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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

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emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #Bruce Banner #bun writes #I haven't written shit in a month and boom #6k words in three hours #i don't like the ending #I'm bad at them #okay #okay .

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cowboisadness · 3 years

Text

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

Summery: She was there for Arthur through everything, being more than good friends but less than partners. They support eachother through the good and bad times, it’s not love tho, no, it’s not love at all.

Rating: M. Basically porn with plot. More plot than i planned i really got carried away with this. SMUT IS HERE! 18+ ONLY!!

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Arthur never spoke another word to me, huffing whenever I would say something to him or just walking away from me completely. Everyone else in camp soon noticed something serious had happened between us. Their comforting words and questions on what happened went unanswered and dismissed. I hoped time would help, that I would get a chance to explain myself and apologise for my foolishness and downright stupidity. But as the days passed, the frayed ends of the rope had no chance of being reconnected, no matter how hard I tried and how hard I cried. So I flung myself into as many jobs as I could get. As a distraction.

Robbing homesteads. Stagecoaches that turned into shootouts more often than not. Gambling with fellers that were too drunk to notice me stealing their wears from right under their noses and gone before they realised anything was amiss. Fighting in hidden alleyways with meagre men that thought they could take on a woman with nothing to lose. Just to feel something, another kind of pain that would lessen with time.

It wasn’t until I was sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning my revolver while looking out over the overlook, stars raining bright above. Bottle of whiskey by my side that Hosea came over and sat beside me. Silent at first. Taking in the view.

“You going to explain whats going on?”

“Nothings going on, Hosea.” I shrugged, running the oiled cloth over the same spot mindlessly. “Arthur won’t tell me. I though out of the two of you, you would.” he kept his eyes ahead, not bothering to look at me. I sighed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. I might as well tell him, not like he would be able to change my mind.

“I’m an idiot. I spoke to Mary. Told her to leave Arthur alone and to stop contacting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know anymore...Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You love him.” I could see his grin out of the corner of my eye, albeit a sad on.

“Not you too, Hosea.”

“You two were very close. Closer than you think I realise. I’m not a dumb old man you know”

I didnt reply to that. No point to, my mind was made up now. Instead, I holstered my gun and stood, picking up the bottle as I did. Turning to Hosea to finally look at him.

“I’m leaving, Hosea. Only for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know.”

“You really think leaving will help?” “Maybe. It might help him if I’m not here. I’ll send money and write to you and Dutch. I’ve already packed.” After a few more words and questions on my plans when I’m out there on my own, we hugged and I said my goodbyes to him, Dutch and a few others. Promising the girls I will see them again, even though I was doubtful. I willed no tears to spill when I gathered my things, leaving my tent bare and hollow. Mounting my horse I left camp without looking back, letting the wind guide me in whatever direction it wanted me to go.

---

Roughly 4 months had passed since leaving. Currently holed up in a now-abandoned cabin in the depths of Grizzlies East by O’Creagh’s run, hiding from the law after robbing the fence in Van Horne. Id wrote letters and sent money to nearby stations as promised. Keeping updated with the gangs coming and goings. The last time I heard from those who would write back, mainly Hosea and Mary-Beth, was when they were held up in a place called Shady Belle. I haven’t heard anything from them since. That was a month ago. I had thought of going there, finding them. But I couldn’t bare having to leave again after realising they had been getting on fine and had left me to my own devices. Coming to the conclusion that I was not returning and that I had abandoned them all. Which was far from the truth. I still cared, which I’m sure was evident from whatever leftover money I had been sending to them. Only, it wasn’t getting picked up from the stations anymore, along with my many letters. I was travelling back to the cabin after an evening hunting for supper and hopeful breakfast. The blanket of trees now behind me, opening up the wondrous starry night, pulling my jacket closed as the cold breeze this time of year began to sting any uncovered skin. I looked around before dismounting, taking my kill of two rabbits stowed on the side of my ever faithful horse and made my way inside. Looking around once more to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Just to be safe. As I began to skin and gut the meat, the warm glow from the lantern lighting my every movement in the otherwise dark cabin, I heard motion outside. Bears and wolves were not uncommon around these parts. I had to shoot my way out of a wolf pack not a week ago, coming away with nothing but a bruise on my hip from being bucked off the horse in her desperate attempt to flee. Nevertheless, I placed down the knife and picked up my rifle propped up against the door. Looking out the window to the right of the door. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing else. I went to the door, preparing my rifle then placing my ear to the door. It was silence for a few moments, then movement again, making its way up the steps. It didn’t sound like an animal. With a hand on the handle and rifle ready to be used, I swung the door open. The rifle now aimed at the unwelcomed guest.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness, but it didnt take long to recognise who it was.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. A question of disbelief. I blinked a few times, surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After a few breaths, he finally spoke “I’ve found you.” We just stood there, I released a breath I didnt even know I was holding. How did he find me? Why would he? Months of keeping myself away from people the best I could and staying hidden for long periods of time I was beginning to feel content with being a lone wolf. Not thinking that lone wolves are weakened beings after too long. Often driven out when deemed useless or a weakness to the pack, or leaving to find their own family. Not alone forever, wolves would struggle and go insane.

But he, of all people, found me. The only question now is why. And that was the only thing I could say as I lowered the gun.

“Why?”

He told me everything that happened. The downfall, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Those that we lost. Everyone gone in one way or another. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Saint Denis bank, Guarma, Micah working with the Pinkertons. In the end, Micah had turned Dutch against almost everyone, whispering little worms into his ear until they grew and grew to leave no room for anything else.

Dutch turning his back on Him and John. Leaving John to bleed out and leaving Arthur on that mountain. Where he thought would be his final resting place. But once the sun was up, high in the sky, he found the energy to live. To heal. To find me.

And that’s what he did the last few weeks until he heard whispers of someone fitting my description that caused a bit of hell in Van Horn. He knew he was close.

“But...why did you want to find me?” I asked. Both of us sat around the small table below the window, two empty whiskey glasses before us.

He took in a deep breath, his perfect blue eyes meeting my bloodshot and watery ones. “I wanted to the moment I was told you left,” He leaned over, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few months. Especially in the last few weeks. What you did before you left, I understand now why.”

“But I hurt you.” letting a sob escape, my body starting to tremble and I’m sure he could feel it in my hands.

“It did hurt. But losing you hurt even more,” He said, nothing more than a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine and his hold on my hands not faltering as he continued. “I remember what you said to me that night years ago. ‘Bout not knowing how much I mean to you. Well - I - I do. Because I feel the same. Always have. it just took me a while to realise it I guess.”

I couldn’t stop the tears. The damn had busted open. Within seconds he was on me, his arms enveloping me, my hands coming to purchase on his shirt. Neither of us wanted to let go, out of fear the other would disappear into the air like dust in the morning rays. We held each other for what felt like an eternity, my tears slowing and the shaking subsiding. I lifted my head from where it was perched on his chest to look at him, our eyes locked once more. No words were spoken but I could see it in the depths of those pools, the forgiveness and longing. And I was sure my eyes mirrored the same. His hand came up to cradle my face and I instinctively leaned into him, my breathing hitching despite the calmness that washed over me. Then I looked into his eyes again, only to be met with a look I had not seen in many years. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he surged forward, his lips on mine. It was delicate, more fragile than any other kiss we had shared. It wasn’t long until that fragility turned into desperation, my hands at the nape of his neck, his on my waist. My mind was running a million miles a minute, all thoughts of him and this moment. Feeling like we were young lovers again. His hands roamed my sides as I gripped his hair, keeping each other glued to one another. My body began to burn up, feelings I had repressed for months pushing their way to the surface, refusing to be drowned. We broke apart and he pulled me to stand, his lips now on my neck, trailing wet kisses from below my ear to the hollow of my neck, causing me to moan. He looked at me then, desperation and pleading etched upon his face before I kissed him again. Kissing the scar on his chin that was easily visible within the stubble, his jaw, down to his neck and then his chest. Pushing off his jacket and suspenders with it. My fingers returned to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly as he pushed me back into the direction of the bed. My legs soon coming into contact with the edge. His hands now making a start on my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants and lifting it over my head. My hands roaming his chest and snaking down to his abdomen, stroking the hair there, causing him to tense at my touch. He always was a fine man, built from hard work that I couldn't help but adore. His arms wrapping around to my back to undo the corsets lacing, completely surrounding me and all I could smell was him. Horse, rain, sweat and something that was just so undoubtedly him. Undoing his gun belt was muscle memory, hitting the floor with a thud, my corset following, now both bare from the waist up. We couldn’t wait any longer, our lips on each other once again as we worked on unbuttoning our pants. He leaned me down to lay on the bed, my legs hanging over the sides as he wasted no time to pull off the rest of my clothing. Laying there propped up on my elbows I watched as he raked his eyes over every curve, scar and freckle on my body. Kneeling between my legs he drew kisses from my knee up my thigh, getting oh so close to where I wanted him to be. He looked up at me once more, giving a shuddering breath before his mouth landed between my legs, soft but purposeful strokes easily pulling moans from me. He didn’t let up, devouring me like a man starved as he paid close attention to my little bundle of nerves. My body shaking again but for a whole different reason. It had been too long and I knew I wasn’t going to last if he kept going for a minute longer. My hands fisting the bedsheets I tried to speak but it was useless, squirming from the sensations. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders feeling him moan against me, the vibration causing bolts of electricity to fire through my whole body and land at my core. I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching and my hand flew down to card through his hair, holding him there. My body convulsed as I tipped off the edge, my head rolling back as the blinding pleasure washed over me, moaning his name into the air. Arthur was above kissing me within seconds, tasting myself on his tongue and lips. Catching my breath he pushed me further up the bed until my head hit the plush pillows. Removing his pants and then situating himself between my legs. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh, hot and swollen and begging for attention. And oh how my body craved to give him what he needed. His eyes met mine, hooded and filled with lust. Silently asking for permission. I nodded, placing a kiss on his forehead and placing my hands on his shoulders. Electrifying jolts surged through my core as he strokes himself along my slit tenderly. His skin burning to my touch and looking downright drunk. Completely intoxicated. He sinks into me slowly. My body soon getting accustomed to the memory of him as he bottoms out, his hips meeting my thighs. My breath hitches as he bites back a moan. Both of us taking a moment just to bask in the feeling of one another like this again. It all felt the same but so different. He kissed the scar on my collar bone that he only got to see before when it was fresh. We had been through so much over the years we would need to learn about each other again. But one thing remained the same; my body yeard for him. He pulled out before setting a languid pace, lifting one of my legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him to go deeper, his pace quickening and lifting my hips to meet him, Chasing our pleasure. One hand in my hair, tangled up with my locks as his other hand firmly grasped my hip. The look on his face was evidence that he was holding back, needing to completely lose himself in me. And I felt the same. “Arthur...Please.” I purred, not needing to say anymore. His pace quickened with a grunt, one that was a borderline growl. My moans and the sounds of skin on skin filling the air and our ears as he kept hitting that sweet spot. My nails forming crescents on his shoulders. Pulling him down to crush my lips against his, our teeth clicking and tongues dancing together. Pulling back suddenly with swollen lips as the pressure began to build, my whole body trembling more and more as I got higher and higher. Moaning out his name as his rhythm began to falter. Nuzzling into my neck and mumbling ‘oh, fuck,’ in that gravelly but wanton voice. His hand on my hip made its way between my legs, rubbing in quick circles. I couldn’t hold back. That coil within me growing tighter and tighter before snapping. My back arching as the shockwaves rocked through me. Slowing his pace slightly to ride me through it before picking up his pace again, chasing his pleasure with a few more pumps of his hips and he stilled. His hand like a vice on my thigh as he spent himself inside me with a drawn-out moan. It took us a few moments to get our breath back. Pulling himself from me causing me to whimper from the empty feeling and sensitivity. He moved to lay beside me and pulled me to lay with my head on his shoulder. Neither of us willing to clean ourselves up just yet. My skin now acknowledging the cold air around us. The thin sheen of sweat cooling me. Nothing was said for a while as he held me close until he broke the silence to place a kiss to the top of my head then lifting my chin for my face to meet his. “I love you,” he said. My eyes getting blurry from the confession I never thought I would hear. But looking at him I knew it was true. His eyes shone with adoration. I smiled weakly before kissing him once. Looking back into his eyes and with no hesitation, I said out loud what id only heard myself mutter in my dreams. “I love you too."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #smut #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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maandarinee · 3 years

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what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

#ask #anon #please talk to me about podcasts at all times #podcasts #podcast recommendations

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abbysfrenchbraid · 4 years

Note

Hello! I’d like to request an imagine with Abby and a female reader, I was thinking something like they’re both on a mission and lose (not death) eachother because of how hectic everything is

(image reference by @cloudyreality)

What a great idea for my first time writing angst! Thank you for your request 💌

This is a 3.7k fic in which the reader and other members of the Salt Lake Crew are called out on a rescue mission and things get chaotic.

Warnings: language, violence (against reader and others), mention of attempted sexual assault, death (no major character)

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A Close Call

You were ripped from your sleep by a firm hand shaking your shoulder. When you opened your eyes, Manny’s bearded face was inches from yours. It was still dark outside, the only light in the room creeping inside through the cracked door to the hallway.

“Get up, Y/N, we need you.”

You rose with a start, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and grabbing some clothes to put on.

“A mission? Right now? What’s going on?”

Manny filled up your water bottle and brought you another few supplies while you packed your bag.

“Scar attack during a patrol run. Owen just came back alone, Jordan and Leah are still out there. Jordan got hit, I don’t know how bad it is but we gotta get them out of there immediately.”

Quickly slipping on your boots and grabbing your jacket, you followed Manny out the door and to the garage.

Nora and Abby came in at the same time, carrying a metal box with medical supplies. Abby’s face was still pale from sleep but her eyes were alert and focused. Owen was standing at the back of a truck and marking the way to the others on a map of the city center. When he turned around, you flinched. He looked awful. His eyes were sunken in and there was no color in his face except for a dark purple bruise on his cheekbone. Yet, as he spoke, he sounded calm and collected, ready to get this mission done and bring everyone back safely.

“Alright, I left them at this bank here. The rain these last days has made the rivers downtown much more dangerous, I just tried to map out the best way with the Jeep but be prepared to continue on foot if needed. Jordan took an arrow to the hip and it somehow paralyzed his leg, we couldn’t get him out of there alone.

I need us to always stay together in a tight group, watch all possible hiding spaces for Scars, and get in the bank as fast as possible. Then, Nora has to try and patch him up as much as possible so we can take him back to the truck. Manny and I will carry him. I need you” - he looked at Abby and you - “and Leah to protect us and Nora on the way. Be as quiet as possible. Understood?”

You all agreed and Owen jumped in the driver’s seat while Manny sat next to him with the map to navigate. Abby lifted the metal trunk in the back of the truck and helped Nora up.

“You okay, Y/N? I can hear your teeth rattling from here.”

You tried a smile. “Thanks, Abby, I’m alright. Just cold and tired, I hope this works out as planned.”

She helped you up as well, then she jumped on and closed the tailgate, sitting down next to you and putting an arm around you to keep you warm. No one spoke, but as you leaned closer into Abby, Nora gave you a slight smile and a nod. You were going to be okay.

As expected, the flooding in the city was worse than usual, but at least the rain had stopped and the moon guided your way. You could already see the building Jordan and Leah were hopefully safe in at the moment when Owen suddenly stopped the car.

You stood up to see what was going on and swallowed hard as you saw the scene in front of you: rapids had formed in the river and were brutally ripping down plants and taking other objects with them. You had to get to the other side and, even more difficult, get back with the injured Jordan.

Everyone began moving silently down the stream, weapons drawn and forming a circle around Nora and her medical kit. When you finally found a more or less safe spot to cross, Owen and Manny went first, testing out the rocks and debris that had been wedged into each other to form a momentarily stable bridge over the rapids. Nora went next, silently jumping from step to step and keeping an impressive balance and smoothness to her movements. Abby covered you as you quickly crossed the stream and quickly followed your steps, placing her hand on the small of your back reassuringly as your team rebuilt its tight formation and started moving through the shadows towards the abandoned bank.

Owen led you to a side entrance he had covered with some wooden planks and the five of you quickly slipped inside. You were all on the lookout for infected but the place seemed clear, the rings of your flashlights illuminating the counters and smashed glass fronts, rotting bills of old money on the floor and finally the door to the back room where you could hear quiet voices.

Leah jumped up and drew her gun as Owen entered. A wave of relief washed over her face when she recognized Owen and Nora, the medic rushing to the injured man on the floor beside the dark-haired soldier.

“Oh thank god you’re here! I was so scared you didn’t make it to the base.”

Jordan was conscious but badly hit. An arrow was protruding from the top of his right leg right at the hip joint and a small pool of blood had formed on the floor underneath. Manny sat down next to Nora and helped her sort out her supplies. He loosened the makeshift bandage Leah had made out of some old fabric and tied around Jordan’s leg and hips. Nora was Isaac‘s best medic and she proved her reputation now. Completely calm and collected, she clipped off the arrow and started to strategically fasten bandages around Jordan‘s torso.

„I can’t take the arrowhead out here, it’s probably damaged some nerves, and pulling it out could make it worse. You need surgery back at the base. Can someone get me more fabric and something to make a splint?“

Leah quickly got some towels from a cupboard and started cutting it into stripes while Owen took his axe to some shelves and brought back a few long, slim pieces of wood.

You knelt down and helped stabilize the wounded wolf as Nora began fastening the wooden splints to Jordan‘s leg and hip, forcing him to stay completely straightened out so he wouldn’t fall or bend over and increase the damage to his hip.

Jordan would be carried upright, supported by Owen and Manny and using his healthy leg to move with them. A stretcher would make a bigger target and immobilize those who carried it; you were still in a war zone.

You helped Nora pack her things while the men got into position and Leah and Abby discussed the best defensive formation for the way back. Abby was going to go first and keep an eye out for any movements, then the three men, then Nora and Leah in case Jordan needed help, and finally you to watch your backs.

At the front door, you took a final breath and braced yourselves, then Abby gave the signal to move. The first steps went better than expected. You were moving fast, the only sound being Jordan’s quiet panting as he gave his last bit of strength to get back to the truck.

When you were almost at the crossover, you noticed something in a first-story window across the river. The woman clad in beige and brown saw you at the same moment. She pulled out an arrow from behind her head in one swift motion and cocked her crossbow just as you screamed „Get down!!! Ambush!“

Suddenly there was movement. You ducked and the arrow intended for your head soared over your shoulder so closely you could hear the feathers on it whispering in your ear.

Hooded figures emerged behind pillars and burned-out cars just as you pulled your gun and shot at the woman in the window. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, then her head tipped back and she vanished from sight.

There was no time for shock, you had to protect yourself and your team. Abby was fighting a large man with a giant hammer, but you could tell she would be fine. Jordan had slung his arms over Owen‘s shoulders from the back and held on so he would stay standing up while Owen had his hands free. He was shooting at Scars further away while Manny was dealing deadly blows to a younger man‘s head with a metal pipe. Leah was covering Nora with a shotgun and blasting away through the empty car windows. You stepped out from the shelter of the house front and scanned the other buildings for more archers, ignoring the screams of anger and pain around you. Protect the squad. Watch your backs.

The man Abby had fought was lying in a puddle of his own blood. She was further away from you now and fighting two younger scars at once. One of them slashed her arm with a knife and she howled out in rage. Your first instinct was to scream out her name but you stopped yourself. It would distract her and allow the scar couple to catch her off guard. She was furious, pulling two knives and lunging forward at her attackers. They stood no chance, red hot blood spilling from both their throats as they looked at each other with an expression that seemed surprised, but not scared. They staggered towards each other and fell to the ground, choking and wheezing before finally laying still.

Abby had already moved on to help Owen fight a man with an axe that had come dangerously close while he had to take a second to reload.

Suddenly a rush of panic made you whirl around and look up. An older man with a bow almost as tall as him was standing on a first-floor balcony, aiming directly at you. You pointed and shot exactly at the same time he let go of the arrow.

Too slow. You watched the arrow come towards you in slow motion, undeviating from its owner's last target. Your attempt to dodge the sharp silver dart came too late. The tip sank into your shoulder as you watched the man fall forward and hit the ground with a dull thump.

The others hadn’t noticed what had happened. Leah was fighting back to back with Manny, Nora was crouching behind her trunk and shooting at a woman running towards her, Owen was holding up Jordan behind a pillar and shooting at several scars still behind the cars and Abby was in another bloody fight with two men with a hammer and a knife.

Your shoulder didn’t hurt at all. It just felt like someone was pushing you back, trying to tip you over. Stumbling backward, you scanned the buildings trying to find other scars on higher ground before they could hurt your friends. A sense of calm waved over you. You had done your job, there were no other Seraphites hidden to attack from behind. The gun in your hand dropped to the ground, the metal clank strangely loud in front of the fighting noise.

As you fell backward, you could hear the rushing of water underneath you. The rapids were screaming at you, daring you to take up a fight with them and lose as so many others had before. The surface felt like a brick wall when you hit it, then the current pulled you under. The water was ice cold, thousands of needles pricking you at once and suddenly there it was. Agonizing pain. Your shoulder felt like a fire had been lit inside of it and it was burning your lungs from the inside, eating you up and leaving no room for anything else. You let out a terrified scream that was swallowed by the water around you.

You needed to get to the surface. Breathe in air before your lungs could fill with water. You kicked and thrashed about, trying to find your way back up without moving your wounded arm. Finally, you burst through and gasped for air, your functioning hand desperately grabbing on to plants and scraps of metal at the water’s edge. How far had the water carried you already? Were the others ever going to find you?

You managed to hold on to a branch and pull yourself onto the riverbank, the water relentlessly continuing to pull and tear at your feet. Your teeth were chattering and you couldn’t feel your hands and feet, breathing becoming the hardest task this day had given you.

