#Wasp House Buzzing

[jupiterswasphouse]

Ohhhhh baybey IT'S-

#wasp wednesday #wasps #wasp #hymenoptera #bugblr #Wasp House Buzzing

[happy-little-doorbell]

The corruption

when I was a kid I had a small slide in my backyard. unbeknownst to me, a hive of wasps had decided to happily homestead underneath it. so one day I decide that I wanna be a bona fide disney child star. I set up my camera near the top of the slide, perform my audition, and decide to complete my dance routine with a ride down the slide.

dear reader, now that all the stings have long since healed, that video is the single funniest product of my childhood

#yes i caught it all on film #you can literally see the wasps buzz across the screen #then I ran for the house so the camera sat out there filming for like 3 more hours #the corruption #tma ask game #elbox

[scarletpiano]

Help, I've been scooping wasps out of an unused closet for the past hour

#I think they're making a nest inside the wall from the outside of the house #I punched it #and a lot of angry buzzing came back as a response #but like #I have so many other things I need to do #and #I don't even like wasps #but I don't like killing things even more #so #handful of insects it is #this is not how I wanted my day to go #scarlet scribbles #I guess

[dio-the-thot-exterminator]

Got a pen for my tablet finally.

Uh used sym tool cuz lazy 🧍🏿

This just a test to see which brushes are the best. At least for me bcuz I have 0 clue what I’m doing 🤩

#bobs garbage #replying to job applications #and listening to the wasp buzz around #while also watching house on sorority row #it’s so silly #and as I’m typing this… #did the doctor just drug her?!?!?!

[kaizokuseb]

there are some kind of wasps living in the table next to where i sit and smoke. idk what they are, but they’re yellow and black, and they look a little like mud daubers to me. that’s what made me decide they’re probably chill, so i just sit still when they buzz past, and they don’t seem to mind me being like a foot from their nest. i’m not telling my parents they’re here because they’re so chill that i doubt they would ever sting our dogs (that’s my only concern with stinging insects existing in my yard—if these guys were more territorial, i’d just go stand up across the yard to smoke because i don’t like killing anything without a good reason). i tend to notice the nests first because i’m the only smoker, and i’ve stopped mentioning them because my parents will destroy them /: hopefully, these guys get to do what they need to do and move out on their own.

#i actually don’t know if all wasps move on but i know paper wasps do #but it’s always different little guys out here so i assume they don’t stay long if they’re not murdered #also i love my parents and i do understand their concern #i used to be afraid of wasps/bees and i still kind of am but i just sit still and let them buzz around me now #when i’m outside i’m in their house #that’s how i look at it and it makes me feel a lot more comfortable #but also our yard needs to be a safe area for our dogs so there’s that #also i don’t know what bugs are called. if it’s roundish it’s a bee and if it’s lanky it’s a wasp

[starstruckpurpledragon]

So guess who just murdered a wasp using Pledge spray inside my house?

For fuck's sake, why are the mud daubers back already????

At least this time there isn't a hole in my ceiling so when I call pest control to come out this time they can do something about my attic.

#the perils of home ownership #so tired of wasps getting inside my house #stop eating my spiders #stop buzzing around that hallway light #stop invading my house and being annoying

[sacha-da-1]

(Warning: nightmare description)

Well that was absolutely horrifying…. it was like being drunk on the terror and then running about recklessly because of it. Like it was the only way I knew how to take control. Thinking maybe I’d terrify whoever had set things so wrong. What ever person, or creature, or force came and messed with the things in my home, and possibly (if it had been responsible for it too) took away my voice even, and all I could do was make a single sound, like a buzzing, I could not speak.

My house was much bigger so there was much more space I had to check for someone who’d broken in, but my room was about the same size

I woke up, and something felt off about my window on the right side and it was like the thread of the entire curtain had been crocheted(?) into the form of a large spider. I had tapped it hard and it bounced lifelessly. But it felt soft and completely non-living thankfully, like it was made of soft thread. The window appeared to be cracked in places underneath the spider. I could not turn on the light and I could not turn on my lamp, my room was dark other than what I assume must’ve been a tiny bit of sunlight filtering through at early hours of morning before full sunrise.

I noticed my throat was coated and I tried to make a sound, but I could not speak. Only a buzzing noise, and it almost hurt to make it.

I exited the room, and the house branched off into many places, some hidden behind walls, but there was my kitchen counter, it just was a bit farther away, and house stretched off wide in both directions. I had grabbed my phone, in case I needed to dial 9-1-1 and quickly grabbed one of my hard cups, in case I needed to threaten someone or hit them on the head with it. And I slowly started wondering to check the room. Though I had my phone in my hand it also seemed to be propped against something on the kitchen counter too. And it lit up (not sure if it vibrated or not. And a picture of my cat (who has long passed away) was the wallpaper on it, even though he is not currently my wallpaper. This was obviously unnerving.

At some point I’d stopped being subtle. I’d felt the need to start running about, and the sound wouldn’t stop coming from inside me. I kept running wildly and buzzing, I felt like a child playing. But at the same time I was waiting and thinking someone might appear or that it might see me and think I was not afraid.

Later, there was something that shouldn’t have been there, covered in a tarp, at what was likely meant to be the front door. I don’t think I’d realized I’d stopped buzzing at this point until now. I cautiously hit it and it didn’t respond, then I squeezed it at its top, I couldn’t tell what it was, but what I squeezed felt like shoulders. But if they were shoulders, whatever was under the tarp had no head. Whatever it was I believe it was only slightly above my waist in height. I did not remove the tarp, but I squeezed the object’s shoulders(?) like it was a strange act of defiance of my situation. It almost seemed like a stack of books or a pile of discarded objects possibly, perhaps what I was squeezing was only something soft and rounded placed at the top.

I don’t remember anything other than that. Maybe scattered ideas of cracked windows and an unknown presence. Something was wrong and I was scared, but I really wasn’t quite right either.

#nightmares #tw nightmares #this was so odd and surreal and so creepy #i never figured out what had entered my house #maybe it was better that way #it had such a strange way of doing things though #such bizarre choices #maybe that made it scarier in a way especially in a dream where it felt too real #almost like a metaphor for the way life taunts me like I was being toyed with #i think there was more to it that i forgot but i put what i remember #blaming doctor who for some of the events in this 😂 blaming headless monks for the headless shoulders thing #and unicorn and the wasp for the buzzing 😂

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Building a Hornet’s Nest

Male Wasp Hybrid Harem x Feminized Male Reader (CW: Noncon, musk, pheromones, bukkake, gangbang, double penetration, wasp men, oviposition, feminized male reader, drug-like cum, wasp transformation, DNA manipulation, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 3.7k (Sorry that this took so long. Sorry that this is so weird. I hope some people can find the degeneracy within themselves to enjoy it.) 

