#they’re all such horrid beasts

[maaaahri]

Oh no I’m thinking about VtM npcs again

[georgiapeach30513]

Trying To Save Me, Part 1

Summary: Fate. A word you were forbidden to ever speak. It wasn’t real and it didn’t exist. A word that was always whispered around you, but never to you. You didn’t know why you were fated for something. Just that the day you were born the great winter came and you’ve been on the run with your family since, but now they were gone. Traveling to what you thought was further and further away from the dark king’s palace. Instead, you had begun to get closer. Following a white wolf instead of your learned route. No wonder you wound up captive and given to the king as a gift. As was fated…

Pairings: dark king!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  language, violence, death, curse, attempted SA, kidnapping, humiliation, objectification, non/con fingering, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.8K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

A woman’s shriek echos up into the mountains while a young boy looks up at the sky. His freakishly green eyes look all along the night sky. His hand taps on the arm of the other man beside him as he points up at the sky. “You need to tell Malik,” he answers, keeping his eyes in the sky.

A twig in the distance breaks, and both men look towards the tent as a long drawn out scream comes from inside, “Go, now,” he answers annoyedly as he watches the first snowflake drift from the sky. “Our fates are sealed, I fear.”

The younger boy runs inside, eyes going large and round as a woman reaches down, and cradles a just born baby to her chest. Tears and sweat pour down her face as she clings to the child, rocking back and forth.

“Sire.”

“Silence,” a gigantic man says, stepping closer to the woman, “My queen. Let me see the baby,” she cries harder, shaking her head. “Let me see the child!”

“She’s just a baby,” she cries, looking up at him. “She doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know. She’s just a baby!”

“Sire,” the guard says again, and the large man turns abruptly, eyes aflame as he approaches slowly. “My king, the snow is falling,” the queen in the background wails. Her hands slap at everyone who tries to take the baby from her arms. “He will come for her.”

“Clean them up. Cicely, stop your screaming. Everything you know, will be no more. If you want to keep the child. If not, we can end it now. It is fated…”

“Malik, she’s a baby! My baby! No, it doesn’t exist. Take the crown on top of my head. I don’t need this life,” with a sigh, Malik slings his head to the side and everyone in the tent scrambles. “What are you doing?”

“This will be a winter like you’ve never seen before. They’re loading the necessary items,” picking his crown off his head, he throws it to the ground. “She’ll never know. Yours, too,” the queen kisses her daughter’s head before letting her own crown fall to the ground. Life would forever be different.

You reach your hand into the snow, digging around a moment before you pull up a small root. Wiping it clean before gnawing your teeth into the fibrous twig. Glancing out through the thin trees. You haven’t known anything but winter. And typically you were alone. Had been for a few years, until him. The white wolf. He always lingers around when you scavenge for what little food you could find.

“It’s not meat, you beast,” the wolf’s eyes never leave you as it sits down into the snow. “I can see that you’re looking at me like you want to devour me, but you also know I’m too skinny for eating, huh?” Chuckling, you tear another piece off the root. “Did you eat a rabbit out of my trap? I’d like to get some real food in my belly. I have to start traveling again.”

The perks of living in a village was you weren’t completely alone. There is a comfort of having a wall, and humans, even if you didn’t talk to them. “I can’t go back into the walls without something. They do community soup. You have ruined my supper a few times. This shit is horrid,” you groan. A part of you wants to throw it at the beast that wouldn’t leave you be, but you need the sustenance.

“If someone saw you, they’d kill you. Your pelt and meat would be useful,” the wolf yawns, laying himself down fully in the snow. “You’re not even scared of me, huh? I wish you could talk, so you could tell me where we were. I miss my family. Ugh,” you groan, standing up and the wolf remains laying there. “Should you ever attack me, I will kill you.”

The wolf looks you completely in the eyes, his silvery blue ones a stark contrast to your overly green ones. Looking upon each other for too long before you throw the small remnants of the root towards him. “Do not pursue me, white wolf.”

Turning your back on a wolf could be stupid, but at this point you welcomed anything that would break up the monotony. Anything that would give you excitement outside of this routine life. You’d stop at the few traps you’d laid for the small game, and hopefully carry something back. The hunger in your belly grows stronger everyday, and if you want to leave this forsaken village, you need food. Real food.

‘Don’t stay in one place too long. Don’t give people your real name. Don’t look them in the eye. Don’t speak too much,’ all your parents taught you was running away and fear. You aren’t even sure why you had to constantly move, and constantly hide your identity to the point you aren’t even sure who you are. It was all made up lies after all.

Who were you? That is a funny question because you aren’t sure. There have been glimpses of who others thought you were. There have even been whispers that you try to ignore unsuccessfully. Mentioning a word that you were forbidden to say out loud. Who were you that made people fear you, and your family fear for you?

Leaning over a trap, you thankfully pull up a rabbit. That stupid wolf didn’t eat everything. Minding your business outside of the walls of the village is your safe space. People inside the walls, particularly the ones your age are cruel. Their curious but angry eyes always on you. Watching. Planning some form of your demise.

“If it isn’t the little sapling caught all alone again,” standing up straight, you look behind you at one of the village boys, but choose to just walk to the next trap. Don’t engage. Don’t give them a reason to hate. “What’s the matter, princess? You scared of a little fun?”

You didn’t want the fun he was willing to dish out. You wanted to eat, and leave this place. Talk to as few people as possible. They were the ones dragging you into their drama, “Yeah,” you stop your movement. Turning in the other direction when two boys start stalking you. “We just want to play a little bit.”

“Maybe fill your belly, so you have to stay. That’s what you’re getting ready to do, huh?” Three boys. You’re fucked. Instead of collecting from your traps, you walk towards the wall. You try to find something. A large stick, anything to use as a weapon. Of course there would be too many.

“She thinks she’s too good for us,” four. Where the hell were they coming from? Head down. Walk faster.

Another steps from behind a tree directly in front of you, and you nearly forget to breathe, “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m tired of the girls here. I like fresh meat. I’ve heard your untouched,” fuck. Your bright green eyes look around at all five of them gathering around you. What amazing men they are.

Grabbing onto the knife at your hip, one of these jackasses grabs your arm, “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” another hand, another weapon.

“Girly, we just want to have some fun.”

“Fun for who?” Your voice isn’t as strong as you hoped. It is borderline screeching.

“Keep screaming. We like it,” god, they are just a pleasant bunch. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. First is pain, and then a blinding light as you drop to the ground. “Go on, give us a scream.”

“Are you too stupid to say anything?” You clench your eyes closed as you try to ignore the pain in the back of your head. Snow squishes up into your ear, and you drift off to anywhere but here. Hands grabbing the furs on your body, and you hate you’re always alone. There is never anyone to protect you, so you have to take everything.

“She sure is pretty face down like this,” one of their hands hooks under your pants. “We won’t tell anyone if you won’t. What the fuck? Ahh,” snarls. “Help me!” Your assailant screams while all his friends run away. Pulling the furs close to your body, you scurry around, sitting on your ass, and start to scoot away.

Those silvery blue eyes stare deep into your soul as his teeth dig into the boy’s shoulder deeper. “Get your knife! Do something!”

“You were about to rape me. All of you,” you would have to be a fool to not know what those boys were attempting to do to you. And this one had the gall to demand that you do something to save him. Who was going to save you from them?

“We were teasing, you little bitch!” The white wolf’s muzzle raises as he watches you. Too still for an animal in the forest. “Stab it!” His screams are hideous, but you don’t feel sorry for him. That disgusting excuse for a man would had laughed at every scream you made.

You give a single nod to the wolf, and he bites down so hard on his shoulder, you hear the sickening crack of his bones. His voice shoots into the twilight as the wolf drags him away. It felt like he was waiting on you to tell him it is okay to kill him. At least the beast would have some meat tonight as would you. You could finally get a full belly, and could leave this terrible place. As soon as the first ray of sun came through your tent, you’d be gone.

Grabbing up your rabbits, you try not to vomit at the horrid screams, and crunching bones that are not far enough away. Your stomach rolls, realizing the wolf was trying to keep the young man alive as long as possible. Wanting him to feel every bit of the pain he was ready to inflict on you. “Thank you, and you’re welcome for dinner, white wolf.”

No. You squint as you look up into the sky, and then back at the beast. That isn’t the right way. “You’re going to get me killed,” the wolf continues to look at you, turning his back he walks a few steps before looking back at you. “I’m not following you.”

He takes a slow calculated step towards you, snarling as he takes another. “Fine! But you follow me,” another step. “Don’t lead me closer to the center of the realm,” you don’t even know why that is a thing. Why did you have to stay on the outskirts? A wildling, living in an eternal winter. You are no longer a child, and surely people still didn’t believe the prophecy.

“Do you know what spring looks like?” You’re talking to a wolf. Walking where you shouldn’t be, and you have lost your mind. Wandering around because you no longer even understood why you had to do this. Humans weren’t meant to live alone, you couldn’t see the purpose of needing to lay low. It’s silly to assume that you couldn’t live the life that some did in the villages. Getting married, having a family, being as normal as winter would allow.

You didn’t want to bring a child into this world. A world where food is just as scarce as the warmth. And the king’s cruel reputation for using women as currency. Sounded like a grand world. What if you had a daughter, and she was one that was kidnapped by the king. Sold into whatever life he made them live.

Maybe those were enough reasons for you to not go close to the kingdom. “Do you think the king’s guards ever go outside the kingdom walls?” Your furry friend puffs as he continues his trek. “I suppose they’d have to. I wonder how the kingdom works. Why wouldn’t people just refuse to have children? And what is he doing with these women? Eating them? Does the blood of virgins keep him alive forever? Is the king really not that cruel, but the stories are because he hoards food? Maybe even something nice to eat. Not just to sustain oneself. Ahh!”

You flinch, having to step back as he starts to walk towards you again, “Okay, I won’t talk about the king. Truce. I am just talking, and didn’t realize you understood me,” nodding his head, he turns back around. Weird creature. Even though the wolf couldn’t respond, you feel the need to talk. Like you have an audience for the first time.

Why the hell did this wolf understand you? How did it possibly know what you are talking about? And did he like or not like the king? Maybe they were sworn enemies and talking about the king pissed him off. Or maybe they were in fact friends. “How was your dinner last night? I’m sure the meat was rotten, but I suppose it was better than a squirrel. Thank you by the way. Don’t think you and I have to be friends, but I think they would have left me for dead.”

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that’s what they were going to do. Fucking men. They were all little boys who wanted to destroy things deep inside of them. “Monsters. The word men shouldn’t even be used. They’re monsters. Like you, white wolf, I know you are a beast and can kill me, and eat me it seems, and I still follow you. Do you have any idea where we are going?”

You are glad that no one is around to hear you gab on with a damn wolf. One that would surely have you for lunch. “That’s probably what you’re doing, huh? Leading me to your den where you can all feast on me.”

The giant dog stops abruptly. Throwing his head up to the sky he bellows out a howl, and you cover your ears as his noise vibrates through your body. This didn’t sound like a normal wolf. Or maybe you’ve never been so close to one. Screaming out in pain as you move away from him. “You fucking asshole!”

You need to get away. The beast seriously did bring you to your demise. Sending out a distress call to his fellow demons to come chow down on your body. “Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, trying to run far away from the creature that is going to see that you’re ripped apart limb by limb.

“Where did she go?” Fuck! More men. Monsters. All of them. The only ones worth anything were the ones laying cold and dead in the snow. “Go in all directions. It’s time,” you’re going to die, actually die this time. Die out here in this frozen wasteland because if you run, they’ll chase.

“This will be easier than I thought,” an evil leer as the man spots your footprints. Damn this winter! There should be a downpour of snow right now. Instead you’re a sitting duck with a trial of prints right to you. Taking off your pack, you pull out your daddy’s necklace, and kiss it. If they wanted you, they’d have to catch you.

One slow, solid breath, and you launch out of your hiding spot, and spring towards anywhere. “Got her,” shit! Everywhere you run there are men. But not just any men. The ones you had tried to avoid for a lifetime.

“By order of the king, I command you to stop!” They could cut your head off. If you were going to die, you’d die trying. And you weren’t going to stop. What choice did you have but to do everything in your power to not be taken captive.

“Oomph,” you start choking as a large man wraps his arms around you tightly. “She’s a fighter. The king will love that. Someone that can deal with his overgrown bratty self.”

“Get your hands off me!”

“Cuff her,” the blond man says, nodding his head towards another. “Hold still!”

“I don’t want to be your toy!” You hate men. They’re disgusting. The most vile of humans.

“You won’t. Not ours anyways,” he chuckles as the chains are put around your wrists, and even your neck. “Careful now,” he says obnoxiously as metal is extended towards your face. “It shouldn’t hurt but just a little. With this on, no one but the king will touch you.”

You didn’t want anyone touching you. Not this guard. Not the king. Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth as the mask is pressed against your face. A quick sting from the metal that is too cold to be on your skin. But then something pricks the back of your neck, and your scream lights up the forest, and then darkness. Nothing but eternal despair.

You were warned. And you failed. The one place you were to avoid, you ran right to it. Stupid girl.

Living in a world of ice and all alone, you get used to things not going your way. You’re a bit too vulnerable in a society that looks down at you because you’re a woman. A marked one at that. But a woman whose only one purpose you possess is for men’s pleasure and carrying babies. Other than the last remaining people of your tribe, you never met a man that was worth anything. And now you were in the belly of the beast.

The worst man of all. Some people claim that his influence sludged out to the realm, and it’s what turned all men sour. The fairy tale that once upon a time men were chivalrous, and they changed along with the weather.

Once your mind came to it didn’t take long to figure out exactly where you were, and in whose dungeon you are in. His. The man you were told to stay as far away from. He was the bogeyman in the stories you were told growing up. Foul, hideous, loathsome, and the worst kind of human, and now you’re trapped with a damn metal mask on your face.

Feeling completely alone except for the stupid mutt laying beside you with his head on your lap, “You are filth. Don’t try and butter me up because you got me caught,” his head pops up, his crystal blue eyes staring deep into yours, and you turn away. “I’m going to die here.”

