun one of the Greatest Actress of All Time (prove me wrong).

If I said it wasn't chef's kiss I would be lying, these ladies really carryyyy the story and I am eating it up. The pace of this drama is nice. This is a gimme the recipe kinda of drama. I recommend it. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ happy watching! 🍪

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 4

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 2.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary:

Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young. Being the Southern Deliveries Manager for the Baldur's Gates Zhentarim is not an easy job. Between mentoring new recruits, juggling vicious coworkers and whip-cracking bosses, bandits are the least of Rugan's troubles. An encounter with a charming stranger on the job serves to only complicate his life all the more.

Notes:

Thank you to @dustdeepsea for proof-reading and sanity checking the rewrites of this chapter. They wrote the most excellent Zarys fic performance review

And thank you to @captainsigge for sanity checking. She is author of Vera Við Aldr a cute and funny Tav x Rugan one-shot.

Table of Contents

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

New Tricks - Chapter Four

“So instead of the tablets, which I specifically asked for, you’ve brought me a load of scribbles. Is that right?” 

Zarys' voice was perfectly even, her volume that of a normal conversation, and her tone could almost be mistaken for friendly, almost . 

Rugan knew from experience this meant she was very close to dismembering him in some way.

“Now Zarys, before we get ahead of ourselves–”

“ Specifically asked for,” she repeated.

“They were just clay Zarys, not really relics or anything. The glyphs are all anyone would want.”

“How would you know, you bloody idiot? Are you a wizard now too? Read all up on artefacts are you?”

“Listen, just send the buyer and see for yourself. It's safer this way, I swear.”

“Alright. But if this job is fucked because of you I'm docking your pay, and I may just take a pound of flesh while I'm at it.” Zarys walked to the office’s shuttered window and threw it open. She scanned the warehouse floor.

“Sal! Get me a stlarning sending scroll.”

“Right away, Zarys!” Came the red-headed wizards reply before she slammed the shutters back closed again.

“And you, get out of my sight before I decide to take that flesh preemptively.”

Rugan inclined his head in deference and left without a word. He hurried down the stairs two at a time.

“I told ya so, you plonker.” Bellar was leaning on a pile of crates at the foot of the stairs. Olly was sat upon one crate fidgeting with his bow. They hadn't heard everything down here, but they had heard enough.

“It's fine.” Rugan tried to sound confident but he was beginning to wonder. Sal anxiously hurried past them, up the stairs with a scroll in hand.

“Don't expect me to bail you out when you’ve gotta leg it out of town.”

“I have a cousin here in Waterdeep you could stay with, Rugan.”

“Dammit Olly, let him sort his own mess out.”

“I appreciate the sentiment lad, but it won't come to that, and I don't want to hear anything more on the subject.”

“Rugan, can I have a word with you for a moment?” It was Garias who had approached the trio. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. His dark hair stood in stark contrast to his brother's clownish red.

“Now ain't exactly the best time.”

“It's about Brem.”

Rugan dragged one hand down his face in frustration, a ragged groan escaping him. “Fine, lead on.”

Garias led him to one of the storage alcoves on the far side of the warehouse. Rugan practically collapsed onto one of the nearby chests while he watched Garias pace back and forth.

“Well, spit it out, lad.”

“Right, so the thing is, the thing with the bird, you know. Right, the thing is, it wasn't Brem.”

“The lass from the ambush? What do you mean it weren't Brem? Of course it was your brother—Bellar saw them together, didn't he?”

“Well, aye, but Brem was already asleep by the time she started asking questions.”

“What do you mean, already asleep?” Rugan’s brow furrowed in confusion, then he threw his head back and laughed as the realisation dawned on him. “By the Black Hand is there anything you bloody fools don't share?”

“Well you know folk pay good coin at Sharess to–”

“I really need you to stop talkin’ now, lad.”

“Right.”

Rugan sighed and put his head in his hands. “So you're telling me I have to apologise to Brem, now?”

“Well I reckon he'd likely appreciate it.”

“Stupid of him to take the fall for you, but fine, I'll treat him to a pint. Assuming of course I survive the rest of the night that is.”

“Rugan!” Came Zarys' shout from across the warehouse. “Now where’s he gotten off to?”

“I'm here, Zarys.” He approached the window, chest tight.

“Thought you'd run off on me.”

“Too old for that, knees would give out.”

“It's your lucky day then. Buyer's pleased with your creative problem solving, they pay extra for discretion, and you lot get a cut.”

+++++

The trio had decided to celebrate their good fortune at the city’s docks ward the next night. They dragged Brem along for good measure, and in turn it had been Brem who recommended the Blackstaron inn.

“I fold.” Rugan placed his hand down on the table. The tavern was bustling with noisy patrons, and the smell of beer hung on to the place like fleas on a dog.

“Ah c’mon, Rugan,” Olly pleaded. “Lemme win back my coin.”

“No thank you, besides Bellar is gonna clean us all out.”

“Can’t be helped, you lot are rubbish at cards.” Bellar chirped merrily.

Brem put his hand down as well. “Yeah I'm done, ain’t keen on losing all my coin to this git.”

“Fancy a pint at the bar?” Rugan asked Brem with a nod of his head.

“Nah, I need a tall drink, but not of that sort.” Rugan followed his gaze to a barmaid with a mischievous smile.

“Good luck to you mate.” He clapped Brem on the back as he rose from his seat. “You too, lad, just remember Bellar squints when he has a good hand.”

“Oi don't tell ‘im that!” Bellar complained after Rugan, as the man made his way to the bar.

Leaning on the counter, he ordered an ale and turned to look down the worktop as he waited. There was a pair conversing on the opposite end, after a moment he realized he recognized one of them. She hadn’t seen him yet, chatting as she was with another man. No finery this time, she wore a simple blouse that cinched under her bust and her hair was tied back, but it was definitely the woman in green. The bartender slid over his drink and Rugan watched her over the lip of the glass as he downed it.