„It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re just going into shock, it’s okay, they’ll find you, just breathe,“ you kept whispering to yourself as you lay on your back and closed your eyes.

You could hear shots echoing from the walls of the buildings and screaming; they couldn’t be far. After a last, deafening shot, there was silence. Owen was talking, he sounded exhausted but okay. Apparently, no one had gotten badly hurt. Suddenly you could hear Abby screaming.

„Y/N?! Y/N!!! Where are you?!“

You had never heard her this distraught before. Her voice was cracking and her yelling was high-pitched and panicked. Now everyone was screaming your name and running around. You tried to take a deep breath and answer but only produced a gurgling sound.

„Y/N?! Fuck, check if she was pulled behind one of the cars or into the building. Did these pendejos take her?“ That was Manny. He was close.

„Abby, come here! Her gun!“

Someone was running. Metal scraping over concrete. „Y/N!!! Are you down there? Fuck, you think she fell in? The rapids, oh god-“

It sounded like Abby was close to crying now, screaming and pleading your name as she ran along the river.

„She’s not in here, I checked.“ That was Leah. „Shit, did she fall in the stream?“

„I don’t know, her gun was next to it. Fuck, fuck, fuck, please let her be okay. Do you guys see anything in the water?“ The usually so collected and strong soldier sounded absolutely terrified.

You tried to answer again. It was only a whisper, but you kept going.

„Abby, I’m here. Please come. Abby.“

Your whisper became a mumble, your raspy voice refusing to work with you, but you concentrated and tried again.

The steps were close. You took a deep breath. „Abby.“

„Y/N?!“

A blonde-haired head peeked over the broken off concrete over your head. Abby looked horrible, tears leaving white streaks in a mixture of blood and dirt on her pale skin, her lip cut open and bleeding and strands of hair sticking to the drying blood on her face and neck. When she saw you however, her face lit up and she screamed out „She’s here! Come quick!“

With a single jump she was next to you, pulling your upper body onto her knees and lifting your head so you could breathe better. Manny and Nora were there in a heartbeat. The dark-skinned woman pressed a hand to your shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

„Another arrow? Jesus Christ. Y/N, listen to me, you’re gonna be fine. I’m going to get that thing out of you as soon as we’re back at the stadium. I'll patch you up a bit now, but we really need to get moving."

„That’s okay,“ you whispered. „I’m just so cold.“

Abby immediately took off her jacket. Nora stopped her.

„Wait, let’s get that wet jacket off first. We’re gonna have to cut her out of her clothes anyway.“

She grabbed a knife and quickly freed you from your soaked, ice-cold army jacket, then she cut off the long arrow a few inches from the entrance wound. The medic was quick to press some bandages around the wound and form a sling out of strips of fabric to fixate your arm to your chest. When she was done, Manny helped prop you up and wrap you into Abby‘s jacket. It was coated in blood, but still warm and most importantly, it was dry.

„Everything okay down there? How long until we can move?“ Owen yelled.

Nora closed her metal case. „We’re done for now. You can start moving Jordan to the crossover, we’ll be right with you!“

Abby gently pushed her arms under your body and pulled you towards her. You wrapped your healthy arm around her neck and she followed Manny and Nora back up to the others.

„I thought I’d lost you.“ Her voice was quiet, her eyes still alarmed and scanning the perimeter. You sank your head against her chest and found comfort in her warmth.

„I know, me too. I thought I’d drown.“

The blonde inhaled sharply and held you tighter, not able to look you in the eye.

„I should have paid more attention to you and protected you. I'm so sorry.“

Before you could reply, you had reached the stepping stones through the water. Leah, Owen and Manny were helping each other carry Jordan over to the other side, deeply focused but still on edge for any possible attackers. Nora was next, pressing her medical kit to her chest and hopping from one safe step to another in concentration. You and Abby went last. She carried you like it was nothing, never losing her balance in the slightest while Manny and Leah were watching the area attentively with their guns drawn.

When you finally got to the Jeep, the others made a bed of blankets in the back for Jordan and you. Leah sat cross-legged with her boyfriend's head in her lap and Abby lifted you up on the platform next to him. She climbed up and pulled you close to her again while the others got on, still on guard. Owen and Manny jumped in the front and Owen hit the gas.

He was driving as fast as possible without throwing you two around in the back. Nora was already preparing Jordan for surgery, he would be the first in the operating room. Manny tried to radio the stadium entrance so they would get everything ready for your arrival but had had no luck so far.

Abby was rocking back and forth slightly, softly caressing your hair and face with her rough, bloody fingers. The terror in her eyes still hadn’t subsided, she was staring through you and chewing on her bottom lip.

„Abby.“ It took all your strength to form the words that were fighting to get out. „This wasn’t your fault. We all did the best we could. It’ll be okay.“

She flinched and looked up, letting her eyes wander over the buildings around you.

„I should have watched your back. I didn’t even see you fall.“

Her eyes were glinting, tears dangerously close to following the paths that had been carved out for them earlier. You put your healthy hand over the soldier's and were surprised to find she was shaking.

„Listen to me, Abigail. I don’t blame you for any of this. If you need my forgiveness, you have it. I know you did all you could. Will you please forgive yourself, too?“

Her mouth became a harsh line as she wiped away the tears with the wrist of her free hand. She turned her head and raised a hand, probably to greet the wolves at the entrance to the base. You knew you wouldn’t get anything else out of her.

Abby had this habit of making everything her problem, her responsibility, or, in the worst case, her fault. It had been that way when those men from the outpost had followed you one night after drinking too much a year ago. You had watched a movie with Abby and Manny in their room and walked back to yours when the hunters emerged from the cafeteria. They had come on to you from the back and tried to hold you down but they didn’t know you and weren’t expecting you to be a trained fighter. You brought them up to speed in less than a minute and they were out cold long enough for you to get Isaac, Abby, and a few other soldiers to be there when they woke up. Isaac had them thrown in his prison wing and you hadn’t seen them since. He probably tested out some tactical ideas on them and you didn’t mind one bit.

Abby however had been inconsolable. She didn’t speak for a week after, infuriated with herself and convinced the attack was her fault as she should have walked you back to your room and watched your back. You had tried to get her to calm down and let it go for weeks, telling her over and over that nothing had happened and you could take care of yourself. She had probably never really gotten over it, even though she had slowly become her normal self again.

This had to be a hundred times worse. You had actually gotten hurt today, and none of it was Abby’s fault but you knew there was nothing you could say. So you just held her hand and pressed yourself closer to her body, closing your eyes and waiting to arrive at the medical tract.

Luckily people were already waiting for you, instantly carrying Jordan inside on a stretcher and offering you one, too. Abby just told them to get out of her way as she carried you in the second operating room and laid you down on the cold table.

“I’ll stay right here all the way through, I’m not leaving. You just keep breathing.”

The pain and disappointment in her flat voice were heartbreaking. You squeezed her hand and nodded. “Thank you, Abby. I’ll give my best.”

When the medics came in to get you prepped for surgery and put you under a light anesthetic, you were almost asleep anyway. Abby cleared the space for them but stayed in the corner of the room like a statue, grinding her teeth in thought as she stared at the table beneath you.

You knew you had to make this right somehow, you couldn’t let Abby beat herself up over this forever. As you drifted into a sedated sleep, you promised yourself to spend every day at Abby’s side until she was laughing again. This woman was everything to you and you would show her. You would love her so much she had to finally forgive herself and let go of all the regret to make way for better things.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #the last of us 2 #abby tlou #abby simp society #abby anderson fic #abigail anderson #angst

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quokkacore · 3 years

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son of wolves I [park chanyeol & byun baekhyun]

for @imsoba, who asked for an angsty, fluffy enemies to lovers au. merry christmas from your secret santa! written for the @exolssecretsanta gift exhange.

summary: your entire life, you've fought bravely to defend the walls of your home from the evil forest spirits of the spearwood trying to destroy it, alongside your family, friends, and your betrothed, baekhyun. until you're infected by the evil that resides in one of these spirits, and you run away from home, before it can spread to those around you. it's in your exile, wandering through the spearwood that you meet the wolf prince, a tall man of hardened eyes, few words, and a fiery temperament, raised by these spirits you've so grown to resent. it's here that you begin to question everything you've ever known, and wonder whether the evil was out here, in the forest, or inside the walls of a place you once called home.

pairings: hunter!baekhyun x reader, wolfprince!chanyeol x reader

genre: reverse princessmononoke!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fantasy epic, slow burn, war au, wolf!au

warnings for this chapter: violence, animal attacks, mild descriptions of gore, mild body horror(?), can you tell i did my best to avoid calling them tentacles but there are only so many times i can use the words “coils” and “tendrils”, language, subtle emotional manipulation, reader feels VERY violent urges but they’re not too descriptive, hypothermia maybe?, intentional starvation for purposes of wilderness survival, chanyeol is kind of aggressive and intimidating, SO MUCH worldbuilding im srry, VERY precarious (and probably inaccurate) medical procedures performed by the reader, chanyeol is a slob but hes literally feral so??

song recs: ateez - hala hala // stevie nicks - rooms on fire // the weeknd - until i bleed out // joe hisaishi - departure (to the west) // howard shore & billy boyd - the sacrifice of faramir + to the edge of night // jorja smith - i am

word count: 11.5k

a/n: first of all, i want to apologize a little bit to the person this was meant for. i meant to write this in two parts, but due to external factors, i’m going to have to split it into three. i hope you like it <3 second of all, i think i strayed a bit from the original source material, but i hope u guys can enjoy it regardless!! merry christmas to everyone, this is a gift to my followers as well.

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: the bite

It was supposed to be a routine patrol just outside the perimeter of Ironbend. You hadn’t been expecting the beasts and the rider to ambush the two of you in such a way. One moment you and Baekhyun were eyeing the treeline, the next the wolves were running up on you, and your reindeers were taking off, attempting to lead them away from the village.

“Get the others!” Baekhyun called to you, running between the trees, “I’ll lead them away from the wall!”

You nodded, directing the reindeer to veer away from the chase. You looked back, eyeing Baekhyun warily before he and his reindeer disappeared further into the trees, the sound of howling getting further and further away.

But the sound of large paws against the forest floor did not. Knowing what was coming, you turned, aiming the arrow you’d nocked earlier in your bow, and met eyes with the beast that had been chasing you.

Immediately, you knew that this beast was different. Its running pattern was erratic, as if it were tired but still euphoric, and you could see a wound on its neck, staining its fur a dark color. Not red, but almost black. You let the arrow fly at it, grazing its side, but it didn’t growl. Its sneer grew bigger, but no growl or snarl left its mouth. You faced frontwards again, watching as you came closer to the treeline, the wall of Ironbend coming into view.

“THE WOLVES!” You shouted towards the men on the parapets, standing guard, “GET THE RIDERS, THE WOLVES ARE—!”

The bite came both expectedly and unexpectedly, the wolf pouncing on you and knocking you off of your reindeer. You tumbled onto the ground, pinned down by the white wolf, feral and mad. The way your head fell against the ground, plus the cold snow left you disoriented and dizzy. Expectedly and unexpectedly, because in a fight like this, you always expect there to be injuries, maybe even casualties. But deep down, on a subconscious level, you never really expect it to be you.

Humans cling to hope, and sometimes end up having it pried from their cold, dead hands. No matter how hopeless things become, everyone always has a “maybe”, or a “what if”. And today, your “maybe” had turned sour. Out of nowhere, the white beast had locked its maw around your arm, and was thrashing you back and forth. You could feel an intense pain in your arm as its teeth broke your skin and attempted to rip off your limb. In your disorientation, you began to panic, your other arm trying to beat the animal off of you. You pulled at its fur, and threw punches, but what seemed to distract it enough was when you tugged at the wound, and managed to stick a few fingers inside, gripping whatever was in the wound.

The beast reared back as it let out a pained cry and then a ferocious snarl. You managed to scoot back at least a little bit, putting some distance between you and the wolf, and grabbed the bow, which you had dropped as you fell.

Blood was dripping down your marred arm, and in those seconds that seemed to pass like an eternity, you realized that the wolf’s saliva was, for some reason, a thick, semi translucent black color.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

The scent of the beast’s rancid blood pierced your nose and the sound of other men shouting were the sensations you could feel around you, but not before you felt something inside of you, a deep, masculine voice echoing in your head.

Your hate infected me, the voice growled, now my hate will infect you, and you will die the same way I will: slowly, painfully and overtaken by rage.

Then the voice was ripped from your head, the same way the beast was ripped away from you as the other riders came to your rescue. You were picked up by one of them, thrown onto his reindeer behind him, and you gripped on tightly to his shirt with your uninjured arm as he turned his reindeer sharply to follow after the wolf, which was most likely returning to its pack, towards the sounds of shouting, howling, and gunshots.

“Are you okay?” He asked loudly, and you recognized the voice instantly.

“I think so,” You answered Jongdae over the wind, “I’m hurt pretty badly, but nothing Yixing can’t fix.”

With some difficulty, huffing in pain as you did so, you reached for another arrow, nocking it into your bow in preparation to let it fly at another wolf. Jongdae’s reindeer followed the wolf in its tracks, and stopped when you ran through the trees and stumbled across the fight. The wolves were incessant in their snarling and attempts to trample the riders and their reindeers, but your eyes ignored them despite the chaos, falling to Baekhyun, who was now off of his reindeer, his sword pulled out, dodging the rider’s dagger. You could see the anger on Baekhyun’s face, his chest heaving.

You couldn’t see the rider’s face. You never could whenever they attacked. All you knew was that he was significantly taller than Baekhyun, and that his hands were tanned and littered with scars. His face was covered by a red mask, back covered by the pelt of a white wolf, neck accented by a necklace of sharp teeth from different animals. His simple clothes were black, hiding the rest of his body. The man moved aggressively, grunting as he played the offense, repeatedly trying to stab your lover.

You sneered and let your arrow fly, catching him right in his right shoulder blade, piercing through his clothes. The man stopped, groaning in pain, back arching in pain. He was barely able to dodge Baekhyun, who had taken the hit as an opening for him to strike with his sword. The rider stepped back, letting out a loud whistle before getting onto the largest wolf. He whistled again, and the other wolves began to retreat, dodging the large metal bullets that rained down on them from the guns of the other soldiers.

When the silence settled, Baekhyun’s eyes settled on you, and then he was running towards you and Jongdae, eyes flashing in alarm as he saw the mangled flesh of your arm.

“What happened to you?” He asked, voice loud and concerned.

“The wolf that came after me knocked me off my reindeer,” You replied, suddenly feeling lightheaded as the adrenaline began to wear off, “Bit me pretty bad.”

He looked up at you, then to Jongdae.

“Get her to Yixing. Now.”

“The bite left her cursed.”

Murmurs broke out amongst the council of leaders, and you felt your eyes flutter shut at Yixing’s tone. Normally soft and gentle, now his tone was loud as he spoke to the ten members of the council, and you could tell he was angry.

“What do you mean cursed?” Your father, head of the council, asked.

“The beast was infected with hatred,” The healer explained, “Hatred of that kind stems from war and festers in ways we mortals cannot comprehend. As he’s a demigod, one of the sons of Selyne, it will most likely turn him into a demon.”

“One of our finest female warriors cursed by a descendant of that wretched she-wolf,” The head of war huffed, her eyes settled on the bandages of your injured arm. “How will the curse work on Y/N?”

“It will manifest as dark magic.” Yixing’s voice was low, and you felt Baekhyun’s hand tighten around your own uninjured one. “It will harm her and those around her when it does, and it will slowly spread through her body. It will kill her when it reaches her heart, or her brain—whichever it reaches first.”

You looked up. “But there has to be a cure,” You quipped, “I can’t die. I refuse to.”

“Y/N.” Yixing’s eyes were sympathetic. “There isn’t. I hate to say this to you, but this is a death sentence. By my estimates you have at best, a month and a half.”

“Can we at least slow it down, hyung?” Baekhyun asked, voice pained. Your eyes squeezed shut at the slight desperation in his voice. “Make it less painful?” “Make it less painful, maybe. Slow it down… I don’t think I can, Baek. I’m sorry.”

You watched him nod, jaw clenching, the hand atop yours clenching slightly. “There has to be something,” You insisted. “What about the story of the wounded warrior—”

“Y/N, that’s a myth.” Your father’s tone was both sympathetic at your insistence, but also angered by your refusal to accept the truth. “And besides, that myth originated centuries ago, before we took hold of our destinies and left The Spearwood to build Ironbend.”

“Do you really think the Pillars of the Forest—do you think Emyr, the proud fool that he is, would heal you as he did the wounded warrior, after three centuries of war against his kingdom? After all of the weapons we’ve created, all the soldiers of his we’ve gotten rid of, ”

“Emyr asked the warrior for a sacrifice, then. I could negotiate something with him, and—”

“And what? What if he asks to give up our weapons, to leave The Spearwood be after everything it’s done to us, so that we may be overrun? Y/N, you may be one of our finest warriors, and you may be my daughter, but I refuse to sacrifice one life over all of Ironbend.”

“Send me on my own, then, papa, but I can’t just—”

“Enough.” His tone was final, and you inhaled sharply as you attempted to control the shaking in your arms.

“You will stay here. And I promise we will do our best to make the rest of your life something for you to look fondly upon when you pass.”

“It’s bullshit,” You growled, blinking back tears as you sat on the bed in the cabin you shared with Baekhyun. “There’s a perfectly good possibility and they won’t even let me try.”

“Y/N, my love,” Baekhyun whispered, coming to kneel between your legs so he could cup your face, “It’s a suicide mission. Going into The Spearwood, of all places, in the dead of winter, to find those four gods and ask them to heal one of their enemies, I… you have to admit, it doesn’t sound logical. If the cold doesn’t kill you, then Selyne and her children certainly will.”

His hand came to rub at your cheek, nose nuzzling against yours, and you knew he was right.

In the beginning, when man was just another animal, the ancestors of Ironbend lived in The Spearwood, ruled over by the four Pillars of the Forest: Selyne, the wolf goddess, warden of the forest, Beval, the eagle god, keeper of the weather, Mirren, the bear goddess, guardian of families, and Emyr, the deer god, king of the gods, and ruler of the forest. Over time, humans became smarter: they realized they could build things with their hands that animals could not, and they grew proud enough to rally together and leave The Spearwood and the kingdom of the gods to build something permanent: Ironbend.

The forest exodus triggered a seemingly endless war, which had been going on for over three hundred years. For three hundred years, your ancestors had attempted to destroy the gods’ uncivilized way of life, to end Emyr’s tyranny and extend Ironbend across all of the Spearwood, so that it would finally be gone.

If the gods were as ruthless as they said, Emyr would never heal you when you were a part of the threat to their archaic way of life.

“Baek, I…” You whispered shakily, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t die like this. I-I can’t. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. W-we were supposed to get married, and we were going to lead the council, and have children, and raise them to end the war, and then… Baekhyun, do you really want to give that up?”

“You think I want to give that up?” Baekhyun snapped, leaning away from you. “What, you think I want to watch you die a slow and painful death, and not do a thing about it? I—”

He caught himself when he saw the tears streaming down your face, and your injured arm shaking. You couldn’t explain the despair, the anger that washed over you, but you could see the injured skin warping and growing beneath the bandages. You felt the bandages tighten against your skin as it grew, and you grasped your injured forearm with your other hand to hold it back, because all you felt was the urge to hurt, and you wouldn’t live with yourself if you ended up hurting Baekhyun, the man who made you laugh and feel emotions you had never felt before, who had persisted to push himself up the class ladder because he wanted to be with you and help those around him.

Not him, not your Baek.

He stepped back cautiously as you took deep breaths, trying to ignore the sudden black liquid oozing slowly out from underneath the bandages, staining them dark and dirty. You began to count, and counted for an eternity, only stopping at 136 before you felt the urge dissipate, burrowing back beneath the skin it had attempted to break free from.

“Are you alright?” Baekhyun’s tone was cautious, and you opened your eyes to find that he was eyeing your arm warily. You nodded. “Better. I just… need to remain calm.”

He groaned and ran a hand over his face before pushing his hair back. “Shit, my love, I… I would march into that forest right now if I knew for sure that it would save you. But the truth of the matter is I don’t know, and neither do you, and chances are that it wouldn’t. No one has seen Emyr in a hundred years, and even if he showed himself to you, he would likely have you executed for treason.”

When you didn’t respond, his hands fell to yours, bringing them to his chest. You spread out your fingers, feeling the fabric of his cream drawstring shirt and the firm muscle beneath it.

Your eyes fell on the pendant he’d always worn: a small opal on a gold chain, which had been his father’s. Noticing your gaze, he reached behind his neck, unclasping it and placing it around your neck.

His eyes were desperate, voice breathless and slightly panicky. “Stay here, with me, Y/N. Where it’s warm, and y-you’re surrounded by people who love you, and we can be happy before you die. We can rush the wedding, I don’t care if it’s a big affair or not. If it means you spend the rest of your life with me, it would make me the happiest man in the world, and I promise I would make you feel loved until the end of your days.”

Your forehead fell against his, and his eyes fluttered shut. “I’m already on my knees, my love. Please don’t make me beg any further.”

“Baek…” You whispered, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “Hold me, please.”

He nodded, quickly making his way onto the bed, ready to console you, not despite what just happened but in spite of it—he knew you were just as frightened as he was, because he knew you like the back of his hand. The argument was forgotten, and suddenly you were resting on Baekhyun’s chest, listening to him hum a lullaby to you. You let your tears stain his shirt, and he pressed kisses to your hair between beats, until the soft melody lulled you to sleep, dreaming of nothing, basking in the warmth of the arms of your betrothed.