It’s something you have never doubted. Getting caught equals death. Being here, alone, with a damn wolf, with a mask cannot be a good thing. The king will most likely stall, making sure you have no fight left before he pulls you apart one inch of your skin by one inch. Your mind races with ways the dark king can destroy you.

It’s cold. Colder in here than even outside. At least outside there is a dryness to it. In here the walls drip with what you hope is water and not something more sinister. What could you possibly have looked forward to in this life? An eternal winter? Constantly fighting for men not to touch you? Becoming a wife that had no desire to birth children in this world? Maybe this is better off.

“Where are you going?” You whisper as the four legged menace runs away. “Coward,” even he knows it’s desolate here.

Clanging sounds from behind the door, and you roll your eyes up to meet the blonde guard that captured you in the woods. “About time you woke up. Come on,” his mouth sets into a leering smile as he pulls you up from the floor. Using the key at his side to undo your chains. “He’s been waiting on you.”

“Dare I ask who?”

“You know exactly who. Your fate,” swallowing bile, he pulls you into his body. No amount of making yourself heavier works as he practically drags you out of the dungeon. That word is a curse. You’re more scared now than you were getting caught. “I saw your necklace, girlie,” his laugh grates on your nerves as painful as the arm that is wrapped around your waist.

“We’ve been waiting on you.”

“To torture me,” he chuckles right into the shell of your ear, and you want to retch. “What is this on my face?” His talking stops abruptly. Continuing to tug, and pull on your body, “You’re hurting me.”

“Get used to it,” torture it is. Did you think anything less? The most vile of humans that you were supposed to stay away from, and he captured you. Of course you were going to be tortured. Now you have to suffer the consequences. He shoves you into a room so hard that you fall down to your knees, and you yelp. Turning around to look at him. “Face forward and have fun.”

You hear another man clear his throat, and you try to disappear. Looking down at the floor with your eyes closed as you listen to his light footsteps. Walking around you before his meaty hands go under your arms, hauling you up to stand. Your breathing is nonexistent, but his breath is heavy. Fragrant of a scent you can’t place. And he inhales deeply.

Leaning into your ear, “You smell like a fucking dog,” he should talk. You weren’t the only one that reeked of something, and he is a king. You’ve been in a dungeon. “I’ll enjoy watching you be bathed.”

Fuck. Torture seems to be subjective. “Has any man touched you?” What did it fucking matter? Like he was going to ask for permission? He had you tied up with something on your damn face, impairing your vision, and he cared about how many men have put their grimy hands on you? “If you want to be able to sit on your ass, I suggest you open your goddamn mouth. Has a man ever touched you,” he swats at your backside hard as he comes to stand in front of you.

“Men always touch what they think they can own.”

He clicks his tongue, smiling gleefully at you, “None of those men had the power to own you.”

“And you do?” His hand goes underneath the mask, grabbing your neck with his fingers on your chin as he turns you to look at a mirror. You stare horrified as a wolf shaped mask covers your face. Your hair is oily and matted, and your bones protrude out of your body. But the mask is evil looking on your face. Otherworldly, and it didn’t belong there, “You don’t own me.”

“Is that so?” This man is far faster than any other man as he pulls and yanks at the rags that dress your body. Pulling off everything in shreds until you’re bare before him, and he throws you over his shoulder. Marching out of the room you are in before he throws you into a body of water.

You sputter, struggling to keep your head above the water before standing up. Shivering and naked. Wishing you could throw daggers at every part of his skin. Looking around to see an audience of people staring at your shame, and you dip back into the water for coverage with your arms hugged against your chest. You want to yell and curse at him, but you’re outnumbered. “Clean her. Then we’ll all enjoy inspecting you.”

“What does that mean?” Panic rises in your voice as men and women come into the pool with you. Men grab at your arms while women scrub on your body with a brush. The king sits down in a chair, and a creepy smile spreads over his face. “What does it mean? Ow!”

If he wasn’t so vile you might find him handsome. Cheekbones carved so sharply, and dark hair slicked back. He rolls his fingers over the armrest, and you start counting every ring that is laid upon his fingers.

“You’re so weak,” he chuckles, staring too intently as the women cup and scrub your breasts. His eyes drift to your necklace as he leans back, “Do you even know who you are? Or why you have always been mine? Every inch of you belongs to me. Those eyes and your necklace prove it. Your mom was nothing but a lying whore, and your dad was a fool anyways.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t? I don’t know that your so called father sat on a stolen throne? And your lying mother laid down with the rightful king. Your sweet innocent father thought your eyes belonged to him. You telling me he didn’t know your mom was fucking his guard,” your eyes go large as you stare at him. They were eerily similar to Jarrod’s.

“She tried to fight this curse and our connection, and instead, let a cock drive your bastard self right to me. What do you know of the day you were born?” Nothing. But you wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m sure they didn’t tell you much. The first snowflake fell that day. Everyday that you’ve been kept apart from me was another day of winter. The day you were born every drop of blood in your body and every inch of your delectable skin belonged to me. The night you were conceived is the same night your cunty father murdered mine. His guard was pumping his wife full, and here you are.”

God the way he talked about your family is despicable. Because you really wanted to know about your mother’s affairs. “Your mom was so scared to give birth to the king’s daughter, she gave her cunt to the next best thing. Jarrod was always the king. You can’t fate. Just like you can’t escape my wrath. Remove the mask.”

A woman slowly takes the metal off your face, and you glare at him. Wishing your look alone could set his entire body on fire. His head twists to the side curiously as he looks at you. An odd softness before he looks at the swell of your breast, and the snarky smile appears again.

“Bring her to me. On her knees, so I can look upon what’s mine. Don’t fight it either. I’ll fuck you like an animal right in front of all these people if you fight,” your chest heaves as all these hands carry you in front of him. Turning you away before lowering you to the floor. Someone pushes down your head as you stay on all fours before the king.

“This is how I like to see you. Submissive, spread and so puffy for me,” his fingers run through your core, and you hear a rumble in his stomach, “you can try deny me, but your body backing up to my fingers? Your body craves me. It’s like a magnet you can’t escape, and if you keep acting like a needy bitch in heat, I’ll give you exactly what your body has been denied.”

That’s a lie. You’ve never wanted any man to touch you. Never desired anything from them, but even you can’t deny the moan that escapes your mouth as one of his fingers breaches your walls. Loud and salacious as you glance back at him. “Since you love how it feels when we’re connected, just wait until I fuck you.”

You keep your head low, knowing that everyone in this room can see you down on your knees like an animal, while the king has a finger inserted so far into your cunt. He pulls the appendage out before shoving two more in. The audience starts to walk closer as the king stabs them into you, and you hope you don't react. That the only thing he can see if your fingers curling up, and you biting on your tongue.

Your cheeks heat up in flames with embarrassment, but also a sickening pleasure that you wish you didn't feel. The lewd squelching sound of your body causing the king to licks his lips with need. Fucking his fingers into faster before pulling out. Denying you release, and he slaps over your lips. "Juicy enough to eat."

“You’ll never get to fuck me.”

“I will, and you’ll beg for my seed every night. Don’t forget this moment. The moment you learned that your life is meant to serve mine. Put the mask back on her, and I want her placed in her gilded cage right in front of my bed. Maybe she’ll like me fucking into some whore’s cunt. Or would you like to watch me fuck my hand? I’ll even spurt my cum on your face. Make the servants wash you after you lick up every drop of my load. One of these days, you won’t be able to deny us. And maybe then we’ll get to see the world how it was intended.”

“And how’s that, your grace?”

“Not covered in fucking snow,” his voice is harsh as he walks out of the bathing room. Leaving you with all these people just staring at your naked body. Dressing you like you are a doll. You’d never beg for him. You didn’t want him. Or any man. It would never happen. And winter had nothing to do with him fucking you.

Because you belonged to no man.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @jesevans @alexakeyloveloki

[twilight-skies]

A copy of my liveblog on discord through the entire DSMP portion of Jack’s stream. If you can’t watch it, this give you the gist, and every piece of lore.

Okay I’m ready

Jacks getting himself into lore mode

“Wiki updaters get ready. Play some jump in the cadillac”

Surreal

Okay he just got distracted by a tweet apparently rosanna pansino is siccing the FBI on mr beast

It’s happening

HES IN PANDORAS VAULT

elder guardian jumpscare

My god the last time I saw this room technoblade was streaming

Disclaimer I was not interested at all in jacks pov so I will not be understanding any references to his own lore. Manishroom. Appears to hold emotional weight

“Wonder where all my friends are (opens tab) ……..oh. Guess I’m here alone.”

“Legitimately emotional. God this is so fuckin’ stupid bro…..I actually got sad. Toby gave me this mushroom on [my] very first day [on the server]”

Calls joining the dsmp as the beginning of the career he has now (affectionately)

Does not know how he got in this prison or how to get out. Trying to remember Sam’s secrets /hj

HES CALLING TOMMY OJ THE PHONE FOR HELP. Tommy is in the bathroom

The phone at the mic. We’re truly back

Jack lost a bet to Tubbo (You Laugh, You Loose) and that’s why he’s on the server now

Surprised that it survives intact to this day. “So I’m actually uh. Trapped in the prison. And I think [Tommy] had OP— not to spoil the illusion”

Tommy never sucked up enough for OP. He was a true bad boy

“Fuck me, man” -Tommy realizing he’s gotta log on to the dsmp

“It’s like looking a dead child in the eyes” -tommy

“Yeah I expected to laugh at that dead child! And now here I am feeling real remorse” -jack

“Oh, christ…….” -tommy getting on

Jack very nearly leaked the dream smp IP in the year of our lord 2024

Tommy was in fact getting ready for bed and has been thrust back into the horrors of his OC

I can’t tell if this horrid audio lag is legit or intentional for lore. The dsmp streamers have returned to gaslighting— oh no it’s legit he’s trying to fix it lmao

Tommy does not have OP on the dsmp but Toby does

Jack is ringing toby

Toby is not picking up

Near leak number 2

TUBBO ACQUIRED

Toby is coming

The DSMP remains a viewer spawnrate hack

The prison has been broken for ages

TUBBO ONLINE

“Everyone’s logging on to break me outta the prison. I gotta put on my lore music”

He has initiated his lore music

Toby is experiencing technical difficulties

Best lore stream ever

Discussing the ending. Mixed feelings on it

This server is so laggy

It will not let Tubbo in

Jack is mortified at pinging the DSMP discord server. However he is threatening to dm badboyhalo to get out of this place

TUBBO LOST HIS OP

toby has departed.

Bad is busy. Jack is dming a secret server operator guy that he hasn’t talked to in years

“We can at this point only pray”

“Get Phil do it” -chat

Jack is refusing. I would die. WAIT HE IS

SECRET GUY PULLED THROUGH

HE HAS BEEN TELEPORTED

WE ARE BACK

Man. The random messes in the sky…..

“IT WAS COOL?!” Jack seeing Las Nevadas

The lag is insane

I’m not being dramatic this is literally the first time I’ve ever seen the inside of the casino

Tommy has rejoined

I think they’re entering lore mode

It’s begun

Jack has canonically been alone at the casino this entire time

“We can make it canon that I’ve been here the whole time” -jack

“Chat, L’Manburg doesn’t exist anymore. We can’t go back there. Now let’s win big” -jack

He has semi broken the roulette wheel. He freaks out, like man who’s lived his life in solitude at that table for years. He walks outside. He gasps,

“Is that…t-t-t-tommy?” -c!jack

c!tommy has arrived.

c!tommy is asking “seriously, what happened”

c!jack is having him fix the wheel

All Jack cares about is the wheel. You can practically hear Tommy. They (characters) are back

He’s following tommy somewhere

“I have a house. It’s nice.” -c!tommy

c!Jack knows he could just take the money but he’s been surviving off the thrill of gambling

c!Tommy moved far away from the central zone. Brings back too much. Feels unreal seeing it again

“Joy, fun, sadness, pain, too much of it all” -c!tommy

They’re approaching the community house.

Oh my god

Are they going where I think they’re going

I know this path

I’m going to explode. Jack doesn’t know where they are

c!tommy doesn’t live here

“No. Oh god, no” - c!tommy at the idea of living here

HE COMES HERE A LOT THOUGH

Sidenote what’s crazy is the server remaining intact yet abandoned and tommy just living here in peace, with everyone just gone and jack being surprised to see him here, fits perfectly with my own headcanon of what happened to the group in the end

c!Jack jokes about buying c!techno’s house. Is told it’s techno’s house. Immediately, comedically, backtracks

c!Technoblade doesn’t even live here but c!jack knows to still put respect on that man’s name

He calls techno living here ‘cultural significance’ this is hilarious from a character pov

he looked at the compound and types “o7”

tommy just sure here outside the fence and sits here “as long as he needs to. Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours”

This is making me ill in every context including that of my headcanons

It appears tommy was for retconning the nuke but jack would rather keep it

Jack’s officially called it the epilogue

The nether……

Hes realized his mistake of sprinting on the prime path. Everyones subbing

Bench spotted

SNOWCHESTER.

Reminiscing in his old house

Looked through the nuke lab. Chat is screaming because he didn’t check on Micheal (guys he’s with his honey-vendor dad of course)

Walking through the battlefield of the prison escape. Like he’s trying to murder me

………

Disregard that. Death begins now.

“There it is! The first place I was a part of. Then technoblade nuked it”

“And now I’m here. And this is the ruin.”

To paraphrase: he really came here expecting to make fun; he’s thought of the smp as something behind him, and it is. He came here to have a laugh but it’s…nice. This arc is finally, fully closed. He is planting the Manishroom, the one thing he’s maintained since day 1, in his original L’Manburg house.

“God just— picking through ruins to make this. So…poetic”

“Not even a lore-bit, this just feels like a nice way to close it out. That feels important to me. Thank you for being here,”

“I always felt like part of the [dsmp] group. Now I feel like my own guy. Really is a new arc”

“I didn’t like letting go of the mushroom. Felt like I wanted to cling on to it forever. But I feel like this was the right thing to do.”

Some more personal reminiscing at the end

Returning to the roulette wheel at Las Nevadas; c!Jack Manifold’s final resting place. Getting that big win; all in on red!