It was then that they locked eyes. He noted the surprise on her countenance that quickly turned to a smile. She gave a little wave and he couldn't help but grin and waggle his fingers back. Her conversation partner had also turned to see who she was greeting, his expression soured upon seeing Rugan. The Zhent watched her turn and make some excuse to the man.

“Fancy meeting you here.” She was practically beaming as she approached.

“That's twice now you've abandoned your date for me, either you're very fond of me or extremely fickle.”

Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she reached out to run her fingers down his jaw. “What's not to like?”

“The feeling’s mutual, lass.” She smiled coyly at that.

“Do you have a name Zhent?”

“Planning on screaming it for me later?”

“Presumptuous.”

“I'd also accept moaning.”

“You cocky bastard.” She was laughing already.

“Whining, even.”

“Tell me the damned name already!” Despite her raised voice, her cheeks were aching from smiling.

“Rugan.” He said at last. “And you? Erica was it?”

“No. That was just for the job.”

“Well, go on then.”

“Isolde.”

“Isolde? You are a bleeding noble after all.”

“I am not!”

“Name like that? Too posh for us common folk.”

“My parents were old-fashioned is all.”

“Ah, so it is your real name this time.”

“It is.”

“And why give me the real one?”

“Because I'll get jealous if I hear another name on your lips.”

“You're almost a worse flirt than me,” he laughed.“Still too posh though.”

She shook her head and sighed though she seemed similarly amused. He regarded her for a long moment when an idea struck him. “Can I give you a nickname?” Rugan asked before turning to the bartender briefly, raising two fingers to indicate another round.

“You are a cad after all, aren’t you? Fine then, let's hear it.”

“Izzy, I think that suits a little minx like you.”

“Alright then. But I reserve the right to give you a nickname once I come up with one.”

“It's a deal.” And he made a show of shaking her hand to seal the contract, drawing another laugh. “Don't often give out the real one, do you?”

“No.” She admitted, looking a little embarrassed and he worried for a moment that he had pried.

“Too many pushy suitors is it?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh aye, I understand completely.” Rugan held up his hands in mock seriousness. “Folks are harassing me all the time. Never taking ‘no’ for an answer.” Her smile had returned and he felt himself relax.

“Poor thing, you must be beating them off with a stick.”

Rugan had a cheeky rebuttal to that, but luckily two drinks were slammed down in front of them before it could come tumbling out of his mouth.

He paid for the drinks, waving off her attempts to reach for her coin purse. “It's on me, got a nice little bonus thanks to you.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, but let's chat somewhere a little more private. Shall we?” He directed her to an empty table at one of the various alcoves that lined one wall of the tavern.

The pair passed Brem on the way and he gave Rugan an exaggerated wink as they went by.

“Friend of yours?” Izzy queried as she looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Wish I could forget I knew him half the time.”

“And the other half?”

“Man's gotta sleep at some point.”

She was laughing as he guided her into a seat, and he noted with no small amount of interest that she scooted it right up into his own.

“My employer was very happy with those etchings of yours.”

‘At least, she was eventually,’ h e thought.

“Glad to hear it.”

“How about you? Make a nice profit on yours then?”

“Oh no, mine's not for sale. Personal project.”

“Personal project?” He asked incredulously. “Do you mean to frame it on your wall?”

“No,” she laughed. “I mean to translate it. I'm an archaeologist of sorts, I specialize in a few of the old tongues.”

“Should’ve figured you for an academic. What's a prestigious scholar such as yourself doing crashing parties and looting safes?”

“I’m not a proper scholar, at least not one anyone recognizes, no money for studies means no proper degree. But I have audited a few classes.”

“You did their taxes?”

“No!” Isolde couldn't help but laugh. She loved the way his pitch rose in confusion when he asked the question.

“It's just a fancy way of saying I sat in on lectures without paying. So most wouldn't recognize me as a proper student.”

“You're allowed to do that?”

She hesitated a moment. “Sometimes…” 

“So you're an academic that lacks legitimacy, still doesn't explain why you're rooting through towers.”

“I told you, personal project. I don’t usually rob places where the inhabitants are still alive.”

“Usually?” He was enjoying teasing her, she was surprisingly candid.

“Hard to find legitimate work in a field largely funded by nobles if you can't get a recommendation from a professor.”

“So who are your regular clients?”

“Most often smaller religious groups and uh, occasionally tomb raiders.”

“Almost sounds dangerous when you put it like that, lass.”

“I have met some rough characters.” She eyed him meaningfully, lips pulled into a playful grin.

“Why do I get the feeling you like it that way?” To accentuate his point Rugan grabbed Isolde by the waist, easily pulling her into his waiting lap. She laughed, wrapping an arm around his neck before leaning in to press her lips against his throat, mouth searing hot like a brand.

Rugan groaned in response and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Maybe we should take this upstairs.”

“As much as I would like that,” Her fingertip tracing patterns on his chest. “I believe your friend is about to get into some trouble.” 

“Brem?” Rugan scanned the crowd for the ridiculous looking mass of red hair.

He spotted the man talking to the now less than impressed barmaid.

Izzy followed his gaze and shook her head. “No, the other one, from the tower. That's him isn't it?”

She tilted her head towards a table across the way where Bellar was heavily flirting with an older red-headed woman. The woman was smiling wide and when Bellar flashed some of his card winnings she leaned down to give him a kiss. 

“He's one of yours isn't he? Recognize him from the party.”

“Bellar? He's not doing anything–”

“That’s the innkeeper's wife, love.” Right on cue the proprietor approached Bellar his face fixed in a scowl.

Rugan let out a long drawn out sigh. He had half a mind to just let Bellar sort out whatever problems on his own rather than ruin a perfectly good evening. When what looked to be the innkeeper's three sons surrounded the man, Rugan still had a quarter of a mind. It was when Olly jumped into the fray that his decision was made for him.

One of the sons took a swing at the lad and this seemed to be the signal for the various patrons to take out their own personal grievances on one another. Punches began flying, Rugan thought he caught a glimpse of Brem and the barmaid pulling each other's hair.

“Dammit,” he cursed softly as he moved to deposit Izzy back in her seat. He was startled when she yanked him down against her.

