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http-paprika · 1 month

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IVY AND IRON THORNS

CHAPTER II

a medieval au / sir simon riley x lady reader / 2.7k / warnings descriptions of death, religious imagery, trauma, and an unhealthy response to food. / taglist open

arriving at castle tharn, you are thrust into the startling reality that you are at the mercy of those who govern these unknown lands.

masterlist / chapter III

There’s a dull ache in your head that pools down your throat to the ribs to the stomach and rests in your hips. With every trot of the horse, you are thrown back and forth from heavy exhaustion and startling awareness. While you pretended to sleep under the canopy of stars, you’d heard the quiet murmurings of the knights and what they’d do upon returning to their castle. Dread burrowed deep in your bones as your fate looks as dreary as the morning sky that has been cast with a gray haze of clouds.

The gnawing realization that you’ve fallen from grace, ripped from your place as a lady haunts you every time your eyes close and your stomach twists. A lady of your stature is not supposed to witness horrors you’ve seen, they were not supposed to show the face of humiliation as they arrive in a foreign land. But you fret knowing these knights are leading you to a foreign land and a castle with a lord you do not serve.

Around the company, the pines begin to thin and the hooves fall on a dirt path. Your eyes shutter close and your brows tighten against the gray light of the morning. Even with the sun hidden from your sight, it rivals the dark shadows of the forest. The horse slows along a cliff edge and you cower away from the plunge with its roaring waters and rocks below.

“There she is, Castle Tharn.” Simon directs you, his arm stretched out to the north. Set above the valley of rivers, marshes, and wild green, you can see the dark structure silhouetted. Turrets reach the sky behind fortified walls, and a deep river isolates the castle from the valley. It causes you to shiver in your seat, an unwelcoming sight built like a fort to keep out any unwanted visitors and keep in any prisoners.

Full of excitement to return to their grazing grounds, the horses make haste as they’re led down the cliff path and trot into the valley. Over streams and babbling brooks, past hamlets and homesteads where the people stop and watch the knights return. You exhale as you catch a sense of familiarity in their architecture and clothes, so similar to the servants who filled your home and the villagers you met when you were allowed out of the castle.

There’s a jolt of relief when the hooves fall onto a cobbled road, it leads over a wide river that roars as it splits over stones and falls under the bridge. You glimpse your wavering image in the wild waters, before looking up at the flagpoles, flying high with vibrant dark greens and reds. It feels cold compared to the one of your home, you miss the warm yellows and oranges.

Guards in the watchtower shout at your arrival, raising the portcullis as news spreads through the walls and rooms of the return. You pass under the heavy iron gate, looking back disheartened as you watch it lower and shut you off from the rest of the world. Left to the mercy of those who run the grand estate with its ivy-covered walls, blooming bushes of roses, tall stained glass windows, and faded banners. The whole castle’s alive, bursting at the seams with pride as servants and soldiers move through the bailey.

Simon dismounts from the horse, offering his hand to help you down. He’s careful of your sprained wrist and makes sure your feet are steady before dropping his hands to the sides of his armor. You wrap your arms around your chest and tug your cloak closer in an attempt to cover yourself as people join the knights. A stable boy takes the mares away and you listen as John begins to loudly boast about the bandits they’d slain. Women and men alike peer at you when John makes your presence known, and you shrink away almost bumping into Simon in your cowering.

“Come, let’s get you settled for the night,” Simon orders, gesturing you to follow him. Together, you ascend a side set of stairs into the castle. In the dim interior of the castle, servants stare and whisper amongst themselves. Girls who must be no older than you giggle at your disheveled appearance and what little pride you have left makes your cheeks burn with shame.

You enter into a large kitchen, busy and filled with an air of urgency as food is prepared. Barrels of grains and fruits are stacked along the wall, a goose turns on a spit in the fire that crackles happily in a large hearth. Women bustle around, taking orders from a plump and rosy-cheeked woman whose eyes flash when she spots intruders in her kitchen.

“Ach! What have I told you dirty boys about coming into my kitchen while I’m working, Sir Riley?” The woman berates the knight as she comes up to him, swatting at him with a cloth. But upon seeing you in such a state, wide-eyed and ashamed, she lets out a sigh. “What have you done to the poor girl?”

“I’d tell you if you’d let me speak,” Simon says, plucking up a plum from a bowl and shining it. “Found her while out on patrol with John, Mrs. MacTavish. She needs to be looked after, she’ll see Lord Price in the morning.”

“Well, anything for the poor lamb.” The woman takes your arm and offers you a smile. Warm and inviting compared to the stares you’ve received upon entering the castle. “But, Sir Riley, you tell my son that he is in trouble with his father, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, turning to leave you and the kitchen without another thought.

“You’re leaving me?” You call out, naively thinking the knight would stay by your side. Afraid to be left alone in the presence of another stranger, a shyness you’ve never known dawning on you.

“I’m a knight, not a nursemaid. I have duties to attend to.” Simon responds with a firm tone, like a father scolding a child. The knight bows his head to you before returning down the hall you’d just walked through, leaving you in Mrs. MacTavish’s care.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Lamb.” She says, walking you out of the kitchen after she finishes instructing the women for dinner preparation. “Have you got a name, or should I give you one?”

Mumbling your words together, you tell her your name. With hesitation, you hide your status as a lady from her, feeling wrong to address yourself with the name and title that had belonged to your mother. Even if you consider the treatment you might receive brandishing the name.

“Well, you must have had quite the journey, no? I’m sure you’re more than ready to rest.” She asks, slowing her pace and stopping in front of an oak door. The keys on the wrought iron ring jingle as Mrs. MacTavish picks through them, finding the right one and twisting it in the lock.

You follow into the room which is decorated lavishly, a guest room prepared for only the most prestigious of company. Slowly turning to look over the room, you’re horrified by your appearance when you see yourself in the looking glass. Hair in a tangle, dirt and blood clinging to your skin, and your favorite dress shredded into scraps. Unable to look away, the woman hums a tune as she sets to work making a fire in the hearth. When you finally tear your eyes away, she’s left to fetch water for the bath and you slump onto a creaking stool and sit in the unwelcome silence.

Your mind feels at war with grief and fear fighting against the rage as you question why this happened to you. Why had you been stricken down and left to drown in a sea of loss? Such a divine punishment that made you feel like Job, abandoned by God with no money and no prospects. Everything you held dear, your future and dreams are unraveling like a beautiful tapestry torn through, destroying the foolish hopes you had for bliss. After all, what peace could come from this?

The door opens and you startle up, like a deer hearing a hunter. But your shoulders slump again when Mrs. MacTavish returns with buckets of steaming water. She tells you of the castle and its Lord and Lady whilst preparing your bath, singing praises for those who govern the lands. It’s so endearing that you wince remembering the bleak mutters of those who served under your father, the endless strings of complaints when they thought that no nobles were listening in.

“So, lamb, do you want to tell me how you ended up in the care of our knights?” She asks once the bath is drawn and you’re sinking into the hot water. You let it sting and spill over your skin as her calloused hands massage soap into your hair. Mrs. MacTavish works with care, making sure the soap doesn’t spill into your eyes and that you’re comfortable, just like your mother had done with you were a child.

Bloodshot eyes begin to sting with tears at her question and kindness. A sob quakes through your ribs as you bury your face in your damp hands, the hot water suddenly feeling like ice to you. Like a child who’s fallen from a tree and hurt themselves, you’re wailing for your mother but she cannot save you from this.

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By the time you’ve stopped crying, you are alone in the room dressed in a warm, brown flock. There’s a longing to be dressed in black, wishing you could partake in the mourning ritual for your mother though there will be no burial. In vein, you try to recount what the church instructed upon the death of a righteous person. But you feel foolish and disrespectful knowing you cannot give your mother the courtesy she deserves.

You wonder when your father will hear the news, and when he will come and comfort you in this time. The hope of a reunion seems foolish, the idea of grieving alongside the only living member of your bloodline is folly as the confines of the castle are chaining you in. A fear blooms in your chest that you’ll never find the sun again.

The sounds of the fire dying in your idleness fill the room, playing a pitiful song along with your hollow breaths and your nails digging into the plush quilt and animal pelts on top of the bed. The soft feather mattress is a welcome relief from the nights tossed to and fro in the carriage or the dirt under the open sky. And finely woven drapes shield your face from the fading light of the fire as you curl up like a kitten.

As sleep begins to invade your mind, quiet knocks startle you out of the daze. Lazily you rub at your eyes as another knock sounds against the oak door. Finding the strength to stand and covering yourself with a robe Mrs. MacTavish had left, you force yourself out of the warm comfort and find the door in the fading light, the oil lamp in the room having been ignored.

Creaking on its hinges, you blink up at the masked face of Simon. Curiously you wonder if he ever removes the black cloth as you let him into the room and he steps in with a word. In his hand, Simon carries a plate of food covered by a linen towel. Moving through the room, he sets it down on the tea table next to the stool.

Still silent, he directs you to sit down on the stool. And not having the strength to argue, you listen and sit down, smoothing the rough fabric of your smock. “Mrs. MacTavish said you declined dinner.”

With a nod, you glance over at the covered dinner as the smell wafts through the room and causes your mouth to water and tickle your nose. But your mind is refuses to give in, willing your tongue to dry and throat tighten. Painfully stubborn even in a time like this.

“It’s not poisoned. Eat.” Simon orders, uncovering the wooden plate and setting the lcloth aside. Your eyes gleam at the sight of ham, steamed vegetables, fresh slices of bread, and a ripe, red apple that shines even in the dull light. But you make no move to eat, hesitating under the watchful eye of the knight. “You shouldn’t starve yourself. What would your mother think to see you depriving yourself?”

His words feel like an infliction, striking like a whip and pulling at your flesh with a sting. It enrages you even if you know his words are true. She would be grievanced at the sight of you in such a state, eyes dried red, cheeks stained and skin gaunt. You feel as close to a corpse with a beating heart. But still his statement drives you mad, making your mouth sour in distaste.

“Do not speak of my mother! You know nothing about her, nothing about the loss I’ve witnessed!” You speak out, jumping from the stool to glare at the knight despite his intimidating stature. For a moment, his eyes flash with anger and his hands tighten into fists. But Simon does not rebuke your nor does he strike like you anticipate.

Instead, he takes his place on the stool, reaching over for the beautiful, fresh apple from the plate. A sliver knife is brought into the light, no longer hidden away in his garments, and he begins to cut at the fruit. So ripe, the juices run down the blade and into his gloved palm, appeitizing to the eyes as you watch.

“You’re right, I did not know your mother. But I’m well acquainted with the loss you’ve come to know.” Simon admits, stretching out his palm with an apple slice to you in offering. “And I know starving yourself won’t ease the grief or guilt. It’ll only make it worse.”

Your lip pushes out with a frown, but you steady your hand and accept the fruit. The taste fills your mouth with sweetness, flourishing your senses as you take the fill. He continues to slice up the fruit, precise and neat with each cut until all that remains is the sour core that Simon places on the plate alongside the other foods he allows to grow cold. Never pushing you too far.

“I’m sorry, I spoke out of place.” You apologize, dropping your gaze to your borrowed slippers. Blaming the hunger, you’re certain thats what made you so erratic, appauled by your abhorrent behavior to the knight. Even if you were in this fortress against your will, they’ve treated you with nothing less than kindness. They’ve fed, bathed, and dressed you, Simon proved to be a man of chivalry, seeing to your wounds and wellness when you did not ask.

“Don’t apologize.” He responds, wiping off his gloves and standing from the stool with a grunt. Simon turns to the fire, adding another log and bringing it back to life before turning to leave. “Get some rest, you’ll meet with the Lord in the morning. I’ll make sure breakfast is brought and a knight comes to escort you. Lock the door when I’m gone.”

“Of course,” You mutter as he passes by the fire, eclipsing your vision as you watch his silhouette leave you. The door creaks again, shutting heavily behind him. Following his instructions, you bolt it close and rub your hands against the old ironwork that locks you inside. A thin veil of security over in your mind.

But your knees still buckle with fear, you sink on the stone floor and pull your knees to your chest. Though there are no tears left to cry, you still grieve. “This shouldn’t have happened, what am I going to do? I know nothing!”

All those years of being coddled and running about the gardens like a fool have left you defenseless and confused. You are not in the state of mind to believe that there is a chance of negotiating your freedom with the Lord of the castle. The arguments you’d had with your mother and nursemaid did not prepare you for a time like this. Not even empty prayers bring you hope as you drag yourself from the ground. Could God himself even save you?

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots @jadeloverxd

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost #fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #cod mw2 #ivy and iron thorns #ivy and iron thorns series #medieval!ghost #medieval au #knight!ghost #knight!au #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you

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yourtouchismidas · 11 months

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Is being pregnant with twins different/difficult for the missus? How does matty react to the accidental pregnancy when they find out, how does he react to finding out that there’s not one but two babies?

i think with already having three children, and valentine being very little when you get pregnant again, that it takes you a while to notice. matty is on the floor with the two older girls playing dolls and you're undoing baby valentines duffle coat, her cheeks all red from the cold, unsteady on her feet having only just learned to stand. suddenly, a wave of nausea hits you out of nowhere and you have to stand up straight and cover your eyes with you hands to stop everything from spinning. valley's half in half out her coat.

"baby?" matty says, "baby, you ok?"

the wave dulls and you look back out at him and smile, "yeah i'm okay. come on valley, coat off."

you kneel back down again to your youngest's height, but you can feel matty's eyes on you, frowning slightly. you ignore him and smile at valley, who babbles something and pokes your face. the other two girls are starting to fight over one of the dolls, whining, and matty turns back around to intervene, and you stand back up. everything goes blurry again, but this time worse, you see black.

"baby?" you hear.

next thing you're aware of is a few seconds later, your in matty's lap on the floor and he's stroking your hair. shay is screaming. valley too but more because of her sister than anything else. gigi's eyes are wide and you reach out to her, trying to smile.

"mummy's okay," you say, weakly. "i'm okay."

gigi swallows, trusting you, and nods. matty speaks.