[comfortless]

pls sir,,,, more dungeoneer konig and knight gf,,,, pls,,,,

why do you guys like seeing him suffer… part 3 of this guy i suppose! what are the sillies up to now….

dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: injury, violence, does it count as animal death if a gnoll dies i wonder…

She’s not entirely as adept as he is with these things, at least, that’s what he’s believed thus far. How could she be? A woman like her belongs in painted portraits adorning castle walls, not down in the dark with rarely little more than blades and sprays of blood for company.

Despite his assessment, when a particularly nasty gnoll manages to land a deep bite into König’s shoulder, it’s her that saves him. The pain is instant, warm salivating fangs digging past all defenses and pushing straight into muscle. The gnoll even has the audacity to huff out what sounds like a whine of delight when warm blood spurts straight into its maw. Perhaps, had he not been so focused on the lady knight, he wouldn’t have made such an error. Even now, rather than moving to overpower his aggressor, he watches her as she weaves through the debris of the tight corridor, her rapier readied at her side.

He’s fortunate that she reacts immediately, driving the sword so deeply into the beast’s guts that König could almost swear he feels the sharpened tip brush over his own tunic before she presses her boot to the gnoll’s spine and pivots backwards to free her blade, now glistening in crimson. It’s gruesome and foul but the look in her eyes is anything but— only tender.

“Thought he went for your neck…” The concern in her voice rings out clear, her hands trembling when she sheaths the blade and takes his arm into both of her own to lead him out of the decrepit dungeon. There’s nothing here apart from cobwebs and enraged monsters, no signs of a treasure promised. It was foolish of him to even drag her out here and now she’s.. caring for him. Oddly enough, this is the first time in a long stretch he’s had any woman willingly do just that without pity or disdain.

He tries to protest; the wound isn’t that bad, just a few punctures where fangs met flesh. Still, she props him against a sturdy oak, straddles his lap as she takes a dagger to begin tearing away his clothes.

“You don’t need to…” He trails off when she begins to clean the wounds, a little hiss of breath from the sudden sting of some pungent alcohol she’s produced from her bag, a sigh of relief when she smears the balm and wraps the wound tightly with a length of silk.

She’s not as indifferent to him as she pretends to be. Not at all.

More often than not his longing stares are met with a curious glance from her, maybe a soft huff of breath when she turns to look away. After his injury, König finds she’s quite affectionate too. She forces him down to kneel in shallow water while she meticulously cleans him, fusses over the wound as though it were her own, telling him he should not move too much lest he irritates it and draws out other beasts with the scent of his blood. She even gives him an almost imperceptible kiss on the cheek once she’s finished.

Come nightfall, she’s migrated from her bed to his own. There are no inns this far out, only rolling fields and forests. They’re camped out in the open, a horrid idea in the event of bandits, but she insists on watching over him through the night— if anyone comes, they’ll be struck down by this cocky, vigilant lady. He doesn’t doubt her ability anymore.

Their torches have long since burned out, and seeing as she won’t allow him to do so much as brush his hair from his face, stoking a fire seems out of the question. The glow of the moon provides enough visibility for her to see he isn’t clammy and feverish from infection, and that’s satisfying enough for her.

When dawn rises, a soft yellow glow dimmed by pillowy white clouds, König finds her not awake, but curled against his side, still wearing that heavy armor. Though there’s still a dull ache in his shoulder, one that screams he’ll be reprimanded if caught, he diligently works at the straps and buckles to free it from all but her chest before she stirs. When those eyes stare up at him, his heart flutters in a way he’s not so sure it ever had before. There’s always a tingle during an invigorating battle or the wave of excitement that washes over him when he takes his first step to descend into a dark crypt.

This is different.

He finds that it’s not just a blistering lust he feels for her anymore, but an unwavering sense of belonging at her side.

“… told you not to move,” she grumbles, batting his hands away as they rest over the straps along her shoulders. He could never fully place why she looks so different without heavy steel securing her, like a drab cocoon cracking open to reveal an achingly beautiful butterfly. “You should still be sleeping.”

“Ja, but you looked uncomfortable.”

“I’m not even supposed to be asleep.” Follows it up with a laugh that breezes like the most gentle song to his ears.

When they begin to gather their things to move on to the next destination, a small village near the coast, he realizes just what this bizarre feeling is. It’s love, or at least the closest to it that he still believes in.

“Is it against your code to marry?,” he asks, nonchalant as their next journey begins.

She’s busying herself looking over the map, her fingertips ghosting over the weathered parchment ad if the carve a path. The question doesn’t register for a moment, but when it does, her brow raises slightly in confusion.

“You know that I’m not a knight, König.”

“You are to me.”

She pauses for a moment, nearly dropping the map as her steps come to a sudden halt. She rolls the parchment back up, glancing away from him then.

“Then no, I suppose it’s not.”

[tequiilasunriise]

Being in fandoms where the characters are clearly based on other pieces of media/famous figures is so much fun because then some of my ships look like this:

Parentified Goldilocks who is also The Beast x Avoidance attachment Beauty who is ALSO also The Beast, one of my fav moments with them is when they off the Minotaur together who is ALSO also also The Beast

Little Red Riding Hood if she was also the Wolf and has galloons of repressed trauma x Snow White but she’s heavily knight coded and the poster child of daddy issues

Edgar Allen Poe’s Lenore x Annabel Lee but they’re in gay ghost love

The poem ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ x Odin’s raven Huginn but they’re exes still in love in a milf yuri divorce that ends super mega tragically and domino effects mommy issues out the ass

Historical figures Cleopatra x Frida Kahlo with the most chef’s kiss height difference you’ve ever seen

A polycule with Joan of Arc x Mulan x Thor x Achilles but they’re all genderbent/trans

The Velveteen Rabbit x fashion icon Coco Chanel if she was a lesbian with a gun

Frankenstein’s monster x a different sapphic Cleopatra bc baby gays <3333

Okay okay that black cat from Poe’s, well, The Black Cat x Poe’s Eulalie is cute yes

But I actually really REALLY love Poe’s Eulalie x Poe’s Berenice bc they’re “me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic” personified

The Snow Queen with mega daddy issues x Robin Hood if he was a socialist lesbian I SAIDDDD ITTTT

Imma say it historical figures JFK x Confucius were adorable bros

Aesop’s Fisherman x Odin’s other bird Munin you will always be famous my tragic old man yaoi <////3

Y’all will really have to hear me out here when I say Cinderella if she fucken snapped x ice cream Mad Hatter because couples who are terrible to each other but in a “only I’m allowed to be a horrid to them” way can be so funny

And I could go o n fer ages but the point is imagine explaining these ships to someone like 30 years ago with ZERO context their heads would explode and it’d be so funny

[rewritingcanon]

If you don’t mind me asking? why do you believe that Slytherin is a terrible house? Draco was an asshole and some of the other Slytherins(Crabbe, Goyle). although throughout the entire series the golden trio were practically bullies to most Slytherins for no reason(more so in the books)? Slytherins at hogwarts were usually mistreated due to their reputation of producing dark wizards, as if Ravenclaw doesn’t have almost just as much 🙏 plus how biased the entire school facility were with Slytherins, honestly i wouldn’t expect Slytherins to act the best when the whole schools against them.

And Slytherins being bullied or mistreated isn’t a new thing, especially by Gryffindors(Ex; Golden trio, marauders, fantastic beasts).

And whats your take on Ron? i’m a bit meh on him, as he was a good friend although i still can’t forget or excuse him

-Bullying first years

-Abusing his Prefect status

-Almost calling Ginny a slut

-abusing Crookshanks

kinda confused a bit because i don’t remember ever calling slytherin a terrible house lol. i’ve said that slytherin was written with the mind to make it a bad house, with all its characters being pretty morally bleak. hp is not supposed to be very morally complex, all the work in that is mostly credited to fandom.

as readers, we’re positioned to sympathise with the golden trio being mean to slytherin characters more because they have the moral leverage of not being blood purists or terrorists. maybe harry had no reason to go after them at first, but hermione definitely had as a muggleborn, and ron was constantly getting slandered for either being poor or a blood traitor. granted, this was all mostly from draco. the other slytherins are one-dimensional characters who serve as his lackeys, there’s not one that’s properly fleshed out except maybe severus snape and even that’s iffy for a lot of fans.

yes, ravenclaws did have death eaters, but not to the same extent that slytherin was producing them. most death eater characters have unconfirmed houses, the only ravenclaw we actually know to be a death eater is quirrel and thats it. so they’re actually tying with the amount of death eaters gryffindor produces (pettigrew), not slytherin. everyone else— lestranges, blacks, malfoys, crabbes, snape etc— are slytherins. this is unsurprising as salazar slytherin literally wanted to gatekeep his house from progressive and inclusive ideals.

i have many gripes with the oppressive world jkr has written— i don’t think she understands how oppression operates because i agree with what you say about most of the hogwarts staff treating the slytherins like shit. in reality, the ones who are oppressed should be the ones discriminated against, but in the hpverse you see the oppressors getting treated badly. im not saying i think slytherins should be presented as the oppressed, its just horrid writing on her part.

i really like ron, i think he’s a really well fleshed-out character with realistic flaws and a good arc. i cant remember when he bullied first years and i don’t remember him abusing his prefect status in any extremely terrible way that would lower my opinion of him. i do remember him almost slut-shaming ginny, and though i think it was terrible of him i also think it was a realistic thing to say from an older brother to a younger sister in the 90s. i have a younger brother and you should clock some of the arguments we’ve had over the years in the 2020s. it’s within the same vein. ginny was pressing on ron’s sore spots as little siblings do, and ron was attempting to compensate by biting back in any way he could. it was realistic to me. and its been a while since i read the books but ron bitching about crookshanks read as comedic. granted, i was like 11 years old when i read them, but i remember thinking it was justified because to ron, crookshanks was literally trying to kill his pet. he’s not going to be chill around something thats tried to eat his rat multiple times. when someone is attacking your pet, you get scared and angry and try to fight back in defence of your pet because you want to deter that animal from trying anything like that again. they obviously can’t understand you if you simply lecture them. i once had to do something similar (i did not physically fight anything though LOL) when i got a new cat, and our neighbour’s cat would constantly attack and injure him every time we let him outside. and that was a cat v cat, this is a little mouse versus crookshanks 😭😭

[bucknastysbabe]

it's still me, sorry.

ancient rome with viserys III (he just has that twink senator build, I am telling ya)

YES TWINKY SELF IMPORTANT VIZZY III YOUR BRAIN MAKES MY GO SPLOOSH, also I took a while bc 1. Work 2. I get wayyyy too invested into research! So I hope you enjoy xoxoxoxxo

AU Bingo - Ancient Rome - Viserys III

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Imperial Rome setting, Viserys is an angry lil asshole, too much background building, aphrodisiacs, arranged marriage, pnv!sex, enemies to lovers, hate sex, they’re both bottoms they’ll figure it out later, background Jorah and Illyrio, dany living her best life!, orgy time, I hope that was a good offering to Cupid

A/N: Tumblr is full of smart people but I still marked stuff that might need a translation or explanation:)

Viserys Targaryen. The third. Bred well from a long line of Emperors. The dynasty had ended when his mad father was struck down by the Praetorian* guard meant to protect the man. He was a mere senator now, the Baratheon family forcing him into submission. Damnatio Memoriae* for Aerys and his eldest son Rhaegar.

Everyone knew you could flip a coin to decide if a Targaryen would be mad or not. Viserys, although smart and a respected senator, definitely leant towards the unwanted side of the sestertius*. Regardless, the man had enough allies to secure his position in aedileship* and keep the family estate. His little sister had been married off to some obscenely rich warlord king outside of Roman lines, further padding the man’s pockets.

He walked around like an inflated peacock with his purple striped toga, dreaming of revenge and retaking the grand palace. Not married, still young, and quite mean from all accounts. Rumors flew that he was the passive cinaedus* of his longtime Gaulish slave. But you had your eyes on the fool regardless of who said what.

Recently arrived from the ever growing Hispania Baetica*, your father, a powerful proconsul* had sent you with a retainer to find a husband. Your aunt was married to Rhaegar Targaryen, and there was a promise for your hand to Viserys.

There was a catch. Viserys was not made aware of this pact. All of the details ands plans were burnt up during the violent overthrow of mad Aerys. Greek fire everywhere from the accounts. Your sister and her babes had perished from the Lion of Rome’s horrid beast of a soldier.

Elia was gone now, you reminded yourself. Oberyn kept her memory alive much too much but you grinned and bared it. He accompanied you with his lover and only two of his many bastards. Viserys was to be hosting you all in his grand manse upon the Esquiline Hill*. He knew the power of your family and sought to gain more status.

A plethora of slaves tended to your baggage and personal goods. A fat man with a thick accent, Thracian* of sorts, welcomed you all with an ecstatic smile. “Good evening, I know you all must be weary from your travels, our busy Senator will be home late tonight and plans to sup in the morning. Please call me Illyrio, I am the steward here.”

He outstretched a jiggly arm and beckoned you all, “Come, come, dinner awaits.” Oberyn sniffed and sauntered in, viper eyes darting around suspiciously. He had become quite bitter and distrustful after dear Elia’s death. Rhaegar, a wonderful general, had found some Briton barbarian’s daughter while putting down an uprising and squirreled her away. Much to the anger of the Novantae*.

Robert Baratheon also took offense to the affair, having eyes for the same girl. Add on Aery’s madness and rising tensions against the imperial family. Well. That’s what led to now. It’s bad when the Roman army has to enter Rome. Slimy Lion of Lannister, Tywin, a once trusted Consul* and general settled the fighting quite quick. His son, a Praetorian guard, struck down the Mad Emperor.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, weary from all the travel. Dinner and chatting was a blur, Oberyn interrogating Illyrio up quite intensely about Viserys. You retired early to a sumptuous room, dreaming of frolicking in the paintings until slumber met you at last.

In the morning you had two girls attend your bathing, dressing, and other attending. You felt quite beautiful in your immaculate yellow stola, embroidered with gold. Your headband and jewelry was also gold and citrine. They smudged your eyes with kohl, painted your lips a darker color with berries. All to hopefully ensnare.