Rugan felt something brush against his top knot and heard the accompanying thud of thick glass against the far wall.

Some bastard had thrown a bottle at him .

He spotted the assailant, the youngest son, who was readying another bottle.

“Not that!” yelled the innkeeper. “The cheap stuff!”

The lad put down his current bottle in favour of another.

Thinking quickly Rugan flipped the table on its side, such that its former top provided a bit of coverage. He turned to grab Izzy, who was already moving from her chair to crouch behind the makeshift barrier.

Just in time, they heard the new bottle smash against the table.

The old one chose this moment to roll down between them, thick green glass shining dully in the candlelight.

“Good vintage at least.” Izzy remarked wryly when they both looked down at it and Rugan couldn't help but bark out a short laugh.

The taproom resounded with the cries of patrons and the shatter of smashing glass but when none sounded remotely close to their table he was confident their assailant had found a new target. He dared to peak around the table’s edge and saw the lad engaged in wrestling with Olly on the floor.

Bellar was similarly fending off two sons and actually doing quite well for himself, at least until the father climbed up onto a table and leapt on him from behind.

A little blade work would put a quick end to this—hells even a well placed bolt or two or four from his hand crossbow would. But this wasn't some out of the way town in the sticks. Waterdeep was a proper city, with a proper city guard; a city guard Zarys had specifically asked them not to antagonise.

The sound of a popping cork caught his attention and he turned to see Izzy putting the bottle to her lips. She paused mid sip when their eyes met and she held it out in offering.

“My thanks.” He said taking his own swig and handing it back. “I bloody hate fisticuffs.” He muttered before leaving the relative safety of their table.

Brem was the closest and Rugan weaved past a half dozen pugilistic patrons on his way to him.

Roughly he yanked the girl off Brem by her hair before unceremoniously dumping her behind the bar.

“Stay down.” He ordered when she made to rise. Something in his tone made the lass obey though she glared at him all the while.

He turned to Brem who was tentatively checking his scalp for injury. “You said this was a nice place, mate.”

“It was nice until we showed up.” Brem replied before regarding the crowd.

“Nevermind, go help bell end, I've got the boy.”

The pair split up, making their way to their respective targets.

Rugan had made it half of the way over to Olly when someone tackled him sidelong. The wind was knocked out of him and he crumpled to the floor utterly breathless.

It took a moment for him to regain his senses and when he did his assailant was already astride his waist.

“At least buy us a drink first.” Rugan managed before the young man wrapped his hands around his throat. Rugan considered this very unsporting for a tavern brawl, especially since he was going to such efforts so as not to kill or maim anyone.

“No one hurts Cohne!” The lad cried. Rugan would've asked who in the hells that was if he had the breath to.

He pried at the young man's fingers, hoping to pull them away from his rapidly closing windpipe but the lad was deceptively strong. Something bumped against Rugan's elbow, the familiar green bottle.

One hand still tugging desperately at his attacker's hands, the other reached for the bottle. Rugan slammed it hard against the lad’s head. The blow dazed him and freed Rugan's throat from his grasp. 

Whimpering, the lad began crawling away and Rugan heard a cry of “Tad!” cut through the commotion. Coughing fiercely Rugan rolled over to see the barmaid run over and fuss over his assailant.

‘Ah, Cohne,’ he thought. Looking at his attacker, Rugan saw his brow was split and bleeding. Yes this was quality glass, with a proper heft to it.

Sitting up he noticed Izzy under the table only a few feet away. Rugan held up the bottle she had rolled him and with a quirk of his brow asked: “Couldn't ‘ave hit him yourself, lass?”

“And cross the staff?” She scoffed. “My room's already paid for.”

“Fair enough.” 

Rugan rolled his shoulders and got to his feet. He tried to find Olly in the crowd only to find the lad battering his opponent.

“Reckon he's had enough, lad.” He commented as he approached, and indeed all the fight had gone out of the innkeeper's son.

“Right.” Olly replied somewhat sheepishly. He wasn't the bloodthirsty sort, but in the boy's short time in the Network Rugan had known him to lose his temper in defence of his fellows.

Olly turned to face Rugan, and his features became painted in a mask of alarm. Before he could get out a word of warning Rugan felt the chair slam into his back.

Pairs of burly arms soon had both his arms and was aware of himself being half-marched, half-dragged towards the door.

+++++

The quartet had been beaten, handily.

“Out of here, the lot of you.” The innkeeper barked at the Zhents, and when he saw Isolde standing to the side. “That goes for you as well, miss.”

The burly sons were busy shoving them out the front door, past the remaining frightened patrons and broken furniture.

“I've already paid for my room.” Isolde complained indignantly as she fished out her room key from her cloak pocket. “Are you going to reimburse me?”

“Consider it damages for your associates handiwork.” The man sneered.

“They're not my associates, I'm no mercenary!”

“Yeah but you're associated with them aren't ya? At least that one there. That makes you associates.”

“No more than your wife.” Isolde bit back. Rugan manoeuvred himself between her and the innkeeper just as the man stepped forward menacingly.

“Now, hold on, there's no need for more violence.” The Zhent held up a hand in a gesture of peace. “The lady will hand over her key.” Rugan half turned to her and extended his other hand at this. She made a petulant face and started to retort when Rugan's narrowing eyes made her think better of it.

“Fine.” She deposited the keys in his hand, still pouting. Rugan in turn, deftly tossed them to the innkeeper.

“There, now everyone’s happy.” The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile, yet the expression was somehow more threatening than anything else.

The innkeeper only grunted his assent before nodding to his sons. The family re-entered the inn, but were no doubt watching them from the windows.

“Gods, woman, you're worse than this lot with that mouth of yours.” He sighed in exasperation.

“Man’s robbing me! Why should I be polite?” She huffed.

Behind her Brem and Bellar finally broke into the cackles they had been holding in. Olly only shrugged, embarrassed by his companions

“Did’ya see ‘is face though?” Bellar was grasping at his sides.

“Don't encourage her. And don't think I've forgotten we're in this mess because of you, Bellar.”

