#eight hooves

[tinyowlthoughts]

Humans are Space Orcs - Chocolate

"Ugh, I would kill for some chocolate right now."

Gorvan fumbled the holopad he'd been typing on, all four hands brushing against the screen as he tried to keep it from hitting the ship floor. He failed and it bounced off the tiles - thankfully neither breaking, nor denting the flooring. Grimacing, he swept it up with his tail and checked over the casing, before the alarming words registered in his head. A glance at the couch showed the human - Max - hadn't moved - still twisted up in their weird, pretzely way, chin in their weird five-fingered hand as they peered at the passing stars with a far-away look in their eyes.

"You, uh, want...chocolate?" He asked, certain he'd misheard.

"Oh my god, yes." Max heaved a sigh, shoulders rising to their weird, inefficient ears before dropping back down. "Jesus, I'd even eat a Hershey's Bar right now."

Gorvan gripped his tablet with two of his hands, hard enough to crack the casing. "Oh, um - what is a 'Hershey'?"

Max didn't look away from the window, still lost gazing into the galaxy. "It's a type of chocolate bar from Earth. Maybe a Mars Bar or a Milky Way would be better..."

Gorvan huffed through his nostrils, tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Oh. Um. I - er, I forgot I have a meeting with Captain! I have to go." Without waiting for an answer he turned and fled the recreation room, hooved feet clattering against the floor, desperate to report what he had heard. He missed the bemused look Max gave him before returning to his star gazing.

🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫

"Max."

The human paused upon entering the meeting room, seeing the rest of the C7H8N4O2 Star Explorer gathered around the table. All eight were tense in their seats, and the moth-like Elaana looked like she'd been crying. (Well, the species equivalent, which appeared as a dusting of pollen along her sharp cheekbones.)

Taurvin, the captain, was sitting in the largest seat at the head of the table, his considerable bulk looming over the rest of them. Oddly, the first-mate seat to his left was empty. Gorvan was instead sitting in Max's own.

"Uh, hey all. We playing musical chairs?" Max glanced between the empty chair and Gorvan, but when nobody asked for an explanation to their odd human reference (a common occurrence), they figured it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Have a seat, Max." Taurvin motioned to the first mate seat and, with a bit of hesitation, Max moved to take it. Luckily Gorvan, despite being bulky himself, wasn't too much larger than a standard human and the chair was comfortable enough. "We have something important to address."

Oh god above, what had they done this time? Max tried to think back to all the interactions he'd had onboard the last few weeks, but couldn't come up with anything too egregious. Sure, there was the whole joke with 'human snot is acidic' thing but that had been more of a gross-out joke for Elaana, the ships medic, who hadn't seemed to upset when he accidentally sneezed on her a few days later and dropped the act. Epitak, the ships engineer, had been pretty pissed when ze found out Max had taken apart the air filtration unit in their quarters to try and understand how it worked, but ze had also walked him through repairing it, so they thought it was all forgiven.

Oh jeeze, had they found the plans to get a kitten onboard under the 'emotional assistance animal' loophole?

"Max." Taurvin's normally jolly voice was grave, and all the crews eyes were on them as he spoke. "It has come to my attention that you have been expressing some...troubling thoughts."

Okay, definitely the kitten thing then. "Look, I can explain," they started, but Taurvin held up a large, three-fingered hand and stopped them.

"I do not want you to feel pressured to speak to us if you do not wish to. As a member of the Intergalactic Exploration Society, you have access to mental health resources at no cost, any time, anywhere. I will be more than happy to assist you in setting up a link to a therapist through HR and, if required, will grant you time off the ship if you need it. You are the best navigator I have ever seen, and I do not want to lose you."

"Well, thanks, but uh, what do you mean?" Max glanced around the table and noticed that their normally upbeat crew were all showing signs of distress (Elaana was brushing away newly fallen pollen from her compound eyes).

"Max, you requested chocolate." Gorvan reminded them. "This morning, you said you would even eat a substance known as a Hershey Bar from your home planet." The human had never heard the first mate sound so distressed. When Max just blinked, Epitak took over, beak clacking anxiously as ze spoke.

"We understand that many planets have government programs in place for self euthanasia," ze explained, technical as always in his word choice, "but we aboard this ship would much rather assist you in healing rather than lose you, despite what you may feel is best for you. Suicide by theobromine is not the way forward."

"...what."

"It's okay, love!" The pollen was flowing freely from Elaana's eyes now, and she blinked it away with her long lashes. If there weren't a table between them, Max was sure she would have bundled them up in a full-wing hug and refused to let them go. "We'll support you through it all, we promise. You're part of our crew - our family, and we never want you to feel otherwise!"

"Well, uh, thanks. I see you all as family too...?" Max glanced at the four remaining crew members. Dhaca and Lenzoill were quiet but obviously upset, Qhals was staring at the ceiling with their fanged muzzle pulled into a tight grimace, and Ir'ith was -

Ir'ith was smirking.

Max narrowed their eyes at the inventory manager who also served as the ships cook (for the simple fact that he was the only one onboard who could cook). The zad merely shrugged when their eyes met, though his grin was growing.

"I think I'm missing something here." Max admitted, looking between Gorvan and Taurvin. "This is all because I got a chocolate craving?"

"A craving?" Elaana almost lunged across the table at the word, the only thing holder her back Ir'ith's hand on her shoulder. "You mean you've had chocolate before?"

"Well, yeah? All the time." Max was not expecting the horrified expressions they received.

"So humans treat theobromine as a drug?" Epitak asked, aghast.

"Noooo...? It's a dessert. Like, a sweet treat." Max had no idea what was going on now, but by the way Ir'ith's shoulders were shaking, he did. "Hershey's is a candy bar."

"Wait," Dhaca finally spoke up, leaning forward and shoving his glasses (well, glass - one lens for one eye and all) to the top of his head, "theobromine is not toxic to humans?"

"I'm assuming that theo-stuff is chocolate?" When Dhaca nodded, Max nodded in return. "Yeah, no, chocolate isn't toxic to humans. I ate it all the time on Earth."

Ir'ith gave up and cackled, sounding a bit like the grackles Max used to watch in their back garden on Earth. The avian's wings flapped a few times as he laughed, having to lean forward and grasp his stomach with taloned claws to keep himself from falling out of his chair. When he finally glanced up at Max, it was to the flattest look the human could manage, which only sent him into another gale of laughter.

Taurvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his boar-like snout. "I believe this has all been a misunderstanding," he spoke over the cooks laughter, which had turned into squeaky gasps. "Dismissed."

A few befuddled glances were thrown Max's way, but the rest of the crew were quick to leave, avoiding Ir'ith's flapping wings as they squeezed out of the room. Soon only the cook, first mate, captain, and navigator were left.

"Sorry, kid." Ir'ith finally came up for breath, wiping at his eyes as he regained his composure. He fished into one of the many pockets that adorned his poncho and produced a bar wrapped in purple foil, which he tossed to Max. The human caught it and felt their whole face light up. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None at all, dude!" Max tore open the wrapping and took a big bite of the Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar, nearly melting at the familiar, sweet flavor exploding on their tongue.

"For the record," Ir'ith said as he stood, cracking his back, "Zad's can eat chocolate to. Let me know next time you have a craving." He sauntered out of the room, humming happily.

The three sat in silence for a moment, other than the crinkle of the chocolate bar wrapper. Finally, Taurvin cleared his throat.

"Max, I apologize for not conferring with you in private beforehand." The captain sighed. "I did not wish to embarrass you, but an intervention was suggested and I believed that comfort from your crew would be the best way to show the seriousness of our support were you truly entertaining the thought of self euthanasia."

The human shrugged. "It was nice to hear you all care about me, even though I've only been on board a few months," they admitted. "And I got chocolate out of it." He wiggled the remains of the bar.

"Still, if you ever feel the need for mental health services, they are available to you. And if there is ever anything I or the rest of the crew can do to assist you in that way, please don't hesitate to ask." Taurvin placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head, a show of sincerity for his people.

"Well," Max tapped the chocolate against their chin in thought, "there may be one thing. Have you ever heard of cats?"

Next: Bluffing

Original Reddit Prompt:

#humans are space orcs #writing #blurb #The EC Theobromine

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes. 

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear. 

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font. 

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears. 

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears. 

You won’t bleed without biting back. 

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer. 

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.  

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger. 

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate. 

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.   

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.  

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.” 

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.  

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight. 

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past. 

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead. 

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest. 

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified. 

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side. 

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar. 

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.” 

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness. 

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent. 

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions. 

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin. 

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes. 

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident. 

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage. 

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation. 

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts. 

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?” 

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to. 

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry. 

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away. 

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable? 

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison. 

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls. 

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan. 

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors. 

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight. 

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly. 

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across. 

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there. 

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway. 

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous. 

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.  

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go. 

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent. 

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve. 

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear. 

Deer caught in headlights. 

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please. 

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face. 

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng. 

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face. 

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience. 

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement. 

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom. 

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something. 

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter. 

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you. 

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon. 

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal. 

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately. 

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed. 

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway? 

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears. 

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are. 

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron. 

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.” 

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow. 

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck. 

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch. 

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest. 

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge. 

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower. 

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting. 

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet. 

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle. 

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.  

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead. 

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances. 

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus. 

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable. 

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils. 

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.  

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it. 

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now. 

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle. 

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open. 

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing. 

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.  

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage. 

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible. 

No weakness, no mercy. 

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief. 

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing. 

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme. 

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held. 

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty? 

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape. 

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer. 

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold. 

Inside lies a gown.  

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well. 

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode. 

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks. 

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.” 

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud. 

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all. 

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.” 

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact. 

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter. 

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.  

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail. 

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.” 

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way. 

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep. 

Yet, you aren’t. 

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours. 

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether. 

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait? 

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you. 

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?” 

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you. 

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended. 

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard. 

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips. 

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking. 

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things. 

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.  

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on. 

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.” 

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist. 

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room. 

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that. 

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you. 

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest. 

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly. 

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance. 

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?” 

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him. 

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?” 

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution. 

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet. 

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone. 

