#sickly yellow dressing room light

[lunar-art]

gender-y concept comics...for a gender-y full comic (graphic novel?). you know how they say shapeshifting is the most trans superpower

#original #comics #my art #whether this thing gets written or not depends entirely on if i can throw myself into it in the next few weeks and if it's. too personal and #heavy to write something so intensely abt gender #and largely my Own gender stuff...eughghghghgh #saw a tiktok a while ago like 'why is exploring your sexuality so fun but exploring your gender the worst thing in the world' #and sometimes. yeah #sickly yellow dressing room light

[cordeliawhohung]

Core, what about a bit of competition with ps! Gaz? Some new girl who think's she's already the darling of the studio takes a liking to Gaz, but finds out about his ties with reader.

The one time she gets to film with Gaz, she overplays her role and absolutely covers his neck, collar, shoulder, everything with hickeys, hoping it will deter the reader.

So imagine her shock when the next day, she pops into his dressing room and finds the reader in there as well, applying foundation over the marks and littered with dozens from Gaz himself. ❤️

(I realize how dumb this sounds as an ask but it's been rotting my brain for days and I desperately need it gone so I can focus on my college classes 😭)

thanks this has also been rotting my brain because i just love putting people in their place (: more ps!gaz here <3

The crux of your ass sits in perfect place on Kyle's thighs while your legs straddle the expanse of his hips. Warm hands rest on your waist as you manhandle his jaw, tilting his head side to side to get better access to his neck. Thick, round hickeys litter the delicate skin around his throat and down to his shoulders in angry, red pinpoint marks that break the beautiful and even tone of his skin with something revolting. They look like proper bruises rather than the after effects of a... wild video shoot. As if someone had tried to strangle him rather than make love to him.

You remember the video well, along with that new model with her fake blonde hair and even faker tan that they had paired Kyle with to shoot the other day. You had only seen her in person one time, and you vividly recall the way her blue eyes rolled over your body, assessing every inch of you before ultimately deciding you were worth very little time. Confidence was a must when you worked in the porn industry, but her attitude borders on an arrogance you haven't seen since your teenage years in public school.

As you apply yellow color corrector onto the dark marks on his skin, you nearly shiver as the images of her stained lips suckling on Kyle's neck flood your mind. There was little room to feel jealousy about her ravaging your favorite co-star when you were too busy cringing. So childish. Over zealous. You nearly cried tears of laughter when you noticed Kyle's expression, grimacing at the wet tongue and annoying teeth that nipped at him, yet still having to pretend to enjoy it. Even the comments on the video joked about it.

Put him back with the other model.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought someone tried to strangle you," you tease.

"She might as well have," Kyle sighs. He adjusts his shoulders against the back of the chair, bare pecs flexing with the movement, bringing your attention to the uncovered marks that line his collarbone. "Haven't been able to go out in public without a goddamn turtleneck 'cause of her."

You chuckle as you finish applying and buffing out the rest of the color corrector along his skin. It leaves him looking sickly and discolored, which oddly enough is an improvement to what it looked like before. Setting the corrector to the side, you grab foundation next, hips swaying as you attempt to get some movement in your aching knees. Holding that position for so long without moving had them burning with fatigue.

"Need a break, doll?" Kyle prompts, hands sliding from your waist to your thighs.

"Don't know if we have time for a break. Got a lot of ground to cover before we start," you humor.

Kyle sits forward, throwing you off balance, yet he doesn't let you sway very far before his arms wrap around you, hands supporting your back. Adoring eyes crease as a grin floods his face. Even without the aid of studio lights he glows like a god as he leans closer and places a kiss on your neck.

"Show can't start without us," he says, teeth grazing your skin as he wanders down to your collarbone. "Could always give you a few hickeys to match, if you want."

He doesn't wait for you to answer before his tongue glides across your clavicles just for his teeth to follow right after. A chuckle rumbles in his chest at the tightening of your legs around his hips, and his hands only pull you closer. It doesn't take much for you to give in. Head rolling back, muscles melting as his lips conquer everything you're willing to give him. It's a delicate softness mixed with a brutal bite, something that leaves you gasping as he pulls the very air from your lungs and feeds on the sounds.

Kyle is more starved for you than usual. Sick of the fake, over dramatic screeching he got last week with that other model, he's hungry for the real thing. Hungry for you.

The unopened foundation falls free from your loose fingers and rolls along the floor into some forgotten corner when his hands wander underneath your shirt. It's a dance he has memorized; unclasping your bra without a second thought and tearing both it and your shirt off in a single, swift motion. He gives you little time to recover before his mouth is on your tits, kissing a sparse trail until he's rolling a perky nipple between his lips.

His bare skin feels like heaven underneath the palm of your hands as you grip his shoulders for stability. He'd take you on the cold, dressing room floors, you knew he would. A part of you wanted him to. Fuck the shoot, they should've learned well enough to put cameras in the dressing rooms by that point with how handsy Kyle Garrick always was with you.

"Can't wait until we get on set to try and undo me?" you ask breathlessly.

"Doll, I'll undo you right here and then again on set if you asked me to," he mumbles into your skin.

A quiet squeak interrupts your moment and the ambiance of the room shifts when the door to Kyle's dressing room opens. His hands grow stiff against your spine as you look over your shoulder at the figure in the doorway. You smell her perfume before you recognize her. Something drowning and floral, like a mall department store. It burns your nose, yet you're too distracted by the slack-mouth surprise etched onto the features of the new blood's face.

It's cute; her confusion. How her eyes flicker over your bare back and Kyle's hands pressed against your skin like he's cradling the only thing he cares for in the world. The dots just can't quite connect in her mind as to why he hasn't completely fallen for her yet, as if the only way she knows how to lure men is by butchering their neck with discolored marks. She can't comprehend why he'd rather have you in his lap than her.

Kyle draws a shocked groan from you when his teeth nip at your shoulder, and your eyes have no choice but to fall away from the woman in the doorway as he pulls you closer to him. His chin gently rests on your shoulder as he stares at the model, hands moving to rest on your hips.

"Need somethin?" he asks, bored.

There is very little you wouldn't have given to see the look on her face, but the small huff followed by the door slamming shut is good enough. Small giggles rattle your body as you lean back to get a better look at Kyle, as if your body would throw a fit if he wasn't within your sight. There's an inexplicable relief that floods his face as he looks up at you, and he mirrors your smile.

"What?" he defends. "Only asked her if she needed somethin."

"I think you broke her heart," you patronize.

"She'll live," he mumbles, lips falling against the crook of your neck again. "Your heart is the only one I care about, anyway."

#pornstar!gaz #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader smut #cod smut #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader smut #f!reader

[boggie-things]

At five years old, Robin Buckley says her favorite color is pink when asked by her kindergarten teacher.

It seems like the right answer, it's what all the other girls say (except for a few who say purple, but Robin thinks of the flowers at her grandma's funeral earlier that year that were a sickly shade a mauve), so it must be hers as well.

She doesn't mind wearing it, but she thinks it's bright, easy to call attention to. She gets scolded in second grade by Tammy Thompson when she says it's really just a shade of red, after that she decides she doesn't like it as much anymore.

In fourth grade she says it's green when her mom asks for a color to paint her room. It's the color of outside and Robin likes to play there.

Her favorite shoes are forest green and she sits in the green section at lunch with her best friend Barabra Holland. It's a good fit.

But in sixth grade Tommy Hagan tells her it's a boy color and if she likes it then she's a boy. And so Robin changes it again. This time it's yellow.

Yellow is a safe color, neither gender seems to claim it and it's the shade of the sheets on her bed where she spends most of her time now that Barbara seems to prefer hanging out with Nancy Wheeler.

Yellow is the color of the stray cat that she feeds eyes and the shade of the lamplight she likes to read under at night.

She changes it to red in tenth grade when she hears Tammy Thompson say she likes it (even though she got mad at Robin for her earlier suggestion of pink being a light shade of it), and she really thinks it's the right one too.

It's the color of her beloved converse and the shade of the only makeup she owns, the scarlet lipstick her aunt got her for her fifteenth birthday.

It's a color of her Scoops uniform and the dry erase marker she uses to mark down Steve Harrington’s numerous fails at flirting.

It's the color of blood staining her shirt and dripping from Steve's face on the Fourth of July, 1985. The color of fireworks being thrown at a monster made up of red flesh and the color of the ambulance lights that flash as she sits in it.

After that she doesn't have a favorite color. It changes whenever someone new asks, alternating between the ones of her past.

It's green to Steve and pink to the mother renting a movie for her daughter. Yellow for Dustin and for a project in English class.

It's never red though.

But then 1986 rolls around and it's suddenly blue. The color of the sky and her favorite shirt is navy. The color of a denim jacket and the waters of Lovers Lake.

The color of Nancy Wheeler’s eyes looking at her in the library. Cerulean in the sun and cobalt as they trek through hell.

Bright azure when reflecting fire and the sparks of flying bullets. Soft maya blue under hospital lights.

They're shining admiral when they meet hers outside the Wheeler house two weeks after it all. Her tears match the rain when they kiss. Baby blue when they finally part.

It's blue when Nancy asks as they lay together in their apartment just outside of Boston. She jokes it's for the ocean that they had visited that summer, but later she tells her it's for her eyes.

It's blue like the ring she proposes with, cheap but full of meaning. Blue like the lilies of the Nile and bellflowers of Nancy's bouquet she tosses in the air.

Sapphire like their daughter's name and the chair Robin sits in when she reads to her. The color of her cookie monster cake for her first birthday and the rims of Nancy's reading glasses.

Blue like the dress she's buried in.

Blue like the flowers on their side by side graves.

#no im fine why do you ask? #bog drabbles #ronance drabble #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #robin & nancy

[mangosmootji]

Chapter 2 | Sic Semper Tyrannis

“Thus always to Tyrants”

18+ fic, minors do not interact!

Chapter summary: Aemond takes you on a walk through the castle’s woods and grounds. You investigate the castle at night and stumble upon some suspicious conversations.

Chapter warnings/tags: Mentions of death, corpses, canon typical incest, ghosts??, the supernatural, betrothal, family drama, Alicent claiming Rhaenyra’s kids are bastards (as usual)

if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it! Word count: 5k Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Eggs?”

You sat at the large breakfast table with Aegon, Aemond and Helaena. Helaena was engrossed with an embroidery project and Aemond was reading the morning newspaper. They all seemed tense. 

It was only Aegon who was keeping you company, if you could call it that. You were wearing a pale sea green dress with pink frills and ribbons decorating it. You seemed to have accidentally matched with Helaena who wore a pale blue dress with pink ribbons decorating her dress and complex hairstyle. 

You nodded in response to Aegon’s question and held out your plate. He scooped up a bunch of scrambled eggs, not really caring to ask if it was too much. It was. You reluctantly began to eat the eggs and you glanced over at your betrothed. His face was hidden behind the large newspaper. You had seen his face before he started reading it. Instead of the glass eye he wore a black leather eye patch over his, what you assumed, was an empty eye socket. He was quiet and had only murmured a good morning to you when you entered the room. Helaena hadn’t said anything.

You let out a soft sigh and turned to Aegon who was eating the eggs like they were his last meal on earth. It was quite a sight to see. 

“Did you sleep well?” You asked Aegon, trying to break the awkward silence that hung in the dining room, even the servants were quiet. 

“No. That wench wouldn’t shut up, again.” He replied with his mouth full. Aemond glared at him, his stern eye peeking over the edge of the newspaper he was holding. Wench? It was a mystery who this ‘wench’ was that he was talking about. You hadn’t heard anything last night, in fact, you had slept surprisingly well for someone that slept with a notebook hidden under their mattress.

“What wench?” 

“Give it a week.”

“What?”

His answers only confused you even more. He looked more exhausted than he did yesterday. This time he wore a light green vest, single breasted. Not that it mattered, it made him look just as sickly as the mustard yellow did. Perhaps it was just his complexion. 

“Swallow before you speak.” Aemond scolded his older brother and all Aegon did was shoot him another glare. Aemond turned his gaze to you and it softened slightly. He closed the newspaper and folded it up before placing it on the wooden table.

Aemond was wearing a red vest with a black shirt underneath it. The sleeves were poofy at the ends and his long silk hair was in a neat long braid again like the evening before. The pattern on his red vest had some botanical elements with abstract leaves and vines. A stark contrast to his older brother whom you figured enjoyed wearing simpler patterns like stripes.

“I apologise for my brother, clearly he has no idea how to act in front of ladies.” You could hear Aegon scoff at Aemond’s words but your betrothed seemed to ignore it. You studied Aemond’s face as he spoke. You liked the eye patch. It made him look mysterious and you liked solving mysteries. 

“Don’t apologise, my brother is worse.” 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth slightly tilted upwards. It was the first time you had seen him smile, if you could even call this a smile. 

“Shadows need the light to exist but roam freely in the darkness.”

You, Aemond and Aegon turned your heads when you heard Helaena speak. She was still working on her embroidery, almost pretending as if she hadn’t said anything before. It annoyed you. First the flowers and now rambling about nonsense out of the blue. A thick silence hung in the air, one you didn’t dare to break. 

Aemond and Aegon gave each other a look you were unable to read and they continued eating their breakfast in silence. With nothing to do and your mood ruined you reluctantly continued to eat the large pile of scrambled eggs on the plate in front of you. 

You took the time to look around the dining hall, it was large. The walls were covered in burgundy coloured velvet and the darkwood floorboards had been laid out in a herringbone pattern and it looked like it was recently done. Above the fireplace hung a black banner with a red three-headed dragon. The sigil of their family, you had learned. In the centre of the room stood the large rectangle dining table you sat at. You counted eighteen chairs, two at both ends of the table and eight chairs on each side of the table.

On the left side of the hall hung three large painted portraits. A man with short silver blonde hair hung in the middle and the other two paintings were of silver haired women. They looked similar but their features were still discernible. 

The wooden door of the dining room creaked open. Alicent and Otto walked in. Aegon, Aemond and even Helaena looked up to face their mother and grandfather. Alicent looked like she had been crying and Otto placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Something that you noticed immediately was Alicent’s hair and the lack of intricate hairstyle. Instead, her curly hair hung loose over her shoulder. Something serious must’ve happened for a lady like her to walk around the house, filled with servant men, with her hair loose.

“The body has been found.” 

Otto’s deep voice had cut deep through the silence. You let the words sink in. Not ‘a’ body. He said ‘the’ body. You wondered if this was so normal to them they could afford to use such wording. Or perhaps he meant ‘the’ body whose death they were behind. Your mind was racing, thinking of all possible answers. To think that such a simple sentence could make you spiral so much. “Who was it?” Aegon asked, the only one who dared break the silence, which you were secretly thankful for. 

“Tayla.”

‘Who is Tayla?’

Alicent begins to sob again and quickly excuses herself back to her room. Instead of looking at Aemond you looked at Aegon for answers but he was clearly avoiding your gaze. From the corner of your eye you could see Aemond’s frown deepening but you were unsure if it was because of the situation or because of you choosing to look for answers with his brother rather than him.

“They are getting bold.” Aemond replied after a short moment of complete silence.

‘Who the fuck is ‘they’?’

“They are.” Otto replied as his frown deepened, making the wrinkles on his forehead more evident with every passing moment.

The room filled with silence again, you hated the feeling. Everyone knew something but no one bothered to tell you, not even your future husband. Otto turned to Aemond, it was almost as if they could read each other's mind because without Otto having to say a word, Aemond replied.

“Bring the body to my workplace.” 

Then he turned to you.

“We shall walk in gardens together after lunch.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

After breakfast you had made your way back to your room. Some servants quietly entered the room and helped you in an appropriate walking dress you had brought with you. It was a red dress with black frills, ruffled and ribbons, coincidentally the colours of his family’s banner.

You watched out the window as they dressed you. Your room watched over the Narrow Sea and Blackwater bay. The eerie realisation of being able to see the place where each month a body would be found sent shivers down your spine. The narrow sea was calm, too calm. It was hard to see the water in the first place due to the thick mist lingered over the sea but also the city.

“Do you enjoy the view my lady?” One of the servants asked you in a soft voice. The servant was young, she looked no older than the age of fifteen.

“I suppose.” You replied in the most polite manner you could muster up. Even at home you disliked talking to the servants. Not because you didn’t care for the working class but because you preferred to spend your time alone. You didn’t like the workers coming into your room, your ‘supposedly’ private space. Of course you realised it wasn’t their fault, it was their work after all. Besides, you knew this type of work was better than working in one of the new factories. 

Back in the North where you used to live there weren’t many factories yet. The people were stubborn and preferred their old methods of producing goods. Your father owned one of the few factories in the North. It was located a few miles outside of White Harbor which meant it was near the ports, which is of course good for trading. Houses were already being built around the factory and would most likely fuse together with the city eventually. 

You hated the factories. Your father had taken you once when you were only eight years old and your brother was fourteen years old. You don’t remember much of it but you do remember the heavy feeling you felt when you saw girls your age working the machinery wearing rags and worn out clothes. That day a girl’s hands got stuck in the machinery, apparently it was a normal occurrence. Everything after that was only a vague memory to you. You remembered the blood and how you wailed ever louder than the girl that had gotten into the accident. 

Benjamen had teased you about it for months afterwards. He loved the factory, the economics, the leadership, everything about it. He was to inherit it after all. You remembered him boasting about all the things he would change once it was his. His words did nothing but bring you an uncomfortable feeling. It was almost as if he couldn’t wait for your father to die so he could take over. 

You snapped out of your thoughts when one of the servants started talking to you.

“Excuse me, could you repeat that please?” You asked the servant bashfully, embarrassed about being so deep in thought that your senses were shutting out the outside world.

“Of course, you needn’t be worried about the bodies, my lady. You’re safe in the castle.” One of the older servants said. The younger girl protested in a hushed voice. “But Tayla-”

The older woman sent a death glare at the young girl and she immediately shut her mouth. It dawned upon you that the servants knew things about the castle and the family as well, perhaps even more than your future in-laws. 

“What happened to Tayla?” You bluntly asked the women who were working on your dress. The older woman was busy with your under skirts and ruffles while the young girl was tightening the laces on the back of the dress. You could feel the young girl’s hands stop for a moment before continuing. The older woman stayed silent.

“She went out.” Was all the young girl would reply and secured the laces by tying them together. The older woman glared at the young girl again but continued to work in silence. The information you had gotten wasn’t that useful but at least it was something. Perhaps Aemond would tell you more on the walk, at least, that is what you hoped.

The servants remained silent as they worked on getting you ready. The silence in the room was awkward and you simply continued to stare out of the window. It didn’t take them long to finish and once you were ready they walked you to the garden where Aemond was waiting for you. He was wearing a black outdoor tailcoat where the ends of the coat were aligned with his knees. He was still wearing the dark red vest but you could see his pants more clearly now that he was standing up and not sitting at a table. His pants were neat. They were all black and clearly tailored to fit him perfectly. 

The servants dismissed themselves and left you alone with your soon to be husband. His gaze was striking like always. His sharp jawline and defined cheekbones made him look extremely handsome, even with the scar and the eyepatch. 

You politely nodded and looked to your left- and then your right, noticing the lack of a third person. 

“No chaperone?”

“We are engaged, there is no need for a chaperone my lady.”

Aemond’s bluntly reply and your own mistake had made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Of course the two of you didn’t need to have a chaperone with you on a walk. In fact, the two of you could even hold hands on said walk. 

“Of course, my mistake.” You awkwardly tried to chuckle it off but the tension between the two of you didn’t disappear. 

Aemond offered you his hand in a polite manner. He didn’t speak but it was clear he was trying to be a gentleman. You reluctantly took his hand, internally screaming at the contact. It felt wrong, as if a whole stage of life was skipped. Although arranged marriages weren’t uncommon, most couples still went through a courting phase before getting engaged. You barely even knew this man and yet you were allowed to hold his hand. 

The two of you strode through the misty garden. Barely any flowers grew in it. Not only was the soil salty from the nearby sea, it was also winter. The garden was large though, larger than you had thought. The beginning of the walk was silent, like it had been the night before. 

You walked on his right side again so he could see you properly. When you looked up at him he seemed to be in deep thought. His single violet eyes glanced at you and he finally spoke.

“Have you grown accustomed to the castle?”