“Not my fault, the wife said they had an arrangement.”

“And you took her word for it?” Brem asked incredulously.

“Like I'm gonna take stick from you of all folks.” Bellar replied.

Rugan shook his head ruefully. “Come on then, I saw another inn just down the road.” He turned to a still pouting Izzy. “Don't fret about the coin, lass; you can stay with me as long as you like.” He held out his arm for her. “You were planning to spend the night with me, weren't you?”

The pout melted from her face and she appraised him a moment before making a show of daintily taking his arm. “Well if you're going to be a gentleman.” She cooed while resting her head on his shoulder, knowing very well he was not.

“I'll be the very model of chivalry.” He could hear that Bellar and Brem had begun their cackling and hooting again. He shot them a smirk as he led the party down the docks.

[juelliuscaesarsalad]

Legends of Gapen!

Introduction

Hi, freaks! This is the first chapter from my spinoff series, "Legends of Gapen!" that comes from the same universe as, "How Many Cocks Does It Take To Screw A Dumb Knight?!" Explicit smut is present so please be a cautious reader and have fun!

PS: There's also a special art at the end of the read!)

AO3 Profile AO3 Original Work

DISCLAIMER: "Legends of Gapen" is an NSFW work of fantasy that contains triggering themes such as violence, gore, and non-consensual elements.

This is written for entertainment purposes ONLY. If any of the themes bother you, please refrain from reading, and thank you for your understanding.

Summary: Come one; come all! Welcome to the literary collection of Gapen's most infamous manwhores and their stories that prove just how depraved a cock-loving slut can be! In this anthology, prepare to be thrown into worlds like no other! Pack warm clothes as you travel to the mountains of Bacraut, home to the vulgar Viking, Ásgeirr, who will stop at nothing to get his dick wet. Careful where you step, as the cum pits of Hancock are known to drag innocent adventurers below their surfaces- and meet thee, Hancock! Place your bets in the Gauntlets of Gunk, a rowdy city made of arenas secretly ruled by Spunker and his underground gang of ruffians! And finally, take flight with the innocent mage, Lachlan, who soars through the skies in search of his only true love. Oh- but don't worry, folks, that's just the beginning of our tales. You'll find many more characters here just itching to introduce themselves. Beware, for there is little chance that anyone is safe.

Chapter 1: Came... But I Still Stand!

[For Percy]

"And they call you a Jarl," snickered a young man who caused a bare hole to flinch as he brought his palm against it.

     The hole belonged to a middle-aged Viking who— 

"Huh?"

     It belonged to an older—

"Try again."

     The spry hole belonged to not-so-youthful—

"STEEL YOURSELF-"

BELONGED— to a very hunky and good-looking Viking who was mature, BUT that did not matter because of how stunning he was— barely aging, but like fine wine regardless. His features betrayed youthfulness and adulthood, making it difficult to discern his exact age. His panicked dark-blue gaze swept across the room, looking over several other young adult men who could hardly stay clothed. Each of them rushed to take off their clothing, following presumably their leader, who stood naked before Ásgeirr.

     Aside from being ridiculously impatient, the men were tall and had fair hair, which was much different from the Viking's white hair, long and healthy as it cascaded gracefully down past his neck. The men likely recently reached adulthood— about a year or two ago— their bodies, cheeks, and jaws still smooth. Ásgeirr bared a charming face, a firm mustache, and a narrow, ghostly-shaped goatee, which began at the middle of his chin and draped downward slightly. Like the young men, Ásgeirr also had a pale complexion, but his body, currently stripped, was painted with runic designs, enhanced by his robust physique. The Viking's face was slightly softer than his enemies' narrow-shaped heads and prominent cheekbones. But the biggest difference, literally, was the appendage attached to the Viking, his cock prying towards the surrounding men. 

     The atmosphere was thick with testosterone as the young soldiers circled Ásgeirr, their eyes filled with hunger. 

"Leave it to a barbaric Viking to burst into a crowded barracks as if he's invincible," sneered a young man, his leanness belying his strength. "You really thought you could handle us all?" he taunted.

"I can't wait to fill him up," growled a soldier with a massive cock that dwarfed the others.

     But it was the youngest among them who seemed the most entranced by the situation. With an expression of naive excitement, he muttered, "This is the perfect first time for me."

"I think it's all our first times," said the first young man, slapping his leaking dick against Ásgeirr's exposed taint. The Viking was forced into an undignified position, his back arched and feet held up in the air, his ass completely vulnerable. He could feel his pressed-together pecs being grasped by the same taunting man. "You're going to be used until we've proven ourselves to be true men."

"Virgin cocks— I can't believe you would be so loud with embarrassment," Ásgeirr spat, successfully hitting the man in the eye.

"Fuck!" exclaimed the soldier, stumbling back but keeping his hand over his eye as he inserted a finger into Ásgeirr's tight entrance, stretching it open mercilessly. "Save your saliva, asshole." As the finger probed deeper inside him, Ásgeirr couldn't help but let out a quiet grunt, which only seemed to amuse the young man even more. "Looks like you'll be the only loud one." 

     Ásgeirr tried to let go of his feet, but the younger man grasped his hands, both grips now forcefully holding up a pair of legs. The lad made a guttural noise in his throat before spitting on his cock, rubbing it against the Viking's hole by moving his hips. The other soldiers cheered, goading their comrade to ravage the helpless Viking.

"Do it!"

"Plow his ass!"

"Make him suffer!"

     The young soldiers cheered, and unfortunately for the Viking, he knew the only way out of this was to take every vile load of cum from the virgin cocks that surrounded him.

"By Odin's spear—" exclaimed Ásgeirr, without the pun intended.

     The Viking's toes curled around both sets of fingers, and his nipples perked up at the same time. Meanwhile, his butt clenched around a youthful, impatient, curious cock. The young man had slid inside the Viking messily, nearly falling over from the unexpected feeling of Ásgeirr's hole embracing his shaft. The feeling was electric, but the young man's dick was so sensitive that he struggled to be as aggressive as he wanted to be. Instead, his once-hostile demeanor softened as he panted through his careful strokes, trying not to spill inside the Viking instantly. Despite him moving slower, the Viking moaned due to the soldier's length rubbing against his walls. But before both men knew it, the hard dick sprayed inside of Ásgeirr's ass. 