When your distant uncle had passed away and left you a property you were surprised to say the least. You were more surprised to learn that it was on Arcadia and that your uncle had never lived long enough to go and see it as he had been ill for some time before his passing and he was not particularly old either. Years ago, unknown to most of the family, he had procured a modest plot of land on Arcadia, a distant planet on the fringes of known space. A true modern day frontier. It was known for its mega-flora. With flowers that grew to the size of trees in some cases. It was also known for its giant docile bees. They were just like bees on Earth except much much larger and they were stingless, it was very easy to domesticate them and now people used them on Arcadia to develop many rare and exotic honey types from the strange alien flowers. Your uncle had wanted to be a beekeeper, he was apparently going to invite you on the venture with him seeing as how you were both into farming and working the land and you had helped him with his beekeeping when you were younger, but he never recovered from his illness so you did not find out until his death. With only a bit of hesitance you decided to pursue your uncle’s dream. When you first got to Arcadia you were in awe by how tranquil and picturesque it was, the pictures and videos that you had seen certainly did it no justice. Unlike Earth most of the foliage was various shades of red, orange, and yellow. Giant blooms of every shape and color imaginable were everywhere, with the exception of the clearing that a small settlement had been built in. Despite being here for a few decades it was still very much a quaint little frontier town, pleasant enough people, offering just the bare essential services. Then there was your new plot of land a few miles from town. It was… run down… to say the least. But you made due, you had sold everything of significant value that you had owned back on Earth and were fully committing to this new venture. And, after a few months, your efforts finally paid off. A giant mansion sized barn for your future bees was built and your house was repaired. All that was left to do was wait for your shipment of buzzy friends to arrive. Well they wouldn’t be so busy when they arrived, as they would still be pupa, but within a week or two the pupa would be finished developing into full sized giant docile bees, they would accept the barn as their home and set up shop. The day came when your shipment finally landed and you were so thrilled, they came off the hover truck and you hurried them into their new home, carefully placing them horizontally into cells in the walls and capping them. In truth you had been more than a bit worried, you were running perilously low on funds and had to go with a discount bee supplier that seemed just a slight bit unreliable. But it seemed you had worried for nothing, here were your bee pupa, nice and healthy. Though they did seem to be a slightly different shape than they looked from the advertisements and videos, you were sure that nothing was wrong. You could barely contain your excitement, you had heard that these bees easily imprint on their humans and are very loving, soon they would establish a hive and your goals would be obtained. It would be slow at first, as you only had enough to get three pupa, but you would get there eventually. You couldn’t stop yourself from checking the barn every few hours. 9 or 10 times each and every single day. The wait was torture. But finally, after about 12 days, you heard buzzing coming from the barn when you stepped out of your house in the morning, you practically tripped over yourself running back inside to grab the collars for them and then dashed back outside and across the field of flowers you had started to grow for them. You opened the door to the barn and… it was NOT what you were expecting. The three pupa were no longer in the cells you had packed them so lovingly into, but they sure as hell were not bees either. Instead, standing before you were three wasp-men. You knew what these were, genetically engineered human-wasp hybrids, that typically had smaller genetic contributions from several ant and bee species as well, that were typically used in highly regulated projects or otherwise extremely shady sources of labor on the very unregulated frontier planets. The question was how did you get them? Did someone’s order get mixed with yours? With how much energy and enthusiasm you opened the door with, they were all now intently staring at you, and to say that they were intimidating would have been an understatement. They all looked fairly similar to one another, red and yellow plates of chitinous exoskeletons covered their feet, arms, legs, chests, and backs. The only thing lacking the exoskeletons were their faces, abs, asses, and crotches. Which were very much exposed, showing off scarily long cocks and heavy balls. They had red bug-like eyes, they had fangs but otherwise regular mouths, but they sat between a set of wicked looking mandibles. Antenna twitched on their heads, sticking out from long blood red hair. Each had a set of large wings folded behind them. Their antennas twitched in your direction as they also sniffed the air curiously. Uh-oh. They were from a shady source so who knows how unpredictably they could act towards you, so you wisely decided to make a hasty retreat, but they quickly flew over to you and pulled you back deeper into the building. “Where’s the rush?” one of them inquired in a slightly buzzing but deep voice, “Me and my friends just woke up here and need some answers.” “Uh-uh okay, sure, what do you want to know?” The one speaking put his arm roughly around your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Well, we are looking for the person meant to be our queen, do you know where they are? Your scent is the only one here. Did you put us in the wall compartments?” “There isn’t any queen, but y-yeah I was the one who bought your pupa and put them in there.” He took a moment to feel you over with his antenna, it probably would have tickled had you not been scared shitless. “Sooo… you’re the queen? Or are you under someone??” “There isn't one! And I own this land and made this building for bees…” One of the other two wasp men chimed in at this. “Ha! Bees? Those weak passive ones that have no human in em and are about as smart as a pet dog? You’re lucky you got us instead, we are far superior!” The one holding you now much too tightly replied while flexing his free arm,”He’s right, we are much better. You really lucked out little queen~ We can keep you much safer.” He licked up your neck with a long narrow tongue making you shiver. “I told you, there isn’t a queen!” You were beginning to grow annoyed with the cyclic nature of this conversation. “You bought us? You own this territory? You put us in cells so we could grow?” “W-well yeah but… I’m n-not-” “You’re our queen then~ Don’t be scared we’ll keep you all safe from the big scary world! You’re far too weak and squishy to just be left alone.” “Ha! Yeah, just a pathetic squishy little human,” the third one that had been silent up until now chuckled as he poked you hard in the stomach. The one holding you grinded gently into your ass, his cock fully erect and prodding your cheeks. “This ass is soft too~ Bet it feels great inside, doesn’t it little queen?” “S-stop, please, I’m not a w-woman!” “Awe, our queen is a bit dumb too~ Good thing we came along to take care of you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re our queen yet, we’ll rape you full of our eggs. You’ll look so lovely full of our spawn~” As he said all of this he began to gently rub his hand against your crotch and the other two hybrid men stepped closer. Between the unwanted touching and the mention of the word rape you decided it may be worth the risk to try and escape anyway, but your struggles didn’t last long. The man holding you shook you a bit violently until you were unsteady and still and then held the top of his wrist to your neck. A long thick black needle protruded from his wrist and was pointed at you threateningly. You turned away, trying to put as much space between your neck and the sinister looking needle as possible. “Maybe you aren’t too dumb, you know what this does don’t you my queen? It’ll hurt terribly before paralyzing you and allowing us to play with you at our leisure and make you fulfill your royal duty~” You let out a pathetic whimper in response. “Oh, don’t worry, I don’t want to use it. How can you squirm around my dick if I did? So just relax and let this happen the easier, more fun way, okay?” He nibbled on your earlobe and you went completely limp in his grasp, signaling that you wouldn’t put up anymore of a fight. “Heh heh, excellent choice, my queen~” The other two wasps chuckled cruelly as well as one pulled your shirt off and the other wasted no time in unburdening you of your pants and boxers. They stared at you hungrily. Your nudity only fueled your fear and you had to stifle your instinct to flail, thrash, punch, and run. But doing so would surely make things much worse for you, better to just let them have their way and get it over with and hope you could sneak out after maybe when they were sleeping or otherwise distracted. You could feel the cock of the hybrid behind you gently rubbing against your hole as he licked and bit at your neck. He bent down behind you and spread your cheeks, making you shudder as an inhumanly long tongue prodded your hole before sliding in deep, stretching you out gently as it probed and making you twitch and grow hard as it found and focused on your prostate. The genetics for their tongues definitely came from long tongued bees. The wasp man behind you got up and resumed pressing his cock into your hole. “Just getting you good and ready queen~” He whispered softly into your ear. His large cock mercifully massaged copious amounts of thick precum into you to prep you for breeding. At least the entry wouldn’t be unstretched or dry, because that’s not something you would have put past them. The other two wasps were busy rubbing their hands all over your body, rubbing your belly, groping your ass cheeks, stroking your face with surprising tenderness, and contrasting that with rough greedy groping of your soft thighs and tugging at your hair. As the one behind you slipped inside your well lubed ass a second wasp enveloped your hard cock entirely within its mouth while the third kissed you passionately, its tongue fervently exploring every inch of your mouth. You couldn’t even yell in pleasure or protest the pain of having your ass invaded by a large inhuman cock as the long thin went down your throat, making you gag a bit. Finally respecting your need to breathe, the wasp removed itself from your face and began biting your sensitive neck, adding to the complete overly stimulating waves of sensation already being caused by having your dick enveloped by a hot mouth and your prostate gently kissed by the rhythmic thrusts of the other two insectoid men. The one attending your cock took his free hand to massage your balls and that led you to possibly the quickest orgasm of your life. In any other situation you would have been totally humiliated, but you were long past having any dignity today. The one behind you did not relent in his fucking of you, but instead picked up the pace a bit as he felt your body shudder, the one sucking you off hungrily swallowed your load before licking his lips and getting up. “My, you were really pent up my queen, and you produce such sweet honey for me!” He pressed his lips to yours, letting the taste of your own cum permeate your mouth. Between the kiss and the constant pounding of your ass you whimpered as you were already hard again, the wasp that had previously had its tongue down your throat now replacing the one that swallowed your cum at your cock, kissing the sensitive organ before licking it and sucking your recently emptied nuts. You whimpered as they continued to manhandle your sensitive body. The one pumping into your tight hole finally slamming in hard and cumming forcefully, depositing something round and hard into you as he did, making you flinch a bit in surprise as you remembered that they reproduced via eggs, it did not really hurt, but you felt a tingling inside where the waspoid cum touched you. The cock inside you lingered a while as it filled you but once it slid out and away from you your ass’ rest was short lived. One of the wasps laid with his back on the ground and with his cock pointing up, the other two bringing you over to him and forcing you to lower yourself onto his eager, drooling, prick. Your well stretched hole slid on him easily and he gripped you tight and forced you up and down on his length. That special spot inside you was rubbed once more, making you shudder in unwilling pleasure, your body completely betraying you. The pace was slow enough for you, and surprisingly he seemed unwilling to seriously injure his “queen”. As you were finally getting used to the motions one of the other wasps, the one that had already filled your ass, came up behind and slid his cock back inside you with his friend’s so that you were now being plowed in tandem by the both of them. As you gasped from the sudden extra intrusion abusing your insides the third wasp took advantage of your open mouth and wasted no time in putting his dick in your open mouth. You could taste his precum, oddly enough it had just a slight soothing effect and you noticed it tasted of honey. Filled to the brim with cock, you started to get a bit more relaxed as time went on, not overly so. You were still very unwilling and any pleasure was purely physical, incidental, and frustrating, but whatever was in the honey like fluid dripping from his cock was definitely making you a bit less stiff and just a tad bit less defiant. While this was happening you thought you could remember hearing something about this, that modified wasp and bee species made substances that could calm down their queens when distressed, both in fluids and via pheromones. And now that you thought about it the musk that hung heavily in the air was strangely comforting, it was like the more of the precum that dripped down your throat the more you were affected by the smell that these men were giving off. Not nearly enough to really lose yourself though, it was far more subtle than that. It was also probably why you did not feel too much pain anymore despite two dicks pistoning your ass, as one cock thrust forward the other pulled back. All the while the one occupying your mouth was happily pumping away, content with enjoying the wet warmth of your mouth as he fed you more pre. Between all the sensations overtaking your body, the cocks sliding in and out of you, the pheromones and relaxing fluid, and the hands roaming over your sides, face, and thighs, you couldn’t help but blow another load, right on the wasp that was below you. “See? It feels good to be our queen, doesn’t it,” he asked with a mocking chuckle knowing full well it was just your body’s response and it didn’t mean you were enjoying your predicament. After several minutes the one making you suck him pulled out and moaned as he came all over your face, covering you in warm slippery fluid. There were no eggs in this ejaculation, he was certainly saving all of those to be deposited deep inside you to go along with his friend’s. Your skin tingled a bit where the cum touched you and you began to feel just a bit dizzy as your inhibitions slowly lowered just a bit and you became even more relaxed. The cum was much more potent than just the precum and the load up your ass was gradually affecting you as well. Musk permeating the air was much thicker than it had been, or maybe you just noticed it more now, but it was making you drool a bit and you couldn’t help but bounce back a bit against the dicks in your suddenly hungry hole. “I feel really weird… can we stop now…” You stifled a cry, something wasn’t right, you were much more sensitive than normal to everything and you were having difficulty thinking clearly. The wasps all smirked as they ignored you, knowing that their fluid was slowly turning you into a weak little queen they could worship and fill with egg after egg. It was slowly changing your very DNA, making you receptive to hybrid pheromones, making you crave them. The one that had previously unloaded in you pulled out and came all over your back. Moments later the one below you working you on his shaft like some kind of living sex toy slammed you down to the base of his cock and filled you deeply with even more eggs and semen, causing you to spasm and moan weakly with a dry orgasm of your own. “Fuck! You’re a great incubator!” While you were panting and trying to recover the wasp previously abusing your mouth unceremoniously pulled you off the cock you were on and gripped you tight from behind, his erection easily sliding in your cum leaking entrance. “Not done yet, being queen is very busy work, you have to take my eggs too~” “P-please no more, I-I feel funny,” you pleaded desperately as your head was swimming with mixed signals. You knew you didn’t want this but you were so light headed you could barely think, and now these wasp men smelled so alluring, and wouldn’t having more eggs in you feel so nice? “I-I n-need to s-stop…” You felt an instinctual need to keep letting them fill you up, but at the same time you were burning up and truly felt feeble and sick. “Shhh, shhh, just relax, okay? You have been such a good mate for us so far~” He licked a long stripe up your neck with his thin tongue and held you tighter as he continued grinding into you. Without warning he started flying a few feet in the air while still breeding you, his insect instincts telling him to give you a proper nuptial flight. In no time the other wasps joined in as well, both of them in front of you, tending to their precious queen. Rubbing you up and down, smearing the fluid that covered you into your skin, giving little kisses and nibbles, and caresses where they saw fit. They were a bit brutish, but they knew the transition occurring in all of your cells was a rough one and they wanted to help their queen embrace his new role as easily as possible, especially since you had been such a perfect weak little mate for them. You would have continued to beg for them to stop, but it felt so nice now. And it would have been so ungrateful. These nice men were taking care of you so sweetly, giving you lots of eggs to tend to, choosing you to take care of them. It made you feel fluttery in the pit of your stomach. You were so lucky. With a shudder the final load of eggs was unloaded into you, the wasp man behind you wrapping his legs around yours as he came. They all gently lowered you to the ground, one of them keeping you in his arms with you leaning against him and burying your head in his neck before passing out from sheer exhaustion. The wasps’ fluids were still hard at work rewriting your DNA, somewhat like a virus. It was definitely taking a toll on you. Your harem of wasp-men took you to your house and had you all washed up and bundled in your bed, keeping a dedicated vigil over you as you had a deep but feverish sleep. They did not like seeing you uncomfortable, unless it was from them teasing you. But they knew it would be worth it, when you woke up in a few days you would be totally dependent on them. Your new insect DNA demanding you to always be by one of them for safety and telling you that you would constantly need to be incubating their eggs. Their pheromones would comfort, alert, or arouse you based on what they needed to communicate and you would produce some as well that allowed them to track you and be aware of your condition. You’d even grow antenna and your skin would take a reddish tone. You would technically be a wasp hybrid yourself, but that would be the extent of your transformation. Just a weak incubator hopelessly dependent on them for the rest of your life.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere harem #male harem #yandere male harem #male reader #yandere x reader #monster boyfriends #wasp boyfriends #monster husbands #yandere husbands #yandere boyfriends #male yandere x male reader #My OCs #My OC Wasps