When you awoke, you found that Baekhyun had blown out the candle on your nightstand, because your room was now dark. He was asleep beneath you, snoring softly. He looked so relaxed now that he was resting. During most of the day, his face was pulled into a grim frown, as the council met to discuss serious strategies and the needs of the people of Ironbend.

He hadn't always been that way. Even now, occasionally bits and pieces of who he was when you had first fallen in love—the brightest, funniest boy you had ever met—shone through. He could still make you and your friends laugh until your stomachs ached, but now that you were all adults, and it was time to take the war from your parents' hands, all of you had grown more serious, and pushed aside the time to simply enjoy life and each other.

You were 11 when you met Baekhyun, himself 13. You met at the training academy in the town, meant to teach children the basics: how to read and do math, the history of Ironbend and the war, . He had been a year older, and wont to make everyone laugh.

He helped you with your sword fighting skills, and in return, you helped him with his archery skills. A steady friendship bloomed, despite the fact that you were the head councilman's daughter, and Baekhyun was the child of a woman who ran away when he was a baby to be with her lover, and the town drunk. Baekhyun was crafty, however, and as he grew into a young man, he used his wits, natural charm and skill to climb the ranks.

It also helped that he invented the first prototype for the shoulder guns.

He had always been good at making things, and his prototype for the shoulder guns, small cannons loaded with large iron bullets made from the metal extracted in the mines, were what began to give the town an upper hand against the ambushes the creatures of the forests made. And for him, it was what landed him in junior council, along with all of his other abilities.

You thought of Baekhyun, and the look in his eyes when the curse kicked in. The quake in his voice when he begged you to stay. How much it was hurting him to see you like this, to know you would die. Your hand drifted to the necklace he had placed around your neck, a silent promise.

What, you think I want to watch you die a slow and painful death, and not do a thing about it?

Except there was a thing to do about it.

The wounded warrior was a story your grandmother had told you as a child—everyone knew the story as a testament to Emyr’s cruelty. The wounded warrior had gone to the deer god as he began to die from an infected wound, and begged him for a cure, so he could live to see his children and his wife. And while Emyr took pity on him, he asked him for something in return: fifteen years of loyalty, of servitude.

True to his word, the warrior did as he asked—he tended to the god’s every whim and desire, for fifteen long, grueling years. Fifteen years that, for an immortal, passed by in the blink of an eye, but for a human, were, well… fifteen years. When the warrior finally returned home, he found his wife had died believing he had died after disappearing for so long, and his children, now grown, were resentful of having grown up without a father. The warrior lived a full life, to a ripe old age, but it was a lonely one, for he had no wife or children to take care of him or keep him company.

And finally, you thought of the rider, of the odd red and gold mask that haunted both your dreams and Baekhyun’s. There were no towns around for miles, not unless you passed through the mountains, in the opposite direction of the Spearwood, and no child in Ironbend had gone missing and remained unfound for over eighty years. The man looked too young and had moved with too much energy to be 90 years old.

Your puffy eyes fluttered shut, listening to Baekhyun’s steady heartbeat.

...And not do a thing about it?

Except there was something to do about it. And while your chances were slim, there was always a chance.

Slowly, you lifted yourself off of Baekhyun’s chest and sat next to him on the bed, admiring his features as he slept. The bridge of his round nose, the moles on his face, the apples of his cheeks.

Oh, how you would miss him.

Baekhyun was a pretty heavy sleeper, but you still took great care to dress quietly, pulling on a warm shirt, thick pants and a cloak, along with a pair of winter gloves. You grimaced pulling them on, as you used your injured hand, the skin swollen and irritated, pain prickling every time you flexed your fingers or your wrist. Your heart never ceased pounding.

Next, you grabbed a satchel and went to the kitchen, packing a loaf of bread, some jam, a few strips of dried meats, and some fruit. You could find water in the streams, you figured.

Quietly, you set your bow and quiver next to the satchel on the floor, and hurried to find some ink and a scroll of paper. As you looked, a glint of silver out of the corner of your eye caught your attention.

It was one of Baekhyun’s many swords, still partially sheathed, propped up against the wall. Smaller, a bit more lightweight. He didn’t use it much precisely because of that—he preferred something heavier, that could bring down more force. You thought of the rider and his knife, and how you would most likely end up injured if he came close to you; a bow and arrow is only so good up close. You swallowed a lump in your throat, quietly picking it up. Glancing at the bedroom doorway, where you could still see Baekhyun asleep on the bed, dark hair tousled, you took a deep breath, before tying the sheath’s leather band around your waist, securing it tightly.

Blinking back tears, hands shaking, you wrote down a brief letter.

Baekhyun, my love,

Please forgive me for what I'm about to do. I can't sit here and die when I know there's at least a chance. Life will find a way. Love will find a way. I will find a way. I will do everything possible to find my way back to you, safe and sound. Don't look for me. It's dangerous enough as it is in The Spearwood, and now with the chance that I might hurt you as well… If these truly are my final days, I want you to remember as I am, and not as what the curse will turn me into.

You shine brighter than the stars, Baek. Please don't stop doing so, ever. That shine will lead me back to you even on the darkest of nights.

Forever yours,

Y/N

Tiptoeing, you set down the weathered paper on your side of the bed, before looking at Baekhyun one last time. Carefully, you leaned over him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“No matter what happens, we’ll see each other again,” You whispered against his skin, “And after you're done yelling at me, I’ll kiss you the way you deserve.”

Escaping was an easy feat when you knew the standard night patrol route—even easier when you were the one who wrote them. Carrying all of your things, you made your way to the stables, the moon your only source of light.

There was no one in the stables, which made saddling up Ivan, your reindeer, easier. In the silence as you worked hastily, you began to doubt your actions. Go back, a voice whispered somewhere in the back of your mind, stay with your family, stay with Baekhyun. Hold him tight and don't let go until you die. Kiss him like it will free you from the curse, even though it won't. Be happy. Make them happy.

Your eyes drifted down to the bandage, which you had changed right before leaving, feeling the slight throb of your skin. You were reminded of the things that hung in the balance—or rather, imbalance. The unfairness of it all. Yes, life was unfair, but here you had a chance to take at least something back.

And so you didn’t go back. You continued to saddle up the reindeer, slinging the bag over its side, and finally, you left the stable, and quietly made your way towards one of the side gates. You knew the main gate was the one most heavily guarded, and that the side gates were generally more lax. Given the position of the moon in the sky, which was slowly being covered by clouds, you could also tell that the guards’ shift would be ending, and there would be a brief period where the gate was left unattended.

With baited breath, you waited, holding the large creature’s harness in your uninjured hand, watching from behind a corner as the guards stood at their posts. For about ten minutes, your heart pounding in your chest the entire time, you watched the parapets, and then turned to look at the alleyway you were hiding in. You did your best to hold your breath when you peeked around the corner, knowing that the condensation could give you away if they happened to look your way.

Finally, the two guards walked away, mumbling to each other as they did, and you took this as your cue. You led your reindeer to the gate, and pulled off the thick iron plank that locked the gate, careful to not make a noise.

When it was open, you hopped onto the reindeer, nudged him slightly, and he slowly walked into the treeline. You looked down at the snow, and hoped that the dark would hide the trail until it started to snow.

You rode on Ivan’s back for hours, until the darkness started to slowly fade. Somewhere during that time, it had started to snow. Now, the forest floor was covered with a fresh sheet of snow, that looked a shade of light blue rather than white, now during the twilight. During that span of time, as you rode on deeper and deeper into the forest, you realized the sheer magnitude of it. The stories the village elders had told you and the other children to keep away from the woods, and stay inside of the walls: that the servants of the gods were large creatures with sharp white teeth and long nasty claws, that the Spearwood was alive, and knew that humans had abandoned it, so it tricked travelers into going in circles—no matter how close the treeline seemed to be, you could walk for hours and never cross it because of the Spearwood’s magic, playing tricks on your eyes until you succumbed to the cold, or dehydration, or hunger.

Paranoia was trickling its way into your head, albeit slowly. As you stopped to let Ivan rest, you pulled out a piece of cured meat, chewing it until your jaw was sore as Ivan dug his hooves into the snow, only stopping when he found a patch of grass to chew on. You looked up at the sky, and then in all four directions. You knew that the mountains opposite the Spearwood were towards the north, and by going north you would eventually leave the forest and find Ironbend, but currently, with the snowfall and the clouds, you had no idea which way that was.

But you didn’t plan on returning until you knew for sure the gods would listen to you.

Apparently, the gods weren’t very keen on listening.

Onward you went for days, panic slowly kicking in as you realized that you had no way of actually knowing in which direction you were headed. You seemed to be riding Ivan in circles, and the silence of the forest, save for the sound of Ivan’s hooves against the snow, was beginning to drive you to madness. Every few hours you switched between walking on him and riding, taking quick breaks every time you decided to switch. The isolation was quickly becoming too much to handle.

You thought of your friends, of your family, of Baekhyun, of everything said that night before you left. You didn’t want to imagine what was happening back home, but you couldn’t help it, what with walking around all day and not having anything to do.

You knew that your parents must have been heartbroken, and that your friends would likely be losing their minds. But you knew that you were doing what felt right.

You had packed enough small snacks to last you about three weeks if you rationed correctly, but you felt as though you were constantly running on empty, never fully satisfied. You drank water every time you came past streams or snowmelts, because you didn’t know when you would find one again, cupping your hands together and drinking until you were practically full, fingers pained from the freezing water and your throat sore.

The falling snow would stop periodically, and then start up again. Not very heavy, but not precisely light either. Your face became perpetually cold, your fingers cramped harshly to the point when you would wince in pain when you needed to change your bandages.

The wound was getting worse. The curse was beginning to spread. Initially, while it had started at the bite mark in the middle of your forearm, it was now making its way to your elbow and wrist. The tissue seemed to be turning necrotic as well, secreting a sort of mucous substance that was black. The smell was bearable when you had the bandage on, but every time you took them off to change them your eyes watered and you had to hold back the urge to gag.

When night fell, you slept on Ivan, who was pretty comfortable in the cold, laying down in it and laying against the trees. You had never realized just how dark the world could be without lanterns to light your way, and your small oil lantern barely illuminated anything. It did well warming your hands though, which would cramp when they felt the heat.

Worst of all, the deeper you went into the forest, the more it felt like you were being watched. Which was odd, because you saw no animals. None at all, which only served to put you on edge more.

The first two days it seemed fine, but after that, it changed. Now that you knew that you were well and truly on your own, the crisp winter air felt tense. Even Ivan became a bit skittish, and you felt bad for bringing your innocent reindeer into such a stressful situation. You were on edge all hours of the day now, eyes darting from side to side always, ears straining as you listened for something, anything. It was as if the whole forest was holding its breath, waiting to release its wrath on you.

Three more days passed before it finally did.

They came when you came across a lake in the middle of the afternoon, seemingly unfrozen. You got off of Ivan, an odd sensation pooling in your gut as you approached the crystal clear body of water. Oddly enough, you felt at peace, and for the first time in days, the striking silence was comforting. Now, instead of feeling like the forest was holding its breath anxiously, almost angrily, it felt as if it was holding its breath in anticipation.

The water was clear as day and seemed to span for miles. Trees grew out of the depths, and in the center, a small island emerged out of it. When you focused on the island, you felt your eyes widen—there was no snow on it at all. Quite the contrary, actually. It was a lush, beautiful green, with a blossoming tree smack in the middle of it. For such a small island, you were certain it was the brightest green you’d ever seen.

Your dry throat almost burned in anticipation as you kneeled. At this point, it had been about a day since you had last come across water, and your head was starting to ache. When you dipped your fingers in, you gasped. The water wasn’t freezing like it had been in the other streams you came across, nor was it cold. It was tepid, bordering on lukewarm. It felt kind, it felt welcoming, and while the setting lured you into a sense of security, you couldn’t help but feel as if this was wrong, because it was a lake, in a dangerous forest. It couldn’t welcome you, not at all.

That snapped you out of your trance, and you turned just in time to face the rider as he tackled you to the ground, pinning you down against the snow, the sudden cold causing your back to arch. You were vaguely aware of Ivan being startled, and the sound of growling somewhere off to your left, but you were more preoccupied by the red mask hovering above you, and the dagger about to come down on your face. You grabbed the man by his wrists, arms straining with effort as your injured arm flared in pain, wrenching a guttural cry from your lips.

You pulled him forward, causing him to lose his balance and topple next to you. You took your chance, straddling his chest and knocking the dagger out of his hand with a kick. You pinned his arms down, before pulling off the mask swiftly, sneering at him.

But you stopped when you saw his face.

Somehow, you found yourself entranced; for his features were contorted into rage and pain but you had never seen such a beautiful person. His eyes were large and round, a deep dark brown. His plump lips were curled into a harsh sneer. He had painted three long triangles across his face with what appeared to be dried blood: one below each of his eyes, the third one in the middle of his forehead, ending beneath his eyebrows.

His large ears, hidden beneath black, shaggy hair, gave him an elfish look. He was wearing large, white, circular earrings.. Beneath you, you could tell he was pure muscle, large and beefy to the point where it left you reeling because, oh, gods, how can one man be so big?

He took the chance and flipped you over, a groan leaving your throat when your head hit the ground hard, but saw an opening quickly and lifted your leg to knee him in the groin. He toppled over, groaning in pain, and for one final time, you found the roles reversed. On top of him, you unsheathed Baekhyun’s sword, ready to subdue the rider. You pressed the blade to his neck, poising yourself to speak—

When one of the wolves grabbed you by the collar of your cloak, dragging you away from him. The wolf stilled even though you continued to struggle against it. You could feel your injured arm bleeding beneath the bandages, and the subtle tremors riding throughout it as you watched the rider stumble to his knees, picking up the sword, and crawling towards you.

He did the same you had done and pressed the blade to your neck, breath heaving from his chest, air puffing into the cold. If he had been angry before, now he was furious, and while a small side of you felt the urge to cower back in fear, you could feel one side of your body heating up slowly, a sensation you hadn’t felt in over a week slowly making its way back into your system.

“Why are you here?” His deep, menacing tone didn’t sound like much of a question, but rather an accusation.

“Take me to Emyr,” You demanded immediately. “I need to speak with him.”

He blinked. For a second, he seemed taken aback, almost offended. But then his features hardened again, and he pressed the iron even further into your neck. It didn’t break the skin but you felt a sting against your windpipe, grimacing at the sensation. Your fingers curled into fists, your entire body trembling now as you felt something moving underneath the bandages, beneath your very flesh.

“Don’t tell me what to do, human,” He spat, “This is not your forest.”

The wolf behind you growled, and you felt it one last time: the urge to hurt, the urge to kill, a feeling of absolute hatred. This time, as opposed to the first time, you didn’t hold it in, and you didn’t count. When the black goo oozed from your skin, turning the air rancid, you didn’t gag, but rather embraced it.

And a split second later, just as the man had lowered his gaze to where the smell was coming from, his eyes widening at the bandages stained black, it was too late.

This being only the second time you had felt it, and this being the first time you didn’t restrain it, you weren’t fully sure what you were expecting. But you most certainly weren’t expecting your arm to bend into a shape it wasn’t supposed to bend into, in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go. And you definitely weren’t expecting black, slimy tendrils to break your skin, pushing the man away with so much force that his back pushed itself into a tree. He yelled out in pain, clutching at his right shoulder.

The violent coils did the same to the wolf, pushing it off to the side. And while momentarily, you rejoiced in the lack of restraint, it was taken over almost immediately by panic, because you just didn’t know how to make it stop. What frightened you even more was that a part of you didn’t want it to stop. As the tendrils flailed angrily, attempting to reach the man and the wolves as well, you felt the need to let it consume you, and then let it consume the man, and the wolves, and eventually, the entire forest. You wanted them dead, gone, burned to the ground, because none of this would have happened had it been for this disgusting fucking forest.

But you knew that wasn’t the way.

Fury coursed through your veins, and your eyesight blurred, quite literally blinded by anger. Clinging to your logic, you pushed yourself onto your front, pressing all of your weight onto the monstrosity that had once been your arm. The adrenaline had stopped you from feeling it before, but now, as you pressed your mangled arm into the ground, you could feel how broken it was, how the skin ached where the coils had broken through. You cried out in pain, in anger, in sheer terror, praying for it to stop. But it simply wouldn’t, and you wondered if you had come all this way to die because you had pushed the curse too much.

Your mind went to Baekhyun as you screamed, of the way his eyes sparkled when the sunlight filtered in through the window in the mornings, when you woke up next to him. You started to believe you would never see them again. How you had broken his trust for an irrational decision you had made because of your stubbornness and pride, and how now you would never see the man you loved again, all because you believed you were right when you were so very, very wrong.

But somehow, the thought of him grounded you, and you felt the curse weaken. Still, it was something, and you squeezed your eyes shut, sobbing as you conjured up mental images of Baekhyun making you laugh, and recalled the sensation of his lips softly kissing yours. You remembered the time he had first held your hand, at fourteen, right after an intense sparring session, and how at fifteen, you had been the one to kiss him, even though he was the one who asked you, because he was too nervous and unsure of what to do.

The black appendages finally retreated back beneath your skin when you remembered how he had held you that last night before you fell asleep, and only when your free hand found its way to the pendant around your neck did your bones snap forcefully back into place. You were left hyperventilating, struggling to catch your breath as you buried your face into the snow, attempting to hide your weakness from your enemies. You heard footsteps crunching in the snow, coming closer and closer, but they froze when another rush of footsteps came from another direction.

Even though you weren’t looking, you knew it was a large party. There was simply too much thumping for it to be one person… or whatever they were. All sound stopped, save for your panting, before you heard scrambling, and you lifted your gaze in time to watch the man drop to one knee, bowing his head in submission.

“My king,” He murmured, and you turned your head ever so slightly to the direction in which he was leaning. Your heart was pounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears, and your teary eyes widened as you saw what you saw.

The giant deer walked poised mere feet away from you commanded a presence over all of the other animals that had just arrived with him. You saw other deer, more reindeer, foxes, wolves, bears. In the trees all kinds of birds were perched, an eagle resting on a branch almost directly above the large creature.

Its antlers were large, larger than you had ever seen, branching out in all directions, almost forming a sort of crown. When it took a step forward, you watched in awe as flowers and grass began to bloom where he stepped, peeking out from beneath the snow.

Emyr, you realized with a chill, the deer god. King of the gods, ruler of the forest.

So, the god rumbled, without truly speaking, voice echoing through your mind, what is the meaning of all of this?

Come to find out, Emyr wasn’t the only spirit you were in the presence of. Your weapons were confiscated. As the wolf dragged your body—weak from what just happened—through the snow, you realized that the four Pillars of the Forest were all around you. Emyr was leading the animals ahead of you, but the man walked next to the wolf as it dragged you, and next to him, walked the other wolves. The biggest one eyed you with burning distrust, and wisdom beyond your years, and when you locked eyes with her, something within you knew that this was Selyne, warden of the forest and goddess of the hunt. She growled softly, and the man’s eyes snapped to her, ready to listen to what she had to say.

Disgusting, she growled, the nerve you have, little girl, to march all the way into this forest and injure my sons even more than you already have. I should rip your throat out right now—

Selyne. A giant brown bear lumbered up next to her, speaking gently but cautiously, she came here for a reason. The least we could do is listen before you do so, sister.

Your eyes widened, realizing this was Mirren, the bear goddess of family, matron of the forest. The wolf goddess let out something akin to a scoff, and before they could continue their discussion, Emyr stopped at a clearing not far off from the lake, where it seemed winter hadn’t touched down, grass green beneath you. The sun shone through a hole in the clouds, warming up the atmosphere, and your body shivered as you felt its heat pour over your body. In the center of the clearing, a large rock had three ledges, and a hole in the very bottom.

The Pillars of the Forest settled into the great stone. Mirren walked into the hole, Selyne hopped onto the lowest ledge, Emyr onto the middle ledge. Moments later, the eagle you had seen resting above Emyr’s head earlier flew onto the highest ledge, and you realized that this was Beval, the eagle god.

The animals around you chittered anxiously. The wolf set you down onto your knees, but did not step back. The rider stepped forward, however. He had picked up his dagger after you had been dragged away by the brown wolf, and now he held it forward to your neck once more. A silent threat.

Silence, Emyr said, and the animals obeyed. You could hear a pin drop.

State your name, child, the bear ordered, and you cleared your throat.

“Y/N,” You answered, voice raspy and gruff after not having spoken, “Y/N L/N.”

State your purpose in this forest. Selyne’s anger was barely contained, you could tell, but you refused to back down. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, and flexed your free arm.

“I was cursed, great goddess,” You stated, “Cursed by one of your sons. I came to plead forgiveness, and ask to be healed.”

Forgiveness? Beval huffed, Healed? After everything your people have done to this forest? Burning your fires, taking our resources, and repeatedly trying to destroy our homes?

You looked down, before meeting the eagle’s strict gaze again. “I understand, my lord, that your kind and mine have been at war for hundreds of years. But I don’t wish to bring any of you harm, not right now into—”

Not now that you need us, Emyr deduced, and you bit your lip.

“I don’t intend to use you for your powers, great king. I offer my service in return.”

If you don’t wish to harm us, why attack my son? Your eyes turned to the wolf goddess, trying to think of how to answer without angering her further. How do we know you’re even telling the truth?

“I was surprised,” You said after a few seconds of mulling over your answer, “His ambush caused me to panic, and defend myself. I understand why he’d do so if he didn’t know my intentions.”

“Even knowing your intentions, I’d have done it,” The man grumbled, “You’re a fool.”

You glared at him, but didn’t retaliate. You didn’t need to make yourself look worse.

What is this curse you speak of, Y/N? Mirren asked, And what do you mean it was one of Selyne’s sons who cursed you?