"G-god... that was fucking-"

"Move over!" yelled a voice that shoved the soldier out of the way. It was a young man who was the thickest of all the men and possibly the oldest, but he still had a sense of youth about him. His facial hair was light, and his features were soft, but his wicked grin spoke of nothing good.

     Before Ásgeirr could prepare to accommodate the new cock, it was buried inside him, eager and far more resilient than the last. Ásgeirr groaned abruptly, caught off guard as the soldier pushed against him, feeling the weight of heavy balls against his cheeks. The soldier gripped the Viking's waist roughly before placing a foot on the bed as he pumped Ásgeirr. Ásgeirr's entire body trembled and shivered, most noticeably his chest heaving. The soldier noticed this and allowed one hand to squeeze around the Viking's pec, fondling it excitedly. His head tilted up towards the ceiling, his mouth agape as he moaned after every thrust. Ásgeirr's ass continuously flexed, working away at the cock's thickness, hoping to add another load to its collection— but a different hole was soon to be attacked. 

     Ásgeirr felt the weight of the bed shift, and his gaze spotted the man equipped with the most enormous cock in terms of length climbing around. Within a few seconds, he knelt above Ásgeirr, his giant dick looming over him before slapping against his forehead. 

"D-don't you dare, boy! I refuse to-" Ásgeirr yelled, but his shouts were silenced by a pair of balls that were dropped on his eyes after the man readjusted his position. Ásgeirr cried out, but his mouth was forced to preoccupy a shaft that slid against his lips, back and forth swiftly. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, kissing the underside of the long dick each time it traveled.

     The Viking rocked back and forth, his body yielding to the soldiers. His skin felt warm, and a pungent smell filled his nose, likely from the sweat from the man above him. A tangy-tasting liquid dripped from the cock, and Ásgeirr tried to let it fall off his tongue. But in a matter of seconds, the man noticed and slithered his cock inside the Viking's throat, nearly slamming the tip towards the back of it.

     With both of his holes filled, Ásgeirr couldn't help but quiver and lean into the shockwaves that kissed his body. The moments were fleeting, forcing the Viking to beg for more, but they returned as quickly as they left, intoxicating the moment. 

     After a few minutes, far longer than Ásgeirr thought the soldiers would last, two sets of fluid slipped into his butt and throat. The semen in his ass was generously warm and simmered inside of him like softly as if it asked to stay. As for the liquid in his throat, it caused Ásgeirr to choke- the amount heavy and thick. A hint of tanginess remained, but it was now far more bitter as he swallowed it, gulping as it burned his throat. 

     The Viking's entire body was shaken violently as the cocks left his orifices. But his ordeal had yet to be done.

     Next up was the skinny soldier, who took several minutes writhing his tongue around Ásgeirr's hole. The other men became impatient and bullied him enough that he began to drive his cock inside the Viking. Ásgeirr enjoyed hearing this soldier's moans, which were closer to whimpers. The Viking's cock twitched, and pre-cum squirted onto his thighs and stomach each time the skinny-framed man pumped. Ásgeirr adjusted his neck, cracking it to the side, his muscles and joints becoming tensed and stiff from his position. The soldier struggled from Ásgeirr's movements and slipped a few times, which received him several laughs from his allies and Ásgeirr himself. The soldier brought a heavy hand across the Viking, slapping him before leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth. Ásgeirr cried out, his tender nipple being sucked on gently by the man's lips. The Viking's cries caused the skinny soldier's hips to buck, and his cock sunk into Ásgeirr's butt just in time for a nice stream of cum to squeeze out his tip. 

     Nearly every man had taken their turn, only the youngest remaining. The soldiers egged him on and shoved him forward, but the young man was frozen. He felt scared and couldn't believe a man like Ásgeirr was up for the taking. He hesitated as Ásgeirr's head spun around before stopping and peering at him. "...Please, I can't- too much... too many."

     Despite being lustfully mesmerized, guilt spread across the young soldier's face. He looked back at his fellow soldiers and shook his head, refusing to participate in Ásgeirr's mistreatment. But like a pack of wolves, the men rallied next to him, pressuring him further.

"Come on, do it!"

"Kill him with your cock!"

"You're gonna' love it!"

     While his body begged for more, Ásgeirr believed the ordeal was finally done. That was until he spotted a cock peeking above his balls. 

"Fucking hell-"

     Ásgeirr felt the final cock breach him, smaller than most but still full of vitality. Ásgeirr watched the young man's mouth open wide and-

"Thank the Gods."

     Officially beating the world record for fast ejaculation was the youngest soldier, who fell on top of Ásgeirr with his small frame. He tilted his head upwards slightly just as Ásgeirr finally let go of his feet, resting his soles on the wooden floorboards. "That was amazing... did you cum?" asked the young soldier innocently.

     The soldiers snickered at the young man's naivety. "Who cares if the Viking came? It's our dicks that matter," the skinny one said, shoving the youngest aside. "And we're far from done with him." Ásgeirr groaned as he felt the skinny soldier's cock prodding at his entrance again, still slick with seed. The man pushed inside, sighing as the Viking's warm, cum-filled hole enveloped him.

"Damn, he's so loose and sloppy now," the thickest soldier said, stroking himself as he watched. "Fucking perfect." He moved to stand by Ásgeirr's head, rubbing his heavy cock against the Viking's face. "Open up, whore."

     With a defiant glare, Ásgeirr parted his lips, allowing the girthy shaft to slide into his mouth. The soldier fisted his long white hair, holding his head in place as he fucked his throat. Drool ran down the Viking's chin as he sputtered and gagged.

     Another load slowly seeped inside of the Viking’s ass, and he tried to shift his weight off the bed, only to be confronted once again. "Aye, plenty more rounds to go," chuckled the thickest soldier, giving Ásgeirr's plump ass a hard smack from across that made the Viking grunt. "We just can’t get enough.” But before the skinny soldier could take another turn, he was pushed aside by another man, who was then contested by a third.