"gigi can you get my phone from the arm chair please my love?"

she walks slowly over, still spooked and hands it to him. you try to get up, protesting that you're okay, your whole body aching to get to your baby girls to calm them down.

"no no sweetheart," matty says, "stay still."

he's got his phone to his ear and you can hear it buzzing. then you hear his mother's voice. him explaining what has happened. her voice raising and octave as she says, yes of course. i'll be right round. dont you worry.

matty takes you to the walk in. you're feeling a lot better by the time you get there, but your hands are still shaking when you try and lift the plastic cup of water he has got you to your lips. he takes it off you and feeds it to you, making you laugh mid drink so you spit it all out and both start laughing, him flicking water at you as you've got it all over his trousers. you hear someone call your name.

the nurse raises her eyebrows at the pair of you and you both stop laughing abruptly and then snigger to each other as you follow her into the room.

you explain what happened. the nurse runs through a list of what you ate today and drank and takes your vitals.

"and is there any chance you might be pregnant?" she asks. you and matty both laugh.

"doubtful," you say, "i had a baby a year ago. i've been on the pill since."

"we'll do a test just to be sure," she smiles. you do it. you barely even think about it. it's just routine. it will be just be because you have low blood sugar or something. because you forgot to eat lunch because you had to take the girls to town today to get new school shoes and were running around after them all evening. the nurse comes back in.

"well your pregnancy test was positive."

"you what?" matty says.

"you're pregnant," she says. she scans between both your faces and then says, "you know, birth control isn't one hundred percent..."

matty holds up his hand, "you can save it, we know. believe me. we know."

you lie back on the hospital bed, hand to head, laughing. pregnant. again. when you didnt even think you could have one. and you have three baby girls at home, waiting up for you.

"matty," you say, reaching out for his hand. he grabs it and squeezes. "were having another fucking baby," you say.

"i know darling," he says, smiling at you. he comes over and kisses you softly on the head over and over. "you can do this. we can do this. another baby."

"another baby," you say, thinking of valley's pink little cheeks, and the baby grows you packed away last week, not quite ready to let go of them, and the smell of your friend's new born's head. you start smiling. grinning. uncontainable.

"another baby," matty says. he looks at you. he is grinning too. the same thought process having gone through his head as well. he remembers tiny wrinkly fingers clutched around one his thumb and he aches. "what a miracle."

after you confirm your dizziness was just the pregnancy, you both emerge into the dark cold evening, hospital lights hazy, both dazed. you can't believe it happened.

"i should text your mum," you say, getting your phone out.

"no don't," he says quickly.

"but the girls..."

"will be fine for another hour. we're childless right now," he says, gesturing to around your feet where the girls usually would be.

"you're bad, healy," you say, grinning. he wiggles his eyebrows then wraps an arm around you.

"what do you want love? if you could have anything in the world. right now. what would it be?"

"a cheeseburger."

"a cheeseburger?" matty laughs, "i'm offering you the world."

"and i want meat with cheese."

"fuck it. my girl wants. my girl gets."

you go to a nearby burger place, laughing in a booth next to a steamed up window. matty gets burger sauce all over his face. you talk about music and art and the news. you talk about where you want to travel to. the best places matty has ever seen. how you would do things differently if you lived again. what you would study if you went back to uni. you live out your whole lives, childless and free, writing letters to each other from various beaches and mountains and stages. you pretend to be on the phone to each other, updating on adventures, making up fake hunks and models that you've slept with, trying to get a rise out the other. matty's cheeks go pink at the thought of you with another guy. he rushes the bill. he books a hotel room that you end up in for an hour, an hour and half at most. he makes you his own again. then tangled up in the sheets you begin to talk again. where would i go? who would i be?

it's a game. but as you play, the ache for everything you're describing fades. you hold his warm body closer.

"i would be some sort of marine biologist or some shit," matty says dreamily, "hanging with dolphins."

"i would be gigi's mum," you say. he turns to you. "and shay's."

matty's face softens. he sees you. real you. hotel room. escaped from the kids for a night. clock ticking closer to your eldest's bedtime.

"and valentine's," you say.

"and the new baby," matty says, putting a hand over your stomach.

you nod, smiling up at him. he speaks again.

"and in every lifetime," matty says, "i would be yours."

"yeah?" you say.

"i would tear down all those beaches and mountains and stages. i would drop out of every course. i would get on every plane. just to come home to you. every day."

you check out the hotel and go home to your baby girls. they run at you at the door and you scoop them up, shay in your arms, gigi and valley in mattys.

"are you okay? everything okay?" mattys mum says, meeting you and the girls at the door.

"yes, all good," matty tells her and you nod.

"thanks so much for taking the girls," you tell her.

"my pleasure," she smiles, "they're a pleasure, arent you darling?"

she squishes baby valley's cheeks and makes her laugh. you and matty share a look, knowing in nine months or so she will have a new baby to love. it's a hard pregnancy, you're sick a lot and extra tired having to look after three girls while carrying two. in keeping with your usual style too, a surprise baby means matty can't plan and has to go ahead with concerts and interviews and trips that were scheduled. but he does what he says. he always comes home to you.

#ruins #ruins behind the scenes #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy #matty healy x y/n #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #dad!matty

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willowwhispersspeakeasy · 2 years

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Flightless

can be read independesnly or as the third part of this series (part one | part two)

character: yandere! Rook Hunt x reader

warnings: gender neutral reader, bottom reader top Rook, smut, dub-con, outdoor sex, blindfolds, knife play, bondage, oral sex, fingering, revoking consent, (and the term "ma cherie" is used for reader out of consistency with the other two stories)

words: 2k

this content is not appropriate for minors.

after sleepless nights, working on plan after plan to try and evade Rook you were biting your time. able to walk on your own now, you still wobbled on the weaker of your ankles. a constant reminder of just what Hunt was capable of.

he had not paused as your ever loyal nurse and provider. as you had begun to learn to walk again he would hold your arms or your waist, to insure if you twisted your ankle or lost your balance you would not go crashing to the floor.

Rook touched your gently, held you softly, he was as caring as a lover. you could almost forget, almost bury your memory of the man who chased you down and clipped your wings. to insure his 'lovely songbird' wouldn't fly away from him again.

if Rook was unaware of your dastardly escape, that fact would not remain true long. you had stolen a large fur coat, wrapping it around yourself to hold off the cold. winter held onto the woods by the grip of her fingernails, but spring was already budding.

your shoes only caused your weak ankle to wobble as you walked. the furs were soft on your cheeks, almost comforting. while you lacked a full mental map of the woods, you knew the cabin you had been trapped in faced north, and the closest sign of civilization was a town located far to the west. so, on you began.

at some point you cannot tell if the feeling of eyes on your back is from your own paranoia, or the crows high in the trees. perhaps a mix of both, you pondered.

you came upon a creek, following it up stream. the babbling and giggling of the water was a welcome noise, reminding you to remain calm. Rook probably was aware of your disappearance now, and it was a race against the clock. he would find you, you just had to get out of his reach before he had the chance.

with a quicker pace you followed until you reached an incline. footing careful, you hiked up to the top of a hill, following the stream until you found yourself above a valley. the hight wasn't extreme, but if you were to fall you'd surely break bones.

you took a deep breath, furs pulled closer around you. it was a beautiful sight. perhaps under other circumstances you would have paused to admire it. shaking the thoughts away you turned back towards the wood. movement. something moved a few meters away. your heart raced.

its probably a deer, or another creature. nothing to worry about. its more scared of us then we are of it. you tried to reassure yourself. taking a deep breath you began back into the wood, however.

once you passed the treeline something wrapped around your weak ankle. a cord of some kind wrapped tight and sent you slamming to the ground with a yelp.

"oh la la~ what a lovely catch!" your blood ran cold at the familiar voice. "you've come remarkable far my songbird~ très bien!" a pair of familiar brown hunting boots came into your vision as you lifted your heard.

"you look absolutely ravishing in those furs~ I would very much like to see you in that and nothing else." his grin was twisted, eyes sharp as he scanned your figure.

"you're a nasty pervert you know that." you spat back. Rook did not respond. instead he placed a boot on your back, effectively holding you in place. you tried to protest and push back, but he only leaned more of his weight on you.

"do not exert yourself just yet ma cherie." Rook speaks in a deeper tone than usual, and underlying threat purred into your ear. the huntsman takes your wrists and pins them back, easily tying them with a bit of cord. it isnt incredibly tight, but the cord is stiff and uncomfortable.

"why-"

"shh, isnt the view lovely~" he cuts your off before you can speak again. cutting the length around your ankle Rook hauls you up into his arms, turning back to the cliffside. "magnifique." he speaks in your ear, pressing a kiss just behind it.

"now, for you attempted escape from my arms. as much as I so enjoy our little games of hide a seek, you could have been harmed songbird." Rook sighs, arms locked around your middle as he begins trailing kisses down your neck.

"the forest is less dangerous than you are." you swallowed down your nerves as you spoke.

"I am flattered you think so~" your chin is pulled to the side, Rook claiming your lips with his own. while he had kissed you before, you usually tried to reject him.

yet today, you found yourself sighing into his mouth. Rook's tongue sucked on yours, hungry but not greedy. he was overwhelming to your senses yet as your eyes rolled back and your knees buckled he caught you steady against his chest.

the steady sucking and massaging of his mouth against yours had your muscles tighten. a small mewl let out to vibrate into his mouth.

"my needy songbird, such lovely melodies pulled from your throat. please, let me hear more." he panted into your skin, mouth now leaving yours to trail down your neck again. a warm trail kissed into your skin. he licked and sucked strongly, but never bit. it was an empty threat. simply an attempt at pulling sounds of pleasure from you.

gasps and sighs of his name left your lips. a part of your mind pleaded with you to refuse him. to try and run once more. yet you knew, he'd simply find you again. and next time he won't treat you so gentle.

Rook pants something against your neck, its to quiet for you to understand. before you can try and decipher his words you are on your back on the grass now, hands still hidden beneath you.

"stay still ma cherie." he instructs. "I won't harm you, I promise." you dont believe him, yet he was already wrapping a black piece of cloth around your head. your vision is robbed from you, leaving a sense of panic in the back of your throat.

"hey! w-whats going on?" you tried to bite back the shake in your voice. he silenced you with another kiss. this one was softer then the last, now intent on keeping you calm.

"do not move mon amour. i do not wish to cut you." you froze at his words. the cold feeling of a blade against your stomach.

"R-Rook! wait!" you cried, but he had already sliced up to your chin. the hunting knife caved away your clothing with little resistance. he pulled the tattered shirt from your body, leaving only the furs protecting your back from the grass.

"magnifique." Rook practically pants at seeing your skin exposed to his hungry eyes. next the knife is dragged down from your stomach. the cold of the metal causing your stomach to jump at the sensitivity.

you can feel the warmth of your arousal pooling, thighs flexing as the knife moves lower. Rook taps the flat of the blade over your clothed sex, a chuckle pulled from the frenchman.

"if I didnt know better, id think you were enjoying this." he teases. you gasp in shock as he cuts through the crotch of your pants. cold metal against your sensitive tissue. his precision is exact, never leaving a mark on your skin.

with a few more cuts your undergarments and pants are stripped away, leaving you bare to the hunters eyes.

Rook moans at the sigh of you. arms tied back, blindfold hiding your sight, and completely nude aside from the soft furs.

"oh mon amour, i have never seen such breathtaking beauty before. you are truly a work of art." his voice is needy, whine settling into his tone. "please, let me devour you."

before you can respond you feel a warm tongue between your legs. breath hitching into another mewl for him as Rook begins his work. you thrust your hips up into his face, already feeling the vibrations on his tongue and throat from his moans. your fingers itch to pull on his hair and tug the man closer, yet your wrists burn from the ropes.

"you taste divine my songbird." he pauses to press praises into your inner thighs as you whine for him to return to your aching sex again.

"Rook- please-" panting causing you to raise your hips once again. he raises to press kisses over your chest. you feel a bare hand on your skin, proof he had removed his gloves.

"shh mon amour, i will give you everything you need and more." he paints the promise into your skin as his fingers come to circle your hole. he presses in with only his middle finger first, gentle. letting your body pull him in and squeeze him tight.

as he begins to curl it within you your back arches. hes quick to find the spot to make your breath hitch and your walls flutter. another finger is added, making sure you are comfortable with the pair.

you are shaking and whimpering for him by the time he pulls his hand away. you can hear him rustling, and the sound of his breathing not far away. even just from pleasuring you hes begun to work himself up.

"Rook?" you call, voice unsure.

"I'm right here ma cherie, right here." his breath is back on your neck again. warm bare skin now against yours. he lifts you carefully, pulling you into his lap. you can feel his firm chest against your back. the furs now slipped down around your bound arms. "do not lean forward." the warning confuses you at first.

the confusion is forgotten as he slides into you slowly. Rook is gentle as he enters you, yet he still lets out a long and loud moan. you gasp his name, balance stolen from you as you keel forwards. the huntsman grabs you quickly, pulling you back into a sitting position.

"song-nnnnuh-songbird," he whine below you, setting a gentle pace at first. Rook holds you up in a sitting position as he lays on the grass, using the leverage to thrust up into you. he holds you by your tied wrists, insuring you dont fall forwards onto his legs.

"Rook, please, my wrists," you beg. the chafing getting worse and the reverse cowgirl position leaving it hard for you to balance. you feel the cool blade at your skin again.

"when I cut you free, place your hands on me knees, understood?" his tone is stern, strange for his usual way of speaking to you. still half distracted by the pleasurable stretch of him filling you up you simply nod.

your wrists are cut free and you fall forward, reaching or his knees as instructed. however, something is strange. Rook's legs are not straight, his knees are bent, dangling over something. confusion plagues you as you lift a hand to remove your blindfold.

the huntsman groans when you lean forward, hands gripping your hips and thrusting harder. you gasp at the angle, and yet your breath is stolen when you look out into the world again.

you try to scramble back, but the flat of a blade is pressed to your shoulder blades just above the furs.