Padding to the triclinium* you readied yourself. Being a proconsul’s daughter, you knew how to behave. Hispania Baetica was extremely romanized, it wasn’t like you came from Judaea* or Asia Minor*. Your family was mostly seated, Oberyn and Ellaria looked tired. They may have treated themselves to the pleasure of Rome last night.

Illyrio beside a big man in armor and the distinct silver haired of a Targaryen graced your vision. Viserys was quite handsome, lengthy waves, strong features, and long limbs. No warrior like Rhaegar but self assured in his own right. You gave obeisance and sat down. Viserys intense lilac eyes bored into you, pretty lips curling up in pleasure.

He hummed, “Martells. You have been good to the Targaryens for many a moon. I hope the trip was fair, nice to see you Oberyn. I hope Doran is doing well.” The senator’s smile was stiff lipped and frigid.

Oberyn snorted, “The place smells of pig shit and is overcrowded. But a fine city I suppose. The streets of pleasure are wondrous. How is the usurper doing?”

An awkward hush enveloped the room. Viserys’ eye seemed to twitch. His pallid cheeks reddened, “The fat oaf is fine. The Lion does his dealings after the Arryn man passed.” Oberyn hissed, “Detestable fucker.”

You cleared your throat and gestured to Illyrio, softly stating, “I’d love to reminisce on the injustice of our past but we did not travel to Roma for nothing, Senator.” Viserys seemed a relax a smidgeon, eyes narrowing at Illyrio’s wide frame. He drawled, “Was there something not to my knowledge? As the leader of my family this could be treason.”

The big man placed a hand on his sword.

Illyrio laughed it off and boomed, “No, this is all good tidings. A proposal lost in the fire.”

“Go ahead, Mopatis.”

You nervously popped some grapes into your mouth, eyeing the silver haired man’s heady gaze. He was entranced— for what gain you did not know. Illyrio opened the scroll and read of the marriage pact hastily made after the downfall. You would marry and join Viserys’ household.

The Senator remained quiet, the guard muttering something along the lines of, “That’s a first.” Viserys finally hummed, “What will I receive if I am to marry your girl? Gold, allies, men? I will become Emperor again dear Martells. You burn with the same injustices!” A vein on his forehead twitched.

Oberyn bristled, “You will receive a handsome sum and my gorgeous niece. Have patience, little Targaryen, lest the people might think you’re madder than your father,” he sharply grinned, “Excuse me, the emperor before Robert. Damnatio memoriae is a bitch, hm?”

Viserys barked, “Quiet your tongue, red viper! I accept the girl, shall pay the dowry, but I need allegiance. My sister awaits with her warlord husband, powerful screamers on horseback.”

Oberyn settled back down with a shit-eating grin, placing his sandals on the table, throwing an arm around Ellaria. You nodded and added, “All good things come with time, Aedile Targaryen. We shall plan, and I will do anything in my power to asssist.”

He was quaking with anger, long and thin fingers almost shredding the purple edging of his toga. Illyrio hummed, “Very well, we shall have the wedding, small, and pay the dowry. Then you may return to Hispania.”

Oberyn stated, “My daughter Obara stays as her personal guard, then we shall leave in the morn.” Viserys glared at the strong woman, lips thinning in annoyance. You glanced down at your hands, quite unsure what to do with an unstable temperament.

You’d find a way, always had. Nothing cunt couldn’t fix. Unless the Senator didn’t prefer that. But that could be arranged too.

After the wedding, you felt alone and bored. Viserys had held intercourse with you once, a banal affair. Strange for a Roman, a Targaryen one at that. Obara and Jorah as you learned, were mainly your company out and about. Viserys spent most of his time on the Capitoline Hill*. Planning events and city works, whatever Aedile’s did.

One day you’d had enough. You decided to snoop around Visery’s personal quarters, he’d be in hearings all day. Illyrio turned a blind eye with a small smile. Coming to a bronzed desk you found a half-unrolled paper. Wonderfully decorated with Pan and his nymphs.

Fingering the scroll open your eyebrows raised. It was an invitation. Tomorrow night. To a secret party with masks only. It was likely to be an orgy once you placed the masks, Pan’s* turgid cock, and the syrupy invitation. Your fool husband wasn’t going to even let you know.

“Illyrio!,” you hollered.

Heavy footsteps and breathing came closer and closer. Mopatis wiped the sweat from his brow. He panted, “My lady?” Padding over to the large man you shoved the invitation toward pudgy hands.

“Was my dear husband planning on inviting me?”

He stared at you with a strange expression, mouth twitching. You held his gaze before he broke. “No. He was to go alone. Felt stifled recently.”

You snarled, snatching the invitation back, Mopatis now leaning on a doorway. You murmured, “Say Illyrio, dear steward, could you perhaps get me into this sordid soirée?” His fleshy face erupted into a smile.

“I have friends in the lowest and highest of places, I’m sure we could arrange your arrival. A surprise for your husband. I’ll have to send one of the girls to the mask maker.” Patting a shoulder you mused, “Hmm, I cannot wait to see the look on the asshole’s face.”

Jorah snorted from afar.

You gained entrance into a vast complex of gardens and smokey rooms, smelling of herbs. Petals littered the ground at every turn. You fixed your mask and stola, quite lost. You’d heard of these debauchery laden gatherings high up in the echelons of Rome.

It wasn’t like that in your household, definitely in Oberyn’s with all the boys and women he could fuck until dawn. A man with a deep voice sidled next to you, offering a goblet of wine, “Here sweet one, this brew will make Cupid himself bless you.” You took it and asked, “Where is the main gathering?”

“Follow me nymphet,” he hummed.

You downed the wine, unsure if that was a horrid idea or not. But Jorah was waiting on the outskirts in case you may need help. Citizens of Roma were fucking and kissing all over as you drew near the sounds of wailing and drums. The mysterious man hummed, “This is where the show is, where you find your lovers for the night.”

He disappeared as fast as he had met you. Eyes scanning through the fog you spotted silvery hair. Viserys was sprawled with some ladies, idly watching the erotic show on the dais. Sucking in a breath you sat on some cushions directly across from him.

Heat began to slither up your belly, the haze and glistening skin of the erotic dancers making your cunt ache. Pulling at your stola you stifled a whine, chewing on your lip under the mask. It must have been that brew that man gave you, some sort of Aphrodisiac. Venus herself must have dipped her tits in the brew, you were on fire.

Transfixed in the low hum of the droning singers, the sensual beating of the drums and the escalating cries of pleasure— you were not prepared for a rather smug voice in your ear. Yelping and sliding away, long fingers wrapped around your upper arm, jerking you close. Viserys lilac eyes were a bit hazy as he murmured, “You aren’t secretive you know that? Thinking I don’t know that you’re going through my belongings, sending my steward around.”

As his thin face began to erupt into a sinister smile you grew a bit fearful. Maybe you’d crossed the line. Targaryen’s were notoriously unpredictable. You gulped out a weak, “I apologize, maritus*, I do, please!” Viserys only smiled more and pulled you flush atop his thin hips.

“I’d prefer dominus*, my sly little Baetican,” he drawled, dragging fingertips across your overheated skin. Nosing along your slick neck he continued, “Almost as slithering as that viper of your uncle,” his soft curls tickling you issued a full body shudder and whimper.

“Dominus, I simply wished to- ah- find out what pleases you! You show me no attention,” you wheedled, overwhelmed with groping hands and wandering lips. Viserys cruelly mocked, “Dear, you were a pact, a bag of sesterces, a pretty little something that makes me look good when I get my birthright back.”

Anger seized through your veins at his callous words, shoving him off with a hiss. Viserys smug look turned to shock as he called, “I wasn’t done yet! Come back here!” You shook your head and stumbled through the clouds of burning incense, past the degenerates contorted and fucking, howling to Lūna.*

Slinking through to doors, not to make any noise, you arrived on a much quieter plaza of sorts. A fountain, some beautiful columns, and a small worship temple. Probably Venus. You ran toward the temple, seeking to hide from your vile husband.

Inside everything was painted a rosy, gorgeous color. A statue of Cupid* surrounded by candles and offerings sat at the head. You decided to sit against the wall, staring at the little cherub from the side. You filtered through your robes to throw a coin at the shrine. No one had shrines to the son of Venus*. That you knew until now.

“Strike him, will you,” you asked out loud.

Viserys. What a wretched ass. You knew this was a pact. He showed desire but nothing else. Doomed to a loveless marriage with a power-hungry maniac. You wanted to make him cry, make him hurt like you were. Throwing your mask off your hands clenched into balls of fury. Then took a deep breath, holding the tears back.

“I said I wasn’t done, now you ran off to weep?,” Viserys snapped as he entered the shrine. You stared at him coldly and replied, “No, I didn’t want to hear your vile words. I’m sure you had some great insults coming up, dominus.”

The blonde scoffed and leaned against a pink column, crossing his sinewy arms. He drawled, “Whatever, I was going to say, that you have proven yourself to be strong and dedicated. I like that. Ask me next time and I’ll take you along to my affairs.”

You crawled forward on all fours, holding his piercing gaze until you sat back in front of cherubic Cupid. Gesturing to the god you said, “I’m glad then, I have your approval dominus. Now fuck me. Prove it. Prove your power over me.”

Viserys sputtered for a second, pale cheeks blotchy. His cock was hard enough you could see it through the layers of his toga. You needed this, didn’t care if it was the Minotaur of days of old fucking you open. Anger and lust coursed in your veins, the drink wracking your system.

He mumbled under his breath and padded over to shut the doors to the shrine. Just leaving you two and marble Cupid. He knelt down in front of you, looking composed but sweat beaded along the high points of his face. You leaned back, revealing your legs and bare cunt, pulling and undoing your stola*.

Viserys sat like a dolt. Obviously he did not have the upper hand in this situation, Face getting redder and redder. You purred, “Dominus, or should I say, Caesar?” The blonde moaned softly, trembling hands undoing his expensive garments marking the man’s station. You were naked and waiting, smirking to yourself. Viserys, now just as bare didn’t move.

“How do you want me Caesar?,” you hummed with a cock of your head. Visery’s swollen prick could rival Priapus* currently, leaking and red. He rasped thinly, lips agape, “Ride me, ride me, hispanus.” Stifling a laugh at the suddenly submissive acting senator you prowled forward like a tigress, placing your jeweled hand on his pale chest, pushing the man back.

Straddling yourself across lean thighs you rolled your slick pussy across his length, moaning lowly in satisfaction. Big hands clamped down on your thighs, a strangled noise leaving Viserys’ throat. Suspiciously close to a whine.

You leaned forward to press your tits against his flat chest, breathing against his pink lips, “Caesar, why are you bowing to such a simple whore him? One from Hispania, probably not even a citizen. Tsk tsk” Viserys thrashed some, face pouty. His free hand clamped down on your neck as the blonde hissed, “This is no time to jest, your Caesar wants you to ride his cock. Get to it.”

He wouldn’t let go until you heaved for a breath, sliding onto his long cock, the protrusion deep and nestled on your sensitive upper walls. He let go, hands now groping your breasts, that irritating look back on his face. You coughed wetly, sucking in breath as you clumsily began the first few thrusts, but it felt wonderfully divine.

Your pussy, lips, and nipples were hypersensitive and swollen, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting off over your body. You rode harder, seeking more and more. Viserys gasped, “Gods, fuck, you’re different tonight.” Slapping him across the cheek while simultaneously squeezing his turgid length made the made shout, eyes fluttering.

“I may be your, hng ohhh, wife, b-but I can be your equal! Fah-fucking lackwit! Jaehaerys and Alysanne ring a godsdamned bell?” Your cunt grew slicker and slicker with your arousal, sweat rolling down your back, between your bouncing tits. The small shrine was growing warmer, the sounds of fucking echoing in the small temple.

Viserys mewled hungrily around your chest as you reached back to grab his overfull balls, squeezing ever-so gently. His eyes flashed open, mouth opening and body arching as he cried your name passionately. He managed to string together a broken sentence, “I- Ifffff- you beast, keep it up, ah Cupid you little shit! I will rethink my behavior!”

You plastered yourself to the man, luridly slapping your plush hips against him, moaning uncontrollably. Viserys was right along with you in pitch, desperately jerking his wonderful cock into your needy cunt. Sloppy sharing lips you growled, “Good boy.”

Your foggy mind expected another bout of anger.

No. Viserys outright whimpered and seized your lips, skinny arms holding tight as he planted his feet and pounded your cunt. He licked into your mouth, tongues dancing together in a style much older than Rome ever was. The senator caressed and sought to drive himself into you, besides his cock of course.

Pulling free from slobbery lips you rasped, “You like that? Dominus just wants to be my good boy? Ah-ct like one and I’ll give you ah-ah-alll the praise you want oh pretty silver!” He nodded fervently, lilac eyes searching your own, whimpering unintelligibly.

His blunt cock head was massaging your most tender spot, driving you to grab Viserys hand and guide it to your swollen Pearl. He picked up easily, eyes lidded with heavy satisfaction at your carrying on. You began to shake, the pleasure heightening to the realm of the gods.

“Ah! Caesar, Viserys, Dominus! I’m gonna,” you convulsed and crumpled atop of him whining when your clit was rudely pinched. Another one wracked your frame when a flood of hot spend filled your warm cunt. You babbled deliriously in your own dialect, Viserys panting and heaving through his heavy unload.

Flattened atop of him now you warily eyed Cupid, little cheeks puffed as he smiled. With a scoff and a residual tremble you said, “I did pray he would strike us. Not sure if it’s love, but I felt the lust.”

Viserys hummed gently, carding fingers through your sweaty curls, “He might have mad contact, I would kill any other woman this brash. Take that as a compliment, you are quite special my baetican vipera.”

“I’ll take it. Do you think our fucking was a good enough offer?”

He barked a laugh, stealing your lips for a peck, “Very much so. We should built a shrine in the manse.”

Translations/Explanations:

* Praetorian Guard: Guard of the Imperial family, Caesar, and special agents

* Sesterce: Roman Coin 1/4 of a denarius

* Denarius: silver coin

* Aedile/Aedileship: Senator of public office, Job that involved maintenance of Public buildings in shape and regulation of public festivals. Also keeping city life in order and that needs are met.