     The soldiers shoved each other repeatedly and protested before descending upon Ásgeirr once more like a pack of starving wolves. Hands groped his chiseled chest, fingers tweaked his sensitive nipples. Tongues dragged along his neck, teeth nipped at his earlobes. Cocks rutted against his thighs, leaking pre-cum onto his runic tattoos.

"N-no more..." Ásgeirr panted, but his body betrayed him, his hole clenching hungrily around cocks and fingers.

"This ass says otherwise," smirked a soldier. He pushed Ásgeirr's knees to his shoulders, baring his pink, puffy hole. Rivulets of cum dribbled out, pooling on the bed. "Look how it begs for more." Without warning, he plunged his cock into the ring of muscle, drawing a strangled moan from Ásgeirr. "You love this, don't you, Viking?" the soldier grunted, pounding into Ásgeirr's sloppy hole while several cocks slapped his chest and face. "Being used like a cumdump by a bunch of virgins."

     Ásgeirr could only moan brokenly in response, his eyes rolling back as the relentless thrusts battered his prostate. His own neglected cock bobbed against his stomach, smearing pre-cum across his abs.

"Fuck, I can't wait to breed you again," said a different soldier, watching the cock slide out of the Viking’s hole. The Viking sobbed from unwanted glee. Tears and sweat streaked down his handsome face.

"P-please..." he begged weakly, unsure if he was pleading for mercy or more.

"Listen to him whine like a bitch," a soldier sneered. He grabbed Ásgeirr's jaw roughly. "Shut him up."

     Thick, musky cocks took turns fucking the Viking's face, choking him with their girth. Ásgeirr shouted and gasped, strings of saliva connecting his lips to the shafts violating his mouth. Ásgeirr's muscular body was buffeted by thrusting hips and grasping hands as the soldiers took their pleasure again and again, their youthful stamina seeming endless. His hole was completely defiled, gaping obscenely each time a cock pulled out only to be replaced by the next. Every single man rutted like beasts in heat as crude wet slaps and grunts mixed with Ásgeirr's muffled moans around the cocks pummeling his throat.

"Fuck, this ass was made to milk cocks," groaned the skinny soldier, panting harshly as he slammed into Ásgeirr's cum-slick hole for a third time. His sharp hipbones smacked against the Viking's round cheeks with each brutal thrust. Ásgeirr could only gurgle in response, stuffed full of throbbing, twitching cocks at both ends. Drool leaked from the corners of his stretched lips.

     The cocks in his mouth switched out rapidly, the men using his face like a toy. "Stick out your tongue," one commanded, slapping his heavy shaft on Ásgeirr's wet muscle.

"Norns have mercy," Ásgeirr groaned deliriously, voice hoarse from choking on cocks. His jaw ached, and his throat felt bruised. Sticky ropes of cum painted his face, matting his hair and beard. A particularly deep thrust made stars explode behind his eyelids. He'd lost count of how many times he’d been pumped. Ásgeirr's head lolled to the side, eyes glazed and unfocused.

     But as the brutal gangbang stretched on, the soldiers' movements gradually became more erratic and uncoordinated. Sweat poured down their youthful faces, chests heaving with exertion. Their grip on Ásgeirr's body loosened as fatigue seeped into their limbs. Their groans and whimpers filled the room until body after body dropped flat to the floor until a single soldier was awake. He was lying on top of Ásgeirr until he blew a final load inside the Viking. He fell sound asleep between Ásgeirr’s chest as if nothing had happened.

     Ásgeirr, who nearly snapped out of his lust as a bright flash attacked his gaze, suddenly felt invigorated. His cock still begged for release while his hole and other muscles were incredibly sore, but surprisingly, he felt more prepared than ever. His eyebrow furrowed, and he toppled the man over with his weight as he stood up. The young soldier fell on the ground and joined the several other soldiers that had fallen. Ásgeirr's jaw nearly fell on the ground as he examined every unconscious soldier. As soon as he sighed heavily, the entrance to the barracks was busted open, the door breaking off and flying across the room. Ásgeirr dodged it casually and looked back to where he watched several fellow Vikings, weapons ready, preparing to strike. But they all relaxed as they slowly entered the room, looking around confused. 

"My Jarl!" exclaimed a Viking who rushed over to Ásgeirr but took a step back as he watched a small lump of cum fall from the Viking's ass. "Oh... I see you went with the other plan."

"You are all late," Ásgeirr said, another heavy sigh escaping his mouth before he pointed around. "Take these men and bring them back to Danalaw. We will question them once we are back home."

"Yes, Jarl," the Viking said, ordering the other men to gather the soldiers. They did so hurriedly, and Ásgeirr found a tunic thrown on the floor, using it to wipe his body— and mostly his ass— down.

"...Sorry about that, Jarl Ásgeirr. We struggled to... uhm, find the correct building."

"I figured as much," Ásgeirr responded but gently touched the Viking's shoulder. "It is no worries, though. A few cocks is hardly enough to stop me!" Ásgeirr laughed loudly, as did the other Viking. But as Ásgeirr's laughter became louder and louder, causing all the Vikings to turn, the Jarl slowly slipped into a similar unconsciousness, landing face-first on one of the soldier's asses. As soon as Ásgeirr's head sunk into the cheeks, his dick erupted, cum running down his legs and warming his thighs.

The room fell silent until one of the Vikings slowly picked up Ásgeirr in a soft hold, the Jarl already snoring wildly. Ásgeirr nuzzled against the Viking's chest just as the rest of the men smiled and continued cleaning up the mess of sleeping bodies.

"Oh, Ásgeirr..."

[zedecksiew]

The Fairwind Jongleurs

Some context:

Sao Rai is a society lady. She fancies herself a progressive libertine. Her name is ancient; her inheritance obscene. She is about to host a fete for her fifty-year-old grandmother, the Widow Gon.