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night. 

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.” 

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space. 

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him. 

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever. 

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him. 

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power. 

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.” 

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back. 

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard. 

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink. 

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids x reader #straykids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #bangchan x y/n #skz x y/n #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst #bang chan angst #bang chan comfort

[m2ok]

Golden Salvation Pt.2

pt. 1

cowboy!Ghost x m! reader

A/N: There will be one more part to this just to wrap everything up :)

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stranger loomed closer, hand gripping lethal iron at his hip. Fight or flight instincts kicked into overdrive - this was no ordinary burglary; you could see it etched in every predatory line of his body.  

This man had come for blood, your blood.  

Slowly, you raised your hands in a gesture of peace even as your mind raced. One wrong move and you’d be pushing up daisies come morn. These were the dark shadows Simon lived in, the enemies he’d made through his notorious work. And now they were coming for him...through you.  

.“Don’t want no trouble, mister,” you said, keeping your tone calm and even like you didn't know why this man was here. As if there could be any other reason for someone to break into a home as dingy as your own. “Just a simple bartender is all – barely got a dollar to my name”  

This snake didn't need to know how deep your bond with Simon went, especially since hiding your relationship was the only way you could see to get out of this situation.  

The man cackled at your words, rolling his eyes as the smile dropped and he stalked closer to the bed, aiming the gun at you as he cocked it back with a sickening crack.  

“ Mhm... as if you weren't all nice and cozied up to him not mere hours ago – ya really think im gonna believe you?” He gave you a mocking grin 

 “No no im not stupid sweetheart. Im not here to collect any of his debts from you – I care more about the eight men o’ mine your Ghostie killed. Those boys were my family, he didnt think twice about that though when he shot em’ dead where they stood. Figure I should make him feel the same hurt I do, hm?”  

“You won’t hurt him none-” You tried to reason “His heart don't belong to me, he won’t spare a second glance past this cabin. Hell, He's probably halfway across the desert by now” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, lies seeping through your lips at the risk of your life. You knew what you meant to Simon, no one else was able to get into his space as you did- at least not if they wanted to walk away with their life.  

The man's smirk dropped, new anger burning in his eyes as the grip on his gun tightened, “I saw the way that mongrel looked at you, you’re his boy and that's clearer than any mountain river” he scoffed, finger moving from the side of the gun to rest on the trigger.  

You closed your eyes, praying in your head, but not to any god. No, your prayers were aiming for Simon's rescue, praying that he would somehow know you were in trouble and come rescue you from it. 

Simon sat astride his horse on a dusty ridge, watching the moon rise silver over the desert wastes. A half-smoked cigarette dangled idly from his lips; he’d been nursing the same thoughts over and over since dusk fell heavy as a shroud across the badlands.  

 Thoughts of you.  

Somewhere deep in his gut, an uneasy feeling roiled. Like an invisible string tugging at his soul, trying to tug him back the way he came. Simon growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own foolish longings. You’d made your stance clear – this life wasn’t for you, not truly. And he had no right to ask you to join him.  

And yet... 

A crack suddenly split the still night air. So faint and far that any lesser man may have missed it entirely, but not Simon.  

In an instant he was vaulting onto his horse’s back, boots pounding twin paths in the dirt as they flew towards the distant lights of your little town. Another shot rang out, louder now, and Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins.  

He knew that sound – deep in his bones he knew something was horribly wrong.  

Choking the reins in a near stranglehold, Simon rode as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his horse’s hooves. Towards you. Towards salvation or damnation, he did not know. But by God, no son of a bitch was gonna harm one hair on your head if he could still help it.  

Help was coming- you just had to hold on.  

The man fired the gun, a sharp sting hitting your side before it blossomed into agonizing pain. You let out a pained cry, one hand instinctively going to land on your wound while the other covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your hand was soon coated in dark crimson, entire body shaking with adrenaline as the man cocked the gun once more.  

“Was gonna just end you, but I figured I should make this painful the same way he did. Should fill you with so many bullets he won’t be able to recognize you” he hissed, aiming the gun at your other side.  

Simon was little more than a blur of dust and primal fury as he crashed through the remains of your splintered front door. For a split second, time seemed to freeze – taking in the scene with a single, piercing gaze.  

You,curled onto the bed clutching a bloody wound. And him. That snake. Gun pressed sickeningly against your body as he spewed his venomous threats. With an almost guttural roar, Simon’s Colt leapt into his hand like it was part of his very being. Two blooming shots rang as one; his aim was true as bible scripture.  

The intruder pitched backwards, scarlets blossoms exploding from where his eyes once were. He was dead before he hit the floor.  

But Simon saw none of it. Already he was at your side, tatty serape ripped and pressed desperately against your weeping injury. Brown eyes wild and scared met your own, and for a moment the steely outlaw facade slipped entirely.  

“Darlin’...” he choked, voice thick. “Talk to me, baby. Stay with me now, ya hear?” Working frantically to stem the flood, Simon tangled scarred fingers gently through your hair, anchoring you to this world with his touch alone. 

“That’s it…keep breathin’, just keep breathin’” His voice dissolved into ragged prayers mere ghosts could hear. Help was still minutes away - but for now, you had Ghost. And he’d be damned before he let the reaper take you from him. 

You were sobbing, your brain mangled with confusion and fear as the adrenaline ran out and the full pain of the bullet lodged in your abdomen had you reeling, 

Red painted everything around you, hands, clothes, and sheets underneath you drenched in it. 

“Simon-” you rasped, breathing labored as you looked around with wide eyes at the gruesome scene in front of you. It was too much, you could feel your head going light- brain fuzzy and ears ringing as you fought not to close your eyes. 

“It hurts” you choked, trying to shove his hand away from where he was pressing down on the wound to stop the torrent of blood flowing out. “Simon I cant-” you said, throat raw from the sobs that came out. 

You wanted so badly to stay with him, to be able to wake up tomorrow with him, but you didn’t know if you’d get that with the way you felt your strength leave your body.

“It hurts- it hurts” You were almost begging, for what you didn’t know. You just wanted the pain to go away. 

You were terrified- not ready to die yet, and especially not like this, not when you had so much left to do. The thought alone sent a new set of tears streaming down your face, hand shaking- clutching the bleeding wound on top of Simon’s own to try and ebb the pain that burrowed deep in your skin. 

Simon felt his world crumbling as your agonized crimes tore through him, sharper than any bullet ever could. Seeing you in such anguish ripped open a fissure in his battered heart, letting the demons of his deepest guilt and self-loathing spill forth in a torrent. 

“I know, baby, I know it hurts…” he choked, pressing you close as if trying in vain to absorb your pain into himself. His own broad shoulders shook with ghosts of rage and grief, tears cutting rivulets through the dirt caked on his cheeks. 

Goddamn it all, he should’ve been here. Should have followed his instincts and never left your side. Now it may be too late to hope for forgiveness, your blood staining his hands a brand of failure he could never outrun. 

“Please, darlin’, please hold on…’ Simon begged, voice breaking as he spoke. His bandana was wrung out and useless now - in desperation he moved to cradle you fully, applying trembling pressure with his bare hands and what remained of his coat. 

Distantly he heard the clatter of the approaching horses, but paid them no heed. You were fading, slipping away before his eyes, and all the strength and guns in the world couldn’t stop it. 

“Don’t ye leave me now…I can’t do this world without ya…” A broken whisper, barely audible above the thunder in his ears. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, sharing the same ragged breaths, two souls more tangled than any root or vine. Hanging on a blade’s edge against the dark. 

You stared up into Simon's eyes, eyebrows cinched in pain and eyes soaked with fear. 

“I don’t wanna die, Simon” you whispered, voice shaky as you clung to him - like he alone could save you from this fate. 

You could feel your heartbeat slowing, breathing ragged as you gasped for air that just wouldn’t enter your lungs….

Soon enough the doctor burst into the room, medical kit in hand as he came barreling over to you. He very carefully took you out of Simon’s arm with some convincing, to lay you back on the bed before he opened up his kit. 

He handed you a flask filled with whiskey “You’re gonna want to drink this - it’ll help ease the pain” He said. 

With shaky hands you drank the bottle, a scream ripping from your lungs as the man began to carefully dig into the wound, grabbing hold of the bullet with sterile tweezers before carefully pulling it free. 

With practiced care he cleaned the wound, a harsh whimper leaving your lips at the sting of pain before the wound was stitched up and bandaged. 

You were shaking, sobbing so hard your throat was raw and your lungs burned - the pain was unbearable and a large part of you wished you could just die to get away from it. 

The doctor had you drink another flask, the alcohol numbing the pain receptors in your brain just enough to allow you to fall into a light sleep. 

Simon sat vigil at your bedside through what felt like hours, not letting go of your limp hand once. Your cries of pain echoing loud and endlessly in his mind, driving spikes of pure anguish deep into his soul.

He watched in heavy silence as the doctor worked, breath caught tight in his chest, hardly daring to hope. But then - your ragged breaths evened out, color returning sluggishly to waxen cheeks. Alive. You were alive. 

It was nearly two hours later when the man was done, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood up on shaky legs. 

“He’s stable” The doctor said simply

Choking back sobs of relief, Simon buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of gratitude-laced kisses amongst salty tears. “That’s it, darlin’...you fight. Got too much left to do in this world.” he’d whisper to you, voice so soft only you could hear

 “Most important thing now is cleaning that wound twice a day lest it get infected. If it does…” The doctor ordered, his words trialing off though his intentions were clear. He put down a set of bandages and cleaning solution on the nightstand for Simon’s use. 

“It’ll take a long time to heal, I reckon” The doctor said “but my work is done here, y’all know where to reach me should he take a turn for the worst” He said, tilting his hat to Simon before he gathered his tools and headed out of the shabby cabin. 

Simon took the doctor's words as gospel, nodding along to every word before the man left. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess that was now your little home. He dragged the body out back to deal with fully in the morning, cleaned your sheets and changed you into new clothes, boarded up the broken window, and finished by fixing the door that he had come barging through. 

His own hands were gentle as churches doing their appointed duty, cleansing and dressing the angry wound each time without fail. Whatever it took to coax your stubborn spirit back to the land of the living. 

