#the eye-gouged witch

[jabber-wockin]

Made an oc drawing game :D

I thought it would be fun to make some prompts to draw ocs with that focused on using visual symbolism to describe the character so I made this.

Feel free to give it a try; The template should be transparent if I did this thing right. If you don’t like prompts you can alter them and you don’t need to stick to a one colour palette like I did. Just have fun!

If you end up drawing stuff for this I’d appreciate if you credit me with the template!

[wall-eye]

At the part of the game where I'm meeting Dr undead scissor hands 👍 I talked to him yesterday and he did some fucked up shit so I Left and rewound so now I'm just gonna kill him

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 11 | chapter 12

"We shouldn't be out here alone," a girl, about twelve or thirteen years old, with black hair and yellow dress insisted in an exasperated voice. "Cersei!"

A younger version Cersei with golden hair and flowing red dress, the ends splattered with mud by the way she was running across the drenched pathway leading to the woods, only giggled as she went on. The girl was Cersei's friend from a certain noble house, who was only recently assigned to be her handmaiden.

"Why not?" Cersei asked as she climbed over a massive root of a tree until she could see the tiny wooden house with a smoking chimney from a distance. The witch's house.

"If your father-"

"He'll never know we're gone," Cersei interrupted, pulling her friend up with her from the ground.

"But if he finds out-"

"You don't need to be afraid of my father," the Lannister girl said as she shook the dirt off from her dress and observed the surroundings. She then walked closer towards the house, her curiosity at its peak.

The townspeople had warned the young girl about the infamous witch living deep in the woods near Casterly Rock, but Cersei didn't seem faze about the rumors. She had to know if the witch was a fraud or not, if the effort gossiping about her was all worth it.

The famed witch's house seemed alive from the outside, with endless smokes protruding from the chimney. She carefully approached the threshold, surrounded by herbs and plants she didn't know existed. Her hand pushed the wooden door open as she let herself in with a cautious step. Thankfully, there was no sign of any witch.

"Are you sure?" Cersei's friend whispered behind her back, hesitant on following the young Lioness.

"Yes," Cersei answered, her eyes quickly darting around the room until they landed on one large cauldron at the center, with liquids brewing inside, contents unknown of.

"We shouldn't go in," her friend warned, her eyes settling on some sharp knives laying around the table and dismembered parts of animals inside jars.

"Of course we should," Cersei replied, her fingers brushing over dusty books on the shelves. And when her eyes darted towards the dark corner, squinting at the shadowy figure she could tell looked real, she stopped walking. That shadow slowly turned into a person as it approached them closer. The light from the candles illuminated over her. The witch.

Cersei took a step back, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat. She could clearly see the witch's greasy face and sunken eyes. For any girl, they would be terrified. But Cersei wasn't just like any girl.

"Get out," the witch ordered. When the girls stayed frozen, she went on, "Get out!"

"Let's go," Cersei's friend said as she ran towards the door.

"No," Cersei refused as she stood in the center of the room facing the witch. She didn't show any fear on her face.

"Listen to your friend," the witch said as she moved towards the Lannister girl.

"They said that you were terrifying with cat's teeth and three eyes," Cersei said. "You're not terrifying. You're boring."

"You don't know what I am."

Cersei smirked. "I know you're a witch and you can see the future. Tell me mine."

The witch laughed, eyeing the girls curiously. "Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future."

"This is my father's land," Cersei threatened. "My land."

"Cersei!" her friend went on, tugging her elbow. But Cersei stood her ground.

"Tell me my future," Cersei continued, "or I'll have your two boring eyes gouged out of your head."

The witch could only sneer back as she took a small dagger from a nearby table, making both the girls flinch. "Your blood. Give me a taste."

There was a moment of hesitation on Cersei's face, before she took the knife from the witch and cut her own thumb, tiny blood painting the blade. The witch immediately grabbed ahold of her hand and tasted the substance. Terrified, Cersei pulled away from her.

"Three questions you get," the witch then said. "You won't like the answers."

"I've been promised to the Prince," Cersei began, massaging her wound. "When will we marry?"

"You will never wed the Prince."

Cersei's frown grew deeper, as she felt anger rising inside her. "You will wed the King," the witch went on, making the girl calm down.

"But I will be Queen?"

"Oh, yes." The witch laughed. "You'll be Queen. For a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear."

"W-will the King and I have children?"

"No." The girl's brow furrowed deeper.

"The King will have twenty children and you will have three."

"That doesn't make sense," Cersei spat.

"Gold will be their crowns. Gold their shrouds."

"You're only saying these awful things because I threatened you," Cersei said. "Tell me the truth."

The witch stared at her for a moment. "You will fall madly in love with someone."

The baby hair behind Cersei's neck stood as she listened.

"You'll kill for them. You'll burn bridges and castles for them." The witch then laughed as she threw dusts into the cauldron, making the contents burst into flames. "Dragons."

"Dragons?"

"You will never love anyone else," the witch went on as she began stirring the contents of the pot. "It will be the most amazing thing you'll ever feel in your lifetime. But it will also be your greatest heartbreak."

The sound of the horn from a distance brought her out of trance, the horn from the girls' guards from Casterly Rock, looking for them.

"Come on, we have to go," Cersei's friend pulled her. "We have to go! Cersei!"

~~~

"You need to sleep," Jaime said behind Cersei. "And eat."

"I've already eaten," Cersei answered, nodding towards the empty food tray on the table, before she looked back at you, laying on the bed unconscious. Your shoulders were bandaged to your chest and your face was so bruised, the skin had turned blueish green. Her hand was playing with your fingers as she waited for you to wake up.

Cersei had never felt this way towards anyone before. She had always thought her love for Jaime was what couples would define love was. But with you, it was different.

When she first met you, it had been envy. Eventually, through the days watching your cocky yet awfully kind behavior towards her and others, it then turned into infatuation. And obsession. Now, she wasn't sure what she felt towards you. It was a mixture of emotions. Fear. Wariness. Longing. Love.

She had never thought love could be like this.

Even sex before you had never been that exhilarating to Cersei. She had never reached orgasm the way she did with you, pulling multiples in one night. You had exceeded her expectations based on the rumors circulating about you, making her crave for you more.

Of course, her father would find out. There wasn't a thing her father couldn't see.

He warned Cersei, even threatened her, that involving herself with such affairs would bring downfall to their house. What would others think?

The hell what others think, Cersei thought. Out of fear, she could only nod and obey her father as she went to ignore you with difficulty. Even when all she wanted to do was be with you and in your presence. And when her son died, she thought it would be the end of the world.

Until she let herself be comforted by you. It never occurred to her how much she needed you until that day. It didn't help the fact that whatever awful thing she had said to you, her insides in turmoil watching your face accept her insults, and yet you stayed being you. You never said anything awful back to her. You never argued with her. And she wanted you even more.

When you chose yourself as Tyrion's champion, Cersei immediately went to order the Mountain to back down. However, her father Tywin had already gained Gregor's favors and Cersei couldn't do anything about it. Cersei hadn't slept well that night before the combat. And she almost went to your chambers to tell you to back out, run back to Dorne, where you would be safe.

She couldn't lose you. She couldn't bear the thought of losing you too. Aside from her children, you were the only wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

If you were sensible enough, you would have doubts whether it was worth it, whether her brother was worth your life. Maybe she had been harsh immediately blaming Tyrion as the one who killed her son, knowing her son had made more enemies than her in his lifetime.

She thought she would lose you during the fight when Gregor had managed to pull you to the ground with him. You both knew you couldn't win The Mountain without any weapon. She regretted not kissing you before it happened. She regretted not telling you she loves you too.

She had loved you with all of her heart. And she wished it wasn't too late.

Luckily, she thanked the heavens for saving you that day, even if it would also include her own brother. You had fallen unconscious after the fight. Alive but unconscious.

She hadn't left your side since when you were being tended and healed by all the Great Maesters she could find in the Capital led by Maester Qyburn.

There was one time when she returned to your chambers and you were being tended by a handmaiden, your arm being brushed by a wet washcloth, it made Cersei's insides growl with envy.

"Leave us!" Cersei yelled.

And the handmaiden quickly left, terrified as if she did something wrong.

Cersei then grabbed the washcloth from the basin and continued wiping your body free from blood, mesmerized by how perfect your skin looked. She'd sworn not a person besides her could enter the room without her permission.

The moments she had only left you were the times she had to attend her father's council meetings. She even pretended to care Tyrion won the trial. If it would cost your life, she knew there was no way she'd ever forgive him.

She had never been kind. She had always been cruel, it was the way she was, making her think if she deserves this kindness from you. If she truly deserved you.

Jaime called, his hand on her shoulder, bringing Cersei back to the present, "Cersei. Stop this nonsense."

And when she didn't bother answering, Jaime went to touch the bruise on your face, perplexed.

Cersei immediately stood, her hand shot up to push Jaime away from you. "Don't touch her!"

She was seething. And Jaime eventually chuckled at the sight.

"Don't tell me you've fallen in love with her?" He snickered, grabbing her wrist to pull her closer to him. "Do you even know how to love someone?"

Cersei tugged away from his touch. How dare he judge her love for you?

But she couldn't help but think about how right Jaime was. She had never loved anyone before she met you. How was she sure her feelings for you were even close to love.