* Cinaedus: Male willing to be the passive partner in a homosexual relationship

* Hispania Baetica: Third province of Spain. Rich and romanized, they are citizens of Rome. Eventually brought up now named cities of Cádiz, Seville, Cordoba.

* Pro-consul: Governor or military commander of a province

* Esquiline hill: One of the seven hills of Rome. A upper class residential district.

* Thrace/Thracian: Area of people spanning between Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey.

* Briton: Roman conquered England

* Novantae: powerful Celtic tribe in the north of Briton.

* Consul: Highest senate position, has the emperors ear

* Triclinium: a dining room with couches on three sides and a table.

* Capitoline Hill: Name says all they be doing government shit up there

* Pan: Greek name for a forest god with nymphs. A horny goat okay

* Cupid: God of lust/love, son of Venus

* Maritus: Husband

* Dominus: Lord, master, owner

* Caesar: Emperor

* Venus: goddess of beauty and love

* Stola: Women’s dress at the time, feminine version of the toga

* Priapus: Fertiliy protection god known for his HUGE DONG

* Hispanus: From Hispania

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 8 - Practical

The rogue makes a decision.

On AO3.

The two of them agree they’ve made enough progress for the day (such as it is, in the dark, cut off from the sun). His flesh is already chilled back to his pre-abduction nights.

He does his best not to touch his own skin.

There’s a sandy beach not far from the hellish tunnel they’ve slithered through, and his illustrious leader says there’s a short wall and what may be a way into another chamber above.

He scents her blood. She says it’s a scratch from the cave, but he hears the squeak of a bottle being uncorked, and the spiced scent of a healing potion.

He clawed flesh. Her blood clings to his fingernails. But she says nothing and he’d rather not bring up a reason for her to be cross with him, so he settles in on his back and she all but flops down nearby, and forces his mind to sink into reverie.

It’s the roaring that eventually pulls him out of it. Not a memory, this is a different sound. Something deeper. Sustained.

His eyes snap open. Or he thinks they do, useless things. The roar fills the space. Thunders the air. It rattles around in his skull and he hears nothing over it.

A rockfall? Some Underdark beast?

He sits. Climbs to his feet and his hands splash into freezing water that he was nowhere near when he laid down. The sound keeps going and going. No pausing, no easing. It’s water. A great deal of it. He’s seen a few waterfalls since the nautiloid crash. But this one? This one is right here.

It’s a flood. The water races over his hands until he gets to his feet. Droplets hit his face, and he pictures the horrid tunnel, the dip he crawled through. What would happen if a river tried to shove itself through that nightmare.

How deep can an underground river get?

…he was resting on a beach. Of sand. Sand indicates water flowing over where he currently stands.

Sweet hells.

A hand latches onto his shoulder. He snatches one of his knives out of his belt, and remembers he’s with someone and she’s snatching her hand away. Shouting something.

He can barely make out her voice. Catches many syllables. But they’re strange. Foreign. Because she fell asleep and the Potion of Tongues would have worn off. It’s their daft wizard’s fault.

He focuses briefly on the echoes around them. It’s flatter where he stands. The tunnel narrower. She’d said there was a wall and a potential way out on the other side. So they must scale that wall before this burgeoning river decides to wash them away.

Astarion does not need to breathe. This should be easy enough, if cold and disgusting.

He takes a step. And that hand clamps right back down on him.

“Excuse you!” he snaps and flails an arm to dislodge her.

Only she grabs his hand and he wasn’t wearing gloves when that trap triggered. And that, for some reason, startles him into letting her drag him away. Warm skin on his palm. Faint calluses. He’s stroked hair and ears; clutched at sweaty backs and buttocks; slid his fingers into tight, wet heat and between tongues and teeth; fisted his own fingers into linens and pillows and tunics and trousers.

But another hand? A bare hand in his own?

Something in his chest gives a queer lurch.

Then she stops and drops him and he stands there dumbly for a moment.

She shouts again. Thrusts something against him and it’s the rope. She wants them tied to each other. He loops his end around his waist and knots it expertly. Then she prods him towards the river. The sound is bigger here. The walls further apart and the river wider.

“What, you want to cross more of it?” he says.

She swears—the one that starts with a “fuh” sound; it seems to be her favorite—and leans in so close her warm breath puffs over the shell of his ear.

“Small bad!” she says. “Large good!”

There’s a joke, there.

“Small, um, fast! Fast bad!”

It takes a moment. Then the meaning blooms. The same amount of water squeezed into a narrow channel flows faster. More likely to sweep them away.

And she thought of that.

He wonders if they possibly do stand a tiny chance down here.

She nudges him towards the water again. “You walk. I sit. I…”

She tugs the rope against him. Then tugs it down, as if checking the line tension on a tent. “I sit. Big sit. You walk. I walk later, you big sit?”

An anchor. Yes. That makes sense. He goes first (as an unbreathing vampire) and she’ll anchor him. Once he’s across, he can do the same for her.

“Yes!” he shouts back.

She says something in her own tongue. He has no idea what it is, but likes to imagine it’s something encouraging.

He takes a step. The water rushes over the toe of his boot, but it’s not so bad.

His next step immediately contradicts all that.

The river rushes up over the tops of his boots, floods in to soak his feet and it shoves hard at his foot. This beastie is hungry. It wants to take him.

He stops. This is a terrible idea. It’ll be far safer for the both of them to wait out the sudden deluge. The water is going somewhere. Surely it will disappear as quickly as it appeared in the first place. And it’s not like he can drown.

“Astarion, water big,” says their illustrious leader who very much can drown.

He grinds his teeth and curses in every tongue he knows. This is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever asked of him, and he’s including her letting him feed from her. If she thinks she can make this some kind of…of regular occurrence, he’ll…he’ll…he’ll figure something out.

The next step submerges him to the knee. To the thigh. To his bollucks and he swears again. Finally, he’s up to his belly, arms raised to keep his bag of holding dry. The water snatches at him. Claws and shoves at him. Forces him in tottering little steps further and further downstream.

Finally able to cross running water and he gets this. The irony might kill a weaker man.

At one point, a surge comes as he’s taking a step and it nearly rips his boot off. He stumbles, arms flailing for something to grab but there’s nothing but more, horrific water.

He hopes she trips. Hopes she falls in and soaks every one of her belongings.

Then the floor starts to come up. He wades on, water lapping along his sides all the way to his arm pits. One step. Two. Water back down to his waist. To his thighs. Until he’s clambering up on smooth stone, sand crunching under sodden boots, his trousers clinging horribly to his legs.

Well. It worked. Miserable business, but it worked.

“Your turn, darling!”

He has no idea if she hears him. He pulls off his bag and tosses it behind him a foot or two. She still has sight; is probably watching him drip pathetically from her side.

Then she shouts—words lost—and, he assumes, begins her own crossing. All he has to do is take in the slack.

Which is more difficult than it should be, until he realizes the rope drags in the river. That seems like a bad thing, possibly. He starts to pull it in faster, wrapping it between palm and elbow.

Her shout is a soft thing. Too sudden. Too quiet in the roar of the flood waters. He barely registers it, lifts his head to track it. Opens his mouth to ask.

The line leaps off his hands. Burns a trail across his palms. And he has no time to so much as hiss before all that carefully coiled slack is gone. And he remembers it’s tied to his waist. Because he’s an anchor.

It’s rather like, he thinks later, being swatted by a dragon. The rope pulls tight, digs hard into his lower back, and he digs his heels in but it’s far too late for that.

He’s plucked right off the riverbank. Crashes into the torrent and the river, finally clutching its prize, claws him down.

He tries to rise. To no effect.

Tries to twist and dig his fingers into something, anything to slow him. To no effect.

The current takes his legs the moment his feet touch bottom. Twists him and he bashes his head against something. His mouth opens and cave water—thick with silt—shoves down his throat.

Astarion has no need for air. But that doesn’t mean a small part of him, one he long thought dead and buried, doesn’t remember that need. A long-dormant and dead part of his body inhales a lungful of floodwater—which hurts—and flails him around. Don’t drown, don’t drown, don’t die.

It’s by sheer luck his right hand strikes something. An ancient rockfall. Some forgotten statue to some forgotten god. Maybe it’s just the petrified remains of cave wyvern dung turned to bloody stone.

He grabs it. The current whips his body around and bashes his ribs against that same rock. Which means his lungs push out, and then pull in more of that disgusting water. But he’s got a handhold. And he may only be a spawn, one weakened by an illithid tadpole at that, but he is a vampire spawn and he’s panicking rather badly.

He hauls. Scratches and scrabbles, teeth bared, his toes digging in. Every ounce of him focuses on that one goal. That one necessity. To pull himself up. To drag his sorry self out of this watery hell.

He’s been through too much. Come too far to be swept away by this piddling flood. He’s escaped two hundred years of slavery from a vampire lord and he will not let a stupid, bloody cave end all that now.

He wrenches his head clear of the surface. Which means the furious water surges up over his head. But he tucks his chin down, finds his next handhold, and drags himself up.

Almost does.

The current is horrific. Stronger than it was only moments ago. It’s a beast to fight, but he can win. Except for the rope around his waist.

That is dragging him right back in. The rope around his waist, pulling taught in the current, where it’s tied around the waist of his only companion. She doesn’t have vampire strength. Doesn’t even have the strength to pull herself out of a hole. The only thing she has to offer—aside from the occasional, murderous hilarity—is her ideas and she knows it. He saw it in her mind when their tadpoles connected the night the gur nearly kidnapped him.

If he wasn’t blind, she’d be the dead weight of their party.

But he is blind, and she stuck with him. Helped him, even. She fed him and guided him and came back for him. And he cannot pull both himself and her out of this river.

He’s not sure how long a human can hold their breath. Surely not long, falling in so suddenly, and in water this cold, thrashing and trying to swim (and clinging desperately to that rope because it’s the only thing that might save her). Hells, she might be dead already.

He can feel panic in the tadpoles, mostly his own bleeding over enough that the others are aware and it’s all a cacophony, so he has to shut the whole thing out.

His grip slips. The water pulls at him like so many moist, unwanted hands. Wanting his body. Wanting to consume him.

He doesn’t remember drawing his knife. Is only aware of the blade hovering over the straining, vibrating line. She made a choice like this herself long ago; he saw that in her mind, when she chose to abandon her family and let another take the blame. She chose to save her own skin because she’s sensible.

She stayed with him.

She’s a practical sort.

She came back for him.

He slips again.

He slices.

The rope snaps. Slithers off into the roaring dark too fast for him to fully register. Then he’s scrabbling up, stumbling, banging his bad knee again and scraping his palms bloody. But he doesn’t stop. Not until he finds solid ground. Dry ground sloping up and away from him, some kind of vegetation squishing under his hands and knees.

Safe.

He retches up water, hunched and curled in. Tries not to focus on how cold it is coming back out.

Soon the retching and gagging turns to hideously wet coughing. And soon again, that subsides, and he’s on all fours, head hanging, face wet and drooling like a sick dog.

He sucks in air. Retches once more. Tries again and it makes him cough, but he breathes in.

“Fucking hells,” he rasps.

The river roars.

He staggers up. Finds nothing to brace himself against, and has to lean on his own knees as his blinded senses swim and try to orient themselves.

Something brushes his wrist. The rope, still at his waist. The end is a clean cut.

“Hello?” he says. He’s not sure why.

The river roars on.

He’s alive—for lack of a better term. He’s safe, on solid ground (for now). But he can’t fucking see and he’s lost in the Underdark in some flooding cave and he’s…

He’s alone. Sopping wet, scraped up and hungry and frozen to his bones. With nothing and no one but the thundering of a flood.

“Hello!” he tries again. Useless. Foolish. Because he’s a useless fool.

The river has taken her. Swept her off into the dark and he’s alone and it’s his fault. Trapped in a tunnel with the air shaking from the thunder, turning it thick and solid. And he can’t see and he has no idea where he is and he cut her loose. He’s alone. Trapped. Starving. Helpless.

And it’s his fault.

Can’t seduce his way out of a stone chamber, can he? Can’t stab his way out of a river. He’s nothing. He’s always been nothing and will only ever be nothing and even free, away from that bastard, he’s useless.

“Eleanor?”

His knee aches terribly. He lowers himself, shaking, to sit. Flop, really. All this way, all that effort, for him to end up exactly as he was. Weak and trapped. Always. Forever. He might as well hand himself back to Cazador.

The river roars—

Sound. Soft pitch, small noise. Barely audible over the torrent but he hears it. He’s up and stumbling again. Nearly runs into a wall or a pillar. The ground slopes down and he staggers back towards the water.

“Eleanor!”

Again, that sound. So tiny and frail. So mortal.

His feet hit a jumble and he goes down. Lands on his chin and his teeth clack together so hard it rattles his brain. But he’s up and moving again. Where. Where? She’s—

A shout. If he’s being generous. It’s a desperate noise that ends in a gurgle as the river tries to suck her back down.

He plunges back in. Arms out, hands waving.

Hits something. Other hands. They latch on and he pulls.

Nothing. She doesn’t budge. She breaks the surface again, sputtering and gagging. Must be pinned by something. He ducks under. Finds her body. Finds something pulled taut. The strap on her shoulder—her bag of holding.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His knife is quite sharp. It slices through leather as it slices through rope. She immediately surges up and he pulls hard against her. They both surface gasping, choking, he undead and her very, very much alive.

He has to drag her the few steps back to shore. Tries to listen through the damned flood and the slosh of their steps and her very understandable hacking, to catch—there. The fast thump of her heart. A strong pulse. Frightened. But there and steady in the dark.

Someone with him.

Not alone.

He almost sags.

“Come on darling,” he says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Previous - Index - Next

[unsoundedcomic]

Is Ruckmearkha more or less representative of how most Efheby behave? I feel bad for most of the Senet beasts, and would want to take steps to see them preserved, but then Ruck does his thing and I think back to Bastions off-hand comment about exterminating Efheby and am persuaded that if I lived in Kasslyne I’d agree that they at least should be eradicated. Horrid creatures, presuming they’re all similar to Ruck.

If you look at the extra_art tag on Patreon, you'll find a short story about Bastion and another efheby named Evelyn Five-Eyes. Evelyn has some interesting thoughts on humans, her species, and their relationship.