"non non~ the valley is beautiful, you should admire it." you can hear the pleasure in Rooks voice from your fear.

Rooks legs dangle over the side of the cliff at his knees, most of your upper body now leaned over the cliff. the only thing holding you back is your hips against his and his cock buried inside you.

"oh! trickster! I can feel you clench in fright!" he moans from behind you, knife now trailing down your spine.

"Rook! stop! what if I fall!" you shriek in fright. he chuckles, knife discarded, he sits up, arms around your waist. he begins trusting up while pulling you down to meet him with one hand, the other reaching to your front to stroke at your sex.

"what if? not to worry ma cherie~ im right here~" he purrs, pressing kisses to your shoulder. "now tell me, what is more frightening? me, or the valley floor below you~"

#rook hunt #yandere rook hunt #yandere twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #rook hunt smut #rook hunt x reader #gender neutral reader

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olivyh · 1 year

Note

hi,

if u are not busy with anything, can u do malleus x reader with angst to comfort?

Great work, take care of yourself

A/N: I have so many requests that I haven't gotten around to I'm sorry guys ;;;; I'm on a motivation kick so I'll start getting those out as soon as I can! ALSO IM A SUCKER FOR POETIC MALLEUS AND IT MAKES MY HEART GO BOOM bc tell me why Malleus is literally the "my love, I am intoxicated" meme

Happy chapter 7!!!

TW: Drowning, maybe suicide if you look a little closely

Malleus is constantly reminded of the day he nearly drowned in the tub as a child.

It's silly, to think that the heir to the Valley of Thorns would be destined to face death in a bathtub.

It wasn't his fault that it was silent aside from the dripping of the water that poured from the side of the tub and leaked onto the tiles the more he sunk into it. Not his fault that he was so exhausted from his daily lessons that his hands burned and cramped as he felt a knot where his neck met his back that he couldn't seem to get rid of no matter how much he fidgeted and stretched. The warm water of the bath seemed to seep deep into his bones and nestle within him, reigniting the fire that had been so thoroughly burnt out from his short time of living as the crown prince of the valley of thorns.

Malleus stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled howling of the wind outside and trying to bite back the chill of the air that rests on the tip of his nose as a harsh contrast to the comfort of the water, heated by his servants' magic and maintained by his own. The intricate carvings of warriors and magicians alike; fae and human both dueling as sparks flew across the tapestries and danced within the stone, jewels embedded within the eyes that seemed to stare at him.

As a child, Malleus used to fear the unspoken words that lay within those gemstones. He could not decipher if they were cruel, or if they were kind. Did the human wish to speak to him or kill him?

The fae that stretched from the marble seemed even more daunting, their eyes glowed in the dim candlelight of his bathroom casting long shadows across their sharp face as they glared down at the boy who sunk deeper into the bath at their gaze. They seemed to be frowning at him rather than at the much smaller human they were dueling.

"This is your fault," He imagined them saying. "What kind of ruler are you?"

"I'm not..." Malleus would sniffle, his tears dripping into the water, masked by the dampness that cascaded from his strands and streaked down his worried face, bright, innocent green eyes filled with too much worry for a child so young as him. The weight of the world upon small shoulders, too much a weight for a child alone to bear. The sins and torment of war, the blood of human and fae alike on his small hands that had just learned to hold a pen properly. What was he not? What was he, truly? The crown prince of the valley of thorns? A Dragon fae? Among the most powerful in the world?

Was he not the ruler he was told he would be? Was he a ruler at all?

Power was a heavy burden, much too heavy even for the child who had the delicate balance of the world placed in his care.

Malleus sunk deeper into the water, feeling his body relax further as his tail wrapped comfortingly around his leg. He often daydreamed that it would be his mother combing his hair and dousing the thick ivory strands, telling him tales of when she was a young child, a Princess before a Queen, as he would play with the suds that floated gently to the surface.

In that world, his parents were both still alive and well, not yet cast carelessly to the whims of the underworld. His grandmother would still sit with him and listen to his babbles and his fairytales, not yet burdened with the work of three royals- the crown prince not yet ready to wear the crown's weight (he feared that if he were to wear it, it would slip around his neck and crush his windpipe, the weight too large and the boy too weak).

He sighed and sank deeper into the water, exhaustion pulling at his soft eyelids and gushing him into a dreamless sleep. He felt the warmth around him- perhaps the warmth of his mother's arms or his father's hand upon his head. The warmth of his grandmother's coat and of Lilia's encouragement as he tucked him into bed (Malleus supposed that he missed that most of all, the thought of Lilia dying on the battlefield leading to many tear-filled nights sobbing quietly into his pillow. He missed the bat fae most of all, and dreaded the day the man's troops would come back into the kingdom and General VanRouge would be nowhere to be seen. Oh how he longed for Lilia to have written down a story or two for him to read on long nights such as these.).

Suddenly his lungs were filled with that warmth, and Malleus was sure he was drowning as he stared through the surface of the water back at the scenes that played out on the ceiling.

What scared him the most was that he did not flail, nor scream nor cry nor beg the stars for another chance at life. He was at peace as the water took him, as it filled his being and blurred his vision beneath the soapy water.

Bitterly he thought that a lavender-scented death would not be the worst.

The servants pulled him from the bath and pampered him, escorted him into his room and helped him get into his pajamas (luxurious, yes, but the collar was much too tight and reminded him all too much of the scratchy lace of the collars he's forced to wear day in and day out, a constant reminder of the threat that came with his title. One wrong move and he will lose his head, he's sure.).

Every day Malleus was reminded of that peace, of the chill that bit at his cheeks from the storm outside, of the absolute bliss that came with finally allowing his body to float in the vastness between life and death.

He was no longer a child, and the shadow of the crown that loomed overhead became more and more solid as it reached for him, thorns that wrapped around his limbs and held him to the ground, biting into his pale skin and ripping into his leathery wings until he grit his teeth and set them all ablaze in a green glow that consumed the world should he lose control. Malleus was forced to twirl in a macabre waltz with his destiny, the destiny that doomed him to centuries of solitude, of isolation from the warmth he sought oh so desperately.

By the time Lilia had returned from the war, Malleus was no longer the wide-eyed, innocent child that he once had been. The fanciful stories no longer filled him with warmth- it filled him with the dread and the sorrow that came with knowing that he could never achieve that fairytale ending that he craved. Even Lilia could not undo the effects of the jeers of the citizens of the Valley of Thorns, the trauma cause by sharing death after death that lingered within the tall stone walls of the castle- all caused by the war that was declared by his own blood.

He was a prince, yes. But he could never fill the role of being someone's savior for he was the villain in everyone's story but his own. He could never hold someone as close as he wished, for he would rather lock them away in a tower far, far away from everyone else because he would finally have something that was his, someone who did not stay around him due to obligation or fear- someone who stayed simply because they wanted to.

Perhaps that part of his nature was what made him so villainous, so unlovable to all those who were near.

His loneliness left him in more agony than the thorns that had detained him from birth. The isolation was similar to the cold that nipped at his porcelain skin that same night. He'd imagined that only a watery grave could lift the weight of the crown from his head. Malleus often imagined that same warmth as he watched the jeweled headpiece float to the surface as he sank to the bottom. With a morbid curiosity he often wondered what it would feel like to give into that craving for release- would the people mourn him? Or would they instead mourn the empty position left over?

Yet, the chill of the night seems to be at bay as he sits now with his lover in his arms, head resting against his broad chest as they sleep peacefully, face twitching with every movement within their dream. He slowly wraps the blanket tighter around them as his eyes trail to the small fireplace that sat in Ramshackle's lounge. The fire crackled and snapped, small embers rising up the chimney as the walls creaked with the same wind that shook him to the core that very night.

He had found his warmth, his breath of air as he broke free from the surface. The crown would still lay heavy atop his head, would still scratch at his horns and get tangled in his hair as the vines would still bite into his skin as he tore away at them only for more to appear in their places.

He would bear all that and ten times more for his love.

Malleus rests his hand against their head, smiling softly at the way they stir in their sleep as they felt his icy hands make contact with their own heated skin.

"My Love?" He whispers, deep voice reverberating in his chest against the peace of the night. "Would you stay if you truly knew the burden of being a royal?"

No response, not that he expected any. The fae continues anyways, feeling his jaw clench as tears stream down his face.

"Would you deny me if you knew of the agony you would go through? Would you shut me away and leave me forgotten in this wasteland if you had a mere taste of the burden that is loving a prince?" His breaths were becoming more ragged as the tears continued to fall. "Would you still hold my affections within your heart if you'd heard of the condemnable thoughts that race through my mind- the thoughts that tell me to hide you away and keep you safe from this damnable world we call ours?" The war and the blood and the grief from the blood spilled, isolation, endless nights in his study, a prince forced to be alone by himself for centuries, discarded if not for the blood that pumps through his veins.

"Would you mourn me if I allow your warmth to be my demise?"

"Mal?" He hears them murmur. He feels a twinge of guilt for waking them, unaware of his sniffling and how it disturbed their slumber.

"Apologies, my Love."

"Don't be sorry," They rub their eyes and Malleus feels as though he held his very future within his clawed hands, images of seeing them in this state day and night flashing through his mind at such high speeds that it makes his head spin as he subconsciously holds them tighter. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Please, rest."

"Are you sure?" They sit up and press their forehead to his as they allow their eyes to slip closed once more, pressing a soft kiss to his cold lips and pulling away far too soon for the greedy dragon’s liking. "How can I help you?"

"Hold me, please," Malleus can't hide the desperation that seeps into his voice as the words climb from his throat. They wrap their arms around his neck and pull him closer into the plush couch. He wraps his arms around them as well, one arm snaking around their waist while another entangles itself in the hair at the base of their skull as he buries his face in the crook of their neck, careful of his horns. It's only a matter of seconds before his lover is fast asleep once more, and Malleus feels the pull of slumber upon himself. He allows his eyes to slip closed, pulling the human closer to him and praying to the stars that he dreams of this moment for now and forever.

#malleus draconia #chapter 7 #twst chapter 7 #diasomnia #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus x reader angst #twst angst #twst fluff #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #diasomnia x reader

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simp-ly-writes · 6 months

Text

Potions and Early Meetings

Pairing: Stardew Valley Harvey x Reader

Summary: Harvey finds the reader while out for an afternoon walk in the woods, one event leads to another- the future uncertain.

Warnings: character being under the influence of magic.

A/N: I imagine this to fit nicely between the early days of meet the doctor. Oh, decisions, decisions as to what should come next with my writing....

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Harvey finds you passed out from the wizards tree potion. He ends up giving you a piggyback ride back to your farm (as per your demands).

On the way there you tease him endlessly while becoming increasingly fixated on combing your fingers through the small knots in his hair. And by the time he drops you on your front steps and let's out a sigh, he gives you a quick look over while feeling around your head for any bumps or brusing. Looking at him, dead serious, in the eyes you say that he should never do that again for he might break his back and then go on to babble about everything you remember about the spine from middle school health class.

That gets his attention once more, throwing a cautioned look at your still intoxicated state. You start to motion forward in order to grab his glasses but he ends of stepping back causing you to fall forwards on to his chest.

As you giggle about your closeness, Harvey sighs again and tries to convince you to lay inside your home. You shake your head against his chest, eyes closing, mumbling how you are comfy right where you are.

Harvey knows that you'll regret everything you are doing and saying now once you come back around. So in an effort to save yourself from future embarrassment. He hoists your body up. Arm around your shoulders as he asks for your key and moves you inside.

As soon as you hit the couch, you are fast asleep as Harvey grabs you a tall glass of water from the kitchen and checks on your plants around the dining room. Making sure that you are breathing alright he locks the door on his way out and wonders if you'll ever talk to him after what has happened. A large part of himself hope's that you will.

#stardew valley harvey #sdv harvey #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #harvey stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #harvey x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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morihaus · 8 months

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Teeth

The story of the Lantern is a story about hunger. Not just that, it's a story about eating, and thusly, a story about teeth.

In that dreary gray valley where everything began, hunger existed before matter. Before that first world rose from the dregs of the pitch river, when flickering spirits lived and babbled in forgotten tongues while the mightiest of lasting languages were spoken in the shiftless palaces of heaven, yes, these spirits yet knew hunger. Whether they admit it or not, they all learned from the river.

Boesha was one of these spirits, a mote who dwelt in the swell and lived only to be dashed against the shores. She fought and struggled to stay afloat, thrashing against black currents to wrench herself from the all consuming rapid and carve her name into the shale of the bank, but like countless others, she was too small to resist. But then, by chance, as she sunk down towards the riverbed, she found herself raised up; it was a golden world rising to the surface, and stood before her and the other sinking spirits was its maker, the daughter of the river: Tsae.

After carving her name onto that world, Boesha became Tsae's most loyal student. When Tsae spoke, she hung on every word; when Tsae was insulted, she made the sword to defend her name and the names of all creation; when she traveled, she raised Tsae's banner and shouted her name in every language she knew so that all of the valley would know of her wisdom and compassion for every spirit.

And when the scaled king of heaven descended to sculpt a son in his image-- building him from the black mud of the river so he would carry its hunger, a hunger so deep as to swallow the world-- and the first world was devoured by the pitch scaled prince, none, not even Tsae, were more furious than Boesha.

Long, long after all of this, Boesha stands with Tsae at the shore of the river Scodai. They watch as the 12th world, its every language and matter, is torn apart by the teeth of dragons.

Boesha grabs for her sword, but the river's daughter stays her hand.

"I understand that it is your nature, Bo, but please, seek no further strife with them."

She stares dumbstruck at her teacher, enraged. "What are you talking about?!? Do they not deserve my strife??? This world was even shorter than the last! Those gluttonous serpents, why should they get to fill themselves with all your hard work!?!"

With an impassive expression, Tsae looks down at her knight. "It cannot be helped. That is their nature." The black stream laps at her bare feet and in her black robes and the dull darkness that consumes the middle valley, she appears as a tributary of her mother river. "They will not relent, nor will their father. Ka does not know change like we do."