“Not yet, it is quite large. I would get lost if i didn’t have someone walking with me.” The two of you stopped to take a look over the city below you. There was a detailed stone wall that separated you and the cliff. The city was covered in mist and it was hard to make out any houses besides the one on the hills and the large structures such as ‘The dragonpit’ and the great sept. Of course, the factories were quite visible as well. The long chimneys spat out a dark black smoke that stained the air. It stood out against the mist and you grimaced.

“What do the factories here produce?” 

“Canned food.”

His reply was bleak and it annoyed you.

“All of them?” You asked him as you let go of his hands to rest yours on the stone wall in front of you. The wind blew softly, it made the ruffles of your dress sway a little but not the entire skirt. You looked at him again and the tail of his coat was also flowing in the wind.

“No. That one over there produces firearms.”

He points at the factory the furthest away. Because of the mist you couldn’t see if it was in- our outside of the city. The thought of such dangerous weapons being built so close to citizens made your stomach churn.

“Do you dislike the factories, my lady?”

The question startled you a little. It wasn’t something you expected him to ask, especially considering your father owned a factory

“It is an eyesore and the working conditions aren’t great. Besides, I doubt those black fumes from the chimneys will do any good in the long run.” 

You saw no point in lying, after all, he was the one that asked. You wouldn’t be surprised if his family owned one, if not all the factories surrounding the city. Something told you he wouldn’t judge you for it. 

Aemond, surprisingly, hummed in agreement.

“They are certainly quite ugly, but they make money. A lot of money.”

He pointed at the furthest factory, the one making firearms. 

“That is the family’s biggest money maker. We trade within the realm but we also export a lot to Essos, specifically the free cities. My elder sister Rhaenyra is to inherit them all, she lives on Dragonstone, but i must’ve told you at dinner already.” He explained and turned his head to study your reaction. 

He hadn’t told you anything at dinner the night priorly. It was Alicent who had filled you in on the current family situation.

“Do you miss her?”

“No.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of you again. Aemond offered his hand again and you took it, less nervous than first. His hand was large and yours fitted comfortably in his. The rest of the gardens were just as dull as the first part was, that was until he led you to a wooded section of the garden. 

It was densely wooded but there was a clear dirt path that led to the middle. It was hard to identify what tree was what species since all the leaves had fallen onto the ground over the past autumn and winter. The leaves that were on the ground were a gross wet mixture of half disintegrated brown leaves. 

“She is invited to our engagement party, father insisted on it.” 

Aemond tried to hide the distain in his voice when he spoke of his sister.

“She and the rest of her family.” He corrected himself with a sigh.

It was silent again. You had to admit you were a bit slow, after all, no one had bothered to inform you about an engagement party. You wondered if your father and brother were invited as well. You turned your gaze up to him and politely smiled.

“I wasn’t aware of an engagement party. When is it?”

Aemond seemed to think for a moment before replying.

“The first day of the second month. That gives us enough time to prepare for…” He trailed off but you knew what he was talking about. He was talking about the next full moon. 

The next time a body would be found. 

“What happened to Tayla?” You were surprised you even managed to ask that question. The one that was eating you up from the inside out since breakfast. 

You and Aemond reached a small cemetery. In the middle stood a large stone tomb with three names on it.

Aegon Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen 

The two of you stood in silence in front of the tomb. It looked well cared for. The moss growing on it was minimal and the stone was clean. You had seen cemeteries and tombstones before, most were a dark grey with vines and moss overgrowing the stone structures but this one was the complete opposite. 

“I cannot tell you, but you will know, in time.” He replied, his voice was lower than usual. You didn’t like his answer, why couldn’t he just tell you.

“You’re safer if you don’t know about them.”

Another silence fell between the two of you. This one wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward like the others but it felt eerie. His words were sinister and made the hairs on your neck stand up straight. Who was ‘them’. They can’t be good people if they were behind all of these murders. Were they even people?

You had to shake the thought away. Of course they were actual people. The paranormal was only a trick of the mind to fill in the blanks. That is what it was. Even though you tried so hard to shake off the feeling you couldn’t help but feel watched. ‘It is only a trick of the mind. It’s because we’re in a forest and next to a cemetery. It’s because I am not familiar with surroundings.’ You tried to reassure yourself but you couldn’t help but look back over your shoulder. 

There was nothing. Of course there was nothing. You didn’t know what you even expected to be there. The treeline was dark and you were sure if his words had frightened you more you would have imagined the shape of a human or creature somewhere in there. It used to happen quite often when you were a child but now you knew the shapes you saw were just a bunch of unfortunately placed bushes, tree trunks and branches cast in a dark shadow. Hell, if you tried hard enough you could point out at least five trunks that looked like they had someone hiding behind them or standing in front of them. You chuckled to yourself and shook your head, resulting in Aemond giving you a confused look. 

There was no one there. 

So why didn’t the feeling go away?

“Whose tomb is this?”

You asked Aemond, deciding to drop the topic for now to prevent yourself from having nightmares about the possibility of ‘them’.

“My ancestors, the ones who bought ‘The Red Keep’.” He replied, the usual monotone and disinterested tone in his voice was now filled with pride. His face was still neutral, but you noticed a miniscule smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

‘He liked history.’ A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as well when you remembered the conversation of yesterday night.

Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

“They are buried here in this tomb together. The rest of the family rests in the cemetery.” 

He motioned with his hand at the cemetery behind you two. It was quite large and after scanning the graveyard quickly you noticed it was mostly men and their wives that were buried. 

“Where are the sisters of the family?”

“Buried with their husbands on their own land, except Visenya and Rhaenys. They are buried in the tomb..”

You nodded and looked at the gravestones.

‘You’ll lay here one day.’

You shook your head as if you physically tried to shake off the thought.

“Why were Visenya and Rhaenys buried with their brother? Did they not marry at all?” 

Your question made Aemond chuckle softly. He shook his head and looked at you. 

“Visenya and Rhaenys are buried with their husband.” 

Huh?

Huh?

“I don’t think I understand-.” You could feel your cheeks heat up as the blood rushed to your face. It must be a miscommunication, right? You were certain there was no other way. You must’ve interpreted something wrong-

“They married their brother.” Aemond replied calmly. His expression showed no disgust or discomfort, in fact, he seemed to be completely comfortable with the fact his ancestors were siblings.

“Both?! At the same time?” 

“Yes.” 

“To their brother?!” 

Aemond chuckled at the way you expressed your confusion. He nodded to confirm your question. He stepped closer to you and rested his hand on the small of your back. 

If your face wasn’t overheating before it sure did now. You desperately tried to remember all the customs and rules that came with courting, engagement and marriage. Was this even allowed?! You knew the two of you were allowed to hold hands but he had his hand placed on your lower back, were his hand to trail down a little further he would be touching…

You shook away your vulgar thoughts. You didn’t even wish to think of what would happen if he did. He stood so close to you, his hand not moving from its place. He slightly bent down and you could feel his breath on the side of your neck. Even though the weather was cold his breath felt warm. His whole body was warm. 

“I know it must be strange to you, but you have my word that I will explain it when we’re married.” 

All you could do was slowly nod. You were afraid that if you spoke it would sound more like a cracked squeak than an actual human voice. 

The rest of the walk was silent. He had escorted you back to your room so you could get ready for dinner and (unknowingly) leave you alone with your thoughts. You knew these circumstances were just too good to be true. Sure, you had heard of the rumours of the bodies in the water and the incestious ones but you never expected one of them to be actually true. 

You thought you would simply marry an intelligent and rich man and spend your time chasing false rumours to kill time and boredom. But no, now you had to marry this intelligent and devilishly handsome man knowing his ancestors were siblings. Not to mention that your future children will have those ancestors as well.

How in the seven hells were you going to look past this?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Perhaps it was foolish what you were doing but your curious mind was too restless. You had to know more about his ancestry. He promised he would tell you once the two of you were married, but who knew how far away that would be. Of course, you couldn’t rule out that he was lying. You barely knew the man. 

You walked through the castle in your thin white night dress. It was long and flowing, different than the thicker dresses you were used to when you lived in the North. Still, it was quite cold to be wearing this type of night dress in the winter.

In your left hand was a brass candle holder with a white wax candle in it, the candle was lit and illuminating the dark hallways. The flame flickering made your surroundings seem mystical while you searched for the castle’s library. You knew they had one on the second floor, Aemond had shown you on his tour of the castle. 

Of course, this is a castle you’re walking through, the second floor was enormous and seemed like a maze of endless hallways in the dark. It made you wonder if you could even find it in broad daylight. 

When you turned the corner you noticed a small sliver of light illuminating the stone wall of the castle. Soft, yet clear voices could be heard coming from a room. The light came from a slightly ajar door where two people were clearly holding a private conversation. 

You knew you shouldn’t be snooping around and listening in on conversations, it was rude and intrusive. Yet, your curiosity was untamable. You sneaked closer, careful not to make any sound while the voices became more clear.

“I can’t believe she would refuse like this.”

You knew that voice. It was Alicent, but you weren’t used to the tone she was speaking in. It was snappy and distressed and a few soft sniffles managed to crack through her defences as she spoke. 

“My lady, I advise you to calm down.”

You didn’t know that voice. It was an adult male, that much you could tell. His voice sounded calmer but a small hint of annoyance seeped through.

“She is a spoiled brat. We invite her here and she does nothing.”

Oh gods they weren’t talking about you, right?

“Her father is dying, her younger brother is getting married and yet she refuses to come here.” Alicent continues speaking in the same tone as before. 

Alright, they clearly weren’t talking about you. 

“I am sure she is only busy, my Lady-” “Busy? Busy raising her three bastards to be her heir?” Alicent snapped in anger. You could her a little shuffling in the room and guessed it was Alicent sitting down in a chair or on a sofa. Then heavier footsteps could be heard and the floorboards creaked a little. The urge to look through the small gap of the open door was huge but the fear of getting caught eavesdropping was even bigger so you refrained yourself. 

“My Lady please-” “I don’t want your compassion.” Alicent interrupted the man with another sniffle but couldn’t even finish her sentence before the man interrupted her as well. 

“Alicent..”

First name basis?! He wasn't even her husband!

“..you’re grieving. Today has been hard on you and I suggest you rest. We shall continue our talk about Lady Rhaenyra later, perhaps after Tayla’s funeral.” Neither of the two spoke a word for a few moments but Alicent broke the silence. “Alright. Thank you Ser Criston, your presence and loyalty is a great comfort to me.” Ser Criston? The knight in the white uniform from the day before? You couldn’t stay and think in the hallway much longer when it quickly dawned upon you that they were wrapping up their conversation. As you quietly started to walk away you stepped onto a creaking part of the floor and you swore you would burn all old castles down if you ever managed to get yourself out of this sticky situation. 

Alicent and Ser Criston must’ve heard you because you heard the heavy footsteps of Ser Criston make their way towards the door. You hastily blew out your candle and turned the corner. You could hear his footsteps following you and felt your heartbeat quicken. You had to shake him off one way or another. When you turned another corner you walked into a hallway you were very familiar with. It was the one where Aemond’s room was located. 

Perhaps you could hide out there under the guise of not being able to sleep. When you finally thought you had escaped from Ser Criston you felt a large hand cover your mouth and pull you into a room. You desperately tried to wriggle yourself out of the grip but couldn’t do so until the stranger had closed the door behind the two of you and locked it. 

The room was dark and unlit, the only light seeping in from the windows was the icy moonlight that made the room look creepy. White sheets were thrown over the furniture to prevent the dust build up and it was clear this room wasn’t being inhabited by anyone right now.

When you finally turned around to face the man that had dragged you into the room your mouth slightly went agape in surprise. 

Right before stood Aemond’s eldest brother.

Aegon Targaryen.  

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Taglist: @helaenaluvr @saltedcaramelpretzel @certifiedhaters @imawhorecrux

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #the house of the dragon

[madnessandentropy]

Summary: A fic set in hell in which my original character (she is NOT an HB/HH oc and neither is the other one) has a horrible experience while at therapy. Basically expanding on the concept of hospitals, therapists, and rehabs in hell being designed specifically to not help you (also a critique of irl therapists)

CWs: Bad therapists, victim blaming , sexual harassment, cannibalism, fatphobia

(Pls reblog and leave a comment, constructive criticism is also welcome ❤)

Therapist From Hell

The therapist would not stop smiling.

Sharp white teeth lined that mouth in neat rows, a set of razors for each jaw.

Morgan shifted and looked at her lap. Her blood rushed in her ears and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She inhaled slowly, and focused on her clothes for a distraction. Her long purple and black dress was one of the few splashes of colour in the room, a beacon in a sea of grey and black.

That was one of the problems with this awful place. Nearly every single thing in this room was either black or various shades of grey.

The carpet was dark grey and mottled with little black spots that made Morgan feel nauseous.

The walls were light grey as was the desk and the stiff, uncomfortable chair jutting into Morgan's legs and scratching at her skin.

Tick tick tick

The clock. The stupid clock. It was so loud. It was ugly, hexagonal and black and silver, mounted on a wall next to a black bookcase.

Tick tick tick

The ticks were so loud. Morgan's ears screamed in pain with every little movement of the bulging, twisted third hand.

"Miss Vettä."

A low voice forced forest green eyes to lock with sickly yellow.

Tick tick tick

The therapist would not stop smiling.

His eyes crinkled from the stretch of his grin and they flickered with an indecipherable emotion.

He was a perfect match to the rest of the room.

His skin was ash grey, stretched thin over an impossibly gaunt face decorated with black scales and black lipstick. He was skeletal, cheekbones protruding and the rest of his form rail thin.

His hair was long and black with a single grey stripe runnig down the right. It was wavy and thick, the style almost reminding her of a king cobra's hood.

His suit and shoes were black too, paired with a dark grey tie and socks.

His eyes, those nauseatingly yellow eyes, were the only splash of colour on him. They were accentuated by black and grey eyeshadow, making them look brighter. Scarier.

He was handsome, that couldn't be denied, but his very presence filled Morgan with a fear so primal she was tempted to flee.

Tick tick tick

"Miss Vettä, you've barely said a word. This may turn into a wasted session, I fear."

His voice was so painfully professional. It was smooth and deep, laced with an accent Morgan couldn't place, sickly sweet.

"I... I can't think of anything to talk about." Morgan mumbled, feeling slightly delirious. The overpowering scent of lavender pouring from the various incense dispensers in the room made her head hurt.

Tick tick tick

That horrible, toothy smile widened just a fraction.

"Well then, dear, let me help you." The therapist said sweetly.

He reached next to him and took hold of a clipboard. He gripped it with bony ash grey hands, bespeckled with scales, that faded to black at his fingers which extended to claws.

Something in his left pocket squirmed.

Tick tick tick

"In our last session you mentioned that in your previous life you were harassed by a classmate at your university. Why don't you tell me about that?"

Tick tick tick

Morgan's tongue stuck to the roof her throat and her heart sank.

"N-No... I'm not... I'm not comfortable with sharing that."

Tick tick tick

The therapist's smile faded slightly. He leaned forward.

Tick tick tick

"I don't think you underssstand the effort I put into ssspending my time here with you when I could be treating more talkative patientsss."He hissed. The lights flickered. His eyes glowed brighter. "Tell me or choossse ssssomething elssssse."

Tick tick tick

Morgan swallowed. "I-"

God, why was that clock so fucking loud?

As if a higher being heard her thoughts, the ticks were drowned out by a single gunshot.

Morgan jolted in her seat and swivelled towards the nearest window. The blinds were drawn, obscuring the chaos outside. However, she could still hear muffled cuss words and screams of pain.

"Ignore that." The therapist said breezily, as if somebody wasn't screaming in agony right outside the window.

Morgan swallowed.

"Go on." The therapist coaxed. "Tell me absolutely everything."

"W-Well..." Morgan's mouth started moving before she could stop it. "There was this new guy in my uni class that arrived in the second term. He was older than the rest of us, said he was changing careers, and he was awful. And creepy. He always made me feel unnerved."

"My, how judgemental." The therapist purred.

There was a pen in his hand now- black and silver- and the ink was a very specefic shade of red that made Morgan's skin crawl.

"It was valid I swear!" She shrieked. "He was a creep! He made comments about all the girls and stared at the ones who wore skirts and told them to 'pull it higher'. It's... it's why I just switched to wearing jeans."

Embarrassment washed over her when she finished her tangent when she saw the therapist's smile twist into a bemused smirk.

"A-Anyways, he equally caught an interest in me. At first he left an anonymous notes on my table. He would tell me I looked pretty, that I was cute or other things like that. It wasn't anything creepy yet, and I will admit I was quite flattered at the time. 'Secret Admirer' and all that, you know?"

"Then he got hold of my number." Morgan took a shakey breath, trying not to look at the thrashing lump thar was the therapist's pocket.

"I don't know how. But he did. He messaged me, telling me it was him who left the notes and asking if I liked them. Then... he started saying things that weren't as sweet. Telling me about how thought about me when he- saying I looked pretty but he thought I would sexier if I... if I lost weight. Stuff like that."

"I know I'm not exactly-" Morgan gestured to herself. "-thin, but that was such an awful thing to say. I-It made me so upset. He wouldn't stop messaging me though, he kept sending me gross messages and..." She shuddered. "Pictures."

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"The block button is there." His tone was professionally dismissive. "Did you press it? Or... did you like the attention? You mentioned you have self image issues before, after all."

Morgan sat up straighter and glared at the therapist.

"I blocked him." She growled through sharp clenched teeth. "And then he found me on other social media and I blocked him there too. Then he just went back to putting written notes on my desk."

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"Did you report him?"

Morgan hesitated.

"...Not at first. I was afraid of how he would react and I wasn't sure if I'd be believed. Complaints against him were always dismissed and those who lodged them always looked so... a-afraid afterwards."

As Morgan spoke, her voice quivering, the therapist opened his mouth. Wide.

A large pair of fangs flicked out, glistening with something sickly, and a black forked tongue slid out to slide across them. He looked utterly delighted.

Morgan trailed off,coming to a sudden stop as she watched the display in mild horror. Gooseflesh rippled across her dark blue skin.

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"Don't mind me." He cooed, fangs retracting. His voice made her teeth itch. "Continue."

"I-I only reported him after... after a dance our class put together. It was going to be so much fun and apparently he wasn't coming, so I got excited and brought a really beautiful dress for it. It wasn't fancy and it was kinda short, but it looked good on me and it had a good price."

"Turns out that asshole was coming. He made it his business to feel me up and whisper really gross shit to me even after I told him to stop multiple times." She buried her face in her in her hands. "The staff did nothing."

There was a brief silence after that, filled only with the scratching of a pen and the ticking of that damn clock. The lump was still moving, making a faint rustling noise.

The therapist would not stop smiling.

He tilted his head and blinked owlishly.

"Why did you wear that dress?"

"What?"

"You said it was quite small. You know how dressing like that is interpreted . Why did you wear it? It's almost like you were asking for it."

Morgan gaped, flabbergasted. "I-"

She was cut off by a brief ringing noise and the therapist sighed.

"That's the end of our session I'm afraid. Thank you for your time. This was a most productive discussion. I'm quite hungry now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a... a mouse?

It was white with pink stripes running down its back and large pink eyes. It squirmed in the therapist's hold, squealing and flailing like a mouse gone mad.

Something about it was strangely familiar.

"Want a bite?" The therapist asked, teeth glinting.

Morgan shook her head wordlessly.

The therapist did not stop smiling. He simply shrugged.

"Ah, more for me then."

He tilted his head back, dangled the mouse by the tail over his open mouth, dropped it in, and swallowed it whole.

Morgan watched, mortified, as a visible lump slid slowly down the therapist's throat.

What had she just witnessed?

The therapist acted like nothing happened, picking up a notepad off his desk and scribbling something on the first page before tearing it off and handing it to her.

"What's this?" Morgan asked, squinting at the unreadable scrawl.

"A prescription."

The therapist's smile was so wide it took up half of his face.

"For a medicine to help with weight loss. It'll help those image issues of yours. The medicine and me prescribing it to you will cost extra."

"W-what?" Morgan stuttered. "I can't afford paying extra!"

She had learned through other patients that refusing a prescription outright ended very poorly, and it was best to try and bargain.

"That's something for you to sort out with the front desk." The therapist cooed, ushering her out the door. "See you next week!"

He slammed the door shut and Morgan was left standing alone in an empty hallway.

With no one else there and the prescription paper unreadable, Morgan had nothing to distract her from the... mouse.