~~~

"The Martell house will be leaving in a fortnight once Y/n has fully recovered," Tywin said, making Cersei look at him. The lioness was in her father's small council room, discussing about recent affairs involving the new King's marriage to Margaery. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you planning to hold the marriage in Dorne? I never knew you wanted to visit such place you're being despised of."

"Oh, I completely forgot to mention it to you."

Confusion was etched on Cersei's face.

"You no longer need to marry Y/n," Tywin went on.

"What?" Cersei never knew she had ever been this devastated before.

"Or anyone at all," he said, smirking.

"Is this a trick?"

"No," Tywin said. "Y/n has offered Yronwood castle to set you free. Our Lannister soldiers can set a camp there given fresh resources. It's a perfect place to have a better view of both the Stormlands and Dorne. I think it's a wrong move on their part, giving up a part of the South just like that, no matter how small the area is."

Cersei licked her lips, trying to force a smile but she couldn't. She wasn't happy. "Why would she do that?"

"Does it matter?" Tywin asked, before looking at his daughter. "I thought you'd be happy. You won't be married to anyone against your liking anymore."

Cersei hated it. She hated how you'd decide it without her. And she'd wake you up just to scold you, she'd tell you it wasn't a wise decision, that you were always a fool and a weak person for thinking about other's wellbeing first.

But when she looked at your sleeping form still laying on your bed some time later after the meeting, she couldn't get her mouth to open. Her hand ended up caressing your cheek, as she brushed a strand of hair covering the side of your face over your ear. She understood why you had to do what you did.

She didn't deserve you. And she had been nothing but awful to you. Yet you still thought of her own happiness.

"I love you," Cersei murmured, before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Someone coughed behind her. The Queen Mother looked cautiously and realized Oberyn was standing idly, leaning against the doorway. "Your Grace."

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's cheeks reddened as she avoided the Dornishman's eyes.

"Has she waken up?"

Cersei shook her head as she glanced back at you.

"We will be leaving for Dorne once Y/n recovers," he went on. "She is needed by her father and it has been a long time coming."

Cersei could only grit her teeth. No. Not now. Not ever, Cersei thought. Not when she almost had you.

She didn't end up saying that. Instead, she said, "Will she be safe there?"

"She is safe there in Dorne. Obviously not here in the Capital. And I believe your late son, the late King's murderer is still out there. And I'm sorry for that."

Cersei nodded as she held your hand tight, while fingers intertwined with yours. Then she looked at Oberyn. "Promise me you'll always look out for her."

Oberyn could only stare, not believing that those words came out from Cersei's mouth. The ever vicious and evil Cersei. "I will, as always."

Cersei then turned back to you as she watched you sleep, hoping you'd finally wake up.

[screeching-bunny]

Dark/yandere king x the queen's lady in waiting mc, perhaps with Anne boleyn vibes👑🌹♟️♥️

Saw the witch x priest post and I have to say that the morally grey protagonist is a really refreshing and unique take

Yandere! King pt.2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt.1

Even though you were never assigned to him Yandere! King couldn’t help but want to be by his side no matter what. You are the in-waiting for the queen, you’ve been with her for all her life and you adored her. She was strong willed and she was extremely intelligent. You’ve been by her side ever since you were young and have a tight bond with her. She was cold but you were happy to serve someone like her. Yandere! King was someone that people couldn’t be offended easily. When in his presence, everyone needed to watch their tongues if they wanted to keep it. He was a ruthless man who only cared about his own needs and goals. Even though he was married it was clear to see that the marriage was clearly political. There was no love between the two of them and they would almost daily cheat on each other. He sometimes even forgot that she existed. It was due to this loveless marriage that he became so interested in you.

Any normal person would be intimidated by this but you honestly didn’t care. If his attention would help you get a pay raise then let him stare at you all you want. In this economy, there was no way you were letting this money bag go. Something that you noticed about this man was that he was overly possessive and seemingly jealous of the things that he considered “his”. If he remotely took interest in something then it was his until he got bored and discards it. No one is dumb enough to stand in his way; he's cunning, backstabbing, and absolutely brutal. Morality means nothing when faced in his way.

Right now, your current situation was… strange. In a dining hall filled with luxurious food. There was a centerpiece in the middle of the table that no one could take their eyes off of.

“You’re majesty, please let me go! I repent, please forgive me for my sins! Please just don’t kill me!” The man screams with streams of tears pouring down his face. It was quite a pathetic sight to behold.

Yandere! King stared coldly at the man nailed down to the dining table. The look on his face could send shivers down anyone’s spine. He was absolutely pissed off right now. Aside from the man in the middle screaming, the room was filled with absolute silence as everyone held their breath. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with a knife.

“Your highness please have mercy on my husband! He didn’t mean to! He wasn’t in the right mind! Please forgive him!” The man’s wife begged.

“Listen to him scream like a pig. He touched someone who belonged to me. A sin like that is unforgivable.” Looking your way the king says in a menacing voice. “Tell me where he touched you.” Oh boy, you knew for sure that this was about to get very bloody. Man you really wanted to leave right now. All you could do was hope that he’d increase your salary pay after this for compensation for having to witness this. Like yeah it sucked that someone was going to die right now but there’s no way that you’re quitting. This job paid way too much and you were way too money hungry to quit.

“Tell me where did he touch you? I’ll make sure to gouge out the exact body parts to match.”

“My cheek, my neck, my waist, and my thigh”

Giving you a dismissive look, the king finally allows you to finally leave. On your way out all you could hear were the screams of the man and the sound of ripping flesh. Thank god that was over, it was starting to get annoying. Now you might be wondering where was the queen in all of this? Well, she was with her lover of course! Like I said, the king and queens marriage was only a political one. As long as they didn’t bother each other or get into the other's business, then they did not care about what the other did. It was just truly a loveless marriage.

Making your way towards the queen’s chambers you begin to perform your daily duties. Mindless tasks that bore you to death. The only reason your pay was so good was because of how fond Yandere! King is of you. Any other person in your position would only get a fraction of your wage. You were a bit thankful for this because if he ever deemed you as boring and fired you. You’d still have enough money to live a fairly decent lifestyle. Something that you’ve learned while working for the royal family was that it was always best to stay away from their personal affairs. It gets real ugly once an outsider ever decides to interfere. You honestly wished you knew this before your parents forced you to sign up for this job. Maybe it would have saved you from an annoying king?

Sometimes he’d hand you little trinkets to indulge yourself in. It seemed that he was quite fond of observing you and witnessing your reaction to new devices. With someone like him running the country most people would think that it’d be in ruins. However, he’s definitely smart and knows how to run a country. It’s thanks to him that his kingdom has one of the best economies in the world.

Even though you were primarily assigned to the queen you saw Yandere! King more than her. To you, he was an obnoxious and dangerous figure. One that can easily win wars and conquer any land he so desires. He is a very selfish man that has a habit of being physically and emotionally manipulative. To be honest you can’t say you were any better. Oftentimes you’d use people to your own benefit but he’d definitely take it to the extreme. The amount of people that he used and discarded was insane. Weakness is a word that seems to be out of his dictionary.You could never tell what exactly he was thinking, he was like an enigma. One thing you were certain about was that with the rate of his obsession he’d never leave you alone.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 13

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)

A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤

--

Jackson. 

The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present. 

More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day. 

“Where are we gonna go?”

He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive. 

You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades. 

You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He doesn’t fucking know.  

Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life. 

This…this was for him, and for you. 

The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week. 

Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it. 

He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway. 

Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map. 

He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach. 

It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.

When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot. 

Another life, upended by abrupt violence. 

Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had. 

He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child. 

More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago. 

Is it betrayal to feel joy?

He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed. 

Jackson. 

A bed for the baby.

–

“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”

You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window. 

“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”

The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this. 

Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants. 

After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter. 

Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty. 

“What is this?”

Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch. 

“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down. 

He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.

“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is. 

“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”

“.......And the legs?”

“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”

You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it. 

“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”

“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”

Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.” 

“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind. 

“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself. 

Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair. 

“Don’t worry about it,  honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”

Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you. 

“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you. 

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”

Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching. 

“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness. 

“Tell me about it,” you sigh. 

You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite. 

“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”

He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?” 

You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place. 