We're well-used to being our world's apex predators but Kasslynians have only recently achieved that with the invention of pymarics and spellburns. Not so long ago it was efheby and the stormfolk who nearly always won in a confrontation, and who were known for violently and frequently removing humans from existence. Waterwomen were fiercely protective of the waterways, and efheby were fiercely protective of their terrestrial roaming grounds and tunnels, keeping humans confined to cities and the roadways that connected them. This was the infancy of the spiderpaws, when efheby earned their reputation as the Enemies of Man.

Now, as the senet population dwindles, people forget this and stop considering them much of a threat. But the senets remember. They were gods once. Now they've been forced to an inferior status by the rise of humanity. They have excellent reasons to hate them and to press every advantage and exploit every opportunity.

Ruckmearkha is unique in the relationships he tries to form with humans, treating them with more respect than other snakes would. He realises the prey has outgrown the predator, and tells himself that he loves mankind now, that he's proud of it.

But the wrong move, the wrong sound, and he leaps to kill. He can't help himself, no efheby can. They were the pressure designed to grow human intellect, to kill off the unfit. For all that Ruck savours a quality human being, he also exults in destroying the inferior ones. It's what the snakemen do!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Bogeyman

CR 10

Neutral Evil Medium Fey

Bestiary 3, pg. 42 (pic taken from Adventure Path: Extinction Curse: Legacy of the Lost God, pg. 79)

For years, FOR! YEARS! I’ve wanted to do an article on the Bogeyman. This monster has a very special spot in my heart, because around 10 years ago when I was just getting into tabletop stuff, I found a copy of Bestiary 3 on a game store shelf and flicked it open. After flicking past Behemoths and Asura, the most striking image to hit my eyes was what appeared to be a clown in a jaunty tophat and an absolutely menacing set of chompers. While by no means my favorite creature in Bestiary 3, my earliest memory of Pathfinder content was seeing that garish purple-and-red beast masquerading as a human, and as such the Bogeyman held a special place in my heart.

Which made it absolutely heartbreaking when my every attempt at extracting its picture from the PDF for use on this blog ended up looking HIDEOUS in a way my brain couldn’t reconcile with. As such, my first-ish exposure to Pathfinder languished... up until recently, with the release of 2nd Edition and a whole host of updated art for a WHOLE bunch of critters! While this Bogeyman isn’t my favorite--I’ll always love the bright purple bastard from 3--it certainly still portrays the mood of the Bogeyman in a way I enjoy. There’s plenty of Fey who cause fear for their own amusement, more than a few who eat it in some fashion, but Bogeymen are fear. They’re terror incarnate, they’re living nightmares, they’re the villain of a thousand stories and they know it, they revel in it, they wear it on their sleeves!

Bogeyman delight in finding singular victims and haunting them for days or even weeks, silently lurking under beds, within closets, in attics, or in basements, occasionally using Ghost Sound to create eerie noises, Darkness to cut the lights, or even Invisibility to quietly stalk their victims from their very own shadows until the haunted soul is on the verge of a breakdown. They’re artisans of terror, delicately crafting every moment of their target’s life of fear, plaguing them with Nightmares by night and by day whispering horrid thoughts into the victim’s ears from an invisible vantage point, making them lash out against friends and family to assure they’re entirely isolated when the malevolent Fey finally decides to end their lives. 

Like many creeping terrors, Bogeymen prefer to keep out of combat unless they’re sure they can win, remaining in the background otherwise. Unlike many creeping terrors, this should by no means make you think they’ll fold easily. They have high saves for their CR, DR 15/cold iron, and 21 SR, but their most infuriating defense is their ability to go invisible at will. Bogeymen are as maddeningly patient in combat as they are when seasoning their victims, flitting in and out of sight with Invisibility and exploiting their titanic +35 to Stealth checks to slither among combatants and find out where they’re weakest, physically and emotionally. Even an invisible Bogeyman can make use of its +28 to Intimidation checks to shake up anyone who can hear it speak as it waits for an opening, something it’s very keen on doing because as you may expect, Bogeymen are all about fear!

They live for fear, gaining Fast Healing 5 if someone within 30ft of them is suffering from any level of it. 30ft is, coincidentally, the range of their Deepest Fear aura, and illusion that shapes itself into the worst fears of anyone who views it. Failing a DC 25 Will save means you’re shaken as long as you’re in the aura, but succeeding the save renders one immune to it for 24 hours... but that just won’t do, will it? We can’t have someone NOT be afraid, so if someone succeeds and maintains a brave face, the Bogeyman disappears once more to Intimidate them, either through the skill check or with their claws. Their 1d8+1 damage claws aren’t really all that scary, but the burst of +6d6 from their Sneak Attack will probably make both the character AND the player jump. Both claws crit on a 19 or 20, and being critically hit by their claws causes Striking Fear to mount up. Failing another DC 25 Will save while already suffering from a fear effect compounds the fear, moving shaken to frightened, frightened to panicked, and panicked to paralyzed with fear (and thus vulnerable to being torn to shreds by Sneak Attack). While relying on crits is... well, unreliable at best, someone being hit even once while already shaken removes that person from the fight for several rounds, as frightened creatures must flee unless cornered, potentially giving the Fey deadly amounts of breathing room so it can recover and slip away... or savage a different, more vulnerable target.

Or just instantly kill someone who’s proven they’re a threat to it. For whatever demonic reason, Paizo decided to give them 3 castings of Quickened Phantasmal Killer each day! The moment it pops out of invisibility to Sneak Attack someone, it may be able to just take out someone else nearby with a glance! If your party doesn’t have any protection from fear, an encounter with a Bogeyman may go from tough to unwinnable in a single round.

If you can weather their initial Sneak Attack and have a way to counter their invisibility (like a sack of flour), things get much simpler. Adding onto that, anything that’s not afraid of them, either because it passed its save against the aura or was unaffected by it in the first place (in case you needed another reason to put Unbreakable Heart in your spell list), takes an enormous bite out of its offense and its defense and can potentially leave it floundering. Even with that weakness, Bogeymen still have access to Hold Person at 3/day to use against creatures they cannot terrify and Suggestion at will to manipulate them so they’re not ENTIRELY helpless against Paladins; keep that in mind if you’re going fey-hunting!

As a closing note, it’s a little funny to me that Bogeymen don’t actually have Darkvision, so their at-will Darkness--which would otherwise be an excellent tool to get in more Sneak Attacks--is just as much and impediment to them as it is to everyone else. It’s also extremely ironic that they’re not immune to fear effects, so any telepathic creature that succeeds against their Phantasmal Killer can turn it back around against them, potentially killing them with their own ability!

You can read more about them here.

[karniss-bg3]

Hearts of Glass

A/N: This is a commission for @valdieball for his character Keladin paired with Kar'niss. This will be multi-chaptered.

Characters: Original Drow Male (Keladin) x Kar'niss

Word Count: 3,273

Location: Moonrise Towers

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3, Dungeons and Dragons

Content Warnings: Arachnophobia, story contains driders and fantasy elements.

Summary: Awoken in the middle of the night by a terrible nightmare, Keladin finds himself in desperate need to be soothed. The drow opts to take his lyre and climb to the top of Moonrise towers in search for a private spot to play. He wouldn't be left alone for long, soon confronted by the towers guardian; the drider, Kar'niss.

[AO3 Mirror]

***

“Run!”

The cry rattled in Keladin’s skull, pulsing within his eardrums. He recognized the voice that belted the command; a soft, feminine tone that he’d nearly forgotten after all this time. His vision was consumed by darkness unending, surrounded on all sides by walls of pitch black, leaving him blind to his environs. He tried to follow the order given yet he found his legs declined to obey, locking the drow in place by way of self inflicted paralysis.

“Keladin, hurry!”

The voice echoed throughout his prison bouncing off of unseen walls. He felt as if he may suffocate under the pressure to flee but why did his body refuse to retreat? Keladin opened his mouth to speak yet nary a sound left him. To will even the faintest sound felt as if it took a monumental amount of energy to conjure. His heart drummed behind his rib cage, a deafening sound that increased his anxiety. He wanted to call out to her and to prevent what he already knew would come.

“Oh Gods...Keladin! Keep running, get out, they’re going to—“

Her words were cut off by a horrid scream. It surged with such force that the darkened room in which he stood shattered like glass. Chunks fell away from the walls, ceiling and floor like pieces of obsidian. This sent the drow into a straight free fall, tumbling endlessly into the darkness below.

“Vaelic!”

Keladin sat up like a shot in his bed. His two-toned eyes were wide and his body was slick with sweat. Vaelic’s name still burned on his lips while he sucked in frantic pulls of air. He lifted one of his hands only to notice a tremble on his fingers. He clamped his palm to his face then ran those darkened fingers through his pale, shoulder length hair. It was rare for him to dream during his trance state and even rarer for the past to haunt him like this. He was certain those days were long behind him especially now that the Absolute had taken him under their wing. What good did his prior life in the Underdark do for him now? One thing he knew for sure, he needed air and a way to calm his nerves. His hands were anything but steady yet that didn’t stop the drow from collecting the lyre propped up at the side of his bed. In times of need he knew the instrument was one thing he could always count on and he needed that comfort now more than ever.

The hour was late and thus he sought a secluded spot in which to play. Keladin knew better than to leave the grounds of Moonrise towers. The shadow curse was in full swing and even the melodic strumming of his lyre wouldn’t be enough to keep the beasts at bay. There was one spot he knew he could go but it wasn’t entirely unoccupied. Moonrise had a single drider occupant under its roof and to many he was unstable and frightening. Keladin was off-put by Lolth’s “abomination” when he first arrived. Driders were little more than reminders of Her cruelty as well as the failure of those drow who didn’t perform in an optimal way. Keladin often wondered if that would’ve been his fate had he not escaped the Underdark. The very thought made him shiver but he refused to let the idea linger. Instead he threw on a cloth shirt and began to make his way up the long, winding staircase which led to the top of a tower.

***

Perched atop the tallest stone battlement, a single drider stood alone. His long locks of white hair hung heavy on either side of his scarred face. Weighed down by dirt and grime the once illustrious strands had lost much of their bounce and brilliance. The drider, known as Kar’niss, seemed to be lost in thought. His clawed hands clasped a wooden shaft attached to a lantern whose radiant light fought back against the ever looming shadows.

“Yes, Majesty...we hear you,” Kar’niss mumbled. “To be close to you, it is all we’ve ever dreamed. We will shepherd your faithful, we will remain loyal, it is us who serves you without question.”

It appeared that the drider was talking to himself, or to one of the many voices occupying his fractured mind. None could ever tell and most didn’t care enough to discover the truth of the matter. Each word was accompanied by a growling thrill that vibrated in the depths of his chest, a constant reminder that he was forever changed. While he spent much of his time alone in this very spot to be close to his “Queen” he never considered himself unattended. He had his Majesty, what more could he possibly need?

Kar’niss’ train of thought was broken when his ears caught the creaking sound of the tower door swinging open. This was enough to cease communication with the Absolute and prompt him to swivel around in search of the culprit. Eight thin, pointed legs afforded him swift movement, able to turn on a coin with little trouble. Kar’niss caught sight of Keladin as he stepped out into the open. All seven eyes followed the drow with caution. He was aware that Keladin was a True Soul and perhaps that is what earned him respite from Kar’niss’ nagging.

The night air hung heavy, stagnant and still. Despite this Keladin wouldn’t be deterred. He had grown accustomed to the gloomy atmosphere that permeated throughout the landscape. The drow took a seat on top of one of the many crates scattered over the area with his instrument clutched close to his person. He inhaled a deep lungful of air and put his full concentration into playing. His nimble fingers plucked at each individual string with accuracy and care as if pulling the music from the core of his soul. The more he played the more he felt the pull of the melody start to take over. Keladin began to sway gently in time with the rhythm while keeping his eyes closed. Visions danced within his mind, aiding in pushing away the dark thoughts once housed there. Steadily, the anxiety would melt away, allowing his muscles to relax and keep his focus clear.

Kar’niss, close to the source as he was, turned his head to look in the direction of the musician. His pointed ears honed in on the tune and he found himself mesmerized by it. Not many in the tower played music and the few who did weren’t up to the drider’s lofty standards. This new arrival piqued his interest in a way few ever did and now he wanted to know more. As Keladin continued to strum in perfect harmony he’d find he was unaware of the stealthy approach coming his way. A skilled creature of ambush and surprise, the drider had little trouble inching his way closer to the drow, his long legs making nary a sound. Both clawed hands clasped the shaft of his moon lantern keeping it close to his chest while reddish-orange pearls locked onto the back of Keladin’s head. Kar’niss stopped when he was a few feet away from his quarry, close enough to listen but not close enough to be within striking distance. To say he had trust issues was an understatement.

Keladin may not have noticed the initial approach but he soon became privy to the many eyes on him yet this didn’t impede his strumming in the slightest. While he preferred to play alone there weren’t many places here where privacy was afforded and this wasn’t the first time he had to perform for an audience. While his initial instinct was to hold distrust for the drider, considering his history, he knew that no other in their ranks worshiped and adored the Absolute more than Kar’niss. Somehow, this was a comfort to him, to think he’d have an ally of equal measure in devout loyalty. Or at least he hoped Kar’niss would be his ally, only time would tell.

The tune wafted across the battlement and the bard lost himself to the engaging refrain. Kar’niss’ pedipalps twitched against his torso, reacting to the chorus as if they wished to dance but the drider refused to allow them the pleasure. Instead he leaned in just a little further, closing that distance between them inch by inch. His breath hitched in his throat as if he was prepared to say something but his internal doubts put a stop to that. Gradually the song began to die down, the movement of Keladin’s fingers easing up to pluck the final few notes, ending the beautiful ballad. For a moment complete silence was restored to the tower, only broken by the drow himself.

“Was it to your liking?” Keladin asked, his eyes still closed. The tone of his voice was calm and even lacking any sort of aggression toward the drider.

Kar’niss jerked his head back once addressed. He took a few cautious steps away from Keladin and his muscles tensed beneath the hardened chitin that covered his arms and torso.

“It was...better...than the silence that came before it,” Kar’niss said.

