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libraryofsouls · 4 years

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How would the slashers react to a serial killer s/o? Feisty, deadly and cunning. I am just so curious and also love your interpretation of them. ❤️👌

thanks so much! I’m glad. 💖

slashers reactions to: a serial killer s/o

Asa Emory / The Collector

chances are, he’s already done some investigating on you. depending on how far you’ve gone with him - it’s sink or swim.

if he cares about you enough he’ll risk introducing you to his collection. don’t expect too much though, as he would still prefer to work alone.

if you somehow use him in some way for your own goals, you’ll quickly find yourself being the newest addition to the collection, so try not to get any funny ideas.

would definitely feel like you’re walking on eggshells with him. he’s notoriously cautious so he might not be a fan of the idea of you walking the same path as him.

be extra domestic with him and he’ll eventually warm up to the idea. sweet-talk him, offer to wash his bloodied clothes along with yours and he just might start convincing himself that it doesn’t sound so bad after all.

Billy Lenz

if he found out before you even started dating - he's likely to save you for last just to observe how you really work. you’re dangerous and he doesn’t like that. (just pray he doesn’t end you in your sleep.)

or if you choose to drop the bomb on him mid-relationship, he’ll be shocked. is that why you’re so understanding? so patient with him?

if he happens to witness you killing, he’ll incorporate those in his obscene phone calls. maybe mumble it to himself sometimes as well.

compliments from billy! you’re not just a “regular piggy” anymore. smart piggy! pretty piggy! bloody piggy.

maybe it would be better if you don’t get in his way though. he tends to lose control when going after someone so he might hurt you by accident. likewise he won’t intercept you if you’re busy butchering someone.

god forbid someone goes after you, he’ll go beserk. if you save him from someone he’s not gonna thank you directly, instead just rest on you and compliment you some more.

Bo Sinclair

ah you’re hot but also fuck right off. ambrose is his territory and he’s not willing to share.

mid-relationship: he’ll be less trusting towards you. how long have you kept this from him, and why? what are you really after?

reassure him and earn that trust back again before he even lets you anywhere near his victims. the only way he’ll agree to work with you is if he’s the one calling the shots.

it’s pretty easy to fall into place once you’ve gotten used to his habits. he won’t admit it but it’s much easier to handle bigger groups with an extra pair of hands.

rage level increase! he’ll be especially violent towards anyone who takes a swing at you, only to snap back at you with “are you fuckin’ stupid? you could’ve gotten hurt!”

he’s actually much better at patching up wounds than vincent - and you better believe he’ll be patching you up before anybody else. (including himself) shut up, he already knows he’s bleeding and he doesn’t care.

Brahms Heelshire

another observant lad. like billy, he’ll take time to watch you very closely to see how you work. you’re his nanny and you kill too? hot.

it’ll be hard to keep secrets in such a huge house with very thin walls so you’re not likely to get away with this without him knowing. downside is it’ll take a much longer time for brahmsy to reveal himself.

kill for him and he’s yours to keep. usually it’s the other way around but now that he knows you’re capable, he’ll be a lot more laid-back. unless of course his jealousy gets the best of him.

still expects you to keep up with the list, however. there’s not really a lot of victims needing immediate attention so your first priority should always be him.

surprisingly helpful. he won’t feel the need to butcher anyone anymore (again, unless his jealousy acts up.) so he might actually give you a hand - just make sure to reward him properly for his efforts.

Bubba Sawyer

nervous bubby is hesitant to even go near you. sure he’s big and has a chainsaw but you look really good at what you do so he’s a bit scared.

mid-relationship: you’re a WHAT? gasps. actually, now that he thinks about it, that explains a lot. that’s okay he still loves you a whole lot!

quick to inform the entire family. hey everybody!! guess who has the coolest s/o ever?! he does! makes sure grandpa sawyer gets to see just how impressive you are. he’s so proud!

drayton’s undoubtedly going to hear about this so congrats! you’ve now levelled up to meat-wrangler, just like bubby. the whole family will be quick to accept you - no questions asked.

bubba still panics whenever you get hurt though! so maybe don’t get too carried away. he’s quick to make sure the tougher victims are taken care of first so they don’t hurt his precious s/o.

Jason Voorhees

big boy is THREATENED. why are you here and what do you want? please leave right now. though you do seem oddly nice for someone who just beheaded a guy at the dock.

mid-relationship: frozen in shock. his beloved s/o? the one that kisses him every morning? struggles to believe it. he might even refuse to accept it unless you have a good reason to do so.

he might be more accepting if you do it to protect yourself or as a way to rid the camp of trespassers. for him? he’s not sure how to feel about that.

very against the idea. bad people won’t think twice about hurting you. it doesn’t matter if you’re good at defending yourself or not - jason just doesn’t want strangers near you.

help him and he’s thankful, but he’s still gonna remind you to stay away from the trespassers as much as possible.

but jason, you cry out - no no no, he taps your nose, don’t you worry your pretty little head. he’ll do all the protecting, thank you very much.

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

if you make it on the news chromey is going to know about you asap. he’s got all the proper sources so you won’t exactly be as well-hidden as you thought. as long as you don’t go for his targets, he’ll leave you be.

if you happen to cross paths with him and things turn romantic then that makes things much easier on him. he’s more likely to keep you around in the long run knowing you’re okay with the lifestyle.

fucked-up games? you bet. this man is always up to no good and often tries to one-up you. bet his body count is bigger than yours. yeah? do you want proof?

would be very willing to let you tag along and watch. just don’t interact with his victims. at all. he’s fiercely possessive to a point that he’s not above fucking you in front of them to prove a point.

he’s not gonna assist you during your activities unless you’re in mortal danger but he’s also known to stalk you during your escapades. what do you mean “what the fuck are you doing here?” he brought you flowers like a good boyfriend and this is how you greet him? rude!

Michael Myers

hmm hot. even if you don’t tell him he already would have known before approaching you. he’ll be apprehensive if you choose to keep secrets from him, especially if he knows about them already.

if you trust him enough to tell him about this he’ll appreciate your honesty and might keep you around longer. hm sure okay but he knows already. (he’s not about to tell you that though)

do your own thing and leave him be. he doesn’t really care. upside is he won’t have to worry about you being attacked because he knows you’re capable of defending yourself even without him.

but that doesn’t stop him from being petty and obsessive. bashes the already motionless corpse of the idiot that attacked you. he’s not gonna stop until they turn into paste.

he works alone. don’t even try to follow him. stop it. don’t you have other places to be? shoo. firmly carries you back to the house and locks you there.

Thomas Hewitt

is it bad that he finds you.... kinda hot? you handle yourself well but he’s also lowkey afraid of you.

mid-relationship: like jason, he has trouble accepting the fact that his darling would be capable of such a horrid thing. he’ll be okay with it if you do it for the hewitts or for your own protection. otherwise he’s not into it.

killing bad. please leave it to him instead, okay? he doesn’t want you getting hurt. he’ll insist to do all the butchering despite hoyt’s loud protests that you should be pulling your own weight.

go ahead and brush up on your convincing skills because it’s not impossible to persuade him. (unlike jason). you would need to earn your right to provide for the family.

the hewitts are quicker to accept you into the family once you’ve proven yourself. you’ll fit right in! tommy’s always going to be a worrywart though regardless of how good you actually are.

Vincent Sinclair

might actually target you first because you’re the most dangerous. he’s much less likely to trust you since you’ve killed before.

mid-relationship: tell him very early in the relationship otherwise he might not trust you again. he’ll be understanding regardless of your intentions. (unless of course if it’s to harm him or his brothers, then he’s troubled.)

mother hen vincent would also prefer you don’t help out with the victims. bo’s already a handful by himself and he’s confident that the three of them (along with lester) can manage.

but he’s not going to forbid you, per se. he’s not gonna go out of his way to stop you. just as long as you’re smart about it and you don’t get hurt, then you can carry on.

again, an extra pair of hands means less work for everybody involved so as much as bo bitches about how trusting you might come back to bite them in the ass, they’re appreciative of your efforts.