That mouse.

That. Mouse.

It was so familiar.

White. Pink streaks. Pink eyes with a flicker of orange.

It looked so scared.

Green eyes widened.

Oh.

O h.

Morgan suddenly felt very very sick.

She saw that mouse.

She saw it last week. But not as a mouse. As a person. Crying, telling the disinterested cleric that they couldn't afford their prescription charge.

Morgan's stomach churned and bile rose in her throat.

She raced to the front office, paid for her session and prescription with shaking hands, shoved her new bottle of pills into her back, raced outside and proceeded to throw up all over the pavement.

Panting, she turned to glare at the tall, grey building stretching up to the blood red night sky.

She gasped.

At the window on the ground floor, peering at her from between the now open blinds, was the therapist.

Sickly yellow eyes glowed dangerously. There a mouse tail protruding from between his teeth.

Morgan started crying.

The therapist did not stop smiling.

-End

.....................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I've never written in quite this style before.

Tagging: @onehelluvatime please let me know what you think!

#helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #writing #writing peice #one shot

[free-for-all-fics]

Phantom of the Opera AU Prompt inspired by Spookies (1986)! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 💍🤍💐

After taking a wrong turn, a group of teenagers and young adults find themselves in a mysterious but dilapidated Opera House and try to throw a party, believing it to have been abandoned over a century ago since it’s full of dust, cobwebs, and broken furniture. There are objects still frozen in various stages of melting or falling apart, and both the walls and carpets are blackened and singed. At the center of the destruction is a broken chandelier lying in the main concert hall. The gold paint is tarnished, the metal having rusted over time. It looks more like a sickly green with bits of brown and a lot of the glass ornaments that once made it sparkle are shattered. The Opera House shows obvious signs that there must’ve been a great fire that engulfed almost everything. As it stands, it’s little more than a charred coffin that houses the remains of all the people who once populated its halls and filled its many rooms with music, grand parties, and laughter. The group of partygoers seriously doubt that they’ll get caught trespassing, confident that no cop would ever bother coming here.

The group of partygoers have no qualms about breaking into places they’re not supposed to be, even though they don’t have any idea what they’re looking for or hoping to find during their explorations. It could be anything from candles to light after their flashlights die or valuable antiques to steal and sell, but each member of the group is filled with an insatiable curiosity. A curiosity that, unbeknownst to them, is going to get them all killed. They show no respect as they break the door down to enter your old dressing room and venture down the stairs that lay behind the shattered, ornate mirror. Down, down, down, the rickety stairs seem almost endless as they squeak from disuse whenever pressure is put on them by the nosy protagonists, as if they’re on the verge of collapsing from under all their combined weight. They come to a lake. Using the boat that’s tied up by the shore, they row towards Erik’s lair, their eyes caught by the warm yellow candlelight up ahead, which highlights the sparkling treasures that lay beyond. They glint with the same light of their greedy eyes.

Whatever they were hoping to find down there, it definitely wasn’t your corpse lying in an ornate black coffin. It’s uncanny how perfect you look, as if you had just died less than a week ago. But their bodies are racked with violent chills and they involuntarily shiver with fear and disgust when they look upon you and see you’re dressed in your wedding gown. A wedding gown which looks to be an antique from the 19th century. Unbeknownst to them, they’re going to soon discover that Erik still resides inside his Opera House and keeps watch over you. To him, you’re his beautiful young bride but, in actuality, you’re his long-dead wife. For over one hundred years Erik has kept your corpse perfectly preserved through an unrevealed method, forever frozen and impervious to the effects of time that would’ve otherwise ravaged your lovely countenance.

He was branded as a living corpse from birth and, even today, his face is only a semblance of a face. No power in this world or the next could change that. The price is high just to keep himself as put together as he is. It took him many, many, many years, but he’s learned to accept the burden that chance has seen fit to lay upon him. Whether a curse from God or a gift from the Devil, he’s spited them both in his pursuit of getting you back and has fashioned a life as good as he’s been able, even if it’s an undead one. Alongside you he’s somehow kept himself ageless and undying and, although he’s resigned himself to his fate, you’re exactly the same as the day he married you. You’re exactly the same as the day he found you, after you so cruelly and selfishly left him. Nothing about you has changed. Nothing physically, at least. He can’t account for what you’ll be like mentally or emotionally once you wake up. He still wants you as a living bride, not a dead wife. He especially doesn’t want you as a living corpse remade in his image. Even after so many decades, he can’t bear to destroy your beauty, to subject you to his fate of eternal ugliness.

He should’ve never left you alone that cursed day. Had he known what you intended to do to yourself… He was blinded by his love for you and was a fool to have underestimated you, but there’s no point dwelling on any of it now. He’s paid the price for his past mistakes and has learned from them, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t be so naive next time. While he’s no longer a lovesick fool, he’s still faithfully remained by your side since your death, believing himself to be the ever so doting and loving husband. Unlike you, Erik believes in keeping his marriage vows. Ever since you died, he’s made a habit of always talking to you, professing his love for you, and sharing with you his progress. He’s not sure why he keeps doing this day in and day out. You’ve never moved a muscle or said anything to him, as he knew you wouldn’t. As much as he wanted to believe he was talking to you and hoped that maybe you could hear him somehow, he was really talking to himself. It could be to cope with his loneliness and to prevent himself from succumbing to the abject bleakness of his reality. Believing in a beautiful lie seemed better than an ugly truth, and if he had to keep telling himself these lies to keep himself motivated, so be it. It’s too late to give up now. He must finish what he started and see it through to the end. For you, for himself, for your love.

Although he can do so at any time, he won’t die in order to join you. Dying is so much easier than living, yet he keeps choosing to endure this Hell of his own making, this half-existence. He’s not dead, but he’s not exactly alive either. His stubborn refusal to die might make him a coward in the end, but he can’t bear it if you’re lost to him forever. He strongly believes that an angel like you must’ve been forgiven and accepted into Heaven despite your sinful act, while he’d only be damned to the pits of Hell upon his death, if there truly is an afterlife. Or maybe he can’t die at all because neither Heaven nor Hell want him there. He’s thought of that possibility as well. Out of fear of the unknown or out of love for you, Erik remains in this limbo. Whether by choice or by fate, he’s just here. Frozen. Never moving backwards nor forwards. It’s a rather boring and monotonous existence.

The spell or ritual Erik performs requires human sacrifices to give both himself and you eternal life, and while the exact methods of how he accomplishes this are unknown or unclear, he dons his mask and reprises his Opera Ghost/Phantom persona whenever unwitting trespassers arrive. This spell or ritual allows him to steal the youth and beauty of other men and women, which he then uses to restore your withered corpse and his own decomposing body. While the victims age rapidly until they’re so elderly they can barely move, he kills them swiftly and disposes of the bodies so nobody will ever find them, if they don’t turn to dust first.

One horror after another threatens the teens and young adults as they try, in vain, to run away and escape the Opera House. Erik uses his supernatural powers to possess someone and infiltrate the group. He uses his skills as an actor to impersonate the victim he’s possessing while simultaneously instilling doubt and distrust amongst the group, doing so gradually so they’re not entirely aware they’re being manipulated until it’s too late and they become paranoid and irritable. He then uses smoke and mirrors to make them believe the Opera House is haunted by horrifying ghosts and monsters that are coming to get them. He literally scares some victims to death as they suffer a fatal heart attack, while others are isolated and strangled to death with his Punjab Lasso or simply fall to their death while being chased. The last ones remaining are driven into turning against each other and committing murder themselves out of a desperation for survival, then committing suicide out of guilt and regret for the horrific act they’ve done out of impulse. One-by-one they’re each killed by Erik or by their own hands, bringing him ever closer to awakening you from your sleep-like death.

In his mortal life, Erik turned you into his object of obsession. From the moment he saw you perform on stage, he became fixated on you and had to have you for himself. While you were vulnerable and mourning a recently deceased loved one, he emotionally and mentally manipulated you by pretending to be an angel that was personally sent to you from Heaven by that loved one. He used your fear of disappointing your loved one and being abandoned against you by threatening to leave forever and return to Heaven as a consequence for your transgressions. He used manipulative and abusive tactics, and preyed on your fears and insecurities to ensure your obedience and coerce you into listening to his instructions. He stalked you and followed you to the cemetery whenever you visited the graves of friends and family you lost, some of whom died before you were born or when you were too young to remember them. He watched you and, whenever you prayed in the Opera House chapel, his yellow eyes turned green with envy. He wanted you to worship him and only him. He wanted you as his wife so he could dress you up in beautiful gowns, take you out on walks in the garden he built underground, and spoil you with lavish gifts. He wanted you to swear your love for him and only him. He wouldn’t let you take another man into your heart. Not even a dead man or a god. If he so much as thought that you’d fall in love with another or betray him, he’d be forced to suspend that man from the rafters with his Punjab Lasso until death or have the Siren drown him in the lake. He wouldn’t compete with a corpse.

He tried to court you properly like any other gentleman, but you were stubborn and his patience quickly wore out. He tried his hand at romance, but you refused all his gifts and burned his letters in the fireplace, so you left him with no choice but to kidnap you and keep you prisoner under the Opera House. He wanted to make you feel guilty for hurting him. He blamed you for his actions, and he made sure that you knew it. This was all your fault. You made this happen. In his home by the lake, in his domain, you were caught on the horns of a dilemma presented to you by a man you believed to be the son of the Devil himself. It was eleven o'clock, time for you to decide life or death. He was terrible, he was quite mad, he tore off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! He did nothing but laugh!

“I give you five minutes to spare your blushes! Here,” he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death, “here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room. In one of the caskets, you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.” And he laughed like a drunken demon.

You did nothing but beg and entreat him to give you the key to the torture chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted you that request. But he told you that there was no future need for that key and that he was going to throw it into the lake! And he again laughed like a drunken demon and left you.

Oh, his last words were, “The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!"

The five minutes had nearly elapsed, and the scorpion and the grasshopper were scratching at your brain. Nevertheless, you had sufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were turned, it would hop, and with it many members of the human race! There was no doubt that the grasshopper controlled an electric current intended to blow up the powder-magazine!

"Not a word, my dear, or I shall blow everything up." And he added, "The honor rests with you, my love. You haven’t touched the scorpion-” how deliberately he spoke, "My dear hasn’t touched the grasshopper," with that composure!

But it wasn’t too late to do the right thing. There, you opened the caskets without a key, for Erik was a trap-door lover and he opened and shut what he pleased and as he pleased. You opened the little ebony caskets, looking at the little dears inside. Weren’t they pretty? He told you that, if you turned the grasshopper, you would all be blown up. There was enough gunpowder under your feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turned the scorpion, all that powder would be soaked and drowned. To celebrate your wedding, you would make a very handsome present to a few hundred Parisians who were, at that moment, applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's. You would make them a present of their lives for, with your own fair hands, you would turn the scorpion. And merrily, merrily, you and Erik would be married! A pause; and then:

"If, in two minutes, my love, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper… and the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!"

The terrible silence began anew. Realizing that there was nothing left to do but pray, you didn’t kneel but instead just closed your eyes and clasped your hands together. Your blood beat so fiercely that you had to take your heart in both hands, lest it should burst. At last, you heard Erik's voice: "The two minutes are past. Goodbye, my love. Hop, grasshopper!”

"Erik, do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?”

"Yes, to hop at our wedding.”

"Ah, you see! You said, to hop!"

"At our wedding, ingenuous child! The scorpion opens the ball. But that will do! You won't have the scorpion? Then I turn the grasshopper!"

"Erik! Enough! Erik! I have turned the scorpion!"

You expected several times to be raped during your abduction and imprisonment. You felt so vulnerable and exposed, especially whenever you were forced to take baths in Erik’s lair. You kept a pair of scissors hidden under your many layers of skirts, always close by and ready to kill yourself if he ever tried anything, but it turned out the Phantom respected your privacy and honor. He swore he wouldn’t touch you until you were wed, but that did little to assuage your fears and anxiety. If anything, it made you more paranoid. Your wedding day was set by Erik and non-negotiable. Nothing you could say or do would postpone or delay it. It was fast approaching and you dreaded it, but not nearly as much as you dreaded your wedding night. He forced you into an old wedding dress. The style was so out of fashion you wondered how long he had kept it, but were too afraid to ask. You didn’t want to know. If you hadn’t dressed yourself in the white gown, he would’ve done it himself. You’d rather he didn’t touch you or see your body in such a state of undress, so you complied with his demands.

Erik’s hands snatched up the gossamer veil. He pressed the band of it down onto your head. You flinched as it touched your scalp. In return, Erik pressed down harder and you hissed in pain. You sobbed as he pushed down on it a final time, the pressure stabbing into your head. He pressed it so hard onto your head that it dug into your skull. Your bouquet was arranged by Erik himself, and had been made up of black roses that reeked of death. Their scent was so strong it made you feel dizzy and nauseous. But scattered among the dark blooms were a few red roses as well, along with smatterings of baby’s-breath. Leaves peeked out from among the flowers. Blindly, his hands grabbed up the wedding bouquet and shoved it into your hands. His hands, far larger and stronger than your own despite their extremely thin and bony appearance, felt as cold as ice. When his fingers brushed yours, it felt as if you were touching Death itself. There was no rosy tint to his sallow cheeks, no warmth radiating from his skin. You wondered if his heart was even beating at all, if he even had one underneath those layers of black clothing he always wore. He forced your hands to squeeze around the bound-together stems and you gasped as thorny pain pricked your palms and fingers.

“These are the flowers you will hold for our wedding. I have proposed to you every night in my music, but if you want me to produce a ring,” one of his hands flourished in the air and, seemingly out of the darkness, appeared a plain gold ring, “I readily can. You are to be my bride, my angel of music, my one and all. You will be here in the darkness with me for all time. I can make you just like me,” he insisted, “You can walk the world as I do, beside me. We can walk in my forest on Sundays, just as they do in the world above.”

You unwillingly became his living wife and consummated your marriage. You did your best to just lie under him and bear it. You just closed your eyes whenever you could. Whenever Erik ordered you to open your eyes and look at him, you just stared at the wall behind him. He didn’t notice the difference and thought you were holding eye contact. Luckily for you, he didn’t last very long. After it was over and Erik fell asleep, you snuck out of the bed so you could vomit, your bile falling into the lake. It was the first and last time he held or touched you in such an intimate manner, and you were so relieved that he didn’t care about sex beyond fulfilling his husbandly duties, as he called it.

Throughout your marriage, Erik was much more blatantly and deliberately abusive to you as time went on. Even after revealing himself to you, he was still controlling, emotionally and mentally abusing you just as much as he did when he was your Angel of Music. As punishment for any action he deemed as impertinence, he’d keep you locked in a tiny room hidden behind a wall in his lair. There were no windows and it was full of furniture that once belonged to his deceased mother, whom you believe he also murdered. He’d leave you in there for days, unlocking the door only to bring you food and ask if you had calmed down. He would only let you out if you promised to behave and do as you were meant to, and love him.

In return, he’d reward you by letting you ask him one question so long as it didn’t involve him, or he’d take you out for walks in his garden which he had built himself. It was full of fake foliage and painted animals, carefully crafted to seem as realistic as possible. While it was beautiful in a way, it was still dark and creepy. It only made you want the sun, but this imitation would be the closest you’d ever get to being allowed outside. On top of that, he physically struck you a few times. For ten years you suffered under Erik’s control and influence, subject to his deluded form of love that was, in actuality, mental, emotional, and physical abuse. Day in and day out, it was the same as your body was slowly beaten down and your psyche was chipped away piece by little piece. The days blended together into an endless hour of misery until you could no longer keep track of time. You needed to break free from this endless cycle while you were still strong enough to do so, before you suffocated under his crushing embrace and became just an empty shell of your former self, a mindless doll for Erik to play with until you broke. His words repeated like a broken record until they were drummed into your skull so hard you could recite them verbatim from memory:

“You insolent girl! You don’t love me yet, but you will,” he said once more, “You must. You must love me. You have no choice. You will never leave this place. You are as much mine as the Opera House.”

You tried to escape more times than you could count but were recaptured every time. No matter how far you ran, no matter where you hid, Erik always found you sooner or later. You attempted to escape every chance you had, but the more you failed, the more you gave up on life. If your only option was to rot in this chamber forever, you’d escape a different way. The first time you tried, Erik found the scissors and took them away from you before you could use them on yourself. He tied you up so you wouldn’t be able to interfere or get in his way while he removed any and every object he deemed sharp or otherwise dangerous, not caring that the coarse ropes dug into your flesh and were hurting you. Any object he thought you could use to kill yourself was taken away. You weren’t even allowed sewing needles for needlepoint. He wanted a living wife, not a dead bride. He lived a life where trust and faith were impossible luxuries and he wouldn’t take any chances. Not even with you. After your little stunt with the scissors, Erik’s trust in you had been completely broken. He no longer let you hold or touch anything that could be used to make you bleed. He thought he had taken every precaution to ensure not only that you wouldn’t, but that you couldn’t hurt or kill yourself.

But he had overlooked that you didn’t need to bleed in order to die. Your desperation to take back some control of your fate culminated in you committing suicide by poisoning yourself with laudanum as pure as you could get it. It was powerful stuff and good for sleeping, but too much of its pure form and a person just never woke up. You drank a large dose of the drug during the premiere of “Don Juan Triumphant”. You purposefully chose that day of all days to spite Erik. In your final act of defiance, the laudanum was extremely bitter on your tongue, but your revenge tasted sickeningly sweet. You could hear the crescendo of the music from above echoing down into the caves just when you felt yourself fall into a drugged sleep. You felt warm and then…nothing.

Upon finding your corpse, Erik still refused to see the error of his ways towards you. He was so angry and disappointed in you. That anger and disappointment suddenly and quickly mutated into hate, bitterness, resentment, animosity, and so on. His bloodstreams had been seized as these volatile emotions were coursing through his veins, his heart beating a frantic pace until it was consumed completely. He felt as if he could’ve suffered a heart attack and died in that moment, but the feelings kept spreading like a disease, infecting every part of him until it took over every inch of his being. His lungs, his liver, his nerves, his brain. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know how to cope with these emotions that were attacking him all at once. He was overcome. They spilled over and into his voice. He didn’t know how to get them out, to expel them from his body and take back control. So he did the only thing he could do, which was direct these scary and nauseating feelings towards you or, more specifically, your corpse.

He decried you as a devil for not loving him, his words as venomous as a pit viper. But the feelings of nausea only worsened as a horrible pit of guilt churned in his stomach. He almost immediately fell to his knees and started sobbing. He begged your forgiveness as he cradled your cold body and rocked you back and forth, chanting over and over and over that he didn’t mean it. In his madness, he turned to dark sorcery and forbidden magics to turn himself into a living corpse, incapable of being touched by death. He disposed of the dress you died in and dressed you up in your bridal gown, the white fabrics a stark contrast to the blackness of his coffin where he used to sleep. He’s kept you preserved inside, just as young and beautiful in death as you were in life. Sleep meant so little to him in life, and it means even less to him now. He used to go fourteen days without food or rest, and now he doesn’t eat or sleep at all. He has no need for it. He’s watched over you for many decades, doing everything in his power to bring you back to him. And now with the deaths of this most recent group of victims, he has enough sacrifices to satisfy the blood price. It’s time for you to wake up.

“At last, for over a century I have waited. I have sacrificed the youth of so many so that you might live. And yet, I would trade all my powers for some way to make you see how helplessly I love you, that I even kill so that you might live. What a cruel joke. My power is nothing compared to the power your beauty has over me. I am your prisoner, a slave to that which I can never possess.”

Although he’s excited when he sees you begin to move and is eager to have you back, he doesn’t want to rush you. He had hoped to ease you back into the land of the living so, instead, he waits just a few minutes more until you pull yourself out of your dream. You slowly begin to stir. Everything feels so heavy. Your eyelids flutter and your fingers twitch. Your head moves from side to side, as if struggling between the realms of wake and dream. You do your best to shake off the daze you’re under. When you finally muster up the strength to wipe away the rheum that the sandman sprinkled over your eyes and pry them open, the first thing you see is Erik. He’s leering over you with a relieved smile that’s supposed to be loving. You gasp in horror when he stretches out his hand to caress your cheek and hair. In his euphoric state, he mistakes it for a gasp of elation or happiness, until your voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Erik? No. What have you done? No. Release me. Please let me die. Why won’t you let this end?”