At this point, Boesha recognizes the sereneness in her teacher's dark face that means she knows something she doesn't. "What?!" Boesha demands. "What is it? You're planning something??? Will we finally kill that despicable-"

"Kill? No."

"No!?!?"

Tsae shakes her head. "Look, Bo, and think." She guides her student's eye to the collapsing world. A great ocean atop a river, mountains that barely escape the surface of the brackish blue water, vast kingdoms of coral; each thing a morsel in the yawning maw of Alduin and his brothers. The firstborn drinks up the ocean, devouring the largest share as the eldest eater, while his younger kin pick at this or that, arguing over the scraps like scavengers. Almost everything is destroyed when they eat it; they are voids, not containers, born of their father's will to maintain control over the barren world below. What escapes their mouths breaks off and sinks down to the bottom of the inky-black river, vanishing, but not destroyed.

"They have to destroy it when they eat it. Otherwise, it would change them. They would become it." Tsae explains, setting a hand on Boesha's shoulder. "Why not kill them? Because there are better uses for their power." She smiles. "I have an idea for the next world... a Lantern, one that's fire will consume them."

Boesha looks up at her teacher. "What fire can consume a dragon?"

Tsae's smile grows, her teeth cut a white crescent into her face. "Yours."

---

Another beast slain, another god dead. Tserida-Shak, Student of Boesha, Master of Tsaescence, has led her warriors in another successful hunt. Her party is fifteen Blades and herself, almost so skilled in the Kiai now as to be an overwhelming force to any dragon; more now flee than fight, the rise of these warriors who slice apart their words has rattled their number so.

Nevermore would the menfolk toil beneath the wings of serpents. Now that the fires of the Lantern burn in their eyes and light the path to deliverance, they can walk this road, swords in hand, and slit the throat that would swallow their world.

As always, her disciples watch as their teacher calls out for the defeated dragon's spirit; bright orange-gold flames rise from its corpse, burning flesh and filling the air with a metallic scent. Its soul is hers, but not in whole, some cuts of its immortal flesh still cling to its skeleton. These, they know, are for them.

At the end of every successful hunt, a great feast is held. A bonfire is lit but only for warmth and tributes, for the serpent's steak is best eaten raw with all its vital essences.

Gomak-Resae, demon-helmet doffed, regards his meal, dragon's flesh on a dragonbone plate. An almost inky ichor of blood pools at the bottom of the rough and chewy cut of meat. It's nowhere near as appetizing as beef or venison, but the wealth of mystic powers contained within are the true flavor of this dish.

He looks to his side to see his mentor digging in to her cut, some hock from the thigh; without cutlery, she rips at it with her teeth, the wrought sinews of the serpent stretching and snapping in her jaws. Her brow is set furrowed, flames dance in her eyes while she stares deep into the bonfire, deep, as though it were a doorway.

"Master." Gomak speaks lowly as all her cohort help themselves, some still cutting more from the corpse, throwing offerings onto the flame or burying them within the earth. "I understand that you leave this essence behind when you swallow their spirits... so that we can eat of it ourselves. I thank you for this, and all else you have given us, but I have often wondered... why is it that you eat their flesh as well?"

Tserida-Shak works over the bite still in her mouth before reaching for her waterskin and washing it down. She regards her pupil, eyes still shining as she turns to him. "Because I am hungry."

Gomak-Resae waits for more, then realizes how simple the answer really was. "Oh... my apologies, Master. I was not sure whether devouring a spirit would fill your stomach."

Tserida hums. "It does," she takes another bite and speaks around it, "but not enough. It's not a mortal way."

Gomak-Resae begins to eat as well, tearing strips off with his bare hands then bringing them to his mouth. The juice of dragon's blood is what gives this meat its rich stinging taste, and so he rolls balls out of the skins and dips them in the puddle of ichor collecting at the bottom of his plate. He would be remiss to waste even a drop. "Mortal way?" He asks.

"Of eating." She says, clearing her throat. "Too quick, too clean. Mortals eat slowly. We bite it until our teeth are touching, we tear it apart, we chew it, we savor it." She stares into the flame again. "That's the same way Boesha ate them."

Her student commits this lesson by firelight to memory and takes another bite of the dragon's flesh. It's no wonder the Dov are so terrified by these mere mortals. What can the eater do when their meal turns its teeth on them?

#moriada #mori writing #tsaesci #tesfest23

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keydekyie · 6 months

Text

Ever the Pragmatist

Sliuk needs to take a walk to clear her head, but company finds her.

(a character study exploring the dynamics between Sliuk, her littlest brother, and her friend Ciph. Takes place several years after The Grounded Sphinx and ~one year before Sliuk’s coming-of-age.)

2320 words. No Content warnings.

▶──◆─◈─◇─◈─◆──◀

“Where are you going?”

The words brought Sliuk to a halt, just inside the boundary of the forest. She didn’t turn to look, just pinned her ears and slumped. And she’d been so hoping no one would notice her slipping away.

“Nowhere interesting, I promise,” she said, and in truth she didn’t know. She just wanted to be anywhere else.

“Can I come?”

“No.” Sliuk waited for either argument or begrudging acceptance, one or the other, but neither came. “Go back to Mama. She’s got work for you.”

“But where are you going?”

“I just… I just needed to take a walk, that’s all.”

“Well… I need one too!” At that, the sound of scampering footsteps brought Ruyak into view beside her. He stopped there, looking up at her with a defiant pout.

Sliuk grumbled, “Go take your own walk, then.”

“I’m not allowed to walk alone anymore.”

“Since when did that stop you?”

Ruyak smirked at her. He already looked disheveled enough with his gangly legs and mussed hair, but with his missing baby teeth his smile was extremely crooked. What a sight.

“Fine,” Sliuk huffed, trying not to smile back, “but you’d better keep up or I’ll leave you behind for the drakes to eat.”

She stepped into the cool shade of the summer forest, and her feet found a path through the underbrush downhill. Perhaps she’d find the stream and walk to the valley? The stagscrown flowers would be blooming now, and the insects buzzing amongst them.

Ruyak’s footsteps trundled along after her, but he said nothing as they walked, and the soft sounds of the forest finally began to soothe Sliuk’s frayed nerves. The sighing of the trees, the singing of the birds, the creaking of the pines. But Ruyak’s silence was a little strange. He was usually so full of questions or random observations that it took all of Sliuk’s patience not to stuff a bush in his mouth to shut him up. Despite the welcome quiet, it wasn’t long before she found herself worrying about him.

She paused, turning to look back. “Does Mama know you’re walking with me?”

“No. She was still mad. I didn’t want to ask her.”

“She’ll be even madder when she finds out you’re gone.”

Ruyak stopped and frowned worriedly at that, as though he hadn’t thought that far ahead, then he set his ears and popped his chin up. “I don’t care. She probably won’t even notice.”

“She’s probably already noticed.”

Ruyak’s confidence faltered again, but he shook his head and stepped around Sliuk to walk ahead. “Whatever.”

“If you say so,” Sliuk muttered.

They walked in silence for a time, and soon came to a clearing where the stream ran through the grass in a babbling torrent. Ruyak bounded forward and splashed his hands in the water with a grin.

“Is it cold?” Sliuk asked.

“Yeah!”

“Perfect.” Sliuk lunged into the water, splashing Ruyak with an icy wave. He squealed and splashed her back in a rapid flurry of smacks, then jumped out of the creek to the bank on the other side.

He made a big show of shaking off and looking very wet and indignant. Sliuk watched him, smirking. When he paused, glancing her way, she nimbly darted to the side in time to dodge his sneak-attack. A splash-fight commenced that was so raucous it soon ceased mattering who was winning as they were both soaked.

After a lengthy feud, a truce was finally struck, and the two of them sat down in a patch of warm sunlight to dry off, laughing and gasping for breath. Sliuk ruffled Ruyak’s wet hair and he batted her hand away with a giggle.

Suddenly Ruyak blurted, “Papa told Mama that they were too soft on you, and that’s why you don’t listen anymore.”

Sliuk scoffed. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know.” Ruyak sobered then, looking up at the trees and watching the light play in the leaves. “Do you think they’re too soft on me, too?”

“No. I wish they’d be softer.”

“But maybe that’s why I’m bad.”

“Bad? What makes you think you’re bad?”

“I don’t listen.”

Sliuk scowled. If Ruyak had a problem, it wasn’t that he didn’t listen, though there were times he seemed to have selective hearing. What got him in trouble most often was his habit of listening readily to whoever happened to be speaking at any given time. He could be persuaded to do anything with a word, especially if that word happened to come out of one of his brothers’ mouths. That didn’t mean he wasn’t punished soundly for his misbehavior, just that the mischief he was punished for was usually not of his design.

He wasn’t particularly creative, in that way.

“You’re not bad,” Sliuk told him, “but perhaps it might be good to listen with your heart sometimes, and not just with your ears.”

Ruyak wrinkled his nose. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Sliuk chuckled. “It sure sounded smart, didn’t it?”

“It sounded sappy!” Ruyak smiled at her with that crooked toothy smile, but after a moment it faded and his ears fell. “I wish Mama would stop yelling at you. I think you’re right, anyway, most of the time.”

“Mama just hates being wrong.”

“Yeah…”

A shadow passed over them then, silent as a cloud, and Sliuk looked up to see a set of huge white wings circling down into the clearing.

“Afternoon!” the spotted white sphinx called out as she banked. She came swooping towards Sliuk and beat her wings to make a landing right on Sliuk’s shoulder, buffeting the clearing with gusts of wind.

“Hello there,” Sliuk laughed, leaning to the side in surprise. “What’s brought you down here to mingle with us poor earth-bound creatures, hmm?”

Struggling to balance on her perch without using her claws, Ciph purred, “I thought you might appreciate the soothing light of my presence.”

Ruyak groaned dramatically and threw his head back.

“Oh,” Ciph said with a glare, lashing her tail at him, “I’m sorry, it seems a little turd has clung to you.”

Ruyak bristled in outrage. “I’m not a turd!”

Ciph gasped, drawing herself up with a white paw to her chest. “The turd speaks! Who knew?”

“Don’t tease him,” Sliuk told her. “We’ve had a bad day.”

“Oh? Did Kadu sit on a hot coal or something?”

Sliuk chuckled, but didn’t answer. Instead she leaned over to Ruyak, telling him quietly, “I think it’s time for you to go back, now.”

Ruyak pouted and grumbled in protest. Sliuk reached over and ruffled his hair again with her claws, then started to leave, following the creek with Ciph riding on her back. On the edge of the clearing she glanced back, to see that Ruyak was still sitting in the patch of sunlight.

He looked small and lonely there, ears lowered, still damp from their splash battle. What weight could a mind so young be burdened with to make him look so wretched? Probably he just wanted to play some more.

“Go on,” Sliuk told him, “before Mama or the others notice you’re gone.” And with that, she left him there.

The walk through the forest felt more restful alone with Ciph. The sphinx had more patience for silence than Ruyak did, though it was inevitable she’d start her own questions in due time. She was simply more artful about it.

They came out into an open glade, where an outcropping of flat stones jutted out of the grass in patches. Ciph launched herself from Sliuk’s shoulder, the force shoving Sliuk nearly off her feet, and flew over to one of the sunny rocks, where she immediately lay down and rolled over with her feet in the air.

“Dignified,” Sliuk chuckled.

Ciph ignored her, rolling around and kicking her legs. She made the warm, sunny stones look extremely inviting, so Sliuk wandered over and lay down on an adjacent rock, where the warmth could soak into her damp belly fur.

After a moment Ciph rolled back over to sit up. She shook her wings out and took the time to preen her disheveled feathers, then fixed Sliuk with a significant look.

Sliuk sighed and looked away.

“Sooo,” Ciph urged, “what did the boys do this time?”

“It wasn’t them… well, not directly, anyway. I was arguing with my parents.“

“About what?”

“The same old thing, really…”

“Which is…?”

“It’s just… it’s infuriating to me that my brothers aren’t expected to follow the same rules as I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“All three of them can vanish for a whole day and my father just laughs it off, but if I so much as take an afternoon for myself, it’s all, ‘Where were you Sliuk? What were you up to? What trouble are you getting into?’ And it’s none! The answer is always none!”

“Perhaps it’s the fact you’re going off by yourself that worries them?”

“But Kadu goes off by himself, and I know he gets up to trouble when he does. He’s a fawn-eater, and he leaves our territory to do it, too!”

“A fawn-eater?”

“Eating young animals is forbidden. He does it anyway, though. My parents don’t believe me. He’s coming of age this year, and I don’t think anyone realizes how horrible he is. I’m afraid when he gets his Adinen the girls will be falling all over him, and before you know it he’ll be a father with a territory and he’ll be just like-” Sluik cut herself off, gripping her hair in her claws. “I hate to think of his smug face getting away with it. Drives me mad.”

Ciph was quiet for a moment, considering, then she asked, “Is it worse to eat fawns or humans?”

“Fawns,” Sliuk grumbled.

“Wow, I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“Why?” Sliuk looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought you hated humans?”

“I do, but you’ve always hated the idea of eating them.”

“Humans aren’t a resource, they don’t matter. But the deer are relied on by others. Fawns need to have a chance to grow and mature. An adult deer can reproduce, and it’s a bigger meal.”

“Ever the pragmatist.” Ciph grimaced. “What if you were starved, and you had to choose one or the other? Would you rather eat a human or a fawn?”

Sliuk sighed, shaking her head. “I’m not in the mood for this, Ciph.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, try not to worry so much about what Kadu does or doesn’t get away with. He’ll have his comeuppance, one day. He can’t hide behind your father forever.”

Sliuk frowned off into the distance. “Maybe.”

With a casual flick of her tail, Ciph got to her feet and sauntered closer. “Anyone with half a brain could see you’re the smartest and most responsible of your siblings. Your parents just can’t see past Kadu’s handsome face.”

Sliuk threw her a disparaging smirk. “You think Kadu’s face is handsome, do you?”