“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.

“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”

“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his. 

He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”

“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”

The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it. 

“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”

“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”

The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints. 

“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”

“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”

You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them. 

“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”

He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago. 

“Tell me what you know.”

A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same. 

The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like. 

All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings. 

“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”

You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl. 

“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”

He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing. 

“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”

Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth. 

“Joel?”

“Yea?” 

“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you. 

The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass. 

“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”

–

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory. 

Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up. 

One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin. 

“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”

Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles. 

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest. 

He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten. 

The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away. 

–

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.” 

Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat. 

Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a  weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner. 

You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet. 

“Okay, you can open ‘em.”

Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.

“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”

Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”

After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you. 

“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”

You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.

“Okay, open em’ up.”

It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect. 

Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”

“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”

“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own. 

“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over. 

“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel. 

“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?” 

“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”

He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”

Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss. 

“I love it.”

You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.

You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat. 

“I guess you really liked it.”

You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.

“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.

“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”

“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.  

The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.

The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine. 

Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb. 

The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast. 

Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat. 

“Please. Please.”

He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple. 

Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop. 

“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak. 

“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized. 

A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest. 

“Holy shit.” 

The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm. 

Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take. 

He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body  in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.

“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss. 

“Christ, honey, turn around.”

Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks. 

Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable. 

“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine. 

Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips. 

He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise. 

“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”

His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind. 

“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”

“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster. 

You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder. 

“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster. 

He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons. 

When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin. 

His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants. 

“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes. 

Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair. 

His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself. 

The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”

After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation. 

“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward. 

Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know. 

“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”

“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”

His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you. 

“Joel!” 

Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.

Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath. 

“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep. 

“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”

The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh. 

The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.  

Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.

[untoldstar]

male yandere king x fem! witch reader x male yandere personal secretary Introductory fic

warnings: no yandere shenanigans here so no warnings really BUT this is an introductory fic the yandere themes will appear in later parts.

You’re roughly shoved forward by the two guards that chained you and dragged you all the way here in front of The Kings throne.

King Reid.

“This is her?” You keep your eyes averted refusing to look at him in fear you might not hold back your glare and have your eyes gouged out for that. You’ve heard bone chilling stories of how ruthless he can be and you aren’t about to test the truth behind those stories yourself “Yes sir.” A gruff voice sounds beside you “And you’re completely sure it’s her?” He asks his tone pressing “Positively.” You look up to see that he’s already staring at you intensely, his body stiff with anticipation "Hm..,very well then." The corner of his mouth lifts slightly and a glint appears in his eyes. He nods his head to your wrists and in the blink of an eye, the rope is cut off your wrists. You groan as you rub your red wrists, at least he didn't keep you tied up. He suddenly turns his head to the guards "Everyone out at once!" The guards hurry to sweep the room of everyone and follow suit shutting the door after them, as the echo of the large wooden door slowly dissipates it dawns on you that you're completely alone now. At his mercy.

He doesn't say anything only rises from his chair and makes his way to a nearby table pouring a drink which you assume is wine based off the crimson color you caught a glimpse of "Care to join me?" You only shake your head when he glances at you "Suit yourself." He grins. Just what is he doing? You've been dragged here like some sack of potatoes, wrists bound, questions ignored, not an explanation spared and yet he's leisurely enjoying a glass of wine?

"I've heard much about you." He plops down on his seat with a sigh. You stay quite simply watching his movements "The infamous witch.." He swirls the liquid in his cups as he stares at you almost spacing out. You quirk a brow. Infamous? Since when? "You might not realize it but you've caused quite the stir." He hums raising the glass to his lips " I hear people have been desperately crawling to your doorstep to give them a glimpse of the future that awaits them, pleas to make them rich overnight, many people willing to pay you a fortune just so their unrequited love can be returned. What is it that you do, potions?" You internally roll your eyes, of course he'd assume that "Spells." You answer keeping your voice even "Ah of course, my apologies, that was quite the childish assumption." Your tense shoulders relax a little you see he wasn't mocking. He's actually embarrassed if his averted gaze is anything to go by "That's alright..it's a common misconception." You try to comfort "Is it really?" You nod "You'd be surprised to know some of the people who come to me also think that." He hums "Is that so? very well then." He seems pleased to see you talking more and letting your guard down even if only a little "Well anyhow, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here" He sets his glass aside and shifts in his seat "I've been..watching you and I think you could be of great help to me and my kingdom." You cross your arms "What would a king want with a witch?" He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped infront of him "I do admit it's not..usual for a king to seek out a witch but that's precisely why I'm doing this. I believe that with you're help this kingdom can flourish" His eyes gleam and you understand why. You can already think of many ways that could be accomplished but what exactly are his plans? "How exactly would that be achieved?" He seems relieved you're not immediately against the idea "Well, in so many ways of course. You would provide me a level of protection my own guards can't give me, you can help me persuade allies, keep away enemies and false allies who seek the fall of my kingdom." You're face shows no emotions as he rambles on passionately, his ideas aren't bad but you don't want to stroke a kings already inflated ego "We can do so much together.." He suddenly rises up and walks towards you "Don't you think so?" He whispers, his body so close to you, eyes pleading and you're almost in disbelief at how a king is the one persuading you and looking at you with such pleading eyes. "Yes that could all work..But why would I do this? Forgive me your majesty but..what exactly are you offering me?" He smirks, thankfully not seeming to be offended by your question. His prideful demeanor returning once again "Why, everything, my dear. You will live here with me in the castle, your room will be right by my quarters, anything you ask shall be granted, I'll personally make sure of it. It will be a completely new way of living. All will be yours as long as you say yes." You don't give an answer. Nothing is stopping you, you live alone, up till now work has been your focus and this..is work. But is he truly to be trusted?

"..I-" You flinch when he suddenly places his hands on your shoulders rubbing them, he must have sensed your tension "Why don't you take a tour of the castle and think very carefully of my offer? perhaps that could help you arrive to a judgment" Your stomach clenches when his eyes darken and his tone turns warning "You'll find that taking me up on my very generous offer will turn out to be in your favor." Something is defiantly wrong with him but perhaps it's best to be polite and go along with the tour for now at least. You slowly nod "Alright.." He beams "Excellent!" He turns around and rings a bell that's by his throne and Immediately you hear the large wooden doors behind you open. You look behind you to see a man enter, the distance between you doesn't allow you to discern his features fully or any other details except for his raven colored hair and the fact that he's close to your age if not the same if his voice and build is any indication. He bows his head "You called me, your majesty." You feel Reid place his hand on your lower back "Yes." He turns to you smiling "That's Marcus, he's my personal secretary, he'll be the one to accompany you on the tour." You knit your brows "It won't be you?" He lets out a low chuckle "No, my dear, I'm afraid I have a few pressing matter I must take care of but I'm quite flattered you were hoping to spend more time in my company." He ends in a teasing tone. Ugh, anything you say will be taken as flattery with him won't it?"

"Alright enough of that now, Marcus can take it from here. I shall see you after the tour." He nods at you, his smile a little strained now, he truly does hope you will come to the decision of staying afterwards. It would really be disappointing if you don't, your room is ready and your closet is filled with clothes designed specifically for you, he doesn't want his preparations to go to waste.

He also doesn't want to take certain measures into making you stay.

part 2

[viviuxd]

INNOCENT LOVE : a viking is in love with me! (Part 2)

SYPNOSIS:You are explaining to the Viking king why you cannot marry him, while you do so he agrees to join your belief and leave his gods, just for you.

PAIRING:Viking x Christian!reader

TW:mention of difference in spiritual beliefs.

Part 1

"What are you doing?!" You shouted angrily. Your hands instantly landed on his chest, pushing him back as you averted your gaze, noticing some servants present. You felt embarrassed for exposing your life in front of those people and hid your face, looking down.

Thorkell noticed your sudden change in attitude and chuckled playfully at your shyness. He turned toward your gaze and realized what was happening. He smiled mischievously and stood tall.

"Everyone, out! Our queen needs privacy," he demanded with a deep, powerful voice that echoed in the room.

You watched as everyone present left immediately, almost running. "I am not your queen," you murmured, glancing at him sideways.

"Soon you will be," he affirmed, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip that hurt you a little due to the force he exerted.

They took a few steps until they reached the throne. He let go of your wrist and turned on his axis to stare at you. He examined you with his eyes and then nodded toward the throne where he had been moments ago.

"Sit there," he demanded with the same dominant voice that sent shivers down your spine.

You were about to refuse. You didn't want to give hope that you'd accept, but neither could you decline; you didn't want to be disrespectful. Besides, Thorkell's gaze intimidated you. You were sure you'd have nightmares about him that night.