Your words nearly break his heart. You flinch and recoil from him when he tries to touch or kiss you. You’re not…repulsed by him, are you? No. You can’t be! Not after all that he’s just done for you! You’re his faithful bride, his living wife. You should be thankful to him for giving you back your life! He learned from his years of pouring over books that resurrection and immortality can be quite traumatizing for the subject, so he deludes himself and accredits your behavior to you still being in shock.

“I have waited by your side day and night for an entire lifetime. You see now that we can never be separated. We live through each other. There can be no end for either of us. I must when I will make you mine forever.”

But instead you try to get up and out of Erik’s coffin. The layers of white gossamer silks and fabrics surrounding you have tangled together and weigh you down, forcing you to stay in a lying position. The more you struggle to sit up and try to untangle yourself, the more you’re wrapped up, as if in a cocoon. Erik holds out his hand to try to help you stand, but you refuse. You don’t want his help, you don’t want to hold his hand. You don’t want to be back here or have anything to do with him. You escaped him, you were free… until he ripped you from Death’s embrace and replaced it with his own! “Stay away. I don’t want you by my side. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I poisoned myself once before and I’ll do it again, or find another way.”

“Haven’t you learned that my will to have you is greater than your will to die?”

“Even if you keep me prisoner for another hundred years, you’ll never have me!”

“But I do have you. I control your past, your present, and your future. This time there will be no escape.”

“No, don’t touch me! Can’t you see I’ve always hated you?” You get up all by yourself and run away from him, not even bothering to look over your shoulder to see if he’s following you.

He makes no move to pursue or chase after you, as if he already knows that you won’t get far and will come crawling back to him sooner or later. When you become aware of the very real danger you’re in, you tear off the bottom of your wedding dress. Erik burying you, his dead wife, in your wedding dress was such a strange and maybe even ironic thing to do, but he’s so unhinged that you’re not very surprised. Your dress accumulates more and more damage over the course of time you spend trying to run as far away as possible. When you’re outside and accidentally injure yourself, you rip the sleeve off your wedding gown and use it to bandage your bleeding wound.

In the beginning, your dress had been pure and pristine, but off-white. When you first saw it, you reflected how the color looked just a little bit off at first glance, but it looked even more ugly or off-putting once you thought about the implications of your impending marriage and doom. It was all wrong. After learning the nature of Erik’s powers and immortality, your dress gradually becomes less and less white as time progresses. It gets torn to near shreds and stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. The condition of the dress worsens as you’re forced to defend yourself and escape from the Opera House. Your ruined wedding dress reflects your loss of innocence and waning affection for Erik, but you also carry it as a symbol to represent your determination to survive the night and take back your autonomy. But the further away you get from Erik, the more you feel sick. You feel so weak, as if your body is forcibly shutting down and you can’t will yourself to move. Erik must’ve done something to you. You later make your way back to him, hiding an ice pick in the skirts of your bloodstained and tattered dress, like you had done with the scissors in your past life.

“Why must you resist? There’s no escape. Your future no longer belongs to you. It belongs to us. You won’t get far if you run. The farther you get from me, the weaker you’ll become. It’s only your resistance that’s killing you. Love me, and you will be free.”

“How can you speak of love? You’re torturing me.”

You’ve always known that Erik never loved you, not really. This act of bringing you back from the dead only cements it for you. He never loved you because, if he had, he would’ve put your happiness above his own when you were alive. And he doesn’t love you now because, if he did, he would’ve left you alone to Rest In Peace after you were dead. But instead he colluded with dark and unknown forces beyond your comprehension to preserve your corpse and raise you from the dead. He murdered God knows how many people and did all of this just so that he could possess you again. You always were and always will be just an object to him, never a person. He has such nerve and audacity to accuse you of being selfish for what you did, especially after all he’s done. Love is supposed to be selfless and, despite his protests and claims of the contrary, you know he only did this for himself. He never did this for you.

“Torturing you? It is you who are torturing me. I have devoted my life and the life of many others that you might live again.”

“Love. How could I love you when I’ve never learned how to love?”

“Let my love teach you. Tell me that you will love me, that you will love me for all time.”

“I will love you for all time.”

“No. You do not love me, but you will. You are my angel. You must. You dared to refuse my love, hence you shall suffer a fate worse than death. You shall remain fettered by my side for all eternity, until you love me!”

Your eyes skitter away from his face and down to his outstretched palms. Pale as they are, the glitter of dark rubies on his skin is a stark contrast and catch your eye immediately. Yes, Erik is a living corpse, a ghost. And a ghost who bleeds is still dangerous. But a ghost who bleeds might die. You stab Erik in the forehead with the ice pick and run away, while he cries out in surprise and pain. He pulls it out and bleeds to death, collapsing onto the ground. You run out into the middle of the road in search of a horse or carriage and are nearly blinded by bright white lights as a strange metal contraption screeches to a stop in front of you. Is that a carriage? It looks very odd. A person in weird clothing steps out and offers you a ride to the hospital, alarmed at your disheveled and bloody state. You escape with the driver as they take you away in what they call their… car? What’s a car? They try to use a term you’d better understand and, while you’re still confused, you start to get the gist when they call it an iron horse.

“Seriously, how old are you? You speak like the protagonist in a Victorian Gothic novel.”

Oh, if only they knew…

Unbeknownst to you, Erik regenerates out of his coffin, laughing maniacally.

#phantom of the opera x reader #the phantom x reader #erik x reader #Spookies AU #fic prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

[hazbinextgeneration]

(John) Doe Eyed Ch4 Doe Lost Interest (Or Not)

(This heavily is based on and references the 'Ending 3 Doe Lost Interest' ending of the game John Doe Plus by Mortisfox and John Doe and all related characters belongs to them. Although the story takes a different turn from the cannon games. Oc and art by me.)

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Sun shined through the window and the rays of sunlight lit up the room like a light switch. Morning had arrived and woken up the whole world with its light.  The peaceful quiet that was brought with it was disturbed however by a shrill beeping of an alarm. It continued to be loud and obnoxious through the silent.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP-

CLICK!

A hand quickly lifted from the blankets that fell off the figure leaning up and smacked down furiously on the clock until the alarm went off and a body sat up. Long messy white hair cascaded down in tangled locks covering the tired face until she pushed her hair out of the way and glanced at the clock. 

"Ugh. What time is it?" Pink eyes widened at the time and she groaned. "Great. I slept in. I gotta get up if I don't wanna be even later."

Blankets were thrown off and she hurriedly stumbled her way to the bathroom. A cold shower is just what she needed to wake her up this morning. She was going to be an hour and more late. There's no getting around that. She took a while to get dressed and she was just able to catch the bus before it could pull away. Thank goodness. She stumbled onto the bus panting and gasping for breath as she paid her fee and just walked onto the bus and plopping into a random blue seat. Her back to the wall and head thrown up in a groan. Great. She was going to be in so much trouble with her boss for being late, and her coworker was going to be so mad at her. Hopefully they would go easy on her if she still showed up. The bus slowly started to motor away from the bus stop and drive leaving her to sit there for awhile catching her breath. This would certainly be a good chance too. 

The ride continued on and slowly her breathing went back to normal. Her body got some much needed rest and ever so slowly her eyes opened up to stare at the ceiling. And sigh...This was going to be a long day. Pink eyes eventually rolled from the ceiling to casually glance around at the bus. ..Huh. Not a lot of people were on the bus today. Just the driver, one or two other people sitting or standing around, herself, and...She froze. It was back. That feeling was back. 

Someone was watching her.

A shiver went down her spine and she froze. She hadn't had this feeling since she got the job and started going to a different part of town. She thought she finally brushed it off but now it was back..WHY WAS IT BACK?! A panic feeling spiked through her mind as pink eyes quickly looked around her. None of the people she saw was staring at her. Then who's eyes were on her? Her head turned to the other side of the bus, and she froze as pink eyes met sickly yellow eyes. 

A man was staring right at her.

He stood there standing with one hand holding the pole to be sure he doesn't fall over as the bus drove along. Wild untamed black hair cascaded messily down his back and shoulders framing his face. His face was probably the most strange part. The largest eyes she'd ever seen on a human were staring holes right in her head, they were a sickly yellow in color with small black pupils and heavy black eye bags. But what was creepier was the wide smile across his face. He seemed to perk up and smile even wider noticing that she was looking at him now. He wore all black from his weirdly worn jacket to his shoes, except for the print of the front of his shirt which was a red eye symbol. It almost looked like it was looking at her too. She shivered and quickly looked away from him.

"Pull yourself together, Fae," she mumbled to Herself and taking in a deep breath, "He probably looked at you because you were staring at him first. You're overthinking things. Everything's fine."

She kept her gaze up and pointed at the window forcing herself to watch out the window instead of looking around again and just keep an eye out for her her stop. Except...the feeling of someone boring their eyes into her head. For the next ten minutes things progressed like that, until against her better judgement she looked over at him again and found him once again staring right at her. Still in the same pose. Only now he tilted his head at her noticing that she looked back. Was he...staring at her this entire time? No. Of course not! She shook her head. He was probably looking around at the same time she looked at him and they made eye contact. She was just a bit stressed out from being late and on edge is making her see things. Yeah. That must be it. She sighed before smiling. How ridiculous she must be. She even dared to smile and wave at him to which he perked up again and waved back ... Albeit with his full arm and way faster which was a strange way of waving but not everyone was the same. More time passed by and it was a little..awkward. she still had that feeling and Everytime she looked he still seemed to stare at her. 

"I don't think he's blinked his eyes at all."

FINALLY her stop Arrived. She was very quick to stand up and exit the bus not looking back at the man who still stared. Fae flew down the steps and onto the parking lot. This was it! Her shoes cracked against the ground as she ran across the parking lot away from the bus station and towards the gas station. Crap! Crap! Crap! She was late! She was so late! She was going to be in so much trouble later! She didn't even see the eyes watching her go from the bus. She ran all the way to the front door. A bell furiously going off as the door is was busted open and she stood there panting.

"I'm here!"

A scowl from behind the register met her. "Where have you been? You're supposed to be here at ten to relieve me!! It's like twelve something now!"

"I know! I'm so sorry! I overslept and the bus takes forever!," Fae apologized with a wince to her angry coworker. "I promise it won't happen again!"

"Whatever! Just get behind here and start manning the register! I'm already late to get home because of you!"

"Alright, alright. Time to work."

She was SO lucky that her coworker hadn't caused any further fighting and just left her there without another word. Fae didn't blame them for being angry, she'd probably be mad too if she was made to wait for someone else who was late because they over. Maybe if she was lucky her boss wouldn't find out and she could just be better next Monday after her weekend off. Although... she had a feeling he might already know. Sigh. Oh well. For now she'd just do what she always did. Which was manning the cash register, cleaning the floors, restocking the shelves, and everything her coworker didn't do that she had too. But...she couldn't help but still have the feeling like...she was being watched . It started when she was mopping the floors but when she looked up, no one else was in the store either. No customers. Nothing. A quick glance outside also confirmed that there wasn't anyone in the parking lot or at the bus station. She shook it off.

It happened again About an hour and a half later. A customer came in with a few children to buy snacks and soda. She had a feeling someone was staring at her through the big window but a quick check outside confirmed that no one was again there... Must've just been her imagination. She rationalized that she was being watched anyways by the security cameras inside and in the parking lot and that must be it on top of her nerves getting the best of her. Other than the mother and her children there was really no one else that day and it was pretty peaceful other than the feeling she still got but she still pushed it to the back of her mind.  She just needed to finish her shift and get home. So there she was, drumming her fingers against the counter and staring off in thought when a loud sound of a bell caught her attention. Fae jumped up and snapped her head over to the doorway... Before she again paused as a man walked in and towards her. He wore all black and wild black hair cascaded down his back. He walked right up to the register with that same smile.

It was that guy from the bus.

He stopped right in front of her and smiled widely. "Hi."

His voice made her flinch. What was he doing doing here?! Was he following her?! Fae Immediately shook her head. What was she thinking? Her mind was just going off on wild scenarios now. So she steeled herself and have that customer service smile.

"Um. Hi. How can I help you, Sir?" He was probably heading back to wherever he was coming from and stopped inside to get some food or something while he waited for the next bus. Yeah. That was probably it.

"What's your name?," He asked with a tilt of his head and strained smile like he was... nervous maybe?

"Huh?...Oh. It's Far. You can see it here on my name tag,"she said pointing out the obvious name tag on her work blazer. "It's kinda hard to miss."

"That's definitely one of the names I've heard!" He sounded like he was happy...but also nervous as he clasped his hands in front of his chest and the red ey-...Wait. Didn't his shirt have a red eye instead of a smiley face? "Mine's-" A sharp static like sound suddenly cut through the air making her since and her hand instantly clamp on her ears. "But you can call me John Doe."

She hissed rubbing her ears and opening her eyes. "Um....Ok?"

"Are you doing anything after work?" He looked hopeful and lit up nervously but excitedly at her.

Wait. Was he... hitting on her? Oh no. Did he think that when she looked at him on the bus that she was interested in him? Oh no. She must've given off the wrong impression. "Uh..Oh yeah. I'm busy after work. I got things to do...and stuff. You know how it is."

He seemed to... deflate a little bit. His smile going smaller but not disappearing as he just stared at her silently. She awkwardly stood there also staring.. Nervously looking around before back to him in the silence. She was starting to get a bit creeped out.

"Um...So do you need anything?" He didn't say anything but turned and began walking out of the store. The bell chimed as he went out and she continued to hold her breath until he disappeared past the window before sighing in relief. "Ok...That was weird."

Maybe the guy just didn't have very good social skills? Or maybe he felt too embarrassed to say anything after she subtly rejected him? Either way he was gone and she relaxed back. Only had about an hour left of her shift anyways and then she could go home and relax. She just had to stick to it until her boss arrived to take over. Which wasn't long. An hour later a car pulled into the Parking lot as the skies started to dim and night would soon be here bringing dark with it. The bright headlights turned off and a minute later the door bell chimed as a man walked in. Her boss. He looked tired and just walked in.

"Um.. Good night, Sir! How was the ride here?"

"Fae, I'm too tired to get into things. Just go home and make sure you're not late Monday morning."

"Y-Yes, Sir!" She didn't have to be told twice. So she was quick to gather her things and skedaddle out the door and into the night parking lot. The air was warm still being summer and the darkness spilled over on everything. She slowed down the closer she got to the bus station until she reached the bench and sat down.. before sighing again. "Finally off work. Can't wait to get home and just sleep. This entire day has been stressful."

She sighed in relief again and sat there. The next bus should be here soon. It always arrived shortly after her boss did. She just had to wait until it arrived then she could go home. However she didn't see the figure walk up to her from behind until he spoke up.

"Hi."

She shrieked! Bristling up like a stray cat and jumping from the bench a few feet away, whipping around and meeting the yellowed eyes and black hair of The man who she had seen earlier. She breathed heavy from the scare just... blinking at him. He seemed confused as he just blinked before tilting his head at her. For a few moments they stared at each silently, and she blinked before frowning.

"What are you doing?!" He blinked again leaning back a bit as she relaxed back but feeling angry. "You scared me nearly half to death!"

He looked like he seemed to think a moment before asking, "Do you like being scared?"

"Wha-..NO! I don't like being scared, especially by people I don't know." She frowned more at him.

"Uh...You're cute when You're scared!," He said again with that nervous wife grin and she paused.

Was this guy still seriously trying to hit on her? Wait. Why was he even still here?! Was he still waiting for the bus? Well.. she supposed that was still possible. The busses had a good one or two hours between the next one arrived after it. Maybe he was still waiting for a bus or he missed the earlier one when he was talking to her. It'd be too weird to just be waiting for her to get off work about two hours. It did seem like he had bad social skills however but that probably wasn't his fault. She sighed. No sense in pushing her fears on him.

"I...*sigh* Thank you. That's very nice you think I look pretty," she said calmly making him light up again. "But you don't sneak up on someone like that. It's not nice to scare others."

"Really?' He tilted his head more at her. "Ok!"

"And it's nice that you think I'm cute but I'm not looking for a date right now."

She watched him as his smile again went smaller... before he smiled again. "Can I come home with you?"

She choked on her own air. WHAT?! Did he just say-...She sputtered for a moment flustered as he again looked confused at her sudden red cheeks. "I-...A-Absolutely not! W-We don't even know each other!"

He stared at her a few more seconds before he again lit up in a happy smile and clasped his hands in front of himself again. "Sure you do! We met earlier! We're practically best friends now! We could be more!"

A snort left her mouth before she could stop herself. Was this guy serious? Well..she couldn't say he wasn't brave coming out and shooting his shot. A few laugh escaped her mouth as he watched before also smiling wider. Laughing and smiled were good! And she had smiles and was laughing! That means he was doing a good job with this! That meant that was a yes right?

"Does your happy sounds mean yes?''

She shook her head no still giggling and looked at him. "Sorry. I'll have to decline that offer. But I will give you an A for effort. I can't say I've ever been asked out quite like that before. It certainly was forward but I appreciate the honesty.'' She smiled at him as he tilted his head. "But it was certainly...cute. Probably the nicest way someone tried to ask me out. Maybe next time."

"Next time?" He again perked up. "It's a yes if I ask again?!"

Again she felt a stream of giggles leave her mouth. "Probably not. But maybe if you continue to be cute I'll agree to getting lunch with you."

"Lunch?" He narrowed his eyes seeming to again think about this for a long moment... before perking up. "Oh! Like a date those other people do!"

She giggled more. He was pretty cute..In a scruffy way but it's not like she had a right to judge anyone for their looks being born as pale as snow. "Yes. Like that."

"Now?!"

"No it's too late. I'm free tomorrow or Sunday though if you want to go then." Oh! That reminded her. ''Here. I'll write you my phone number, and then you can call me tomorrow or whenever you think you're free."

He watched with wide eyes as she reached into her purse and a moment later pulled out a pen and paper and proceeded to write something on the surface. A moment later it was torn off and held out to him. With wide eyes he slowly took it and stared at the numbers written. Then looked at her still surprised. 

She smiled. "That's my phone number. Call me when you have time and we can get together for lunch or something."

....He lit up brighter than a Christmas tree, the paper clasper in his hands and held to himself. "I'D LOVE LOVE LOVE TO!!"

She giggled again but blinked and looked over as headlights shown brightly against the dark and a motor was heard. "That's the bus!" She looked back to him. "Are you riding home too?" He nodded. "So am I. I guess we'll get to talk for a bit longer!"

"Oh yes! I love talking! Let's talk more!"

She giggled again. Honestly he was pretty cute. "Ok. You said your name's John right?"

He nodded. "You can call me John Doe!"

Strange name but again she wasn't one to judge. "I'm Fae Briar. It's nice to meet you John! Come on. Let's not miss our bus. Ok?"

He eagerly nodded. The bus pulled up and they both got on, paid, the fee and sat down. She smiled up at him as he sat down as he sat down next to her. And the bus pulled away. Although..she had to ask as the thought was still bugging her.

"Hey." He tilted his head at her showing he was paying attention. "I probably should've asked this sooner but be honest with me. Were you waiting for me outside all this time? I'm not freaked out..Ok. maybe a little bit but I need to know if you were."

He stared before humming and squinting his eyes as if nervous smile wavering. "If I say yes... Would you not like me?"

"Not if you're honest with me."

"Oh. Then yes!" He smiled happily and nodded. "I was! But only because you said you were busy doing things after work, but then you weren't. You just sat there! So I knew you weren't busy then!"

She... slowly blinked at him before shaking her head and rose a brow. "I-...Well you were honest. Right?" He nodded again happily. "Oh...Well that was nice of you. I'm kinda shocked." He rose a brow. "I was actually expecting you to say no or lie."

"Why? You asked. Would you rather I did lie?"

"No. I just.. Nevermind. It's alright. Just next time ask someone straight up if you want a date. Don't wait around."

"Ok! Do you want a date?!"

She blinked again... before giggling again. "I thought we already were."

"Really!? It works!" She ended up giggling again on the hour long ride home until she stood up when the bus stopped. "This is my stop. I'm going home."

"Oh. Ok!" He also stood up.

She blinked. "Oh. Are you getting off here too?" He again nodded. "Ok then." She got off said bus. John got off said bus. She turned to him and waved goodbye. "I'll see you later then. Good night, Mr. Doe."