[lunarw0rks]

hi! im not sure if you do any requests like this but if you wouldn't mind, with ghost or konig, where the reader is depressed and has suicidal ideations and ghost/konig save them before it's too late? ive gone through somewhat similar things and it would be comforting reading someone be there for them!

A/N: I don't mind requests like this, just read with caution, please! To anon, or anyone reading that has gone through this, you deserve happiness and are loved!! "988" is the nationwide hotline ♡

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° I hope you don't mind, but I chose Ghost since I haven't written for Kӧnig (YET) Italics are Simon's perspective when it's happening at the same time as reader.

Summary: You feel swallowed by depression, but Simon saves you just in time.

Warning(s): depression, talk of suicide, PTSD themes - DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU!!, established relationship, GN!Reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 1.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' | ao3 ver.

In Your Arms // Drabble

The world's weight had been on your shoulders; the constriction on your chest gave you a constant state of crisis, the strain on your heart soon to break it to pieces, and most of all the strain on your mind.

Each waking moment was a gamble of numbness or overdrive. In the instances of numbness, you were withdrawn, coasting your way through meals, laying awake at night with a blank stare. When you were in overdrive, it was like each bad thought physically pilled itself atop you, increasing your irritability and defensiveness.

It was as if the real you were trapped inside somewhere, but you were being overruled by an enclosure of gloom.

Chores, conversations, and the people you loved dearly became a melancholy hassle. You hated every second of it, and most of all hated yourself for behaving like this. At first, you were begging for an out—some savior to snap you out of it.

But now, you felt hopeless—and were making plans to give yourself that out.

You finally had an opportunity, a few hours where you’d have the house to yourself, with Simon out for a few hours. The problem was, gathering the courage. Even though you had the thoughts raining down on you, it was a decision you would never be able to take back.

You were sat in the shared bedroom, on top of the bed you’d just remade. It had been God knows how long by now, and all you could do was stare blankly at the wall ahead, choking back sobs. You looked at his side of the room, seeing the stark contrast between his and yours.

When you thought of him, how he’d be better off this way, it nudged you toward your answer.

Simon noticed your off-balance behavior the day he arrived home. Despite telling you how lovely you looked, he could tell the isolation of his deployment had taken its toll. The bags under your eyes, the dark circles worsening, your sudden change in eating habits—something he greeted like an old friend.

He, of all people, understood the feeling. He just didn’t know how to confront it.

He was never good with his words, or his ability to provide comfort physically; he relied on his crisis training, and most of all, how much he loved you.

When he said he was going out with friends, he was. At first. He found himself sitting in the driveway with a pit in his stomach, his anxieties swallowing him. He was protective, to begin with, but paired with the behavior changes, he was practically trembling at the thought of something horrible happening.

He was white-knuckling the steering wheel, debating on spending his night inside with you. Guilt consumed him for even considering going out anywhere when you’d waited months for him.

His stomach was in knots, twisting and turning, begging him to give in to nausea overtaking him any second. Something was wrong, something was going to happen.

You were fighting yourself again. The thoughts were racing so hard you could swear you heard them buzzing around your head like an angry swarm of wasps, each of them a stinger in your skin.

You reached for the nearest object—the remote—then stood to your feet, sending it plummeting towards the wall in front of you. It shattered the hanging picture frame on impact, sending shards of glass around the bedroom.

It did nothing to silence the thoughts. The sudden rush of fury only fueled them, begging for you to do something more to stop them—the only option you felt you had left.

He had his car door open, gathering his things before he was on his way inside. He’d made his decision, he would rather spend the night with you.

Simon’s trained ear heard the faint shatter of glass, seeing that the upstairs bedroom was the only one lit. There was no hesitation; no second thought to make sure it wasn’t a critter in the garbage can or another household.

He unlocked the door swiftly, a hand hovering over the holster underneath his jacket. The downstairs was clear, nothing askew. He next went up the stairs, leaning in the direction of the bedroom to pick up any sound coming from it.

In his mind, he was fearing the worst, paired with the anxiety he was already having in the car. He’d been here before, with too many people. It couldn’t, no, wouldn’t happen again, not with you.

When the door creaked open, it revealed you, shriveled against the wall with your head in your hands. Beside you, was a broken picture frame, sent flying into pieces around the room. His mind put the pieces together—the irritability, the insomnia, the withdrawn behavior, his gut feeling—all coming together now.

But his worst fears hadn’t come true. You were alive. Alive, and in need of his help. His gut feeling, that painful ache in his stomach when he left, it was right.

His knees dropped to the ground beside you, ignoring the slices forming through his clothes. His entire focus was on you, nothing else.

“Love…” He whispered, grabbing ahold of your knee to make you look his way. When your pooled eyes met him again, he felt like his heart had been ripped in two.

The sight of you, the pain written in your expression. Not physical pain, not heartache, but hopelessness. A specific, known too well by him, expression.

Simon could barely stand it, the person he practically breathed for, fought for, succumbing to their sorry—and he could’ve been too late. The warmth of your flesh under his fingertips, how it shivered, he knew you were still here, still breathing.

He was at a loss for words, even for a man who spoke very little. Angry at himself, not you, for not saying something earlier on. His withdrawal was both a blessing and a curse—a lesson well learned, now that his life with you had flashed before him.

Without a second thought, he scooped you up, setting you gently on the neat bed. He remained standing in front of you, staring down at you with a foggy expression.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered, blinded by the tears.

Simon visibly shook his head, forcing yours into his chest. It wasn’t your fault, and if he could force you to believe that, he would. He didn’t have words to give you, only the comfort of his presence. He just held you; held onto your frame as you wept into his abdomen, soaking through the fabric of his tee.

Tears only teased at his own eyes, but never made it past them. Though internally, he was weeping for you, nearly inconsolable.

It was his job to follow orders, to do his duty. His duty now, was you. He had to be strong for you, always, otherwise he had no purpose left on this Earth.

When the sobs had turned into defeated sniffles, he dropped to his knees to meet your eye level. Him, never one for eye contact, but he couldn’t take his eye off you now.

“I’m here now, I promise.” His deep voice echoed through the room, bouncing off your repines for his comfort.

You were still in shock, how one minute ago you were so close to the edge, but the next he was by your side. The sorrow only subsided for the moment, but with him as a distraction, you knew you had at least one person there for you. One person who understood what you were going through, no doubt about it.

His large hands, the ones stained with the blood of his hands, gently cradling your face until you were lucid enough to give him your full attention. He was there for you, no matter how hard the stubborn thoughts tried to convince you he wasn’t.

They moved from your face, to your neck and arms, then your fingers, searching for any sign of physical injury.

“Let me help you, please…” Simon placed a small kiss on one of the tear droplets streaming down, wiping away the rest with his thumb. His hand went down again, clasping around yours tenderly as he routed you to the shared bathroom.

He grabbed a spare cloth off the rack, wetting it slightly in the sink as he traced it along each tear stain, his other hand on your waist the entire time. He was focused and stiff, but his eyes were gentle.

When he finished, he cupped your face again, touching his lips to yours, then your temple. “You are everything to me, got it?” He whispers against your forehead, eyes still wide, reeling with the shock of nearly losing you.

Your head was in his chest again as one hand remained on your waist, the other holding your head in place. He was savoring this, not taking you for granted for a second.

Deep inside, he was picturing all those months he’d left you alone to feel like this.

How each tear he wiped was a lash of regret. He was going to make up for it from now on. Whether he could help you one on one, or you talk to a professional, he would back you every step of the way.

That was his duty.

#simon riley x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #simon riley #call of duty #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #tw depression

[jupiterswasphouse]

Bitches are swooning over her bewitching charms (showing you a cool bug) and fruity demeanor (telling you facts about the cool bug she just found and showed you)

#Bugblr #Wasp House Buzzing

[writemekpop]

Home Alone | Kim Jongin (Kai)

Summary: Your husband Kai accuses you of not trusting him with your baby daughter.  

Genre: New parents AU, domestic, angsty, house hubby Kai

Word Count: 0.8k

You were trying to balance the dangerous job of straightening your hair while buttoning up a onesie for your one-year-old. The hot blades wavered ever closer to the soft blue cotton.

That was when you got the call. You threw down the phone. “My mother’s sick! She can’t take Jasmine!”

Your husband Kai sprang up. He had been kneeling on the floor, building a house of cards in the pristine emptiness of the living room you had just cleaned. The house collapsed with a sigh.

“I’ve got to leave,” you groaned, lifting your baby daughter Jasmine into your arms. “Hey Jazzy, have you ever been to a board meeting before?”

The baby giggled.

Kai stepped forward, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “Hey, I can take her!” He frowned. “It’s not like I’ve never looked after Jazz.” He paused, his face falling blank. “Actually… you have never asked me to look after Jazz. How come?”  

Your heart rate was increasing just hearing his words. Everything came into sharp focus. Kai’s odd combination of Hawaiian shorts, a silk shirt and flip-flops. The cigarette butts still smouldering in the ashtray on the balcony he thought you didn’t know about.