The drow shifted on the crate while a smirk crept across his lips. “I suppose that is as high a compliment as I could ask for.”

The drider’s legs shuffled nervously beneath him. “The hour is late. Why is the True Soul here?” Kar’niss asked.

His brows knit and he side eyed the drider. “Please, call me Keladin...if you don’t mind.” He feathered his fingertips over the strings on the lyre. “The title of True Soul doesn’t suit me.” He inhaled a faint breath before he turned to better face Kar’niss. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to play for a little while. If I am disturbing you I can move elsewhere.”

Kar’niss tipped his chin up by a hair then shook his head. “We will not command your departure. The lyre makes better company than nattering goblins.”

Keladin chuckled and plucked a single string on the instrument. “True.” He paused while his two-toned eyes lifted to get a better look at him. This wasn’t their first encounter but it was the first while they were off duty, so to speak. “You’re Kar’niss, right?”

The question made Kar’niss blink with some confusion while his hands squeezed the wooden staff tighter. “That is our name, yes. We aren’t addressed as such often.”

“Mm, I’ve heard a few of the colorful nicknames some have chosen for you. I don’t understand the reason. We’re all here to serve the Absolute and do Her will. There is no sense in squabbling with one another if we are to fulfill our purpose,” Keladin said.

Kar’niss sucked in a sharp breath and took several quick steps toward Keladin. “Yes! We are Her Majesty’s faithful, Her guardians! She bestowed us with this gift.” Kar’niss held out the moon lantern, it’s glow strong enough to push back the perpetual darkness. It did well to illuminate his monstrous features including the many blackened ovals peppered over his forehead; Keladin’s face reflected on their glossy surface. “She entrusted it to us.” Kar’niss’ tone dripped with pride.

He smiled as he viewed the intricate lantern with some interest. Its brilliance shone over the navy hue of Keladin’s skin tone, accentuating the waxy material of his prosthetic blue eye on the right side of his face. The more he studied Kar’niss the more his body language told him what he wished to know. He could already discern that he wasn’t like the other driders back home. He held a higher level of intelligence but more importantly he had something other driders lacked—self preservation.

“It’s a beautiful lantern worthy of its guardian...,” he trailed off a moment to think, “Is this spot where you live? I don’t see you much inside the building.”

Kar’niss shrugged. “We go where our Queen tells us to go. We stay up here to be closer to Majesty, to better hear Her voice. We live no where and every where and we are happy for it.”

“I see,” Keladin said. “Then you and I are of the same mind. I only wish to serve. The Absolute is the first place I’ve found where men are treated equal to women. I couldn’t find salvation with the spider queen, I couldn’t find salvation with Eilistraee, but here…,” he trailed off and turned his sights over the stone wall, peering out into the distance as far as the shadows would allow, “...I am worthy.”

This statement struck Kar’niss in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Not only did these words come from a drow, but it was rare that any here shared the same level of passion for the Absolute as himself. For a moment he found himself speechless as he stared at Keladin, observing him with quiet contemplation and intrigue. His legs clicked against the stone floor while he ushered himself closer to the bard, keen to get a better look at him. Kar’niss lowered himself without warning and invaded Keladin’s space, their gazes meeting now that he was at eye level to the drow. Naturally, Keladin was startled by the sudden intrusion and leaned back out of instinct.

An intense moment was shared between them as the two stared at one another. Keladin hadn’t been this close to a drider before least of all under friendly circumstances. Horrifying as some of his features may have been, there was a part of the bard that found portions of Kar’niss to be fascinating; even if the circumstances of his transformation were no doubt tragic.

“Did—Did I say something wrong?” Keladin asked, his tone hushed.

Kar’niss pressed his lips into a thin line and lowered the lantern to grant them a reprieve from its blinding luminescence. “No.” He leaned back and chose not to elaborate on the sudden shift. “If True Soul—Keladin wishes to play here you may do so. Our Queen will be pleased to know you honor Her with your gifts.”

The drow tipped his head to the side and shifted the position of the lyre in his lap. Kar’niss was aggressive toward most others in the tower, keeping his distance and snarling at any who got in his way. So for him to willingly invite Keladin into a place he considered sacred was indeed an honor and a privilege.

“I will take that offer to heart. Thank you, Kar’niss,” Keladin said.

The drider nodded and turned his head to look away from him as if a sudden surge of shyness had overcome him. It was clear that he wasn’t the most adept at social situations. When Kar’niss turned away Keladin noticed something had become tangled in Kar’niss’ hair.

“Ah, hold still a moment. You have something stuck in your hair,” Keladin said as he slid off of the crate and stood upright, placing the lyre aside.

“What?” Kar’niss reached up and touched over his locks carefully. “I do not feel it.”

“Lower your body and I can get it out, won’t take a moment.”

Kar’niss seemed hesitant, skeptical even. Drow were known to slit the throat of driders for fun, their hatred of his kind strong and everlasting. But since they had bonded over their mutual love and respect for the Absolute it did earn the bard a speck of trust; at least enough to make Kar’niss comply. The drider took a few steps closer to Keladin while pedipalps wiggled beneath his belly button, then lowered himself into the range of the drow’s reach. Keladin used his skilled fingers to gently tug at the strands and dislodge the unknown object within. It took some finesse on his part as he didn’t want to damage the drider’s hair or cause him discomfort which could disrupt their budding road to friendship. Kar’niss hissed through his teeth with minor discomfort as he wasn’t accustomed to having anyone this close.

Soon Keladin pulled the foreign mass from his wavy locks and examined it. It turned out to be a few dead leaves likely blown in on the intermittent winds. While he’d finished the task he didn’t alert the drider immediately. Rather he took the time to study Kar’niss’ features up close while he could, admiring his strong features and pale complexion. His fingertips reached out to caress the hardened chitin following his jawline. It had a rough, uneven texture and yet it was somehow pleasant to the touch. Kar’niss didn’t seem to feel the touches or if he did he wasn’t interested in commenting on the matter. Keladin started to grow concerned as he felt the growing urge to explore further. Curiosity killed cats but it could strike down a drow just as easily.

“Did you get it?” Kar’niss asked.

The broken silence made the bard jolt and he jerked his hand back with some mild embarrassment to follow. “A-Ah yes. It was just a few rogue leaves.” He held up the evidence for Kar’niss to see.

“Hmph,” Kar’niss snorted. He used his gnarled digits to scoop up the leaves from Keladin’s palm. He curled his fingers and crushed them to dust then shook out his hand, letting the remaining particles catch the breeze. “A waste of time, but we thank you all the same.”

“Of course.”

Keladin felt a little awkward for letting himself get carried away. His purpose was to serve the Absolute and he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by feelings. The past taught him one valuable lesson; feelings were a good way to get you killed.

“Mm, I should return to my quarters. It would do well to get what rest I can before the morning roll call.” Keladin picked up his lyre and smiled up at the drider. “I’m glad you enjoyed the music. Perhaps...I can play for you again soon,” he paused, “for the Absolute, I mean.”

Kar’niss rolled his shoulders as he lifted the lantern, a metallic squeaking audible as it swayed side to side. “Very well. Do as you will, Keladin. We will be here, bathing in Her Majesty’s light.”

“For the Absolute,” Keladin saluted and turned to head back to the tower door.

“For the Absolute,” Kar’niss repeated as he watched the bard leave.

It was a strange encounter, at least as far as the drider was concerned. He returned to his perch at the edge of the tower, overlooking the area as a faithful guardian should. Without warning he felt a peculiar tingling sensation crawling over his jawline precisely where Keladin had touched. Kar’niss reached up and ran his claw tips over the area, perplexed by the sensation. It was warm, it was inviting, but he couldn’t understand its origin. He craned his head to look up, the faintest glow of the moon barely breaking through the shadows suffocating the sky.

“You sent him to me, Majesty?” Kar’niss whispered. “Thank you, my Queen. We will treasure your second gift to us. We are worthy, he is worthy.”

Kar’niss stayed perched in place and resumed muttering to himself but this time with a bit more purpose in his speech. Keladin returned to his quarters and flopped into bed, staring up at the ceiling while his forearm rested across his hairline. He didn’t know how to feel about the exchange between himself and Kar’niss but he knew he couldn’t stop thinking about him. A second performance would need to be sooner rather than later if he ever hoped to sate his curiosity about this eccentric drider.

After everything he’d endured, after all he’d seen, he deserved a little something for himself.

He’d earned that much.

[housecatclawmarks]

jokes aside tho when u see people posting abt their dinner of redbull and 3 carrots or whatever like ‘teehee:) girl dinner’ or depression meal or whatever it is very important to be like ‘what does this mean. bodies need more than that??’ Etc. ‘I don’t get it r u having more later??’ If ur at work/school ‘I don’t think this is really appropriate discussion material’. dont shame people but don’t let them normalize diet talk using memes and phrases made to make it seem like smth different quirky and fun. ppl feel so entitled to talk about dieting, calorie restriction, undereating etc as if they’re understandable, good, and normal bc our fatphobic society has conditioned them that way and they r committed to perpetuating it and think they can just get away with saying that shit. wall of verbal defense against this rhetoric around you and your social circles and especially the children and teens in ur life at all times. shut it down. their filthy fatphobia. our sacred meals. if you see a horrid beast (calorie/diet discusser) evolving, push it back in.

[maxwell-grant]

So yesterday was my birthday and I invited a friend over to watch some movies we’d been each putting off. He showed me They Live, which I’d somehow never seen, for the first time, and I repaid the favor by breaking his brain with Speed Racer and letting him see how everyone ever was 100% wrong about that movie at release and it is in fact the best thing ever, but in regards to They Live:

I expected a good time and had a really great one. I knew about it’s central alien allegory, and how it’s been co-opted by anti-semitic memes and right-wingers who think they’re being cute. I knew it inspired dialogue in Duke Nukem, I knew it was a John Carpenter film starring Roddy Piper with Keith David in it, and that was it. I was blissfully unaware of everything else, including the fact that it somehow winds up being a spiritual successor of “The Challenge of the Beyond”, the pulp writer round robin exercise nowadays most famous for it’s H.P Lovecraft - Robert E.Howard parts.

There’s a post on it that floats around regularly and I’ll link here for better explanation, but in short: Lovecraft’s section of this story had the protagonist George faint from terror constantly and go mad after turning into a giant alien centipede, which was followed by Robert E.Howard immediately retconning said madness in his opening line and having the character embrace his new life as a horrid centipede beast in a new planet and go on a conquering rampage of “titanic adventure” as George the Centipede Barbarian. I bring up George the Centipede Barbarian not because it’s funny, but because They Live intentionally pulled off a very similar kind of brutal tonal dissonance.

They Live is very comparable to The Thing in the sense that it is a 50s concept told through 80s filmmaking and distorted accordingly, to the extent that the black and white parts are not just colored differently, but shot differently from the rest of the film in a way that’s far more reminiscent of 50s horror films. Our protagonist is an 80s meathead cowboy who lives in a struggling urban landscape with mysteries and horrors he never quite understood but continue to plague him and those around him, and he has a moment of truth when he puts on magical sunglasses and finds out that he’s been living in a Twilight Zone episode the whole time, and so has everyone. The black and white allegorical terrors won and have been running everything all along, and that is the point the episode should end with our protagonist horrified and broken, “wouldn’t that be fucked up / doesn’t this remind you of something / these horrors are real” message conveyed, episode over.

Except our protagonist is an 80s meathead cowboy, so instead of surrendering to the horrors after finding out everything is a monstrous lie, he fights back with a shotgun and a bag of one-liners. Dude just immediately, like not even 10 minutes after he first puts on the glasses, starts blasting alien cops and bankers and spaceships. I really did not think that “bubblegum” one-liner happened that early in the movie. This dissonance would have been wonderful regardless but it helps that it’s done so intentionally.

I really didn’t expect that the movie was this 100% completely blatantly unsubtle about the true nature of the alien ghouls as bloodsucking capitalists. It’s not some veiled allegory that can be left to interpretation, the movie tells you repeteadly and explicitly what it is about. The film tells you that the aliens are weaponizing communist paranoia to gain control over cops, preceding a line “We'll do anything to be rich” and then a description of them as “They are free enterprisers. Earth is just another developing planet, their third world” is actual dialogue from the film and that’s just before we learn the aliens all wear expensive watches, that most of the cops going around brutally gunning down the resistance are humans who sold out, and get scenes of the aliens and humans standing around in suits congratulating each other on profit margins. I don’t meant this as an insult but it’s frankly cartoonish in how unsubtle it is, it’s insulting that John Carpenter even had to set the record straight with Yes This Was About Capitalism and Reagan and Yuppie Bloodsuckers You Stupid Fucks like the movie isn’t hammering the point constantly.

If you haven’t watched it, did anyone ever tell you that the inciting incident of the movie is the protagonist being radicalized by police brutality? Yeah, funny, nobody ever talks about what happens in the movie before George puts on the sunglasses. The first 20 or so minutes are about the protagonist, George Nada, arriving in the city and struggling to find a job or place to stay and being offered one by Keith David’s character Frank, who takes him to a homeless community. They have a handful of dialogues together where Frank repeteadly expresses a cynical viewpoint towards life under You-Know-What, over opportunities turning into traps and steel mills giving themselves raises by screwing workers over, and George brushes him off stating he still believes in America, he still believes in getting a fair shot.

George is quickly and immediately reduced to horrified bystander as the police storms his community and destroys their church and goes around beating up them up and evicting tents by bulldozer, while George runs around trying to help and save at least one of them. The next time we see him, he puts on the sunglasses and learns the awful truth and starts his rampage (framed in no uncertain terms as an act of revolution) by doing, what else, shooting cops. Or, well, aliens who approach him as cops and tell him that, now that he sees them, they can work out a deal to profit together if he just goes quietly. The movie makes it as obvious as it could possibly make it.

So yeah, watch They Live, it’s Duke Nukem vs The Twilight Zone’s Episode on Capitalism (with Extended “Guys Being Dudes” Action, I’m glad I didn’t know about that alleyway fight scene beforehand). Also watch Speed Racer, it’s glorious, and it has the exact same villains. Had a really great time yesterday with both.