Days bled into each other without notice. All that mattered to him now was you. And slowly, so slowly - full color seeped back, fever broke its hold. Eyes fluttered open to meet his own once more, full of pain but oh-so-blessedly alive. 

“Hey there, sunshine…” Simon whispered hoarsely, like a parched man dying of thirst at an oasis. Finally, finally, he allowed himself the ghost of a weary smile. 

You were going to be alright. And by God, he’d spend his last days making sure of it. 

You slowly sat up, a soft whine leaving your lips with the movements as you aggravated the still raw wound. “Simon” you mumbled as you held his hand, reaching over to take a swig of the whiskey on the nightstand to ease the searing pain. 

You rested your head back against the pillows with a soft sigh. It had been a few days now, and the pain was still a dull yet constant ache in your side. 

You took the sight around you in, everything was clean and neat including your bedding and clothes. Even the floor had been mopped, the only reminders of your near death being the hole in your side. 

“Simon you did all this?” You asked simply, eyes wide as you gazed up at him. 

Simon huffed a soft, weary laugh at your question, gently squeezing your hand just to make sure you were really here and he wasn’t hallucinating. 

“Course I did, darlin’. Weren’t about to let ya recover in filth,” He replied gruffly. Truth be told, tending to your every need had been the other thing keeping his demons at bay these long days and nights. 

Keeping busy spared him time to think - and thinking led down paths too bleak to tread. Like how terrifyingly close he’d come to losing you forever.

Holding your gaze with quiet intent, Simon softly brushed calloused knuckles along your cheek “Reckon it’s about time i started pullin’ my weight ‘round here proper. Ain’t no safe place for ya out here alone” A question lingered in the subtle quirk of his brow, the hopeful yet wary gleam in tired eyes. After all that had passed between you both, was there still room for him at your side? A Ghost finally ready to lay his soul to rest, if you’d have him. 

You could only hum softly at his words, sleep still filled in your bones. You didn’t answer him, instead you patted the empty side of the bed “Come sleep next to me, Si. You need the sleep” You said, your words a silent confirmation that you still wanted him. 

Simon gave a soft grunt of approval, too weary in body and soul to do anything but obey your gentle prompting. Careful not to jostle your healing injury, he stretched his long limbs out beside you with a satisfied sigh. 

It felt strange but right, sharing your space in such an intimate way after so long living apart. Like the final piece of a puzzle slipped neatly into place. 

Turning his head, Simon watched you watch him through half-lidded eyes, drinking in every beloved feature as if to confirm this wasn’t some whiskey-fueled dream. Reaching out, he lightly touched the graceful curve of your cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

“Sweetest sound there is,” he murmured, voice sleep-roughed and thick with meaning. A tousled head tucked itself beneath your chin with a contented sigh, tension seeping from tense muscles. 

Come what may with the light of dawn, for now all was peaceful. You were alive, you were safe. And against all odds, Simon had finally come home to roost. 

You held him close in your arms, gentle fingers carding through thick hair as you let his head rest against your now steady heartbeat. He needed the comfort, you could tell, and you were more than happy to give it to him. 

“Rest now, Si. I'm not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me that easy” You assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

It was a funny thing, holding such a toughened man in your arms, keeping him close and coddled despite the almost laughable size difference. 

SImon made a low sound of gratitude at your soft reassurance, melting bonelessly into your gentle embrace. Your gentle fingers winding through his hair brought forth a wave of lethargy he’d fought to stave off this long week past. But no more - here in your arms, he was finally allowed to let his guard down. 

It still struck him sometimes how two souls so disparate could fit together so seamlessly. But you’d always had a way of easing even his most ragged edges, soothing demons he thought long beyond taming. Lithe as you were in your current state, your strength ran deeper than any show of force ever could - and he found solace there like nowhere else. 

“Missed this…” he mumbled, so soft it was barely audible even in the stillness enclosing your little world. One arm curled protectively around your middle, thumb brushing idle patterns against the slowly healing wound beneath the bandages. 

A prayer of thanks on parched lips, Simon let weary eyes slide shut. Sleep rose like a gentle tide, carrying him off to oblivion sheltered in the piece of heaven he’d begun to call home. You’d brought him back from the brink of darkness once more, anchor in the storm. And for that, he was eternally grateful. 

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x male reader #male reader #fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader

[thatdeadaquarius]

it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

#this is a mess to sort on the masterlist #like language barrier au? #but also kinda blunt? #but also misc. bc ur an eldritch being?? #fuck it #its goin in 2 spots like some of the others that got confusing #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin isekai #my asks #gender neutral reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact self aware #genshin impact sagau language barrier au #genshin sagau language barrier au #sagau language barrier au #sagau eldritch reader #eldritch reader #genshin impact x reader #sagau x reader

[radioisntdead]

Hey! I really liked your headcanon about Alastor. It’s got my imagination running wild >_< What do you think about a romantic! Oneshot with Alastor where everyone can see the results of the biting game on both us and Alastor (assuming we both break skin and leave marks). I’m not sure how Alastor would be caught without his coat on, much less with with short sleeves… maybe a spilled drink on a hot day. But I keep imagining this scenario:

Angel: Asks Alastor if he had a rough night after seeing his arms covered in bites (assuming rough sexy time)

Alastor: Responds yes (remembering how he got cornered and couldn’t get away because using his shadows to escape is against the rules of the game)

Angel: :O

Good evening my dear! Thank you so much for requesting this I had so much fun writing it and I'm so glad you liked my Alastor biting headcanons!

And because I positively adore and I am mildly obsessed with deers I think that's why I like Alastor so much? The reader has deer attributes like Alastor Specifically whitetail deers because apparently they can jump eight feet in the air! And the reader jumps a bunch, reader is refered to as Prancer by Angel, I'm not gonna lie I had no idea how to end it so the ending is rushed! and everything is a tad bit messy, my apologies, Full italics is a mini flashback

Warnings!!

Biting, the drawing out of blood, the reader's blood is a vibrant pink for fun! Angel dust alluding to sexual acts, Still getting used to writing Alastor so once again leaning into fanon and possibly some OOC behaviors.

not proofread because I don't have a beta reader, Enjoy!

The two of you hadn't meant to get so carried away, it started out peacefully enough, you and Alastor were just laying on couch he had in his radio tower, it was later in the night, you suppose it was just past midnight,

He was looking over papers with whatever radio nonsense on them for tomorrow's broadcast, and you were peacefully reading a book with your head on his shoulder, with soft jazz playing in the background, your jackets were hung neatly on the coat rack, a warm cup of coffee and a nice soothing [Drink of your choice] sat on the desk.

It was treasured peaceful moment, until your beloved strawberry-flavored Bambi decided to ruin it by picking up your arm and biting into it like it was beef jerky and looking like someone had shot him with a tranquilizer dart,

You sat up quickly, your arm still in his grasp, eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away from your arm, licking away the escaping blood like the little cannibalistic freak he is

"Alastor, My darling dear, why are you like this?"

You ask with an exasperated tone as your dearly beloved just kept a smug grin on his face and patted the sides of his mouth with a handkerchief he had gotten from hell knows where,

Sitting up, you blink slowly before immediately pouncing at the Radio demon, your own sharp teeth bared and ready to bite only for your beloved deer to move out of the way and quickly moving behind you as you fall face first into where Alastor once sat,

"Ah, you have to be quicker then that my dear!"

He said with a laugh before turning around to grab his coat, clearly not expecting you to stand up on his couch like a uncivilized heathen and jump on him managing to knock him off his feet? Hooves? Whatever he has and sink your teeth into his exposed neck.

And so the game begun with the both of you biting each other.

Unfortunately this little game of yours comes with consequences and what are those consequences?

Well for starters Alastor's coat was now stained with noticable pink blood [From you of course who else!]

Bite marks littered his arms from your chompin' down, not to mention you had bitten his neck! scandalous behavior!

You weren't much better with bite marks though not only on both of your arms but shoulders, and hands, hell he almost bit your face and he would've if you didn't headbutt him!

You had grabbed his coat along with a few other articles of blood covered clothing you gently folded and placed them in a bag to take over to the drycleaners, honestly you could probably get the blood stains out with cold water but neither you nor Alastor had time for that and while you adored Niffty you did NOT trust her with washing some of the articles of clothing that you had, so the drycleaners it was!

Alastor was up in his radio tower doing a broadcast while Everyone else was scattered through the hotel, notably Angel dust and Husk were chatting about something at the bar as you walked by it you gave them a quick wave.

"Good afternoon you two! I'm heading to the drycleaners if anyone asks."

You said as you quickly made your way past the duo, making a swift plot convenient exit.

Angel dust raised an eyebrow as he briefly caught the sight of teeth marks on your wrist from the exposed hem of your sweater.

"Eh, didn't think they had it in em' to do anything beyond handholding"

"They don't, Probably they probably bit by that fucked up creature of theirs."

Husk said sliding a glass over to Angel who shrugged before downing whatever liquid was in the glass.

Alastor had entered the bar area, after a couple of minutes later, wearing a red button up and vest, the same colors as his normal attire, he had rolled up his sleeves during the broadcast and unfortunately forgot to unroll them to cover the bite marks on his arms,

He missed his usual attire but unfortunately it was gone with you for the foreseeable future.

"Oo, Rough night freaky face?''

Angel dust joked wiggling his eyebrows as he swirled whatever alcoholic drink Husk had provided him while Husk shook his head while wiping a glass.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

Alastor said his smile tightening as he recalled you cornering him in the Bayou in your shared room, Alastor wasn't the type to run away typically, even less the type to give up easily even to his beloved spouse,

unfortunately for him though,

The little game of yours had some rules, such as no leaving any marks on facial areas, No tearing off any chunks of flesh {Gonna love having a spouse with cannibalistic tendencies}, and No using any type of power the two of you had, which means good ol' Alastor couldn't use his funky lil' shadows

And that made him more vulnerable to his deranged spouse's tackling strategy.

"Alastor get out of the tree,"

"No."

You had no idea how you ended up chasing your spouse into a tree, you don't know how he even got INTO the tree, but he sat upon it kicking his legs back and forth like a gleeful child, staring down at you, for someone who's a deer he's oddly cat like,

You sighed turning around and walking away as your beloved laughed in taunting tone

"Running off so soon dearest? And here I thought you- aCK"

Alastor was cut off by you running back, hurling yourself off the ground and tackling him like a feral flying squirrel onto the ground.