Undeterred, Ciph put her front paws up on Sliuk’s arm. “Objectively, sure. But not in a particularly compelling way. He’s like… a nice symmetrical pinecone.”

Sliuk snorted.

“Not hard to look at, you know,” Ciph went on, “but I’d rather have nothing to do with him.” Ciph tilted her head and stretched her back gracefully, leaning heavily on Sliuk’s arm and gazing into her eyes.

Sliuk found herself transfixed, watching the slit pupils in Ciph’s blue eyes dilate. With a flustered grunt, she cleared her throat and leaned back to break eye contact. Ciph just laughed, and the sound made Sliuk’s chest flutter.

“Anyway,” Sliuk grumbled, turning away in an attempt to hide the heat on her face. “Enough about all that. How’s your day been?”

“Simply lovely,” Ciph purred. “I’ve eaten two martens, a few beps, and a book about a man transformed into a sable by a vengeful spirit.”

Sliuk wrinkled her nose. “You ate a book?”

“Well, I read it. Then I shredded it and rolled around in it a while, and I may have eaten a little bit of it then. You know they make the pages out of skin, sometimes?”

“Why do you shred the books you read?”

“Oh, why shouldn’t I?” Ciph suddenly rolled over sideways into Sliuk’s chest with a thump. “They’re nice to roll around on.”

“What if someone else wanted to read them?”

“I don’t know anyone else worth giving them to. None of you can read, and the sphinxes I know don’t think the books I like are any good. They prefer truthful books.”

“The books you like aren’t truthful?”

Ciph went still, then with a laugh like a ringing bell she began to roll herself around between Sliuk’s arms like something on a spit. “Does a story about a man being turned into a sable sound truthful to you?”

“I… well I don’t know!” Sliuk fidgeted in embarrassment. “Maybe magic can do things I’ve never seen before.”

“It was fiction, my dear. I like the books that tell stories, but most of the true stories are awfully depressing.” Ciph continued wiggling around on her back, pushing herself against Sliuk’s arms and rubbing her head in her fur. “Books are best when they are about the obscure and strange and fantastic, I think.”

"I suppose I wouldn't know."

Ciph brightened then, sitting up and craning her neck back to look into Sliuk’s eyes. “I’ll read you one aloud, sometime.”

Sliuk blinked at her, and the summer sun was hot on her back, and the stone under her belly was warm, and the breeze brought to her the smell of flowers and earth and growing things, and in that moment no problem felt particularly unsolvable. None of the worries that seemed at times to live in Sliuk’s head as denizens were troubling her. Perhaps it would all work out.

“I’d like that.” Sliuk smiled.

#it's Sliuk/Ciph fluff!#a little #at this point in their relationship Ciph is like an affectionate feral cat #constantly coming over and rubbing on your legs and purring and being very cute and silly #but if you so much as reach to pet her she hisses and swats at you in outrage #writing #grace makes art #tmatb #the grounded sphinx #ciph #sliuk #ruyak

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amethysttribble · 1 year

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But Soon It’ll be High in the Sky

@feanorianweek Entry 2: Maglor (+Ambarussa) - Twins

The House of Feanor is summering in Formenos. Three brothers are paying more attention to the world around them than the rest.

This one’s fluffy! Maglor is not naturally good with kids, but he’s trying. By god is he trying.

The only thing worse than one sticky, smelly child was two of them and Macalaure’s parents were never to be outdone.

Set with babysitting his two youngest brothers, he had never more despaired being the second oldest. One of his old school friends, Ravennie, said he was lucky, being the youngest meant being talked down to, condescended to, and told how to run your life. But in Macalaure’s experience, being second oldest meant he had all of the responsibility and none of the authority.

“Come on,” Carnistir had joked as Macalaure tried to wrestle the pair of four-year-olds into shoes, “at least it’s not Atarinke. Ambarussa are little enough to actually listen to you.”

Macalaure had stuck his tongue out at him, and Carnistir walked away, laughing as he lugged a box of old papers around.

Today, they were cleaning the estate. As Father said, if they were going to be in Formenos for a whole summer, they ought to arrange the palace to be fit for a long term stay. Servants and sons alike had been marshaled for the task, except for Macalaure, who had spent all night composing, all morning sleeping, and drew the chores short-straw.

“Kano,” Telvo whined from the ground, “my shoe’s on.”

“Oh,” Macalaure muttered, then dropped his brother’s fat little foot. He’d been so distracted glaring after Carnistir, he didn’t even notice it had slipped on. “I guess we’re ready to go then.”

He stood up straight and reached down to take one already worrying wet hand from each twin in his, trying not to cringe. He had a small back of toys strapped to his back next to his harp, so hopefully the boys would mostly be able to fend for themselves. Pityo and Telvo were far more self-sufficient children than Tyelkormo or Carnistir or been- or, horror of horrors, Little Curufinwe.

“Come on,” he said, and started walking- slowly, so that their little feet didn’t trip- out the door and down the stairs. He guided the twins past the busy carriage entrance, away from the flower garden, and towards the grassy valley plains. Everything was flat and open there, which made it easy to keep an eye.

As they walked, Pityo and Telvo chattered back and forth with each other, in their little language that was half Quenya, half something from their own heads. Only Father could really understand them when they got like that, Macalaure didn’t even try to follow their baby babble.

Instead, he sang quietly under his breath, the piece he’d been working on since they reached Formenos. This distraction was annoying, but he could work around it. He had a new masterpiece to finish, after all.

Once they were a suitable distance from the house, Macalaure plopped down in the tall grass and started unpacking.

“Alright, so I have some spinning tops and a wooden board, I have some stuffed animals, I have- can I trust you not to eat game board pieces?”

Pity and Telvo, standing hand-in-hand next to him, shared a look.

“Yes,” Telvo said carefully, but Pityo’s big grin and little giggle gave them away.

“So, no board games. I’ve got some snacks here, nuts and fruit, and water. There’s also this… ball and cup, Eru, is this what kids play with these days? I don’t know, go wild and don’t bother me. I’m busy.”

“Boring,” Pityo whined, but Telvo fell to his hands and knees in front of Macalaure to look in the bag.

“Whatcha working on?” he said, slurring his words, though Macalaure knew his diction was good, even for his age. When they spoke to each other, though, they’re pronunciation and elocution slipped, and then it slipped when talking to everyone else.

When Macalaure was young, Father enforced speaking properly- We must always strive to speak clearly and eloquently, or else where would we be as a society? A people?- but he was far softer on the twins and far more enthralled with their particular way of mispronunciation.

“Something that I think is going to be good,” Macalaure said.

“Will ya’ play it for grandfather?” Pityo asked, as Telvo was partially swallowed by the bag of toys.

They were still young enough that playing for Grandfather, or presenting art to Grandfather, or going through recitations with Grandfather was the highest achievement one could have. For most Noldorin Elves, it was also the highest of achievements. For Macalaure, performing for his grandfather’s court and being praised by him had long since grown stale.

He had higher ambitions.

“Probably,” he said, instead of trying to explain all of that to the toddlers. “But first, I’m going to present this piece to Ingwion, and play for Manwe and Varda. If it’s as good as I hope it’ll be.”

“It will be!” Ambarussa chimed together, looking at him with massive grins and bright eyes. Telvo had emerged from the backpack with some small balls.

“Thanks,” Macalaure said, smiling slightly. He pulled his harp into his lap and started to tune. “Go play now.”

The twins dashed off without another word.

Macalaure let out a long, low breath, and sang slightly on the end of it, to find the pitch for his instrument. He repeated this movement some thirty times until all the strings were where he wanted them to be.

Then, he closed his eyes and let himself feel.

Arda stretched out before Macalaure. There was the whistle of the grass that cradled him. There was the rumble of the earth that supported him. There was the whispering of the trees, the distant burbling of the creeks, the songbirds and the crickets and the critters. Formenos was singing.

And it was the song Macalaure was trying desperately to capture in his greedy hands, to hold on tight to and hammer into shape. To wring form into the formless. To take from the song of another and make it his.

His fingers began to play.

Like a trickle, he started quietly, recreating the low drum of the world that was ever-present and rarely enjoyed. Then, he grew louder- not by much! That would ruin it. When Macalaure wrote the avalanche- or perhaps thunderstorm?- of a reprise later, then he would reach the highest heights, but for now, they were growing. Growing slowly, like the grass.

Louder, but lower, he dropped his fingers to the thicker strings. Thum, thu- thum, thum. The wind picked up. And up and up, until he reached the flowers blowing in the breeze, their voices high and lovely and thin, so his hand drifted back towards the thin strings.

And then it dropped.

Dropped down the stems of the flowers and into the earth. The sounds the first made were soft and pliable, and the roots loved them, and they sang in conjunction.

For a moment, Macalaure’s fingers faltered as he was distracted by the thought, they talk like Pityo and Telvo, and then he dismissed it. No distractions.

Where was he? Where was he, where- Ah. Yes, the ever branching roots, which hummed like tunnels, reaching down into stone. And the hard stone of Formenos had tunnels of its own, mined for years by eager Elves, practically screaming with a thousand different songs.

Gold sang, and silver sang, and copper sang. Across the mountains, Macalaure’s fingers traveled, and there sang, sapphires of blue and yellow and green. He found and stole opals, took and consumed the tune of turquoise, and he even touched on something even further down, bright like silver… and beautiful sound that not even his father had molded before?

Ah, but he was losing the tune again, so he went up.

Up and up and up and up, to the highest peak of Formenos’s grand mountains, until his harp strained so high it sounded like the string might snap and Macalaure’s finger smarted.

But a passing eagle picked him up, and they coasted down.

Slowly, Macalaure brought his newest section of song to a close. He was not ready to discuss the animals so closely. He must- must write this down. While it was fresh. He reached past the children’s toys to pull out paper and ink, and- finding the tops abandoned by his brothers- to the wooden board to write against.

Macalaure sank into musical notation, and the world outside of black and white lines and dots swirled into nothingness.

The rush of the morning had passed when he looked up; his stomach was grumbling and the sun was just passing noon. A new beautiful scene was emerging before him, but unfortunately, animals didn’t like to come out this time of days, when Elves were stomping about. Perhaps at dusk? He could ask Tyelkormo…

Macalaure sat bolt upright, dropping his harp and shifting to his knees as he suddenly realized something.

Elves stomping about. He didn’t hear Elves. He didn’t hear Pityo and Telvo.

“Oh, fuck!” he cried as he launched himself to his feet, spinning around wildly to try and catch a glimpse at two little redheads. He didn’t see anything. He didn’t see-

The grass was so high, it was taller than the twins.

“Oh shit,” Macalaure whispered, choking up. This was worse than when he lost Carnistir in the market of Alqualonde while free-styling with street musicians. This was so much worse, because Pityo and Telvo were toddlers, and there were so many unwatched bodies of water around, and animals.

Macalaure picked a direction and ran.

“Pityo!” he screamed, “Telvo! Ambarussa! Where are you, you idiots! You know you’re not supposed to go far!”

Panic choked Macalaure up on the last words. He didn’t tell them where not to play, why didn’t he tell them? He was distracted, he was working, he was listening, but evidently not close enough.

Oh Eru, of Vaire, he was so busy listening to the wild, he completely forgot to listen for-

Laughter.

There was… laughter.

Macalaure stopped running for a second, let his hand trace over the grass as he slowed. The grasses were laughing at him. And the sound of that laughter was louder… in that direction.

Macalaure went left.

He inched his way forward, listening to the grass and not his pounding heart, until another sound joined. The ever so slight giggles of an Elfling. Macalaure plunged his hands towards the ground.

His sore fingers wrapped around a squirming torso, a little body trying to crawl away.

“No, no, no!” one of the twins laughed as he was hauled up into Macalaure’s arms, unable to stop his amusement. Amusement! When Macalaure was near tears and flushed a violent red.

Little Pityo- he knew which one it was because he was dressed in green today- was fucking laughing.

“You brat,” Macalaure cursed, shaking him slightly and then pulling him close. “You scared me! What are Mother and Father going to say about this, huh? Huh?”

“I napped,” Pityo giggled, hiding his face in Macalaure’s shoulder. “The grass is real nice, so I laid down, and then took a nap. You were singing so pretty, Kano. Had to nap. And then you were so loud, woke me up. It was funny, so I hid”

“It was not funny,” Macalaure whispered petulantly. “Where’s Telvo?”

“Uh,” Pityo mumbled, pulling back and sticking his filthy fingers in his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped. “You always know where he is, don’t lie to me. Where’s Telvo?”

Pityo shook his shaggy head wildly and laughed, “Don’t know!”

And there began the game of Macalaure using one of his little brothers as a dowsing rod to try and find the other.

Growing increasingly agitated and annoyed, he would hold Pityo out and ask, “this way?” If the answer was ‘yes’, he had to try a different direction. If it was ‘no’, he went that way. Unfortunately, Pityo caught on to what Macalaure was doing after he reached the tree line, where a thicket of pines cast shade, and just started saying random things.

Macalaure was also pretty sure by that point that Telvo was watching them and running away everytime he got close.

After stumbling through the woods for fifteen minutes, desperately trying to tell one set of identical, horrible giggles from the other, he didn’t know up from down or right from left. His head was spinning, half furious, half worried, and half terrified about what his mother was going to do to him. Macalaure was about to start screaming, when he was beaten to the chase, though.

A short, high-pitched wail hit the air, and the laughter went silent. Distantly, the sound of crying kicked up, and then Pityo, nestled in his arms, started to cry, too. He was clutching his cheek, fat tears running down his face, and Macalaure knew what had happened.

His heart clenched.

It was hard to hear where the weeping was coming from with Pityo screaming in his ear, but Telvo was stationary now. Macalaure was finally able to trace the sounds of a tiny Elfling heaving massive sobs. He found his baby brother hysterical and sitting next to a bramble bush.

As expected, he was holding his cheek, but he wasn’t surrounded by a puddle of blood and none of his limbs were in the wrong places.

Carefully, Macalaure set down the equally hysterical Pityo and kneeled in front of Telvo. He pulled him into his lap and tried to pry the fingers from his face as gently as he could. It took a little tugging, but he was able to inspect the wound. There was a red slash across Telvo’s face, but it wasn’t bleeding. Just red.