You climbed the steps leading to the throne. It was huge, imposing, and beautiful, just like Thorkell. You sat on it; it felt strange. You had always dreamed of being the queen of a nation, and now you had the opportunity, but you felt bad for disobeying God's commands.

You shook your head and clumsily got off the throne, embarrassed by what you had just done.

"I can't, I can't be the queen of Dantohira, Your Majesty," you apologized insistently, looking down in a gesture of submission and respect so that Thorkell wouldn't take it as an offense.

"Damn it!... Could you explain why you're forbidden to marry me?" He grunted angrily, one of his hands resting on his head, rubbing his temple.

You played with your hair, trying to calm your nerves a bit. "We're different... You believe in pagan gods, and don't take it the wrong way, Your Majesty," you said. "It's just that I am faithful to my God, my Lord, and I know that it won't please Him for me to join someone who doesn't love Him. Besides other differences..."

"Name them," he replied sharply, staring at you intently.

You sighed nervously, still not ready to have a discussion with the King. "I don't like your customs... I wouldn't like to marry a man who has several women, or a bloodthirsty man. I'd be in constant fear."

Thorkell approached you, this time respecting your space.

"You'll be the only one. I'll never look at other women, and if I do, I promise to gouge out both my eyes."

You chuckled a bit, charmed by what he had just said.

"That would be very nice, but... even so, you would still worship other gods," you looked at him sadly, noticing his attempt to maintain the marriage proposal.

"I'm not asking you to give up what you do for me-" You were interrupted by Thorkell's sudden action.

Thorkell turned around, leaning on the royal throne, grunting.

"Teach me about your God," he grumbled.

°१९*०°

"Then are you going to become a Christian now or something? I never imagined you doing something like this for someone, Thorkell." Tyr, Thorkell's younger brother, mocked him and his infatuation with you.

"Shut the damn mouth, Tyr," Thorkell growled, fed up with his brother's mockery.

"Brother, understand me, you've never been interested in a woman, and now you're doing these stupid things for a Christian girl. I'm starting to think she's a witch or something," he joked again, bursting into loud laughter.

"Anyway, that girl is quite pretty, I don't believe she's still a virgin... surely she's already slept with some lad over there," mentioned one of the guards who was close to Tyr. He was about to burst into loud laughter until Thorkell punched him, causing him to fall to the ground.

"Don't you dare talk nonsense about her, you useless," Thorkell growled as he kicked the guard's face forcefully.

"If she comes out of your mouth again, I'll knock out all your teeth, got it?"

Tyr grabbed Thorkell to prevent more blows, smirked mockingly, and looked at Thorkell.

"You see what I mean? You're more aggressive than usual, and it's because of that girl."

"Thorkell, you're in love with her."

[dyns33]

Thomas : "By the way, Mr Solomons, I shouldn't have to say this, but if you cheat on my sister, I'll cut your balls off."

Alfie : "Excuse me, what ?"

John : "I'll gouge your eyes out."

Alfie : "Now, wait a minute…"

Arthur : "I'll kill you !"

Alfie : "Fuck, would you…"

Ollie : "Excuse me, sir, but I should join them, and so should the guys."

Alfie : "What ?!"

Cyril : "Woof !"

Alfie : "You too ! Love ! Love, say something !"

Y/N : "Huh ?"

Alfie : "You hear them ! Say something."

Y/N : "Oh. Don't worry Thomas. Alfie will never cheat on me, he loves me more than anything and I'm the only person in the world who can put up with his eccentricities for more than ten minutes."

Alfie : "Thanks treacle."

Thomas : "… But?"

Alfie : "But nothing. She's right, I'm an insufferable old fool who blindly fell in love with this sweet witch, treasure of my life. I don't need threats to be faithful "

Thomas : "… It's more reassuring than it should be."

Alfie : "Oh, and fuck off Thomas."

[moonlitenvyillust]

Alright i decided to write lore

No mercy Manwhore/NMM Telemachus speaks like: this

Blind Telemachus talks like: this

Went insane Telemachus speaks like: this

And witch Telemachus speaks like: this

"basically i decided that the suitor's frivilious comments were enough and decided to use their lust at my advantage and when they are high of pleasure, hit them hard and while limping trow them and lock them in my basement. Antinous is my favourite toy"

"Poseidon gouged my eyes. The suitors picked on me often times. Athena showed up not too long after i went blind."

"I was thinking of a hundred different torture methods while eating pomegranates when i met Lady Persephone. I had admired her, but i never expected to actually meet her. She liked my ideas and told me to share them so she can get more torture methods for the Erinyes. In return she teaches me a lot of things"

"The fight with Antinous was annoying, i havent gotten my full magic potential yet at the time. I had practiced magic before, Petty things like making something float towards me or making stuff dissapear. Lady Hecate said with her guidence I could get better and defeat all 108 suitors alone. I don't get too giddy though. I still have a long way to go"

[protagaster]

As she stared at her kingdom, her kingdom, she felt a tide pull her in. Why was this so...

"What?"

The blue sky was getting greyer, as she began remembering the last time this

happened.

It couldn't be. No, she was so close. She was finally there, her husband and child were finally near where she was. Just a little farther… please.

But the tide kept pulling her in.

"No."

"NO--"

The Water behind her began forming familiar figure, one she never thought she'd see again.

The creature's cold eyes glowing a bright

blue as they stared back at Penelope's dark ones. A small smile appeared. Not one of pity. Not one of acceptance.

One of Acheivment.

“There you are.”

"Coward.”

The woman walked towards Penelope, her hair flowing as black, inky Tentacles circled Penelope's ship, nearly engulfing her in the process.

How was she going to get out of this?

“I've been waiting for this moment.” she began, her garments slowly forming as the sea queen's arms are engulfed by water. “for the perfect time to strike.”

The woman's form is completely missing, fading into the water till she's suddenly behind a shuddering Penelope, why couldn't she just let this go.

“When your home's so close, and you've reached your coast… that's when our paths collide.”

…Was Amphitrite waiting seven years, stalking Penelope's kingdom, waiting for her to get back?

This was a terrible situation… but the thought couldn't help but make Penelope smile… just a bit.

It was her own little way of coping.

“I've got a reputation, I've got a name to uphold” as the Goddess said that, she cupped Penelope's cheek, forcing her eyes to lock at her own.

“So I can't go letting you walk or else, the world forgets i’m cold”

Forcing Penelope to see the look of satisfaction on the Goddess’s face.

“Now, get in the water.”

What?

“Get in the water…”

The queen's smile was filled with malice as she let go of Penelope's chin, the mortals eyes filled with shock.

No.

“Or, I'll raise the tides so high all of Ithaca will die. Get in the water.’

Penelope backed a way, pleasing - begging - the Goddess to stop.

“W-Wait.”

“Get in the water.”

“Stop this, please…”

Figures appeared on the queen's hand, she could recognize Odysseus… who was that girl… it was her daughter.

And she had her eyes.

What was that witch planning.

“I'll make tidal waves so profound, both your Husband and daughter drown.”

“NO-”

“GET IN THE WATER.”

The goddess changed, her body expanding like the waves of the ocean, Penelope's raft almost breaking in the progress as Penelope held on for dear life.

“GET IN THE WATER.”

With each word, the tides got larger, more dangerous.

“DON'T MISTAKE MY THREATS FOR BLUFF, YOU HAVE LIVED MORE THAN ENOUGH.

“GET IN THE WATER.”

The queen repeated that lyric once more as Penelope's raft broke in half, she had been only one wrong move away from falling as she steadied her grip.

“I'LL TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER, GOUGE HER EYES. THAT IS UNLESS YOU CHOOSE TO DIE.”

“GET IN THE WATE-”

(This one took shockingly long to finish)

ZIPPY!!!!!!!!

After the day I had yesterday, this is such a generous treat!

Thank you so much, I love reading this 🥹

[pixeldolly]

The Sacrifice - Part 7

"...and some Viper Essence, for good measure. There. I'm good to go."

Although Eliza Clare was considerably older and more experienced than her, Fiona felt confident. She had had an excellent magical education. Besides, this was a matter of principle - Mistvale was her coven's territory.

"Let's hope we're right about this, or things could get extremely embarrassing."

"You still have doubts?!"

"I admit, the evidence is starting to stack up, but we have been jumping to a number of conclusions."

"I'd rather jump to the wrong conclusions than sit on the right ones. I swear, if she's hurt Roman, I will tear her throat out!"

Jacob was very much in agreement.

"I'm no witch or werewolf, but I'd still rather not go in there without a weapon. Fiona?"

"Um...I think there's an axe under the sink. I take it there's no point in trying to convince you to stay behind?"

"None whatsoever."

The apartment next door was as dark and quiet as Jacob and Evelyn remembered. It seemed odd; one would think that thin walls and nosy neighbors made a townhouse a poor lair for an evil witch.