Blinking away at the memory Alastor returned his focus to Angel dust's gobsmacked expression that turned into a grin as he laughed while Husk moved further into the bar shaking his head.

"I was jokin' around, but sounds like you and prancer actually got freaky!''

"Pardon me, we w̸̧̢͉̦̟̭̪͕̉͘ḩ̷̛̛̤̬͖̿͆̈́͘â̸͔͔̣̊̿ẗ̴̖̦̆̔͛̿̎̾̆̚͠?"

Thank you for tuning in folks! My apologies for the messy one shot, but I have a Vox x reader that's almost done that's more put together, and a more put together Alastor fic, Anyways I hope you all have a wonderful day!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you

[vecnuthy]

Steddie western au that I might turn into a little multipart something || wc: 846 ||

Steve knew that going to the stream was stupid. The last drop of water had fallen from his canteen to his tongue eight hours ago, though, and the desert sun was ruthless in its gaze.

This land was difficult and unforgiving. It bred people who were cut from cloth as soft as suede but embedded with glass shards, and Steve had been cut so many times. His body and soul bore the scars from his father, his mother, his former fiancée, his former friends that either wanted him to be something he wasn't or tried to force a change onto him. People did what they could to make it, but Steve refused to accept those terms and vehemently stood against those conditions. And they knew it. Knew he was a good guy. Knew they could push him, provoke him, that he'd eventually bite back, wrap his own shard-flecked scarf around their neck and pull if necessary. Steve had lost too many fights, but he'd started winning them, too.

The tracks on the ground weren't terribly fresh, compared to what he and Wendy left in their wake, but something felt off to Steve. Stopping there would mean life, could mean death, but not stopping certainly lead to death.

"We'll be quick, girl," he muttered to his horse as he dismounted, pushing aside the sense of unease in his stomach.

His hands dipped into the babbling brook ahead of Wendy, then he drank. Deeply. Felt the cool water go all the way down his throat and crash into his empty stomach. He made the next handful splash over his face and sighed in relief, breathed in the smell of scrubby grass and dirt.

The cloth around his neck came off, and he dipped it into the water. The wind was warm and dry, but it sent a chill through him as it licked at the sweat-soaked hair against his neck. He tied the rag back on, eyes sweeping the land and seeing nothing but the trees along the water then vast openness beyond.

Steve grabbed a piece of jerky and his canteens. Wendy grazed as he filled them and chewed.

It was quiet. Water gurgled. Wendy's hooves crunched grass. She shook her mane and seemed at ease.

It felt off with no evidence as to why.

They couldn't stay there, he knew that. Shouldn't linger, he knew that. But his bladder was heavy. He took the pistol from his holster, cocked the hammer, saw Wendy's head pick up at the sound. She watched him move toward the evergreens.

Her hooves shuffled.

Steve stopped, the pistol raised at nothing. At anything.

It didn't feel right.

He only moved forward once Wendy's head dropped back down to the grass. He stopped once he reached a tree and listened hard for several moments.

Nothing.

Pistol still ready, he undid his belt buckle and started to undo the front of his pants to relieve himself.

Click

He froze, blood running colder than the creak behind him at the unmistakable mechanical click of a hammer.

Steve turned his head to the side, eye to eye with the cold black barrel of another's pistol. His heart rabbited in his chest, breath coming fast. He only saw the person's hand at first because the rest was still hidden behind the tree. Steve dedicated a split second to noticing the black letters on their fingers before his instincts kicked into overdrive, and Steve knocked the gun away. A resulting shot rang out, but Steve held on to the guy's wrist, snapped his own pistol in front of him, and darted around the tree, only to be met with an apparent second gun and two big brown eyes pointed directly at him.

"Don't," the other man bit out. The lower part of his face was covered by a black bandanna, but his eyes were hard, determined.

"Why not?"

Steve couldn't help but cringe at his less than ideal position. His gun in his left hand touched the guy's chest. His assailant's right arm pressed his own gun against Steve's cheek. Steve dug his thumbnail into the guy's left wrist, which probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it gave Steve a sense of satisfaction in how he winced in pain.

"I'm not the one who pulled the gun. All I wanted was water and to take a le--"

"What allegiance do you have to the Harringtons?"

Steve's face twisted in confusion and annoyance. Why would this guy be asking about his parents?

"The mark on your horse," he clarified gruffly.

Steve clenched his jaw. Wendy's flank still had the family's symbol painted on her.

"None at all. She was the only thing worth taking."

The man studied him, searching his face for something, then his eyes grew bigger. "You're the son," he said himself, clarity painting his voice.

Steve continued to stare the other man down, saw how his sharp eyes crinkled -- he was smiling. Heard it in his voice when he asked low and dangerous, enticing, "Want some revenge?"

Revenge.

Yes. Steve wanted revenge.

#whatEVER could the revenge be for 👀 #steddie au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #i really should start posting on ao3 shouldn't i

[flufffilleddonut]

Emporium’s Delight - Part 2

Summary - Rosie takes it upon herself to help her dear friend Alastor fix up his appearance after an encounter left him disheveled. A certain discovery, however, quickly prompts Rosie to have a little more fun with the endeavour.

Word Count - 1270

-

Alastor and Rosie were in the back room of Rosie’s Emporium. Alastor was sitting on the chaise lounge, his coat hung up on the wall with his shoes placed just beneath. His microphone was leaning up against the side of the chaise lounge. Rosie stood beside Alastor, brushing out his hair.

Alastor had been on his way to the Cannibal Colony, off to visit Rosie, when a group of demons attacked him. Alastor made quick work of the ruffians, but the encounter disheveled his appearance, messing up his hair, and dirtying both his coat and shoes. 

When Rosie saw this, she insisted on helping Alastor look presentable once again. She cleaned off his coat and shoes, leaving them both to dry, as she worked on preening the demon himself.

Alastor was not fond of being without his coat, or having his hooves exposed, but since he was alone with Rosie, an Overlord with whom he was good friends, he didn’t put up much of a fight.

“-and then Susan walked in, and I’m sure you can guess what she had to say.” Rosie said, chatting with Alastor as she continued to brush out his red, black-tipped bob.

“Oh, I can just imagine! Sometimes I think that we should just put her on the menu. Spare ourselves the company of that ornery old-”

Alastor’s response was cut off by a sharp flinch, as Rosie’s brush reached the base of one of his ears.

“Sorry, Alastor!” Rosie said quickly, concern evident in her voice. “Did that hurt? I must have pulled on a knot.”

“No, no, it’s alright, my dear. I am fine.” Alastor reassured Rosie, attempting to hide the slight increase in his smile resulting from Rosie’s contact with the sensitive spot.

Rosie began running her brush very delicately around the base of Alastor’s ear, attempting to remove the ‘knot’ without harshly pulling it. She very quickly noticed that Alastor’s shoulders had begun slightly shaking. Rosie was about to inquire, worried that she may be further harming Alastor, when she heard him produce a sound that she recognized as a stifled giggle.

Oh. Oh~, Rosie thought, as the situation dawned on her.

Rosie decided to have a little fun, and get her revenge on Alastor for the events of the other day. She began ever so slowly dragging the brush around the bases of Alastor’s ears, moving it in a figure-eight motion to avoid his antlers.

“This sure is one stubborn knot. We may have to do this aaaaall day to get it out~” Rosie remarked with a grin.

Alastor was starting to shift in place. He had been doing his best to sit still for Rosie, even when she accidentally grazed the sensitive area. However, now that she was clearly deliberately targeting it, he found that he was struggling to keep his composure.

“R-Rosie, d-dear,” Alastor stuttered, doing his best not to let any involuntary noises escape, “i-it’s quite alright. I think that you have sufficiently brushed out- -crack-”

A loud crackle of radio static came from Alastor as Rosie experimentally ran her brush up the side of his ear. Rosie grinned.

She quickly placed her arm around Alastor’s neck, holding him firmly in a headlock as she used the tool in her other hand to gently brush his ears. Alastor could no longer keep still.

“ROHOHOSIE! NOHOHOHO!” Alastor laughed out as he squirmed in her hold, gripping onto her arm.

“Come now, Alastor. I’m not done just yet! Hold still~” Rosie said, ensuring that she ran her brush over every inch of Alastor’s ears.

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to harm Rosie, and he knew that she was just being playful, so he had no other option but to endure her attack.

“If you keep squirming, you’re going to mess up your hair again, and I’ll have to start aaaaall over~” Rosie heard the amount of static coming from Alastor increase after she spoke, and she internally ’aww-ed’ at him.

“NOHOHO! AHAHAHAHA!” Alastor simply continued to laugh as Rosie’s brush set alight the many sensitive nerves in his ears.

Rosie gave Alastor’s ear one final swipe before retracting her brush and releasing him from her hold. Alastor lightly fell against the back of the chaise lounge, catching his breath. He gripped his ears in his hands, rubbing them in an attempt to remove the lingering sensations.

It was then that he felt his ankle being grabbed.

“Rosie, dear, what are you doing?” Alastor questioned.

“Tsk, tsk. Someone has clearly been neglecting their hooves.” Rosie said, nail file in one hand, Alastor’s ankle in the other. “Mind if I take care of it?”

Alastor knew that Rosie had secondary motives, but his hooves had grown quite a bit recently, and they needed to be filed down.

“A-alright, but be careful, dear. They’re quite sensitive.” Alastor said, anxiousness clear in his voice.

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Rosie said quietly under her breath.

With one hand securely holding the hoof, Rosie began gently filing it down.

Just the contact was enough to make Alastor have to suppress giggles, with one escaping when Rosie’s fingers grazed over the soft, bottom-half of his hoof.

“Rohohosie!” Alastor called out.

“Whoops, hand slipped~” She said teasingly.

Rosie heard Alastor roughly grasp the arm of the chaise lounge when she placed the file into the split in his hoof. She was sure to file there extra slowly, as Alastor silently cursed deers for having cloven hooves.

Rosie let go of Alastor’s one ankle and took hold of his other, beginning to file it as well.

Alastor started giggling again when Rosie ran her fingers along the length of his hoof.