The sound of your phone alarm, titled, LEAVE THE HOUSE BITCH, began to buzz like an angry wasp in your ear.  

“Um, yes, sweetie, of course I want you to look after Jasmine, it’s just-“ you scrambled for a lie. “You’re… too… busy! I don’t want to get the way of your fancy actor work!”

He frowned. “But baby, you know shooting hasn’t started yet.”  

You needed a better excuse. “But your lines. You have to learn them. I would rather than die than keep you away from your lines.”

You could almost hear the drone of the station announcer: “Last call for the 8:05 train. Last call…”  

Kai grinned in disbelief. “You’re saying I can’t look after Jazz… because I have to read a script?” He frowned. “Do you not trust me to look after our daughter?”

“Oh, Kai.” You squeezed your temples. “I don’t have time for this. Fine You want the truth?. No, I don’t trust you with my child.”

“Our child.” Kai scoffed. “And you can’t say that! How could you?”

You gestured to the pigsty that was the apartment. “You’re irresponsible. You’re untidy. You’re out partying every night-“

You were about to say more, but you stopped yourself. Some things were too true to say. Everybody deserved a few lies to cling onto.

Kai sighed, and you hated how well he knew you. “Go on. Say what you’re thinking.”  

You sighed. “Oh… and acting is not a real job!”

Kai bit his lip, pain flashing over his handsome features. “So, what was your big plan? Keep her from me for the next eighteen years?  

You tried to deny it, but fell silent when you saw the pain in his eyes. “N-not eighteen. Maybe… ten.”

And suddenly, you felt like an awful person. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You- you’re a great father, you just… don’t have the skills yet to look after her. The knowledge.”

Kai sighed. His voice was very quiet. “I know that she naps between eleven and one. I know that Fuzzy is her favourite toy. I know that she can’t sleep on her tummy, or drink cow’s milk, or have too many baths.”

“How did you…” you started. “I read those parenting books that you aways leave lying around,” Kai said, crossing his arms.

You stepped towards him, smoothing your hands over his face. “I had no idea…”

You pressed your lips to his, and in the shape of his firm body, his scent, you almost lost yourself.

Kai gently pulled away, crooning, “Go. As much as I’d like you to stay, your genius is needed at a board meeting. I’ve got her.”

You smiled, picking up your bags. “Okay. But I am FaceTiming you in an hour. Every hour, actually.”

Kai grinned, that lopsided grin that made you giddy when you were still nineteen and an extra on some unknown TV show. You may have given up on acting, but you never gave up on the boy of your dreams.

You left a little piece of your heart with Kai and Jasmine, then shrugged on your blazer and stepped out into the brightening morning light.  

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

#kai #exo #jongin #kpop imagines #kai smut #exo smut #exo fluff #exo fanfiction #exo drabbles #exo reactions #kai fluff #kai imagines #jongin smut #jongin fluff #superm #superm smut #nct smut #baekhyun #superm imagines #exo x reader

[batrachised]

Buckle up, kids, and settle in, for I'm about to share the tale of what went down in the batrachised household last night. There were battles...bonding...bloodshed (well, not really)...batrachised has been forever changed. Exaggeration? Yes, but let me have this.

My roommates and I live quite contentedly in a Patty's Place-esque arrangement: young women, striking out on their own, cozied up in a little residence we all love quite a bit. It's a darling place, full of nooks, crannies, bookshelves! (of very high importance). It has green spaces; airy rooms; bright kitchens; crocheted frogs; what more could we ask for?

Despite our idyllic situation, there has been one slight mar, only one, on our little hobbithole ideal. Wasps. During the summer, we had to battle wasp nests outside with frequency. To give you a sense of how bad it got, the brave savior deserving of a martyr's crown who normally helped us remove them (roommate's dad) took a look at one giant nest and shook his head with a whistle. We had to hire professional help to get them removed - which, not too bad, just pest control in the end. But still, the wasps were fruitful and multiplying in a biblical fashion.

Enter fall. Enter cold. Most importantly, enter death. Death for wasps, as bugs, to quote calvin and hobbes, died by the bucketful. We were free - or so we thought. Oh, how naive those who have never walked paths of treachery and pain are.

One fine fall day, we found a wasp in the living. Horrible, but manageable. It was dying. I finished the job with glasses, a mask, a jacket, shoes, a broom, and significantly, lots of poison, looking like Don Quixote of the broom closet. Finished. Done deal. I patted myself on the back for being a brave household savior. Really, this was the proof that I was a strong independent woman. Good on you, batrachised, I thought.

Then, a second wasp appeared.

Horrible, and less manageable. One wasp is an accident - a door left open too long, a window with a ripped screen. Two wasps is a pattern. Two wasps means more wasps.

However, this wasp was very dead from the get go. I pondered. What to do? Then as so many other fools have done throughout history, I chose to blind myself to the truth. Two wasps - what a freak incident! A pattern, to be sure. But how could there be more? We never saw any buzzing around. Odd. Horrible, But still manageable.

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Another one appeared, this one alive and angry. Clifford roommate got home at 1AM and had to fend off an angry wasp with a broom and poison, until it disappeared and she decided to throw up her hands and go to bed as was necessary, right, and just. We could no longer ignore the reality in front of us. I called pest control.

The pest control man arrived. He was a cheerful, gregarious man who smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. I decided he was a man to be trusted, most especially when he chipperly let us know that no, we shouldn't pay pest control at all! What a waste of money! The wasps, you see, are in the chimneys. He could remove them for several hundred dollars and the inability to access our house for several hours, or...we could just start a fire. It would get hot in the chimney, they'd get uncomfortable, and they'd leave. Smoke theory and all that.

Great. Fantastic, even. We save several hundred dollars, and get to have a cozy fire! Win win. Maybe we could even make hot chocolate and put on Christmas music! Perfect for the Christmas season. We decided tonight was the night. A half hour of our time, then done.

We received two warnings though.

First, the gregarious pest control man had let us know to be careful when opening the flue, as wasps can fall. "Just jerk your hand out quickly," was what he sagely said in so many words. I repeat, we decided this made sense. After all, we could close the metal curtains. That would keep those ol' darn wasps away. Still, we approached the flue carefully.

Second, my little sister. She listened to our plan skeptically. She gravely said (paraphrasing), somber as a small child, "But these are southern wasps." I laughed. Why shouldn't I? We had heard from our dear friendly expert. She finished with a (paraphased again) line of "What if the wasps go down instead of up?"

Well, there's a fire, little sister! Surely they wouldn't!

Flashforward to us in front of the fireplace. My roommate reaches and opens the flue. There's a thud. The sound of something falling. But nothing swarms out. We release a breath.

Neither of us have lit a gas fire before, so we don't know how and have to look it up--and then, in the meantime, my roommate notices:

A wasp.

In the (unlit) fireplace. Nestled in the fake logs. Looking cozy as a demon thorn with wings can.

We decide worriedly to tape the metal curtains shut. They would protect us, remember? These curtains of chain metal (you might be familiar with chain metal as the one full of holes). Tape them shut. I run to get tape. My roommate watches the wasp. The curtains are taped shut. Ah, another sigh of relief. We continue our research into gas fireplaces.

When we look back, the wasp is on the outside of the curtains.

Reader, here I will be honest: if you're expecting a giant nest to fall down, and us to have to run for our lives, this does not happen. Or at least, it has not happened yet. But in that moment, that trembling, unsteady moment, we knew that anything was possible. We didn't know that a giant nest wouldn't fall. But we did know that we had committed. We had opened the flue. We had woken the beast.

Fear strings through the air tensely, but we continue. Roommate bravely lights the fire. Half an hour. Half an hour, then we're safe.

My memory of the next few minutes is shaky, but I remember one clear, bright detail gleaming out among the rest:

We saw more wasps.

One flew through the air. Slow, lazy. Unhurried. But assuredly directly headed for us.

Both of us scurried out of the room like we'd seen the girl from the ring.

Reader, the wasps had come down instead of up.

Three wasps, to be specific. Even as I sitting here writing this, it's possible we missed more. There was a fire roaring that would hopefully prevent more. But that did little to assuage our fears. I now understand what it's like to live in a horror movie. Around every corner, danger lurks. Danger lurks behind the curtains. Danger lurks in the lights. Danger lurks in the blankets. Nowhere is safe. Anything can happen at anytime. There are creatures in your house, waiting to attack for no reason. It's not your house at all, in fact: it's theirs. The house is on their side. It hides them, cloaks them, shelters them, and in doing so, destroys you (well my mental stability anyway).

Half an hour, and then we're safe. The problem was, that whole half an hour factoid didn't seem to ring quite true anymore. What I was realizing with a cold, gripping understanding, was that there might not have just been one wasp nest in that chimney - there might have been many. If not a downright giant hive. And we had lit a fire, right under their home.

It was time to discuss backup plans. We came up with an escape route on the off chance it was a big swarm. We grimly got out the wasp spray. And most horribly of all, we waited. Waited sturdily. Waited fearfully. My roommate made soup, then froze. "Did you hear that buzzing?" No, I hadn't. Did she hear a distant buzzing in the chimney?? No, she hadn't.

We scoped out the enemy's territory. There was a scout on the ceiling, still except for the occasional shift. Another lazily flew through the room. We had been invaded.

All throughout, that waiting for the worst, something was edging through the back of my mind, snaking through

We were going to have to turn the fireplace off and close the flue. Or, in other words (1) enter the wasp territory (2) turn off the wasp deterrent, and (3) stick our hand up the wasp-infested chimney. It was very much the moment in the horror movie when they realize the only way out is through. We had our velociraptor in the kitchen, except it was a ton of wasps in the chimney. What's more, we had our chosen weapon of poison, but our chosen weapon couldn't be used because the wasps were coming from the lit fireplace, unless we wanted to start a chemical fire.

Half an hour passes. We decide to wait longer. Better to be safe than sorry.

Finally, after an hour, we glance at each other. We have a somber discussion, akin to tributes from the same district about to enter the hunger games arena. How long to run the fireplace? Would more time matter at this point? Who would close the flue?

I decide if I go down, I'm not going down without a fight. Much like a few weeks earlier, I grab a jacket. I make sure I have my glasses on. I grab a mask to cover my face. I have shoes on my feet. I get an extra shoe to put on my hand. I have a potholder on the other hand to close the flue. Don Quixote (Don Avispa?) has returned.