"Good night!" He looked around. "Which way is home?"

.....She blinked. "Uh.. Wherever you live?" He looked at her. "We're going home. Our separate homes."

"Oh!...Oh?" He seemed to realize that now. "Ok then! I'll come back tomorrow!"

She sighed again but she guessed she already agreed to it. And he seemed pretty nice. "Alright. Tomorrow. I'll see you then. Good night."

"Good night!" He waved a full arm at her as she turned and left him standing there before he turned back to the crumpled up paper still nestled in his hands.. before nuzzling it to his cheek. "I JUST LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU!!"

#john doe game #john doe horror game #your boyfriend john doe #john doe x you #john doe visual novel #john doe fanart #john doe art #john doe

[anathemafiction]

Beloved author! May this poor artist ask for a description of all the RO's appearance? I do have their looks in my imagination, but i'm a sucker for details and not completely fucking up their canon designs lol. I did try to look for it in here, but i could only find the ones of Alessa and Hadrian. Sorry if you answered this already and thank you in advance!

You can find these descriptions on the character page in the game!

Alessa: Lithe in stature and short in height, Alessa blends easily within the crowds. Still, taut muscles are visible just under her skin and the precision with which she moves signal clearly the danger that lurks within.     

With pointed features and full lips, Alessa would be considered beautiful by most if it weren't for the coldness always present in her light-blue eyes. Freckles splatter the skin of her nose and cheeks, and a mop of bright brown hair filled with golden locks falls past her slim shoulders. She wears black paint around her eyes and numerous rings adorn her fingers. Her skin is light and burns easily in the sun.

Hadrian: Standing above most people, his tall frame and broad shoulders make him stand out amongst most crowds. Molded by years of rigorous training, powerful muscles line his body. With his black sword, Hadrian makes an intimidating image.        

Hadrian has unruly dark-brown hair and deep-green eyes that seem to shine with honesty. Light stubble lines his jaw and neck. He wears an ever-present crucifix above his heart. His skin is bronze in the summer and fair during the winter months.

Alain: Tall and lean, Alain commands the eye whenever he enters a room. Golden skin and high cheekbones are paired with sharp lips that never seem to be still. His curly hair is usually styled back, leaving his forehead uncovered. Brown eyes watch the world as it brings him endless amusement.

Alain often dresses in the finest suits wealth can buy. He seems to favor deep green, one of the colors of his House.

Ysabella: Elegant and dazzling, Ysabella steals all eyes whenever she enters a room. Golden skin and full cheeks paired with bountiful lips that are always adorned with a bright smile. Her locks are often tamed to elegant curls that pool around her shoulders. Brown eyes twinkle at the world as if it tells her the most delightful of anecdotes. 

Ysabella often wears elaborate gowns and luxurious dresses. She favors gold, one of the colors of her House.

Lance: If there is something to be said about his appearance, it's that it's tailored to draw the eye. Impossible to miss even in a crowded square, Lance's tall frame will catch your attention. By force. 

He wears a gold vest, sleeveless so that his tanned arms are left uncovered, with a high collar that frames his neck in white silk. The vest is tucked into green-colored breeches, large and baggy except near his calves, where they straighten and narrow. Black shining shoes leave a large portion of his socks uncovered. One gold, the other black. 

It all clashes with his hair, blue as the deepest water. Gray eyes watch the world, often paired with a pleasant smile, where a gold tooth shines. 

Neia: Tall, strong, and with long white hair, Neia makes for an imposing image. She dons black armor from head to toe, and her shattered greatsword is so big it almost reaches her feet when sheathed. Neia has a deep scar on her lips, giving her a perpetual snarl. 

And her eyes, once brown, are now bright yellow. 

Rafael: Rafael looks terrible. Sickly gray skin, bloodshot eyes, lean frame seeming skinny and gaunt. Such is the aftermath of getting stabbed. His face is narrow, framed by a goatee that's not very abundant, and his brown eyes are equally sharp. His hair is shoulder-length, brown too, and he's missing one of his front teeth.

He favors grays and browns and capes with hoods deep enough to cover his face. 

... I just realized I didn't add a character page for The Pirate King. 😅 But here is his in-game description: You can’t see his face, not most of it, but his mouth is left uncovered by the crimson shawl he wears. Lips surrounded by a black beard that grows past his chin. A bright yellow ring clasps it around the center, making a kind of ponytail that almost reaches his chest.  

In the Interlude he appears without a shawl: His eyes are hooded, his cheeks long and narrow, and his chin ends in a long beard with a gold ring in the middle. As dark as the long hair tied loosely on his back. 

Lia has never seen anyone with his features before. Not these kinds of eyes and nose. His skin is tanned, like all who make the sea their home, but even so, his skin tone is different too. Paler than hers will ever be. 

#Alain #Ysabella #Neia #The Pirate King #Lance #Rafael #The Golden Rose #Hadrian #Alessa

[november-rayne]

Chapter Ten: Paths Not Taken

Summary: Loki learns more about Sigyn from an unexpected source and passes up some low-hanging fruit.

Word Count: 2000

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Tags: Yet another Brodinson moment, Mother Margit doing her thing

Chapter Index

Margit enthusiastically flung the window coverings open. “The Norns have blessed us with another beautiful morning.”

Loki covered his face with a pillow and groaned. “None of that, Your Highness. The realm would not benefit from princes who lay about all day.”

“The sun is barely up, Margit.” Loki looked at her incredulously.

“Your bath is waiting for you. I suggest you get in there before it gets cold, Your Highness.” She was pulling his clothes for the day from his wardrobe and hanging them on the front.

Realizing sleeping in a few more minutes was not worth the fight he would have to put up, he crawled from his bed and made his way into his bathroom. He gave his body the once over before sliding into the tub.

His bruises were faded. They were sickly greenish-yellow versus the stark purple of yesterday. The scratches were gone entirely. Although bleary with sleep, his eyes looked like they were getting some of their sparkle back. The dark circles were gone from under his eyes, and his cheeks were gaining some color. It would take some time to regain his weight, but with Margit on the job, it would be much quicker than he thought.

He finished his morning routine and stepped out onto his balcony. He watched the sun finish its ascent and light up the golden city before him. It was indeed a beautiful sight to behold.

His mind started to drift to Sigyn. He wondered if she would enjoy living here with him. He imagined what she would look like standing in the dawning sunlight.

He caught his mind wandering and went back into his bedroom. He dressed and made his way to the front room. Margit set aside her mending, followed Loki to his dining room table, and poured his tea as he settled in.

“Oh, my stars! I almost forgot. This is from your mother.” She pulled a little stoppered bottle from her apron. “Drink up.”

“Won’t this make me sleepy?” Loki frowned at the bottle. “If it is the same potion as yesterday, I will be back asleep within the hour.”

“I believe the carousing tired you, My Prince, not the formula. Drink.” Loki gave her a stern look, which she ignored. She set to arranging the food on Loki’s plate. She had brought enough for three people. Loki uncorked the bottle and emptied it quickly. “That’s a good lad.” She gave Loki’s back a little pat and set his plate in front of him. It was piled high with sausages, scrambled eggs, bacon, and a stack of pancakes.

“Oh, I usually only have fruit for breakfast or a pastry on occasion,” he told her as he noticed the volume of food before him.

She looked his body up and down before stating, “No. This is better.” She returned to her small chair in the front of the room and picked up her mending again. “Eat before it gets cold,” she said to him without looking up.

Loki huffed and was getting ready to protest when his stomach made a very unprincely noise. ‘Traitor,’ he thought as he picked up his fork and dug in. 

oOXOo

Loki finished his breakfast under the watchful eye of his new chambermaid and went to the front of the palace, where the offices and workspaces were, where the day-to-day business of running a kingdom took place.

He pushed his office door open and groaned. Stacks of parchment, folders, and scrolls were piled high on his desk. He opened the shades covering the windows. There was a thick layer of dust on everything. Loki called on his seiðr to clean up the grime, but the only result was a poof of air that blew his papers all over the room.

‘Wonderful,’ he thought, raking a hand through his hair.

He got the room clean and tidy the old-fashioned way and then set to work on his job. He re-examined trade routes, analyzed infrastructure, balanced transportation budgets, and a host of other duties that fell to him.  It was after midday when Loki decided to take a break and go for a walk to stretch his legs.

He picked up a couple of sandwiches from the kitchens and headed toward the training grounds where he knew Thor would be. He found him with a group of young recruits, sparring. “Aye!” Thor called when he spotted him.

“I brought you a snack,” Loki yelled back as he held up one of the sandwiches wrapped in brown waxed paper.

Thor barked instructions to one of the other officers in charge and then cleaned his arms and face in a barrel of water near the front of the armory. He pulled a towel from the cart nearby and joined Loki in the shade on a bench outside the fence. Loki handed over the larger of the two sandwiches and unwrapped his own.

“Thank you, Brother. You are looking much improved. How are you feeling?”

“My seiðr is still challenging, but I feel much better. Mother’s potions helped immensely.”

“Any more nattgjests?” Thor wagged his eyebrows at him.

Loki chuckled, “No, I remained undisturbed last night.”

“How are things in the headquarters? Have you seen Father today?” Thor asked as he dug into his food.

“It has been quiet, thank the Norns, and no, Father has not summoned me today. That could be good or bad.” Loki took a big bite of his sandwich, surprised he felt like eating lunch after his massive breakfast this morning. “How are things here in the pits?”

“We have a good class of soldiers this season. Not a runt in the lot.” Thor smiled widely.

“Good. Good.” Loki took another bite of his sandwich and looked out over the trainees.

“I had a visitor this morning.” Thor leaned his bare shoulder onto Loki’s. “Do you have any guesses as to who?”

“No clue.”

“The Lady Sigyn and her maids caused quite the stir when they stopped by.” Thor was grinning like an idiot. “Each girl more beautiful than the last, they were. It must be something in the water up north.” He was shaking his head at the memory.

“And please tell me why, dear brother, that delicate jewel of a lady was here with you.” Loki could feel his temper flaring.

“Peace, Brother!” Thor held up his hand. “She sought me out.” Loki’s fist clenched. “No, you don't understand.”

“You have exactly ten seconds to help me understand before I break your nose.”

“Relax. She was merely seeking my counsel. It seems she is quite skilled in combat. She requested advice on the best time to train without interfering with my schedule. She said she did not wish to get soft while here in the capital.” Thor smiled widely at Loki. “A beauty and a beast on the battlefield? Oh, be still my heart.” He placed his free hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes at Loki.

“You idiot.” Loki shoved him away. “She wants to keep training? I thought she wanted to be married?” he thought out loud.

“A woman cannot do both?” 

“I suppose.” He thought about that for a few moments. “She is an exceptional woman, isn’t she?”

“That is an understatement. I have arranged for her to train with Sif in the palace gymnasium, away from the crowds.”

“Sif?” Loki frowned. She was the only lady in his recent memory to rebuff his advances. 

“Are you going to finish that?” Thor asked, eyeing the remainder of Loki’s lunch.

Loki gave up the rest of his sandwich and leaned back fully on the bench. His long legs sprawled before him, one arm resting on the backrest.  He was thinking about the idea of Sigyn in combat. He had to admit that the thought intrigued him.

He was getting lost in his daydream, and Thor was going on about the recruits. That is when he noticed the flash of bright pink out of the corner of his eye. A pair of twins from Vanaheim were crossing the grass heading straight in the prince’s direction. Loki elbowed Thor in the side and nodded their way.

“Well, hello, ladies.” Thor raised his hand to the pair. They giggled, linked arms, and picked up their pace. They were dressed identically in bright pink frocks. Their white-blonde hair hung down to their shoulders.

“Your Highnesses,” they said in unison as they sunk into a deep curtsey, the tops of their breasts now eye level with the princes.

“Ingrid, Ingunn. Lovely to see you again,” Loki said, averting his eyes. “What brings you back to the capital?”

“Our family was invited to the feast. We arrived this morning.” Ingunn replied, her blue-violet eyes shining with joy.

“Wonderful! The more, the merrier!” Thor beamed. “The two of you are more beautiful each time I see you.”  The girls blushed and giggled in unison.

“You are too sweet, My Prince.” Ingrid smiled at Thor. “May we join you?”

“Of course! Loki make room.” Loki glared at Thor as he scooted over to make space for the girls. The pair squeezed between the brothers and adjusted their skirts.

“We were surprised by the news of your betrothal, My Prince.” Ingunn angled her body toward Loki.

“Not more than I was, I can assure you,” Loki replied dryly. The twins laughed like that was the funniest joke they had ever heard.

‘Norns. They do not share a brain cell between them,’ Loki thought.

A few weeks ago, he would have thought this chance encounter a gift from above. He would have made an excuse to get them both back to his bedroom. Now he couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

“Oh, Prince Loki, you are so funny.” Ingunn put her hand on Loki’s thigh.

“So funny,” Thor exaggerated. Loki shot him another glare.

“I have an idea! What do the two of you say to a ride out of the city? We could go and get lost in the forest for a couple of hours and be back to the capital in time to get ready for the feast.” Ingrid wrapped her arms around Thor’s massive bare bicep.

“Oh, I… I, um… Loki?” 

“As lovely as that invitation sounds, my dears, Thor and I must decline.”

“Awww!” the twins whined in unison.

“We have a meeting with the King shortly. There is no getting out of it, I’m afraid.” Loki stood and made a motion to Thor to follow.

“Yes! The King. Prince business. You understand.” Thor added and furrowed his brow for good measure.

The sisters looked at each other and then at the princes. “We understand.”

“We will see you at the feast tonight.” Loki kissed each girl’s hand. The twins curtsied and slowly started walking back the way they came.

When they were finally out of earshot, Thor said, “They get dumber every time I see them.”

Loki hummed in agreement.

“So, God of Lies, thank you for getting me out of that.”

“You should have joined them.”

“Me? No, they are much more your style. I’m surprised you didn’t take them up on their offer.”

“I am too if I am being honest. You are right; it is like they were tailor-made for me: beautiful, warm, and willing.”

“Don’t forget dim-witted.”

“And there were two of them! I could have had hours of fun. I must still be ill.”

Thor laughed, “Or…”

“Do not say it.”

“... or you have feelings for Lady Sigyn.”

Loki could feel his cheeks warming. “You are an ass. I need to return to my work.” He started back up the path to the palace.

“Run away if you must. It does not change the fact that I am right!” Thor yelled after him.

Loki turned around and threw up an obscene gesture with his hand.

“See you at the feast, Loverboy!”

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XOXO- Rayne 💚

#a gift for loki #loki fan fiction #loki fan fic #loki x sigyn #logyn #loki #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki smut and fluff #loki odinson #brodinsons

[starklyscifi]

We Walk With Ghosts

A flash fiction story by EJ Stark, written for @flashfictionfridayofficial’s prompt “torn veil”

Her pursuit of the perfect fall photo lured her deep into the woods. One more tree. One more photo because look at how beautiful it was. Her frantic attempts to capture the fall colors drew her into the part of the foreset she had never been in. She wasn’t scared. These woods were sandwiched between the mall and a bunch of houses. It was quicker to cut through the woods than walk all the way around into the neighborhood, which resulted in a well worn dirt path through the trees. 

She always wondered why the city didn’t just put in a walking path. But such thoughts were far from her mind now. The pictures continued to show lush summer forests with just a hint of yellow, green overwhelming everything like a virus. 

Sam threw her phone. She didn’t understand how the brilliant yellow in front of her could show up like that in a photo. But it wasn’t entirely yellow. She could see that now. It was still summer foliage compared to the tree behind it. That bright red maple she had stupidly missed. 

Retrieving her phone and wiping the mud from the lens, she ventured deeper into the forest. The trees grew older as she walked. 

A sickly sweet smell permeated the air.

She did not know how long she had been chasing the next bright tree. But her phone would not take anymore photos, telling her the camera roll was full. Frustrated, she deleted a broad swath of photos. 

She didn’t care what time it was, intent only on reach that patch of delicate red orange color she glimpsed in front of her. The smell grew stronger. 

It was a clearing with a single apple tree, in full fall bloom.  

The ground was covered in apples. They sank beneath her feet, coated her white tennis shoes in their soft flesh. Her eyes watered with the sweetness. 

And there stood a man, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, dressed all in black. 

His neck creaked like the old stairs in a haunted house as he turned his head. His eyes were gone, two black holes staring out of his skull at her. 

Sam ran. 

She fell twice. Mud splattered her t-shirt. Bursting through the tree line, she was overwhelmed by the roar of cars splashing through wet roads.

. . .

“You’re soaked,” Mandy helpfully pointed out as Sam stumbled in the door. 

Sam peeled her coat off, tried to force the soaked tennis shoes off her feet. 

“Come on, we’re going to be late.” 

She looked up to see Mandy holding out a pile of clothes. Sam took the clothes and fifteen minutes later found herself dressed as a witch, complete with dollar store hat and Mandy telling her to keep her eyes closed while she finished the “wicked cat eye” she was doing. 

“Jesus, Mandy, are you trying to make her look like a cartoon character?” 

Leah was a nurse who had complained about nothing else since she got her schedule telling her she was working Halloween night. She was already in her scrubs, leaning against the door to Mandy’s room. 

“We all know you’re just bitter.” Mandy swept her makeup brushes into a dresser drawer and shoved Sam towards the door. 

“You girls be careful,” Leah said with a wink, “The veil is thin tonight after all.” 

. . .

They were hitting up the city’s carnival in the park before heading to the bars, where Leah made them promise to still be when she got off. A fog had sprung up. Sam didn’t have to ask Mandy to take the long way around the woods. The carnival was packed by the time they arrived, child screaming in delight and music drifting off the carousel. 

“I didn’t expect this to be so popular,” Sam said, smiling back at a cute guy dressed up in a poor Beatles costume.

“It’s not that busy,” Mandy said with a shrug. 

Sam glanced back at Ringo, but the sidewalk was empty. Something like fire light flickered across it, but she didn’t see any torches. 

“The 70s are really making a comeback,” Sam said, after seeing bell bottoms for the seventh time. A guy in a trippy shirt gave her a look as she and Mandy brushed past him, on the hunt for cotton candy. 

“What?” Mandy was scanning the horizon, in search of sugar. 

“The costumes aren’t even inspired, I mean, they just look like normal people.” 

“What are you on about?” Mandy said. 

Sam pointed at a girl dressed in a long old-fashioned dress, complete with heavy milk bucket. 

Mandy rolled her eyes, taking off in the direction of the spotted sugar rush. The girls walked around the park making fun of the costumes appearing and disappearing in fog while they ate the sticky cotton candy. Children screamed on a min-rollercoaster. 

“If you’re going to try for the 1920s, at least put in some effort,” Sam said.

“What is with you tonight?” Mandy giggled. 

“I’m just saying, at least go full flapper. Who picks an everyday outfit from a hundred years ago as a Halloween costume?” 

Mandy giggled again. She did that when she got nervous. 

“What is up with you?” Sam asked, finishing a cup of hot cider spiked with rum and throwing the tiny paper cup in the trash. It bounced out and onto the ground. 

“Did you get into Leah’s weed?” Mandy mouthed the word “weed”. She had been shocked when Leah, the ostensibly responsible nurse, had wiped out her trusty Altoids tin a week into all of them living together. 

“Do I seem high to you?” 

“You’re seeing people who aren’t there. So yeah, maybe.”  

Cold sweat dripped down Sam’s back. She looked again for the people with the bad costumes. They were gone. Normal families shuffled around the carnival. 

He was back. Standing in the center of the crowd. Looking right at her with his non-eyes. 

Without taking a step he was right in front of her. Nose to nose. Behind him, the sky was filled with flying things from her nightmares. 

“Do you see?” 

She met Death under an apple tree and now eternity was laid out on a soccer field. 

#horror #flash fiction #starkly mine #writing #flash fiction friday #writing community #writers on tumblr

[madmarchhare]

Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs

October 14th , 05:01:00, 1983

Volkov strode down the main street towards the ministry building, walking with a broad yet humble gait over the freezing pavement completely unbothered by it. It was that time of day when the sickly light of day just began to assail the night, tinging it purple-pink before it would later fall into the chill blue of autumn.