“Nohohoho, dohohon’t!” Alastor giggled out.

“Just checking that the area I filed is even.” Rosie said with a smirk. “Hey, Alastor, tell me, what do you call a deer with hooves in his ears?”

Alastor tilted his head to the side.

“Anything you want! He can’t hear you!” Rosie said enthusiastically with a grin, before shaping her hand into a claw and quickly dragging her nails up and down Alastor’s hoof.

“AHAHAHAHA -crack- ROS-AHAHAHA -pop- AHAHAHA!” Alastor cackled out, unable to form words.

Rosie slowed her hand for a moment to speak. “Say, who puts money under a deer’s pillow? … The hoof fairy!” She then wiggled her fingers up against his hoof once more.

Alastor covered his face with his hands, unable to compose himself.

“AHAHAHAHA!” Alastor laughed freely.

Rosie slowed her hand, switching to lightly scratching against Alastor’s hoof. Alastor’s laughter died down to consistent giggles.

“Do you know what deers use to clean their feet? Hoof paste!” Rosie said, quickly scratching in the split in Alastor’s hoof for emphasis.

“EHE- ahaha, haha... ha…” Alastor’s giggles died down as Rosie slowed her hand to a stop. Rosie then got up and sat down next to Alastor.

“Thanks for being such a good sport.” Rosie said, placing a hand on Alastor’s shoulder.

“Any -huff- time, my dear.” Alastor said, catching his breath. “However, I can’t promise that next time I will be so… docile.”

“Noted.” Rosie said with a smile. “Now, let’s get you dressed. You want to look presentable, don't you?”

Rosie stood and offered her hand to Alastor, who gladly accepted it.

“Of course.” He said, standing up.

As Rosie went to retrieve his articles of clothing, Alastor felt a sense of happiness. He had enjoyed Rosie’s playful attack, and liked having these types of moments with his friends, as rare as they were. 

He made a mental note to engage with her in such a fashion more often.

-

#hazbin hotel tickle #lee!alastor #ler!rosie

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots. 

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs. 

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.  

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you. 

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!” 

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!” 

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss. 

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?” 

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.” 

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons. 

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you. 

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?” 

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?” 

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.” 

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks. 

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.” 

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers. 

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says. 

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.  

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again. 

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys. 

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history. 

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass. 

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.” 

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?” 

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains. 

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.” 

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink. 

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.” 

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles.  “I see not with you,” he replies. 

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.” 

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.” 

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots. 

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.” 

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.” 

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.” 

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.” 

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message: 

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.” 

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #cowboy gojo #cowboy geto #satosugu #satoru gojo x black!reader #suguru geto x black!reader #cowboy!au #cowboy!geto #cowboy!gojo #poly smut #poly love

[rounderhouse]

I love your work so much all your mecha content feeds my brain rot I also wanted to ask what your personal favorite mech is

thank you! and it's a tough question but i'm gonna have to go with the Death's Head from Lancer

it's weird! it's got eight legs! it's got hooves and spats and little dainty arms! it's got a gigantic artillery cannon and can predict where targets will go before they move! an absolute blast to play

#scifi #mecha #ask #lancer

[bastigone]

Useful Pest (18+) (NSFW)

GN!drow x Kar'niss (Bg3)

-- -- -- -- --

Summary: An unnamed drow thinks of a better use for Kar'niss than just holding a lantern

Warnings: BDSM, restraints, degradation, pincer-fucking, unspecified genitalia, oral sex, drider sex, like can't stress enough they are fucking a half spider

-- -- -- -- --

A drider, pale of flesh with a halo of odd-blinking eyes around his face, crouched in the corner of the old horse shed. The stall was cramped for a creature of his size, made to house hooves and manes, not eight legs and an abdomen. He kept his hands folded nervously over his chest, fingers twitching with purposelessness.

“Our purpose, She gave us…” the drider whispered unbidden.

“Silence.” The drow, tall, lanky, built of shadow and silk, commanded. The drider cast all seven eyes blankly to the dirt floor of the shed. With deft practice the drow unhooked the white, glowing lantern from the staff, giving the caged pixie a shake for good measure. “What She asked of you is irrelevant, Kar’niss.” The drow looped the lantern’s ring onto one of the rafters, sending the last traces of green shadow from the shed.

“Our purpose,” Kar’niss insisted, eyes never straying from the dirt floor.

The drow paused, black boot tapping once, twice, then stilling. “Your purpose is whatever I damn please.” They took a determined step toward the drider, taking his bowed chin in their hand and wrenching it upward. “Unless you wish to return to your duties, unsatisfied. Alone.”

“N-no, we did not mean-“ Kar’niss stammered. The drow smiled, patting the side of his face.

“As I thought.” They let their nails dig into his cheek, only briefly, before standing back to their full height.

They moved next to the drider, deftly stepping past his cramped limbs. An absent hand moved to his protruding abdomen, caressing the side with practiced precision. The drider let out a desperate whimper at the contact, causing the drow to click their tongue. “Patience.” They chided, reaching their other hand to coil the silken thread that protruded from the drifter’s spinneret.

“We are patient,” Kar’niss said, nodding and placing his hands out in front of him. “We await a new purpose.”

The drow took the coiled thread and turned, wrapping it expertly around the drider’s wrists. With a flick of their wrist they tossed the rest of the thread over a rafter, pulling it taught. The drider’s arms rose above his head, suspending him so his legs scrabbled on the dirt flooring.

“Good pest,” the drow said, running a finger down the chitinous plates on the drider’s abdomen. “Can’t have you touching me unbidden.”

“W-we would not touch,” Kar’niss said, his arms straining just enough as he took a breath to speak, “Know not to touch.”

“You say you know better,” the drow said, dragging their finger down the drider’s abdomen and stopping just shy of his waist, “You know only what I let you.” The drow folded their arms, tilting their head as if thinking. “I could make you watch tonight. Leave you strung up like a slaughtered beast while I take my pleasure.” Kar’niss’s waist pincers seized in response, a faint clicking noise rising from the back of his throat unbidden. The drow laughed, reaching out and cupping under his chin. “But perhaps I desire to touch tonight. Perhaps,” they paused inches from his face, allowing their lips to hang slightly open as their words hung in the air.

With a tug they yanked the thread, wrenching his arms above his head and pulling him back from their face. They chuckled, wrapping the thread around their palm and keeping it taught. The drider’s abdomen hovered above the floor of the shed, his legs straining to keep some contact with the ground. The drow leaned down, letting out enough thread to keep the drider suspended as they moved. With a practiced hand they ran their fingers along the crease where the humanoid abdomen fused with the chitinous hide of the spider half. Their fingers danced across the waist pincers, focusing on the claw-like protrusions at the end. Kar’niss’s many eyes blinked asynchronously, a clicking hiss rising in his throat. 

“And to think, some say driders have no sex organs,” the drow said softly, more to themself than to the drider, “Avid lovers of Our Lady of Spiders, yet they know nothing of their dance.” They leaned in, their tongue darting over the end of the pincer. Something close to a purr escaped the drider’s mouth, only to break into a yelp as the drow’s teeth closed around the pincer, though briefly.

“C-cruel,” the drider whined, scrabbling backward only to run into the back of the stall. The drow scoffed, releasing the pincer and licking up the drider’s chest. They paused as they neared his mouth, With their free hand they pushed up his lip, eyeing the sharp fangs lining the inside of his mouth.

“What is cruel is a mouth unable to pleasure me,” the drow said, “I may use my teeth as I wish, as you are nothing but teeth,” they wrapped their hand around the drider’s long, white hair, pulling his head further down to meet them, “I will bite and rend until all that’s left of you is a chittering skeleton aching for a lantern. And you will thank me.”

“Y-yes,” Kar’niss hissed, “We are th-thankful.”

“Good,” the drow said, “I want you to taste me tonight.”

“W-we have many teeth,” Kar’niss said, unable to keep the shock from his voice, “You have not-not allowed us to-“ 

The drow gave the long hair a yank, causing the drider to stumble forward, leaning against the rope. “I have asked one thing of you and you dare refuse me?”

“N-no, no we will-“ the drider stammered, sticking out his long tongue as an answer. “We will taste.” 

“Good pest,” the drow said, disrobing. They let the rope fall slack. Kar’niss bent down, head low, pincers bowed against the ground until he matched with the drow’s waist. The drow placed a hand on the back of the drider’s head, wrapping their fingers in the long hair. Kar’niss began with a nervous flick of his tongue along their sex, followed by a second. “Useless thing.” The drow snarled, pushing the drider’s face against their sex. 

Kar’niss’s tongue moved hesitantly, then quicker as he struggled to keep himself upright against the drow. His inexperience led way toward pure devotion. The drow moaned as his tongue explored their body, gripping his hair tightly. 

They pushed him back, panting, a satisfied smirk on their face. “Good pest. I see you’re not all teeth.” They placed a hang under Kar’niss’s chin, raising him up from the dirt. They pulled his face close, darting their tongue out to taste themself on his lips. “You will fuck me until I’m satisfied. Then perhaps,” they paused, looping their arm behind the drider’s head and threading their fingers through his hair, “Perhaps you can cum.” 

“Y-yes, we will s-satisfy,” Kar’niss said, breath caught at the closeness of the drow. 

The drow reached to their pack for a knife, cutting through the bounds on the drider’s hands. With practiced elegance the drider lifted the drow, resting their legs on either side of his waist. His pincers shivered with delight, clawed hands gripping the back of the drow as he drove inside of them. “Good, my vermin,” the drow crooned, their hands gripping against Kar’niss’s hair. With a shudder the drow fell forward, their body spasming against Kar’niss. Kar’niss caught them with his hand, his legs shaking.

“Please, we are…close. We cannot—“ he chittered, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

“Cum for me, pest,” the drow panted, “Do it.”

Kar’niss pushed back from the drow. With an eerie, chittering cry that echoed off the walls of the shed, Kar’niss climaxed, sending a web of shimmering liquid into the dirt of the shed. His legs buckled, sending the drow spilling onto the dirt of the barn. 

“Useless thing,” the drow snapped, standing upright and looking over the shivering, panting drider. “We will go again until you learn not to drop me!”