You told the story, choosing your words cautiously. Describing the attack, you watched as Selyne’s ears picked up, and she sat up straight, lifting her head. You described the tendrils, the black substance that secreted from your arm, the anger and hatred you felt when it controlled you. And you described remembering the story of the wounded warrior, how the curiosity drove you to leave home and wander for days until you came here.

Ah, the warrior, Emyr murmured warmly, Doyoung. What a fine young man. Of course, the circumstances were different then. His kind—your kind—was still a part of this kingdom, and he came to me looking to cheat death when he was wounded while he defended the Spearwood.

“I understand, great king,” You answered, “But my plea still stands. Free me from this curse, and I will work as the warrior did.”

Resilient, determined. Mirren sounded amused. She’s not going to give up, brother.

And what after you finish your years of service? Obviously, Selyne couldn’t be swayed, You return to your little Irontown, and continue to plot our downfall?

“Ironbend, and no, great goddess. You see, I am the leader’s only daughter. Next in line to inherit his place.”

You had your trump card, you realized, as the four gods took notice, all four of them exchanging glances, leaning forward. You could work around the original terms.

"My kind are tired of this war," You explained, growing more and more confident, "As I expect your kind are as well. It's all I've known, all my father's known, and all his father has known. If I can offer my people a stop to this war, I am willing to negotiate a truce of some sort.”

A truce… Beval mused, What are your conditions?

“I can’t stay as long as the warrior did. They’ll move on from me and pass my claim to the next person in line. Let me go back as soon as I am healed, and when I take my father’s place, I shall return, and we can negotiate a truce.”

Let you go, as soon as you are healed… The deer god repeated. I see what you are trying to do, girl. Don’t think you can fool a god.

“No, great king, I don’t intend to—”

I am thousands of years old. You think you can fool me? My terms for healing are simple, service and loyalty to my kingdom. You are neither loyal to my kingdom, nor are you willing to serve me.

You forced yourself to take deep breaths, attempting to remain calm. This had come so close to the way you had wanted it to.

You are too proud and too stubborn. You think that your status will help you now. No. I will heal not heal you… but you will remain in this forest. Learn a thing or two, and maybe then we can negotiate this again.

"Stay in the forest? I… For how long? My healer told me I only had a month and a half to live. I—"

For as long as is needed. You do this on my terms, or not at all. If you wish to go, then do so at any moment. The war will continue and you will still be cursed. If you wish to be healed, you will stay until you earn your freedom from this curse.

You swallowed a growing lump in your throat, meeting the god's eyes. "Very well, great king. I accept your terms."

Very well... But you will not serve me. You will serve Selyne and her sons.

Your eyes widened, darting nervous to the white wolf. She looked displeased with the situation, but said nothing.

He's doing this on purpose, you thought, he knows Selyne wants me dead so he's making it harder for me.

Selyne spoke again. Serve me? Well, then. My sons will work with you. Her eyes looked at the wolf behind you and at the rider. As punishment.

The wolf behind you huffed, and the rider tensed. "Mother, I—"

Quiet, both of you. My orders were simple. You were forbidden from leaving the inner circle of the forest without me, and forbidden from instigating the humans. You did both. You could have been killed, or injured as your brother is now. You deliberately disobeyed me and now because of your foolish actions, we have a human who has seen the inner circle, and knows where the most important part of the forest is.

As insolent as she is, she has come for a purpose. She is to fulfill that purpose, and you will help her do so. Am I understood?

"Mother, she's—"

Chanyeol, the she-wolf growled, don't test me.

Chanyeol. So that was his name.

The princes of the forest, working with a human, Mirren said, this should be interesting.

You could tell that Chanyeol was not pleased with the situation. The other wolves of his pack as well. After the meeting was adjourned, and the other animals dispersed, Chanyeol pushed you to your knees, and he growled at you, "Follow me."

You obeyed wordlessly, taking note of his temperament. You walked aimlessly, for about twenty minutes. Surprisingly, Ivan, ever faithful, walked behind you, but you could sense some apprehension from him. Your eyes looked at Chanyeol's back, covered by the pelt of a white wolf, serving the same purpose as your cloak.

Your cloak, which had been dragged through the snow, and was now wet. You did your best to hide your shivering. You could deal with that later.

To distract yourself, you let your eyes stray to the wolves. There were three of them, all smaller than Selyne but bigger than the average wolf. One, the brown wolf who had dragged you along. The second one, black, the third one a classic timber gray.

You realized that the white wolf who had bitten you wasn't there.

"Where's the white one?" You asked, voice quiet and curious. Chanyeol and the three wolves stopped walking, and turned to look at you.

"Resting," Chanyeol answered. You nodded, not answering, and they continued on, trailing behind them. You walked a little longer until you stumbled across a cave. Their den, you realized. You stopped, and so did Ivan behind you. You watched as Chanyeol and the other three wolves made their way into the den, but you couldn’t find the courage to enter. You almost felt as if you were trespassing.

You turned to your reindeer, skittish and eyeing the den, and walked towards him, caressing the side of his head. “You’ll be okay, big guy,” You murmured, “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Your stomach rumbled, and you sighed softly, pulling out your loaf of bread and the little remaining jam there was.

It was a miracle you’d managed to make the bread last this long, you mused to yourself as you spread the jam onto it.

“What is that?”

You jumped, letting out a soft squeak. You turned to Chanyeol, who had creeped up on you while his brothers remained in the den. His face remained stoic and bordering on annoyed. “Stop fucking doing that,” You snapped, “It’s bread and jam.”

He tilted his head, and you blinked. “Do… I’m guessing that isn’t a thing here?”

Chanyeol shook his head, his earrings swinging as he did so. You pursed your lips, before breaking the slice in half. Slowly, you offered him one. Eyeing it with curiosity, and slight disdain, he grabbed his half. Then his dark gaze met yours. “You first.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

“This. You eat it first.”

Raising your eyebrows, you wondered if he thought it was poisoned. As if you would be stupid enough to poison the son of the goddess who hated you most, in front of all of his brothers. “Fine,” You huffed, and took a bite, eyes widening and shaking your head at him challengingly. He narrowed his eyes at you, studying your appearance.

His eyes stopped for a moment when they landed on Baekhyun’s necklace. But a second later, he looked back up at you, and took a bite once he saw you swallow, before making his way back to the den. Shivering, you finished your jam before taking over your wet cloak. It was even heavier now that it was wet.

Here, in what the gods called the inner circle of The Spearwood, it wasn’t as cold, so you hung your cloak over a low hanging branch and hoped it would dry soon. Now, you were unsure what to do. Chanyeol had gone to lay down with the wolves, presumably, and you stood awkwardly as you were left unsure what to do. You were tired after everything that had happened in the past hour or so—the attack, your meeting with the gods, now this—but you weren’t sure where you would sleep for now. You weren’t sure if you were welcomed in the den.

So you made your way over to a rock opposite the den, sitting on it and resting your head against a tree stump growing right next to it. You thought over everything that had happened, but mainly, how you had handled the curse. Your hand gripped the opal with your free hand, staring off into the trees.

The curse is fueled by hatred, you surmised, love is what will ground you.

You wondered what Baekhyun was doing right now, as you watched the forest grow darker slowly. For a horrifying thought, you wondered what could have happened to him that night if you hadn’t managed to control yourself. You quickly pushed it away, not willing to get caught up on what could have happened, but didn’t Your eyes grew heavier and heavier as you thought of home, and beneath your eyelids, the images danced so vividly…

“Wake up.” The voice was gruff, calloused hands shaking you haphazardly. You furrowed your eyebrows, humming softly as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. It had grown colder, and you found that you actually had managed to fall asleep. The sky had finally cleared up, the moon high up in the sky.

“What’s going on?” You asked, rubbing your eyes, trying to ignore the pain in your lower back. You looked up at Chanyeol, who had pulled his mask back onto his face.

“We’re patrolling the border between the inner circle and the outer one. You’re coming with us.” His voice was muffled from behind the mask.

“Oh,” You answered, “Okay.”

You stood, arching your back to stretch out the kinks. The other wolves were standing behind Chanyeol, and he pointed at each one.

“Junmyeon,” He said at the brown wolf.

“Kyungsoo.” The black wolf.

“Jongin.” The gray wolf.

You nodded at all of them awkwardly, unsure how to address them. They eyed you with disdain, Kyungsoo pulling off the first ever eye roll you’d seen on a wolf. Junmyeon huffed at him, and Chanyeol shook his head. “Whatever,” He grumbled, “Let’s go.”

The night was rough. Ivan was asleep, so all you had were your feet to trudge through the snow. For hours, you walked through trees and over rocks.

You were trailing through the snow with Chanyeol, having pulled on your cloak again. He was riding Junmyeon, who was walking slower than the others. The brown wolf seemed to be the most gentle of the three—four? You had yet to see the fourth—wolves, watching you with more indifference than dislike.

Kyungsoo and Jongin trailed ahead, seemingly content ignoring you.

“You do this every night?” You asked Chanyeol. He nodded. “Our mother is the warden of the Spearwood. It’s only natural that we take after her.”

You nodded in understanding. “Will I be coming with you every—”

“Yes. Stop talking.” His head turned to face forward again, back on alert.

The night was incredibly awkward and tense. You were unsure if the tension was due to the alertness of the wolves on patrol or because of you.

A few minutes later, you spoke again. “Will I meet your other brother?”

Everyone stopped, slowly turning to face you. The three wolves’ eyes were narrowed at you, and you immediately knew that you had said the wrong thing. Kyungsoo took a step forward with a growl, but Junmyeon growled back at him, and he backed off.

“He’s injured.” Chanyeol’s voice was clipped. “He was injured by people like you with those—those things.”

“Why can’t Emyr heal him?” You asked, tilting your head. “If he’s powerful enough to heal me, then why can’t he heal—”

“Because we don’t understand his injury,” Chanyeol snapped, getting off of Junmyeon. He began to approach you. “We understand the curse, but not the injury. If we can’t heal the injury, we can’t stop the curse. We understand your injury and your curse. It’s different. You wouldn’t understand. Now—”

“But I want to understand—”

“You could never understand,” Chanyeol snarled, making his way into your personal space, “Your kind never do, the vermin that you are.”

You glared up at the unwavering red mask, even harsher in the moonlight, inches away from your face. “Now stop talking,” Chanyeol demanded, poking you square in your upper chest, “And don’t talk about my brothers as if you deserve to.”

He made his way back up onto Junmyeon, and the foursome continued, not even watching to see if you walked to keep up.

Junmyeon stopped walking at your speed for the rest of the long, cold night.

When you made your way back to the den, the sun was beginning to rise. As Chanyeol got off of Junmyeon, and shooed his brother away, you approached him.

“Why can’t I hear your conversations?”

You’d realized they were having a conversation pretty early on after your little spat, but didn’t comment on it, mainly because Chanyeol decided to whisper to his brothers so as to leave you out. You found it petty. But now, your curiosity got the best of you.

Chanyeol pulled back the hood of his pelt and took off his mask, scowling at you.“Why does it matter?”

“Because I might never understand, but I can try.”

Chanyeol scoffed at you, pushing past you. You’d had enough. Your feet were aching, your fingers and the tip of your nose were numb, your lips were close to breaking because of how chapped you were, and you were hungry and dehydrated.

So yes, you gripped his shoulder roughly, and pulled him back. You weren’t expecting him to let out a pained cry, and you didn’t expect to feel something hard beneath the cloak.

Immediately, the three wolves stood from where they had gone to lay down, snarling angrily, but he waved them away. They stopped snarling, but didn’t sit.

“What is—”

“Don’t touch me,” He said, swatting your hand away.

“Let me help you,” You countered earnestly. “Please.”

“Why should I?”

You made a face. “Because I might be able to figure out what’s hurting you?”

Chanyeol rolled his eyes. “I already know what’s hurting me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you been able to stop it? It’s a shoulder injury, it’s not that h—”

You stopped midway, when your eyes drifted to his injured shoulder, hidden beneath his clothes, his right shoulder.

The very one you had shot the day you got bitten.

“I did that,” You mumbled, gears turning in your head “...And you can’t have one of Emyr’s healers treat you because… up until yesterday, no one knew you had left the inner circle of the forest.”

A smug grin spread across your face. “Scared of mommy finding out, huh?”

Oh, if looks could kill.

You shook your head, your smile leaving your face. “Really. Let me help, Chanyeol. Let me right a wrong of my own doing.”

Chanyeol’s eyes looked you up and down, eyeing you suspiciously. Finally, he grunted out softly, before nodding his head in your direction once. “What are you gonna do?”

You had him lead you to the nearest body of water, a small stream about ten minutes from the den. You sat him down on the banks of the stream, where there was no snow. You set down what you had brought: his knife, plus your bandages and a small jar of ointment Yixing had given you for your cut.

It wasn’t working on you, but you had a feeling it was more due to the fact that you were cursed by ancient dark magic.

“Take off your clothes.” You pulled off your cloak and rolled up your sleeves. He made a perplexed face. “What are you—”

“Keep your pants on,” You added hastily, “I need to see the injury.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, he pulled off the pelt, and set it down gently next to where he was sitting. His tattered black shirt was also removed, and set down on top of it, but he left his necklace of animal teeth on. Kneeling behind him, your eyes settled on the tan skin of his back, before spotting the wound.

He must have broken the wooden shaft of the arrow as he tried to remove it, because the edge was splintered and the arrowhead was lodged in his skin. The skin around the wound was an angry red, swollen. You could even see a bit of pus caking in the crevice of the cut.

You picked up the knife, mentally noting where you would cut around to pull the arrowhead out. Your other hand rested on his other. “This is gonna hurt,” You told him, voice soft, “I’m sorry.”

You pressed down around the wound gently at first, feeling him tense up beneath you. Then, when you pressed down with more force, he hissed in pain. Finally, when you plunged the knife into the wound, he groaned out.

His breathing turned heavy as you tried to work quickly, but not too hastily as to butcher your work. You used the knife as a sort of separation between the arrowhead and his skin, trying gently to pull it out.

When you finally did, he let out a harsh, shaky breath, fists balled.

You led him to the stream, using your hands to wash out the wound. It wasn’t hot at all, and it probably wasn’t the cleanest, but it was the next best thing. Trying to remember how Yixing had done it that time you Jongdae accidentally shot Minseok with his bow, and you rinsed out the pus eventually.

You slathered on the ointment a bit more generously than you probably should have, trying your best to not hurt him too much, before dressing the wound with some of your gauze. You ripped off a bit of fabric from your pant leg, before looping it below his arm and tying it taut, so the bandage wouldn’t slip free.

“Better?” You asked when you were finished.

“I suppose,” He answered, moving his shoulder to test it out, “...Yes.”

You smiled, even though he wasn’t facing you. “You go back. I need to change my own bandages.”

“You know which way to go?” He asked, pulling on his shirt, and then his pelt.

“Yes,” You answered, watching as he picked up his knife before he stalked off.

He didn’t even thank you. You wondered vaguely if he knew how.

When you returned, now with fresh bandages, Chanyeol had curled up in the den with his brothers, and you went over to Ivan, who was chewing on some grass he’d found to put away your bandages and the ointment. Wordlessly, you flexed your fingers, watching how the skin had turned a black, necrotic color that would look unnatural on any skin tone. You wondered vaguely how much longer you had, before shaking your head.

You fell asleep again on the hard, uncomfortable rock, sleeping for hours upon hours.

You woke again in the late afternoon, around the same time you had first been attacked by Chanyeol and his brothers. The wolves were awake, some milling around the den and the others sitting in a circle. You could smell blood, and you perked up, figuring it must have been a catch.

Slowly, you made your way over to them. Jongin noticed you first, gaze hardening. His snout was stained red, and you looked down between his paws to see a piece of red meat. Chanyeol turned around when he realized Jongin was looking at you, looking you up and down before turning again. You pursed your lips at his face, the skin around his mouth stained with blood—he'd obviously been eating the meat raw like the others.

"Can I…?"

"You have your own food."

You sighed. "Not really. Not enough to satisfy myself for a whole day."

Chanyeol stared at you for a few moments, looking disinterested, before sighing. He pulled out his knife, before cutting off a sizable chunk of meat from the deer. He handed it to you, and you nodded. "Thanks," you mumbled, before walking off, sitting on your designated rock.

You needed to figure out how to cook this thing.

Thankfully, they hadn't taken your oil lantern, which you quickly uncapped and lit, before breaking a small branch off of the tree. You used the branch to pierce the meat, before letting it hover over the flame.

The flame was a bit small, but you knew it would cook eventually. At least until the exterior was cooked.

While you'd been working, you didn't realize that Junmyeon had made his way over to the circle, all of the wolves watching you.

What is she doing? Jongin asked, perplexed. She looks insane.

"I don't know," Chanyeol answered, leaning over to the gray wolf, "Maybe it's a human thing."

She's gonna burn it, Kyungsoo huffed, before spitting out a bone. If she doesn't burn down the entire forest first.

Chanyeol rolled his eyes. Yes, you were foolish, but he doubted you were incompetent enough to burn down an entire forest.

No, he's got a point. Junmyeon's tone was serious. Yeol, go see what she's doing. It could be dangerous.

Chanyeol set down his chunk of deer, wiping his hands off and making his way to you. Your eyes met his once he was standing in front of you. “Can I help y—”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking my meat.” You sounded matter-of-fact. “I don’t want to get sick by eating it raw.”

Chanyeol tilted his head, frowning. “We’ve never gotten sick like that.”

“You’re used to raw meat, and they’re wolves. I am neither. So I have to.”

He pointed at the lantern, eyeing it warily. “What’s that?”

You stared at him for a second, before realizing just how isolated he had been from the human world. He didn’t know what bread or jam was, nor did he know about lanterns. He called guns those things, and he eyed you like you were other, as if you didn’t have the same shape of limbs, the same joints, ligaments and bones.

“I-it’s a lantern,” You explained, snapping out of your thoughts. You explained how it worked, how it was lit, and how you had to wait for it to cook the fire before you could eat it.

You didn’t notice how your bodies scooted closer every few seconds.

Neither did Chanyeol.

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 20)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

EARLY CHAPTER FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT. THIS SHOULD’VE BEEN POSTED ON SATURDAY BUT I DECIDED TO DO A DOUBLE UPDATE FOR ONE WEEK! EXPECT CHAPTER 20.1 ON SATURDAY! *wink wink*

CHAPTER 19

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Maybe the curse has its own purpose for whatever fate you had with the witcher. Sensible responsibilities and a tie that has been knotted together with him that will surely affect both of your lives when chaos arrives.

Warnings: A kiss? (Unless y'all don't want to kiss Geralt so this can be a warning?) Curse words. Humans being judgemental bitches? Sweet, soft and protective Geralt? Petty, emotional reader? (She'll continue to be because of...reasons. Hehehe.) Eanraig asking personal questions. LMAO. Mention of Sylvan and Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Words: 5.3k

A/N: Early update for y’all! Double update for this week! Expect an update at around saturday or sunday! Heehee! FEEDBACKS WILL BE NICE TO SEE! MWAH! I still haven’t written the lost chapter for WOTN. There’s going to be a lost chapter that should’ve been in between chapter 16.1. I’ll write it soon. Heehee!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! This is kinda a rough draft. I apologize for many errors.

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be.(Credits to those who made the GIF’s. Some don’t have their watermarks included. I don’t remember where I’ve saved the others from)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Being in the arms of a person you were finally realizing that you eventually loved gave a different kind of bliss rather than the sensual moments that you both had.

Knowing that you were in love with him---a divulgence that you have no plan of saying yet; for the fear of it being unrequited was keeping you back.

You weren't going to tell him your secret yet. No. Especially when you have been thrashed and battered; bleeding with their purpose for any truth to spill or lies that they wanted to hear.

Were you finally meeting heaven? Geralt has said words that you never expected him to; calling you his betrothed when there was no disclosure or label onto what relationship you both had.

Perhaps, he needed to claim you in that endearment because he was being threatened by the king? In order for you to live, he must be having a tight relationship with you or a reason that King Viduka can convince himself that you shouldn't be slaughtered.

They needed your witcher and Geralt has outsmarted them by telling that you were both engaged; his soon-to-be wife that you know has not been serious enough to say.

"Geralt," you meekly whispered, your breath hitting his neck with arms enveloping his shoulders as he carried you around the castle; it was a murmur that the knights weren't capable of catching while they guided you to where your temporary room will be.

"Where are they taking me?" a simple tremble of your throat gave Geralt a hint that you've been carried to places and rooms where they have hurt you; a place that they chose to clobber your innocent soul, "---Are they going..to hurt me again?"

There has been a usual hum that you managed to memorize from the witcher, hearing a disgruntled 'hmm' from the affronted question like he didn't like hearing the idea of his midget being rained blows on, "To a much more comfortable place than being held captive in the dungeons,"

"Did...Did you sealed a deal with the king? H-How will you find the witch who cursed the prince? you shouldn't have done it because I heard her location being undetected---"

The white wolf cut you off with a simple, frank honesty of his words; risking the hunt instead of letting them think of other ways for your sufferings. Never wanting another painful venture that would make his thoughts suffer in the end. He'd taken the chance of finding the witch rather than having the possibility of a fight with thousands of knights nor an attempt to let you escape from hundreds of horsemen out in the open.

"There was no other choice."

Your arms tightened around him when they've guided you both to take a turn, feeling more protected in his arms. Hence, the action made Geralt keep you closer to him afterwards; making you sadly smile from his hold because it felt farcical to even think that he was doing this for you out of such love that you were sure of feeling for him.

You could feel that this comfort you're feeling had repercussions based on what that sorceress has described him and from what future she sees if he'd really pick you.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was still out there. Geralt will surely pick a woman who wouldn't get to die easily because you were a mortal. He'd just give himself such dolor because you'll die first than him or better yet, you could be killed by anyone who wants you dead with just a snap of your head because of being vulnerable to their eyes and to their world; knowing nothing but to strive just like how normal people live on earth.