We march into the enemy territory. The enemy watches from above. Bravely, we steadfastly ignore it. I ask my roommate to watch my back and cover me as I turn towards the side of the room. First step: close the windows. Visions of thousands of wasps hiding behind the curtains dance through my head (at this point you should have realized i have no common sense about wasps and would die immediately in a zombie apocalypse). I ripple the curtain gently. Nothing. One window down. Next window: again, nothing. Another window down.

Now, time for the fireplace.

Wizard Hat roommate insists on sacrificing herself to the flue. She's done before; she has the muscle memory. Both of us are concerned that closing the flue will jostle the wasps and cause more to fall down - wasps that if still living, have to be very angry. I hand her the potholder.

The flue closes without incident.

We wait, holding our breath.

No more wasps.

With not a little relief, although still edgy, we make our way to the other room. We still have wasps in the house, but for now, the risk of having a torrent of wasps come down the chimney seems to have abated. I will never forget, though, that time period of waiting.

We decide to stay up a little longer. Just in case. The fireplace is cooling down now, so in a way there's more risk of wasps.

We go to the other room and sit, making conversation quietly. It's not unlike the ending scene in Jurassic park where they're in the helicopter, bruised, worn, but still alive.

It's then I look up. And heading straight for me, straight and low, is a wasp.

We leap up. I hear its buzzing in the room, and I grab the poison. Enough is enough. This wasp is dying tonight.

It feebly lands on the fireplace, and we see that it seems to already be dying. The Lord is merciful when he wants to be. Unfortunately, its proximity to the fireplace means that I can't spray it safely. We talk, waiting for it to move, but then we lose sight of it. My roommate briskly goes to cover her chicken soup. "I don't want a wasp to fall in it." Wise words, and wiser priorities.

It's when she finishes that she notices it on the floor, still somewhat feebly dying.

I have to admit, I'm not the coolest head under pressure. We could have just waited it out. But I had had enough. Wasps? Wasps in my house?? Wasps that had tried to divebomb me??

I went a little berserk, even trigger happy, and sprayed the ever living bejeesus out of that wasp. The spray said it killed on contact, which did not turn out to be true because that wasp was KICKIN'. On the floor, but still kickin'. I sprayed it again. And again. And again.

Finally, it stilled. RIP, wasp. (Rest in Poison).

However, we then faced the fact that I had created a giant puddle of poison smack in the middle of the floor that we now had to clean up. We got out rubber gloves (I noted them for future use of fighting wasps, more armor), and paper toweled away. Once done, we had to face the issue of where to soak the poison-coated gloves, and decided in a plastic tub on the counter.

And so this tale comes to end (for now). We decided wearily to go to bed. We were done with the day. More wasps may come, but we'd shut the door.

The final cherry on top of the sundae though, was the fact that Clifford Roommate was not home during all of this. This means that she got a series of increasingly frantic texts that looked something like this (I invite you to consider the fact that these wouldn't be out of place in a doctor who episode):

We lit the fire and wasps came out be careful!!

keep the doors shut! we have to keep the wasps out!!

don't turn off the light in the living room...the light distracts them

we've closed the flues. the fire is off.

there's one in the room with us now

we're trying to kill it!!

DO NOT touch the gloves in the kitchen, they're covered in poison

Drums, drums in the deep.

All this to say, if ever you decide to light a fire to chase away wasps, be prepared. They might just come down instead of up.

#i now know what it is to live in jurassic park and i now know i would die immediately #poor wizard roommate had to be the lead #long post #anyway here's hoping more wasps don't come out :)

[victimeyez]

Professional//Victim

Darwin

CW: captive whump, drugged whump, graphic depictions of torture, intimate whump

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter

~

The nausea starts when they roll off the highway. An unfamiliar town lies here, sporting lots of fancy diners and shops for wasps. 

“It’s coming up. Get ‘im lively.”

Tommy had been awake for a while now, but a bump of coke made him “more lively” for clients. The bitter taste didn’t help his stomach when he rubbed it into his gums. Sure, it was more direct up the sniffer, but one time he sneezed blood into the passenger window, so they switched strictly to the oral route. He didn’t like the taste or the buzz, but it helped with the pain a little. Not that it mattered. 

His stomach drops to his knees when they turn off onto a long side street and begin passing houses. Only a few down and they turn onto a long, neat driveway that slithered into the woods. Finally, a house emerged from the foliage.

(Brown, drab. Not a mansion, but expensive. Groomed lawn. Driveway, maybe a quarter mile. Isolated. Definitely not a client we’ve seen before. New clients are always crapshoots.)

Caius dragged Tommy up the path to the door. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, making Tommy face him while he fixed his curls and looked him over. He pinched his cheeks and his lips to give him a flushed look, pinching some of his eyelashes between his fingers and tugging them painfully. He repeated it on the other side, making Tommy’s eyes water so they were tearful and moony. He then pressed the gold-framed button next to the door. A twinkling classical piece played inside in lieu of a standard bell.

A middle-aged man answered too quickly, surprisingly well dressed in a tortoiseshell suit and matching glasses. He looked like a professor. He smiled kindly at the two of them.

“Please, come in.”

Caius put a firm hand on Tommy's shoulder and pushed him through the doorframe into the house, while the client politely held the door for the pair. He closed it behind them and activated an electronic lock, hidden from the outside. A heavy deadbolt slid into place with a loud chink. It resonated with an ominous finality that made Tommy’s stomach clench.

“I am Darwin. I take it this is Tommy?” He gestured to Tommy. 

“I’m Caius, and this is Tommy.”

Darwin nodded, and then hesitated as he began to turn. 

“Forgive me if I’m new to the etiquette of these…arrangements. Could I offer you a water, or maybe some wine?”

“Don’t worry about formalities, you’ve paid for us to be here. Let’s not waste your time.”

Darwin's eyebrows raised just a touch, but he seemed relieved to dispense with niceties. He began up a flight of stairs, which Caius ensured Tommy followed close behind. His heart was starting to pound and his feet felt heavy. Upstairs rooms were less common than basements. They somehow felt so much more intimate. Tommy had long since learned you can’t tell what a client wants based on appearance. He wasn’t sure what he feared more - a dungeon, or a bedroom.

He could feel himself starting to shut down already, and he embraced the dissociation. 

(Left, right, left, right, keep walking, just follow. Don’t feel anything, just exist. There’s nothing you can do now. Just breathe. Disconnect from the feeling of desperation. We don’t have to remember this part.)

He walked robotically behind Darwin until he was led into a room that looked like an enormous study, with a fireplace at one side and rows of nice bookshelves and displays lined the walls. The display closest to him looked something like fireplace tools, but not like ones he had seen before. The floors were of a rich hardwood.

“Remove your shoes, Tommy.”

He hated it when they used his name. As if they knew him. As if they were friends. All it took was a warning look from Caius and he peeled off his tennis shoes, setting them awkwardly to the side. (Avoid eye contact. Makes it easier.)

“Are you wearing underwear?” 

Tommy didn’t like where this was headed. He despised the romantic ones.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Strip down to them.”

Tommy mechanically removed his shirt, and then more hesitantly, his sweats. He was down to plain black boxers, a stark contrast to well-dressed Darwin. He handed them off to Caius while his eyes scoured the room.

The center of the room was filled with precariously placed items that looked very old and worn. There was a big lumpy looking chair made of wood, a kind of bench-like table with three rolling pins attached in the middle, and a big sort of horse-shaped wooden structure. It looked badly built, and had a big triangle for the saddle.

(Don’t panic. Don’t run. You don’t have to know what’s happening. Don’t think about it. Don't think at all. Turn your brain off. It makes it easier.)

“I curate for the museum here, and over the years I’ve become a bit of a collector of sorts myself. When the museum here wasn’t interested in these pieces, I knew I just had to buy them up. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten the chance to play with them, and they’ve gone without use. Then I found a video of Tommy here online, and I thought I found the perfect person to try them out.”

Thomas felt like his body was moving without his will as he was led to the chair, which upon closer look, was more than uncomfortable. It had no open slats but was made of uncut pieces of wood with a high back, wide arm rests, a flat seat, and another solid plate between the front legs, almost to the floor. Every inch of it was covered in neat rows of small, wooden spikes. 

“Which video?” Caius asked conversationally. 

(Market research.)

“It was some kind of flogging scene, with Mistress Alice. A few months ago now.”

Tommy’s head swam before he realized he was holding his breath. He felt a little shaken by the mention of Alice, and struggled to stay adrift from his feelings. 

“It looks like he’s healed up marvelously though,” Darwin appreciated, looking him over hungrily. 

“He cleans up well, and we have excellent doctors on hand. We cannot allow certain things that will damage him beyond repair, so I will be staying with you for our time. Most nerves can be fixed, but no severing of central tendons or arteries, and go easy on the spine to keep basic motor controls intact.”

Darwin nodded. “They shouldn’t puncture too deeply. Everything is antique, but sanitized.”

Without ceremony, Tommy was shoved back into the chair.

He took a sharp breath in when all the points sank in at once, biting into the sensitive flesh of his ass and thighs. The shock of It was like being submerged in icy water. He instinctively leaned forwards away from the back of the chair, but he could feel beads of blood forming where he had knocked into them initially. 

Hands appeared from nowhere, wrapping a leather strap across his throat and pulling him flat against the back of the chair. The shock of the pain winded him, and he gasped for breath as Darwin fastened his restraints. His ankles were locked with leather and pulled taut hard to force his legs into the spikes, and his arms were pulled hard down on the spiked armrests. Thick leather cuffs bound his wrists in place, and slight sides built into the back ensured his outer arms were also penetrated.

The best he could do was try to arch his back away from the back of the chair, but with his neck fastened it only seemed to drive the ones in his shoulders deeper. The awkward position made his back start to cramp immediately, and he doubted he could hold it for long. The urge to fight the restraints was overruled by the pain that the slightest movement caused, and he found himself paralyzed by it. Even breathing agitated the punctures, and on instinct he started to breathe shallowly to avoid it. A muted thought came to him, of the sharp wooden skewers used for shish kabobs, and he suddenly related to being a piece of skewered meat.

He vaguely registered that Darwin had stood back and was watching him, a great grin on his face. 

“This piece is called the ‘Armchair of Inquiries’ - a bit of a cheeky name, in my opinion. This one was actively used a bit longer than most, with the last recorded use being May 8th, 1868. I’ve had it thoroughly cleaned and disinfected just for you.”

Tommy tried to pull his head away from the pins, only resulting in choking himself against the leather collar.