Still, it must hurt.

Macalaure leaned forward and placed a kiss on the wound, then said, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m going to sing a song, alright? A healing song, it’ll make you all better.” And slowly, Macalaure began to sing one of Father’s lullabies, no different or more powerful than he sang to put the twins to sleep. It didn’t heal the wound on Telvo’s cheek, but it did call Pityo to also sit in his lap and the two of them slowly started to calm down.

As the crying quieted, Macalaure held Ambarussa and rocked them back and forth.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he said, “I’m here, I heard you. I heard you and you’re alright now.”

#maglor #amras #amrod #the silmarillion #tolkien #feanorianweek #fanfic #tribble post

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karatekels · 7 months

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Dark Desires October Masterlist

Once I finish Fresh Start, my next post will be on October 1st, and I'll be aiming to post 1 part of a fic EVERY DAY in October! Some of these are based on your requests; here's what you're in for! These aren't in any official order yet (with the exception of the last one, I think!), so if there's one you really want to see let me know! While I've currently planned for these fics to fill all 31 days of the month, if you have a creepy, dark idea feel free to submit a request! (If I don't get to it in October, I will eventually!) TW: Most of these are quite dark (because, y'know... Halloween), and some involve non-con, dub-con, or consensual non-consent. Specific warnings will of course be added to the fics as I update them.

"Unjust Reward" (request from @terrysilv): Complete! Part 1 here! A dark non-con with KK3 Terry. Daniel warns Reader that Terry is nothing but trouble, and she tries to avoid him, but when she's being chased by a group of men she turns to Terry's dojo for help. He swoops in to save the day, but expects something in return...

"Disorderly Conduct": Complete! Part 1 here! A dark Reader x Cash fic. Reader is a cop who has been working at the same precinct as Cash for awhile, and gets the vibe that something is... off. Trusting her instinct, she follows him to an abandoned building one day and catches him in the act. Unfortunately, he also catches her, and keeps her as a hostage while he tries to figure out his next move. (Takes place before events of the movie) "Heirloom" (request from @hopes-handicrafts): Complete! Part 1 here! An enemies to lovers fic with Jan Valek. Reader is Jack Crow's daughter and a vamp-hunter-in-training. When Valek attacks the old Catholic school where the Black Cross of Berziers is kept and discovers Crow's daughter is a student, he kidnaps her and takes her with him, hoping that Jack will take the bait...

"Scream for Me": In Progress! Part 1 here! [Finished for DDO; Happy-go-lucky follow up to come... maybe] Part of the "Fresh Start" universe! A dark CK Terry x Reader fic. Reader makes the mistake of telling Terry that she can't believe he was ever scary, and certainly isn't that way anymore. Terry decides to teach her a lesson, hunting her in their own home until she admits that he is still very much something to fear...

"All's Fair" (request from @terrysilv): In Progress! Part 1 here! A dark KK3 Terry. Reader has been dating Terry for awhile, and he's been patient. When she surprises him with a date at their local funfair, he thinks she'll be willing to finally make their relationship physical. At the top of the ferris wheel, he makes his move...

"In Deep Water" (anonymous request): In Progress! Part 1 here! A dark non-con with Gus Travis. Reader is an undercover cop who has gotten in with Gus's gang to get the dirt on him and Malcolm. Gus gets wind of your deception and decides to punish you - for lying, for making him fall for you, for everything. "Clear as Mud": A dark non-con with KK3 Terry. Reader pushes Terry too far asking him about his time in the Vietnam War. He does his best to describe the fear of being stalked through the jungle, but doesn't feel like he's doing it justice, and decides to help her experience it for herself... "Solar Flare": The OC x Valek romance fic I've been babbling about for awhile! Rose is forcibly turned into a weapon by the Catholic Church to help them hunt down vampires, but their ritual goes wrong. Inexplicably drawn to Valek, Rose slowly falls for the world's first vampire as they struggle to stay alive and search for a cure together. "[Currently Untitled CK Terry is a Stalker]": CK Terry x Reader fic. Terry can't help himself; what started as innocent snooping around Cobra Kai's biggest obstacle for dominance of the Valley (Reader) has escalated into full on stalking. He can't keep himself from watching your every move, stealing into your home in the dead of night... wanting. But how far will he take things? "A Tale of Two Terrys: Masquerade": In this much anticipated sequel (well, I've been looking forward to writing more, anyway), CK Terry plans a masquerade at his and Reader's manor for Halloween. He's planned for a special guest to join them, but how long will it take reader to recognize them? And what do they plan on doing with her once she does?

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itsagrimm · 1 year

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Hinterland

König X she/her OC

After a battle, König struggles with getting to safety, wondering how he got here and if he will ever make it home.

This taps into where König comes from and why König is part of the military.

CN: angst, mentions of injury and blood, mentions of death, mentions of nausea & vomit, warzone descriptions, sexual assault, queerphobia and transphobia, this whole thing is steeped in patriarchal themes and violence, violence against women* in warzones, themes of sexual assault and extreme stress situations, hunger and starvation, mentions of rape, bullying, failing in school due to untreated neurodiversity, bad parenting, teen romance and teen romance emotions, untreated mental health issues, i guess i am giving König both Autism and ADHD, getting dead named, mentions of needles and medical procedures, medical inaccuracies (I have researched too much for this already don't expect me to correctly describe a medical facility too)

has kind of a happy end, kind of not.

5,8 k words

beta read by @musigrusi thank you so much 💕

Notes for cultural context:

The name Hannes is a German boys name.

Amalia is named after the Prussian princess Anna Amalie who was known to be an independent woman, a musician and generally well educated. She stayed unmarried her whole life and was a close confidant to her brother king Friedrich II. Her baroque organ is still in use in the church “Zur Frohen Botschaft” in Karlshorst, Berlin. Should you have the chance, check it out, it's beautiful and they play free concerts regularly. Also, Since Prussia under Friedrich II waged war against Austria, the name Amalia low-key mark her as foreign in Austria.

The Perseiden are a yearly meteoric shower visible in the summer months.

The sweat never stopped being a nuisance, dripping into his eyes and down his back. König grimaced under his hood, trying to ignore the thirst in his throat and heat under his armor, and dragged on.

Every time he left a battle, he forgot how punishing physical discomfort was and how harshly it gnawed at his body no matter how much he trained.

Every time he told himself it was the last time that he would go out to kill and get killed in a thousand little ways.

Every time he forgot and returned anyway.

Might have overdone it this time.

He looked down.

The bandage on his leg started to bleed through. And he still had a long way back to base.

It had been his usual employment with his usual rates, enough to buy a house or run a little shop back home. Maybe a bookstore or café where they could sell overpriced coffee to the tourists and have a well curated book selection for the locals.

She would like that.

König banished his thoughts and concentrated on the here and now as he limped on. He was out in the open. Any sniper, hell, anyone with a decent aim and a rock could turn into a problem for him now. He was an easy target and in need of cover, rest, and a pick-up.

Quickly, he scanned his environment. It was a stony valley he had seen a thousand times. No water or settlements in sight. Patches of dried-out greenery littered the barren landscape here and there. Further up, he spotted a couple of boulders ideal for cover from anyone passing through the valley.

It would do.

He moved carefully not to hurt his leg even more and climbed up the stones with practiced ease before sitting down and turning on the radio to call for help.

Static.

No answer.

He tried again.

Static.

Hannah was always the tallest girl in class, sitting at the back of the room while the teacher babbled on about history and war and peace and war and peace again. She looked outside. Spring had started and the nearby trees turned greener by the day, calling to her to-

“Hannah! Die Tafel ist vorne, nicht draußen im Wald!”

She turned back. Her teacher shook her head disapprovingly at Hannah for the interruption, before continuing with the wars. To show her eagerness and to appease her teacher, Hannah grabbed one of her pens and tried taking notes.

1809.

Napoleon had made it here and laid siege to Vienna like the Osman’s before him. At least they had bought the coffee to Austria. Napoleon on the other hand got Hannah only into a particularly boring history class. Little cups of coffee started to litter the side of her history notes. A small graphite-coloured Napoleon trying to grab a cup with his tiny hands half-finished as the teacher slammed down the ruler onto Hannah’s papers and interrupted her art.

“Hannah! Aufpassen!”

König woke up from the cold. The sweat had soaked his shirt and even his heavy armor and layers of tech wear couldn’t keep him warm in the early hours of the day. He looked up into the sky to get some clue where he was only to see clouds hiding any chance of him navigating this way. He needed help.

If he couldn’t get someone to pick him up, he was massively fucked.

Click.

Static.

He spoke into the Radio. No answer.

Click.

Static.

Click.

Static.

Click.

Would someone even tell her where he had died?

He shivered and started to rub his body to get himself warm again.

“Na, Lange, wie ist das Wetter da oben?”

Hannah rolled her eyes.

“Halt’s Maul.”, she dismissed and kept walking as the boys and girls snickered and giggled behind her in the hallway of the school. Her long stride took her quickly out of earshot from them.

“Sorry, are you alright?”

She stopped in her tracks.

A girl Hannah hadn’t seen before, eyed her with shy concern.

“I saw how the others treat you. I didn’t understand. I speak only ein bisschen Deutsch.”, she smiled shyly, “But they looked mean. So, I thought I’ll ask.”

“It’s okay. I am fine.”, Hannah quickly dismissed, hating her own clumsy accent and her shaky voice. She sounded exactly like her father when he tried to explain some lost hikers the way back to the town, overwhelmed and nervous.

They stared at each other, Hannah feeling the awkward silence creeping up her neck as the pretty girl fluttered her lashes at her expectantly.

“Thanks for asking.”, Hannah added in an attempt to break the uncomfortable quiet between them.

“It was nothing. What’s your name?”

“Hannah. I’m in class 10-b. What is yours?”

“Amalia. I’m in 10-a.”

“Nice to meet you, Amalia.”

Another weird pause in which Amalia waited for Hannah to say something.

Oh Gott.

“Would you like to have lunch together, Hannah? It’s lunchbreak and I don’t know where the cafeteria is yet.”

Hannah smiled.

Showing the new girl around. And she was nice.

“Sure.”

The pebbles under his feet made his walk harder and König kept stumbling while he pushed himself further down the valley and into what must be north towards the US base. Back home he had a map with a pin for every base he had visited. There were a lot of pins over their sofa in that map, and sometimes she teased him about pins possibly falling down into the cushions of their sofa and pricking them into the ass.

He smiled at the thought of her little delightful ass.

Sometimes she lamented different things - like him going to add more pins.

Might not make it back and add a pin this time.

Amalia was from the US. Her father had worked for the military in Ramstein where her mother was from. They had lived in a couple of places around the world, always on the move following her father’s station until her mother had enough and they ended up in Austria because of some distant relative and a job. It was like that sometimes.

Hannah did not care about the whys and ifs.

She only cared about Amalia being here now.

“I am so envious!” Amalia called out as they walked through the town from school, “you always lived in a beautiful place like this.”

Hannah snorted.

“You think it’s pretty? It’s mostly just boring. Nothing ever changes.”

Amalia took Hannah’s hand and pressed it with unbroken excitement.

“You are just feeling like nothing changes but I bet, there have been plenty of changes.”

Hannah looked down at Amalia’s hand in hers. It felt good.

“This town is a few centuries old”, she said, “The house my family lives in has been in the family for over 200 years now. And even back then we were known as the tallest from around here, so it’s built higher.”

“That’s so cool.”

“That’s so repetitive. It’s like living my ancestors’ lives without ever breaking away from their paths. The furthest I ever got was Munich for a school trip. Even my name is from a great-grandmother and a family tradition. You on the other hand-“

“I have been to military bases”, Amalia protested and interlaced her fingers with Hannah’s while dragging her onwards, “Honestly, they are all the same wherever you go. I’d rather be here instead of looking at ugly barracks, guns, and buff dudes with tattoos and too much testosterone.”

Hannah grinned.

“Are buff dudes not your liking?”, she teased.

Amalia giggled.

“Some are okay to look at.”

After a day of walking, he made it to a settlement. Waiting for the twilight to give him cover he rested behind some boulders and observed the handful of buildings. It was a simple farmhouse surrounded by with a few sheds, huts and a well. He heard voices speaking a language he did not understand, an older man was sitting in front of the house resting and looking after a little kid playing on the ground. The elder spoke tenderly to the child and the child answered sweetly, sometimes with laughter and sometimes with the unmistakable higher pitch of a curious question. A woman worked the farm, running around and finishing the days business. She looked tired, thin, and worn out.

No Fighters. No younger men.

Briefly, very briefly, König considered leaving. Disrupting this family’s warzone lifes with more warzone stench, made him uneasy.

Killing during a battle was simple. This was not.

But he needed bandages, food, and water.

His battered body and mind made the decision for him. Hunger brings out the worst out of men. Hunger and the hope of getting back home. He reached for his rifle.

The halls in Amalia’s house were littered with pictures of her family. Smiling children, dutiful wives, stern looking men in uniform. Was this how family is supposed to be? Hannah didn’t know, barely daring to call her own home a family.

Amalia was easy to recognize in several of the pictures, she had that shy pretty smile with the excited glint in her eyes since she was a child.

“Who is that?”, Hannah asked, pointing at one of the men in uniform.

“Oh, that’s my cousin. He is a marine.”

Hannah nodded. Marine sounded important. Militaristic. Far away from little town Austria.

After the family retreated into the farmhouse König crept closer. With his rifle ready he sneaked to the well for water, quickly refilling his canteen and quenching his thirst as silently as possible before moving past the little shed with some hens and through a simple garden, with plants fighting to stay alive in the midday heat, before reaching the door. A little bell was next to the door. He reached for it and stilled.

He was a soldier. He knew he was a terrifying sight with his hood and his height and most importantly - his rifle. Should he really do this?

Before he could decide, the door opened, and the woman cried out in fear and surprise.

Trained instinct took over and he aimed his rifle, moving himself into the house and pushing the woman back while checking the room for targets.