"You've done enough for me already. You should've just left me alone to die and protect Cirilla like how your future is planned---I probably shouldn't be even in your life, Geralt."

You could feel his golden eyes boring holes on your face because of the sudden principle you've plainly stated, the sound coming out of your nose like a faithless lie you abruptly believed in. His marches turned heavier with each step upon hearing your judgement. With a subtle shift of your eyes away from his chiseled face, your mouth fell into a tight frown just like how his tightened when he looked front as he walked.

"That's never going to happen, midget." the witcher gruffly grumbled, "---You saved Cirilla. You've given the bard a chance to move on from that hideous person he had,"

You didn't save anyone. You've only done what was right by being transported into a world that you didn't belong in. Your mouth was about to open when he'd quickly clipped a short additional comment that shut your mouth from the moment it was heard---your heart jumping in the exact time he was having his steps.

"---and you also saved me,"

A sarcastic snort concealed the rushing beat of your heart; not thinking it through and never believing the opinions inside your head. Choosing the pessimist side of your brain that kept you from trusting what your heart wanted to feel.

"From what? from keeping you silent? I'm just giving you a headache, I have been a complete burden to you,"

"No. You're wrong." you've shifted your eyes to see his forehead creased in the deepest wrinkle it can form, simply telling you that he was upset in a trice when it was a truthful answer.

Your attention went straight to the side of his face; narrowing your eyes at a fresh scar that weren't there the last time you've seen him---fingers aching to caress his disfigurement and having thoughts inside your head that he'd been hurt from his latest hunt with a monster. Digits stayed where they are, clasping them tighter with your own as you clung to your witcher.

Taking a dim view of his lour, his teeth was clenched tight as he fell silent---appearing to look like he wanted to say more but chose to keep it all to himself.

"Do not trust the sorceress or the queen. Just trust me, Eanraig and no one else in this castle,"

"Eanraig. He's the person who treated my wounds. Who is he?"

"A druid. A Scholar of the forest. Trust no one but me or him, understand?" he stated firmly as he ceased his steps, standing before a fairly large double, wooden doors whilst the gallants unlocked them. Geralt's words were left in a soft mumble that you didn't realize he would be competent of, sounding like he was giving sheer comfort over his undiplomatic rejoinder.

"---Because in their eyes, you are alike of my kind. A woman who is lost in our world and has opened a portal for undefeatable monsters; a key for adding more chaos that this world can ever bring,"

The doors to your room has been opened, one knight coming right in rather than the both of you who had permission to stay in chambers; his voice becoming a mere whisper of his baritone, rough timbre that didn't caught your hearing when a knight suddenly talked out loud for the chevalier inside.

"---but, not to me."

The horseman has given Geralt a pithy nod of his head to direct him in. He set him aside when he'd pass by him; seeing how gigantic and bigger that the witcher was compared to both chevaliers. Your witcher's face masking in a vacant expression which they have ridiculed him when he'd gently placed you down on a soft bed that you immediately examined; catching sight of golden, silk sheets for such a large bed; the physical sensation of what a bed brought was bringing you forty winks from the ache everywhere in your joints.

"I'll bring them what they want to keep you safe. They can hurt me, make me bleed to death---" you've blinked your left swollen eye to see Geralt hovering on the side, his simple actions of skimming his fingers through your tangled hair in a surreptitious manner, the wide-broad back shielding his succors from the knights that still didn't leave the room; keeping you both under their guard which will surely get a scolding from the witcher himself after assisting you to your bed.

"---yet, I will not afford to see it from you again."

Geralt never gave you a chance to speak as he fully stood on his feet, wandering over to where one knight was standing, watching over you both and never intending to give privacy. The witcher had a scowl on his face as he sauntered over to where they were, shooting daggers at them when they firmly stood on their ground.

Emanuel, the persistent gallant firmly straightened his back; peering back at the witcher who was taller and giving him a silent, brooding death stare. Never batting an eyelid as he mutely tried to let them understand his wishes to be alone with you. Emanuel continued to quietly hector, leveling with Geralt's intimidation as he stared straight back at him; thoroughly impertinent by what he wanted.

"Leave her chambers." the white haired witcher lowly grumbled, emitting a gruff groan in the back of his throat when he heard the trifling knight be headstrong towards him.

Their conversation made you try to lift yourself up from the bed, whimpering and complaining from the twinging sensations that your injured body has been giving. You didn't need another fight to occur between Geralt and some knight; his slaughtering has been enough and you didn't need anymore people dying on your hands. Thus, you've faintly called for your witcher's name; distracting his annoyance or anger from butchering another set of horsemen.

He wouldn't kill them. They just needed to be pushed away.

"How about no, Mutant?" Emanuel taunted back, snappy and utterly offhand which made Geralt raise a brow.

He sighed to himself, rolling his eyes at his comeback and carelessly grabbed onto his shoulders. Using his strength that not any other normal human has, Geralt pushed him out of the doors with a forceful shove; letting him stumble and fall on his other friend who'd grunted out loud when they both fell outside and onto the castle floors.

"I didn't ask."

The witcher hastily slammed the doors shut, fastening the bolts and when he'd hung onto the latch, an ample amount of curses has been given to him; more demeaning and vociferous words that he surely has been used to from people who hated his kind and brushed them off despite the thunderous knocking from behind closed doors.

He took quick strides to where you where; leaning on the headboard of the bed. You've seen his leather bag resting off the sides---specifically, under the bed which got you staring at him as he does so, still cherishing his presence, what his whole being was worth to take a shine to and for acclaiming that this otherworldly human was a person you were in love with.

The idea of being away from him swatted a sting to your chest; how going back to earth will be the death of you if it eventually happens---and if it was a future you were bound to come back to.

You've given the witcher a solemn smile, your true feelings currently kept as a secret until it was the right time to tell. Geralt was crouching beside you, scouring through his leather bags until you've seen him take out a transparent witch bottle that had flamingo colored extract inside; the stuff was familiar to you and remembering what effects it has given; such vile taste began to drip on the tip of your tongue, making you shake your head that you ought to spurn.

Yet, also making the heat run to your face because of how you remembered how he'd let you take the pain by forcing the potion to drizzle on your skin, softly kissing your lips to distract you from it as he took care of your wounds back then.

Your eyes turned into big saucers; shakily bringing out a hand to cease his actions. Geralt took note of your sudden response, his head slightly turned to the side as he watched you panic with his composed expressions, "I---I---I know that medicine! I thought the last potion you made for me was...the last?"

He gave an impressed raise of his brows, thankful that your head hasn't been forced to forget or banged against a wall that'll give you amnesia, "I've mixed potions for humans ever since you came. Jaskier seldom wounds himself when he has his lute. But, he can take a spell when he is stubborn enough. However, you---you can be clumsy as an impaired Sylvan,"

You could feel he was trying to stifle a smile from his last metaphor, remembering memories in his past that certainly has given him entertainment. The witcher took the cork using his teeth, spitting the top of on the side as he began to reach out and point it on your unhealed wounds surrounding your chest, lightly covering the scar on your chest that reminds you of him because of the same symbol he has on his necklace.

"Geralt! Don't you...Don't you dare!"

The latter stopped midway to give you a teasing scowl, "You have a habit of saying my name when you are refusing to follow my wishes, midget."

"It's because I'm fine!" you squeaked and planned to get away from him when he'd gently took hold of your wrist, keeping you in place; profoundly staring into your eyes in disbelief.

"You have been tyrannized and can hardly move any of your limbs. Then, you say you are fine?"

The white wolf outreached for the collar of your ruined, bloody sweater, gently pulling them down for the upper valley of your breast to be displayed to him. He felt you yank his hand away to pout back at him. It made Geralt hum in sheer interest and surprise; your refusal to be cared for, humoring his guts because it seemed like you were upset over other things he couldn't decipher.

"Hmm." he gravely hum as you've seen his lips curl into a small, firm smile while he tightly had the elixir on his hand, inserting a quip after being in the presence of your unreasonable and disobliging self yet again.

"---Must you still be shy with me after everything we had?"

You've given him silence, squinting your eyes back at him as a form of reply.

Geralt sighed a deep one as he closed his eyes; not knowing what was making you grumpy and cranky at the same time. He'd open his glowing peepers to greatly gaze back in utter tranquility, beating you off with whatever silent challenge has been going on. Thus, those amber have taken a peep over your bruised lips, creating a face of disapproval before seeing him lean his head forward and over your face.

"You're not going to---to---give me a kiss as a form of distraction! If you think I'm a thirsty lady---"

One light peck to the lips was all he needed to shut you up. He was gentle, almost felt like he was tickling the pain because there was no ache as he kissed you. Geralt brushed his lips on yours; delicate and utmost promising. The action being a verbal persuasion for words that has not been set out in public---also, a belief inside your heart that wanted to listen to her own theories that your alter-ego tries to brush off.

The softness of his lips left yours with a brush of his warm breath, slimly creating space between you both when he leaned his forehead on yours, his nose grazing to let you feel his worries over what happened whilst he mumbled whispers of fidelity that were only a mere chance of hearing from the witcher himself.

"You...don't know how dreading it was to not see you wandering around our home---coming back and being welcomed by a bleeding bard and Cirilla scared to her wits,"

He'd promptly closed his eyes, gliding the roughness of his thumbs over the linear of your jaw; tender and comforting as he caressed; hearing him breathe calm, deep inhales that were adding mental repose over your aching body. The latter ought to touch your sore body with a profound gentleness he didn't knew he had when Geralt heard light, padded marching coming forth to where you both have been ensnared in.

"Eanraig," the witcher nonchalantly acknowledged, being in the right time as he stood up to his feet and cutting the moment short with you before Eanraig can even barge in without knocking; using such magic to open the locks to their doors that had Geralt humming in displeasure when he saw a look being given to him; mentally asking if he was interrupting something.

Geralt's frown just tightened more as they both stared at each other while you have given Eanraig a cordial smile; remembering that he was also one who has treated your wounds when it felt to be needed.

The Druid slammed the door shut with a simple flick of his hand, casting such occult practices that has fastened the bolts back in a tight lock; creating a force shield over the doors which can't let people from the outside, hear whatever was being talked about in the chamber.

"I've heard from Ingrith that you both are cursed together," Eanraig frankly spoke as matter of fact.

At the mention of that, Geralt couldn't help but narrow his eyes on the scholar, showing him his curiosity and bewilderment, "By who?"

His fellow acquaintance shared a guileless smile, "By what, is what you probably mean,"

"The Djinn," Geralt hoarsely bleated incoherently, exhaling frustrations about what he was getting a gist of the conversation.

The Djinn was certainly a snake in the grass just like how Jaskier mentioned, he silently thought to himself. His focus on the scholar turning sharper from what he was being elevated about.

Eanraig gave him a nod, "You were trying to send her home," pause. "---Warp of the souls. A curse made for two destined people. Unless, it still isn't permanent."

Keeping quiet as they talk; holding the chafe of your bruises all to yourself. Your attention jumped from Geralt to Eanraig. Confounding with the topic at hand because of your sudden apprehension towards the whole ordeal.

A curse. You were under a curse right now and Geralt wanted to send you home as well.

Your eyes shot at the witcher's wide broad back, shooting a glare at his infuriating, beautiful white hair; wanting nothing but to grab onto some scissors and cut his tresses because of reasons that was worth to strangle him---which you doubt it can even happen. Geralt subtly eye you in his peripheral vision because he could feel you shooting daggers at him and it left him utterly confused as he shifted his attention over you who laid behind him and Eanraig who stood before the doors, strolling closer to the both of you.

"Were you both in heat? Does anything feel strange?"

"I know what she feels. Everything."

Eanraig crossed his arms, raising an arm to touch his grizzled white beard. His gaze condemnatory for his next question that caught the witcher off-guard, "Did you bed her?"

Geralt raised both of his brows and let out an intriguing hum of his deep timbre, your focus on his reply but also making you feel giddy and bashful over the Druid's rash interrogation. Your eyes squinting and continuously giving the back of the witcher's head a death stare when you kept your mouth shut and let him do all the short talking for the first time in forever.

"Hmm."

His dawdling form of response got the Druid scratching his temples for such a dishonest answer that he rarely receives from him, "It has a process before the curse lasts forever, there is no refund or whatsoever. Maybe it might have had reasons for creating such process," Eanraig stated and avoided to tell a sensitive topic that can get Geralt running for the hills if he immediately knew what reasons that the Djinn has held you both; such sensible responsibility that could challenge your unspecified relationship with him.

A child. His very own child. The witcher won't take the news in the best way that he can. Especially, Geralt of Rivia.

The druid couldn't help the grin growing on his wrinkly face, repeating his query a lot more genuine than he can get, "Now, did you bed her?"

"What does this have to do with the Djinn?"

Eanraig couldn't help but suddenly chuckle under his breath, never receiving a proper answer from Geralt that was surely entertaining his day; "This is a curse that only a djinn can do, not any sorceress nor wizard," his chortles eventually died down as he turned serious, wanting a real answer to know if you both will be expecting a neonate that will bring miracles to their world.

Beautiful but daunting miracles that nobody can ever read in the future---not even a fortune teller can as everything was being blocked by the power of the genie.

"So, answer the question," he patiently asked the witcher with such enthusiasm that Geralt couldn't comprehend.

"---Did you bed her, witcher?"

Geralt was completely finding his questions strange, his scowl faltering as it changed into a wince receiving a strange question out of all the queries he can ever ask.

"Yes."

Lifting your head away from the headboard, you've given them both looks of incredulity; disbelieving that they were talking about both of your sensual lives like it was nothing which you really are sensitive and conservative about. The knives being thrown behind Geralt's back becoming bigger as you rolled your eyes for his short, indecipherable acknowledgement---concealing the whole, sudden irritation you had for him because of your shabby, emotional self.

"What? Did he get me pregnant or something?" you peeked behind Geralt's body to send the druid your jesting question, igniting no harm over it because of how important Eanraig was making it seem about asking a question as if he has knocked you up or something.

The sudden witticism has made Geralt slightly turn his body to give you the side eye, head-shaking as he does so with a sarcastic smile like he'd been insulted.

"You're being unreasonable, Midget."

You've turned your head to the side, trying to get his dander up from his 'sending you home moment' that the druid has honestly and bluntly said out to the two of you; catching Geralt's true feelings over you despite of his lies over calling you important and his home that he would gladly come back to.

"I'm asking Eanraig not you, Geralt."

He still has his body slightly turned to you, narrowing his golden eyes and shaking his head more firmer like a warning sent to your sudden attitude.

"You know I can't. Stop this nonsense,"

Your bruised mouth was in a tight straight line, going on with your narrow-minded self---steady to be adding more ungenerous quips that certainly was vexing the witcher because he'd send you a tight grimace that doesn't scare you, "But, using a Djinn and trying to send me home isn't nonsense after telling that you find home in me?" you scoffed in the middle of being glared at.

"---I didn't know you meant it literally, Geralt of Rivia."

The white wolf hadn't really gotten to dodge from your sudden verbal attacks. Though, the scowl you've received from him was the nastiest out of all the rest today. Yet, he didn't plan nor given you one back as he bit his tongue for even thinking through his temper just like how he did before---wanting not to commit in another mistake that he will surely regret in the end again.

Geralt bit his tongue harder, clenching his teeth together before he spoke with his fangs slipping out behind his lips---appearing to be like he was trying not to growl his frustrations out for your sudden hostility.

"It was before I even knew that you...you can be considered as my home, Midget," he'd given you a gaze; a knowing one that tells you he won this verbal fight of your petty snarks because he had wished for that before the Djinn was even on your hands---not after the wishes happened.

"K." you curtly answered, defeated. The side of your wounded lip slightly lifting as you added a moniker that will surely infuriate him as in the end.

"...Witcher,"

Geralt's lowest pitch of a quieted growl vibrated through his chest, looking at you threateningly from your obdurate answer.

Eanraig couldn't help but shift his head from one person to the other, gaping at the both of you and heedful of the vexation that suddenly surrounded you both. Did he do something then? the druid asked in the back of his mind when you were both staring at each other---if looks would kill, you were both already in a tough fight over what war was happening.

The scholar of the forest awkwardly cleared his throat, snapping the uncomfortable atmosphere by educating everyone in the room with his slight knowledge over the curse.

"Very well then, so much for making it permanent. You've probably did as much as you could considering how lecherous the witcher can get from his overly developed mutations,"

Geralt turned his body back to the druid in one's own good time, a coy smile plastered on his face---so feigned that the witcher felt like he was faking it too weakly over being verbally attacked as well by his acquaintance who elegantly told him that he was created to be a horny man in his life and continuous to be so.

Until he developes some sort of erectile dysfunction that nobody even knows yet.

Eanraig choked in his own words when Geralt stepped a foot closer to the druid, his glowing eyes squinted and never knowing what he was thinking as he gave an intimidating frown that made the druid swallow his words down in the back of his throat, his mood certainly ruined from your petty vantage point.

"This...This curse has its purpose, you will never love any other man or woman. Never. Not anyone can overcome the memories you had with him or her. The feelings are growing deeper each day. Hatred if the djinn may see fit. Affection. Care. Love. You are lucky if both of your feelings are real and true because if hatred comes with it---even vanquishing the affection you have? It'll make you forget that you even had feelings for each other because you'll end up unhappy and trying to kill each other off,"

Eanraig peeked behind Geralt to see you blinking in curiosity, "---unfortunate for a human like her. If he does hate you, little woman."

"---Also remember, if one of you dies---which I doubt for the witcher. Then, you will feel as if your heart has been taken away from you. Deep heart break. Pain shall take its course, every day that you may wake up will be memories of her, inhibiting pain and more ache at the memory of her dead." he continued and noted how Geralt has fallen in silence with a jaw clenched tight, "---you will be unhappy and in despair for this fleeting happiness that the djinn has set you both in,"

"and---" Eanraig's thoughts were ceased when the butcher of Blaviken spoke with an unyielding emotion set in his eyes; serious and wary of what kind of people were surrounding you as for the mean time.

"I won't let her die."

"But, what if its inevitable?" the scholar bluntly said it out in the open, making Geralt calmly let out a breath as he had his lips in a tight line, thrusting his jaw forward in subtle determination while Eanraig continued to utter his protests.

"Ingrith and Queen Makeda wants her dead, Geralt. You know you won't be finding the witch in five days!"

"I'll give them their shitty hag, Eanraig." The witcher muttered in final, his goals thoroughly set to find the witch that you have warned him about. Must it be a trap, you may never be quite sure as it was only been said by the prisoner who stayed in the same dungeon with you.

Geralt sounded to be too stubborn to listen and it appeared to be like there was no other way for you to be set free unless he finds the witch or fake one woman in order to keep them off your hair.

"Alright, then."

The druid left it at that. Sighing hard for his mullish and keeping his mouth shut for anything that can keep the witcher distracted throughout his hunt.

Geralt turned on his heels, seeing you crossing your arms like an upset, lady who had her mouth pursed so long that it made him take a gander over your cranky, battered state. His brows raised as he deeply muttered, inspecting your body language whilst pondering over ways how to keep you conciliated when you were seething before him like a feral kitten. His vicious, grouchy midget that was needed to simmer down.

"Interesting."

FEEDBACKS WILL BE NICE TO RECEIVE! Heehee! Please don’t forget to leave this post without a reblog or comment!

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means you couldn’t be tagged, Bb. Please check your settings) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3, @gutfucks, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88 @ruthoakenshield

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547 @henrythickcavill @kaatelyyynn @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex

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helenarlett-rex · 3 years

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Goosebumps Review #14

So back in January of 2020 I said I would do a review of Werewolf Skin and then I never did it. 2020 sucked. I had other things on my mind. But I guess it’s time I finally go ahead and do that now.

(Spoilers)

Werewolf Skin

Goosebumps (original series) #60

Werewolf Skin was the third to the last book in the original Goosebumps series and the last book in the original series to get a TV episode made of it. The final two books, I Live in Your Basement! and Monster Blood IV would never get TV episodes made of them, or even reprints of the books themselves and would end up languishing in obscurity. In that case of I Live in Your Basement! that’s a real shame because as I said back in my review of that book, it is one of my favorites and one of the best Goosebumps I’ve ever read. And the same can be said about this book as well.

R.L. Stine is kind of a hit or miss author. Sometimes his stuff is great, sometimes he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing... and sometimes I have to tell him to go fuck himself because he’s body shaming again... But when he is writing about werewolves at least, he never seems to do wrong. And yeah, I still haven’t read The Werewolf of Twisted Tree Lodge, The Werewolf in the Living Room, or Full Moon Fever yet, but the three out of six I have read have all been great. So great that I have to wonder why R.L. Stine hasn’t written about werewolves since the Goosebumps 2000 series... We haven’t had a werewolf book from him since 1999...

Werewolf Skin is actually pretty unique in that it takes a slightly different approach to the whole werewolf myth, but not in a way that ruins it like certain other authors who will remain nameless have done when deviating from established tradition. The story is about Alex Hunter, a sixth grader who is really into photography. His parents get called out of the country on business, so they send him to stay with his Aunt Marta and Uncle Colin in the small town of Wolf Creek for a few weeks. His first week there happens to fall on the week of Halloween so the photography magazine Alex reads is holding a contest with a cash prize for whoever can take the scariest photo and Alex is pretty interested in winning that.

Now we get a bit of weirdness right away in this book, and I don’t mean intentional weirdness... I mean R.L. Stine has forgotten how reality works again kind of weirdness. Because even though Alex is only going to be staying with his aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks, they have arraigned for him to attend school there at the local middle school in Wolf Creek for the duration of his visit. And I’m instantly like... What? I’m pretty sure you can’t just trade schools for a couple of weeks like that... What kind of school lets a student enroll for three weeks? I know R.L. Stine doesn’t usually do much (or any) research when he’s writing these books, but come on... The guy used to be a middle school teacher. This is something I would expect him to know...