The street was reasonably wide, long rectangular flower plots made of concrete and filled with cold soil, the wildflowers in them having withered from the cold, watched by the young poplars and birch that were planted equally down the lane, leafless and thin glistening with dew and overeager frost. She came to the ministry building itself after a short time, it taking rather little time for her to walk anywhere with her stature. The building was rather typical in construction compared to the uniqueness and speciality of much of the rest of the city. It was a three storey building, the first floor being mostly reserved to an entrance hall and cleaning staff and supplies, the second being where Volkov and others worked, with one half being for the other half of the directorate. She had never been to the top floor, as it was primarily the office of the MVD Minister, and that was as much as she was allowed to know. In appearance it was both grand and unassuming. It was rectangular, lacking any rounded corners or a peaked roof, covered in clean white plaster and a great number of windows, the space around them slightly embossed from the buildings façade with coulombs set on the corners of the building.

She was stopped at the guard point at the front of the property, just in front of the top of a set of stairs, the whole building being on a slight raise in the terrain. It was staffed by militsiya[1] dressed in their grey uniforms, lined with red. They were a new officer, one who Volkov had not encountered before, having greyish skin and a somewhat clammy appearance smelling of salt water. He went over the documents she handed him, his fellow guard standing with his hands in his coat as he watched the street, a great convoy of construction vehicles trundling down the lane, bar tall lorries which had to avoid the tram cables.

“Everything seems to be in order Comrade Volkov,” he asserted reaching up to hand her back the documents as he nodded to her, his peaked hat rocking over his fish-tail like ears, looking up at the woman with monocolour eyes.

“Thank you very much Praporshik[2],” she bade, nodding kindly to the man and his partner in turn before walking to the building entrance. The entrance hall was well lit, a pair of armed militsiya lingering at each corner of the room, stood in black boots gripping AK-74u’s in black, wool line gloves, hugging the carbines to their chests. Volkov saw her friend, Svetlana Yakovlevna[3] sat at the reception desk. Volkov gave her a warm wave, but only received a flippant acknowledgement in return, the woman appearing listening closely to a phone set she pressed against her hear, writing something down. She didn’t let it bother her and instead continued on to the stairs and climbed up to the second floor, making sure to mind her head. The second floor was busy, the sound of hushed conversation coming from the main office hall.

She turned into the room, seeing the other fifty workers stuffed into the room dressed in their best clothes, having taken some extra time to groom themselves. “Lyudmila!” Volkov heard someone call, turning to the sound of her name. A smile crept across her face as she saw her friends gathered in a corner of the room, striding over to them. She towered over the three of them, not that any of the three minded.

One, Rin Shigemitsu[4], was a bakeneko[5], having emigrated from the NJK[6]. He stood at about 5’6” though slouching from a wounded leg to 5’5”. He had calico coloured hair which he let grow rather long, each eyebrow a different colour, along with electric yellow eyes. He wore a tired, pale coffee coloured suit with padded shoulders, specially ironed for today, along with a pair of polished boots.

Next to him was a creature that was about 5’11”, made of a twisting, undulating mass of coiling white nerves vaguely resembling a human shape stuffed into a grey suit. They hovered rather than stood, regarding the other three silently watching with a pair of suspended unblinking eyes that ever only seemed to exist from the front. They tended, when a voice was unnecessary, to sign using their hands which were always covered in white gloves. Generally everyone called him Molcha.   

Finally was Aleksandra Constantinova Slava[7], she was a tall, box-shouldered woman, about 6’ wearing a green suit jacket over a long cream dress. She had a harsh, cocky face set in a shot-fox grin, fitting as she was part fox herself, colouring her chin length hair. She had been the one to call Lyudmilla’s name looking her over with an appraising expression. “Good morning Alek,” she greeted her friend with a warm smile, bending over slightly to get closer to eye level.

“Morning,” she answered simply, not turning her eyes away from the door.

“I saw the Supervisor at the metro last night,” Lyudmilla remarked, receiving a curious look from Alek and Rin.

“Really? Did you ask him who the new hire was like?” Alek asked interestedly, turning to her friend as her attention shifted from the door. At this Volkov took on a slightly sheepish expression.

“Ah, no. I forgot to ask,” she admitted regretfully, receiving an exasperated look from Alek.

“Ah come on, that’s what everybody’s curious about!” she grumbled crossing her arms over her chest in agitation.

“It’s not like she’d have got an answer. The man isn’t the type for a chat,” Shigemitsu commented, limping forward.

“He seems quite nice,” Volkov chipped in, defending her supervisor in his absence. Shigemitsu clicked his tongue in polite disagreement.

“He makes me uneasy. I can’t read the man, he’s never said a single word to be that wasn’t related to work, and I’ve never seen him once outside this building. If it weren’t for other’s hearsay I’d think he was a house spirit for this place, more likely than him being the only human in the department as standing,” Shigemitsu continued in a hushed tone, careful to not let himself be heard.

Almost at the mention of his word Iveshnya walked through the entrance of the office, accompanied by a pair of stern faced men who appeared to be Soviet officials and a KGB[8] officer looming behind them. Iveshnya wore a similar suit as the day before, this time with a plain white shirt with French cuffs, worn with cufflinks bearing the Naval ensign of the Soviet Military Maritime Fleet[9]. In addition to that he wore a few medals on the left breast of his jacket. The first was a set of three medals, gold silver and bronze respectively, each a circle with a raised rim, a red five pointed star in the middle with a hammer and sickle with rays coming from the star surrounded by a laurel wreath. The ribbon was an irregular pentagon, made of red and edged in green with either one, two or three yellow stripes down the centres’[10], the only other one was a medal of a similar size with a much simpler design, simply a raised rim on a silver medal covered with Cyrillic that could not be read hung from a red and blue striped ribbon[11].  

He regarded the room with a severe look, instantly quelling the clamour to silence, as if he had just snuffed out the wick of a candle. “Good morning comrades,” he droned in a flat tone, standing to attention in a bored sort of way, yet still perfectly stood as he was watched by the other three men. “Today, in addition to a tour of this directorate for members from the Supreme Soviet and from the central party, we will be receiving a new member for this department from Moscow,” Iveshnya spoke clearly and precisely, watching the room with his dead fish eyes. He let his words sit for a moment before beginning again, “Mr. Deriabin,” he called, not turning his head as he did. The Muscovite came forward, nervously side stepping the officials by the door.

The most distinct feature of the man as he walked in was the tick white fur that crowed his neck, almost shaped like a diamond as it blended into where one would expect a man’s ears to be. Instead of course a pair of rabbit ears stood to attention on the top of his head. His face was mostly human in structure, though covered with white fur and with rabbit-like eyes that glanced curiously but warily across the room. He was dressed in a black suit that harshly clashed with his own fur, pressed out in the front by the thick fur on his chest, a slit in his trousers for a triangular shaped tail. It made the man cut a somewhat effeminate figure as he stood before the hall on digitigrade feet.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” he greeted in a firm voice, but one you could tell was not his normal tone. Iveshnya glanced at the lagomorph to his right before continuing.

“I shall leave you to get acquainted with your new Comrade as the Ministers and I continue on. Miss. Slava, I trust you will help Mr. Deriabin with any troubles he encounters?” Iveshnya ordered, catching Alek off guard.

“Yes, Comrade Supervisor!” she asserted, rapidly summoning her confidence. The man gave an unemotive nod in acknowledgement then turned to leave, the other ministers doing the same. As he came astride of Deriabin he softly gave him an order.

“You will report to my office at the end of the day,” walking on before the man had a chance to respond. The ministers left and continued down the hall, leaving the room in silence until they could no longer hear their footfalls. As soon as they were out of earshot the room descended on the fresh blood like sharks. Alek was quick to weave her way through the crowd to get an introduction in.

“Hello Mr. Deriabin, it is nice to meet you,” she greeted, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly.

“Ah, you too, Miss…?”

“Aleksandra Constantinova, as you likely heard I am here to help you if you have any problems,” she asserted confidently, not at all presenting the air that she’d suddenly had the role dropped onto her at just that moment. Not that she was upset at Iveshnya for the role, particularly as Deriabin was as easy on the eyes as she had hoped the new hire would be. “Now what should we call you?” she asked kindly, smiling up at him with distinctly sharp yellowish teeth.

“Oh, call me Zablud, but Za or Sha is fine,” he answered, a nervous smile coming across his face. He was paraded through the room like a new Tsar being bombarded by greetings and questions in equal measure, only just managing to issue a few of the former himself before he was dragged elsewhere. Eventually, as the others were beginning to retreat back to their work, Alek brought her Duraibin back to her friends.

“Last but not least,” Alek smiled as she showed the man off to the three like some prized game she had just hunted. Za looked nervously up at the towering creature that was Volkov, feeling quite suddenly like prey as she looked kindly down at him, trying her best to not inspire the feeling in the man.

“Lyudmila Yurievna[12], it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Volkov greeted warmly, offering a clawed hand. He shook her hand with a smile, trying to smother his internal screams of terror as he did so. Volkov noticed, unlike her friends, but didn’t press him on it, simply letting go of his hand and standing slightly further back for his sake, but not far enough to be commented on.

“Likewise,” Za agreed with a glancing at her a second longer before looking at the other two strangers he was to be introduced to. Molcha nodded to him and stepped forward, shaking his hand.

“They call me Molcha, it is a great pleasure to meet you Mr. Zablud,” he said, speaking with a distant, harsh voice, as if it was coming from a badly tuned radio, and spoken in a refined diction, as if one was speaking to an old Tsarist or a language teacher. Za exchanged his greeting then turned to Rin, the bakeneko watching the man suspiciously.

“Shigemitsu,” he said simply, watching the man coldly to the slight irritation of Alek but not necessarily surprise. He was known to be rather prickly to new people… not that that pervaded him from acting that way to people he had know a long time either. If Deiabin was affected by the coldness he didn’t show it, simply offering a slight smile to the man. Alek glared at Shigemitsu but the man simply turned away with a sour expression, moving over to his desk.

“Sorry about him… he is a nice guy when you get to know him. Anyway, I think it would be a good idea to show you some of your duties here, so if you’ll follow me,” Alek apologized to Za before gesturing for him to follow her. Volkov and Molcha waved them off before turning to get to their own work.

As Volkov walked back to her desk she came up to Shigemitsu, “Are you alright? Why were you so cold to him?” she asked earnestly, a mildly concerned look on her black face.

He glanced up to her, a sour expression on his face as he limped forward, “I’m worried why he’s here… Its not exactly normal to get someone sent over from Moscow to out here in the middle of nowhere now is it?” he answered bluntly not explaining any further. Volkov looked at him with a pensive look seeing his point.

When the day was over, Deriabin made his way to Iveshnya’s office. It was dark outside, the hall lit solely by the dead lights overhead. He stopped outside the door, shuffling on his feet slightly before rapping his knuckles on the door. “Come in,” Iveshnya droned, his voice cutting, though muffled, through the thin plywood door. Deriabin opened the door, stepping into the small room. The first thing he saw was Iveshnya, wearing a dry expression on his face as he went through a stack of documents in front of him, sat in front of his desk. The walls were covered with maps, from topographical, military installations and more, with photographs of party leaders and leaders of the MVD and KGB placed between them. Along with that, there was a small chair in front of the desk close to Deriabin, which Iveshnya idly gestured for him to sit in. As soon as he sat in the chair Iveshnya piped up, “would you care for a cigarette?” not looking up from his documents as he asked him.

“Oh, uh, yes,” Deriabin replied, Iveshnya reaching into a drawer and pulling out a pack of Soyuz-Apollo[13] cigarettes, which just so happened to be Deriabin’s favourite brand, but one he could not get often. Iveshnya opened the pack and tapped a cigarette out, holding out his arm for Deriabin to take it from the pack. “Thank you,” Deriabin said, slightly more at ease, “… are you not having one?”

“No, I don’t smoke,” he replied flatly, confusing Deriabin slightly. “Now, Zablud Oleninivich Deriabin[14],” Iveshnya resumed, not allowing the man time for his confusion, “as you were no doubt informed, this is a unique posting. The directorate for information was established by the MVD in conjunction with both the KGB and the GRU[15] as a way to keep watch of anything and everything they don’t want to be seen by any… foreign or possibly harmful elements that may enter the Soviet Union,” he continued, lifting his eyes from his document that he allowed to rest on the desk as he stiffly inspected the white rabbit in front of him.

“Yes, of course,” Deriabin replied, holding his unlit cigarette between his fingers as he rested his hands on his legs, sitting up straight as he looked tensely at his supervisor. Iveshnya met his gaze with a dismissive look through half lidded eyes. He shoved a nickelled lighter over the desk to Deriabin who picked it up from the table with a wary look before lighting his cigarette, puffing on it nervously.

“So then of course there comes the question of why they sent you,” Iveshnya blurted out just as Deriabin took a long drag, sending him into a coughing fit as silver smoke spewed from him like a broken log burner.

“P-pardon?” he wheezed out, but his superior ignored him and continued.

“You, as far as the report I have received tell me, are nothing but an amateur, having worked only briefly within the MVD office in Moscow following a fleeting failure within the militsiya. You have never once ventured outside Moscow, bar from a single visit to Leningrad where you slept with over a quarter of the city, regardless of sex, while in a drunken stupor,” Iveshnya continued, humiliation and fear twisting Deariabin’s expression, only his thick fur preventing his face turning blood red from blushing.

“… And yet,” Iveshnya continued, “my superiors both here and in Moscow insisted upon you, singing your praises. So you will remain as long as you can fulfil your duties well, which, I am sure you will,” he finished, whatever scepticism that was in his voice being overshadowed by the silent threat that pressed itself at the rabbit’s throat.

“Of course, comrade supervisor,” Deriabin replied, almost quailing as he spoke, stock still in his chair. He watched him with a flat expression on his face for a moment or so before glancing away.

“Well then lets leave that for now. On a separate matter, have your sorted out your commute as yet?” Iveshnay asked simply.

“Ah, not as yet,” he answered somewhat sheepishly.

“Hm, you’ve met Mr. Shigemitsu I assume?” Deriabin nodded, “I believe both he and you live in the same building so I recommend that you go back with him. He has a car, a SMZ S-3D[16] he received due to his leg. You should be able to catch up with him today if you go now, it takes him quite a while to get to the carpark with his leg how it is, and he refuses to have a cane,” he explained calmly, as if the whole thing was common knowledge.

Deriabin looked at his superior with a bewildered look, unable to stop himself before he asked, “How do you know all of this?” Iveshnya regarded him at the edge of his sight.

“I don’t think that is your business, Mr. Deriabin,” Deriabin’s thoughts could not help but think ‘but it’s somehow yours?’ but his common sense stopped him from saying it aloud. “You are dismissed, I hope to see you tomorrow Mr. Deriabin,” Iveshnya said in a flat tone, signalling that Deriabin was no longer welcome in the office. The man clearly wanted to say something more, not least ask how to get to the carpark, but Iveshnya, without even moving, was making it quite clear that he would not be asked any questions.

“Of course, Comrade Supervisor,” he eventually muttered back, bowing out of his chair before leaving through the door, not turning his back to his superior, as if he was a wild animal. As soon as he stepped out of the office, he felt the tension he had ignored buckle his legs, struggling to stand up. He was a far more intimidating man than Volkov.

He pulled himself back together after a moment and began to make his way out of the building, stopping at the front desk to ask where the carpark was located. The woman at the front desk told him that it was a complex further into the city. When he eventually got there, after going through the checkpoint and walking through the dimming streets, hearing the long echoes of constructions as the sites wound down for the evening, he saw the entrance. It was a reasonably large, and ultimately like the city it was built in, uninhabited complex. It was generally intended as a cooperative garage[17] when the city was completed, though far better built than its contemporaries, swapping the kit made metal barns for solid concrete garages that were slightly larger than normal, though only slightly, and covered in pleasant pastel colours that looked drained in the autumn evening, grey-black overhead.

He saw Shigemitsu ahead, opening the door to a garage close to the entrance for the cooperative. Deriabin sped up slightly to reach him, stopping just near the entrance. “Ah, Mr. Shigemitsu,” he called out, causing the bakeneko to stop still as he went to open the door to his car.

He glanced up at Zablud, a tired expression on his face, “What are you doing here?” he questioned somewhat irately.

“Ah, Mr. Iveshnya told me that we are both live in the same building, and that I should go back with you, as you have a car,” Zablud replied somewhat sheepishly, unsure weather or not to be apologetic.

Sigemitsu’s expression broke into an infuriated mess within a moment, gritting his sharp teeth, “Iveshnya you…!” he began to curse under his breath but stopped, partially because he knew it wouldn’t help much, but also out of a wariness for the new recruit, and why he had been sent. Ironically, in much the way Iveshnya was.

“… Fine, get in. Not like I have much of a choice anyway,” he grumbled, opening his own door and getting in, taking a moment with his wounded leg. Zablud grinned nervously and bent down to open the door of the car before stepping down into the low vehicle. It was painted shock green, a colour repeated on the metal dash, contrasted slightly with the grey carpet and seats. He glanced over to Shigemitsu as he got himself seated, seeing him move to start the vehicle, all the controls being placed on the steering wheel and dashboard. After a moment the engine sputtered into life, the two-stroke creature roaring its two-voice call into the night as Shigemitsu pulled the car forward out of the garage, an uninterested look on his face. When he got out of the building into the paved row it sat on he got out after a moments struggle, to Zablud’s confusion until he pulled close his garage door and locked it.

He turned back and got back into the driver’s seat with a blank look, “I could have done that for you,” Zablud commented, attempting to be kind to his impromptu chauffeur, but instead got an incensed look from the man.

“I don’t need your help,” he bit as he set the car into drive and sped it forward… Well, as fast as it would go. It was a rather slow car, having a max speed of about 55 Km/h or 34 Mph. But, more than that, it was loud, its engine echoing through the cities streets as it went. Shigemitsu attempted to muffle it by blaring a radio through the car, though not that the car came with one as standard, so he simply used a portable model that sang out opera over the engine noise. Zablud stared out of the window as they drove, trying to avoid his superior in the small car, watching the increasingly empty scenery as they left the city limits, black plains of tall grass swaying in the heavy winds. The taste of good tobacco still lingered on his teeth, unfortunately made him remember his meeting with Iveshnya, the severe unemotive expression on the man looming large over his thoughts.

He reached into his jacket, fishing around for a moment until he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to smoke out the taste. They were a Bulgarian brand, Tu-134 after the airliner, and what he usually bought as they were cheap. Before he pulled one out he turned to Shigemitsu and asked, “do you mind if I smoke?” Shigemitsu glanced at him, still keeping one eye on the empty road.

“Lean out the window, I don’t want any smoke in my face,” he answered. Zablud nodded and turned to the window as he pulled out a cigarette from the sky-blue coloured pack, placing it between his lips as he undid the screw that held the windows still before pulling back, wind diving through the opening as soon as the opportunity availed it. He covered the cigarette with his hand and felt for the lighter Iveshnya had given him, trying to push him out of his mind as he lit the cigarette and puffed on it, leaning his head near the window so that the dancing wind could drag the smoke up and out of the car.

After about three hours or so of driving they came to the outskirts of a city. It was where both Shigemitsu and Zablud lived, along with a few other members of the directorate. They were spread out in various cities and villages around Nizki-Gorod until housing in the city was complete, though, it was not guaranteed. The building where the pair lived was close to the city centre, set around a large lush courtyard. What Zablud now paid more notice too was the small steel garage set near the building, as he now guessed that it belonged to Shigemitsu. He was correct.

Shigemitsu stopped the car just ahead of the garage and opened his door, “get out, you can get to your apartment while I put my car away,” he snapped, dragging himself out of his car before limping over to the garage door.

“Thank you… I appreciate it,” Zablud thanked smiling nervously at the man, but got no reply in return as he put his car away. He let his smile fall from his face as he grabbed another cigarette from the pack in his coat and lit it, taking quick, nervous drags from it, smoke puffing from his rabbit like cheeks and twisting around his ears before being dragged away by the wind. He ascended the steps to his floor with his hands in his pockets, the narrow stair cold with the late night air. His room was one the second floor, a single bedroom, but largely similar to Iveshnya’s as both were Kurshchevka’s. He lingered outside his door, smoking, now slower as he thumbed-over his keys in his pocket. As he glared down at the bottom of his door, fretting over his meeting, he glanced at the door of his neighbour.