#requests #reacts #slashers #asa emory #the collector #billy lenz #bo sinclair #brahms heelshire #bubba sawyer #jason voorhees #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #slasher party #my writing

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muesliforbreakfast · 3 years

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Pilgrim’s Trail

Sometimes I write... As y’all have seen. I’ve put two pieces up on HFY. A subreddit which I guess celebrates aspects of humanity. This is the first – It's based on an existential nightmare I had a few years ago and wrote about, but with a HFY flavour. Little bit of trivia... I gave the original writeup a conventional ending - this is much closer to the way the nightmare ended, but Ratel the Mercenary made some fucken lemonade.

Setting – Not really important, but if you insist... Picture a bastardized amalgamation of Kirill Eskov's version of Middle Earth, and Novigrad/Velen then you have the right idea.

- - - - - - - - - -

Years after his first quest he sits at the spring of the hawk under the white tree. He sharpens his silver sword, holding it across his thigh, as he watches the travellers on their journeys. A tall young woman in a weathered cloak approaches him.

"You look familiar to me, have we met?" she asks, with no other greeting.

"I have travelled far... it's possible."

"What is your name, if you will? I am a collector of stories, and I would have yours."

With a weary sigh, he replies "They just call me the Mercenary, call me that, if you like."

"Mercenary... How did you become a mercenary?"

He looks at her now and sees an elf, not a girl. She is only young in elf years.

- - - - - - - - - -

The caravan had stopped. He jumped off the cart to stretch, and admired the view of the mountain range, from the shade of the valley. Purple in the distance, it would take them another three days to reach it, and having reached it, the tunnel that would take them to the other side of the range. From there, it is another month until they reached the stronghold of the Assassin king known only as Tzerlag.

It was his first quest, and he was excited and apprehensive.

The command to walk the perimeter came from Brother Edmund, the heart and brains of this quest.

He took up his sword and began to walk the perimeter.

~ ~ ~

He had wanted to find his true love. "Eat the fruit of the white tree, and you shall find your true love." The book had said. His people had confirmed this decree, so he had sought the tree at the spring of the hawk, but the tree bore him no fruit. He had waited for three days, and on the fourth a wise man had said that an offering was necessary.

"But I have nothing, sir." He replied. The wise man had advised him to crusade. "Crusading will grant you a reward in this life." So he had walked the Pilgrims trail, to the first outpost. There he had waited for a group of crusaders, so he could begin his offering.

~ ~ ~

The very first group of crusaders to take the Pilgrim's trail had been the group that he had joined. According to the Master of the Guard, their mission was the most important one they had coming through there in years. A thief had stolen codex pages from the Assassin king Tzerlag, and to prevent continued skirmishes between the kingdoms, a group of crusaders were returning the codex pages that had been found.

He had been there when Brother Edmund had put the codex pages into a basket woven of cables, and he had been there when Brother Edmund and the Master of the Guard had discussed the route, and the dangers along the way. Their caravan numbered four hundred strong. Four hundred strong was more than enough, even for a mission of this importance.

~ ~ ~

The ambush had happened at the entrance to the tunnel through the ranges. The soldiers and crusaders had circled Brother Edmund's carriage, and they had all fought to the death.

Only he had survived.

While the battle had raged outside the carriage, he had smashed the lock on the cable basket with the pommel of his sword, and stuffed the five codex pages, wrapped in wax paper, up his gambeson sleeve. He had then tied a piece of cord around his wrist and sleeve to seal it, and then, outside, he had joined the melee again.

The bandits had outnumbered them almost two to one, and had quickly slaughtered all but the best fighters; the professional soldiers and seasoned men at arms. Under the weight of numbers, the best fighters would fall too. But not before he reached the entrance to the tunnel, his pursuers dead by his sword, and the sword of the four deceased comrades who had followed him.

The tunnel was unlit, and he had no torch, but he knew that it was dead straight with no branches, and so he stumbled into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

Torches in the darkness behind him warned him of his pursuers. They were too far to see him, so He took refuge in a crag in the rocks of the tunnel. As they passed, their quiet conversation made his blood run cold with fear.

The bandit Warlord, in his fury at having had the codex pages taken during the battle had ordered the wounded crusaders be piked to death where they lay. Meanwhile he had sent a dozen of his remaining men into the darkness of the tunnel, to reach the end and then hold the exit, as his main force scoured it thoroughly from behind. All this he had learned whilst following them through the tunnel. He had considered waiting for them to pass in his hiding place, but now was glad he had not.

~ ~ ~

The tunnel was long, and the scouts had set a fast pace for hours. When they stopped for a rest, they were exhausted.

So was he, but to rest was to die.

They made camp in the middle of the tunnel, and had posted two sentries for the night; one facing the entrance, and one on the other side facing the exit.

He had stealthily made his way past the first sentry, into the camp. He had killed both sentries and then killed the ten remaining men in their sleep. By his estimate, he would have six hours to make it to the other end of the tunnel. He hoped it would be enough.

~ ~ ~

Near the end of the tunnel he had encountered some traders. He looked like hell.

"Don't go that way." He had told them. When pressed for information he told them what he could without giving too much away. They had decided to take him to the stronghold of the Assassin king, and he had been picked up by Assassin scouts not four miles away from the tunnel.

The scouts had taken them all to the court of the Assassin king, and he had given the king the pages.

He had refused his reward.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Those were my first kills, my first crusade."

"Then you're Ratel... Ratel the Mercenary... The last time I heard this story you singlehandedly cutting through swathes of outlaws and delivered Tzerlag's daughter yourself."

"Hah. Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story. What happened was trial enough."

"The march through the desert, Seven years in the Eastern Marshes, The Marshal of Umber? Are those stories true?"

"It just depends on which version you've heard."

She pauses to think for a moment. He begins to sharpen his sword once more, and then speaks.

"I spoke to a man, a middle aged man, but scarred, withered to the bone by sorrow and hardship. He was gored by a boar, but killed it in return. It took him weeks to crawl to help. When he ran out of water, he drank out of muddy puddles and filthy holes. He ate raw fish when he could catch them. Insects and moss when he couldn't. When help found him he was weak and feverish; his recovery took months, his experience took years from his life. He's been tried far more than I. I've travelled and fought but I am paid, and well, for it. These passing peasants - I've seen and lived their lives, but briefly. Backbreaking labour for their feudal lords, and they receive just enough to scrape by in return."

"Losing everything but your waterskin, boots and a sword when you crossed the desert... Turning the tables on the Marshal of Umber and his hundred men as he tracked you through the forest... And they've suffered more?"

"The Marshal didn't even have twenty... Yes. My life is easy; I travel, I fight, I'm paid. Occasionally I am hurt, but I don't go hungry, I don't wake before the dawn and labour until after dusk, day in day out. This life is dangerous, but I know naught else. I will die before I'm forty; an early death is the price I will pay for never tilling the soil and toiling for every scrap of food I eat. If anything I am fortunate, aside from this."

The she-elf pauses to consider his words once more.

"Then I don't know how you humans do it. Live your lives I mean, day after day."

"I don't know how you elves came into this world. By all accounts you weren't here, and then you were. And the elements always bent to your will. It's not so for us; If we build a house from wood we cut down the trees for lumber. We carry the wood and saw it and nail it into a house. Whereas I've seen your treetop cities grown from the trees themselves."

"I still remember when my kind thought your kind were primitive brutes for doing so. Some still hold that we were bested because we became too civilised."

"Whereas our historians will tell you that your kind never needed steel until our kinds met in battle, which is why you never sought it, and didn't have it until you needed it."

"Please don't take offense! Your species is relentless, but that is admired by my kind!"

"Relentless... Did you know that our first hunters were persistence hunters?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Before we had steel, or fire, or even stone tools, we would chase our prey down. We would run them to death."

"Chase down... A deer?"

"That's right... You see they can run faster than us, but we can walk all day. We would chase just slowly enough that they could get away, but just fast enough that they were never out of sight. We would chase them until they were so exhausted that we could kill them with our hands. When we had nothing we still found a way. Now we have... Steel... And writing, and poetry. We've traveled the oceans. Maybe one day we will travel the skies. My ancestors survived a history of suffering because we were made to endure; the ability to suffer has been with us from the very beginning. No matter what it takes, no matter the cost."