“We are sorry,” Kar’niss hissed, his seven eyes lidded in bliss, “We will make up for it, yes, we will pleasure until the Queen calls, we will not fail.” 

“Good little pest,” the drow said, running a nail along Kar’niss’s jaw, “Now, again.” 

#bg3 #kar'niss #drider #monster fucker #drow #smut #baldurs gate 3 #karniss

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. TEASER a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. estimated around 12k

AUG'S NOTES. me and my inner thoughts… as a fic 😭 i cannot believe this is my longest writing yet!!! hopefully you enjoy!

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids x y/n #straykids x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids angst #straykids fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x you #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bangchan angst #bangchan fluff

[emyn-arnens]

As the Hare Flees Before the Wolf

Eöl & Celegorm | T | 1.8k | @tolkiengenweek Day 3: Enemies | AO3

The light of the open plains burned in Eöl’s eyes as he urged his horse onward, heedless of the wind lashing at his face. Again and again he cursed the names of his wife and son, turning their names into a drumbeat of rage that pounded steadily with the beat of Morroch’s hooves.

Aredhel, as faithless as the rest of her kin, bending to Maeglin’s whims and treachery as soon as Eöl’s gaze was turned away from her. And Maeglin, whose hatred had festered under the eaves of Nan Elmoth, and turned into a foul, fetid malignancy.

They would be punished justly, and his servants as well for not noticing their escape. He knew now that none could be trusted.

Eöl ground the reins into his palms and dug his heels into Morroch’s sides. He focused on the ground streaming beneath the horse’s hooves, averting his gaze from the accursed sun that burned high overhead.

Thus it was that he did not notice the half-ring of Elves that stood barring his passage, until a cold voice called for him to halt, and looking up and narrowing his eyes against the light, he found himself penned.

Eöl noted the light in their eyes, bright and burning with unearthly brilliance, and he resisted the urge to spit at their feet. Noldor. And sons or followers of Fëanor no less, for they wore the eight-pointed stars of all his ilk.

As Eöl drew Morroch to a halt, one of the Elves called to him, his voice mocking. “What errand have you in these lands that one so sun-shy as you would brave the sunlight? A matter of haste, perhaps?” 

Though bitter anger rose in his heart, Eöl mastered his features and did the Elves courtesy, knowing his danger. Dismounting and bowing his head, he said, “I beg your leave, lords. I am following my wife and son, who departed from Nan Elmoth two days ago, while I was away. They rode to visit you, and I, seeing it fitting, sought to join them on their errand.”

“We marked their passing,” the leader of the Elves said, “though they did not halt to greet us, nor indeed stay with us, for that was not their errand.” He was pale and fair-haired, and in his hand he held a great hunting bow. He wore a wolf pelt about his shoulders, pinned in place with an eight-pointed star that was larger and glinted more brightly than those of the Elves around him, save for the dark-haired Elf that stood to his right, his posture languid but his gaze sharp. They were the lords Celegorm and Curufin, then, the cruellest of all of Fëanor’s cursed spawn. Curufin it was who had first called to Eöl, mocking him.

Celegorm dismounted and stepped forward, handing his bow to his brother. “We suffered them to pass, for their need seemed great, and their flight was as hares that flee before the hunting wolf.” His voice was fluid and sinuous, a voice that entrapped and ensnared.

“So either you seek to deceive us or you are yourself deceived, Eöl,” he continued. “I would warn you that it will fare better for you if it is the latter that is the truth, though I doubt that one such as you is capable of truth.” The Elf-lord’s face was cruel and perilous, and the scornful glance of his eyes as his gaze swept over Eöl in one dismissive motion sent rage burning through him. 

But Eöl held his tongue and stood still and straight before Celegorm as the Elf paced slowly around him, his pale hair glinting in the harsh sunlight of the open plain. Although fear trickled through him, he tilted his chin. He would not be cowed by a kinslayer, perilous though Celegorm was.

Eöl mastered his expression as the Elf-lord again paced in front of him. “Perhaps, Lord Celegorm, you will give me leave to depart so that I might discover the truth of this matter.”

Celegorm stopped and laughed coldly. “And so let the fox loose from the trap so that he might again feast in the henhouse? I think not. It shall be decided here, with my brother and our men as witnesses.” He motioned to the Elves behind him.

He resumed pacing. “How would you bid us to decide in this matter, Dark Elf? To trust the words of one whose speech does not align with his actions, or to trust rather the counsel of my heart, which urges me to consider why the Lady Aredhel and her son seemed to flee as if the very hounds of Morgoth were upon them, and why you, not two days later, fly at their heels even in the light of the sun?”

“You misread the matter, Lord Celegorm,” Eöl said. 

“Do I? Tell me the truth of it, then.”

Though Eöl felt his peril growing, he straightened as much as he could and answered, “My wife does not understand the customs of my house, and she suffers from an affliction of the mind, for I regret to say that she has weakened in mind and spirit since the birth of our son, and strange notions have entered her mind that never would have before. A healer has advised that she remain at home, where my servants can keep her in comfort and banish her delusions of discontent. Surely, kinsman, you understand now why I ride with haste after her. I fear for her well-being and that of my son, whom she surely has convinced to believe her delusions to be truthful.”

Celegorm came to a stop in front of him, and any trace of mockery had left his face, which had turned suddenly stern and cold. “Those who steal the daughters of the Noldor should be less heedless with their tongues, if they value the gift of speech. I name you no kin of mine, Dark Elf.”

Eöl stiffened. “I did not steal what came to me willingly.”

“Did she, or was she ensnared by the enchantments and entrapments you have long devised in the secret hollows and twisting paths of the forest? Do not think word of your work has not spread from the shadowed eaves of Nan Elmoth.”

Eöl’s lips twisted into a snarl. “Why should I bandy words with one who slaughtered his own kin?” he spat. He whirled and reached for his javelin, which was fastened to his saddle.

With a growl, the beast standing next to Celegorm lunged forward and wrested the javelin from Eöl’s hand.

Celegorm took the javelin from the beast, examining it. He ran his finger over the blade, where the poison glistened in the sunlight, then sniffed his finger. His gaze flicked up to Eöl’s. Eöl thought to see anger or triumph flicker in the Elf-lord’s eyes, but they were cold and impassive, and when he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. “I wonder: Who was this meant for—your wife, or your son?”

Eöl felt the blood drain from his face, and he reached for the hilt of his sword.

But the Elf-lord was faster. In one fluid movement, the cold blade of a hunting knife pressed against Eöl’s throat, and Celegorm’s lips brushed Eöl’s hair as he whispered, “Who is the kinslayer now, I wonder? For all our misdeeds, we have never slaughtered our wives or children.”

Gritting his teeth in anger, Eöl kept his gaze fixed ahead, not allowing the Elf the pleasure of seeing his fear, though his heart hammered in his chest.

Celegorm withdrew the knife from Eöl’s neck, and before he could react, the Elf-lord wrenched Eöl’s hand up and swiftly drew the blade of the javelin head across his palm in a stinging slice.

Cold dread trickled down Eol’s spine, and his face contorted in fury as he looked up at Celegorm. “Thou art a kinslayer twice over, son of Fëanor.”

Celegorm said nothing in response, now flint-eyed and in a perilous mood, and he stepped back and addressed the encircling Elves. “Though his words are honeyed lies, his hands have shown the truth of his dark purposes, and he has felt the bite of his own poison. He will be dead by morning, perhaps, but there is now the matter of what to do in the hours until dawn.”

Even now Eöl felt the poison enter his veins, and his heart quailed. “Will you not release me to die as I see fit, or at the least kill me swiftly—or will you not suffer even those comforts, kinslayer?”

The Elf-lord’s smile as he turned upon Eöl was wolf-sharp, and Eöl knew now that the peril he had felt before had been merely a shadow of the peril he now faced. “To hasten the hour of your death would be too merciful, Dark Elf. Do not forget that I once followed Oromë. I can deliver mercy and withhold it just as easily.”

“You would break all laws of the Eldar.” Eöl looked from Celegorm to the other Elves, beseeching. But there was no kindness to be found in their gazes.

“You would have had Irissë die even as you do now, in slow agony of pain unrelenting. Is it not just that you should feel the same fear that she would have?” The light in Celegorm's eyes was wild and fey, and Eöl cowered beneath his glance.

“What will you now do with me?”

A smile curved Celegorm’s lips. “The hunt is about to begin, and we are in need of prey.”

Eöl paled, even as the Elves’ voices rose in laughter, and he leapt atop Morroch and dug his heels in, lashing the ends of the reins against the horse’s flank. Still laughing, the Elves parted as Morroch broke through their half-ring and lengthened his stride into a gallop.

As they fled over the plains, Eöl leaned low over Morroch’s neck and peered back over his shoulder.

Already, Celegorm, Curufin, and their followers outfitted themselves for a hunt. The great hunting bow hung at Celegorm’s back, and Curufin held a tall spear that glinted in the sun. Their followers leapt astride their horses, and hounds milled about the horse’s legs. Celegorm ordered the formation of the riders, and the hounds gathered in front, Celegorm’s slavering beast foremost.

With a cry of fear, Eöl urged Morroch faster, until sweat flecked the horse’s dark flanks, and foam showed about his mouth.

The sharp blasting of horns carried over the plains, and the baying of the hounds joined the bitter cries of the hunters. A howl rose above the din, louder than that of any wolf that stalked the dark forests of Beleriand.

And above all came the sound of cold laughter carried on the wind.