But okay... that aside... Once Alex gets there his aunt and uncle tell him there is a cute girl his age who lives across the street named Hannah and that he should make friends with her. And then we get another case of R.L. Stine not understanding how reality works because Alex is all like, “A cute girl...? Aren’t there any boys around?” Uhh... It was clearly established that this kid is in the sixth grade. I remember the sixth grade very well. Unless Alex is gay, no sixth grade boy is just going to turn his nose up at the idea of hanging out with a cute girl. Quit being such an old man Stine... I started dating in the sixth grade... And okay... If Alex is gay that’s perfectly fine, but nothing in the book ever indicates that’s the case.

This hesitation from Alex doesn’t seem to last very long though. The moment he meets Hannah his balls finally decide to drop. I’m not kidding. One moment he’s all upset he only has a girl to hang out with, and then the next moment he’s all infatuated with her and can’t stop describing her “husky, breathy voice” and how much he loves it. I’m not entirely such what a husky, breathy voice sounds like, especially on a sixth grade girl... but from how much Alex’s inner monologue focuses on it, it’s pretty clear that it’s doing it for him.

I should also point out that Alex’s uncle gives him two rules that he has to follow while he’s staying there. Rule number one, stay away from the run-down home next door. That’s where the Marlings live and they are a weird, mean old couple who don’t like anyone coming near their house. And rule number two, stay out of the forest surrounding the town at night. You know... Standard horror clichés that the characters will then refuse to elaborate on, thus driving the protagonist to only be even more interested in doing those things...

Although there’s some conflict between his aunt and uncle about the whole refusing to elaborate on things. When they are first driving him to their house his aunt asks him what he wants to be for Halloween and Alex answers that he wants to be a werewolf. This causes his uncle to freak out and almost lose control of the car. His aunt then asks his uncle if he was thinking about them? “When he said you wanted to be a werewolf you thought about them, didn’t you?” Which of course only makes Alex’s uncle get mad and tell her to stop talking about it. But this situation comes up a few times in the book. Alex’s aunt seems to think Alex should be told about them... we are assuming she means the Marlings... but his uncle is pretty against it and keeps telling her to stop talking about that in front of Alex.

Although his uncle isn’t the only one having that kind of reaction about the topic of werewolves. When some kids from school ask him what he wants to be for Halloween he tells them werewolf as well and they also have similar reactions... Until one kid finally tells him “We already have enough werewolves in Wolf Creek.” And I realize this review is getting pretty long winded but unlike most Goosebumps, this one actually has a lot of detail that builds up the story as apposed to the first half of the book just being filler like I normally see in these books.

But in an attempt to make a long story short, too late, I know... Alex is so dense about everything that Hannah finally just breaks down and tells him that the Marlings are werewolves. It seems to be something everyone in the town knows about but doesn’t seem to do anything about. And of course Alex’s reaction to this is the reasonable one of, Uhh... This is the twentieth century... There’s no such thing as werewolves... Which is why he was so dense about figuring it all out in the first place. He’s not going to jump to the conclusion of, Oh! The Marlings must be werewolves! when he doesn’t believe in werewolves.

This changes when he starts hearing animal sounds coming from next door at night and he watches out his window as two werewolves come crawling out of the Marlings house. I have to give the book credit for actually getting to the werewolf stuff pretty early in the book. While I also loved The Werewolf of Fever Swamp, that one didn’t actually show us any real werewolves until the very end of the book. It was still a great book, but there wasn’t actually a lot of werewolf action in it. This book only give us one night of build up, with Alex forgetting his camera out in the woods and having to go out after it before it gets ruined in the rain, stumbling across some animals that have been ripped apart, and trying to find his way back home in the dark while hearing the sounds of something else out there... But then by night two we have werewolves right out in the open. That’s kind of refreshing.

And I’d like to take a moment to talk about how this book actually puts a different spin on the werewolf myth. Because remember how I said that the whole town more or less believes the Marlings are werewolves? Well this town believes in werewolves so much that they actually teach about them in school. During one of the classroom scenes in this book we get to learn the rules of how werewolves work in this setting. It turns out when you get bit by a werewolf you turn into one when the moonlight touches you. Not just the full moon... Any moonlight. But then when the sun comes up a werewolf actually sheds it’s skin. It then keeps its skin, or pelt I guess... like a fursuit. Then every night after that, when the moon comes out, the werewolf is compelled to put its fursuit back on which turns it back into an actual wolf monster. So werewolves are just furries who can’t stop fursuiting at night. Who knew...? And of course the only way to kill a werewolf is to find its skin while he isn’t wearing it and destroy it. If you destroy the skin you kill the werewolf.

Anyways, Alex gets tricked by some kids at school who tell him they know a place in the woods where the werewolves go to drink out of a pond every night and they want him to meet them there at midnight so he can see it. Now that he actually believes in werewolves, having seen them himself, Alex agrees, thinking that if he can get pictures of the werewolves he can win that photography contest, but when he tries to sneak out that night, he finds that his aunt and uncle have locked him in his room. There is no scene of the werewolves trying to break into his room at night like there was in the TV episode, but we do find out that when he goes back to school the next day the kids are making fun of him because it was all a lie and they didn’t go out into the woods that night, thinking they tricked him into tramping through the woods alone all night. Alex doesn’t tell them that he didn’t go either because he didn’t want to tell them that his aunt and uncle locked him in his room, so instead he tells them he did go and he took pictures of the werewolves. But of course that leaves him with the problem of now they want to see the pictures and he doesn’t have any...

So of course that means there’s only one thing to do. The next night he rigs the door lock with chewing gum and sneaks out to follow the werewolves through the woods to he can take pictures of them. He tries to get Hannah to come with him, but when he knocks on her bedroom window in the middle of the night she refuses to come out. So he tramps off into the woods on his own, follows there werewolves, gets a lot of pictures of them, and actually makes it back unharmed. Not to say it wasn’t a tense couple of chapters... But when daylight finally comes and he follows the werewolves back to the Marlings’ house and watches them take their fursuits off, we get the big reveal.

Oh look at that... Aunt Marta and Uncle Colin are actually the werewolves and the Marlings don’t even exist. It’s just an abandoned house they use to store there werewolf skins in... Although I will say the twist was handled pretty well. I didn’t actually see it coming. But that’s not the end of the book. Like I said, this book had a lot to it. Because now that Alex knows his aunt and uncle are werewolves, he has to decide what to do about it.

The next day is finally Halloween and after he tells Hannah what happened she has an idea to deal with it. They don’t want to kill his aunt and uncle, so they decide that once they leave to go trick-or-treating that night, they will sneak over to the house, steal the werewolf skins, and then wear them themselves. The idea is to go trick-or-treating in the aunt and uncle’s werewolf skins and when the aunt and uncle can’t find them, they will be forced to go the whole night without turning into werewolves. In other words, they are planning to cure the aunt and uncle by making them go cold turkey.

The aunt and uncle figure this out sooner than expected and Alex and Hannah don’t get very far away in the werewolf skins before they show up and start chasing them, demanding they give them back their skins. Alex and Hannah manage to stay away from them long enough that when the full moon reaches the highest point in the night sky the curse is broken and the aunt and uncle are no longer compelled to put the skins on anymore. And naturally at this point I’m wondering why the skins haven’t turned Alex and Hannah into actual werewolves instead. Does it just not work if it’s not their own skins? That seems like a bit of a shame. That would have been a perfect twist ending. They managed to cure the aunt and uncle but became werewolves themselves in the process. Then Alex could have a werewolf girlfriend! But no... It doesn’t seem to work that way...

With the curse broken, they all decide to go back to the aunt and uncle’s house to celebrate and Alex tells Hannah “Let’s go put these skins back in the old house where no one will find them.” Hannah starts getting nervous about that but before she can stop him he’s already gone inside, and once he is in there he finds another werewolf skin still in the house. When Hannah comes in he is confused, wanting to know how there is already a skin there when they are both wearing his aunt and uncle’s skins... to which Hannah tells him that she isn’t wearing his aunt’s skin. She’s wearing her own skin. And when Alex still doesn’t seem to get it, she tells him he’ll understand soon enough, before pouncing on him and biting him.

Werewolf girlfriend!

Honestly this is probably one of the longest Goosebumps reviews I’ve written and there was still a lot of stuff I didn’t even mention. The book just had a lot to it and for once, it didn’t feel like it was filler to pad out the page length. It wasn’t even full of fake-out scares like most Goosebumps are. There were a few I guess, but with actual werewolf stuff happening from very early on in the book, there just wasn’t any need for constant fake-outs. It was pretty nice. And I probably spent more time than I really should have just rambling on about what happened without actually critiquing things... but there just wasn’t a whole lot to critique. Other than a few weird things in the beginning, like enrolling in a different school for only three weeks... the book was more or less fine and I didn’t have anything to complain about.

Definitely one of my top ten Goosebumps books. I’m very happy to see Alex and Hannah get to become a cute werewolf couple. And I’m sure Goosebumps has long been responsible for so many kids discovering new fetishes, so I just have to wonder how many kids developed a suit transformation fetish because of this book?

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petals-and-bullets · 3 years

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Spirits III

Pairing: ? x Reader

Word count: 1237 words

Info: Please read the prologue before reading this fic! You can find the prologue here, Part One here, Part Two here, and moodboards for Axl, Izzy and the reader’s birds here, here and here respectively! Maybe William and Jeff were bad influences on you. But maybe you wanted to let them be bad influences. Especially when you found yourself in LA.

A/N: This is another experimental piece; it’s an AU - everything is the same, albeit the fact that everyone has wings and can transform into birds. I will be answering questions in my ask box if anyone has any (please do send some in, it can help me clear up the lore a little better in my own mind while I’m writing!). I hope you enjoy it, and please do give me any feedback you have!

Tag List: @dustnbones @ubernoxa @star–wolf @slashscowboyboots @smokeandmirrorz @littlemisscare-all

Maybe you shouldn’t have left them in the middle of the morning, you noted, as you pushed past crowds of annoyed people in suits and ties, on their way to work.

Maybe you shouldn’t have walked out without grabbing your umbrella first, you noted, as the heavens opened and it began to pour, your hair sticking to your face as you hunched your shoulders up to your ears and wrapped your wings around yourself in a somewhat useless attempt to keep yourself dry.

You cursed Izzy out under your breath as you wandered along, digging your nails into your arms as you allowed yourself to get more and more annoyed the more you thought about how Izzy had lied to you, how he had pretended that he hadn’t been doing the very thing you’d both promised to never even look at, let alone touch. And then he just played it off, claiming it to be no big deal. Your eyes narrowed and your feet began to carry you faster, determined to get out of the rain and away from your anger, if only for a moment.

At least, that was the plan until you had walked into someone, stumbling back with a small huff before you glared up at whoever had failed to clearly see you stewing and failed to move out of the way, only to pause and take in the scruffy state of his wings. Almost immediately, he closed them and pressed them too his back, a sheepish grin being the only answer he had to your silent questioning.

“I’m moulting,” he excused, rubbing the back of his neck before he cleared his throat and offered a hand. You hesitated, not yet buying the excuse he offered; after all, who’s to say he wasn’t secretly Izzy’s dealer? After a moment, you mentally slapped yourself for such an absurd thought and took his hand, shaking it before you tilted your head.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Duff.”

“Duff?”

“Duff,” he shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You merely shook your head, not wanting to debate the question of his name any more than you already had; after all, you were friends with two guys called Izzy and Axl. After a moment of awkwardly staring at each other, he snorted a laugh and you were unable to hold back your own, shaking your head as you stepped back a little.

“… So, Duff, you know anywhere that’s warm and dry so we don’t catch our death out here?”

Duff tilted his head, furrowing his brows in thought before he nodded and took your hand, dragging you over to an inconspicuous looking coffee shop, holding the door open for you gracefully. You regarded him carefully before you smiled and stepped through, noting how much of a brilliant blue his hair actually was; especially compared to the grey and tattered state of his feathers. Once the pair of you were seated at a table, you continued to watch him, before he let out a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck again.

“I get the feelin’ that you’re trying to look into my soul, dude.”

“I’m just trying to understand you. What are you doing wandering around the streets in the pouring rain?”

“I was walking home from work. Why were you wandering around the streets in the pouring rain?”

He raised a brow when you bristled, and looked down with a small glare as you picked up a sugar packet and began to fidget with it, pursing your lips as you mused with whether or not you should give him the truth.

“… Hey. Doesn’t mean you have to tell me if you don’t wanna, you know,” he eventually spoke up, reaching across the table to gently take your hand before you ripped open the sugar packet and spilled its contents across the table. After a moment of watching him through your lashes, you sighed and sat back, dropping the packet.

“The guy I’m living with turned out to be dabbling in coke. And we’d agreed we wouldn’t touch it, but when he got caught he just said it was no big deal. Like, yeah, Izzy, it is a big deal, you dick,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you glared at the table in front of you. Duff’s head tilted to the side and he furrowed his brows, looking like a confused puppy before he shrugged and sat back.

“Who’s to say he’s doing it? He might be dealing. LA’s expensive to live in, you know.”

“We agreed to not touch it under any circumstances.”

“Maybe he thought you meant not snort it.”

You paused, blinking a few times as you processed what he said. And briefly, you mused that he may have just been right. Your agreement hadn’t been explicitly clear in the terms, and it wasn’t like Izzy thought the same way you did. It wasn’t like he could read minds, either. After a moment, you sighed for what felt like the 700th time that day, before you nodded in agreement to the man’s words.

“You’re right. I guess.”

“You guess? No, you know I’m right, Flutter.”

“Flutter.”

“Yeah, Flutter! Your wings haven’t stopped flutterin’ since we came in.”

“And what do I call you for a nickname? Moulty?”

He snorted, tilting his head back as he held back a laugh, before he shook his head and leaned forward, his eyes trapping yours in a solid, unwavering gaze.

“Try Duff. You know. My actual nickname.”

“Maybe I don’t like Duff,” you shot back, grinning when he pouted at the jab, “but you’re in luck. Because I do. Although… I can’t quite figure out what bird you are.”

He cleared his throat and glanced away, his hand idly scratching at one of his wings before he looked back at you, offering a sheepish smile.

“I’m a swan. We… Uh. We don’t technically hit the adult feather stage until we’re teenagers, and I’m just shy of 20.”

“Ah. Mute?”

“Yeah. Although I’m not exactly part of a mute family,” he let out a chuckle then, and you smiled at the way his smile seemed to just light up the room, regardless of his slight embarrassment at the unkempt state his wings were in. You’d heard about the poor states of those who’d abused substances or were suffering from illness, where their wings barely held any feathers and they were unable to fly. Moulting, though? Moulting made sense. At least, you’d hoped that Duff wasn’t trying to pull your bluff. Maybe he was, especially after he’d heard your ranting about Izzy and his broken deal.

“I know it looks like I’m on somethin’. But I’m not. Promise. Gives me panic attacks,” he admitted, offering you a weak grin before he looked out the window with a raised brow, “quick question. You know the guy who’s been staring at us through the window?”

You glanced over, only to suck in your cheeks in annoyance when you realised that Izzy, the asshole in question himself, was stood in the pouring rain with not even a coat to protect him from the droplets. And even though you were inside and across the street from him, you could see the distinct pain of jealousy cross his face before he turned and stalked away.

“Fuck,” was all you could utter before you dropped your head to the table.

#guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses fic #gnr #gnr fanfic #gnr fic #spirits au #duff mckagan #x reader #guns n roses x reader #izzy stradlin #wow look who's back

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yandere-society · 5 years

Text

Reincarnate

Synopsis: ‘Taehyung hates his immortal life, rueing the day Namjoon blessed him with eternity. But now, a hundred years later, he stumbles across someone who he— who they— want to keep forever.’

Pairing: Taehyung × Fem!Reader × Namjoon

Genre: Inspired by Interview with a Vampire, Horror

Word Count: 7K

Admin: @chimchimsauce

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, descriptions of manipulation and physical harm. Please read with caution.

Rain patters peacefully against the large diner windows, blurring the lights of the cars passing by on the highway. The smell of cheap coffee wafts through the air as a tired-looking waitress wipes a rag over the empty countertop.

YN sighs, eyeing her own cup of now cold coffee and watery grits. She’s ordered almost an hour ago to calm her nerves about her upcoming interview. But with each minute that passes by, the reporter becomes more and more aware that the mysterious man on the phone had stood her up. She really shouldn’t be surprised anymore. She gets more prank calls than actual ones.

And yet, the disappointment is still there. The man who called her only this afternoon seemed much different from the giggling teenagers who claimed to have the latest scoop. His voice had been heavenly, enchanting even. Surely a voice like that couldn’t belong to a prankster.

Her rubbery eggs suggest otherwise.

Rising in anger (both at the mystery man for ditching and at herself for sitting here this long) YN begins to pack her bag, shoving notebooks and recorders into her small satchel before plopping two dollars on the table as a tip. When she turns to go, however, the woman nearly screams out in fright, startled by the stranger standing right in front of her.

Any snarky remark she intended on delivering falls dead on her tongue as her eyes widen, taking in the man before her. YN can confidently say in the twenty-four years she’s been alive, she’s never seen someone so beautiful. She openly stares at him, taking in his tall height, broad shoulders, large hands, and perfectly sculpted face. Even his attire is gorgeous. His fitted shirt hugs his body closely, jeans hanging on his waist loosely, ears pierced with sparkly silver jewelry.

This man belongs on a runway, not in a run-down diner under a highway.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he says jovially, not uncomfortable at the slightest due to her blatant staring.

“I - what?” YN asks, finally coming back to reality.

The stranger doesn’t respond, sliding into the other side of the booth and propping his head on his hands, looking at her endearingly. It causes color to rush to YN’s cheeks as she sits down just as quickly as she stood, trying to seem less frazzled than she really is.

“It’s okay,” the reporter says, finally putting two and two together and realizing that the handsome stranger was the one who called her, “Things happen,”

He smiles lazily, the expression sending YN’s heart into overdrive.

“Thanks for being so understanding,” he says with that beautiful voice of his, “I had a . . . prior engagement,”

His easy smile morphs into an amused one, making YN believe he’s referencing some inside joke she doesn’t understand.

“Would you like to order something? Coffee maybe?”

“I’m good, thank you,” he responds.

“Ah, well,” YN starts, trying to move on.

She really needs a story. The small newspaper she works for has had declining numbers this entire year. She’s afraid if she doesn’t write something spectacular, she’ll be laid off. YN rummages through her bag and sets up her recorder.

“You don’t mind, do you?” YN asks, looking up at the man.

He just shakes his head, the amused look on his face staying firm. It doesn’t quite sit right with her.

“You said you believe a vampire is behind the recent animal attacks that have been plaguing the town,” she asks once she’s certain that the device is recording.

She’s not one to waste time.

“Mmhm,” the man says, still grinning.

“And why is that, Mr . . .” YN trails off, realizing that she doesn’t know the man’s name.

He didn’t mention it earlier on the phone.

“Kim,” he says, “Kim Taehyung,”

For some inexplicable reason, that name seems familiar to her. She can’t tell where she’s heard it before, the memory lurking right out of her reach.

“Mr. Kim,” YN says, licking her suddenly parched lips, “You are aware that vampires are just myths, aren’t you? Especially around this season, it can be easy to blur the lines between fantasy and reality,”

For the first time since they’ve met, Taehyung’s eternal smile droops.

“Believe me, Beastie, vampires are most certainly real,”

“As fascinating as that would be to believe,” YN says, ignoring his strange conviction, “The attacks have been reported by the authorities as animal attacks. It’s not uncommon for a wolf to wander into town, considering Mistyhollow is completely surrounded by woods.”

Mistyhollow, the town YN grew up in, as the most uninteresting place on Earth. Even as a child, the sleepy town made YN restless, made her want to escape and see the real world. College had been that escape for her, but once both of her parents passed away in a freak accident, YN had no other choice but to come back and sort everything out.

The guilt is what made her stay. Her parents had been driving up to surprise her for her birthday when a semi-truck came out of nowhere and totaled their car and took both of them out of this world. YN couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility, couldn’t turn her back of the town her parents loved.

So now, five years later, YN is still stuck here at this place, chasing adventure the only way she knows how.

“No animal has the prowess to kill the exact same way every time. Every person who was murdered died because of a fatal wound right here,”

The man - Taehyung - places two of his long fingers over his jugular.

“How did you know that?” YN asks, bewildered.

That information hadn’t been released to the public. The only way YN knows it to be true is because the chief of police - an old friend of her father’s - mentioned it to her when he came over to check on her last weekend. The large spike in murders caused the middle-aged man to worry for her safety, especially since he had taken it upon himself to watch over her ever since her parents passed.

“Because I know who killed them,” Taehyung says breezily and without a care in the world.

YN’s heartbeat skyrockets. She’s never seen Taehyung before tonight and Mistyhollow is small enough that she knows almost everyone. There’s a very real possibility that he indeed was the one to kill all those people or that he’s in cahoots with them.

The woman’s fear must be evident in her expression because Taehyung continues.

“Don’t be afraid. There won’t be any more murders in this town after tonight,” he tries (and fails) to soothe her.

YN stands up, story be damned. She’s not sitting next to a murderer for one second longer.

But before she can even blink, Taehyung is in front of her, cold hand wrapped around her wrist. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to prevent her escape.

“Off so soon, miss LN? I haven’t even given you my story yet,”

Taehyung is incredibly bemused, YN’s growing terror causing him to smile.

“Let me go,” she demands, trying to free herself, “Or I’ll scream,”

“Go ahead,” Taehyung offers, not moving an inch.