#HFY #Humanity Fuck Yeah #Fiction #An Exercise in Writing

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evolutionsvoid · 5 years

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The Pugnax is a creature that is found in the arctic regions of the world, where land and ice meet the freezing seas. They are marine mammals that spend most of their lives in these frigid waters, only coming to dry land to rest or reproduce. If your ship has ever sailed through the arctic regions, you probably have spotted their huge colonies packed upon the floating ice and stony shores. When seen on land, you would probably wonder how such a beast survives in water. Their bodies are bulky and heavy, giving the impression that they would sink like a stone. Their limbs look malformed and useless, which is shown when they drag their weight around on the ice. While all this gives the impression of an awkward creature, they are surprisingly graceful in the water, and are hardy beasts that can easily survive in this cold, harsh world. The Pugnax are creatures of the sea, and their anatomy shows that quite well. Their forelimbs have flattened out into flippers, while their hind limbs have fused to create something like the fluke of a whale. These are obviously used to propel themselves through the water, and the dexterity of their limbs allows them to pull off impressive maneuvers. They have precise control over their movements, which is critical when it comes to foraging for food and escaping predators. The other adaptation is the streamlined shape of their body. Though bulky, the body of the Pugnax is very smooth and rounded, making it so that they slice through the water rather than burrow through it. Their fur is extremely short and sparse, while their ears are reduced and stick close to their skulls. Speaking of their body and skin, the Pugnax have thick layers of insulating blubber that keep them warm in the frigid water. This is how they are able to survive in such an environment with little to no shelter. To further help their aquatic lifestyle is their respiratory system, which is specialized for long dives in the ocean. Large lungs allow them to hold a lot of air and their bodies are capable of functioning on very little of it at a time. The flesh around their nostrils can seal them shut to prevent seawater from getting in, and their thick flexible lips keep the same from happening to their mouths. So far it is believed that the Pugnax can remain underwater for as long as thirty minutes, which is important when it comes to finding food. The diet of a Pugnax consists mainly of mollusks and crustaceans, which they hunt for during their long dives. This food is found on the sea floor, usually buried within the muck and sand. To dig out such treats, they use the famed tusks that jut from their lower mandibles. These long, lance-like tusks are actually incisors that have grown out of their jaws, with them actually emerging below the lips. Both the males and females of this species possess these tusks, as they are important for feeding. These two special teeth are grown close together to create one structure, and they are subtly curved upward to make something like a scoop. When foraging, the Pugnax will swim just above the ocean floor, using its keen senses and sensitive hairs to locate prey. When food is detected, they shall use their long tusks to rip up the muck and reveal the hiding morsel. With the scoop-like shape of their tusks, they can slide them under prey and lift them up to send them sliding down to their mouth. Prehensile lips allow them to suck up the crab or clam without letting much sea water get in, and these same lips can let them chew their food without breaking the waterproof seal. Inside their mouths are broad, flat teeth that can crush and grind tough shells, and the whole pulverized mess is swallowed. After eating all they can during their dive, the Pugnax shall return to dry land where it can rest up.

Due to its large size and layers of blubber, the Pugnax is a tempting meal for arctic predators. Many other animals out there would love to dine upon a rich store of fat, but the Pugnax is no easy target. While they are awkward and slow on land, they gather in large pods that can reach the hundreds. With sheer numbers like that, a predator could simply be crushed to death by their bulky bodies if they dared dive in for a bite. This rarely happens, as many would-be attackers are more worried about the two toothy lances jutting from their faces. While good for digging, these tusks can also jab and slash at foes. When the colony is approached by a predator, many Pugnax will point their tusks outward, creating a wall of ivory spears. In the water, the Pugnax are not so packed together and predators can more easily single out an individual. The problem they will encounter, though, is that the Pugnax are more graceful in water than on land. They can dodge charges and move away from bites, all while keeping their tusks trained on the attacker. In some cases, the Pugnax may even barrel towards opponents, looking to gore them with their teeth. If one wants to eat one of these beasts, then they must be quick and creative. Some predators are fast enough underwater to dart around these teeth and attack the exposed body, while others go for surprise tactics so that the Pugnax is doomed before it has a chance to fight back. Another group can focus on the Pugnax's need for air, mainly carnivores who sport gills and other water-breathing organs. They can antagonize the Pugnax and keep it from reaching the surface, slowly asphyxiating it as it tries desperately to escape. If the unfortunate victim tries to fight to the end, then it shall drown and the predator gets its meal. If they make a mad, last second dash to the surface waters, they expose themselves to attack and the predator won't waste such an advantage. Another thing they do on dry land, other than rest, is mate. These large colonies will soon divide themselves up into harems, as the largest and strongest males lay claim to any female they can find. Other males may seek to challenge them, and this is when their tusks find another purpose. Like fencers in a duel, these males will clash with their tusks and try to stab the other challenger. At such times, you can even hear the clatter of their teeth from a ship, as they swipe and lunge at one another. These battles can get quite bloody, as the sharp teeth shred through skin. Thankfully, their blubber prevents these wounds from becoming serious, and many defeated opponents will crawl off with a fresh batch of scars. The hides of most Pugnax boast dozens of scars, either gained during battle or by close calls with predators. Once females give birth to their pups, they shall stick to dry land until their offspring grows strong enough to swim. During this time, the pup shall feed on her milk while the mother relies on her stores of fat to keep her going. Once the pup has gained its strength, the two shall head into the ocean, where she shall teach it to forage (with the added bonus of her finally getting something to eat). As I mentioned before, the big, blubbery bodies of the Pugnax are tempting targets to many and that includes local folk. For coastal towns in the arctic, the Pugnax are a staple of their livelihoods. Their hide is good for leather, while the sheer amount of meat and fat is enough to sustain a village for quite some time. While the fishermen go out with their nets, hunters will head out with their spears to take down one of these beasts. The weapons of these hunters are often long, as they need to be able to score a hit without getting jabbed by the Pugnax's own weapons. Often hunters focus on a single creature, attacking from all sides and slowly taking it down with dozens of stabs. The carcass is then moved to a nearby spot and carved up, which is waaaaaay longer than the actual hunting part. In fact, hunters spend most of their time dressing and hauling their kills than actually taking them down! The other thing taken from the carcass is, of course, their tusks. Locals use these overgrown teeth in their tools and art, carving into the ivory to create breathtaking sculptures. It is only in these villages where I can truly appreciate this art, as I know that these tusks were taken from Pugnax that were hunted to sustain their families. In these cases, the tusks were an added bonus, while the animal was taken down mainly for food. Seeing these ivory sculptures in the homes of collectors and rich folk, though, is another story. Instead of seeing the beautiful craftmanship and the wonderful handiwork, I am reminded of the folk who butcher these creatures solely for their tusks. The ivory trade is a lucrative one, and there are those out there that will take down dozens of these beasts and leave their carcasses behind to rot. It is a disgusting practice, and one that causes a lot of damage. In fact, I ran into a group of these butchers during my studies of the Pugnax, and boy were my leaves rustled! I was hunkered down on a far off hill when I spotted them, but at the time I thought they were regular hunters. When the six of them cut down three hefty beasts, I thought nothing of it. It was only when they sawed off the tusks and walked off with nothing else that I realized the species of jerkbag I was actually observing! I knew that they would be back for more, so I decided to do something about it. I used my amazing tracking and stealth skills to locate their camp without them spotting me. When night fell, I went down to the poor slain creatures and filled up some skins with blood. I then returned to the harvesters' camp and made sure they were all asleep. As they dozed, I crept in and dumped the blood all over their gear and tents. With my last skin of blood, I ventured inland and left a trail of it behind me. In practically no time I was located by a pack of Arctic Wolf Fleas, who caught wind of the tasty blood. I ditched the skin and put distance between me and the blood. Since they don't feed on sap, the fleas ignored me and went for the blood. They latched onto the trail I left and headed straight to the site that absolutely reeked with food. Imagine the screams and shock that came from that camp when eight Arctic Wolf Fleas tore through their tents! For such mighty "hunters" they sure screamed and ran like frightened saplings! I had a good laugh at that, and also succeeded in driving those butchers away from the Pugnax colony. Sure, those hunters did wind up discovering me and seeking revenge, but it was well worth it. Besides, I figured things out in the end and I dissuaded them from taking part in the ivory trade. At least I think so, as that kind of depends on if those four ever made it back to civilization... Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ---------------------------------- Hey look, an upside down walrus! HOW CREATIVE. Well, they can't all be winners, and the world needs to have some mundane in it.