Darwin smiled. “I had that strap attached as an extra, from a heretic’s fork. I think it makes a good addition, even if it wasn’t the original.”

There was something deeply sickening about the pride in Darwin’s voice, while he gladly explained history that hardly mattered to the butterfly he had pinned. 

The initial shock was starting to wear off, but the pain was blooming. He doubted there was enough coke in the world to shield him from this. His shallow panting took on a whine to it on every exhale as the pain began to steep. 

Darwin had walked away, and returned with quick steps holding some sort of miniature harness. It consisted of metal bands arched and connected, with an adjustable leather strap. Tommy couldn’t identify it, but the glee with which Darwin presented it made him think he would find out the hard way very soon. 

With a surprisingly gentle hand, Darwin guided his head forward as far as it could go against his neck restraint, and slipped the harness over his head. 

“This one has many names, and many forms. It was the first piece in my collection. There are other ones that are shaped like pigs, or fools with long noses, or even a cone coming out from the mouthpiece. Just to name a few.”

At being masked, Tommy started to panic and struggle, shoving hard against his restraints only to have the spikes impale him again and again, agitating the wounds with every movement.

“Wait, wait, wait, fuck, fuck, wait you don’t have to do this-”

Tommy finally begged, which Darwin only acknowledged with a soft smile as he worked the cage mask on. There was a metal band that ran down the back of his head, parting his hair, but pushing him off of impalement on the spikes there as the metal band rested atop the points. 

The other band came down the middle of his face, forking into a triangle around his nose. Right below, it connected to a thicker metal band across his mouth, and a sharp obtrusion from it pressed hard against his lips. He clenched his teeth against it to try to keep it out, abruptly ending his ability to beg with words. His pleas reduced to panicked keens of fear and pain.

“It’s called a bridle mask, a scold’s bridle, a mask of shame…” Darwin rattled off idly. He tapped a finger against the metal bit against Tommy’s lips.

“If you can’t feel it yet, there’s another spike in here. I’m about to fasten this tight across your jaw, and if you don’t let it in, it’s going to puncture through your lips and cause you quite a bit more…discomfort. Open up for me, Tommy.”

Darwin’s hands cradled his face with a disturbing intimacy, stroking over his cheeks. His fingers found the hollows of his cheeks and pushed into them sharply, forcing his jaw open. A long metal spike followed by a thick metal bit pushed in, and he had to curl his tongue to keep it from skewering straight through. The metal bit held his jaw slightly open, but if he tried to speak, he would pierce his tongue. 

The strap at his jaw was pulled sharply taut and secured. Darwin’s hands returned to his cheeks, stroking his face gently between the gaps of the mask. 

(Don’t spiral. Just another - just ignore it - the pain is - how much -)

His best guards against the pain were failing, easily overwhelmed by this unfamiliar torture. A new hysteria was building deep inside of him, and he was starting to grow light-headed from his shallow panting around the gag.

Darwin’s lips were parted and he was panting a little too, his face so close, hungry eyes roving over Tommy’s own caged face. His thumbs tenderly stroked comforting circles over the apples of his cheeks, and Tommy felt a wetness there. (When did we start crying?) His eyes felt so heavy as they spilled over without relief. 

Darwin closed the gap between them suddenly, pressing his lips intensely against the outside of the gag. Tommy tried to turn away from him, but Darwin’s gentle hands became restraints holding his head in place. He slowly kissed and tongued and licked the dark metal there, and Tommy couldn’t help the harsh whimpers escaping his opened mouth. 

Darwin finally pulled away, his lips wet. A strong urge to wretch boiled in Tommy’s gut. 

“You look so beautiful.”

His stomach lurched.

“I have one more piece for you,” Darwin murmured, mostly to himself. 

Tears ran down the sides of his face, wetting the metal harness as it started to warm against his skin. 

“But before that…can I take a picture?” 

Tommy was confused for a moment until his brain finally caught up to the fact that Caius was still there, sitting off to the side and witnessing his agony with a look of profound boredom. 

“Sure. I have a camera in my bag if you’d like me to take some nice ones for you. It doesn’t cost extra if you let us also use them for promotional materials.”

Darwin licked his lips. “Of course.”

Tommy let out a miserable moan of protest, with heavy tears of humiliation and pain dripping down his face and cooling uncomfortably at his neck.

Caius kept a calm demeanor of cool indifference while he circled Tommy, collecting photos with his camera. Tommy was only addressed with a sharp snapping of fingers, directing him to look one way or another. He could see a dark reflection of his face in the wide lens of the camera, and he closed his eyes with a sob. 

Darwin emerged to be front and center again, holding one of the metal tools that Tommy had noticed when he entered. It was a crude, thin piece of metal, with two fork-like tines on each end. He held it up so Tommy could see it, and then playfully tapped one side of tines against his cheek. 

“The heretic’s fork. It fits right in here,” Darwin offered, and slipped it into a leather buckle of the collar around his throat. Tommy tipped his head back to try to avoid it, but yelped when he felt one pronged end pushed shallowly into his neck behind his collar bones. This firmly locked the fork vertically against his throat, the tines on the opposite side baring threateningly against the soft flesh under his jaw. 

“If you can keep your head up, this won’t hurt.”

With this last attachment, Tommy suddenly felt entirely overwhelmed with helplessness. He couldn't move an inch, couldn’t even breathe without disturbing the bed of thorns beneath him. His tongue was cramped in the back of his throat, and he was starting to drool around the gag. Lowering his head at all would impale him on the tines of the fork, driving it both into his jaw and into his sternum. He couldn’t think of a time he was held in such strict binding, and his brain was starting to short circuit with the horror of his situation.

Darwin seized this opportunity to lean in and press another kiss over his gag. Tommy whined impotently, hyper-aware of his inability to pull away.

Darwin stood back and took a long, shuddery breath of excitement. He ran his tongue over his lips.

“P-pictures, please,” he called breathily. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas could see Caius toss his cellphone aside and get back up to take pictures. 

Tommy stared at the ceiling, blinking tears of terror. He always hated the feeling of something stuck inside of him, the gnawing urge to pull it out only growing with the many barbs penetrating his skin. He thought his regular collar was bad enough. He could no longer see anything around him, and he had no idea where Darwin or Caius were in proximity to him. The anxiety made him tense, agitating his wounds. 

“This doesn’t quite fit in with the others, but, well…we only have so much time. I think this will speed things up.”

He sounded close. There was a popping, crackling sound Tommy couldn’t quite place. 

(How much time do we have? How long has it been? It felt like an hour, at least. Maybe. It always feels slower than it is.)

Something touched him, two dull points maybe an inch or two apart. Pressed to his diaphragm. He braced himself for it to puncture him, but for a long minute it just rested there. Darwin was breathing heavier. (Psyching himself-)

His body was on fire. 

It almost felt like relaxing. He lost all control while a painful, hot tingling went through his body. He spasmed, shuddering violently until it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

He sagged back into his bindings, but the damage had been done. There were a thousand points on his body that throbbed in urgent pain. It was a full-body pain like he had never experienced before. It was terrifying not being able to look down at his body to see how bad it was - he felt like his skin must be shredded, vivid imaginings of his flayed corpse pinned to this throne.

A touch against his diaphragm, heavy breathing in front of him. Excited sounds from Darwin. He was lit up once more, for a longer time. He could feel himself tearing around the spikes. This time he was vaguely aware of the sound it pulled from his, a deep, guttural cry as the breath was knocked from his body. It was a unique sound he didn’t recognize as his own voice, but a deep wail of anguish. It felt entirely disconnected, like the sound was coming from the prod pushed to his stomach, not his body.

When it ended, his vision was swimming. Everything was black, gray, yellow, dancing shadows. He blinked a few times as he slowly started to come back to his senses.

This time, he noticed the foam in his throat. He coughed, and blood burned on his lips, long dried from the gag. He finally registered the taste of blood on his tongue, the pain in his mouth. His tongue had been speared on the spike inside of the gag. His brain couldn’t process where or how his tongue was pierced, but he drooled blood out the corner of his lips and struggled to swallow the rest pooling in his throat. He couldn’t identify an exact moment when, but the fork under his chin had been driven into his jaw, and judging by the burning pain in his chest, it was up to the hilt on bottom as well. 

Darwin let him stew with the tip of his device pressed to his stomach again. Tommy sucked in a breath, his only chance at pulling away from it, but his movement was easily followed.

He writhed in his restraints as he was electrocuted again, spasming uncontrollably even as it tore him open. Everything was pain, every breath, his nose burned, his eyes rolled back into his head. It let up again and he shuddered to stillness. He could still feel the tingle, and he continued to twitch in spite of his best attempts. He dry wretched, blood in his throat, in his stomach, making him sick. The still room reeled around him. 

“Next time…you can call me Arthur.”

It felt a bit like sweating, an intense sweating across the entire side of his body. As the blood trickled out underneath him, he was starting to feel very cold. The shocks left him feverish, and he felt quite sick, like when he had the flu and felt hot and cold at the same time. He hoarsely barked out sobs that wracked his body. Every surface he touched pooled blood, making his seat feel wet and tarry underneath him. He was limp in his restraints, his heavy head supported solely by the prongs driven into him. 

He numbly felt a prodding against his naked torso, and unconsciousness took its mercy on him.

~

pictures of tools used: x

series masterlist: x

prev: x next x

#captive whumpee #intimate whumper #sadistic whumper #medieval torture #professional victim

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Prologue

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The thing Russetfur hated about the Aulmir was how overwhelming it was.

She was grateful for its bounty, of course, and the blessed kindness of the occasional human bringing out fresh scraps, but it all came with an undercurrent of noise—buzzing worse than an angered wasp’s nest, clicks and clacks and incoherent shouts, all clashing into each other to create a uniquely irritating cacophony that grated on Russetfur’s sensitive ears. That was to say nothing of the scents, crammed into each other’s trails and knotting together so thickly there was no chance of picking out a specific smell; and that still ignored the lights, those awful miniature suns of cars and houses and streets that created shadows in useless places and lit up what could be perfect paths to sneak around on. And forget the deluge of humans, and dogs, and loners, and…

It was all just so much.

But, she reflected as she crouched with her nose just behind the edge of a flat rooftop, tolerable or not, she had her title as deputy for a reason, and it certainly wasn’t for whining about scouting missions in the Aulmir. This was her first outing since coming back to the position after having her kits forced her to take a break and let her father replace her, and she wasn’t about to disappoint him or Blackstar with a bad attitude and an early departure because she wasn’t comfortable.