Fiona explained that there were ways to ensure privacy, although she admitted the traditional secluded hut or mansion were far more convenient.

One day, she would have one of her own.

"Okay, so how are we doing this? We can't very well knock on the front door - besides, I already tried that."

"I could break a window and get in that way. Breaking and entering...just before election season too. If this gets out, your aunt will have my hide, Jake."

"Hold on...let me try something."

To Fiona's surprise, it worked.

"No anti-teleportation wards? Sloppy!"

Teleporting inside a fellow witch's sanctuary without permission was considered extremely gauche, but that didn't mean it never happened. Given the circumstances, Fiona figured a little breach of protocol was warranted.

Eliza really ought to know better than to leave her lair unsecured.

Evelyn's fur bristled as she burst through the newly-unlocked door. She scented the air, noting a sharp bitterness with hints of something sickly sweet, like rotten eggs. The closer she got to the epicenter of that wrongness, the stronger the sense of impending danger became.

The source leaped up at her immediately: a door surrounded by a flashing red glow. It looked starkly ominous in the dimness of the hallway.

Heedless, Evelyn charged it, yelping as the ward repelled her like a furnace blast to the face. The air began filling with the stench of singed fur.

"What the fuck?!"

"Evelyn? Are you okay?!"

"Yeah I'm fine, it's just - fucking hell! Fiona, do you think you can get us past this...barrier thing?"

"Don't insult me."

Nothing could have prepared them for the sight which greeted them as they breached Eliza Clare's innersanctum:

A hideous altar surrounded by votive candles...

A ritual circle painted in blood...

Roman Turner, bloodied and terrified, writhing in the clutches of his tormentor.

The Nameless One's talon was poised to gouge out Roman's right eye when it noticed the intruders. Nobody could be sure, but its fanged maw twisted into something that might have been a grin.

"What is thisss, witch? More sweetmeatsss?"

"GET. OUT!!!"

[thatndginger]

I made a powerpoint presentation for The Runaway. I tried to make it comic sans, I swear, but Temperance refused to cooperate. Anyway, I realized I haven't talked about this Shapeshifter project nearly as much, so a formal introduction is in order.

@sunset-a-story @touloserlautrec @ceph-the-ghost-writer @illyriashade56 I hope you guys don't mind that I borrowed your tags and comments, but they made me happy cry to read💙💙

Transcription for each slide under the cut.

A powerpoint presentation comprised of ten slides. Each slide has a faint background image of a watercolor painting depicting a foggy pine forest.

[SLIDE ONE]

thatndginger presents:

The Runaway A Shapeshifter story

also known as: the story that got me anon hate from a jaded ex-friend who co-wrote the original version, then got mad that I kept writing after she cut me out of her life with no explanation :D

[SLIDE TWO]

THE PREMISE

Temperance Maddox does a runner

ok but seriously, the title of the story is the plot: a shifter [Temperance] runs away from certain traumatic events and ends up stranded in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming

where he’s rescued by a quiet, kind single dad [Dean] with a ~mysterious past~, an adorably rude six year old [Kate], an empty room, and seemingly infinite patience for Temperance’s terrible attitude

Temperance is a totally mature and reasonable adult who absolutely does not argue with the six year old and engage in petty name calling with her

Temperance will also never fall for the man who rescued him. It’s not like he’s going to stick around long enough to even consider it. Right?

everyone involved questions why Dean bothered taking this guy in when he’s a

capital-P Problem - even to himself. Dean is not taking questions at this time

[SLIDE THREE]

alright let’s break this down tier-style

Tier One - The POV Characters: Dean Matthews & Temperance Maddox

dueling POVs are always fun in a romance-centric story, right?

ok neither of these two would shut up so they both get POVs so I can get some sleep

Tier Two - The Important Side Characters: Kate Matthews & Talia Salwood

one is dependent on their father and the other is just plain nosy, so they’re almost always around in one way or another

Tier Three - The Supporting Cast: the residents of Kilnora Falls

there’s a nonbinary mechanic, the mechanic’s Australian vampire partner, a witch that runs a coffee shop, forest rangers, well-meaning grandmas, and distrustful neighbors

imagine one of those small-town romcom background casts and you’re probably close. except most of these background characters are witches, vampires, or shifters

[SLIDE FOUR]

Image ID: in the top right corner of the slide is a digital drawing of Temperance Maddox in a side profile view. He has short black hair, pale skin, and sharp features. His expression could be called confident, contemptuous, or amused. There is a simple sketched outline of a fox just behind and in front of his face.

Temperance Maddox he/him - 22 - fox shifter

the most pathetic drowned rat of a man you’ll ever meet

can and will cuss you out in multiple languages (he only knows the swear words)

if you can get him to stop saying ‘fuck’ every other word he’s surprisingly well-spoken

a city boy born and raised in Moressau, Washington

he’s got worse manners and emotional intelligence than the literal six year old

desperately in need of a long nap, a strong hug, and a lot of therapy. and maybe some kisses

would rather gouge his eyes out than admit any of the above

somehow a fan favorite among readers? I don’t understand that at all but I’m glad y’all love my terrible son?

[SLIDE FIVE]

Image ID: in the top right corner of the slide is a digital drawing of Dean Matthews in a side profile view. He has long-ish brown hair, tan skin, and is missing the tip of his left ear. His expression is neutral but has the slightest hint of a smile. There is a simple sketched outline of a coyote just behind and in front of his face.

Dean Matthews he/him - 32 - coyote shifter

heavy on the Romance Protagonist vibes (the good kind, not the weird heteronormative kind)

has lots of feelings but cannot for the life of him figure out how to show them on his face

tries to be a good dad, kind of a pushover and would bend over backwards to keep his daughter happy

is a carpenter by trade, and always willing to help out around town when things need fixing

the kind of tragic backstory character that sneaks up on you, because how can such a decent guy have a tragic past?

would very much like to have a quiet, simple life in his quiet, far-from-simple mountain town but things just keep happening to him

did I mention he has a bit of a southern drawl? and can play the guitar?

[SLIDE SIX]

Image ID: in the top right corner of the slide is a digital drawing of Kate Matthews in a front-facing view. She has long and curly red hair, darkly tanned skin, and yellow eyes with slit pupils. There are freckles on her face that are grouped in stripe-like patterns. Around her neck is a necklace with green and white crystals. She is looking off to one side with a solemn but curious expression.

Kate Matthews she/her - 6 - half-fae

unreasonably cute for a being who’s part uncanny-valley-made-of-magic creature

not blood related to Dean, but try telling her that

too young for anyone to tell if she’ll end up more fae-like or more human, but who cares? she’s adorable

has to wear a special necklace when she’s not at home to keep her innate magic in check. no one wants the little kid to have a tantrum and set the mercantile on fire

thinks her dad is the coolest thing in the world, especially when he turns into a coyote

thinks Temperance smells funny and is a rude meanie

personal space is not a concept she understands around those she likes. will bite anyone she doesn’t like who tries to touch her. watch out, her teeth are sharper than they look

thinks fairy tales are stupid, because real fae are scary and mean

[SLIDE SEVEN]

The Setting

middle of nowhere town in the western mountains of Wyoming

the town is called Kilnora Falls and there are exactly 521 people living there

more than half the population is some kind of supernatural, the majority being shifters and witches

everyone knows that faeries are real, that they’re incredibly dangerous, and that no one’s seen a true fae in almost a decade since the old faerie door beneath the waterfall collapsed

there is a very strong distrust of strangers among the residents of the Falls. They don’t see many strangers, and not many people who grew up there choose to leave

this setting started as an inside joke between me and my partner because he grew up in that part of Wyoming and I think it’s hilarious to tease him about it. Now it’s its own thing with regional holidays and a whole map and everything

[SLIDE EIGHT]

Image ID: on the left side of the slide is a digital drawing of a map depicting Kilnora Falls. It is in a simple style, with the buildings depicted as simple white shapes. The town sits on a small river and is surrounded on all sides by thick forests and tall mountains. 'Kilnora Falls' is written in the bottom left corner, while a scale and compass are depicted in the top left corner.

look! a map! imagine steep mountains all around, because would rather cut my foot off than draw contour lines

average weather conditions lean towards ‘cold’ - summer highs hang around the 70's. winter lows can get down nearly to -40. bring your coats, kids!

the entire town is less than one square mile in size

all the businesses in town are open 24 hours a day so that the nocturnal residents can still use their services. which means the bar is open 24 hours a day.... oh boy

the nearest ‘city’ is almost two hours away (Wyoming’s biggest town only has 65,000 people guys, the quotation marks are justified)

most people who are born here don’t leave, or if they do for school or work or whatever, they come back

[SLIDE NINE]

TROPES, MEMES, AND THEMES

y’all know I can’t resist a good meme sesh, so without further ado, here’s a mish-mash of tumblr-approved silliness for The Runaway

grumpy x sunshine pairings

domestication arcs

pathetic little meow meows

hot handymen

cute romance moments

tragic backstories

Image ID: a meme variation of the "Gru's Plan" meme. In it, Gru is labeled as 'Dean'. The first section reads "see someone stranded on the side of the road. The second section reads "stop to help. The third and fourth sections read "be verbally assaulted by an angry twink".