He had not greeted him yet, as he had been out when Zablud had arrived, but he hoped to make a good impression. He glanced at his neighbours door for a second longer then plucked his keys from his pocket, just as Shigemitsu began to walk down the hall towards him. He wondered what it was for until he stopped outside the door of his neighbours, both men wearing questioning looks until it dawned on them, surprise clear on their faces as they each stood outside their apartments.

[1] Милиция. The name for the police forces of the Soviet Union, a force that worked under the authority of the MVD. Their ranks were generally parallel to the structure of the Red Army.

[2] A rank in both the Soviet army and the militsiya. It is roughly equivalent to a Warrant Officer Class 1 or OR-7/OR-8 for NATO Armies.

[3] Светлана Яковлевна.

[4] 凜 重光, when read the Russian way, first name then surname.

[5] 化け猫 Lit. ‘Changed Cat’. A type of Japanese yōkai(Supernatural entity or spirit) more specifically a kaibyō, or supernatural cat. They possess among other abilities, the ability to transform into human form. They are often confused with Nekomata, another cat spirit.

[6] The Peoples Republic of Japan (日本人民共和国), Nihon Jinmin Kyoukakoku. A fictious Soviet satellite state that incorporates Hokkaidō, Tōhoku and Kantō regions in addition to Niigata prefecture, but excluding Tokyo, its surrounding area and a large area to the south of it. To its south is a western aligned Japan, retaining a constitutional monarchy akin to current Japan, and control of Tokyo.    

[7] Александра Константинова Слава

[8] Комитет государственной безопасности. The ‘Committee of State Security’ responsible for carrying out internal security, along with the MVD, foreign intelligence, counter-intelligence and secret police functions.

[9] Советский Военно-Морской Флот. The official name for the Soviet navy, commonly nicknamed the ‘Red Fleet’ in the West.  

[10] The ‘Medal “For Impeccable Service”’(Медаль “За безупречную службу”) was a decoration in the Soviet Union given for long service to those deserving in the armed forces, MVD or KGB. It was composed for three classes, First, Second and Third for twenty, fifteen and ten years service respectively, with Third class being first given, then following on sequentially.

[11] The ‘Medal “For Distinction in the Protection of Public Order”’ (Медаль “За отличие в охране общественного порядка”) was a decoration in the Soviet Union given to officials and civilians in recognition for distinction in defending public order or preventing crime.

[12] Людмила Юрьевна Волкова

[13] Союз-Apollo, a state-brand cigarette in the Soviet Union created in commemoration of the successful Soyuz(Союз) Apollo mission in the 1970’s.

[14] Заблуд Олениневич Дерябин

[15] Главное разведывательное управление. Main Intelligence Directorate, was the foreign military intelligence arm of the Soviet army.

[16] A Soviet car manufactured by Surpukhov Motor Works (Серпуховский Мотозавод), informally known as “motor-wheelchair” or “Invalidka” (инвалидка). They were known as such as they were given, either for free or sold at a heavy discount, to the disabled in the USSR through their welfare system and could not officially be bought by the non-disabled. It was given on a five year lease then had to be returned and later replaced by a new one. The S-3D model here was manufactured from the 1970’s, featuring a body 2.6 meters long, weighing 500kg due to its all-steel construction and powered by a two-stroke IZH-P3 air-cooled engine that had 18 hp.   

[17] Кооперативные гаражи. An organization established to allow Soviet Car owners to store their vehicles. It required residents to apply to become a member of the cooperative and pay a fee to store their care on a plot. Garages were not normally built, and a separate kit to build a steel shack-garage had to bought as well. It was the only truly safe option in Soviet cities, however, as auto-theft or parts theft was common.

@thewormsheep @muaviinu @guesst @ghosticosmic @simplelobster @adanaac @truegoist @xatsperesso @toomuchhobbies-toolittletime @sleepy-gry

Part I |

#original writing #creative writing #writing #yokai #writeblr #HMAD #hope like it #please do tell me if you see any spelling mistakes

[dyrewrites]

ROYGBIV Tag

Brought to you by @willtheweaver

Rules: find the main rainbow colors in your WIP!

I am tagging @illarian-rambling @pb-dot and YOU

->Before Deluca snips incoming<-

Red

Pulling him close, I teased his neck, his shoulders, accepting every soft gasp he gave before feeding the bleeding tears in his arm my tongue. Muscles, gleaming too red in the darker blood, stitched with my gentle licks and he moaned as his nerves found their severed matches and each strip of flesh and skin tangled and knit whole again. “A wonder,” he breathed, “you are a wonder…”

Orange

I had no time to address it, however, as the bat gaped at me, her brown eyes yet tinted orange by the light of the room, “You’re a dead thing too?” She elicited another cold, mirthless laugh from Lucient before she begged, “Then bite me, dead thing. Drink me, empty me of all this hot, wretched life. I want to see it smeared thick and red all over you.”

Yellow

Nodding, I pulled him close and tight against me, savoring that short yelp before kissing his neck and whispering, “That it does.” Pushing me away, but smiling still, he whispered back, “None of that now, we have pirates to devour.” “Maybe not all of them,” I gestured to the fog, how it saturated the deck in its wispy tendrils, obscuring all but the soft yellow light of the evening sun, “With such cover it’d be nothing to snatch a few alive, perhaps use that delicious voice of yours to capture us a new crew?”

Green

And it was no island I pictured. Islands were not made of jagged black rocks reaching from the ocean floor like angry claws, lit in an unnatural mix of green and blue. Islands did not have their own cloud-cover, black as soot and twice as thick. But most notably, and most unsettling; islands did not moan as deep and passionate as a lover at approaching ships…

Blue

Massive those doors, tall and imposing but not so much as the last manor he brought me to. What loomed ahead of us felt like a home, a magnificent one likely tended by countless servants, but a home. Just inside that entry, its doors spread wide, stood a short man whose layers of ruffles did little to hide the sickly skin of his neck and hands—their dreary blue hue reminding me of drowned men. He was dressed in a draped coat dyed a blue reserved for royalty, trimmed in gold far too bold, swaying beneath the weight of a high-set and intricately plaited black wig.

Indigo

“Worse than that, treasure,” Lucient’s quiet voice traveled clear, even loud, through the cavernous silence of the room and I sat up to search for the cool skin not tucked beside me. It took crawling across that worrisome bed and shuffling open the gauzy purple canopy hanging from it to find him. Across the room, chill pale covered in similar fabric—gauzy but thicker and bluer, closer to indigo—that flattered his figure too well not to be tailored, he was digging through inlaid shelves and vine-bound cupboards.

Violet

I would love nothing more than to offer you a walk through those confounding trees by the dark violet that marked night in them. Over every natural bridge, crossing gentle rivers of red-tinted cyan waters, towards the bulbous messes of bleeding wood and strangling vines that served as our temporary home...but I cannot. Much as our first trip to the falls and the hungry pool it fed, we did not take the return of our own volition—and we slept through the experience.

#tag games #roygbiv tag #open tag #writeblr #before deluca #snippet #did i say i'd get indigo into something last time i did this? #because i did it

[pacifymebby]

born to die // chapter four

He took me to a part of town I didn't really recognise, far enough out of the city that the roads were quiet, close enough still that the greasy spoon we ended up in was open twenty four hours. It looked like heaven when I saw it, sickly yellow light glowing from the windows across the otherwise deserted street. The rusting shutters on the other little shops - not that there were many - had been pulled down and locked hours before, the lights in the terrace windows above all out their inhabitants sleeping. 

"Always dead quiet here this time o' neet," said Sam not bothering to check the road for cars as we crossed the street, my foot slipping on the curb because I was shivering. When I tripped my ankle folded in on itself, a pain shooting up my leg which made me wince. 

"Shit," I hissed leaning in to his side when his arm snaked round me and caught me, his hands remaining on my waist to steady me, lingering longer when he saw the pain on my face. 

"Are y'alreet love?" he asked, his voice echoing the same concern as he'd held for me earlier when we'd gone skidding across the floor of the back room at the Angel. His brow knitted just the same too and had I not been struggling to hold back the little sob which had caught in my throat I'd have been flawed by the sight of it. How pretty he was when he frowned like that. When his eyes filled with worry for me. 

"No," I winced as I tried to put my foot down and bare weight. It hurt like hell and I wasn't stupid enough to try and walk on it or pretend to fine. Wasn't stupid enough to lie to him now that I'd already allowed myself to stray so far into this dangerous unknown. I was already here with him in some shadowed part of town I didn't recognise, this was already the stupidest string of decisions I'd ever made. And yet I didn't feel stupid putting my trust in him because he was right. He'd saved my life without a second thought. What would be the point in hurting me now. 

"Ah shit cm'ere lass," he sighed squeezing his arms around me tighter, lifting me up so that I didn't have to worry about putting either foot on the ground because he'd swept me up bridal style and started heading for the entrance. "And here you always look so elegant on that stage like..." he cracked a grin the teasing tone in his voice painting an embarrassed little smile on my pained features. 

"It's not usually pissin rain inside the Angel to be fair," I tried to defend myself, my smile giving me away as he jostled me in his arms to reach for the door. 

I felt the warmth of the electric heater wash over me immediately, the heat a sudden rush of comfort leaving my skin tingling beneath the heavy blue velvet of my sodden dress. It was the kind of warmth which leaves your features flushed, left a sigh of relief on my breath and when Sam placed me down on the cushioned seat of a booth at the back of the room he echoed my relief with a sigh of his own. 

"Fuck me it's cold the neet," he said with an almost nervous grin as he shook the rain from his little curls, "gan get you somat hot to drink, are y'hungry dya want anythin eat?" he asked running his hand through his hair, little drops of rain gathering at his fingertips as he squeezed a little water from his darkened locks. 

I looked back at him, shuffling back into the booth so that I could sit back against the wall and get a better look at my ankle. There was a bruise already forming and it hurt to touch though I tried to hide my discomfort. Men like Sam were so used to violence, to all kinds of gory injuries that I was certain he'd think my discomfort a little dramatic. But instead of rolling his eyes or shaking his head he winced apologetically, dropped to his knees at the edge of the seat and took my leg in his hand. His touch was still icy but something about the way he held my calf in his hand, pushing my dress up to my knees to get a better look at my injury, was so gentle that it offered me a warming kind of comfort anyway. 

"Last thing y'want am sure but am gan get you some ice for this, stop the swellin like," he said skimming his fingers carefully over my bruised skin, trying to feel for swelling, trying to work out if it was broken or just strained, but I knew it wasn't broken, I knew that whatever pain I was in then would have been amplified tenfold had I broken it. 

"It's really fine," I said, cold hand clutching the edge of the table to steady myself as I tried to sit up straight and read the backlit menu board above the counter across the room. 

"Divn't worry about that like wor Dru can probably make you whatever y'want like, what dya fancy?" 

"Just a brew like," 

"You sure?" he raised his brow a little cynically, perhaps he could see from the way I was shivering that really I was starved, that until I'd taken my little tumble I'd been dreaming of chips cheese and gravy and a milky brew, "must be hours since you had somat eat lass?" 

"Aye," I said forcing an awkward smile, "feel a bit sick now though." 

And again his brows tugged together and again that little crease furrowed above the bridge of nose and this time when he looked up at me I did notice how cute concern looked on him, how endearing that little frown really was. 

"Are y'sure, a can get you somat just to try, you might feel hungry when y'see it, wor Dru makes reet good chips like..."

"Honest a think if I try to eat owt now I'll die," I said softly, my smile self deprecating as I locked eyes with him, watching him stand up and give in. He shrugged his hoodie off over his head revealing an almost soaked through white t-shirt that clung to his skin, clung to the muscles in his back when he turned away, crossed the dirty linoleum and leaned on the counter leaning right over it to reach into the heated trays and pinch some chips. I saw his cheeky smile light up his face when his friend saw him, whipped him with a tea towel and told him to get his thieving hands away. I couldn't keep the smile off my lips when Sam's laugh rang out through the quiet cafe. 

I leant back against the wall, wrapped my arms around my body and tried to control my shivering. It was much warmer inside than it was outside but with my dress soaked through and clinging to me I was frozen. My hair was dripping cold water onto my collar bones, the little streams trickling down my chest each drip sending a fresh shiver down my spine. My teeth were still chattering and I felt the sudden ache of tiredness sneak up on me. Now that I was sitting down, shielding from the rest of the city in that booth at the back away from the windows, far away from my uncles side of town, now that I was as safe from Van's temper as I possibly could be, the stress was beginning to leave my body. My racing heart was beginning to slow. I was beginning to realise just how cold, just how tired, just how hurt I really was. 

So I couldn't help the way I fell into a melancholic little daydream as I sat there waiting for Sam to come back. The sounds of the cafe filtering out as I drifted into my thoughts. Worrying about Johnny who would still be searching the city for me, worrying about my mother knowing that whatever Van suspected me of now he would suspect her of too. Fearing for how she would cope with his temper. Picturing him smashing her little house up in a rage. Picturing him headed for the flat I lived in with my friend Suki. Knowing he wouldn't think twice about the time of night before he battered that door in to find the traitor. I felt a lump stick in my throat only when it was too late to swallow it down. The tears in my eyes were gathering fast and I just about managed to catch my sniffled sob with my hand over my mouth before it was too late. 

When Sam returned he made me jump. He placed two take away cups of tea down on the table and large polystyrene container too. Steam coming from all three the most comforting sight I'd had all evening. I watched him take a handful of sugar packets and little milks from his pockets and drop them in a heap in the middle of the table before he sat down. 

"Dru's gan fetch us some towels, says y'can use the back room to change steada the toilet cause its mingin..."

"I don't have anything to change into anyway," I said reaching for the tea and a couple of milk pots, struggling to open them because my fingers were still shaking. I'd been about to say something else, some shaken little thank you to him and his absent friend for being so kind to me but he'd already cut me off laughing at my apparent stupidity. 

"Aye well neither have I like, wor Dru lives upstairs, where'd y'think the towels are coming from?" he chuckled at you reaching to take the little milk pots from your hands, "how many dya want?" he asked nodding to your cup as he peeled the little foil lids back and lined them up for you, "a divinna if you have sugar or anything so I just grabbed a handful of everything," he said offering another awkward little smile as I poured pot after pot of milk in. 

"Theres never enough milk in these things," I said with a soft smile, looking up at him from under my lashes as he opened another for me and placed it down beside my little paper cup. He grinned and nodded in agreement pushing the sugar towards me when I reached for it. "Depends how sad am feelin..." I said as I tore one sugar packet and emptied it into the now milky cup of tea, I chewed my cheek as I reached for another and then one more. 

"Three?" he grinned, brows raised in disbelief, "lass thats a bairns cuppa!" he teased, his smile soft and lingering when he observed my simmering little pout, one I was struggling not to let turn into a smirk. "That how sad y'feelin aye?" he asked a little quieter, his smile fading to that of a sympathetic curve on his lips, his eyes a little darker as he reached for my hand across the table, "am sorry av proper got you into trouble haven't I?"

"You saved my life Sam," I said quietly, my voice still simmering with my sorry mood, "don't be sorry for that..." but when I trailed off he could tell I wasn't really finished, could tell that I was holding back. When I looked down and reached for my tea his hand on top of mine stopped me. 

"Let it cool lass, a burnt tongue ain't gonna cheer you up." 

I forced a small smile putting the cup down, giving it another little sad stir as I looked up at him with teary eyes I couldn't forgive myself for showing him. 

"I don't understand," I started, voice cracking a little as a tear escaped, "why'd you do it? And... well, fuckin hell what were you doin there if you weren't with them..."

"I wasn't there with them," he said leaning back in his chair opposite me, one arm resting casually on the table, the other reaching for his cup of tea. "Y'nar that thought really don't you..." he said lowering his voice, his blue eyes locked with mine for a moment before they flickered over my miserable features and darkened once again. 

I swallowed down a little nervous to admit the truth. The truth being that he was correct. That deep down I had already worked that out. Sam had been showing up at The Angel for weeks now, always hiding away at the back, always in shadow, a ghost with his hood pulled up and his collar popped. Only ever lingering for as long as it took for me to sing my songs and then slip out the back door. 

"They didn't know you were there did they?" I asked table to drag my eyes from his, touched by the honesty which glowed in them when his lips curved a crooked closed smile and he shook his head. 

"To tell you the truth lass a come see you sing every neet a can, prettiest voice I've ever heard I reckon..." he said it all without taking his eyes off me, kept his gaze on me even when I could no longer look back at him, shying away from his compliment, a fresh flush to my rosy cheeks. 

"You risk your life every Friday night because y'think I've got a pretty voice?" I raised my brow cynical and smirking, reaching for my tea again. He just smirked and shrugged his shoulders, watched me hold my paper cup in both hands and raise it to my lips. 

"Y'wanna blow on that love, its still hot..." he said, his voice quiet and smirking so that I couldn't tell if I was still being teased. 

"Not sure I should be taking advice from a lad whose just told me he puts his life on the line to listen to some lassie's singin," I said with a shy smile, doing as he said anyway, surprised when I felt my lips push to blow the steam away. 

"Not just any lassie's singin," he said with a chuckle, "she's got the voice of an angel like."

"Really?" I grinned unable to hold back my laugh despite the little tears still beaded in my lashes. 

"Aye really," he said grinning, his dimples popped so that for a moment it was impossible to imagine him as the dangerous lad I knew him to be. Impossible to see him for the doomed gangland evil he was and always would be. His reputation, the reputation of his family didn't mean anything just then, when the light caught his eyes and his smile creased his features still so boyish and cheeky despite the darkness of the life he lived. 

"So is that why you saved me?" I asked sorry to lower the mood, sorry to wipe the smile from his lips and leave his eyes shadowy once again. Knowing that I had to ask because I had to know. "Will they... if they work out it was you? Will they..."

"Divn't worry yourself about that like," he said reaching for my hand across the table, his touch a little warmer then, his fingers touch as they stroked over my knuckles hesitantly, "Am a big boy aren't a, can look after meself..." he said catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he let his eyes flicker over my features again, reading the worry in my eyes and smiling softly, "anyway," he said his voice lower then, "was worth it if you ask me... finally gettin talk to y'" 

#sam fender fanfiction #peaky blinders imagines #catb imagines #catb fanfiction #sam fender imagine

[mangosmootji]

Chapter 3 | Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt

“Mortal actions never deceive the gods”

18+ fic, minors do not interact!

Chapter summary: You and Aegon are in a room together, what could possibly go wrong?

Chapter warnings/tags: Use of the word ‘queer’ (used as strange, weird, etc (I swear i’m not homophobic, i love women pls)), ghosts, family drama, mentions of murders and death, Aemond does NOT know how to talk to women, targaryen slander (reader is such a hater lol), canon typical mentions of incest, millipedes

if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it! Word count: 3.9k

[A/N]: I’m so sorry this came out later than I promised. Last week was really hectic but fortunately I have less classes this week. Today I read ‘The Yellow Wall-Paper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman and that definitely inspired the long notebook part in this chapter. Let me know what you guys think about the notebook parts by the way, should I keep them shorter or is this fine too? This might not be the best chapter I have written but it has given me loads of inspiration for what is next in the story.

Anyway, if you have the chance, definitely read ‘The Yellow Wall-Paper because I absolutely loved it!! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“What the-”

Aegon quickly shushed you again by forcing his hand over your mouth again. Ser Criston’s footsteps could be heard passing the room and slowly but surely faded away. Aegon removed his hand off your face and scowled. 

“Can you be any louder?” 

“What?”

“You’re absolutely horrible at sneaking around my lady. I mean that with offence.” 

Gods, he was strange. You tried to catch your breath for a few seconds and studied him in silence. He was still in his day clothes, but he had taken off the striped light green vest he wore in the morning. You were right, he looked sickly regardless of the colours he wore. His silver blonde hair was dishevelled and the bitter stench of alcohol seemed to permanently cling to his body. 

“Do you even realise how improper it is to take hold of me like that-” Aegon started groaning in frustration mid-way through your sentence. He pulled his hand over his face as he did and waved you off with his other hand. 

“You are a real pain in the ass-” “Excuse me?! You’re the one pulling a lady into a strange, vacant room! I am already engaged to someone-” “I beg you. Please, shut up.” 

Aegon walked- more like stumbled- over to a cloth covered chair and sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“You are too curious for your own good. I am saying this out of genuine concern, mind your business.” 

His words were harsh but he genuinely seemed to be looking out for you in his own strange, Aegon-way. His answers to your questions always seemed to spark more curiosity and confusion within you. A silence fell between the two of you until you finally realised how inappropriately you were dressed. He seemed to notice your discomfort and a playful grin tugged at the corners of his rosy lips. 