#tolkiengenweek #silm fic #tolkien fic #silmarillion #celegorm #eol #fotfics #create the canon you wish to see in the world (eol suffering) #huan is arda's no. 1 opponent of sexism #the silmarillion #my fic #domestic abuse cw #(mentioned only)

[shipburner]

The Gloskun

The gloskun (singular and plural) is an amphibious octopoid about the size of a chicken, found in tide pool habitats. They fill similar ecological niches to seagulls and large semiterrestrial crabs; their intelligence and robust digestive systems makes them extremely adaptable generalists. Often referred to as a "quadrupedal mollusc", the gloskun has a full complement of eight arms, but the rear four are adapted into strong, short legs - rather than tapering like an octopus' arms, a gloskun's legs are wide at the base, with the final two suckers adapted into broad, protective, nonsensory "hooves". When moving about, gloskun hold their fore arms together in a "trunk" shape, moving apart to manipulate objects; gloskun are frequently observed with only three arms in the trunk and the fourth holding wet sea grass over their beak to preserve moisture and extend their periods on land, to the degree that cartoon images of gloskun often have green "mustaches" as part of their body. Gloskun defend themselves with ink in water and on land, where they contract their siphons to carefully aim it at the eyes, noses, or mouths of would-be predators. Gloskun move with a characteristic "stamping" gait on land and when hunting on the seafloor; they typically spend water periods resting, but their relaxed legs double as powerful, rippling paddles for fast movement underwater. Gloskun are frequently observed splashing in puddles; biologists previously explained this as a tactic designed to splash prey out of tidepools, but recent study of gloskun behavior has corroborated folk reports that gloskun extract prey from tidepools with their dexterous forearms, and that puddle splashing is a play behavior. Their playfulness, responsive intelligence, and large eyes (often observed as upturned and "pleading", although it's far more likely that gloskun are simply observing their taller observers) make them endearing to humans; this is offset by their dexterity, ink jets, problem-solving intelligence, and long association with humans, which also cast them firmly in the role of "pest" -- similar to opossums, raccoons, foxes, and monkeys in both public perception and folkloric roles. Seaside communities' DO NOT FEED THE GLOSKUN signs are matched only by gloskun skill in getting humans to feed them; gloskun are capable of using tools, and an arms race exists between gloskun and gloskun-proof-trash-receptacle manufacturers. Pet gloskun are analogous to pet parrots, both in that they are frequently found perching on fictional pirates' shoulders and that they require too much stimulation to be ethically kept as pets (gloskun are not as social as parrots, but have much better ability to manipulate objects and equal or greater intellectual stimulation needs). Some communities and individuals do have more equitable working relationships with gloskun, picking up litter in exchange for food rewards or assisting with shellfish harvests.

Joking around with a friend this morning and accidentally invented the perfect seaside pest, which we now release into the Creative Commons to menace your shores.

The gloskun species © 2024 by Nausicaä Enriquez and @transtanium is licensed under Attribution 4.0 International.

#gloskun #octopus #open species #speculative biology #shipburner work

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Midnight Blades {7}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: You face the aftermath of your actions and not all of it is as you expected Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, spanking, edging, bondage, orgasm denial, cum play, blood play, knife play, FLUFF WC: 1869

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

Aemond’s silhouette stood at the end of the dock, the flaming torches behind him making him appear even larger than you knew his frame to be. The ripples of the evening breeze across the water seemed to radiate from him as if the rage he held had erupted into the physical universe and you absorbed it all as you stood at the bow, holding the stare you knew was fixated right back at you.

“The prince, is he a good husband to you?” Ser Negan asked quietly as he stood beside you, the place where you had grown accustomed to being filled by Aemond. “If you fear his retaliation for this day, tell me now, before we dock.”

“No, I do not fear him.” You patted his hand that was resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding the scabbard and he let them fall to his side with a nod. “He is not like the rest of them; I have freedoms that others do not and he accepts me for who I am.”

“He would be a fool not to, princess.” With a pat to your shoulder, Ser Negan walked back to where the sailors were preparing to dock while the rest of the fleet anchored in the harbour and rowed long boats to the camp erected along the shore. 

As the ship was moored beside the waiting prince you placed your boot on the rail and accepted his silent hand, letting him keep you stable as you made the small jump to the dock. “I hope you enjoyed your adventure, my love,” he said quietly as he tucked your arm into his elbow. “You should say your farewells, I am not sure you will be able to make the ride down here any time soon.”

You held your head high and walked away from the ship, refusing to address him as you heard the clear threat in his words. He would not break you, that was the promise you made yourself and your father, so you took your place on his stallion with dignity and raised your fist to the stars - the night erupting with cheers from the ships before Aemond spurred his horse away.

He could probably feel your stomach rumbling for food as you sat in front of him on his horse, the silence tense. You decided he did indeed possess the knowledge you were hungry when he took the long route through the city to the Red Keep, ensuring he passed by the street vendors with the most delicious smelling food. 

“Clever of you to learn High Valyrian,” he broke the silence first and you smiled to yourself in triumph at the small win. “But there was nowhere to land Vhagar. I had already given the order for her to return to the Dragon Pit.”

“That is good news, my prince,” you said sweetly, not believing a word from his mouth, “it would be a shame to have lost control of your dragon, not once but twice.”

“Be serious for one moment,” Aemond growled, exasperated by your attitude that had easily regressed back to those early days after arriving in King’s Landing. “My brother forbade your visitation with the Scythian army. I am trying to balance protecting you and keeping you happy but you continue to spit it back in my face. You dove from my fucking dragon, Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name on his lips and looked down at your lap where his hands lay with the reins, just as it had been on Vhagar. The emptier streets were silent save for the rhythmic clip-clop of his stallion’s hooves on the stone and a pit settled in your stomach as you realised the position you had put him in.

“You terrified me.” His fists tightened around the reins at the admission and you would  have welcomed the pain if he had decided to thump them down on your thighs. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fucking breathe knowing I killed you too.”

His words were barely a whisper by the time he finished and he silently crossed under the open archway into Red Keep, dismounting the moment the stable boy appeared. You felt sick as the light of the sconces shimmered in his eye with unshed tears and you didn’t feel worthy of his touch as he helped you down with his hands on your waist.

“My apologies, Aemond,” you choked as you placed your palm to his cheek. “I did not think you cared so deeply for me.”

He pressed his cheek further into your touch as he savoured the gentleness of it. “You are infuriating, impulsive and frighteningly fearless.” He reached up and pulled his leather patch from his head, an action he rarely did when out of the privacy of your chambers. “I see you, princess, and you are beautiful.”

You traced his scar with your thumb as you cupped his face to draw him closer to your height. He didn’t dare blink as you tipped your head back to place a kiss over the raised red ruin before pressing your forehead to his and sharing his breath.

“I see you too.”

–

The air was charged with the remnants of rage and the overwhelming rush of desire the courtyard confessions had brought. Maids and guards darted aside as the turbulent storm, that was you and Aemond rushing to your chambers, passed by. 

Your dress was still damp and the salt had shrunk some of the material, hindering Aemond’s access until he grew frustrated and unsheathed his dagger. You stumbled back against the table as he cut the outer layer and grabbed it with his hands, tearing through the shift beneath like a man possessed. 

“Laehurlion qrīdrughagon,” he ordered with the same air of command he used to bend his will to his dragon. Your legs went weak at the sound of the language rolling off his tongue and you turned away from him, gripping the table's edge. “Good girl.”

Aemond dropped to his knees behind you and you felt his warm breath on your thighs before he ran his tongue over your aching core, dipping the tip in teasingly and humming at the taste. You waited for more but his lips trailed over the swell of your ass before he buried his teeth in the meat of it, a surprised scream tearing from your lips. The table shook as your hips jerked away from him, spilling the wine and tea across the meal that had been laid out before your arrival. 

“You should get used to standing, sweet wife,” Aemond chuckled darkly. “Sitting will not be comfortable when I am done with you.”

He rose to his feet and crossed the room to the bed, taking two lengths of rope from the trunk at the foot of it and tying them around the posts at the head of it. “I did warn you.”

You licked your lips as he threw his tunic to the floor but left his leather riding pants low on his hips and the lace undone. Though he was lean, the defined muscles beneath the surface held a formidable strength and your mouth went dry at the sight of him standing with the rope, ready to deliver his punishment upon you.

Your teeth bit into the pillow and absorbed your scream as Aemond’s leather belt lashed across your bare ass once again. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed as he ran his hands softly over the welts left in his wake. Your skin was burning but he blew cool air across it before kissing his markings, adding his teeth to the thick lines already showing. He tugged your hips and pulled you onto your knees so your ass was high in the air and felt for the moisture leaking from your slit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are dripping for me.”

Aemond licked his fingers before the belt was discarded, his leather pants with it, and he knelt behind you, spearing you with his cock as you wrapped your hands around the bindings and tried to look over your shoulder to see him. A slap landed on your tender skin and you gasped as you pushed your hips back to take him as deep as your body would allow.

“Does my little whore deserve to cum?” Aemond asked as he pulled back, leaving the leaking tip of his cock at your swollen entrance. “I don’t think you do, not yet.”

You fought against the bindings to push back onto his cock but they were secure and tight with no leeway to move closer to him. It was the grunt from his lips and the brush of his fist that had a whimper filling the air. He was pleasuring himself and your cunt was merely a hole to receive his release.

“Please, Aemond, I need you, I need to cum,” you begged as his hand pumped along his shaft and the head seemed to swell before warmth flooded you and he slammed himself deep within your core. 

Aemond’s deep moan reverberated through you as he withdrew and replaced his spent cock with his long fingers. He captured the cum the leaked from your cunt and pushed it back in, curling his fingers as he did and riding them over the soft spot that had you writhing once again. 

The pressure built and you could hardly breathe as you smothered yourself against the pillow. Every muscle coiled tightly and your body began to tremble, it felt as if the room were suddenly on fire as sweat broke across your skin. 

“Oh Aemond!” you screamed as the pleasure overwhelmed you and you collapsed to the mattress with body convulsions in waves to your release. 

The ropes were slashed and your raw wrists dropped to the bed before Aemond rolled you over and grinned at the lazy smile on your lips, your eyes half closed with exhaustion. 

“So beautiful.”

You expected him to join you in bed, accustomed to the warmth of his body as he cocooned you and gently massaged the aches away, but he went to the table and attempted to salvage some food, bringing a small plate back with him. “Open.”

You parted your lips for him and let him feed you a small helping of grapes and dried figs, nipping at his fingers with a defiant smirk as he recoiled his hand back. “You marked me, but I have yet to leave mine on you, dear husband.”

He looked at his chest with a quirked eyebrow, the scars from your blades as well as the marks from your nails contradicting you. Ignoring his cocky attitude, you took the plate and placed it on the bed before grabbing one of the many hidden daggers. 

“It is time to collect a debt you owe me,” you purred as you knelt before him and leant down to place a kiss over his heart, the same place you would mark your initials upon. “Now, you are mine too.” 