#monster #creature #walrus #mammal #art #drawing

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peter-pan-hoe · 7 years

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Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood

song

MASTERLIST

I wasn’t really sure how to work with this. The problem I’m running into with a lot of these song fics and so yeah. It’s just a really long nonsense thing-o. I hope you enjoy.

word count: 2.5k

Song suggested by: @nevereverlandboys

Warning: Daddy issues, duh, just a general depressing vibe.

Go ahead and cry little girl Nobody does it like you do I know how much it matters to you I know that you got daddy issues And if you were my little girl I’d do whatever I could do I’d run away and hide with you I love that you got daddy issues and I do too

OUAT AU where Peter is Rumple’s son. Peter is abandonded by this father the Dark One and finds himself in Neverland where he makes a life for himself. He seems sad and depressed for a long time to the other lost boys until he meets Y/N.

I switched out Baelfire with Peter so I could follow that storyline.

Also this is about to get super depressing because Imma add in me own daddy issues xx

(I’m okay with what happened with my dad so yee)

Peter’s POV

He left me. My father left me to gain power. He left me to thrive as the Dark One. We were going to go somewhere he wouldn’t have to do that. He became the Dark One to protect me and that power ended up taking him from me.

We were to go to a realm where no magic was needed. It doesn’t even exist there. We could be a happy family just like before the darkness took him over.

But alas I s’pose it wasn’t meant to be.

When he released me into that portal I wasn’t taken to the world without magic. No in my fear I thought of the one place I was truly happy as a child. I thought of Neverland.

And so that is where the portal took me.

I made my life there, eventually returning to the Enchanted Forest not to find my father, but to find other boys like me, to find lost boys who didn’t receive the love and lives they deserved.

I took them back to Neverland with me to live a life of fun and brotherly love that would never end.

And yet I never lived up to the expectation I presented for them.

They were my lost boys, my brothers. I had brought them here to be happy and I rarely was.

One of the boys had asked me why there weren’t any girls on the island and I didn’t know how to respond. So I said:

“Girls are different from boys so I don’t know if they’d like being here,”

The boy, Nibs, nodded and no one ever really spoke about it again. I’d stopped going out myself and employed the Neverland Shadow to go and retrieve lost boys on my behalf.

I became broodier, harsher, angrier.

I never really figured out why until I heard the call.

“I believe,”

The voice was different to any lost boy who had called in the past.

That’s because it wasn’t a boy.

It was our first girl to call for the Shadow.

“What am I to do about this?” his earie voice echoes in my head as he made his way over the trees and hovered above me.

“Go get her!” I encouraged, confused that he asked me what he should do.

He never asked me such a thing before.

Perhaps because the caller was a girl.

I made my way to the beach to greet the girl once she was here. The boys would certainly be thrilled to have a girl on the island. Depraved little shits.

It took a while but I saw the shine in the sky telling me the Shadow was back with the girl.

I stood from my seat on a rock and waited patiently for them to land.

I could see the girls face as they floated through the air over the ocean towards the beach.

She looked content with being held by a mystical shoadow flying her over cold dark waters.

As the neared the shore her face changed.

She saw me and I thought it I that scared her but her sudden screaming and shouting proved to me that it was landing that made her afraid.

“please put me down gently!” She cried, clinging desperately to the never slowing Shadow.

He did not do as she requested and dived to the ground releasing her from his hold a few metres from the ground.

“I said GENTLY!” she screeched as she plummeted to the sand.

I blinked forward and caught her with a huff before she could land on the ground.

“Thank you,” she smiled sweetly as I put her down.

She grumbled something to herself about how that was anything but gentle and picked up a rock from the ground.

“That wasn’t gentle you JERK!” she piffed the rock at the Shadow, her (Y/H/L)(Y/H/C) flying around her as she did, but to no avail as while her aim was true, it went straight through him.

She’s got fire.

I like fire.

Y/N POV

This place was nice. Despite the rough landing I was already enjoying my new surroundings. Peter Pan had introduced himself to me with a cute smirk and lead me to a camp filled with other lost boys.

They quickly crowded round me like they’d never seen a girl before. It soon dawned on me that they had seen girls before just not for a very long time.

The all dove into a quite heated discussion about whether I would be a lost boy like them with no discrimination or Have my own title of lost girl.

“Do I get a say in this?” I piped up.

“Uhhh…” One of the boys looked between me and the boy beside him. “Does she?”

“Just call her a lost boy and be done with it,” a tall grumpy boy said with his first smile since I’d gotten here.

“Uhhh thanks?” I laughed awkwardly. “What do you guys do for fun around here?”

“Capture the flag!”

“Hide and seek!”

“Truth or dare!”

“Shut up Curly,”

“You shut up,”

“We should go swimming!”

“YEAH!”

I laughed loudly at all the boys and their poor decision making skills.

“Is everyone coming to the beach?” I asked.

“Peter probably won’t but everyone else will,” The tall grumpy boy, Felix, explained to me.

“Why not?” I looked across the campsite to the bog treehouse looking over the clearing. “Doesn’t he like swimming?”

“He gets depressed sometimes,” Felix shrugged. “Usually whenever theres a new boy on the island. He never used to. But the last few decades or so he’s been super down,”

“Can I go talk to him?” I turned hopefully to Felix.

He simply shurrged and followed the others to the beach.

I made my way to Peter’s treehouse and called up before climbing the ladder.

“Peter?” I called. “I’m coming up to talk to you,”

when I got to the top he was waiting for me by the door to his little house.

“What’s up?” he asked, concern across his elfish features. “Is everything okay?”

“I was coming up here to ask you that,” I confessed. “The boys have gone swimming and when I asked if you’d be coming too, Felix said you’ve been depressed. Is there something specific bugging you or are you just flat?”

“I guess it’s both,” he sighed.

I honestly hadn’t expected him to be so honest with me straight off the bat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I moved beside him and leant on my elbows against the railing around the house.

“Not really,” he said. “I’m not good at talking about my problems. bad memories of my father, y’know?”

“Oh I know,” I laughed ironically at the negative thought intruding on my mind. “I know all too well,”

“Do you want to talk it?” he asked me my own question.

“I’ve gotten over my daddy issues.,” I explained. “But if you would like I can tell you about it,”

“I’m very curious by nature,” he smirked. “I would like to know about it if it won’t upset you,”

“Well then how about you go first?” I smirked. “I’ll tell you my sob story if you tell me yours,”

“You’re evil,” he chuckled. “I like it,”

He shook his head with another laugh before taking a deep breath, as if preparing himself.

“Every time we have a newcomer to the island I’m reminded of how I got here,” he began. “Why I’m here instead of back home,”

“Why are you here?” I said softly.

“Because my father abandoned me,” he copied my actions and leant against the railing.

what he said surprised me and reminded me of my own abandonment issues.

“Tell me about him,” I said.

“Well,” he took a deep breath. “He never used to be a bad man. He became the Dark One. A very powerful dark sorcerer. The most powerful magic user ever heard of. But it wasn’t enough. His hunger for more power was consuming him and it upset me because he wasn’t like himself. I explained this to him and he agreed to travel with me to somewhere that had no magic, where he would revert back to himself,”

He moved back from the railing and motioned for me to follow him inside.

His little tree house was cute. Messy like you;d expect a teenage boy’s room to be but it had a nice feeling to the room.

He made himself comfortable on his windowsill.

I sat across from him on the same sill, swinging one leg on the outside and one on the inside.