For entertainment at the party, she has engaged the Fairwind Jongleurs, a sea-folk troupe. The sea-folk are a nomadic maritime people---admired for their "tragic and noble savagery".

+

THE FAIRWIND JONGLEURS

“They were wasted in the playhouse where I found them. Look. Such passion, such intensity. Look at his eyes. Look how she dances. Such frenzy!”

Sao Rai doesn’t know that these sea-folk knew her grandfather. Lord Gon burned their flotilla. They are here to pay him in kind.

+

MASTER STARRY 6 Grit 10 STR 10 DEX 14 HRT Rifle, as club (d6)

Casts etched bone and sea glass, reads the pattern, speaks your fortune: “You are the diving egret. On the sixth, beware flashing mail.” His stare is cold. His gun does not fire; he has eaten its powder for years. He is a bomb. When he swallows a lit match, he dies like a fireworks factory exploding.

+

CHEER CHARITY’S CHILD 6 Grit 10 STR 14 DEX 10 HRT Fire darts (d6)

Tall as a twelve-year-old, marbled with burn scars. Her voice is husky laughter. Speaking, may manifest an obedient fire, the size of her body.

She juggles the flame. Shreds it into bird and fish and arrowhead shapes. These go where she can see. She imagines her audience, seared.

+

PATIENCE STARRY’S CHILD 6 Grit 14 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Kick (d4)

Plump and tattooed. Her three daughters play drums, bells, clackers. She stamps, jumps, contorts. She only wears a loincloth; she jiggles and dangles.

Prudes gasp and turn away. Those who watch cannot stop watching—not until she stops dancing. Hypnotic hexes are hidden in the ink of her skin.

+

Let the House of Gon fall.

+++

( Image sources: http://thefilmexperience.net/blog/2018/3/26/the-furniture-the-age-of-innocence-and-the-living-museum.html https://naturelands.wordpress.com/2013/06/04/the-most-beautiful-woman-of-gilded-age-well-allow-me-to-differ/ https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-c641-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Josephine_Giraldelli,_a_woman_impervious_to_fire._Reproducti_Wellcome_V0007101ER.jpg https://www.daytonartinstitute.org/exhibits/jean-leon-gerome-dance-of-the-almeh/ https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2020/09/photos-wildfires-burn-through-californias-wine-country/616519/ )

[god-has-entered-my-body]

lena's dream log: the goth one

- fourth instalment -

right so i'm like. seventeen sixteen in this dream? idk but i looked in the mirror and was the SPITTING image of teenage me so yes. i'm in this bus right and it stops at this weird stop next to the woods in my hometown. This sketchy group of people get on and one of them shoved this bag into my hands and i'm like ??????? okay queen i guess this is mine now

then there's four cops in the bus and for some reason i know they're looking for me so i smash this glas window next to me and bolt out of it bag in hand. WHY DO I STILL HAVE THIS BAG? no clue BUT i'm with one of my mates i know i didn't know back then but i just DONT question it in the slightest and keep running

i'm being chased by these fuckass city orga cops down this hill and my mate trips and falls and just disappears whatever i don't question it because i'm SPRINTING at this point.

i reach this weird drugstore that looks somewhat familiar but only on the outside the inside is way too big and literally has everything imaginable and i'm just like. okay this is happening now. i run to hide and see a bunch of people i know i should know and one of them i recognise as my friend sahara and i go up to her being like GIRL IM BEING CHASED???? and she's like yeah obv you have a BOMB

So apparently i have a bomb in my bag and i drop this bitch IMMEDIATELY book it into the sex toys section and hide while they search the place and i'm like???????? HUH and they eventually leave

i go outside and jesus fucking christ the street is filled with goths. i wish i was kidding everyone was in full trad goth makeup and holding crosses and those weird fire things whatever I STILL don't question it and start trying to find ANYONE i know. i'm walking through this crowd of goth folks and reach a weird wooden stage and sahara appears behind me with this absolutely massive spliff (like at least four feet tall she's just hauling the thing) COPS COME AGAIN and i'm running once more towards this stage and that when i see children?????

these kids are fully performing a really shite dance routine to bad blood by taylor swift like costumes and shitty makeup everything and there's a bunch of people in rows of chairs (their parents????) watching the show and clapping and holding up signs that i couldn't really read

right so i somehow skip to a part where all of these aforementioned goths are sitting in a circle and there's this MASSIVE bonfire in the middle right in front of me but it feels cold and not like fire

again more cops and they start arresting everyone and suddenly there THE BOMB GOES OFF AND ITS RIGHT NEXT TO ME and i fly through the air like i'm bibi bloxberg so i'm soaring and land in this bed just chilling in the middle of the road and i'm like ??? okay queen i guess i'm here now

theres this weird PA announcement thing that just tells everyone to beware of the satanists roaming the streets and theres like. old german ladies multiplying in the windows staring into my soul and i'm TERRIFIED but in a silly way because what the fuck mate what am i DOING

anyway everyone gets lined up and "processed" ?????? in the middle of the street ???????? okay whatever suddenly there's a bottle of pink whitney's (shout out wife) in my hand and i'm drinking it and everyone has the same bottle while simultaneously being in handcuffs ??? do they have four arms ????

okay whatever and then i wake up literally sweating and my face is puffy and THIRSTY and also somewhat convinced i'm still dreaming because what the FUCK just happened to me

yay another dream log i totally didn't have to douse myself in cold water after this one

[consul-valerius]

“You’re the child of divorce—I’m the child of an 88 year old and his sugar baby. We are not the same.”