“Do not worry. I have seen women in less clothes and I do not desire you. There is no denying you are beautiful, of course. However, you are simply not the type of lady I am attracted to, besides, my dear brother would have my head if I ever tried to pursue you.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Aemond seemed pretty protective over you, even if the two of you were still barely acquaintances. 

“Why are you helping me?”

Aegon remained quiet for a few seconds and shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Queer

You decided to drop it for now and looked around the abandoned room. You were about to ask a question again but Aegon groaned loudly in frustration. 

“I swear this damned wench.” He muttered, clearly irritated by…nothing?

“What are you-”

He shushed you.

“Listen.” He said and pointed with his finger to the ceiling. Was he talking about the floor above this? If you remember correctly, that was where Lord Viserys’ hallway was located.

A wail..

If you concentrated really hard you could hear the wailing and screaming of a woman. It was still too quiet to properly hear it but it still managed to send chills down your spine. 

No one was allowed in there and you doubted the wailing came from Lord Viserys.

It was only slightly but the wailing seemed to get a teeny, tiny bit louder every second. You turned your gaze back at Aegon who was picking dirt from under his nails with an annoyed expression. 

“Who is-”

“Father’s first wife.”

Aegon replied with a sigh and his violet eyes turned to meet yours. You seriously wished he would simply stop saying the most confusing and out of pocket sentences like it was nothing. Viserys’ first wife? Would that be Rhaenyra’s mother, or did Viserys have dozens of other wives? 

You hadn’t heard anyone talking about the Lord’s first wife still living at the estate. Gods, they didn’t lock her up, right?

“Why is she crying?” What a stupid question. You were sure you would cry even louder if Aemond locked you up.

Still, you couldn’t shake off this uncanny feeling. In no situation this was normal. For starters, the crying was barely comprehensible to your ears, but Aegon had complained that morning about her wailing so loud he couldn’t sleep. 

Aegon didn’t reply as he studied you in silence.

“What has Aemond told you about this family?”

Aegon reached into the pockets of his black trousers and pulled out an equally black tobacco pipe. He took out a small tin container from his other pocket and filled the pipe with the brown substance you could only assume was tobacco. He placed the pipe between his lips and stood up from the cloth covered chair and walked up to an old drawer. He pulled out a box of matches and started to light his pipe. He took the lit match and brought it close to the tobacco, but not close enough to completely lit it. From what you could see he only charred the top and then extinguished the match by waving it up and down. Smoke came from his pipe and mouth and he sat back down. 

“Well?”

“He’s told me about Rhaenyra’s inheritance and the uhm…inbreeding.” You awkwardly replied. Aegon groaned and shook his head in response.

“How romantic of him.” 

“Right…”

Another silence fell between the two of you. It was very clear that neither of you were skilled at socialising with someone that was practically a stranger. The woman’s wailing was getting a little louder again, snapping you out of your thoughts. Before you could even ask about the women Aegon spoke again.

“Rhaenyra’s mother died in childbirth.” 

“But I can hear her.”

Aegon silently stared at you, letting you figure out everything yourself. He was dead serious when he told you about the death of Rhaenyra’s mother. 

Reality was finally hitting you.

No.

No.

No.

He was lying. He had to be. He must be trying to scare you away, or trying to make a fool out of you in front of the family. It had to be. It had to be. 

Perhaps he was trying to make you seem mad. Was he trying to send you away? It couldn’t be Rhaenyra’s mother if she was dead. It couldn’t be. 

You were spiralling into all these different thoughts. Aegon was lying. He was. There was no other way. Ghosts, spirits, ghouls and- whatever! They didn’t exist. It was only a trick of the mind. Perhaps an evil cook is drugging them all and it is just a shared hallucination. Your brother had told you about them. How your father’s employees believed the factory was haunted by a tall shadow-y figure that lurked in the corners after sunset. It was the toxic fumes. Benjamen said so. 

“You’re lying.” 

Your voice was trembling. You didn’t know if it was from frustration or paranoia, perhaps it was from both. You turned around to leave. You couldn’t care less if Criston found out it was you who was listening in on his conversation with Alicent. 

“I am not finished yet-” Aegon took hold of your wrist, pulling you close to him. He held his pipe in his free hand as he intensely stared into your eyes.

“If you are smart, which I know you are, you leave this godforsaken place.” He hissed in frustration. 

“Write to your father, write that you want to leave. Mother is too desperate to continue the bloodline to see how incredibly stupid this arrangement is. Helaena told you to leave and now I am telling you to leave. Trust us.” 

Helaena had told you to leave….of course, the flowers.

She had been looking out for you even before you arrived at the castle. 

“I can’t just leave. What about Aemond, the dowry or the wedding.”

“Not worth it.”

Gods, this man was unbelievable. 

“I can’t just leave. It is my obligation to marry Aemond and I intend to do so. Your ghost stories are not going to scare me away.” 

You managed to wrangle your wrist from his iron grip and rubbed where he had held you. It stung a little but fortunately for you, it didn’t hurt. All you wanted to do was leave this strange room and get away from Aegon.

“Sleep well, my lord.” 

You made your way out the room and closed the door behind you. As you did so, your eyes fell onto the gold inscribed name plate on the door and then it finally hit you.

You had been in the room of Daeron Targaryen, and it seemed like he didn't live here any more. 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

- Night, the seventh day (the church bells just rang twelve times),  first month of the year 1871 -

This day was peculiar to say the least. After the first days my hopes were high when I first arrived but I fear this family is more queer than I initially anticipated. Everyone is strangely secretive about the murders and their knowledge of the culprits, even though I am to be part of their family soon. 

Of course, I cannot ignore their history of inbreeding either. Sure, it might’ve happened about a hundred years ago but I still find that to be quite recent. If madness doesn’t bring this family it sure will be the fighting amongst each other. An isolated father whose eldest child lives far away from her half-siblings and a second wife that claims said eldest child’s children are bastards is a recipe for disaster. 

As far as I know two out of four children of Lord Viserys are mad. Aegon, the eldest son, is trying to scare me away with ghost stories and has absolutely no manners. He does as he pleases, like dragging proper ladies into vacant rooms. Sure, it might’ve been to save me from Ser Criston, which, by the way, is an outdated title. It should be ‘Sir Criston’, apparently inbreeding isn’t the only outdated tradition they live by. I am trailing off. Aegon dragged me into the room to save me from Ser Criston, quite a creepy room might I add. It seems that this Daeron Targaryen doesn’t live in the Red Keep anymore judging by the white sheets carefully thrown over the furniture. 

Right, I was talking about the ‘mad ones’. Helaena, the youngest daughter, the third child, has a real screw loose. She is quiet, mumbles to herself like there is no one else in the room and says the most cryptic things I have ever heard. At breakfast she told me:

“Shadows need the light to exist but roam freely in the darkness.”

She could be reciting poetry but I just know there is a meaning to it. She said right before Otto Hightower (the sanest person in this entire family so far) announced the body of the monthly murder had been found. I theorise there might be some criminal gang that murder the civilians of King’s Landing at night…the servants also spoke of Tayla (this month’s victim and apparently a handmaiden of Lady Alicent). They said she went out at night, so I believe this culprit doesn’t have a set target each month. His victim profile seems to be completely random as far as I know. 

I know I don’t speak much here about my future husband. If I ever fall victim to this murderer (or this family) I don’t want future historians to believe I was some lovesick woman. This notebook is strictly for research purposes. I suppose I can share some information, he might end up being a person of interest when I die inside this old castle or the filthy streets of the city (I should really stop speaking of my hypothetical death, I don’t want the Gods to get the wrong idea).

Aemond is a quiet and reserved man. He is smart, quite handsome and seems to be physically strong. If I had to say something I like about him it is his intellect and his long hair. Don’t get me wrong, such long hair like that is incredibly out of fashion. The handmaidens at back home would most likely scream in horror when I tell them my future husband has flowing silver hair like some mediaeval knight. 

Tomorrow I shall try to find the library and seek more information about the Targaryen family tree. If not for research purposes, then for my own entertainment. Perhaps I can even look for this mysterious ‘Daeron’.

I shall write down my findings again soon. I swear there is something queer about this family. 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Today was surprisingly sunny for King’s Landing. You had breakfast with Alicent and she seemed not to suspect a thing. She had told you Aemond had a client over today so he wouldn’t be available until late in the afternoon. 

Wanting to enjoy the nice weather before it was over you made your way outside. It was still cold of course, but the sun felt nice. You walked past the eerie cemetery and deeper into the woods of the Keep. The path was still densely overgrown but you reached a part where the dirt path got wider. Your curiosity only grew as you followed it. Aemond hadn’t shown you anything past the cemetery after all. 

You eventually reached a clearing. In the middle stood a magnificent oak with leaves as red as blood. Of course, you knew about the heart trees of the Old Gods, your old home had one as well, but you never knew an oak tree could serve as a heart tree as well. Judging by the shape of the leaves and the crooked thick branches of the tree you were certain it had to be in the same family as a live oak tree. It made you happy that even in the Red Keep they kept the old traditions of the first men alive. 

Someone sat on a swing that was attached to one of the thickest branches of the tree. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. You only knew one woman that wore light coloured dresses and had beautiful long silver hair. She hadn’t bothered to style it this morning, which you found to be a bit improper but then you remembered she was quite strange anyway. 

“You are here sooner than I expected.” Helaena’s voice was incredibly pleasant to listen to, or so you thought. It was sweet and delicate, almost as if she was careful not to make too much noise as she spoke. 

“You were expecting me?” 

Helaena hummed in response and you cautiously approached her. You leaned against the thick trunk of the tree and Helaena hopped off the swing, only to sit back on it but this time she was facing you. You remembered something your mother used to say.

“It is often said that no man can tell a lie in front of a heart tree, as the old gods know when men are lying.”

Perhaps this was your time to finally get some answers. 

“Aemond likes you, you know?” Helaena softly swung back and forth on the old wooden swing. Her words surprised you. He hadn’t really shown he did. Well he took you on a walk and dropped a major piece of information with no prior warning, not something you would call charming, elegant, or gentlemanly. 

Helaena continued.

“He said he is happy to be married to a smart woman.”

Her smile seemed so sweet and genuine, it was very different from what you were used to. Perhaps the strange woman was finally warming up to you now that her brother had told he ‘likes’ you and thinks you’re smart? 

That was definitely not what you had thought Aemond would think of you. As smart. Sure, you were confident to admit that you possessed some sort of intellect. But for a man who studied at Old Town university it was certainly peculiar to call, no- even tell other people that his future wife was smart. 

“I am delighted to hear that.” 

Helaena was, surprisingly, easier to talk to compared to Aegon, who was supposed to be the more sociable of the two. However, Helaena’s gaze wasn’t fixed on you but something behind you. Was she simply avoiding eye contact because she disliked something, or did she really see something? The eerie feeling you felt yesterday crawled back up. Your entire body switched from relaxed to anxious, almost as if all of your senses were a hundred times more sensitive. Was something really watching you? Perhaps it was only a castle worker. Someone had to keep these woods and gardens looking good, right? Even in the winter. 

You knew you had to look. Your brain was tricking you again. This palace is guarded. No one would be able to simply slip in and spy on you whenever you entered the godswoods. 

Then you felt something. Something ticklish and long moved from your shoulder towards your hand. Paralyzed by fear you could only move your eyes to where the feeling was. In reaction you shrieked. You don’t think you have ever been so loud before. 

You swatted your hand around, desperate to get this beast off your body. Once you had finally flung it off Helaena calmly walked over and picked it up from where it had fallen. Letting it crawl over her hands and watching it in fascination.

“Diplopoda…a millipede.” She whispered softly and slowly walked back to the swing. You watched in amazement. She wasn’t afraid of the insect, in fact, Helaena seemed completely mesmerised by the creature. The hundreds of little legs all moved as it crawled over her soft delicate pale hands. Her fingers were long and thin, like a master pianist. 

“You’re not- afraid of the insect?” You asked her after you had regained your breath and most importantly, your composure. There weren’t as many bugs in the North compared to here. The climate here was a lot warmer, even in the winter. You felt a little silly for being so frightened by such a small creature.”

“Millipedes are actually myriapods…” She replied as she seemed completely lost in thought as she studied the insect- no. She studied the myriapod.

“They have eyes…but they cannot see very well. To answer your question, this species is completely harmless to humans.”

Well, at least you learned something new today.

“Would you like to hold it as well?” 

No. Absolutely not.

“I suppose I could try.”

You walked to where Helaena sat on the swing. The wood creaked a little as it still slowly moved back and forth. You held out your hands, bracing yourself for the nasty, itchy, crawling feeling of the largest millipede you had ever seen. Helaena’s face had lit up once you agreed to hold it, she seemed so excited to share her interests with you. It made you wonder if she could even share it with her own family.

Perhaps they  understood her just as little as you did.

Helaena had carefully placed Millipede the Myriapod in your hands. You felt squeamish as you felt the hundreds of little legs move around in the palm of your hands. You had to move your hands around a lot too. The creature was quick and you didn’t want it to fall off, not because you cared about the thing, but because you didn’t want to upset Helaena. 

Something about her enthusiasm reminded you of your father. Who loved telling you ghost stories and myths. You didn’t believe any story he had told you, but seeing his face lit up as he was talking about the things he loved made you smile. Helaena’s excited expression made you smile as well. You realised you had judged her too soon. Sure she had some…issues, but she was kind and was eager to befriend you. 

“I think it doesn’t like me.” The creature was quick and constantly tried to slip away from the palms of your hand. The strange squeamish feeling felt less overwhelming with time, sure, the thing was absolutely horrifying, but the feeling that you might die if you touched it had completely faded.

“Come, I’ll help.” Helaena’s sweet smile instantly melted your heart. She took the insect- no, myriapod from your hands and you instinctively wiped your hands off on the skirt of your dress. She started to walk towards the path that led back to the castle. You were so distracted by the millipede and Helaena herself that you had completely forgotten to ask her the questions you wished to ask her.

“Helaena-”

“I wish to show it to my grandfather.” Helaena was completely in her own world while she walked.

“Okay, well, may I ask you a few questions then?” “Perhaps later.” Well, at least she didn’t beat around the bush. Her bluntness hadn’t surprised you. Alicent had tried to make a proper lady if her daughter, there was no denying that. Helaena simply had a mind of her own. She wore her hair loose whenever she pleased, she did not care about the proper ways you should wear colours. There was something admirable about her, even if she was a little mad.

The gloomy castle came back into view when the two of you exited the godswood. Immediately you felt a shift in the air. The clouds blocked the sun and the feeling of gloom and dread returned. It seemed to linger around the castle constantly and was not something you had gotten used to yet. 

“Aemond would want to see you by the way”

You raised your eyebrow as you turned your head to her.

“How do you know that?” She shrugged and continued to walk. She turned the corner and you followed her blindly, accidentally colliding with a hard human chest. You nearly fell backwards but you felt a strong, lean arm stabilise you.

“Gods, I am so sorry-” 

You finally looked up to see who you had bumped into, it was Aemond. You were about to call after Helaena who happily continued to walk towards her grandfather’s studies as if you had never been there to begin with when you noticed something different. For starters, Aemond wore a glass eye. It wasn’t the completely white eye he had worn when he first met you. Instead his glass eye looked nearly identical to his healthy one. 

However he had made one major change.

“Your hair…” Was all you managed to stammer out.

Aemond’s long silver hair you had grown to adore had been completely copped off. Instead it was cropped on the sides and back while it gradually got longer on the top of his head. He looked good. Different, but good.

Your face must’ve given off a different reaction because Aemond almost nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“You don’t like it-”

“I do like it.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of you. Neither of you really knew what to say. 

“Not that your old hair was bad- I just…I like this as well.” You doubted your awkward stumbling over your own words did much to reassure him but he seemed to somewhat regain his usual composure. He sternly nodded and started speaking again.

“I need you to be my assistant this afternoon.” 

Huh? 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Taglist: @helaenaluvr @saltedcaramelpretzel @certifiedhaters @imawhorecrux

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #the house of the dragon

[gasolineghuleh]

Uuh Summer Camp & Tine Travel sounds cute!

This turned out so cute. I kinda want to make a full fic of my "how they met" hc.

Seestor and Papa Nihil + Time Travel + Summer Camp! SFW

Mary bolted up in her bed, gasping in alarm before she even realized what it was that she heard— a clattering in the corner of her small cabin. As camp counselor she had a larger area than some of the other girls, and the meager light of the moon pouring through the thick fogged glass wasn’t enough to light the distant corner. Her hand reached out as she grabbed for her glasses beside the cot, resting on an overturned wooden box that she had put there for that purpose. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. 

“Hello?” she squeaked out, tucked her fine blonde hair behind one ear as she adjusted her glasses. “I’ll have you know that I’m the senior camp counselor here, and I’m not afraid to phone the cops!” The quick thought occurred to her that there was a chance she wouldn’t even be able to reach the phone in the office, let alone dial it before… before something happened. 

“Sis-” The shadow in the corner moved lightly and a man crept forward, long black hair covering one eye. “Mary. Is that you? Did it work?” He looked to be in his early twenties, compared to Mary’s young nineteen. His face was pale and he was dressed in all black with a small silver cross hanging upside down at the hollow of his throat. 

“My- my name is Mary, yes. How do you know me?” Mary pulled her knees up to her chest, backing against the wall by her bed as much as she could. She didn’t feel threatened by the man, but one could never be too safe, especially at summer camps.

“You’re not going to believe me, but I need you to at least try.” The man moved forward slightly and pulled his hair back, revealing a blank white eye. “In a few years, you’re going to give me this white eye at a dance party. Here, take this. It will tell you everything.” He dug in his pocket and took out a piece of paper with scribbled writing on it. Their eyes met and for the briefest moment she could have sworn she’d known him for years. 

“I don’t even know your name, but you seem to know mine.” Following her gut she leaned forward quickly and snatched the paper from his grasp, unfolding it with a deft finger. 

“Just read. You can read it faster than I can explain it. I have to go soon, He didn’t give me much time.” He held his hands up in a way of apology and backed up, slipping into the shadows one more time. “My name is Nil,” was the last thing that Mary heard. She blinked to herself a few times in confusion before turning her attention back to the paper, holding it in front of the moon beam to read it. 

We’ll meet in a few years on campus. Take a class in college on religion. Attend the meeting that you see labeled “Authentiques in Latin”. Trust me. I’ll see you soon, Sister Mary.

Mary looked up from the paper to scan the room one more time before she jumped from her bed and ran to the light switch. The electricity crackled and the dim naked bulb on the ceiling flickered before it came to light, emitting a sickly yellow glow around the cabin. The only thing in the dark corner was her kayak, emblazoned with the name of the camp, and an accompanying oar— neither looked out of place, but Mary wanted to be absolutely certain. Mary gingerly crept over to it, turning the kayak around quickly with one hand up in defense.

No one was there, except for the faint smell of sandalwood and patchouli. 

#lorraine writes #fics #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfiction #drabble #sister imperator #seestor

[sourweather-fics]

Will leans in the bedroom's threshold, keeping his weight carefully off of his bad shoulder. It's midday, but the light within is low and warm, the sickly yellow light coming from a lamp on the bedside table while the windows stay covered by thick curtains. He sniffs, and takes in the room's ever-present scent of sea salt and death. It never dissipates, no matter how long Will leaves the fan on and the windows open. It just clings to the bed. Or perhaps, to the figure resting inside. "Are you going to come in? Or are you waiting for an invitation?" The voice that beckons him is rough, rasping. Will doesn't flinch. "How are you feeling?" he asks. Hannibal shifts slightly as Will approaches the bedside, grimacing at his own discomfort. "Restless," he confesses with a soft grunt. "I've never been overly fond of confinement." The two of them exchange a tense glance, Hannibal's accusatory and Will's just thoroughly unamused. Will sighs, grabbing the medical kit on the nightstand and kneeling beside Hannibal on the bed. "You'll be able to get up soon. You know how this works— the less patient you are, the longer it'll take. Now let's change those dressings, yeah?" It's obvious that Hannibal wants to volley back, but he bites his tongue, lying back against his mountain of pillows. At the other man's surrender, Will sets to work.

#fic preview #hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram fanfiction #hannigram #in my hands #heu bingo