Then again, by the prickling hair along the backs of two of her followers and the slitted pupils of the third, perhaps she could find some comradery in a complaint.

Focus. She returned her attention to the grey, flat ground beneath their low roof, currently host to a small cluster of loners that had just turned into the alleyway and were approaching a broad-shouldered and broad-bellied tom, mostly white with some black scattered on his back and head, reclined on a box. The loners still spoke to each other, just loud enough for a ShadowClanner’s broad ears to pick up.

“It’s just from so far away, y’know?” a tabby said, his good eye darting back and forth while the other pointed lazily down. “Rumors swell up real fast the further they get from their old source. And it could be fake.”

“Kemerain* don’t make things up for fun,” the tortoiseshell he was speaking to said curtly. “I trust their word more than I trust some of my neighbors.”

A blue-grey cat just behind the tortoiseshell shook their head. “You’re crazy. Any moron that flits about having games with foxes and crows isn’t a reliable source.”

They’d come within a body-length of the big tom at this point, and conversation stopped so that the tortoiseshell could crouch; less like a bow of respect and more like an animal bunching up its body, afraid to be hit.

The tom grunted and hauled himself up into a sitting position. His voice was rough and deep. “They’re right this time. We’ve seen them.”

The tabby jolted in place. “No fooling?”

“No fooling,” said the tom. Somehow, the words were much more dangerous coming out of his mouth. “Ain’t close, but they’re around.”

The tortoiseshell’s torn ears perked up about as well as they could. “What’s that mean for us, then? What’s our move?”

“Our move,” the tom said slowly, “is nothing. We stay put, let them do their thing. They ain’t our problem.” His green eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Yet.”

“Don’t like that ‘yet’,” the tabby mumbled. “Don’t like it.”

The blue cat came up to his shoulder and nudged him a little harder than they had to. “Easy. They’ve got plenty of things to keep them busy out there. We can just sit back and wait.” They looked to the big tom. “That’s about our plan of action, yeah?”

The tom nodded once.

Above the group, now chattering to each other in surprise and intrigue, Russetfur’s ears were pinned back against her head. She flicked her tail and carefully crawled backwards, her Clanmates following suit. Once they were a good nine steps away from the edge of the roof, she turned to them.

“What do they speak of?” Fernshade, a brown tabby, whispered. “We ought to listen more…”

“We will.” Russetfur gave her a reassuring blink. “I want you and Volewhisker to check the other side of this roof. See if there are more loners who can tell us more as we listen in.” At her and Volewhisker’s nods, she now turned to the largest by far of the patrol, a big grey tom. “Bouldernose, do they speak sense to you?”

The former loner drew in a breath, shut his eyes, and opened them again on the exhale, the pupils still slits. “Frankly, ma’am, I don’t know what they’re talking about, but that big one… I know him, and he’s got keen whiskers for things all the way on the far side of town. If he’s saying this…” His mouth twitched sideways. “…whatever it is, is true, I believe him. He’s not a liar.”

Russetfur hummed and gave a firm nod to her patrol. “We continue to eavesdrop, then. Bouldernose, with me.”

Volewhisker and Fernshade immediately turned and trotted off for different sides of the building. Russetfur gestured for Bouldernose to follow her, and together they resumed their position above the alleyway, where conversation was still going on, though quieter.

“I can tell you this,” Bouldernose muttered to his deputy. “Whatever’s got their attention, it is not a good thing.”

Russetfur said nothing, but her tail’s bristling fur agreed with him.

---

Far across the land, in the hollow atop the moorland, Rookstar sat with his eyes shut, forcibly keeping them from screwing up tightly.

Ryenose and Rushtail were in the center of camp, huddled over remains that had brought nausea to even the experienced leader’s set-in-stone gut. The apprentices whispered together in a disturbed hush, clustered into one side of camp, occasionally being gently reminded to keep their voices down when one spoke too loudly. The hollow was unsettled and uneasily quiet otherwise; a few murmurs of apology to the family and well-wishes to the tattered corpse’s departed soul dotted the night, and that was it.

Uneven pawsteps alerted Rookstar to open his eyes, taking care to look directly at his limping deputy as he approached.

“Think the foxes will take him?” The black tom sat down beside Rookstar, looking squat and stout compared to his overstretched and bony leader. “Body’s rather in a poor state.”

Holding his breath for a moment, Rookstar turned his gaze to the mess in the center of camp. He managed to push past the wave of ill in his gut and responded calmly. “They will. Meat is meat.”

Deadfoot grunted.

Rookstar took the opportunity to look away and back to Deadfoot. “Getting it to the carrefour will be rough.”

Deadfoot grunted again.

Things fell silent for some time. Even the apprentices had quieted down, now leaning against each other and, like Rookstar, turning their attention anywhere but the body.

The old molly currently staring down at her son’s remains finally turned her head up and looked to Rookstar and Deadfoot. Croaking a bit with emotion, she asked, “Can we take him now? I don’t…” She shook her head ever-so-slightly. “I don’t want to see this anymore. Him.”

Her living kit, Rushtail, gently placed his broad paw on hers. “Stay here. We’ll handle it.”

Steeling his stomach, Rookstar stood up and nodded once. Ryenose’s eyes went to her living son, her dead son, and her leader before she shut them and rose to her feet, backing a few steps away. Rushtail twisted around to touch his nose to her forehead when she stopped.

“I’ll help.” Thrushwing, a grey-brown molly, approached the remains. “That fine, sir?”

“Fine and well,” Rookstar said. He and Deadfoot joined the younger warriors. Deadfoot and Rushtail maneuvered to take the front half, while the broader Thrushwing hoisted up the back and Rookstar stood beside her, ready to catch their end by the tail if it started to fall.

Ryenose said nothing as they left, but when Rookstar glanced back, her faded eyes were wet and dim.

They were out of sight of camp before one of the patrol spoke, and it was Thrushwing who broke the silence.

“Tell you what,” she said. “That scent on him makes sense. Explains the missing prey.”

“And the shreds where food’s buried.” Rushtail tilted his head. “How many d’you think there are?”

Rookstar didn’t respond. His ears, usually facing backwards, were now perked, and his eyes were narrowed as he considered this.

“Blended scents and mud mixed in,” Deadfoot said, as the patrol went at a slow pace to let him keep up. “Could be one, could be nine.”

“However many, with respect,” Thrushwing said, “we ought to tell the other Clans.”

Rookstar looked back at her, his voice low. “Next Gathering is soon. We will.”

Thrushwing hummed shortly.

Silence fell over the patrol. They continued on their way, the hedge-line of the Barn steadily approaching. Rookstar could practically hear everyone’s minds storming as they thought over the events of the early evening – the discovery, the grisly return to camp, the mourning.

The implications.

Rookstar’s stomach was taut with the effort to acknowledge their grim load without being ill. Even in all his years of experience, this was a bit beyond him. And to think that it could happen again, to anyone, not just WindClan…

They all had to know. The Gathering was a few nights away.

Hopefully it could wait that long.

*"Kemerain": Plural for “kemera”, meaning “a neutral colony of cats”. Can mean a stationary or traveling group.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #prologue #chapter #book three #arc one #charred legacy

[mag200]

shaking like a scared chihuahua rn. i love holes i love rot i love wasp larvae i love that sweet song of flesh i love the corruption. when a large insect buzzes past my ear and latches onto me just outside of my reach the fear that overwhelms me is its own kind of thrill. the oh shit theres a bug in my hair violent instinct simply cannot compete against the allure of being recycled by organisms living inside me. you want to scratch it you want to scratch it sooo bad. a haunted house is a human body it hungers and a human body is a home for a billion crawling things.

#renouncing all other entity alignments right the fuck now the corruption is by far the sexiest #tma #the corruption

[serenaisavillain]

Sword and Silk

Summary: Within the ancient walls of the Red Keep, the Princess is ensnared by the looming presence of Ser Harwin "Breakbones" Strong, his silent vigilance concealing darker depths. Amidst his whispers of protection, a hidden yearning simmers beneath the surface, entwined with the secrets that swarm within the castle's corridors.

Warnings: Themes of violence, including depictions of physical altercations, character death, grief, complex power dynamics, manipulation and coercion.

Author's Note: Your feedback is valuable to me as an author. Whether it's your thoughts on the characters, the plot twists, or even just your emotional response to the story, I genuinely want to hear from you. Stay tuned for the second part!

Word Count: 2.4k

HE WAS HER SHADOW. Strolling heavy-footed behind her at every moment. The princess's every move was scrutinised under his unwavering gaze. King Viserys had long lectured his only daughter in the belly of his sleeping chamber. The presence of her Kingsguard was for her own protection. Ser Harwin "Breakbones" Strong was true to his namesake. The thought that harm might come to her under his shield was amusing.

Still, she felt so diminutive; every footstep, his looming presence followed. He towered over her like the godswood tree under which her lessons commenced. His wide back and mighty arms did not settle the swarm of wasps that buzzed within her belly. It rattled their nest.

She was left to her own devices during the day within the heart of the sept. The seven walls of the dusty stone room seldom held the inhabitants of the castle. Their focus remained fixed on indulging their whims, she always thought. After her delicate finger lit a candle at the altar, she bent both knees before the marble statue of The Father. A precipitation of teardrops rolled down the apples of her cheeks. There she begged, hands clasped for the soul of her dear mother.

She would emerge when the sun hung low in the sky and the shadows grew long. Her dampened features never failed to draw Ser Harwin's attention. His thick eyebrows drew themselves together over his deep sable eyes.

"Are you alright, Princess?" He would always whisper.

These were the only times her lilac eyes would dare flicker to his, resembling the red of her house banner.

"Yes, Ser Harwin." She would croak before averting her eyes to the grey stone path beneath her feet.

ON A DAY OF GENTLE BREEZE, tranquil waters and clear skies, her cousin, Lady Laena Velaryon's ship, docked at the harbour of Blackwater Bay.

Ser Harwin's eyes softened as a genuine smile graced the Princess's lips for once. A fleeting moment of brightness amidst the shadows that surrounded her.

"Cousin!" She cried.

She nearly tripped over the train of her black gown, running towards her kin, arms outstretched.

When the gap between them was sealed, an entanglement of limbs ensued, their silver hair dancing wildly in the wind.

"How is my dearest Y/N?" The older girl asked, panting.

The Princess nodded as they began to walk down the pier.

Stark-white seagulls flew above them alongside the dark scales of Vhagar.

The large dragon casting a quick shadow.

The crew unloading the cargo of the ship gasped in awe of the great beast.