I’ve been thinking of my Sam and Donna’s crack AU where they have an accidental magic baby and igdfhgfidhg RE-INTRODUCING Xiomara, the pillow princess of the Pearl Isles who can continue to terrorize both the citizens of Prakra and Vesuvia lmfao

Some random bits of lore & her general personality:

She is a Daddy’s Girl through and through and primarily stays on the islands because she wants to be sure she gets to have Sam in her life as much as possible :’) she has always been brutally aware that her dad is Old and doesn’t have much longer like other folks her age do, so she’s very Anxious when it comes to his health and being away from him for too long

She obviously loves Donna very much (hence why she has several tattoos to remind her of them), and she will travel to Vesuvia with Sam to visit them too. Absolutely does not vibe with Valerius LMAO they’ve gotten better as she’s gotten older, but she just does not vibe with her step-dad lmao

Other than the looming threat of paternal death, she is very much the life of the party lmfao She’s much more of a socialite than someone with many political interests, and if there’s an excuse to throw a party, she’s throwing a damn party

She’s a lesbian and in a slllliiigghhhtly monogamous relationship (much to her father’s shock and horror), but she’s an exhibitionist in her heart and loves to put on a good show knowing her Zaddy is watching and cheering her on lmao <3 her orgy parties are also very famous around Prakra where people can truly fuck around and find out lol

As fun loving as she is, she also has both Sam’s temper and Donna’s lmao in general she really enjoys combat training and loves to spar, but she’s 6 feet tall and full of muscle, so if she sees something that upsets her, her first reaction is to hit/bite and then talk through it after lmfao

Undercut is her full ~nude~ model so beware of boobs and bush but im v proud of how she came out even nude so you all shall see her LMAO

No other thoughts just. She 💖

[fairyrebelled]

noah. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • isms. • threads.

Is that DYLAN SPRAYBERRY? No, that’s NOAH GREENE. The 21 year old FAIRY OMEGA MALE (HE/HIM) is a/an/the STUDENT & ASSISTANT (TO THE FAIR FOLK COUNCIL). If you ask their friends, they’re known to be CONFIDENT & INDEPENDENT, but beware, they’re also known to be RECKLESS & REBELLIOUS. Can you believe they’re from THE PRESENT? Me either. 

BASIC INFO

full name — Noah Greene age — twenty (april 1st) gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns) second gender — omega  occupation — faircouncil slave assistant clothing style — punk-ish, holes, tears, pins etc. and jeans

PHYSICAL INFO

face claim — Dylan Sprayberry hair — brown / eyes — blue height — five foot & five inches build — compact, lil stocky but thin waist and big arms scars — a few from fights he picked by spreading his no-shits-given attitude tattoos — a few, family emblem on his wrist (not his decision), an anarchy for fae logo on the back of his neck piercings — a bunch, eyebrow, ear, nipples, lip special characteristics — no shits given attitude, will pop the finger at pretty much everybody sexual preference— bratty bottom sub kinks — breeding, tell him what a good boy he is, praise, nipple play (pierciiiiiings), spanking, put pretty things on him (a shiny plug or collar or something), manhandling (he's a brat, be ready) anti-kinks — scat, gore

PERSONALITY

alignment — chaotic neutral positive traits — confident, independent, kind negative traits — reckless, rebellious, brat, feisty, unfriendly hobbies — rebellion keeps him busy

MEDICAL INFO

mental — n/a physical — healthy bby phobias — n/a eyesight — 17/20 dominant hand — right hand drug use — nop alcohol use — yep, even tho he's not allowed oops. diet — annoyed by all the fancy-ass rich people food from home, he's big into fast food

BACKGROUND

birthplace — new haven, CT parents — Alkara Greene & Noraine Greene   siblings — Alwyn, Islwyn and Shania (all older by 10 ish years) education — high school drop out notable skills — fighting his parents, arguing about the exact same thing over and over and over, disagreeing with everything someone else says

Born with not only a silverspoon in his proverbial mouth, but an entire collection of silver cutlery, Noah should've grown up to be the happiest child with the most fulfilled life one could imagine. And for a long time it was exactly that, or it felt like it, but Noah never quite felt like he ... was right where he was. It might've been the fact his siblings were all much older than him and he'd been somewhat of an accident, or maybe it was because they were all so incredibly good at everything - they were Fairies after all, that he just .. knew he'd never be able to compete.

They were tall, blonde, blue-eyed and smart. Alwyn was going to law school - a year early than was normal, Islwyn was a resident at the hospital and Shania had just opened her own restaurant under the ever-watchful eye of the town's council. They were all in meaningful and yet arranged relationships with other Fairy partners and it was honestly kind of disgusting to watch sometimes. It wasn't normal, being so goddamn perfect.

And so Noah decided to be the exact opposite. No oppression, no ... letting them dictate life for him, no pushing him into being someone he wasn't. He was wild, he didn't like school, he didn't like authority, he ... just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to fuck shit up and leave a path of destruction in his wake. It wasn't even that he hated his family, he just ... didn't want to be part of it. Sure, they probably loved him, but ... they sucked at showing it - really.

He ran away from home a few times, slept in abandoned buildings (yes, even New Haven had some) out by the fields, but someone always found him and he was dragged back - kicking and screaming to once again find himself in a golden cage of .... wealth. Ungrateful, spoiled, brat. He was aware, thank you, but he also couldn't give any less shits than ... none.

So, he got himself into trouble. He stole from the mall, he cracked windows of store wherever he went, his trusty bat always with him wherever he went and he picked fights whenever he could. It was... freeing, feeling his blood pumping and adrenaline take over. But it never lasted unfortunately and so he kept on going higher and further - harder and faster.

Until he got himself caught. Again. Only this time ... the council was involved and Noah was faced with two options. Be the first Fairy in jail among vampires, weres and sharks or ... work for a better future. My ass, what a bunch of nonsense. But he ... had no other option than to accept, because no way in fucking hell was he going to replace his golden cage with iron bars.

And so he met Dallas Song.

[voicesofthedistantsea]

(Just an in general heads up in case folks were not aware of this kind of thing, more info here)

Average size of a full grown potbellied pig is 18"-24" tall and 3'-4' long and anywhere from 100+ pounds up to 275 pounds or more. Beware of "fancy names" that breeders give to pigs (such as Micro Mini, Royal Dandie, Juliana, Teacup, Nano, Pocket Pig, Chinese Miniature, etc.... Those are all made up names for regular miniature pigs).

Vietnamese pot-bellied pig named Winston By: Lil' Porkers Pig Pals From: Pot-bellied Pigs and Other Miniature Pet Pigs 1992