“When it came time to use a portal to get to this magic-less land, he was too afraid,” he continued. “The portal opened and it pulled me in. And he let me fall through. But portals take you where you think of. And I wasn’t thinking of a place without magic. I was so afraid of falling though a portal alone, I’d just watched as my father willingly let go of my hand and allowed me to fall. And so I thought of one place I felt safe. Here. And the portal took me to Neverland,”

We were quiet for some time.

I wasn’t sure if he was going to continue.

My body moved before I could think. It was pure instinct.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

He stiffened in surprise before relaxing a little and putting one hand on my back.

“What’s this for?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I just know what it’s like to feel abandonded by my father and so I did what I would have wanted someone to do for me,”

“Your father left you?” his head turned towards mine even though I was still hugging him.

I pulled back and nodded, brushing some loose hair from my eyes.

“When I was 12,” I told him, my face unreadable. “It was more or less my choice but he was the one who ceased contact completely,”

“What happened?” he rearranged the way he sat so that he was straddling the window sill like me, his legs on either side of mine.

“My father had always been absent,” I started. “He was always either travelling or just being stupid. I was all lies. He was avoiding taxes or whatever. Debt collectors,”

“What a shit dude,” Peter laughed. then he looked guilty. “Sorry for interrupting,”

“It’s alright,” I laughed. “But that’s why he was always traveling. It was to avoid debt collectors. And but the time I finally understood what he had been doing this whole time, he told me he’d be moving far away again. Only this time it would be permanent. He wouldn’t be travelling. He’d be living there,”

I looked out the window at the strange constellations in Neverland’s sky.

“The place was called Woodside,” I went on. “It was a long trip from where I lived with my mother to get to Woodside. And my father told me that he wouldn’t make the effort to see me as often, and if I wanted to come see him then I would have to get a ride along with one of his friends when they went to see him,”

“That’s so messed up,” Peter breathed.

I nodded.

“I told him that if he wasn’t going to make the effort to see me, then I wouldn’t either,” my voice was gradually getting softer. “I told him I would contact him when I wanted to see him. Since I was meant to see him that weekend and I was upset at his moving plans and didn’t want to go. “And so either to spite me or just to further his efforts of debt avoidance, he changed all his contact information and didn’t even end up moving to Woodside. I haven’t spoken to him in years,”

“Y/n I’m so sorry,” he reached forward and took a gentle grasp on my hands.

“I guess we both have daddy issues huh?” I attempted to chuckle but it was more of a sob.

My throat had begun to ache from holding back tears.

“I feel stupid,” I sniffed. “I haven’t gotten upset about this in ages, I don’t know why it’s affecting me like this now,”

“Don’t feel stupid,” he let go of one of my hands to brush my hair behind my ear. “Go ahead and cry if you need to. It obviously matters to you, what he did. If you were my little girl I’d do anything to see you happy. And I think that comes from my abandonment issues,”

“Thanks Peter,” I smiled. “I thought I was over it. I guess not,”

“It’s okay to cry,” he said with a gentle smile. “I guess that’s why we get along so well so quickly. ‘Cause you’ve got daddy issues, and I do too,”

Tags

@dina3s @just-meh-and-me-dogs @xcastawayherosx @lexymeg @trashofthelowestkind @gunpowderandlead1213 @kennedy-christl

UGGHHHH DADDY ISSUES SUCK ASS

Wanna be tagged in anything? Hit me up.

#peter pan x reader #peter pan ouat #ouat imagine #robbie kay peter pan #peter pan once upon a time

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abahwrites · 7 years

Text

Welcome to Leaking Tarps, Pt. 1A

The bleached photograph made Angela conscious of her age, of how much time had passed – and what an exciting life she’d had. In a box full of crumpled letters, unsorted, and messy alphabetical wonders; a photograph of her with her fiancée is nothing more than a piece of paper with a digital drawing on it. She sighed as she put it back to where it belongs. She lights up the campfire to create a warmer shelter for the night; she once was a doctor, Angela once saving people’s lives, now with only a campfire in a barrel, she could only fold her hands tight to avoid the frigid weather. It has been several days since the lights went out and people are panicking like crazy. They thought when the lights out, there’ll be a catastrophic event that led many people died in their brethren’s hands. Angela would rub her chin and wonder if people lost their minds about love. Or was it something else? The box quickly entered her bag as she reloads her pistol, looking for another pack of supplies for the night.

It was six a.m.. The sun shines brightly, gives hope, dream, and another kill. The box creates a loud, jiggling sound that everyone can hear from tens of meters away, to make sure her safety is guaranteed 100 percent, she puts the box under the bridge and starts to search for supplies in downtown. Angela got only three bullets for today’s killing floor; she can never rely on this cursed weapon all day, all night. It’s a strange moment in the northern hemisphere to have the sun shines that bright. She approached an abandoned house with all of its furnishings intact. A candle stood there with its wax, still dimly lighting the room; to begin her second week of the survival of the humanity, there’s a dead body.

Today’s going to be interesting. Angela thought to herself as she searches the body for a small amount of ammunition or a waterskin. She founds another photograph instead of what she’s looking for, she gave it a look for a second and narrowed her eyes, there’s a number 17 and a cross inside a circle on the picture that correlates with an empty, blue, plastic barrel. Knowing that this image is interesting enough for a doctor like her, Angela pocketed it and went outside. She walks carefully and cautiously, observing her surroundings and found nothing but carcases of humans, beasts, and animals alike.

What she didn’t know is she began the day two hours ago with a sharp pain in her head and her neck, and she didn’t have any idea where it came from. She is waking up under that bridge that night feeling unconscious. All that she remembers from the last session of her conscious stage is she is running from a mob of undead, got her head smacked into a bent street lamp pole and off she goes falling off beneath the bridge. What a rotten luck. She chuckled and remembered the whole thing about what happened last night, slowly.

Drifting through the unscribbled streets of an Unnamed Town, with all of its contents like dead bodies, several happy families that seem to plunder everything, a horde of undead, and a mob of corrupted man and woman. Unnamed Town has been a pleasant journey for all of its visitors, with the Ancient Waterfall as their main tourist attraction, not to mention several huge art galleries scattered in this little settlement. Aside from that, the Unnamed Town seems to host many, many hospitable community members and peoples, continuously helping those who in need, be it a neighbour or even a complete stranger that just wander around town last night. Unnamed Town has many undiscovered talents, hundreds of them in one Texas-sized city. Those who born in Unnamed Town is either rich enough to live like kings, quite average to taste the upper-middle class dishes, and unfortunate enough to appreciate the praise of art collectors and critiques.

Angela enters the gun shop for any ammunition left by its owners, kicking through dead bodies and rotten stench of the undead makes the search even more painful to bear in her mind. She founds a good, factory new, automatic shotgun. It’s the newest shipment, coming through town for maybe two or three days before the blackout. The owner didn’t want to sell this baby girl. Angela told herself and inspected the shotgun. It uses .12ga shells and if you talk about this bad boy of a bullet, in the Unnamed Town – everything as expensive as .12ga is rare. The 12 Gauge itself is the second most powerful shotgun shells available in Unnamed Town, due to the rarity of its kind, many people decided to ship it from nearby cities, notably the Fredericksburg, known as “The Gunsmiths.” These “Gunsmiths” don’t play nice with people outside the town of Fredericksburg and the Unnamed Town, so Angela thought that to get a pretty neat deal with the Gunsmiths is the best thing she can do to ensure her survival rate at this point.

It is very unusual for her to sleep at eight a.m. but finding the gun shop is safe enough for resting her body, head, and her sanity. She dreamt about laying on the grass with her fiancée, somewhere outside Unnamed Town, wind swaying their hairs as they danced on the grass field. They run across many mountain flowers and beautiful butterflies, and it sounds like heaven until she tried to chase that dream, forlorn. She keeps running and running through that thought and finally awaken by a poke.

Angela gasped. “Who... who are you?”

The man replied. “Nothing to worry, I just a survivor trying to book it out of here.”

“Thank God you weren’t undead.” Angela sighed in relieve. “So, who are you?”

“As I said, I am just a survivor. My name is not that necessary for you to know.”