Image ID: a meme variation of the "Flex Tape" meme. The man slapping the tape is labeled as 'Temperance'. The tank spewing water is labeled as "trauma induced nightmares. The flex tape is labeled as "don't sleep ever".

Image ID: a meme variation of the "Schoolbus Hit By Train" meme. The schoolbus is labeled as "a wall around your emotions you've spent most of your life building". The train is labeled as "Dean Matthews".

Image ID: a meme variation of the "Bernie Sanders Asking" meme. Bernie is labeled as 'Kate'. The subtitled text reads "I am once again asking why the stranger dad found smell weird. And acts like a big mean pinecone." The line "and never says 'please' or 'thank you' is partially cut off at the bottom of the image.

[SLIDE TEN]

some comments from my lovely friends who have read The Runaway, because they make me happy and if published books get to put endorsement quotes on their covers, why can’t I do the same with my little powerpoint?

"#highly recommend you follow for the absolute bangers of stories you'll find here"

"#askjkdhd look at Temperance's sweet dumb little face #Dean looks like the type of guy who'd pick up a rude stranger #on the side of the road"

"Oh I can already tell Temperance is gonna be my favorite poor little meow meow I adore him."

"#good on you for writing on company time #me [handshake emoji] Dean #<- not being fooled by Temperance's tough guy act one bit #I want to wrap him in a blanket like the feral kitten he is #or maybe talk to him like Sam from Vampire Therapist #'Woah there fella. Easy now. Ain't no one gonna hurt ya. That's right...nice protagonist...'"

"#efojweojfoe love this whole shapeshifter thing giving tem a heart attack #also the way this playing scene is described? idk it flows so neatly and pleasant to read"

"#i can't wait #Dean is dreamy"

[hanihazeljade]

Hooded Pitohui in the Nest of Robins

(CW: predatory passerines, hint of torture but was not mentioned, gore)

Tim the Psychopath, probably a series but I dunno…

Most people in the cape community knows how vicious the Robins are, in their own ways. Nightwing, Robin I, might be a sunshine but the moment you spoke ill of the people he cared, he will leave black and blue like his suit. Red Hood, Robin II, will not hesitate to put a bullet in your head if you pissed him off on the bad day. Red Robin, Robin III, will just shrugged but suddenly you will have a trending due to a viral compilation of you in a humiliating way or a scandal that can never be forgotten. Batgirl III, Robin IV, is a cheerful prankster but will not hesitate to ruined your day in traumatic way. Robin V, the little monster, will snark at you on a good day and shank you on a bad day.

But one of them is an imposter. One of them is not a Robin. Robin is magic, Robin is wanted by the Batman. Robin is a beautiful bird that makes Gotham lit up just for a bit.

But even the greatest bat cannot see the ferocious pitohui that has the almost the same hue as the bat's robins. The pitohui is a deadly bird that will hurt you once you touch it. Normally pitohuis are distant, doesn't want to hurt people who they care about, but once they hurt you, you are one who pushed inside their bubble.

Tim is a pitohui. He is fine being a disguised pitohui, because unlike other Robins, he is the one who has the distance that doesn't need for the bat to constantly checking him up, he is glad that he is an unwanted child here.

But every good thing doesn't last.

He doesn't know why Talia Al Ghul hates his guts but he is getting pissed the days passes with different threats he received from that witch. And he is so close on snapping his patience for that woman. But he exercise restrained as he is a defense bird, he is not a peregrine but a passerine.

But Talia's threats were starting to become more of insults and he finally snapped when she stepped the line when she insulted his mother. No one got to insult a Drake without any repercussions. So that was the last day Talia Al Ghul was seen.

++++++

(Trigger Warning: Gore)

Damian grew weary when it's been days since he got his monthly letters from his mother. His mother never missed on sending him letters to ask how he was advancing as his father's heir. His weariness was noticed by Richard.

"Hey, Dami, what's wrong?" Richard asked him. Richard has been nothing but understanding so he decided to share his worry about his Mother.

"I have yet received the letter my Mother, normally I already received it by the day before yesterday, but I brush it off as maybe it was delayed but it's been three days and my Mother never been delayed by that late." Damian explained, and after he explained Drake was walking with a envelope in his hand.

"There is a letter for you, Damian." Drake said as he left the envelope on the table before Damian. It lifted the worry on Damian's heart but soon was replaced by a more heavier worry when the letter was nothing but blood and a sentence was read of, "LOOK AT THE BACKYARD" and Damian sprinted to the backyard and he screamed.

There his Mother is, in the backyard, was crucified with a makeshift cross. His Mother was pinned to the cross with the daggers that Damian gave to her as a parting gift. His Mother's luscious locks was cut in uneven sections and her face was on show. Her normally red lips was now in shade of purple and her eyes was gouged out of it's socket. The soil underneath his Mother was red.

Damian passed out.

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 1

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature (violence, slight gore, killing - typical Ezra 😌 — will be explicit in later chapters)

Summary: Two strangers meet.

a/n: New series alert! Man alive first chapters are hard, and so I am going to yeet this into the universe before looking at it anymore. I owe everything to @bageldaddy for educating me hardcore and for being so extremely kind and thorough, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for her Ezra eyes and inspiration and to @familyvideostevie for her support and enthusiasm and notes. It took a VILLAGE to get through this one. Enjoy meeting our stranger. :)

--

You come to surrounded by unnatural stillness.

An absence felt in the air surrounding you, there is something about it that tugs at the foggy corners of your brain, beckoning you closer to the surface. You try to listen for anything beyond the ringing in your ears, and there is…something.

A beeping sound emerging through the fog, its incessant chirping grows clearer. You blink slowly, your limbs made of lead when you try to turn your head. Instead of trying to investigate, you let yourself slip slowly back into the lush darkness, closing your eyes.  

But the strangeness of the silence tugs at you, and the beeping gets louder. 

Splices of memory come through in sharp flashes: 

The deep, bone-shaking tremble of turbulence. 

The grating sound of tearing metal. 

Beeping - so much fucking beeping, every sensor in the transport pod going off - and the whole cabin jerking to the left, your body weight pushing against the fabric restraints, your dad’s voice raw with hoarseness as he screams orders at you and –

Oh shit. Your dad. 

Your eyes pop open, and you sit up - or rather, you try to, but every muscle resists. Battered and bruised, you fumble at your harness with clumsy, shaking fingers. Looking up as it finally clicks open, you’re about to leap from the chair when you freeze. 

He’s there next to you, unmoving. 

Dead. 

“Dad?” you whisper. 

You can see without even checking for a pulse that he’s gone. That’s the feeling that pulled you awake, the vibration of life gone from the air. The stillness weighs heavy in the small space, and the beeping gets shriller somehow, more noticeable in the utter silence. 

The pod shrinks to a claustrophobic dome, and your breathing starts to come fast. Harsh, rapid exhales out of your open mouth and then you’re vomiting, right onto the floor. A cold sweat breaks out under your thermals, and you swallow hard against more bile that threatens to come up. 

There is blood splattered on the dash, pooled around the buttons. A deep gash gouged across his temple, his left eye already swollen beyond recognition. You stare at the dark, pulpy wound that runs with blood and with a heave, lose the remaining contents of your stomach. 

To have hit his head like that, he must have unbuckled and tried to fix something mid-crash, but why? Why the fuck would he do that? He knew better than that. You try to think about the sequence of events, but there is only a blur. A foggy, black spot in your memory, hazy images obscured by panic. 

You remember pieces: watching Puggart Bench grow smaller as you ascended through the atmosphere. The vague details of your father’s latest scheme, along with promises that this would be your last job. The frustration you felt at those words – ones you’ve heard a million times. 

You remember rolling your eyes and slipping on your headphones, and then scolding you for not paying attention after he jabbed you in the shoulder to take them off, and then…this. Somehow this. Guilt settles deep in your gut. 

Keeping your dazed eyes glued to the floor, you ignore the blood and beeping and the dead fucking body. You crouch low in the safety of your chair, winding your grip around the harness strap as an anchor and you sit for a moment, trying to steady your breathing. 

You sit. 

And sit. 

–

“Think she’s got anything left?”

The words spread condensation across the lower half of his visor, and Ezra listens for an answer he already knows isn’t coming. 

He always asks anyway: a constant dangling bait, in hopes his partner will bite. 