The coldness seems to spread throughout her body the longer he’s touching her.

YN doesn’t hesitate. She screams at the top of her lungs, the sound sharp and shrill, every ounce of fear forcing its way out.

But nothing happens. No one comes running as she’d hoped they would. It’s at this moment that YN realizes that the two of them are all alone.

“I came here to be interviewed,” Taehyung says, “It’s incredibly rude to run out on me, especially since I had to travel such a long distance,”

“Please don’t kill me,” YN pleads, her voice barely above a whisper.

She’s terrified, completely frozen in place.

“Kill you?” Taehyung asks as if the thought had never occurred to him, “Of course not, beastie. I’d never hurt you,”

His words are much too loving for the situation they’re currently in.

“Then what do you want from me?” YN asks, brain coming up with a million different scenarios, some even worse than death.

“I just want you to listen to me. Is that so much to ask?”

“N-no,” YN says, willing to go along with whatever he says until she can figure out a way to escape.

“Good. It’s nice to see you obedient for once, Beastie,” Taehyung says, guiding her back to her spot in the booth and finally releasing her.

She knows that another attempt to run would not be smart.

“Now where were we,” Taehyung asks, settling back in, “Ah, right. You don’t believe in vampires. I don’t blame you. I didn’t either. Not at first,”

“Do you have any proof?” YN forces herself to ask, continuing to play her role.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side, thinking.

“You know, I think I’d like to order something after all,”

And just like that, the waitress reappears from the kitchen, approaching the table as normal, as if she hadn’t heard YN scream only moments ago. The reporter is completely stunned. The waitress doesn’t even look at her. She’s standing too stiffly for her stance to appear normal, a dazed, glazed look in her eyes.

“Hi, doll,” Taehyung regards the lady with a patronizing tone even though she’s old enough to be his mother, “I’ll take a cup of coffee,”

As the waitress walks away, YN notices the two puncture wounds in her neck, right where all the other victims had been attacked. Her mouth dries out as she tries to swallow, noticing the blood oozing from the wounds. When she’s finally able to tear her eyes from the sight, her eyes connect with Taehyung’s.

“Persuasion works really well right after I bite someone,” he says casually, dragging his tongue across his lengthened canines, “She’ll be fine soon enough,”

YN is silent, struggling to process what’s going on.

Vampires are real. Vampires have been behind the mass murders in town. The man in front of her is a vampire.

For some reason, it isn’t nearly as difficult to accept as she’d thought.

“Why tell me this?” YN finds herself asking as the waitress hands Taehyung his coffee.

He swaps his fresh cup for YN’s cold one.

“You wanted a story didn’t you, Beastie?” Taehyung asks, “So I’m going to tell you a story. Listen well and drink that coffee, we’re gonna be here a while.”

The day was sunny. Taehyung never knew how much he would grow to hate sunny days. It was sunny when a snake shot out and bit his new wife, sickening her until she faded away like snow in spring, taking their unborn child with her.

The funeral was held on a sunny day. Taehyung’s tears and bloodshot eyes did not match the warm green grass and cheerful birds. And so he retreated into his too big, too empty house, unaware of the calculating eyes watching his every move.

Time went by in a haze of bar fights and blowing his money in the whore house, desperate to feel something - anything. But no matter what the twenty-three-year-old did, all he felt was empty. He’d loved his wife so completely that her death seemed to destroy him as well.

It was another one of those nights where the man was drunk just as the sky turned dark, getting yelled at for cheating at the game of cards he’d just won. Staggering, Taehyung stumbles to his feet, raising his fists for another fight. But before the seething man across from him can sock him in the throat, someone pulls him away, spewing apologies to the other man and hurrying the both of them away before Taehyung can cause even more trouble.

Taehyung doesn’t even bother to look at who his savior is. The world is spinning too much for him to care about anything. His shoes catch on the ground, causing him to lurch forward only to be rescued by the stranger at the last second. The sudden change in momentum is the final straw for Taehyung. He gags before puking all over himself and the floor, probably getting some on the stranger based on the sound of displeasure he makes.

The stranger drops Taehyung, the man landing in a heap on the ground. Taehyung groans but doesn’t complain, content being trash on the side of the road.

“Honestly,” the stranger begins, “You’re quite a mess, aren’t you, Taehyung,”

He crouches beside Taehyung, finally giving the drunk a look at his face.

The stranger is handsome, tall and poised. The smile on his face is wicked and mischievous causing Taehyung’s heart to sink to his stomach.

“You even ruined my coat,” he says, tutting slightly as if scolding a small child, “But I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,”

“Who are you?” Taehyung asks, the feeling of danger boiling in his stomach.

There’s something off about this man, something sinister.

“Why, I’m your guardian angel,” he says, lips stretching even farther in an unnatural grin.

“Tell me,” he continues once it’s clear that Taehyung has no desire to reply, “Do you want to die?”

“Yes,” the fallen man says quickly, startling himself.

It’s a thought that has been bouncing around his skull ever since his wife died, ever since he realized how alone and miserable he’s been.

“Say your prayers, then,” the stranger says.

In the blink of an eye, the other man is on him, hand tangling into his hair and yanking his head to the side, exposing his neck. Pain radiates through Taehyung as long fangs force their way into his neck, red hot pain shooting through his nervous system.

Taehyung tries to scream but the sound is muffled by the stranger’s hand. The vampire’s eyes flutter closed as he draws in mouthful after mouthful, a near euphoric sensation causing a moan to get caught in his throat.

This desperate man has some of the best blood the vampire’s ever tasted and he’s going to drain him dry.

Despite claiming that he wanted to die only moments ago, Taehyung fights back as best he can, feebly punching at the man and trying to dislodge his fangs from his throat. Prey fighting back usually annoys the vampire but he finds himself in a good mood, pulling away to look Taehyung in the eyes.

“I thought you wanted to die,” he says, amusement lacing his tone as his tongue darts out and licks his bloodstained teeth clean, “Have you changed your mind?”

Taehyung nods as best he can, fiercely glaring at the vampire with a passion that makes the other’s toes curl in delight. He’s going to be a lot of fun.

“Let me cut you a deal, then,” the vampire begins, “I’ll save you, make you like me, but you’ll be mine. Do you understand?”

Taehyung nods again, his world slowly turning black.

And then the vampire is on him again, draining him nearly dry before using his fang to tear into his own wrist, placing his dripping arm up to the dying man and forcing him to drink. Taehyung soon becomes greedy, grasping onto the stranger with as much strength as he has, trying to pull more of the pure power into him.

“That’s enough,” the stranger says, attempting to pull away.

Turning someone else always drains his energy.

Taehyung doesn’t respond, trying to keep drinking his blood. Growing angry, the stranger rips Taehyung off of him, raising both of them into the air and over the neighboring harbor, his clawed hands coming up to strangle him.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he growls out, eyes as dark as pitch, “I’m the one in charge. Don’t test me,”

And with that, he drops Taehyung into the water.

“The vampire who changed me is named Namjoon,” Taehyung says, watching YN’s hands tremble as she tries to drink the coffee as he told her too, “He’s an insufferable bastard. Manipulative, selfish, mean. I hated him,”

“Then why,” YN begins, “Did you have him save you?”

Her question is hesitant. She’s equally afraid of asking the wrong thing and asking nothing at all.

“I had no idea what my life would turn into,” Taehyung says, a faraway look in his eyes, “If I’d known how it would go, I would have had him kill me . . . or maybe I wouldn’t have,”

His statement is confusing but YN doesn’t push any further.

“My new life began once I crawled out of the water like a drowned rat. I didn’t notice anything different at first. Namjoon wasn’t there and besides an intense ache in my throat, I didn’t feel any better. So I hauled my ass home,”

He pauses. YN gets the impression that talking about his transformation isn’t something Taehyung enjoys doing. It makes her question why he’s forcing this interview.

“The full moon is when it happened. The blood finally took over me. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I had escaped into the night and stumbled my way to the cemetery in my back yard. It was a rather morbid time if I think about it,”

“When was this?”

“Seventeen ninety-one,” he replies.

YN tries to hide her shock. The man in front of her is hundreds of years old.

She must have failed because he laughs slightly.

“I’ve aged rather well, haven’t I, Beastie?”

She nods numbly.

“And then the change came. Namjoon appeared. He watched me be ripped apart from the inside and put back together without even flinching. It felt like an eternity, but it was probably a few hours at most. It was still dark when I awoke,”

“What was different?” YN asks, continuing to play her role.

If she somehow manages to escape this diner, she’ll be able to say that she actually had an interview with a vampire.

“Everything,” he says breathlessly, “Everything I thought I knew to be true was a lie. Being human is seeing the world through a filtered, muddied window. Becoming a vampire was like removing the lense. Everything is clearer, sharper,” he lifts his head up, staring at the ceiling, “I can see every flake of paint, every dust molecule drifting through the air. I can hear your heartbeat and the cars on the highway a hundred miles from here,”

“That seems,” YN begins, searching for the right word, “Overwhelming,”

“It was. My whole world had shifted on its axis and started spinning the opposite way,”

Taehyung lay gasping, struggling to pull in air for his burning lungs.

“You can give that up,” Namjoon says, appearing from wherever he’d been hiding and landing softly on the dirt next to Taehyung, “Your lungs don’t work anymore. Stop trying to breathe,”

Seeing as it felt as if the new vampire was suffocating he does as told, holding his breath until his lungs stop screaming.

“You don’t need to breathe any longer,” Namjoon says, leaning over the crumpled Taehyung with a grin on his face, “But I imagine you’re rather hungry,”

It’s as if the words ignited a thirst in Taehyung. He began to claw at his throat as it burned, the need for blood overcoming him.

“Let’s go hunt, shall we? I wouldn’t want my new companion to die of thirst,” Namjoon says jovially, helping Taehyung up and dusting his clothes off.

“You can at least try to be presentable,” he scolds, “You are the head of an estate. You must look the part,”

“How did you know that?” Taehyung asks, eyes taking in all of the new sights and scents he hadn’t been able to register before.

“I know everything,” Namjoon says dismissively.

“Now,” he continues, clapping his hands together, “Follow me,”

And with those final words, Namjoon speeds off. If Taehyung had still been human, he wouldn’t have been able to see him. But his new vampiric sight allowed him to see every step the other took, every swish of his hair as he ducked and dodged branches.

With the thirst growing stronger every second, Taehyung follows him, eager for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t take him long to catch up with Namjoon despite running headfirst into a couple of trees as he tried to get used to his new speed.

Surprisingly, Namjoon doesn’t tease or scold him. The elder vampire simply crouches down at the edge of the forest, looking out into a clearing where a small, shoddily put together house stands. Light blinks in one of the thin windows, Taehyung’s new sight allowing him to make out the candle and the wax that slowly slides down the side.

“Tell me,” Namjoon asks, voice so quiet it would be undetectable by humans, “What do you hear?”

The question annoys Taehyung. He just wants to quench his thirst. But something tells him that Namjoon could end him easily if he stepped out of line. So he obliges, closing his eyes to try and better hear. He picks up the sound of three heartbeats.

“People,” he says, finally, “I hear their heartbeats,”

“Very good,” Namjoon praises, “How many?”

“Three?”

“Wonderful. You’re doing very well, pet. Soon enough you’ll be able to tell even more about prey before you’re anywhere near them. But those skills come with practice. Let’s go eat, hm? The blood in these humans isn’t nearly as delicious as some others, but it will do for now.”

Before any reasonable part of his brain can stop him, Taehyung rushes after Namjoon as they make their way over to the house.

“Now we could just break in and drain them,” Namjoon says to the salivating Taehyung, “But there isn’t any fun in that. Hunting is an art form. Watch.”

The suave vampire raps his knuckles on the door. When it isn’t immediately answered, he knocks again, this time harder. Shuffling can be heard in the small cabin as someone stirs awake, taking the lit candle and peeping through the door hesitantly.

“Hello,” the man begins, clearly confused as to why he has visitors at this late hour.

“Hello,” Namjoon says, barely containing his smile, “My companion and I,” he grips the slightly disheveled Taehyung, pulling him closer, “Were wondering if you could perhaps allow us to stay the night at your wonderful home. You see, we’ve become quite lost and -”

The human slams the door in their faces before Namjoon can even finish. He snarls at the door.

“How rude! And to think, I was going to kill him first so he didn’t have to watch his wife and child die first. Do you see what I get for being so kind?” Namjoon rants, turning to Taehyung.

It’s clear that he wants him to agree. Taehyung nods. The thirst grows more each moment. It’s all he can focus on.

“I’ll draw it out then. Alright,” Namjoon says, ripping the door entirely off of its hinges.

The screaming inside is instant. Namjoon pounces upon the man from earlier, sinking his teeth deep into his flesh. The wife scrambles to protect the screaming child, a boy of eleven or so. But Taehyung is too far gone to process his actions. In the blink of an eye, the new vampire has the woman pinned against the wall, hands squeezing her neck so tightly that it breaks, killing her mid-scream. Taehyung’s mouth aches as fangs push through his gums and find their way into the woman’s shoulder, pulling in mouthful after mouthful. He isn’t sure how long it takes but soon enough her body is completely drained.

The blinding thirst has absolved quite a bit, but it still taunts him, still calls for him to drink more. So he turns to the crying child huddled in the corner, barely registering the joy in Namjoon’s face and the horror in the man’s as he’s forced to watch.

The child doesn’t have a chance. Taehyung bites his shoulder, growing annoyed as he struggles and screams loudly. Without pulling away, he reaches a hand up and crushes his skull, effectively silencing him. After draining him completely, Taehyung licks the streams of blood off his ruined face, sighing in relief at the fullness he feels.

It’s only then when he registers what he’s done.

“My humanity was gone,” Taehyung says, watching the expressions on YN’s face. “Namjoon and I went on a violent killing spree for the first month after my transformation. We killed everyone we came across,”

YN swallows.

How many people must he have killed? Taehyung is over two hundred years old. The number has got to be in the thousands.

“And after I settled into my transformation, once I was free from the desire for blood constantly hanging over my head, I began to hate what I was, what I choose to become. I am a murderer. I steal the lives of innocent people just so I can creep through the night forever. But I could not freely express these emotions. Namjoon was extremely temperamental back then. One wrong word and he’d have me pinned against the ceiling,”

YN chews her lip. She wants to ask more about the relationship between the two men but she also doesn’t want to end up dead on the floor.

“Go ahead, Beastie,” Taehyung prompts, staring at her with eyes too beautiful to belong to a soulless creature such as himself, “Ask your question,”

YN’s cheeks heat up. He’d caught her off guard.

“What exactly . . . was your relationship? With Namjoon?”

Her words are hesitant.

The vampire seems to think for a moment.

“Companions, I suppose,” he says after a pause, “Sometimes more. Often times less. Namjoon always wanted something. He changed me because I had the ability to amuse him. He’d been watching me for quite a while. Namjoon knew the money and influence I held and wanted it for himself. I was nothing more than a plaything for him in the beginning,”

“That sounds toxic,”

“That’s not even the half of it,” he says, laughing a little.

YN supposes that it’s been long enough that he can laugh about it.

“Eventually I grew tired of it,” Taehyung says, becoming more serious, “Namjoon was so happy and I was even more miserable than I was as a human. And one day at dinner I just snapped,”

“Your servants are great cooks. Too bad I can’t enjoy any of the food,” Namjoon says, poking a turkey with a solid silver fork.

A golden goblet sits to his right, filled to the brim with blood. Namjoon’s ringed fingers daintily wrap around the glass’ stem, bringing it to his mouth, his lips painted ruby.

Taehyung sits opposite him, his own glass still full. He cringes internally, thinking of the servants Namjoon put under persuasion to go into the town and kidnap people, only to lock them in the cellar to be used as personal blood bags.

Namjoon shares none of this guilt, jovially chatting away and enjoying his expensive clothes, all bought with Taehyung’s money.

“The decor in here is a little dated, don’t you think, pet? So last century. I say we redecorate,”

“You say a lot,” Taehyung spits, unable to hold his tongue for a moment longer.

Namjoon’s happy expression hardens.

“Oh?”

It’s a challenge, clear as day.

Normally Taehyung would back down immediately, but he’s had enough.

“But you never say anything important. All you do is ramble on and on. Don’t you ever get tired of yourself? I certainly do,” Taehyung snaps.

It feels good to let it all out.

The fork Namjoon had been holding bends in half in his grip.

“You’re an ungrateful brat, you know that?” Namjoon says, struggling to keep his cool, “I give you eternal life and you treat me like this?”

“I’d rather be dead,” Taehyung says, glaring at his ‘savior’.

“That can be arranged,”

And with that, Namjoon launches himself over the table and at Taehyung. The younger vampire was ready, however, and soon a brawl broke out. The two of them completely trashed the banquet hall, Taehyung knocking over a candle and setting the luxurious rug on fire.

The vampires don’t notice, continuing to fight each other viciously. It’s only when the ceiling begins to fall around them that they break away and escape the house fire.

It’s chaos outside as servants scream and search for each other.

“Look what you did,” Namjoon growls, his fancy clothes charred, no longer looking even close to their original glory, “Look what you ruined!”

Taehyung pays his creator no mind, watching his home burn to the ground. It sends a bolt of satisfaction through him. That house was where all his happy memories were, where his human life occurred. It should be turned into ashes, just like his soul has been.

“Weren’t you sad that you lost your home?” YN asks.

By now her coffee is completely empty. She grows slightly more courageous as every minute passes. It’s probably the caffeine.

“It felt liberating. That home was where my old life lived. Being there after being turning was another level of torture I hadn’t known I’d been suffering through until it was gone. Abd the look on Namjoon’s face was absolutely worth it,”

“What happened next?” YN asks him.

She’s beginning to get sucked into the story. It almost seems like a demented fairytale.

“We were penniless. Our days of grand parties and servants were over. I had expected Namjoon to abandon me, but I think he realized sticking around would be the perfect payback for ruining his carefully thought out plan,”

Taehyung taps his fingers against the diner table absentmindedly. He comes back to himself, waving a finger in the air to summon the waitress who promptly refills YN’s coffee.

“Thank you,” the reporter murmurs.

Taehyung smiles again, some unreadable emotion hiding behind his eyes.

“For some time,” he continues his tale, “The two of us wandered about, draining people and using their belongings for as long as we could,”

YN winces.

“I know. It was awful. But at the time, there didn’t seem to be anything else we could do. And then it got even worse,”

“How?” YN asks, fingers warm from her cup.

“A sickness came. It was still the time where one person being sick could take a whole town with them. So of course, the blood quality fell tremendously. Vampires can’t contract illnesses, but diseased blood can make us weaker. It was then,” Taaehyung says, locking eyes with the girl in front of him, “that we met her,”

“Her? Who?” YN asks, feeling entirely naked under his intense gaze.

“Elizabeth,” he says with a fondness reserved for those dearest to his heart.

His entire form brightens considerably.

The town around them looks like it got hit by a tornado. Houses are empty and decrepit, windows cracked and door ripped off of their hinges. Crappy, poorly assembled carriages are turned over in the streets.

“Oh great,” Namjoon says as the two vampires make their way through the ghost town, “Everyone’s already dead,”

The elder vampire steps on a dead body, kicking it over with a pout on his face.

“You whine so much,” Taehyung says, peeping into an abandoned house, seeing if anything is able to be salvaged.

He’s rummaging through a set of drawers, only finding old papers and nicknacks.

“You’re a bad luck charm. I’m sure of it,” Namjoon complains, destroying a wall with a half-assed punch.

“Why are you still here then? You’re absolutely welcome to leave,”

“Oh please,” Namjoon says, laying himself over the younger, “You love me too much for me to leave,”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as they continue going through town, looking for people to drain. By the time they’ve reached the final house, hope is almost entirely lost. It’s been a few days since either of them has had blood, weakening the both of them.

As they enter the last house weak footsteps can be heard.

A willow of a girl steps into sight. Her cheeks are sunk in and her body is so thin that it’s obvious that she hasn’t eaten in a long time. Her skin is dirty and caked in dirt, clothes nearly falling off of her. Taehyung guesses that she’s a teenager.

“Can you,” she begins, “Help my mother?”

Taehyung’s eyes are drawn from her form to the dead body curled up on a stack of straw mats.

“She’s ill,”

A pang of sympathy surges through Taehyung.

“Your mother’s dead,” Namjoon tells the girl bluntly, “And you will be too in just a few moments,”

Before he can attack, Taehyung holds his arm in front of Namjoon’s chest, stopping him.

“Don’t,” he says.

Something about the girl is so innocent and sweet. The sudden urge to protect her overwhelms him.

“You want to kill her?” Namjoon asks, surprised.

Taehyung almost always attacks people over the age of thirty. It helps ease his guilt.

“Leave her,” Taehyung says.

She’s trembling now, huddled next to her mother’s corpse. He pities her. He’d done the same thing when his wife died forty years ago.

A sudden, wicked smile emerges on Namjoon’s perfect face.

“I’ll tell you what,” he begins, not even trying to hide the scheming tone in his voice, “I’ll give you two options. Either you turn her,” he pauses, always one for dramatics, “Or I’ll kill her,”

“No,” Taehyung nearly growls out.

He isn’t sure why but the thought of her death makes him angry. Namjoon has obviously picked up on it and is using that sudden determination to manipulate him.

No matter what, some things never change.

“Try and stop me,” the elder says with a cocky grin.

Even though Taehyung has been a vampire for decades, he’s not nearly as strong as Namjoon. Their numerous fights always end with Namjoon winning and boasting about it for weeks afterward.

Taehyung takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent. She smells absolutely divine, the blood thumping just barely under her skin calling to him. He glances once more at Namjoon before approaching the frightened girl.

“What’s your name?” he begins, crouching down next to her.

“E-Elizabeth,” she stutters out.