“Alright. Where are you heading to?” Angela asked the man while giving him her spare waterskin.

The man took the waterskin and drinks a bit from it. “Well, the news about the Gunsmiths is accurate. They are defending themselves from a constant attack from anywhere, probably bandits. These bandits aren't your regular ones, and they are who can craft anything out of something. They called themselves the Forge. Its leader is undoubtedly the descendant of the famous blacksmithing family, Raeder Forge. Now, you can guess where they got their name, right?” The man took another sip and returned it to Angela. “Thanks for the drink.”

“I see, now, what would you like to inform me?” Angela asked. “Sure, glad I can help.”

The man reported. “Well, the Gunsmiths, led by a man named Norman Fire-Serpent wants everyone from Unnamed Town, preferably alive to aid them against the Forges. If you fancy gunfights, I’ll be at their front entrance to make sure you’re not with the Forge on your way to Fredericksburg.”

Angela nodded. “Thanks, I’ll be in touch with you. Good luck.”

The man stood up and make a run for it. “You too, whoever you are.”

As soon as the man walks out from the gun shop and book it out of there as quick as he could, Angela stays for a little more time to see if she can find another set of ammunition for the shotgun. She also didn’t forget to barricade the whole place to make it a little safer... for now. Angela finds herself in serenity when it comes to inscribe and to ruin walls with words of hopelessness or words of wisdom. She wrote Angela was here. That’s a funny one, and she continued it with poorly-drawn Unnamed Town’s skyscrapers and wrote underneath it.

God Put Mercy. Have a faith. With a bouquet of flowers underneath the sentence.

Angela found an old sniper rifle laying on the floor and use it as her primary weapon for picking off the undead from top of the gun shop, alas, she got only one bullet. She sighed and facepalmed and went back down, re-barricading everything for the night. Whatever Angela did for herself will likely to have greater consequences of getting killed, plundered, or even taken as a slave by the local bandits. Angela went back up to the rooftop, and she risked it anyway. She took a shot, and the bullet penetrates up to four undead behind the first one. One shot, five kills. Angela boasted while pulling the bolt backwards. Angela went down to the gun shop, trying to make a makeshift camp for the night with camouflage nets, ghillie suits, and set up a night vision binoculars to scout for anything useful. Although the lights went out since the dawn of the undead, she still has her phone on her hands and a few camcorders.

Angela cautiously put all the recording devices all around the gun shop. During the night, she couldn’t get sleep. The groans, the grunts, the gurgles of the undead made her uneasy. Later that evening, she cautiously awake from her slumber to see the wandering undead among a hundred lying dead in the streets and the rubbles of the Unnamed Town. It’s still 02:00 a.m. and the grunts of that undead is getting louder and louder. In between her sanity and questions that never answered, she feels pity about those who turned into such beast. Preying on the lesser ones, praying that this curse will end – or at least someone put out their misery. She uses the night vision binoculars to observe more and more undead that come into her sight, the situation is nothing more than depressive, and it was hell. A living hell. For either Angela and the Undead. For the greater good of the undead, she prayed and continue to sleep – hoping that with sleeping she could get rid the hellish look of what she saw earlier. Fredericksburg may only 10 miles far, but to get there – it requires a helluva luck and critical thinking. Well, since then, Angela didn’t know that the Unnamed Town, her residence is a part of a bigger city called Yanksborough. A Texas-sized city, well known as the Leaking Tarps to the survivors.

Welcome to the Leaking Tarps, Angela. I hope you survive another day. Angela said to herself after looking a wanderer-made map.

She gave a look to the map. She saw four cities, and it’s all connected to the Unnamed Town. She only knows Unnamed Town, her residence, and the Gunsmiths of Fredericksburg – the only known blacksmith city that sells many weapons and knives alike. The other three were Macbury, Orefield, and Brimchester. The three known as Patient Zero for Macbury, the Medieval for Orefield, and No Man’s Land for Brimchester. There’s also a side note on the map.

“Never go to the No Man’s Land where you coming from Patient Zero, and don’t dare to travel to the Medieval when you’re from Gunsmiths. The Unnamed Town (Leaking Tarps) is the safest place of all.”

Pre-written second submission for day 1: Alternate Universe

#Overwatch #Writing #Fanfiction #Mercy76week #Mercy76week2 #Mercy76week2017 #Mercy76day1 #Mercy #Soldier76 #Angela Ziegler #Jack Morrison #Zombocalypse!AU

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tatteredthought · 7 years

Text

Reaver 3 (Talkus)

Reaver walked along the path. It wound through the hills of upper Kopsh lazily. Greenish light filtered thru the canopy above him. I never cared for places like this. Too many bandits use roads. I tire of killing.

The silky voice floated up from within his consciousness. But that’s not true now is it Reaver?

For the hundredth time, that is not my name Shahjolka.

The silky quality of the voice gained an edge. For the thousandth time, it is the name I chose for us. That is our name.

Right, but it’s not mine. Call me by my birth-name when you address me. I don’t call you Reaver.

The voice mockingly acquiesced. Very well, Hiiri, that still doesn’t answer the question.

Reaver stepped off the path. He had heard horses approaching. No need for them to see him before he saw them.

The horses were drawing a wagon. A family, or so it appeared, rode within it. A young man was at the reins while his father busied himself with something. The older woman was helping the man while the young girl was asleep.

A flit of hunger. Ah, tender flesh.

None for you Shahjolka. Not now.

You still try to resist me.

I don’t try Shahjolka, I do.

Reaver stepped out of the underbrush after the wagon had passed. The horses had been anxious before reaching him. It seemed like they were about to bolt when they came near. The young man proved his skill with the horses as they maintained a safe speed down the trail.

I used to like horses.

You still like them, but they’ll have nothing to do with you now.

Not exactly-

The voice overrode him. Your fault? But it is oh Reaver! Aren’t you the one who brokered this deal in the first place?

Reaver stalked off down the trail. Now he wanted some bandits to slay, but seeing as that family had come from this direction it was unlikely there were any nearby.

I chose this for other reasons than death alone.

The voice mocked him. Vengeance is death Reaver.

My name is…you’re doing it again.

Sweetly innocent. Doing what?

You’re making me angry so you can have my body.

Reaver stopped in the middle of the trail. Eyes were upon him.

Feigning innocence. Now why would I do something like that?

Because it’s how you work Shahjolka. You want your puppet back, but it won’t be now.

Silky smooth and tinged with anger. It will be soon though.

I know. I feel them.

No, we feel them boy.

Let’s just get this over with.

The group emerging from the woods on either side of the trail didn’t look much like bandits. The weapons they carried were far too polished. Their garb was not as eclectic or worn.

Mercenaries.

A woman stepped forward. “This road is taxed sir. Might we have a few coins so that you can be along your way with no issue?”

A growl came from the man. “A few coins? And what if I have no purse wench?”

The woman looked less stung than the men behind her. Several drew blades and one knocked an arrow. “Leave off boys. He doesn’t know us. He has a right to be angry at people who appear out of nowhere and demand his money for no cause.”

She moved toward him. She was slender and obviously at home in this environment. Hiiri thought she looked quite becoming. A panther’s grace with blue eyes and amber curls.

“Have you no purse?” She was close enough that if he wished he could strike her.

“None. I carry no money and take what I need from the lands I walk in.” It is hungry. She is right there! Slay her!

NO! I am going to be civil. It is a woman after all.

Shahjolka cooed. Women are the death of men.

As you will be the death of me one day.

Mockingly hurt. Oh, such harsh words for your lover Hiiri.

Reaver’s face screwed up in anger. The woman leapt back. Her dagger had somehow come to hand quicker than her men could see. They were used to it.

“What set you off? Why do you snarl?”

The look on his face subsided. “Sorry. I was remembering something about thieves and crossroads.”

She didn’t seem to enjoy his double entendre. Her face hardened. A hint of anger played in her eyes. Hiiri was reminded of someone. He grew cold.

“We are not thieves friend. We guard this road. If you have no money you may pass, but first allow us the courtesy of searching you to allay our suspicions of you.”