It was a kitchen. The old man was sitting at the table leaning before the child to shield it while staring up at this giant intruder with the hood and the rifle, staring up at König in fear. The child whimpered and the woman talked and cried as she got up from where König had pushed her.

“Quiet!”, he roared, and they all stilled.

Another check for enemies, he did not expect to find but the practice was too ingrain in him not to.

“Quiet”, he repeated breathlessly.

Schnipp. Schnapp. Ab.

Mother had disapproved of Hannah cutting her hair, sending her to her room without dinner while her father just shook his head disapprovingly.

“Du siehst aus wie ein Junge. Furchtbar.“

Hannah just stood up from the family table and left, thinking to herself that looking like a boy was not the worst thing she could be.

Climbing up the stairs in the old farmhouse, skipping the one that creaked loud like an old pine tree during a heavy storm, she thought about mothers’ words.

Cutting off her hair had been an unexplainable need. It was so quick. She barely registered how it cut free from the weight of those blond plaits of hair. Carefully, she reached up and touched her head, her fingers gliding easily through her soft short strands now. Like a boys.

“Quiet.”, he repeated in his normal speaking voice, his eyes darting around the room and trying to see the woman, the elder and the toddler at the same time while gripped his rifle to keep his hands from shaking.

“Do you understand me? Verstehen Sie mich? Me comprenez-vous?”, he tried thinking of any other way to communicate, he wasn’t even sure in which country he was right now. Every warzone looked the same after a while.

“Yes.”

It was the woman.

“Yes, I speak American. I speak English”, she continued, “Leave son alone. Leave father alone. Please.”

Nausea swept through him, and he felt the sour taste of vomit rise in his throat. The sound of the woman begging him hit him harder than a kick in the stomach.

“Please, please!”, she continued leaning towards him, “You want me! Take me! Leave son alone! Leave father alone!”

“No!”, he tried to calm her and himself, “I don’t want to harm you. Or your family. No danger. No harm. See!”

He lowered the rifle while lifting one of his hands to show his intends.

“See!”

She started tearing at her dress. “Take me! Leave son alone! Leave father alone!”

König stilled, mortified at the sight of the woman in undress and begging for him to not harm her family.

He swayed back.

“No! Don’t!”, König tried to stop her from undressing further, fighting his own battle training to keep focus on everyone in the room while avoiding seeing the woman’s bare body.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be home.

It was too much. The disgust in his stomach flared up sharply, and he hated himself for coming to this house, this country, this continent – for disrupting a family’s dinner and terrifying a woman so much that she was willing to offer herself to a random soldier just to save her family.

He tore off his glove and lifted his hand.

“NO! Don’t worry! See-“, he wiggled with his fingers in a macabre comedic way to show the ring he wore, “I am not going to rape you. I am not going to kill your family. I just need help to get home. To my wife.”

Hannah had climbed out of the window again. It became a habit of leaving late at night to stroll through the forest before navigating her way to Amalia’s house. And it was better than feeling locked up in her childhood bedroom again.

With practised ease Hannah climbed over the fence and checked for light in Amalia’s window before throwing a pebble against it.

“It’s late!”, Hannah whispered as silently as possible while also trying to be as audible as possible for Amalia.

“Yeah, and you are marauding around. Shouldn’t you at least try to sleep before school?”, Amalia shot back from upstairs.

Hannah shrugged.

“I will be a farmer no matter if I pay attention in school or not. Why are you up this time?”

Amalia giggled.

“Studying. I want to go to university. I need good marks. And my German is still shit.”

“Oh.”

Amalia would leave one day, for a different life. Away from the pretty town in the countryside that was so stuck in time.

“Hey.”

Amalia sounded different, nervous.

“Hannah, uh…”, She leaned down closer, “Can I kiss you?”

The words struck Hannah like lightning. In Hannah’s mind it felt like an impossibility for her to kiss a girl, to kiss Amalia with her nice smile and her kind teases and her soft hand holding Hannah’s and the way words rolled off her lips and-

“Yes.”

Who cares about possibilities.

König stumbled outside and puked right next to the entrance, retching what felt like his guts onto the stony ground.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here at all. No soldier should.

After his stomach was empty, he heaved heavily for air before standing up again and wiping his mouth with the gloved hand.

Scheiße.

“Man?”

He turned around. It was the woman, peaking fearfully through the door at him, holding her dress together with her hands.

“Sorry”, König gesticulated at the puddle of puke.

“Ok.”, she just replied flatly as if anything was ok.

He cleared his throat.

“I am sorry.”, König repeated,” I just need a new bandage, some direction and maybe some food. I will leave right after.”

“Ok.”

She repeated and closed the door, leaving him to wait outside.

He couldn’t blame her. To calm himself he started checking his rifle out of habit, while monitoring the dark garden and surrounding valley.

Could he trust her? Was she just getting her weapon to shoot him out of fear? Or rat him out to whoever was in charge in this area?

It’s not like he had a choice. The wound on his leg throbbed, he was lost and out of rations.

Nervously he drummed against the rifle, eyeing every shadow with suspicion.

After a few minutes the door opened again, and the woman stepped outside. She had a jacket on now, a couple of acidic smelling rags in her arms as well as some kind of bread. With as much distance as possible she passed the things he had asked for to König and he took them with a nod.

“Thank you.”, he mumbled.

“Directions. Yes?”, she asked coldly, ignoring his words.

“Yes.”

“You go there.”, she waved into the direction König had assumed the next US military base.

He nodded again.

She looked at him, before turning around and stepping to the door.

“Leave.”

He heard the door getting looked and a chair dragged in front of it after she closed it behind her.#

“Zieh dich an, Hannah! So kannst du nicht zur Feier.”, the mother ordered.

Hannah just looked at her and the dress she was holding.

“Nein.”

“Hannah!”

It was Sunday. A cousin was getting married. With the church and the whole family and flower girls and a white dress.

But not with Hannah in a dress.

“Wenn du dich nicht fertig machst, kannst du auch nicht mitkommen.”

“Okay.”

It was a clear calculation: no dress, no piece of the wedding cake, no Hannah in the family pictures.

She could live with that. If she had to wear a dress, she wouldn’t go.

Silently she got up and left her parents to go to her bedroom - her mother still staring at her disapprovingly and her father mildly uninterested in his wife’s attempts to raise his daughter.

It was sunny outside, beautiful. She didn’t even wait for her parents to leave before climbing out of the window and sneaking away.

The forest was humming with life as Hannah walked through it before making her way to Amalia’s house.

Amalia was sitting in the summer sun in the garden and studying. As always.

“You know, we have a gate in the fence if you feel like not showing off how tall you are, Hannah.”, Amalia greeted with a smile.

“I’m not showing off. It’s my natural grace to jump fences like a gazelle”, Hannah shot back, before kissing Amalia and taking a seat at the table on the garden veranda.

“More like a giraffe with your long legs”, Amalia scoffed.

“Either way, do you want to go for a hike today? It’s nice in the forest.”

“You should become a ranger like my uncle or a soldier like my marine-cousin with your never ending need to be in the forest and on the move. You would be the queen of the mountains! The most feral one out there”, Amalia stated and shook her head, “I can’t! I need to study.”

Hannah chuckled while getting up again, “Alright, have fun studying.”

“Wait!”, Amalia called.

Hannah turned back while Amalia reached over the table to kiss her.

“Be safe out there.”

The bread felt like the best thing König had eaten in weeks. With his stomach emptied and the sour taste of acid on his tongue it felt like a piece of heaven in his mouth. He knew it would only keep him satisfied for a short time. But it would give him strength to get himself to the base.

Next, he looked at his injury. Hidden between two boulders a click away from the house he sat down and took out his emergency light. Turning it on the lowest setting he quickly checked his wound. It was deep and due to the lack of fresh bandages and only his minimal first aid so far, slightly infected. Grimacing from the pain he started putting the rags onto the open flesh. It wasn’t ideal but the acid would keep the bacteria at bay while the rags protected the wound from dirt getting into it.

At least he hoped so.

Tired, so, so tired he reached for the radio and turned it on.

Click.

Static.

“Hello?”

No answer but static silence.

Click.

They were laying on the grass staring into the summer night, holding hands, and watching as the Perseids flared up and gifted them one shooting star after another.

“Hannah.”

“Hm?”

“I’m cold.”

Wordlessly Hannah moved closer and embraced Amalia with her taller, bigger frame, steeled from working her father’s farm, rubbing her sides to warm her up.

She giggled and kissed Hannah, “Thanks.”

The grass they lay on was green and starting to get wet from the morning dew as the milky way glanced beautiful and disinterested down at them.

Soon they would have to leave, part. With Amalia returning home and walking to the front door of her family’s neat little house. And Hannah climbing back up through the window of the old farmhouse.

Hannah sighed, nervously making a fist, and relaxing again to calm her nerves.

“Can I be your girlfriend?”, Amalia asked into the silence before Hannah had even started to search for the right words.

“Yes! I-“

Hannah paused, not sure why.

“Hannah, love, what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Amalia sat up and looked down in concern to Hannah.

“No, I-“, Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Can you stop calling me Hannah?”

Amalia paused. “Okay. How else am I supposed to call you?”

The other girl let her shoulders sink and dropped her head. “I don’t know. I keep getting told I am a boy-ish. That a Hannah would be different than who I am. And I know it’s mean. But I don’t think they are wrong.”

Amalia’s fingers were cold as she reached out and touched the other one’s shoulder, rubbing little soothing circles before scooting closer and turning it into a full embrace.

“If Hannah does not work for you, let’s try out other names, okay?”

Nodd.

“I am not very creative and maybe I don’t understand you correctly. How do you feel about ‘Hannes’?”

Nodd. A choked sob came out of Hannes as he leaned into the embrace, feeling many things as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Let’s try it out then, Hannes.”, Amalia whispered and hummed, slowly rocking him in her arms until his sobs stopped.

He stayed anyway, her arms around him feeling like the strongest thing in the world holding him under the stars covered summer sky until he felt Amalia shiver.

“You are getting cold. I am sorry for keeping you here.”

“Don’t be. I have a boyfriend who will give me his jacket and rubs my arms to warm me up now, you know.”

A surprised laughter escaped him as he took off his jacket for her.

“Yes, you have.”

The sun rose mercilessly into the sky over König, turning his world from shivering darkness into blazing clarity about his situation. Weakly, he lifted his head, took a few sips from his canteen, and summoned his strength to grab the radio.

Click.

Static, the eternal static that never bothered to answer him.

He asked anyway: “Hello, anybody out there?”

Static.

He was about to turn it off again as finally, after days of dragging himself through the dust and stone, an answer.

“This is Claris Airfield speaking. Claris Airfield speaking. Please identify yourself.”

Another night, another sneaking out of the window, another walk through the forest.

For the first time in a long while Hannes walked the familiar paths with light feet.

It felt right, the road felt right, he felt right as he hiked the short road down the mountain to Amalia’s house.

The window to her room was open and Hannes climbed up to her room with practised ease, knocking at the glass to alert her to his presence.

“Hannes!”, she greeted him from her bed while putting down one the current of many books she read.

Peeking into her room he smiled and asked, “Can I come in? I couldn’t sleep and I missed you.”

She nodded and waved him inside, making space for him on the bed.

He sat down next to her and pointed at the book.

“What are you reading tonight?”

“A guid handbook for kids from military families about studying. My father insisted on me reading it.”

“Why? I am sure the Universities in Vienna, Graz or Salzburg will be more than happy to have you. Munich or Brünn are not too far away either. There is no need to go back to the US for University.”, Hannes shifted closer to Amalia, putting an arm around her.

She leaned against him, fumbling nervously with the book.

“My Dad…”, she started carefully, “He wants me to study back home in the US. He became strange since the divorce with mum.”

“How so?”

“He…”, she paused, “He became strict, mean. He has many rules and expectations, more than ever. When I mentioned that I had a boyfriend he started questioning me.”

“Isn’t that what dads do?”

“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know, Hannes. It was strange. I wanted him to stop so I agreed to take a look at universities away from here.”

She pressed into his side, taking his other free hand and interlacing her fingers with his.

”Hannes, I don’t want to leave. But I might have too. Dad … he is the one who can finance my schooling, mum can’t.”

He closed his eyes, thinking about how he felt when Amalia was gone, how he had felt before he had even met her. The solution was as clear and simple as the night sky. If she had to go, he would follow.

“I will always find a way to you, should you want me to, Amalia. Don’t worry.”

The Heli circled over the valley. König tried to get up but felt too weak from the loss of blood after hours of working the radio and slowly bleeding out. A medic had made his way up to him, telling König he got lucky while he worked on his leg. Another medic argued with the pilot of the helicopter how to best move König up.

“Yo, big guy!”, he shouted over the noise from the heli above them, “You need to get up and secure yourself. We lost our stretcher during that last shitshow of a battle.”

Oida.

König groaned and worked himself into a standing position, half leaning against the stone and half getting dragged up by the medic at his side.

“Oh wow, you really are big. What did they feed you as a kid?”

Luft und Liebe.

He kept his mouth shut and concentrated on the ropes before him while the silent medic at his side helped him secure himself as his colleague babbled on.

“For real, the ladies must love you back home.”

“Oh, shut up”, his helper snapped. Must be new, “You think our guy wants to hear you point out something he has heard a thousand times before while bleeding like a pig?”

“I’m just making small talk.”

“Good luck small-talking with a German.”

“I am Austrian.”, König grunted, surprised by his own lucidity and insistence.

The medics stared at him.

“Isn’t that the same as German?”, the blabbermouth asked.

König groaned, unsure if from pain or annoyance.

Amalia had left for the US, just days ago but it like years to him. It was getting cold outside, winter creeping up over the mountains and with it snow, and wind, and darkness.

The familiar forest paths were bare and lonely to wander on. Hannes kept walking there to keep the habit, to not forget the feeling of just strolling down the forest and then seeing Amalia.

His Amalia.