He hasn’t yet. 

Ezra bends back over the rough dug pit, his fingers splaying through the loose dirt. Anything worth digging for is sealed in his case already, but he stalls, thinking. 

He had watched the pod streak across the sky; the sight not unusual on the Green. Mercs and prospectors landed here every day to try their luck on the uninhabitable planet, but the speed in which the pod broke through the sky was unusual. Ezra could tell it was going too fast, even from the ground. His dark eyes had tracked the potential opportunity’s descent from behind the shield of his visor, and when the ground shuddered with the impact, he felt it through his gloves. 

If it had landed safety, protocol would be to keep his distance – no use needlessly engaging in a potential threat. However, he doubted that was the case after watching it fall to the earth like a stone. If he had to guess, the occupants were probably dead, and therefore, in his favor. 

His old pod flashes through his mind; nonfunctional and by now, probably stripped bare. If he doesn’t get there quickly to stake his claim, this one could fall to the same fate. It didn’t look sizeable by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn’t need big. 

He just needs enough to fit one man, and his case. 

Ezra keeps his voice light and conversational. 

“Did you feel that?”

He looks up at his silent partner, and is met with a blank stare. Or at least Ezra assumes it’s a blank stare, with the man’s visor blackened. He can’t see his face, and has never been able to. He’s had many offers of partnership while on the Green - some out of desperation, some through coercion, some forced upon him – and though his current partner is one of the latter, he had been secretly pleased at the sheer size of him. Brute strength a valuable commodity; the hulking man is more of a utility than a partner. 

“Think it’s worthy of our time to investigate, or do you suppose there won’t be much left after a landing like that? If you want, I can go it alone?”

Met with more silence, both from his partner and from the unforgiving atmosphere of the Green, Ezra grimaces with annoyance when his partner starts to walk in the direction of the site without him. 

“Hang on now. We approach together.” Climbing out of the pit, the loose soil slips under his boots. He scrambles up as quickly as he can, unwilling to see his chance at the remains slip through his dirt-crusted fingers. 

“Now then,” he breathes heavily. “I think it would be befitting of us to use caution in our approach. The passengers may still be alive, and feeling panicked enough to pose a risk. I think –”

The hulk appears to listen to half of what Ezra says, and then turns abruptly mid-sentence, walking away. 

Snatching up his case, Ezra switches off the comm link in his helmet and his expression falls from tactful to annoyance. His eyes narrow on the man’s broad back, his fingers itching for his thrower. 

Grumbling, he follows. 

“Fucking idiot.”

–

You’re going to have to touch it. 

You wonder what it will feel like – stiff with rigor? Still pliant with traces of warmth? Heavy and impossible to move?

In all the ways you imagined you’d probably find your father dead, you somehow hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually moving his body. You imagined someone else would be the one responsible for it. Medical staff, most likely, who were used to the clammy skin and the stiff weight of death. 

Not you. 

Yet another thing you’ll have to do unwillingly for him. 

The reason you’re on this godforsaken planet in the first place, he’d forced you along to help him pay a debt owed for those fucking drops he relied on to get through his days. Days that bled into nights spent waiting for him, more his parent than his child. A freefall into the nomad life since your mother died, you’d been trailing behind him for years - an afterthought, only remembered when he needed something. 

A reluctant digging partner when he forced you to be, but also a navigator, a cook, a laundress, a caretaker. You were a lot of things to him, but never the one you wanted to be the most. 

Never a daughter. 

Your eyes slowly scan the disarray of the cabin, taking in the damage. For all the things he asked you to do, he had kept you in the dark when it came to any actual useful skills that might help you in this situation. Prospecting, digging, self-defense – anything that would have afforded you a glimpse at the possibility of independence – all of those were kept from your reach. 

Never a mechanic either, unfortunately for you. How the fuck you’re going to fix this thing, you have no idea. The manuals for it were tucked away somewhere, but they required at least a basic understanding, and you have barely that. 

You could stick with the harvesting plan he had vaguely outlined to you on the way here (assuming you could even find the gems, let alone dig them up), try to come back and fix your pod during the evenings (assuming you could even figure it out) and then try to catch the next slingback home (assuming you could even get off this planet). 

Your other option would be…none. There are no other options. 

The entire situation expands into something overwhelming, each step far outside your base of knowledge and your breathing starts to come fast again. You scold yourself, willing it to slow. 

Panicking again isn’t going to help shit. 

Wrestling with your emotions, you take a deep inhale and close your eyes, focusing on the first step. 

Before anything else, you have to move him. 

–

Through the edges of lush greenery, a pod. 

Ezra tries to tamp down his excitement, kicking his senses into high alert to scan for whomever it belongs to - but there is nothing. 

Fucking silence, the bane of his existence. 

Though in this case, a good sign. 

His own pod taken from him months ago in a standoff between himself and his former crew, this off-white piece of rubbish appears as treasure to him. It’s banged up for sure: one of the engines loose from the frame and the metal surrounding the bottom crumpled from hard impact. Unlikely that anyone survived the crash, anticipation thrums through him at the harvest in front of him. 

Keeping his expression measured, he beckons his partner to approach with him, silently advising caution. 

The idiot doesn’t though. Instead, he stomps forward and punches at the hatch button with force. 

Ezra frowns deeply, anger slipping into his tone. “Hey,” he reprimands sharply. 

The man pays Ezra no mind as the ramp slowly opens. 

–

One hand extended towards your dad’s shoulder, it hangs hesitantly in the air for a moment. Inching forward, you try to summon every ounce of bravery that you have and just when it’s about to touch— 

A loud thump sounds outside the pod, and your hand jerks back. Crouching low along the side of the pod, you crawl through the ship's scattered contents all over the floor and grab the thrower, trying to desperately wind a sufficient charge for a shot or two. The rummaging outside grows louder, and you crouch behind your chair, gripping the weapon in your sweat slick hands. Panic floods through your veins, the sharp stink of fear oozing from your pores as your body shivers with adrenaline, and you flex your hold on your weapon.

The door to the pod opens with a hiss, and two men emerge. 

One slighter than the other, which isn’t saying much—anyone would be slight compared to the size of the second man. You aren’t even sure how he managed to get into the pod, between the width of his body and his height. 

Rising swiftly, you point the weapon at them. 

“Stop,” you force out, trying to mask the tremble in your voice. 

The lithe man freezes, surprise showing on his face for a split second before disappearing. Tilting his helmet in thought, he speaks. 

“Now this is something I’ve never seen in all my time in the Green,” he muses with a drawl. “A little girl.” 

A statement, not a question, and you bristle while he continues to study you curiously. 

“Leave, or I’ll shoot.” 

Your finger flexes on the trigger, and he raises his hands in front of him. 

“Calm down, little bird. My partner and I merely ventured this way to see if all was okay after that crash we heard.” His eyes scan the cabin, a scattered mess. “Seems it was quite the landing.”

Shuffling your stance a fraction closer, you keep the thrower trained on them. “I’m fine. Now please. Go.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine.” He sounds completely unbothered, like you aren’t pointing a weapon directly at him. Taking a slow step forward, he peers around you. “Your partner sure doesn’t seem fine.”

“He’s not my partner. It’s my –” You freeze, scolding yourself for immediately volunteering information and his gaze drops down to your father’s lifeless form. The stranger's face sobers, and he looks back at you. 

His jaw shifting in thought, his partner seems to grow bored of the conversation and takes a heavy step forward, advancing on you. 

“Stop,” you try to order, panic creeping into the command, but he doesn’t. He keeps going, his large arm reaching towards your thrower. His massive grip choking the barrel, he rips it clean from your hands before you can even think about stopping him, and you crouch back behind your chair, trembling.

“My apologies for my partner, little one. He’s not keen on having weapons pointed at him. You can understand, I’m sure. Why don’t you come out from behind that chair and let’s talk. A deal, if you’re open to it.”

You don’t want to strike a deal with them. You know that any deal you attempt to broker on your behalf is going to be in their favor no matter what the conditions are. Your father never taught you the skills of negotiation – those were always done out of sight. Your mouth dries, sweat beading along your nape. What fucking deal could there even be to make that doesn’t end up with you dead? Or worse?

With so much happening in the last two hours, it’s hard to process anything, let alone a negotiation with deadly strangers on a hostile planet. How you handle this situation could be literally life or death for you, and you beg your brain to pick up pace. 

Please. Please. Come on, think.

Your mind still struggling but knowing you’re running out of time, you force yourself back up. 

“The deal was leave, and I won’t shoot.”

He only grins at that, and rage at the unfairness of it all flares bright through you.

“Besides, why should I believe anything you say? You’ll probably just kill me the first chance you get.”

“Why would you assume I intend harm?”