“And will you be the one searching me?”

She didn’t seem to like that either. “No. My hands are more suited to the use of a blade. I might miss something within the folds of your clothes. Now if you were a woman I would be the one doing so.”

“A bit of unusual kindness for thieves.”

“And that is why we are not thieves. Do you have a name sir? You seem familiar.”

Defeated. Here it comes.

Smiling. You detest the name.

A hint of anger. No, I detest its reputation.

Matter-of-factly. They will kill you.

Resigned. Likely they will try.

Growling in hunger. And I will get what I want.

Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.

“I am called Reaver.”

She began backing away slowly, not afraid but wary. Her compatriots who had begun to move forward halted. The archer began to draw. The tension was palpable.

Mounting anger with each passing thought. Again…again…and again…

Silky and persuasive. This is your existence is it not? You were born to fight.

No, I was born to live where I was born. Born to raise a family and die like everyone else.

Almost a whisper. Your dreams were taken from you Reaver.

“THAT IS NOT MY NAME!” The force of that roar buffeted the cloaks of the mercenaries.

“Then what are you called then.” Reaver snapped his head towards the sound. It was the woman. She had stopped moving and stood defensively not three running strides away. The men behind her looked mostly between flight and fight. The archer was ready to loose.

His eyes were hard, distant, and passionless. “None of your concern.” He rushed her.

She brought the dagger into line with his torso so that when he overran her he’d kill himself, but he never touched her. He sailed over her with a leap and roll that brought him up in front of the archer. The archer loosed, aiming almost unnecessary with the proximity. The arrow took Reaver in the shoulder. Reaver barreled into the man, knocking him head over heels.

“What did I do to you? By what right do you injure me?” He stalked toward the prostrate archer. “I stood in the road and spoke to you as men. I didn’t know there were carrion rats in your midst.” She was there. Not just kneeling over the body of her comrade. She was standing in front of him, dagger forward. Her posture said death, but her eyes said something strange.

“Leave him and go. We will not do you any more harm than he has. If you insist on pushing this...”

Reaver placed his chest against the dagger’s point and pointedly ripped the arrow out of his shoulder the wrong way. Blood poured from the wound. Each word he spoke was slow and accentuated with anger.

“He shot me without provocation.” His words sped up, but never lost their edge. “And you are telling me to leave him unpunished and go my way after you demanded money from me for safe passage?” He reached up to brush the dagger away. She allowed him to do so, but had it back in position before he could move forward.

Her voice was as collected as her posture. “I am asking you to leave us be. I can guarantee you that Elro will be punished for what he has done. I cannot guarantee your safety if you continue.”

Her eyes. She’s not afraid.

Pity. Fear does make the meat taste so much better…what is this? Do I feel admiration? Affection perhaps? Don’t tell me you actually like this she-cat.

“Do you have a name?”

The question caught her as strange. Why would he ask such a thing now?

“Why do you wish to know?”

“My reasons are my own. Suffice to say that if I ever hear of you again I will make for you straightway, either to kill you or worse.”

The look on her face was sharp, very sharp. Her dagger could not have cut him more deeply. She contemplated gutting him, but she noticed his shoulder had already healed. It showed no scar.

“Then you will not have that pleasure.” She nodded to the side and several blades pressed him.

YES!

He chuckled and growled at them.

“If I wished I could kill every last one of you within the next few moments. None of you can harm me for long.” Then his voice changed and his proud demeanor slipped away. He seemed different, very different. She let her guard down for an instant. An instant was all he needed.

She felt his lips press to hers before she could react.

The butt of her dagger found his temple and he released her.

“Forgive me. It’s the first action I’ve made wholly on my own in weeks.” He dashed past them and ran off into the woods. “If you see me, tell me your name. I’ll be back thru eventually.” With that he was gone.

Reaver ended his dash in a clearing several miles from the road. He had been running for a few minutes. He sat down on a fallen log, somewhat rotted, and fell into himself.

Outrage. You had them! They were yours to kill!

Tired. I had no reason to slay them. They were-

More outrage. One of them shot you!

Frustration. He thought I was going to kill him.

Outrage. You should have! Along with the rest of them!

Anger. I do not kill needlessly Shahjolka. You know that.

Smooth and inviting. That’s it. You don’t kill needlessly. Why not go and send the blood flying from someone else? Hmm? Let me…

Reaver’s chest jerked out. He spasmed to his feet. He stood, head down, with his hands dangling at his knees. His eyes faded from green with golden rims, to grey with golden rims, to pure silver. He stood up straight, and breathed deeply.

“Ah! The smell of a world slowly dying.” He moved back the way he had come, making no sound.

The party of toll collectors sat at camp. No one had been injured and they had left the standard few on road watch. Ild sat in thought.

Why? She gnawed absently at the rabbit bone in her left hand. What would possess a creature like him to do that? She tossed the bone into the fire and stood from her moss patch. And with even this many I doubt we could do him lasting harm…why? She had been thinking about that all afternoon. It was so random.

Reaver appeared at the edge of their camp. The cook fire was low and the sun was almost set behind him. He seemed limned in hellfire. He came back.

Four items were tossed into the group. Each a head of one of their comrades. Ild looked over them and stepped back in revulsion. Something had been eating them.

“I have come for my due,” His voice was animalistic and at the same time passionless. “and I’m still hungry.”

He seemed to appear from the shadows behind the man next to Ild. How did he? The man had just enough time to scream as he was pulled backward out of the ring of firelight. The sun had gone down behind the hill to their west. The shadows had encroached quickly.

A scream cut short. The sound of something wet being eaten lustily.

The archer scanned the forest. He was standing with his back to the fire. He drew and loosed. There was a sound in the dark. A feral growl came from the direction of the arrow’s flight.

He came out of the shadows holding the man under one arm. The neck and collarbone area of the corpse were bleeding and stripped of most of the flesh. Reaver was covered in blood from mouth to chest. He had an arrow through his leg.

I will not allow this…

If you try to stop me I kill the woman next.

Anger. You wouldn’t dare

Arrogance. Try me.

Reaver tossed the corpse out into the shadows. He calmly broke the arrow in his leg and pulled it thru. “Anyone else? Or is the man with the bow the bravest of you?” The men gave back slightly.

A branch cracked behind him. Reaver spun just in time to get the head of an ax wedged in his chest. He stumbled back into the firelight and fell onto his side.

A large man unslung a crossbow as he entered the firelight. His eyes were fixed on his foe. Reaver stood up, unshaken, and tore the ax from his chest. He rounded on the nearest creature he could find. He struck the brown haired woman with enough force to break the ax handle as the head entered her spine. She fell without a sound.

Reaver’s wound appeared hideous. He made sucking noises with each breath. He reached out and grabbed a man by the sword arm. He leapt upward and disappeared among the branches with him. The struggle was brief and the torso came down moments later to the sound of eating. Blood rained from the trees.

The two with ranged weapons began aiming at the area where the blood was dripping from. Ild scanned the ground near the fire, looking for a brand to use as a torch. The archers fired. The sound of bolt and arrow striking wood. The archer’s eyes rolled up into his head as he slumped to the ground. Reaver was behind him, chewing on his newly removed neckbone.

Pleading. For the love of the gods Shahjolka stop!

I haven’t had my fill yet.

Angry. You will never have your fill!

Slowly. Exactly.

The large man had just finished loading his crossbow. As Reaver took his next step a bolt thundered into and thru him, passing thru his side and flying off into the night. Reaver walked forward. “Only two of you left eh? Well I guess I’ll have to kill the man so I can have my fun with the woman.”

Reaver stopped walking. His face had a stunned quality to it. He held that pose as the axman tried to bury him under his weight. The man bounced off of Reaver and collided with a tree. He rebounded but was nearly senseless. Ild had found a decent brand and stood ready for his charge. Why is he just standing there?

Within his mind Hiiri and Shahjolka strove. The contest of wills for the control of his body being waged once again.