She had given him her phone, saying she would just tell her parents she lost hers so that they could stay in contact. They had talked yesterday. Her voice was a bare whisper as she quietly told him of her journey, describing him all the things he hadn’t seen while trying to not alert her father.

He hadn’t approved. Of course, Amalia’s father hadn’t approved of Hannes. He was just some guy from the middle of nowhere Austria. Amalia had cried after that, telling Hannes only bits of what her father had said about Hannes, apologizing repeatedly and leaving out the most horrendous parts.

Still, he knew.

Hannes had grown up in a little town with his classmates’ pointing fingers at him for his unusual height for a girl, with neighbours raising their eyebrows at the sight of him roaming the forest and fields with town skirts and unkept hair, with his parents becoming bitter and uninterested in him for not behaving like they wanted a daughter to behave.

Of course, Hannes knew that her father called him Hannah and a girl, disapproving of their relationship no matter what Amalia said.

He used to be angry and hurt about it, but the feeling ebbed since what felt like about the same eons since Amalia left.

Now he had better things to do than fighting for the approval of people he only cared little about and who would never change their ways no matter what he did or who he would become.

Fickt euch alle, he thought to himself as he walked down the creaking stairs into the kitchen.

He needed to get out of this town, fast.

And he had to find a way back to Amalia. Hannes knew of a way, thinking of all those men in uniform back in Amalia’s house, her cousins, her uncles, her father - thinking of the power and dignity - and most importantly money - they got for traveling to far away places, wearing uniforms and carring guns. It was nearly funny that the man who disapproved so clearly of Hannes, showed him the easiest way back to his daughter.

“Mama”, he asked while stepping into the room, “Ich brauche deine Hilfe. Kannst du das unterschreiben?”

The mother turned around from the stove, moving what she had worked on to the side, before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Was ist das?”, she asked, “Wieder schlechte Noten in der Schule?”

He shook his head. No, this wasn’t about school.

“Ich will gehen, Mama. Weg von hier. Ich muss.”

She starred at him, blinking a few times before smiling softly like all parents do when gently but firmly hurting their children with words.

“Hannah.”

He shivered, hating every syllable, and passing his mother a pen instead. He needed her signature to leave. Nothing else.

“Hannah, du kannst nicht weg. Wer soll sonst den Hof machen?”

“Wenn ich bleibe, bin ich lebendig begraben. Gib mir eine Chance zu leben. Lass mich gehen.”

She starred at him, tears coming to her eyes as she reached over the table for the son, she did not know she had.

“Mama! Bitte.”, Hannes said to break the painful silence and pushing aside all those emotions raising their heads like snakes inside him, passing her the enlist document for the Bundesheer instead. He needed this to be done or he might break under his mothers sad gaze.

She starred at him, shaken, and breaking before him, finally putting down the pen to sign his freedom.

König woke up laying on one of the field beds most lazarettos used. His head felt painfully heavy and like it was about to drop through the bed onto the floor. He groaned.

“Konik”, a medic greeted him, walking closer.

He groaned again, not sure if from the oh too familiar mix of pain and annoyance about having his callname so massively butchered or just the pain.

“Konik, glad to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Scheiße.”, he mumbled, deciding to not argue with someone yielding needles which could aleviate his pains.

The Medic chuckled and started fumbling with an IV bag currently slowly dripping into his body via a catheter in his arm, “I’m adjusting your pain medication. You are a big fella and need a bit more than usual. But don’t worry, we will have you back up in no time.”

He grunted an acknowledgment, too tired to talk much more.

“Ah Mr. Konig-“, the medic called as the medication started to take him out again, “I was told you are getting a nice ride home after this. A littl’ vacation waiting for you so better get well soon and don’t let those at home wait longer than necessary.”

Home, he was getting home.

Finally.

Vienna main station was as unpleasant as every station, a busy place where people ran around to get to their train or forcefully stood still until it was their time to catch the right connection.

Better than Frankfurt am Main or Berlin. Fürchterlich. Ugh.

Vienna generally had a different pace, better suited for Königs still recovering leg.

Venerable and pleasant.

He had learned to love that once he left Austria for the first time. Leisurely, he strolled out of the building, careful to not knock somebody over with his duffel back, and got on the right tram home.

Outside of the rolling tram the houses stared down at him through the window with familiar fronts. König wondered when exactly he had become so accustomed to the sights: A castle here, a Gemeindebau there, cafés and parks he had visited - after all, he had not grown up in Vienna, barely stayed here for longer than a few months at a time, and only moved to the city after getting married - continuing to leave when the need to move became too unbearable to be quenched with runs in the Prater or when running into someone back from the old town and getting called 'Hannah' again.

Vienna had become a sanctuary so fast.

So normal, he could only stand it for short times.

Stepping out of the tram at his stop he decided to make a quick detour for some flowers before finally making the way to the apartment.

Not looking at the names on the bell signs of the house he pressed ‘Kaiser’, their shared family name for years now.

With a quick buzz the entrance to the hallway opened and he stepped into the pretty tilted hall and up the flight of stairs.

He made it half the way up before she bolted down and into his arms, nearly knocking him over and down the stairs again, hadn't he sacrificed the now crushed flowers and grabbed the railing.

“Hannes!”, Amalia cried out as she pressed herself into him, “You're back.”

He embraced her tightly, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms.

“Yes, Amalia, I’m back.”

For now.

something something protect transkids, warzones are full of people CoD conveniently hardly engages with, women* are the first targets in war, neurodiversity has little to no space in our ableist societies unless it can be exploited, the military is shit and preys on those in need, patriarchy needs to go, going to war means not returning as the same person you left as, did i miss something or do you feel like i could have improved some points feel free to send me a message something something criticism is essential to improve

#könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig modern warfare #könig x oc #könig call of duty #könig x you #call of duty #transmasc könig #könig is austrian and that is something i am willing to argue about forever

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awlimagines · 6 months

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The Twilight Farm

You yawned, stretching each muscle as you spread across the bed. It was rare that you were up later than your family. You mused, wondering what was for breakfast as you entered the kitchen. The twins sat, kicking their dangling feet from their chairs and babbling to each other. You had just a moment to take in that Nami’s shirt was orange rather than her usual white before screams erupted.

By the time Takakura’s wiry arms wrapped around you, pulling you from the kitchen, you had realized your family didn’t know you. You thought maybe it was a terrible joke until you caught sight of the sheep. They were pure white rather than the soft pink you had grown familiar with. Your cows had different patterns than when you went to bed. You shook your head and wandered toward the inn. Things were similar but not exactly how you remembered. The Bluebird Cafe was a bar, people’s names had changed, and no one recognized you. Some of the residents you had come to know even looked wildly different. It could be possible for Gustafa to grow a beard. Matthew (who said he was Marlin) could easily dye and style his differently. But Cody was twice the size and had a mohawk! Even Pui was different.

You sat on the bridge, holding your head in your hands as you watched the running water. What happened to Forgotten Valley when you went to bed last night? You almost felt relieved seeing the familiar forms of the sprites. They seemed to recognize you. You blinked back tears, on the edge of hysteria, as they introduced themselves as Nic, Nak, and Flak. Hart, no Flak, quickly explained there had been a mistake. It doesn’t happen often, but things could get complicated without the Harvest Goddess.

They led you to the Goddess Spring while explaining why everything was different. You had slipped into the spring when you were fishing late last night, and coincidentally, so had Mark. You learned Mark’s life was very similar to his own. He was you for Forget-Me-Not Valley, a young adult down on their luck who inherited the family farm and made a new life. None of the Sprites caught the exchange until both communities were in an uproar. Nic, Nak, and Flak assured you that going into the pond again should restore you both to your proper timelines.

You stared at the spiky-haired male wavering in the place of your reflection. Did your Nami threaten him with a knife this morning as his Nami did you? You almost wished the two of you could talk and share your experiences. The water dripped from your clothes as you crawled onto the bank. When you peered into the water, your reflection looked back. You scrambled to your feet, eager to see your Nami and children. She would never believe you; none of the villagers would. But you knew about Forget-Me-Not Valley and wouldn’t forget the town so similar to your own.

#story of seasons #harvest moon #story of seasons a wonderful life #sos awl #bokujou monogatari #harvest moon a wonderful life #hm awl #awl imagines

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diasomnia-dreams · 2 years

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An Unusual Prince| Malleus Draconia character study

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WITH each step he took, the Dark Fae prince took a stream of darkness with him. Creating a deep shadow which allowed whatever followed behind him become swallowed by the umbra in his path. The green streams of his magical signature leaked from his slender and pale fingertips as he wriggled them. More magic seeped through his hands which commanded the vines and thorns around him to kindly unblock his path to his special spot in the wildflower clearing in the Valley of Thorns’ forest.

There he would sink his toes into a babbling brook, listening to the water beneath him speak in words only he could understand. That was how he spent his holidays and breaks from his college, Night Raven.

And while Prince Malleus did enjoy the temporary command over the plants, he could not fully control them at his will. Contrary to popular belief to all who claim to know him, Malleus Draconia did not even understand his own magic at times…let alone did he understand how fellow people Fae perceived him. Of course he was very powerful. One of the strongest magic users of his day—he still had a little bit of trouble keeping the branches that would get caught in his ebony horns at bay. His highness wished he could at least do that much.

Another thing Prince Malleus, for all his long life could not understand; why did people fear him? Was it because of his appearance? The prince did not think it was fair for others to judge him based merely on his horns. He liked to believe he was kind and timid. Curious to say the least. Of course like he heard once from Grandmother:

‘It’s better to be feared than loved.’

Being feared and revered by all who even have the pleasure of being near his dark and princely gaze was not all it was cracked up to be. It was ironic however! Because there were times when Malleus would set his own self up for this kind of reputation. He would shut away in his chambers for days, weeks even! (if Lilia allowed it), and he would busy himself to practicing his magic while others wonder where could the Dark Fae prince be?

Pursing his onyx-black painted lips, Mall’s memory traced all the way back to when Silver assumed that because he was taking a nap in his chambers, that he did not want to be invited to go bird watching with Silver and Sebek. Now that’s one way to ruffle a dragon’s scales…

Why assume he didn’t want to be invited all because he wanted to rest a little early in the day?

Well the answer is simple. Malleus thought to himself as he crumpled a few thorns hanging in his wake while on his nature walk. They fear me all the same.

A few green colored shimmering rocks caught the prince’s emerald green eyes as he scanned the dark and thorny woods of the Valley. It was getting rather late which was his favorite time of day. Isolated from others who would turn tail in run (mostly if they’re Beastman), but he was far too entranced with the red rocks below his boots to mind anyone being around. Reaching down, he grabbed each of the rocks and tucked them into the pockets of his black robes. Giving the pocket a light pat to ensure they’re inside snug, he continued his trek down to his secret wildflower clearing. Once he reached the hedge of bushes that separated him from said clearing , he stopped in front of a large wishing well and began to admire the architecture of it all. So well made—the craftsmanship tugged at Mall’s lips making them turn upward into a very unnoticeable smile.

Malleus stood right next to the beautiful well that lay in the shadow of the mysterious castle with many spires and small windows which he considers home. The castle’s roofs were dark grey and with a small dark lavender. Now, this easily contrasts to the surrounding lands where lush green grass seems to not be able to stop growin.g and heavily surrounded by thorns here and there. There also sometimes appeared to be gaggles of forest creatures frolicking about, making the scene more aesthetically pleasing than if it had been a dream. The well was hard to look over, the other side of it was covered by vines and thorns excepting the center where water flowed into.

Malleus looked very much out of place with his dark robes and horns which sat on top of his raven colored hair. There was something so tranquil about Mall’s resting face as it was handsomely stoic from the animals surrounding him. It was a normal sight for the prince. He never left the castle and he never left the garden. This was as far as his family would allow him to go. The other Fae-people of Moors often wondered what their prince looked like, never even meeting him before. They would always speak amongst themselves in the town area and gossip and lie to each other about whether or not they’ve even got a gander of their monarch or not. Odd as it was, Malleus was one of the only horned Fae in the Moors area in Valley of Thorns. (Aside from his grandmother of course). So the citizens were not so used to seeing someone with them, and while magic was not in the least bit rare since everyone in the Moors area was magically gifted in some way or form, everyone knew they could fly but not like Mall. He could soar over the clouds and into the heavens and he could glide right back down with his wings—like a dragon.

It’s not like Malleus did not want to be seen! Sebek once caught him staring outside one of his bedroom windows in an idle position—and he was convinced that his prince was contemplating taking his life! Sebek couldn’t have been more wrong.

He was only imagining what it would like to have a decent conversation with someone other than his grandmother, Lilia, Silver or the castle staff.

Dropping one of his newly found shimmering rocks into the wishing well, his mind raced to imagine his dreams. He had magic, so he had no trouble materializing whatever he desired. However what he did want was a fleshy desire…a person to talk to. Whether they were human, Fae, beastman, or even a young child.

So the prince gave the glimmering stone a single kiss, touching it against his full black painted lips, he planted the kiss gently and dropped it into the well watching the water swallow it whole. Dissolving the green hue of the rock into nothing.

Once upon a dream, he imagined someone to speak to, pour his heart out to and even walk with. And upon reaching the babbling brook of his wildflower clearing, avoiding the thorns on the grass which did not bother him in the least, he removed his robe and revealed a longer sleeved tunic which was…unironic black.

Malleus used this time to get a little bit of practice on his hobbies. The prince was quite handy with stringed instruments so he knew what better way to practice and not have Sebek in his ear than to work on his skills near the brooks.

With the wave of his fingers, he materialized his violin which Sebek loves so much. It does encourage Malleus to play even better! However, he appreciates Sebek’s praises and cheers, they keep him going.

Placing the chin-rest side of the violin under his chin, he closed his eyes and dragged the bow across the strings and began to play a sweet melody. It was solemn and euphonious. The tune attracted some of the woodland animals of Moors, from the tiniest chipmunk to the wise owl. Prince Malleus opened one of his green eyes, which was currently slitted like a dragon’s. He mustered a small grin at his little audience. The attention was unexpected and he felt a little warm twinge in the cold of his heart.

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