Aemond shivered as you ran your fingers through the small trail of blood pooling on his chest, his voice thick with emotion, “I was yours the moment you threatened my manhood.”

Click here for Part Eight

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @mariamyousef702

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fic #aemond smut #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

[vermutandherring]

Horse Ranch was, without exaggeration, one of the most anticipated additions to The Sims 4. Perhaps, if the previous game had not set such a high bar, expectations for the fourth would have been lower. Although it cannot be less, given the game's initially tarnished reputation. Nevertheless, Horse Ranch significantly raises the bar of the game from the first seconds. The developers expose themselves, proving that the closed world is just an excuse for their own laziness and unwillingness to do anything more than small worlds of the same type. It turns out that even in a limited space there is room for majestic and graceful horses, the appearance of which players have been waiting for almost a dozen years. I often go to extremes, saying on the one hand that subsequent games in the series have the right to repeat themselves. If they don't bring to the industry or even the franchise itself, there's nothing wrong with that as long as it's a good game in its own right. But Sims 4 is not the case. I have repeatedly pointed out that this particular game is a leech, which, nevertheless, we continue to play. This waiting game has gone on too long. But, as they say, patience is rewarded.

The horses in the Horse Ranch expansion pack have undergone a significant improvement compared to The Sims 3. They look really graceful, their faces are no longer obtuse and silly, and in general they look relatively realistic in the game's cartoonish graphics. In the 3d game, you will need a bunch of mods to make the horses closer to their living counterparts and get aesthetic pleasure from their appearance. In the 4th, they are really nice to watch. Especially in a bunch with well-developed animations.

I last played Sims 3 not so long ago, so the contrast in the movements of both the animal and the rider feels good. They no longer slide across the ground like logs, and the reins are not glued tightly to their necks. Now you see how your character literally sets the direction and the horse, leaning and bending to turn or jump, reacts to the control by realistically stomping its hooves.

The style of the game is also focused on the western type of horse riding inherent in American culture. I will not say that this is the best idea, given that many players think of the classical school when they hear the words "horse riding". I myself would prefer to see more classic elements. But it is worth considering that The Sims is originally an American story about the American dream, created by Americans. I think, against the background of numerous additions that represent various cultures of the world, it is worth leaving something for yourself. However, that doesn't excuse the fact that the game has too… No. TOO little horse equipment per se. 3 saddles, 2 bridles and several accessories, including two saddle pads. For the money the add-on costs, it should have featured some more unusual equipment. In addition, the story of Native American tribes is woven into the expansion, so why not develop this theme a little deeper, and add more historical and cultural artifacts?

The first minutes of the game are really fun. Everything seems completely new, you want to try so many things at the same time. But this euphoria quickly passes when you understand that all improvement ends in the appearance and animations. The new discipline – barrel racing – is not impressive at all. All you can do is run in circles around the barrels. That's all. When I say circles, I mean it literally. No eights, complex tricks or at least movement in the other direction. With show jumping, or rather what was left of it, it is even worse. Instead of a chain of obstacles that could be built into an entire arena in The Sims 3, you can practice with just one small obstacle that is as high as your character's knees. At first it is interesting to watch, but then it is so depressing that training horses turns into a mortal routine.

By the way, now your horses have as many as 4 skills. One develops the character of your pet and expands the number of interactions with it, the other 3 - endurance, jumping and agility - have almost no effect on anything. Gold medals at the first levels of competition difficulty are very easy, even if the horse's skills are minimal. And yes, all competitions are our 'favorite' and well-known rabbit holes, where you cannot even conditionally observe the development of the event. What is even more annoying is the fact that now there is practically no point in training. Unlike Sims 3, in the fourth game foals do not inherit skills from their parents, only character traits. If earlier you could breed a foal with almost 100% skills, train it quickly, win a few competitions and sell it for good money, now you have to suffer for a very long time with one horse to get at least something for it. For these reasons, I see no need to keep a mare and a stallion to develop a pedigree. It's too long, too unrewarding and terribly boring. Considering the lags, it is also dangerous for nerves.

What is undoubtedly pleasing against the background of all these endless minuses is the mobility of horses. They no longer stomp endlessly in place when you try to interact with them, they don't need a lot of space to perform actions, and most importantly, no more ugly stalls that take up too much space. Now you have a 3x3 bedding where your horse can sleep, but which you can do without. Fortunately, instead of large, clumsy barns, you can now build luxurious stables. Another plus is that several horses can use the feeder and waterer at the same time.

In addition, all lots have small paddocks nearby. And all areas of the town have barrels and obstacles, so you don't have to place them on your lot. It is enough to build a house and a stable when the training area is nearby. Thus, on the largest lots, you can arrange whole farms and ranches with a bunch of animals.

Speaking of animals, I can't say much about goats and sheep. Yes, they are cute. But like the rest of the livestock, they have a more decorative function, if you, like me, don't really like to dig around with all this craftable stuff. They are not always friendly, they can butt and do not want your attention. Given that we already have rabbits that can help you in the garden, I think goats and sheep could come up with more interesting roles. If you have too many decorative animals, then taking care of them is a nightmare. Fortunately, the ranch hand you can hire is great at their job. In addition to taking care of the animals, they tend the garden, can do things and take care of the animals from Cottage Living. However, sometimes there are weird lags where they idle instead of leaving the lot when the job is done, or quits without notification and you have to hire them again.

Overall I like the new expansion pack. It adds long-awaited new experiences to the routine of Sims' lives. But as with all add-ons for The Sims 4, Horse Ranch is fun right up until you've tried all the features of the set. A week later, I no longer feel a burning desire to return to my ranch, because I know that nothing new or interesting awaits me. Rather the opposite: endless bugs, simulation problems and sheep that hate me. Undoubtedly, if you are crazy about horses and Horse Ranch was a long-awaited addition for you, it is worth your attention. After all, where EA has screwed up, there will always be talented creators and their mods. If horses sound empty to you, I don't think Horse Ranch will be able to dilute your routine for long. In any case, this add-on is not worth its full price, and despite the good idea that players have been waiting for, it is another heartless DLC that openly encroaches on our wallets like never before.

I think at this point I like the scale of the game more, which the new expansion pack adds to the game, which makes its world feel less closed. My sims can sit in the pond while the horses walk in the pasture and the little goats sleep under their feet.

#simblr #sims #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 horse ranch #sims 4 horses #ts4 horse ranch #ts4 equestrian #sims 4 equestrian #video game review #my articles

[bigalockwood]

August and Rousseau

I’ve outed myself as the #resident horse expert (thanks @youngroyalsconfession for the title I’m genuinely elated bc I’ve never gotten my own online moniker lmao) and I think it’s time that I contributed some more unasked for and useless horse knowledge to the YR discussion. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages and since I don’t see myself finding any time to research this further in the next few weeks, I thought I might as well post it before season 3 drops. Plenty of posts have been made about how the August-Rousseau situation could play out, and I don’t want to talk about those theories today, because I have anything to add right now.

As has been pointed out many times, horses are expensive, at least in western, industrialized countries. They used to be a necessity for most people, because they were a mode of transport, used to harvest food etc. This is still true in many parts of the world, but not Western and Northern Europe. There, horses have become a luxury, and are usually notoriously expensive, especially if you can’t keep them on your own grounds and produce your own hay. And even then- vet bills are painful to look at, and there are plenty of other costs, too. So, August most definitely won’t be able to pay for the monthly expenses that come with having a horse, at least not if he gets no financial aid by the court or doesn’t sell some of his assets. And even then, I’m not sure what they would say when they learn that they are financing a horse of all things (especially since August has zero interest in or knowledge of horses). In the following you can find a rough overview of just how expensive owning a horse is. Keep in mind, these numbers are generalized. I’m not from Sweden, but another European country, and even if I were, prices fluctuate a lot depending on the success of harvest, proximity to large cities, services offered by the stable, etc.… But maybe it can give those of you less familiar with horses a better idea of just how fucked August actually is.

Stable: this variable is already very hard to judge. You can find fairly cheap barns, but you usually have to do at least part of the work yourself, too (just imagine August mucking out Rousseau’s stall lmao). Feed is often included in the price, doesn’t cover any special needs, though (hay is included, but anything else you have to buy yourself). However, Hillerska is a prestigious school. They have a groom (our beloved Marcus) to take care of everything the owners don’t want to do (mucking out, feeding, taking horses out to the pastures and then back inside). You can find yourself with anywhere between 200- 600 Euros per month, depending on the services offered. Knowing what we do about Hillerska, you can expect the cost to be at the higher end.

The farrier should come every six to eight weeks and, again, costs depend on what work needs to be done. It can be anywhere between 50 Euro (bare hoof, only need to be trimmed) to close to 200 Euro (horse shoes for all four hooves). As long as Rousseau isn’t being exercised he’ll most likely only need a trim. 

Insurance depends greatly on your horse and its value (it’s hinted that he is valuable in the show) but generally costs between 50 to 150 Euro per month where I’m from.

Vet costs (assuming your horse is healthy and you only need to get the recommended vaccinations and check-up’s as well as anthelmintics) will usually be around 400 Euros a year and can go way up, depending on whether your horse has any special needs. Rousseau seems to be healthy, so we’ll assume he only needs the bare minimum.

Based on what he definitely needs to buy/pay for, the annual cost would be somewhere between 3400 and 12.400 Euro. Which is a super rough estimate and doesn’t even cover any extra expenses (Rousseau most certainly doesn’t only eat hay but also other feed specifically for sport horses). A horse can easily cost up to 21.400 Euro per year. August saves some money because he doesn’t take any training sessions and thus doesn’t need to pay for a trainer. He could also lend Rousseau to the school and let other students ride him; a deal like that would reduce how much he needs to pay for the monthly care of Rousseau.

But either way: August has to pay between 295 and 1800 Euro per month. If he wasn’t struggling financially, he probably wouldn’t even notice such a “small” expense. As it is, he can’t even pay his own tuition. There’s no way he’ll be able to pay for a horse.

(Would also like to, again, state that this is extremely generalized; I just wanted to highlight how much a horse usually costs).

#young royals #august horn #rousseau #yr #young royals analysis #sorry for this weirdly specific niche topic? #talking shit for the hell of it