Taehyung smiles at her sweetly, trying to calm her down so she’s not as frightened for what’s to come.

“Don’t worry, little Elizabeth,” Taehyung says, “You won’t feel the pain for much longer,”

Her eyes are blown wide as Taehyung opens his mouth wider than what should be possible, his sharp fangs glittering in the moonlight filtering in through the broken window. A scream gets caught in the girl’s throat as his fangs sink into her skin.

Her blood is the best he’s ever tasted. His eyes roll back in his head as she struggles against him. Taehyung wraps his arms around her frail body, careful not to crush her bird bones. The blood is almost too delicious to stop but Taehyung pulls away just in time, force-feeding her his own blood as Namjoon had all those years ago.

Namjoon watches with a satisfied grin on his face, loving the way he can jerk the younger around and bend him to his will.

Because the full moon is tonight, Elizabeth’s transformation is nearly instantaneous. Taehyung watches as her cheeks fill out and regain a healthy, youthful glow. Her hair becomes shiny and her cracked, dirty nails grow to a dainty length.

She’s beautiful.

“Are transformations always this stunning?” Taehyung asks Namjoon, looking at the elder in wonder.

“I’m not sure. You’re the only person I’ve ever been able to successfully change,” he says, “But you became so beautiful,: Namjoon says, voice trailing off as he looks at his companion.

Despite the way they always fight and generally have a giant distaste for each other, Taehyung holds a special place in Namjoon’s cold, dead heart. He feels more alive when the other one is around.

The moment is broken when the girl gasps loudly, waking up.

“I loved her,” Taehyung says, “We both did. She was the breath of fresh air we needed in our lives. We bonded over her presence, but we . . . disagreed over how we should teach her,”

Taehyung takes a breath, looking at the face he adores, noticing how it’s ever so slightly different than before. She’s older than she ever got before, her face a little slimmer, her stature a little taller.

“Soon after we found and changed Elizabeth, there was a boat expedition we managed to sneak onto. Namjoon managed to convince Elizabeth to help him rob some of the richer passengers. While I didn’t agree - robbing from the living is quite different than robbing from the dead - it was enough to set us up with a new life,”

YN is quiet, obviously thinking over his story. Taehyung indulges her, remaining silent as well. If he’s learned anything in his time on earth, it’s how to be patient. Even though she doesn’t know it, Taehyung would never hurt her.

“Was it better? Were you happier once you became reestablished again?”

“The wealth didn’t make much of a difference to me,” Taehyung says honestly, “But Namjoon was ecstatic. And so was Elizabeth. Her entire human life had been lived in squalor, so it was just as foreign as her new abilities. It made Namjoon so happy to spoil her. He’d order new dresses to be made almost weekly and always bought her anything her heart desired,”

He speaks of those times fondly, almost happily. It stirs something in her heart.

“But it made her meaner - crueler. And I couldn’t help but get jealous. She was mine. I’d turned her, I was the one who saved her. And yet Namjoon was jeopardizing her time. So I sweet-talked him, played into his ego and greed and got him to spend more time away from the house. He got into stocks and business, stealing from rich business owners while smiling at them.

“Were you together with her? With Elizabeth?”

“I suppose. Nearly,” Taehyung says, pain evident in his tone and facial expression, “We spent so much more time together. For the first time since meeting my wife, I really connected with someone on a deeper level. We would lay together and just talk about whatever. We’d speculate about the future, talk about how we wanted the world to change. I loved her more than anything and I know she loved me too. But then,”

He falls silent again.

“We’d managed to catch the attention of a local cult. One of the leaders worked with Namjoon and convinced him to bring me to a meeting. We’d expected a normal meeting but were subdued with silver chains and taken hostage. But that wasn’t what made me - us so angry. They’d taken Elizabeth. Took her from our safe home and forced her into captivity,”

YN reaches out to the vampire, surprising both of them when her warm hand touches his cold one. She moves to snatch it away but Taehyung quickly interlaces their fingers, preventing her from moving at all.

“They tortured her,” Taehyung spits bitterly, “And then murdered her right in front of our eyes. They pushed her out into the sun and made us watch as she disintegrated,”

“I’m so sorry,” YN says, heart going out to him.

She knows exactly how it feels to lose a loved one.

“They got what they deserved. Someone slipped up and Namjoon and I were able to escape. We slaughtered them all and set their lair on fire,”

YN squeezes his cold hand, all the fear she’d had at the beginning of his tale gone completely,

“Namjoon and I grew closer after losing her. It was devastating to both of us. We were the only comfort the other had. We’d both lost a lover, a companion . . . a friend. We had to become those for each other. But even still, it was a loss we couldn’t recover from,”

“How long ago was it?” YN asks.

Time does not heal all wounds but it does make it easier to cope.

“About a hundred years,” he pauses, “But something happened recently. I don’t think we’ll feel that pain anymore,”

“Why?”

A ding catches YN’s attention. She’s surprised to see another man, this one even taller than Taehyung. Hs grins at her with a dimpled smile.

“Hello, pet,” he says, voice sending a shiver down the reporter’s spine.

Taehyung doesn’t even look behind him, relaxing instantly.

“Hello, Namjoon,”

YN’s heart rate picks up rapidly. In the blink of an eye, he’s standing right in front of the table.

“I got impatient,” he says, speaking to Taehyung but looking at YN with a smile so wide her stomach flips.

“I’m not surprised,” the other vampire responds.

Something tells YN that there is no chance of escape.

“Make it quick,” YN says, closing her eyes and feeling breathless, “Please,”

She doesn’t want to face her death with open eyes.

There’s movement around her. YN squeezes her fists together.

But no fangs enter her skin. When she opens her eyes, both Namjoon and Taehyung are looking at her fondly.

“We’ve missed you so much, Beastie,” Namjoon says, eyes dialed.

“I - what?” YN asks, confused and terrified.

“I never believed in reincarnation. But here you are. Our sweet little angel,”

All at once, it rushes back to her. The soft way Taehyung had spoken over the hours, the nickname, the way he looked at her.

“I don’t - no,” YN says, shaking her head, trying to run but getting surrounded immediately.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon says, “You learned to love us once. You can do it again,”

Her voice dies in her throat as two pairs of fangs approach her, sinking into either side of her throat. As the world turns dark, YN hears one a singular sentence.

“You won’t leave us ever again.”

#yandere bts #yandere x reader #taejoon #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #vampire bts #vampire au #namjoon x taehyung

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asterekmess · 4 years

Note

1-11 Scott/Posey Stans always try to deflect criticism of the way Scott McCall is written in Teen Wolf by claiming that ANY attempt by a fan, a viewer, or a critic of holding Scott to a level of behavior that one would expect of a character who is a main and the self-proclaimed hero of the show is “racism”. Except that their accusations don’t make any sense whatsoever, because Scott’s canonical shitty actions and behavior don’t stem from his race (or canonical lack of thereof.)

Okay hun, this is a doozy, so I’m putting it under a Read More.

2-11 Scott McCall is mean. He’s mean to Stiles, he’s mean to Allison, he’s mean to Derek, he’s mean to Peter, he’s mean to Cora, he’s mean to Lydia, he’s mean to Jackson, he’s mean to Erica, he’s mean to Isaac, he’s mean to Malia, he’s mean to Malia, he’s mean to Kira, he’s mean to Liam, he’s mean to Chris, and he’s even mean to Theo (“You are barely even human!”) Scott McCall is deliberately rude to the Hales, Boyd, Ethan, Danny, Hayden, Jiang, Tierney, and Melissa.

3-11 Scott McCall deliberately USES, INSULTS, HUMILIATES and DEHUMANIZES people in ways that demonstrate that he is fully aware of what he’s doing. Scott McCall deliberately disregards other people’s needs in order to fulfill his own. Tyler Posey being half Mexican doesn’t change the fact that his fictional character Scott McCall is a whiny coward and an abusive piece of trash,

4-11 and that his so called ‘defense squad’ enjoys the power fantasy that Scott can be cruel, can lie, can assault, can lash out, can violate other people’s boundaries, bodily autonomy and consent, can commit premeditated murder, can break the law without impunity, can dehumanize, can gaslight and victim blame his friends to his heart’s content and no one should ever hold it against him

5-11 In both the production and in some Scott supremacist fanfics, there’s often the premise that people are evil and in the wrong if they call Scott out on his bullshit or hold his toxic behavior against him. Take Season 1. As much as the Scott McCall defense squad brigade love framing Stiles and Derek getting shit done and prioritizing people’s life over Scott’s jealous fits and temper tantrums as the height of depravity

6-11 Scott/Posey Stans consciously and steadfastly ignore all the cruel things that Scott says and does throughout the seasons, such as “How much Adderall have you had today?” OR “What are you trying to do?! I just made first line! I got a date with a girl who I can't believe wants to go out with me and everything in my life is perfect! Why are you trying to ruin it?!” OR “The hunters had a reason to slaughter your entire family and pack”

7-11 (As an aside, it’s amazing to me how Fanon rewrites Scott as this brilliant thinker and strategist and mastermind who is so much smarter and better than everyone else in every way even though Canon Scott spends the entirety of Teen Wolf doing absolutely nothing except get his ass handed to him by everyone, whining about wanting to be popular/get his dick wet/play lacrosse, screaming at his friends and girlfriends, being utterly useless when left to his own devices,

8-11 and planning to bite Stiles against his will because he doesn’t know what to do. But I digress.) Or take Season 5. In the rain argument in Lies of Omission (5x09), Scott McCall’s hypocritical, dehumanizing speech to Stiles is one of the meanest, cruelest, most disgusting manipulations I have ever seen a television character deliver to another television character they supposedly cared about. It’s victim blaming and gaslighting at its vilest.

9-11 And, of course, the Scott McCall defense squad focuses exclusively on the idea that Stiles didn’t behave “the right way” in that scene (AKA taking Scott’s bullshit without clapping back like Scott wanted and demanded), and cannot entertain for one moment the idea that Scott provoked that response by dehumanizing Stiles and by accusing Stiles of being a violent, dangerous, inhuman monster and serial killer based on Theo’s words alone.

10-11 After all, it’s part of their power fantasy. Scott being “abandoned” and “mistreated” by his “ungrateful” friends serves another type of fantasy: the poor oppressed martyr. It doesn’t matter why Scott is abandoned or who is leaving Scott, it’s all about Scott McCall’s right to own people and demand his friends’ love, friendship, loyalty, sympathy, forgiveness, obedience and devotion without having to account for his own abusive behavior.

11-11 And that’s Scott Stans’ point: Only Scott McCall Is Important and Damn Derek/Stiles/Liam/Other Teen Wolf character for having a life and motivations that don’t revolve around Scott! To them (and to Canon Scott), the pack exists not to serve all its members, but to serve and validate Scott McWhinyCall. Because, after all, that’s what antis want for themselves – validation in the face of shortcomings and bad behavior.

Wow, that was a lot of anger. Do you feel any better after venting that? I really hope so, it honestly looks p cathartic. Okay, I apologize in advance if I don’t come across as quite so passionate, I’m kinda bleh today and I already used up all my righteous fury in an earlier post, so I’ll do my best.

I honestly understand the worry about people disliking Scott as having racist motivations. As I said in another post, there aren’t a lot of Latino (wait, I read somewhere to use latine? Should I use that instead? I’ll use that, someone correct me if I’m wrong. The thing also said latinx was not great bc of pronunciation issues? I’m not educated enough on this. Halp, please.) Latine protagonist characters in popular television, especially for teen dramas like Teen Wolf. Intentional or not, written into the show or not, Scott is half-latine. His mother is a latine woman. We don’t see them speak spanish or take part in any specific cultural traditions, but that doesn’t make him white. Yes, his character was written for a white guy, but Tyler Posey is the one who got the part and we can’t strip him of his heritage just because the show originally meant for Scott to be white. My husband is almost always mistaken for white, even though he’s also half-latine, but that doesn’t make him any less latine. There’s little enough representation as it is, and if we start being picky about whether characters were ‘intended’ or ‘written’ as POC, everything will just fall to shit. Plus, as a white person, I have literally no rights to decide that Scott’s white. I’m cool with that. Would prefer to just stay in my lane, if I’m honest. With Scott established as being a POC, it’s totally reasonable for other POC and fans of Scott to be worried that those of us who don’t like him have that opinion because of either passive or active racism. There are a lot of occasions where Protags of Color were either liked less, or actively disliked for just being ‘not white.’ It also doesn’t help that Scott is one of very few “good” Characters of Color in TW (whether we agree or not, he is presented as a ‘good guy’). We have Boyd, who dies in 3A and doesn’t get much character developement in the meantime, and Kira, who sticks around for a while, then has to leave because of ‘losing control’ which is apparently a very common stereotype for POC, especially within Fantasy or Supernatural settings. Other than them, the other POC are either bad guys or just morally dubious. I’m not sure where Deaton falls on the scale either. I understand it being frustrating to some people for us to take one of the few “good’ characters and see him/describe him as a villain. It’s important for white people, and honestly, anyone not latine (because even POC can be racist against people who aren’t their race) to be self-aware and analyze the various reasons why we dislike Scott and make sure that we aren’t accidentally being passively racist. Just because we’re sure we aren’t, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t double check. And if we find we are, then it’s up to us to correct that mindset and educate ourselves. There is no shame in learning that you have not great habits or mindsets and working to fix them. That’s how growth works. It’s equally important that when we’re writing fic, we watch how we portray him and the other POC in the show. I’m not saying we can’t write Scott bashing fic. Fuck knows that I’ve written plenty of Bad Friend Scott McCall fic, and I don’t intend to stop. But we still need to be self-critical and make sure that we’re not writing Scott (or the others, please assume from here on out I’m saying Scott and the others) into racist stereotypes. We shouldn’t reduce him to just a “Yes” man, or make him constantly submissive, or constantly vicious and angry and mean for no reason. It’s one thing to write him as doing something bad or cruel and making it realistic for the story. It’s quite another to have him just randomly pop in to say “fuck you” and hit someone (I’m not referencing something specific here, I’m just saying dumb stuff). Honestly, I don’t know enough about this and I’m not really entitled to go into too much more detail. Instead, I’d recommend that even if you don’t think you’re hating Scott for racist reasons, still read This Post about racism in fandom/fanfic. When I read it, it was both reassuring and intimidating. I have anxiety, so I’m usually worried about doing things for ‘the wrong reason’ even when that’s not actually my reason for doing the thing. Reading this gave me a clearer view of my own thoughts, and it honestly made me feel a little more comfortable with my own mentality because it gave me a structure to think about and consider when I’m worried that I’m doing something racist. It’s worth the read. I’d also like to reiterate the suggestion on that post, to check out the blog Writing with Color, which is a great resource for writing Characters of Color. It doesn’t have as many resources for fanfiction writing and the grey area involved in writing characters that your reader already knows, but their ask box is closed at the moment, so maybe when it opens again someone’ll send in an ask about it (If I actually remember to, I’ll do it myself, but that’s unlikely, so if one of you feels so inspired, please do so and help a fic writer out!)

Now. I cannot speak for every single fan of TW who is anti-Scott in some way. Obviously not. But, I can speak for myself and for the experiences I’ve had within the fandom. My issues with Scott are many and complex and a lot of it is intrinsically connected to issues with the writing of the show in general and with the creators and the calls they made. In all the conversations that I’ve had with other fans, I’ve never seen anyone list Scott’s race as a problem. I’ve never seen anyone talk about how they wished he were more submissive or more obedient. Maybe that he would listen to actual adults once in a while, but not that he be unreasonably obedient of white characters. I’m not all-knowing on the subject of racist stereotypes, but nearly every complaint I’ve seen was based on details from the show and specific moments and dialogue, not just a general disgust with his existence. Furthermore, for all the anger I see directed at those of us that prefer Stiles, Derek, or even Peter, I’ve also never talked to anyone who liked those characters who wasn’t willing to admit that there were plenty of points in canon where they fucked up or did something wrong. Again, I don’t know everyone in fandom, so maybe there are people who won’t admit those things, but they aren’t in the majority.

I personally hate the way I see Scott treat people in the show. I hate the really vicious things he says and does and the chronic lack of self-awareness or growth. Even worse, the way the show excuses his behavior, be it intentional or not, has soured a lot of other parts of the show. The clearly impulsive moments that could easily be excused by him being a really stressed out teenager make me a lot more frustrated than they would, had I not known that he would never get better. That he would never stop saying things like that. I can’t even make myself enjoy the genuinely sweet moments with him and Allison or him and his mom, etc. I might hate that he left Stiles’ messages unanswered and skipped an entire day of school during a crisis to hang out with Allison, but I would’ve liked to enjoy their banter, the soft moments between them that are actually really nice. I can’t though, because so many other things about his character have ruined that for me.

It isn’t okay to attack people for disliking a character and throw around such charged words like “racist” and “abuse-apologist” or anything else. First off, this is fiction, and we all need to keep that in mind. These are not real people we’re talking about. Secondly, calling someone racist because they disagree with you (unless they are actively saying/doing something actually racist) isn’t okay and it isn’t an adult way to deal with things. Someone not liking a character doesn’t automatically make them racist. Someone happening to prefer a white character over a Character of Color doesn’t automatically make them racist. Sure, they might have passively racist motivations that even they don’t realize. But it is not up to strangers to come yell and call names without proof. There are plenty of reasons that have nothing to do with race (Not saying “i don’t see race.” I’m saying “Not About Race”) that I like Stiles over Scott, ranging from the fact that he’s physically more my type, to sharing a neurological condition with him, to just preferring Dylan O’Brien as an actor because he makes me fucking cry every time he cries on screen. What’s important is that we self analyze and check ourselves and our opinions to make sure that we aren’t falling into the racist habit of disliking Characters of Color for no real reason. But that isn’t something that other people can do for us, and it’s not their place to tell us what we think. Calling a stranger racist for saying they hate Scott’s behavior in the show doesn’t do anything for racial equality. It just makes people stop listening to the word ‘racist.’

There are times I seriously get frustrated with TW to the point of considering not watching anymore. Of closing my blog and stopping reading fanfic entirely because every single time I read a fic where Scott’s a ‘good guy’ or a ‘good alpha’ or where Derek is glad to be a beta again because he likes following Alpha Scott, I get squicked so badly I have to click out and just sit there for a second to settle. I can’t disentangle the things he does/says in the show from the fic.And I’ve written Good Friend Scott McCall fics. I have multiple wips where he’s either a decent person or he grows from being a dick to being a decent person. With my own work, I know that there’s an awareness to his behavior in the show and an active intent to rewrite/fix his behavior so that he is a nice person. With other people’s works, I don’t have a guarantee (unless it’s mentioned in tags or author’s notes, and I don’t expect people to have to explain themselves that way), and it personally makes me uncomfortable to read something when I don’t know if the writer actually sees Scott that way. It’s a personal preference, and one that I stick to pretty strictly.

Scott brings me no joy, and with him as the main character, I’ve come perilously close to cutting myself off from the most welcoming, loving fandom I’ve ever been a part of (except the Merlin fandom, but I don’t blame anyone who can’t compete with them. They’re fucking magical.). But I’m still here. I still love, if not the reality of the show, then all the potential I see in it when I watch. I love watching Derek and Stiles interact with each other and with the other side characters. I love seeing the glimpses of Boyd that we get, the tiny scenes of Erica, the snarky moments with Isaac. I even like Kira, though I haven’t seen a whole lot of the show where she’s in it/genuinely can’t remember it (I can’t even remember how far I’ve seen total, but I don’t think it was past S4, and I haven’t seen past S2 in months and months) and she spends most of her scenes with Scott, which just....kind of ruins the scenes for me.

That’s the glory of fandom though, of media in general. I don’t have to like Scott. I can love Derek and Stiles instead and I can choose not to read fics where Scott is a major player or an Alpha at all. I can read fics where Kira’s part of the pack without Scott ever getting involved, and see her interact with everyone else. Or fics where Boyd never dies and watch him bake or read or play lacrosse with the pack. I can curate my own experience, whether that means blocking tags or users or filtering fics, or just straight up skipping certain scenes/episodes of the show itself. I cope with my frustrations by coming on this blog and ranting about it. Yeah, this is a public space, but it’s also a space people choose to view. If they don’t like my opinions, they can block me or unfollow me or all of the above. They don’t have to read it, just like I don’t have to read any of their pro-scott stuff. I also read fic that does explore how Scott’s behavior is problematic and cruel sometimes. Fic that either erases him or turns him into the villain, I find fun and interesting and the relationship between him and Stiles cracking into pieces is something I find extremely cathartic, so I read it pretty much every chance I get (though, i’m so picky about fics I read, you’ve no idea). I also write fic. I write the most mushy, self-indulgent sterek fic and Stiles-centric fic and and Scott bashing fic that I can possibly write. It’s a joy and a therapy all its own. Fuck, I’m rewriting the entirety of canon for fuck’s sake and I’ve made so many changes that at this point I honestly have issues remembering what happens in the show, bc I rewrote the damn thing.

At the same time, Scott fans are gonna write their power fantasies. They’re gonna write anti-Stiles stuff and anti-Derek stuff, and whatever else tickles their fancy. They’re gonna make their own rant posts and gifsets. And to be quite honest, I don’t give a single flying fuck. I already have those tags filtered out on Ao3. I don’t follow any pro-scott tumblrs. That shit doesn’t show up for me most of the time, unless it’s not tagged properly, and even then I just click out, take a second, and move on.

No one is required to like or dislike specific characters, and it’s unfair of anyone to tell us otherwise. Fandom is built on choice. The choice to disagree with canon, or to re-envision it altogether, or to love it entirely. No one can take that away from you. So long as you aren’t hurting anybody, just keep doing you, friend. I’m here for you to vent to when it gets to be too much.

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #meta ramblings #Anonymous #rant #much love #I didn't mean to sound so preachy #oops

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