You don’t have anything to say to that, instead looking at his partner. Fear at his sheer size displays clearly on your face no matter how hard to try to mask it. “Why else would he steal my gun? Shoot me first before I can shoot, right?”

“If that was the case, he would have shot you already.” He lets a beat pass, his eyes narrowing in their focus on you. “Still could though, I guess.”

There is something behind the indifference in his voice, something in his eyes that begs you silently to listen to him — but then his partner raises his thrower, and several things happen at once.

You whimper, dunking behind the tattered chair. 

The smaller man whips his railgun from his hip, pulling the trigger.

You scream, and the bullet hits his partner square in the chest. 

The larger man stumbles forward as if to grab him but the smaller one shoots him again, the second shot landing in his gut. The force of the close shot pushes the larger man backwards, his heavy body slamming into the pod wall. 

He slumps down, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

There is a beat of weighted silence; your form frozen. 

The roguish man’s profile faces you: dark features partially obscured by the dome of his helmet, you can see closely shorn brown hair in matted disarray with a shock of white that smears just above his temple. Black eyes that glimmer in the fluorescent light, the edges lined with age. Tanned skin, a strong nose, plush lips under a mustache. 

He stares at his dead partner with something akin to satisfaction, and it turns your stomach to think of not only how quickly he resorted to violence, but also how much he seems to enjoy it. 

“Well would you look at that. Now we have two to move.” 

Still in shock, the violent scene in front of you startles you just as much as his nonchalance does. You watch as he turns to face you; a hooked scar marring the skin under his eye. 

“Now little one,” he says with seeming politeness. “You ready to hear that deal?”

[harmeu]

Return Of The Mount Hua Sect Characters React To Their Spouse Kiss Their Cheek

(GN!Reader)

TW: Blood, dismemberment

Cheongmyeong:

Cheongmyeong being the rowdy, self destructive, well known man at the Mount Hua Sect. He isn’t one to hug or kiss his loved ones. I’m pretty sure his type of affections would be physical abuse. I mean. Have you seen his training? Wild. No one dares to question how you gained his affection as a lover. They probably think of you as some kind of witch of sorts.

Though they are grateful for you because you manage to tame this troublemaker at times when you're around. For example he’ll sit straight when you pass by. He’ll fix his hair if he catches you looking. Those small little things you noticed about him while you were around made you want to give him a reward of some sort.

You quickly went up to your boyfriend which he tilted his head in confusion at your sudden reveal but that was replaced with a look of shock as you kissed his cheek.

Cheongmyeong went red.

“What the hell.?” He says mumbling, flushing furiously but quickly softening up as he touches the part you kissed.

“Thanks for being good for me.” You smile knowing he loved praise. His face reddened further and he hugged you from behind as you were about to walk away and opened his mouth.

“My turn.”

Baek Cheon:

Baek Cheon being a favourite at the sect was no surprise. He was strong, fit, and handsome. Many people had their eyes on him. His kind personality also caught them on hooks. Surprisingly you were the one getting confessed to. He will not hesitate to show you off and talk about you. Some people have gotten used to the fact Baek Cheon likes to rant about you. So they sigh and wait for the rant to begin.

Your boyfriend was training and you wanted to surprise him. You jumped out the bushes and kissed him on the cheek making him flinch ever so slightly.

“H-huh?” His face went as red as a tomato.

“Couldn’t help it.” You tease making him flush deeper. 

All of a sudden Baek Cheon cupped your cheeks and landed a small peck on your lips keeping you completely dumbfounded.

“Couldn’t help it.”

Yoo Iseol:

The beauty of the Mount Hua Sect. Known by all and confessed by many. Her expressionless face makes it hard for people to read her but it makes her powerful. An enemy can’t detect if she’s in fear or not making her strong. 

You had gotten her love. 

You had gotten her time. 

You had seen what was behind that expressionless face of hers.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Would be one way to describe it. She may not show it at times but she deeply cares for you. She’d lose limbs for you, slash her face for you, gouge out her eyeballs for you. 

Anything for you.

Today you decided to give her something for all that hard work she's done. You slide behind her and place a quick kiss on her cheek making her freeze.

“Huh?” Was all she uttered breaking you out in a smile.

“Just a little kiss.” You replied as she looked as if she were processing something. 

“I’ll head out now.” You say about to turn away till you feel a grip on your wrist.

“Can..you do that again?”

[misscoolisback123]

Things I Find Wrong With Lore Olympus

1. Minthe

I'm just gonna address the elephant in the room when it comes to the webtoon with this one, so don't come bitching at me. When I first started reading LO, I was puzzled that Hades and Minthe were dating in the beginning, but since this was a retelling of Hades and Persephone and Greek mythology all together, I didn't think much of it. When I researched stories and articles about Hades and Persephone, she's not that big of a deal. Yes, she seduced Hades and was turned into a mint plant by Persephone, but that's just it. She's a minor nymph in Greek mythology. Someone on the unpopularloreolympus subreddit said that Rachel Smythe got offended by the Hercules cartoon series in which Hades and Persephone are father and daughter. It's most likely that she got offended by Hades and his affair with Minthe, and so she created a punching bag of a character. Not only that, but her skin tone is red because red is evil to her, yet Hermes is red. I'm not saying she has to be any shade of green but make it make sense!

2. Leuce

Like Minthe, she was created to be a punching bag character for the fandom. Not only is she not canon to Greek mythology, but she didn't exist until the 1500s by an Italian poet. Rachel probably got offended by this as well and did the same thing with her.

3. Misuse of Allusions

What is an allusion? The simplest answer is that it's a figure of speech that makes a reference to literature, people, places, characters, etc. An example of this is from the ABC show Once Upon a Time. Zelena The Wicked Witch of West basically became Persephone she and Hades fell in love. A couple of other examples of allusions of mythology are Naruto and Attack on Titan. Naruto uses Japanese mythology for their power ups and other things. Attack on Titan uses Norse mythology to explain the founding Titan Ymir. Lore Olympus, however, does this very poorly. It might just be a minor detail, but the biggest offense of this is Hera.

I was shocked when I saw that Hades and Hera had once been a thing and were madly in love. Then Echo came along, and Narcissus was nowhere in sight. Basically, Hera replaced Leuce and Narcissus. Leuce replaced Minthe. Morpheus was depicted as a woman or a poor depiction of transgenderism. The founding titan Ymir Fritz was an allusion of Ymir from Norse mythology. Ymir from Norse mythology was the creation God. Ymir Fritz was a little girl who died as a woman. Her three daughters are based on Odin and his two brothers. Ymir from Norse mythology was male. Morpheus from Greek mythology was male. If you're going to make a comic on mythology, then you should get the details of gods and goddess right.

4. Erasure of Sexuality

Lore Olympus was first posted onto Webtoon in 2018. This was during a time when writers of movies, TV shows, series, cartoons, and anime were turning canonically straight and asexual characters gay and lesbian. There was also a very biphobic and transphobic edge to it as well. This was done in order for the creator to appear progressive. This was done to Athena, Hestia, Hera, Echo, and Morpheus. Athena and Hestia are both asexual in Greek mythology, and Hera is straight. Again, Morpheus was male. Echo is also straight as she was madly in love with a man who was madly in love with himself. Athena and Morpheus are both poor representations of transgenderism. Especially Morpheus. They're not trans but the fact that their genders were changed is saying something.

5. Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss

Lore Olympus claims to be feminist but it's not. Others have explained this in great detail. Persephone before she was married to Hades was actually a much different person. She had her own goals and aspirations. She didn't want to be known as a nepo baby. She was trying to find her own identity. She even begged Hades not to gouge out Alex's eye, but Hades went through with it. But then she started dating Hades, and things went downhill for both of them. Yes, they are the healthiest couple in Greek mythology, but Lore Olympus doesn't depict it as such.

Hades basically became an abusive slave owner, and Persephone became an immature girlboss. When she ran into Alex at the mall and intimated him, she looked as if she would wait until his shift was over to stalk him, corner him, and beat him up. The same with Leuce.

6. Rooting for the wrong characters

From the beginning, readers are led to believe that Minthe is the antagonist. At least one of them. But then Persephone changed drastically for the worst, and soon, people found themselves rooting for her.

7. No other retellings of Greek mythology

Lore Olympus was advertised as being about Hades and Persephone. But the title alone sounded as if it was going to be about others' myths as well. The only retelling of mythology was Eros and Psyche. This is due to Hades and Persephone being a part of their myth. But both myths were dragged for far too long. Psyche revealing that she was turned into a nymph by Aphrodite didn't feel exciting. The same goes for Gaia telling Hades and Persephone that Persephone has to spend six months out of the year with her mother for spring and summer and with Hades during fall and winter. Both of these plots could've been easily wrapped up in season, and seasons 2 and 3 could have been about other myths.