[yojeongin]

DON’T BLAME THE LOVECATS — PROLOGUE

→neighbor!jaemin x neighbor f!reader

genre: social media au, neighbors au, fluff, angst, enemies to friends to lovers, humor

synopsis: smtown welcomes yn warmly but a horrid encounter between their cats leads to jaemin doing exactly the opposite. even with efforts to mend this, it’s a little too late for it and both parties will have to make due.

word count: 1742

m.list | previous | next

But anger blinded Jaemin. He was past furious that he saw your gentle patting towards his cat as a harsh scolding almost as if you were beating her. Blinking a few times before he snatched her from under your soft petting, careful enough to not grace her wounded area.

“I’m sorry about Mini—“

“I’m sorry about Mini—“

“Just keep your fucking cat away from her! What kind of owner are you letting a cat roam around new areas unattended?!”

His labored breaths clogged up his throat. Jaemin was worried sick about Dooie and her health. In any other occasion he would’ve taken the situation lightly and tried to reason but he couldn’t get the idea of losing her out of his head so anything regarding her made him act irrational.

“I didn’t— he ran out—“ flabbergasted with the way he spoke to you, your sentences came out choppy. You had processed the situation easily but he was making you contemplate that.

The cats had accidentally ran into each other that the impact set off a fight or flight instinct in both of them. You were sure if they had time nothing would’ve escalated past some hisses and arched backs where you could’ve had time to pick up Minino and taken him inside. But this happened so fast that all you did was comfort them both after the separation. You thought you had done a good job on calming both of them but he didn’t.

Letting out a disappointed scoff, “You don’t have to be such an ass, they’re okay. It was a spur of moment and don’t ever curse at him.” You couldn’t believe your first day moving in had already gone horrible. You had imagined that any neighbor rivalry would start months later or maybe never but here you were picking up Minino once again and giving his own cat an apologetic smile.

“Just leave us alone, now I have to take her to the vet again. Who knows where your cat has been.” He lets out in a murmur. His words while not too vile did spark some rage in you. He spoke about your baby as if he was a filthy beast that wasn’t taken care of. As if there was no care and even if he was an uncared for cat his words still sounded horrible.

Turning on your heel, you walked towards him with full determination and no holding back on your words. Whatever was going on with him he shouldn’t take it out on you or anyone else. What fault did Minino have for him to be so cruel?

“Stop treating him like filth, he’s not and even if he was a stray or uncared for cat you sound like such a dick.” Your words left him speechless but his pride made it look like he didn’t care which seemed to make things worse.

Jeno and Sunwoo had rushed down upon hearing some bickering. With heavy breathing both men made their way towards the both of you, hurrying you away from the confrontation point. Both of them were feeling very upset at how this guy had just spoken to you and your cat.

They knew you held Minino very dearly to you and any offense towards him was an offense towards you. It made things worse for Jeno since he had thought Jaemin was a nice tenant all these years he had been living in the building but when a friend of his has been crossed, the offender was dead to him.

“Don’t come near her or I won’t respond.” Sunwoo broke the silence, tongue poking against his cheeks. Jeno nodded in agreement hoping the message was sent but Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows with a dry mocking scoff, leaving both of them behind as he made his way towards the car with the mission of getting Dooie checked in case the scratches and bites had broken the skin barrier.

It wasn’t until hours later that Jaemin had arrived back home completely exhausted. All he wanted to was take his lovely Dooie in and sleep for the remainder of the night, not even caring about his remaining work.

Jaemin’s head turned to his side seeing his sleeping cat look ever so peaceful. He sighed to himself, thankful for another day she was healthy enough. Just like Minino was dear to you, Dooie was to him. His parents had given her to him as company years ago when he decided to move out for work.

They hoped she’d keep him company in his days and minutes of solitude for they knew living on your own and in the city was lonely. Things were worse when Jaemin had a history of horrible coping mechanisms and they feared their golden boy would resort to them again. In a way she’s saved him from many downfalls and for that he was thankful.

“You have to be careful next time. Please…” he begged in a murmur, cradling his darling in his arms as he struggled to unlock the door to his shared apartment. Upon managing to do so, the next door of the once vacant apartment had opened giving him access to those inside and those coming out.

His once calm demeanor had turned into what Dooie and Minino experienced earlier: fight or flight. Tense in his spot and clutching his cat when seeing your face, the both of you looked at each other startled.

“You have to be kidding.” You whine, pinching the bridge of your nose. Just when you thought things could be better, the universe had decided to curse you with the fact that your neighbor was that raging asshole from earlier.

It was left at that. Jaemin had entered the apartment before another argument could start. He was tired and he didn’t want to go to sleep angry and if avoiding you was all it will take then so be it.

“I’m not too thrilled myself.” Jaemin scoffs with the intake of your disgusted tone. He had thought about apologizing while on his way back now that he had cooled down but you still seemed angry that he couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling.

That would’ve been better than to what had progressed was it not for Mark’s meddling. Minutes after he had arrived, his friend knocked on his bedroom door begging the younger to please bake him some brownies.

During such laborious process, Jaemin had updated Mark on the situation. While he expected his friend to comfort him, Mark remained quiet knowing he didn’t agree much with his friend. Though he knew where he was coming from, he still couldn’t agree with him. After all this didn’t sound like something cat loving Jaemin would say. He’s always been such a lovely foster owner and accepted any cat no matter how sickly.

“Yeah… yeah you did fuck up I won’t lie.” Now both men leaned against the counter, chewing with open mouths to let out the burning vapor of the freshly taken out brownies.

“I know you’re doing it out of love but giving her an apology is the least you could do. She was there in the wrong place at the wrong time and you took it out on her. She didn’t deserve it so how about you give her these left over brownies and you can make more once you’re done.” Palming his back followed by a wink, Mark sends off his friend with a Tupperware full of warm brownies that fogged up the container.

While in it’s time it sounded like a good plan, right now Jaemin’s pride was consuming him. He knew he was wrong and he knew he should do this but a part of him was telling him to fuck it. He couldn’t handle apologizing to someone that rightfully called him a dick, even if he deserved it.

Yet here he was pacing in front of your door, everyone of your friends was gone and you were left alone with your cat. Ignoring the threats from your friends, he finally knocks on your door. His heart beating with the rhythm of each knock but his getting increasingly harsher.

‘Easy. Just apologize, give them to her, and apologize again. That easy…’ he convinced himself. Jaemin was nervous enough that his hand began to sweat and it got worse when the door swung open. Revealing you in your PJs with headphones on.

While you were a smart girl, occasionally you’d have your moments off and lost your precaution. This was one of them that you didn’t look through the peep hole and opened the door in hopes it was one of your friends returning to spend your first night there.

But it wasn’t. It was that aggravating presence that you’ve found was your immediate neighbors with a tupper in hand and a slight nervous look to him.

“Hi, I jus—“

You didn’t let him finish. Slamming the door as harsh as you could in his face, scoffing at his audacity. “I thought you wanted us to stay away from you!” You made sure to let out before returning to your bedroom, leaving him behind that same door once again.

Jaemin knew he deserved this but his pride would always get in the way and this only hurt his ego. He couldn’t believe he had felt horrible for his earlier actions. That he had thought about welcoming you warmly like he and Mark had for past tenants, some of them being your own friends but he could forget about that.

If war is what you wanted, then war is what you would get.

taglist: @bbymatz @dandelionxgal @multieonnie @johnniverse @lunaryoongie

let me know if you’d like to join the taglist!

[thegreatderp]

An Aspiring Author's First Chapter: A Novel Three Years In The Making.

Chapter One

“We lost sight of our humanity; I refuse to be used as a tool anymore. Immortality was something we should’ve never reached for.” -Final Log by Head Assistant Researcher Quinn Xiatu: Terminated. - End report: Devlin 2470.

Vontier’s blood pumped; the feeling of the adrenaline would never get old. The excitement, the rush of the brisk, cool air through your hair, the sweat beading down your head, and the feeling of the cold metal while firing a pistol. Dead leaves left behind by the fall crunched underneath the weight of Vontier’s thick boots. He laughed maniacally through the thick fog which he could just barely see through, the noise muffled by a near impenetrable black mask worn by Vontier.

He reached the treeline, the terrain quickly changed from a lush, soft green trees and grass to a dusty, rough gray of bleak fields and a rough wasteland. He panted as he sprinted for his ATMV (all terrain Militia vehicle); if he could make it to the vehicle, the hollow point rounds pre-loaded in its turret would shred through the pursuing monsters. As the fog produced from the Predators closed in on Vontier, he reached the vehicle, which sat plainly in the middle of a field. Quickly, he climbed onto the ATMV roof and mounted the turret. The fog had completely enveloped the ATMV: the growls of the Predators echoed through the field as they circled their prey. Vontier’s breath shook, his grip tense. He could feel his heavy and warm breath on his cheeks, reflecting off of the wall of his mask. The fog’s too thick. There has to be at least two adults here. Vontier thought to himself nervously as his thumb anxiously rubbed the grip of the turret. He held the turret in one hand and his MAT-27 in the other, slowly turning in circles, waiting for one of the horrid monsters to pounce. Sweat beaded down his arms to his hands, the handles now slick. Vontier's eyes darted back and forth, attempting to find a glimpse of movement within the suffocating fog. Growl. One of the Predators grew impatient and pounced on the hood of the ATMV. The hood instantly creaked and caved in slightly under the weight of the beast. Its teeth bared, mouth dripping with saliva. Its eyes were bloodshot and its fur thick and sharp. The monster was greeted with the barrel of a machine gun. A snarl was let out from the creature as it stared its death in the face. Vontier smirked as the turret spun to life; the Predator was torn to shreds in seconds, unable to react in time. Clunk! A second Predator jumped behind him ready to consume Vontier; his pistol was faster. Bang! Bang! His shots rang out, adding to the unfolding chaos. Two down. Suddenly, the world turned upside down for Vontier; the final Predator had rammed the vehicle, flipping it. Vontier flew off the turret as a result of the impact. He braced his fall with his arm, expertly taking the landing. His gun thudded in the dirt next to him. “Dusts- That has to be a mutant,” Vontier groaned, now sprawled on the ground a few meters away from the ATMV. The Predator jumped onto the side of the flipped vehicle. It was abnormally large, which meant a larger core, it also meant thicker skin. The mutant Predator stalked towards Vontier slowly, analyzing him cautiously after witnessing the death of its two comrades. The eyes, Vontier thought with haste. They’re still weak points. Rolling to his right, Vontier snatched his pistol from the dirt, bracing his legs to protect his body, he turned to the Predator which was now running full speed towards him, aware of the dangerous weapon. Bang! Bang! Bang! The bullets missed the eyes, hitting the reinforced fur of the monster and simply glancing off. The Predator wasted no time closing the distance, taking advantage of Vontier's immobility. Expertly, Vontier used his legs to protect himself from the monster's claws as it swiped at his chest before grabbing the monster’s scruff with his free hand, holding the beast in place. Then, without skipping a beat, he shoved his pistol into the Predator’s eye, immediately piercing the membrane and pulled the trigger, emptying the seven remaining bullets into its head. The monster collapsed onto Vontier, falling still immediately. Vontier rolled the corpse off of him breathing a sigh of relief “Dusting mutants,” Vontier exhaustedly grumbled.

Slowly, Vontier picked himself out of the dust and limped over to the flipped vehicle, his left leg broken and his right in a mess from the Predator. Cautiously, he climbed onto the side and retrieved the gray medkit strapped to its side. Opening the kit, Vontier reached inside and grabbed a green stim and an old rag held within the box. “This is going to hurt,” Vontier groaned, stuffing the dirty rag into his mouth. He paused, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled himself. Here we go, He thought before stabbing his mutilated leg with the stim. The leg bubbled, bulged, and expanded as the flesh regrew at an alarming rate. The leg crunched and grinded as the mysterious liquid in the stim worked to repair the broken bones. It bled as it grew to an abnormal size; like a fat chunk of flesh poorly grafted onto one’s leg, the tissue oozed then shrunk to normal size. Vontier’s eyes watered as he tried and failed not to scream in agony from the pain of the leg. Finally, the leg stopped bubbling and the pain ceased. He looked down at his leg; the once-ruined limb now completely mended and pristine. Vontier spat out the rag, wiped his eyes dry, and let out a sigh of relief. “By the Fall, I hate those dusting stims,” he viciously cursed out loud, his head leaned back. Vontier sighed heavily and collected himself, his heart still beating fast though it was slowing down. He quickly assessed the new situation he was in. “An hour from base, three monster corpses, and a flipped ATMV. Fun,” he sighed. Climbing into the sideways vehicle, Vontier radioed to his guild for support. Suddenly, the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit him like a meteor shower. Well, an hour-long nap would be nice, Vontier thought groggily to himself as he drifted off to sleep, slouched in the sideways seat of the ATMV.

[birdy-the-tweet]

please tell the different story of the dragon hunters! 🙏 I am very interested, mainly because dragons.

OHOHOHOHOHOH OH YOUVE ENABLED ME.

The dragon hunters started up many many centuries ago. They’re a younger division of knights compared to the originals, but their job in the realm is equally as important and more taxing. Think of them like the Hunter’s Guild from Monster Hunter in a way. Macy’s armor is actually themed around the aesthetic of dragon hunters!

Their job is to keep a lookout for dragons and other horrid monsters of the realm so the knights can prioritize the protection of the people and kingdom. Dragons used to be plentiful in Knighton (not a good thing due to their reputations). In fact, every year there used to be a massive migration of dragons that would cross over the land and travel south, endangering many villages and ecosystems in the process. Of course, their power and aggression is all urban legend, only recorded in ancient stories and century old witness accounts, but as of late they had a good reason to believe them as truth.

Dragons were thought to have died out roughly in the year 680. Knighton is 994 in the rewrite, for reference. But not too long ago when Lance was eight, he and a baby Izzy were almost swallowed by a rogue dragon that infiltrated the property around the Richmonds’ winter estate. The beast was slain and the kids were rescued, but it sparked a newfound fear in the hearts of the people and persuaded them to call on the dragon hunters once more. They reside mostly in the north now, for dragons would always fly into Knighton from the north and never return the other way. It’s just another issue the Fox kids had to deal with growing up now.