"The days no longer seem long… as I have written in my letters. They now somehow manage to bleed together. I often confuse many moons ago for yesterday…" She sighed.

Lady Laena clutched the Princess's cold hands within her own.

"You shall grieve no longer, sweet Y/N. We shall fête every day until I depart!" She laughed, tugging her into a hug that nearly suffocated the younger girl.

Ser Harwin smiled unbeknownst to the two, his heavy boots following behind as always.

Y/N hurriedly walked through the corridor of the Red Keep, the sound of her low-heeled shoes barely audible against the polished marble floor.

She came to a halt at a heavy Valyrian steel door, gesturing to it with delicate fingers.

"The finest room in the castle, for my truest confidant." She giggled.

The knight had not heard the Princess laugh in that manner since her last name day when the Queen was still alive.

KING VISERYS HAD declared that there be three days of celebration for his daughter.

On the first night, a lavish feast commenced. Every elegantly clad guest gorged themselves on the most sumptuous of delicacies. From roasted boar to buttered rolls to indulgent cakes adorned with fruit and thick frosting.

Amidst his peers, the man with dark curls hungered for something else - or rather, someone.

Princess Y/N sat tall upon a skillfully carved chair among the rest of her family, her dainty wrist adorned with a pewter bracelet encrusted with rubies. It grazed against the velvet tablecloth as she spoke. She and her cousin Lady Laena brushed shoulders, occasionally whispering and giggling as they indulged heavily in Dornish wine.

The crimson colour gown she donned made her bronze skin more radiant, competing with the shimmer of its silk fabric. The garment's onyx corset adorned with an embroidered dragon and delicate lace details sinched her waist. The dress hugged every curve of her body with a luxurious embrace. The neckline embellished with matching black lace plunged daringly low, accentuating the swell of her bust.

No fault of the Princess, he imagined; she certainly could not be aware of how appetisingly she had blossomed over the past year - he certainly had not until now.

"Brother, you are drooling," his brother Larys jested.

Ser Harwin averted his gaze instantaneously.

The knight, in his finest attire, futilely attempted to focus on the roasted duck drowned in gravy that sat on his plate. He could not resist the décolletage of the heiress, his eyes carefully peering at the curly-haired beauty.

On the second day, when the sun hung directly overhead, the King commanded a tournament be held. Lords and Ladies of Westeros and the lesser kingdoms filled the seats of the great coliseum, heavy bags of coin in their grasp with the intention of placing bets on the bravest knights.

Despite the tremor of his hands, Lord Strong encouraged his son to be among those in the festivities.

As the knights prepared for the final joust, Ser Harwin Strong approached the royal pavilion where the princess sat. His skin was slick with sweat that he hoped she assumed was a byproduct of the Westerosi summer. His armour was clangorous with the steady trot of his steed. His eyes were fixed on her visage as he steadied his mount.

"Princess," he began, bowing his head before her, "I ask that you bestow me the honor of wearing your favor."

The Princess slowly rose from her cushioned seat and approached the railing, the wreath of blood-red roses in her delicate grasp.

A shy smile graced her painted lips.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "May it bring you luck, Ser Harwin."

The man contained the swell of pride that erupted in his broad chest as the wreath now adorned his wooden lance.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said, "I shall carry it with pride."

Ser Harwin's armour gleamed in the sunlight as he returned to his position.

Silence settled over the coliseum.

With a thunderous roar, the signal was given, and the two knights spurred their steeds into action. Dust danced in the air as the hooves of horses thundered down the lists, lances steadied and gazes marked on thine own target.

The lances crashed against each other. Only black-haired knight's held true, colliding with the armour of his opponent with brutal force. He, however, remained steady on the leather of his saddle.

with brutal force. He however, remained steady upon the leather of his saddle.

The nobles erupted into cheers as Ser Harwin's opponent was unseated, descending to the dust with a deafening clangour. The victorious knight waved briefly to the crowd before his horse gave out below him.

The gasps and screams of the court reverberated through the arena.

The shrieks of steel on steel rang across the jousting field as the two knights clashed. Ser Harwin was a man possessed, his blows raining down upon his opponent with relentless force. At one point, he tossed aside his sword, pummeling his opponent with simply his hands, both fists pounding against his chest.

As the dust settled and the screams of the crowd fell dead, Ser Harwin stood with his head hung, his gauntlets bloody, and his breath in ragged gasps. There was no longer pride in his eyes; only a grim visage remained, finding no solace in knowing he had defended his honour and upheld the code to which he had sworn his life.

He gazed upon the Princess's face; her violet eyes widened, and her mouth agape.

On the last night, fireworks exploded in the midnight sky above the ships of Blackwater Bay, the most noble of houses making drunken toasts to the Princess Y/N.

A table of gifts, wrapped in the most ornate of papers and fabrics and tied in the most elaborate and fantastical of bows, piled as high as the mountains in the North. It only grew as the evening went on, each courtier attempting to outdo the next.

A bard strummed his mandolin and cried out a song naming her the Princess, the realm's delight.

But the princess sat at her table, feigning looks of surprise and joy as one pompous figure after another greeted her.

THE LADY LAENA smiled.

"Oh, how you honour me, Y/N," she began, "Won't you join me for some wine and gossip?" She jested.

The Princess nodded, escaping with her kin under the threshold arm in arm.

The young knight stood back turned towards the door, not meaning to but overhearing their girlish chatter.

Y/N sat at the foot of Laena's bed, watching as she undressed.

The soft winds rustled the silken curtains, filling the room with a slight chill.

"How long has it been since we have laid eyes upon each other dear cousin?" Y/N said, sipping from her silver chalice.

Laena sighed as she plopped on the tall mattress. Her hair spread across the cool satin sheets.

"Way too long, I fear." She pouted.

Y/N gulped the last bit of her wine, wiping the side of her mouth with the tips of her pointer and index fingers.

Her cousin chuckled.

"What?! What provokes you to such laughter?" Y/N flopped back so she could lay beside her.

"You, drunkard." She giggled.

"I'll have you know I have not indulged in quite sometime," the Princess shrugged, reaching for the pitcher.

"By all means indulge… Your Grace," she jested.

Y/N shoved the older girl's shoulder.

"Do you remember all the mischief we got up to?" She sat up reaching for her own chalice.

"How could one forget."

"Little dragons should be seen and not heard!" they both exclaimed at the same time.

Another fit of laughter ensued.

"Good riddance to Otto! That old geezer!" Y/N began before her soft palms covered her mouth.

Laena rolled around the bed, clutching her nightgown-covered stomach.

"You have never told a lie! I do not regret ever eavesdropping on his conversations." She stated plainly.

"Gods! Remeber when we heard him trying to seduce that young kitchen hand?! What was her name-" The princess began once more.

"Maeve! The poor girl!" Her cousin answered.

The two fell weak, with stomachs aching from laughter.

The hour grew late, and the pair grew bacchanalian.

Their chalices once filled with the finest of Dornish wine had run dry.

"…Any interesting converstions… or encounters at court...?" Laena asked. Her head now hung off the bed.

Y/N pouted her lips.

"No lords interest me…" Y/N retorted, reflecting on the disappointing suitors she had encountered. From brutish Baratheons to loquacious Lannisters.

Laena hummed.

"He does not have to be a lord…" she sang.

The princess sat up.

"It is almost as if you are referring to someone in particular dear cousin…" She arched her brow.

The Velaryon girl shrugged.

"Have you perhaps noticed the fleeting glances of your Kingsgaurd…?" The girl flipped over onto her belly.

She laughed nearly falling from the bed.

"Ser Harwin? I assure you I have no interest in a man like him. He probably frequents the brothel in Mole's Town, has fathered a thousand bastards and…"

"Uh huh… So you are smitten with him…" She deduced.

Y/N heaved a boudoir pillow at her cousin's head.

"I have no time to be consumed by matters of the heart… besides how can one forget the brutality of my name day…"

Laena's eyes softened.

Y/N cleared her throat.

"The hour has grown late dear cousin. I fear I must retire…" Y/N explained before swaying to her feet.

The older girl nodded.

She rose off the bed, bidding her kin goodnight with a kiss on the cheek.

The girl tugged feebly at the door before managing to pry it ajar.

She had forgotten her sworn protector resided outside until his dark ringlets appeared in the candlelit corridor.

"Princess." He greeted hoarsely.

"Ser Harwin. My apologies…" She slurred before clumsily shuffling past him.

The knight stifled the laugh that bubbled in his belly at the sight before him. In fact, he quite enjoyed it when the Princess murmured more than two words to him.

"No need to apologise Your Grace. Shall I escort you back to your chambers?" he said looking down at her state.

The top buttons of her chemise were unbuttoned; he had not the slightest clue where her shoes had gone and her curls were more unruly than usual.

Frankly she looked as though she'd been bedded.

"Yes… to my chambers," she sighed.

THE WALK WAS SLOW, but Ser Harwin did not mind. He found the sight quite adorable.

Princess Y/N hummed along as she used the passing walls to stabilize her.

When they reached the door, the knight pushed it open, standing straight outside the threshold.

The princess mumbled a quiet thanks before entering her large chamber.

A few moments after she had shut the door behind her, he heard what he thought was his name being uttered from her lips.

"Princess?" her turned to the door, his hand frozen at the handle.

"Are you decent?" He called.

"Yes!" she answered rather quietly.

The man swallowed hard.

The room was exceptionally warm from the fireplace that burned brightly in the corner, casting the shadows of flickering flames over the princess's face.

He shut the door behind him.

"I cannot manage the strings of my corset…" She pouted.

The man's skin warmed.

He supposed that since it was now the hour of the wolf, it would be most unkind to awaken Her Grace's handmaiden to do such a simple task.

The knight removed his gauntlets laying them gently on the table beside him.

He cautiously approached the heiress. Her back turned towards him.

She tossed her pearlescent hair over her shoulder so it rested on her collar bone.

His nimble fingers unravelling the strings of the corset one by one.

The man tried to ignore the way his rough fingers grazed the softness of her skin every now and again.

The princess sighed deeply.

"Thank you, Ser Harwin."

The man grunted in response, afraid that his tongue might betray him.

The silver-haired beauty stalked towards him, eyes fixed; he had not realized that he was marching backwards until his head hit the wall with a thud.

"Ser Harwin…" She said. Her glossy lilac eyes peering up at him through her long eyelashes.

"Princess…" He whispered. Swallowing thickly.

She tilted her head to the side.

His eyes immediately fell to her exposed neck.

"Do you desire me?"

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