Shahjolka grasped Hiiri by his throat and tried to throttle him. Hiiri struck Shahjolka in the temples with both fists. Shahjolka crumpled but as it fell it transformed. A lovely woman with hair like raven wings lay at Hiiri’s feet. She was lithe and long limbed. Her ivory skin rising in not so subtle curves. She looked into his eyes with a longing fierce and elemental.

Hiiri looked upon the vision of his lover. He was nearly overcome. With an inarticulate scream of rage he fell upon her and tore her to bits. Shahjolka laughed. Reaver began to move again.

The man had recovered his wits and was staring at the frozen figure near the fire. When it came back to life it was with explosive effect. Reaver lunged to his right and caught the axman’s hand, twisting it. He brought the man across his own body to tumble on the ground with a newly broken wrist. Reaver laughed. He laughed like a maniac. He stooped over the man and twisted his head off like one does to a rather obstinate barrel cap. He lifted the head above him and opened his mouth to drink.

Ild was paralyzed. She looked on in fright as Reaver stalked towards her.

Hiiri - NO!

He removed the dagger from her hand

Hiiri - NOO!

And cut her across the cheek. Her eyes came back into focus.

He was directly in front of her. All she could see were his eyes. They were silver, like a new coin. She smelled the blood on his breath. She felt that she was being invaded somehow. She felt something leaving her.

Hiiri roared. He roared at the world. He roared at his ally and tormentor. He roared. He strove.

Ild felt light. She felt like she was flying, or rather falling down. She saw blue eyes that were vacant. She felt like she should know those eyes, but it was a far away thing. A dream perhaps. She was so tired. Then she heard the roaring.

It echoed inside wherever she was. Suddenly she landed hard. Her body falling to the ground. She opened her eyes and saw Reaver reeling over her. He was screaming incoherently. He stumbled about the camp. He kicked the fire in his convulsions and the light almost died. She saw him writhe on the ground and lie still.

Reaver opened his eyes on darkness. He sat up and realized that the fire was low. He got up and stoked it using a stick and some nearby brush. When the light flared he looked upon carnage.

His voice spoke of exhaustion. “So this is what we did. Impressive by normal standards.”

The bodies hadn’t been moved. The blood was thick in places. Flies danced on the bodies, except one. He sidled over to it. It was the woman!

He rolled her over. She was breathing but unconscious. The only hurt he could see was the cut on her cheek. He removed her cloak and armor to check for any other wounds that might normally go unnoticed. Nothing, she was pristine. He laid the armor beside her and laid her cloak under her head. Shahjolka was quiet.

“Sleep well old beast. Gone but not forgotten.” Ild stirred.

He stayed next to her as she sat up. She looked groggy. Then her eyes came to rest on the axman. They widened. She turned her head slowly about. She saw him. She went for the dagger in her belt and found it empty.

She scrambled away from him. She took up a sword and turned at bay. Reaver hadn’t moved.

“If all of these can’t kill me.” He raised his hand and took in the scene with it. His voice sounded remorseful and weary. “Then what chance do you have?” He dropped his hand to the ground again. He had one knee crooked against his body. There was a patch of lighter skin in the center of his chest. He looked at her with tired eyes. “Sit.”

She did, across from him and with sword in easy reach. I should be running from him. Wait, what happened to my armor?

Reaver’s head perked up. ”Did you say something?”

She shook her head slowly.

“I could’ve sworn I heard the sound of songbirds making words…ah well.” He rocked slightly from front to back. He seemed like he hadn’t slept in years.

“What happened to my armor?”

He pointed to it lying near him.

Anger flashed in her eyes. “You removed my armor?”

He seemed completely unperturbed. “I had to check your wounds.”

She held her hand out. “Give it here, if you please.”

His smile was wan, but genuine. “Well, I don’t please. You look far better in those breeches and tunic. But, if you want it back you’ll have to get it yourself.” His head drooped slightly. “I’m very tired.”

She contemplated it. It could be a trick.

Reaver’s head perked up again. “Are you sure you didn’t speak just now?”

“I haven’t spoken since I asked for my armor.”

“Hm.” Reaver dropped his head down again.

If he goes to sleep I’ll grab my armor and be on my way.

“You could always just come and get it. I have no intention of harming you.”

She froze. A rill of ice water went down her spine.

Reaver looked up. “I heard you that time. You can’t deny it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She was backing away slowly.

“Then how did I hear you speak?” He placed his leg under him as he spoke. I’m not letting her get away. I still don’t know her name.

She stopped. “Did you just talk?”

“No.” He looked puzzled. “I did think of something though. What did you hear?”

“My name is Ild.”

Reaver sat back again. “You heard me say that I still didn’t know your name.”

She nodded slowly. Her eyes were large. She had never heard of anything like this, at least nothing she’d believed. Reaver was not known to cast spells.

Reaver was looking up at the sky. Well, this is an interesting turn. Guess that means that, He felt it. Dammit.

“What’s wrong?” She was putting her armor back on.

Reaver leveled his gaze on her. “I have to go.” He stood and turned toward the road.

“Why? What’s going on here?”

He turned his head to her. “Your guess is as good as mine, but if I don’t get away from here there’s going to be trouble.” She felt the wind stir up and he was gone. A tumbling of leaves noting where he had passed.

Ild finished strapping herself in. She picked over her comrades and walked away from the camp with an extra weapon or two. She began walking back to the road. I probably shouldn’t go this way. I’ll make better time on the road, but it might be safer to go cross country. I need to see the captain. She slung the crossbow and began climbing a hill covered in trees.

Reaver ran. He ran like the sins of his past were catching up to him. He ran because he knew he couldn’t fight her in this state. Then the raven haired beauty walked into his mind and his body dropped as it ran.

Seething. You fought me…for a woman? I thought we had an agreement!

Tired. We do. I give you flesh, blood, and souls and you help me get what I want.

Seething. Her soul was ripe! It would have helped sustain us!

Defiant. I told you I will never willingly harm a woman or an innocent! It is you who insists on slaying them!

Purring. It’s alright. It’s alright. We can fix this. She touched his shoulder and guided him down. She wrapped herself around him and settled in. You need sleep lover.

Fading. I can’t sleep. You…

Soothing. I’ll let you sleep. You have my word I won’t harm anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Her smile was far too wide to be believed. Her teeth gleamed like polished ivory, sharp as shaving blades.

Hiiri thought he said something, but he couldn’t remember.

Reaver stood from the ruins of what had been a copse of trees. His eyes were the color of silver.

#fiction

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vitalmindandbody · 7 years

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Ellen von Unwerth:’ Let’s photograph daughters experiencing life’

Blending old-world charm with a uniquely provocative eroticism, Ellen von Unwerths photographs are a riot of fun and sly subversion. Richard Godwin hears why we need to take ourselves less seriously

Ellen von Unwerth cant stop laughing. The German photographer, 63, is bouncing around the Taschen gallery in West Hollywood in her sneakers, attempting to talk through the images from her latest exhibition and art book, Heimat.

So heimat means Fatherland or Motherland or where you were born and where your roots are, she tells me. Bavaria is not my heimat, but we wanted to make a parody of the whole Bavarian thing.

The whole Bavarian thing, apparently, involves supermodels frolicking nude in Alpine meadows, performing suggestive acts with sausages, udders and holy virgins, sledging topless, spanking one another in dirndls and generally enjoying the fecundity and vigour for which the southern German slopes are celebrated. Oh, ja, its very sexual there, even the clothes they push up the bosoms and there are lots and lots of sausages, ha ha ha, she explains. But you see so many images that are dark and depressing at the moment. All these sad women being sad! So I figured, lets show girls having fun and enjoying life.

The new Bardot: Claudia Schiffer in Italy, 1989. Photograph: Ellen von Unwerth

Von Unwerth has a peculiar talent for getting famous and beautiful women (Claudia Schiffer, Madonna, Naomi Campbell, Rihanna, Kate Moss) to remove their inhibitions and frequently their underwear while retaining control. Her images are often provocatively sexual, but its usually her subjects who are doing the provoking. I always give them something to do, she confides. When somebodys not moving I get bored. I take two pictures and I say: Great, I have it now. But I love the body in movement. I like the nude body in movement.

The fashion world adores her for this. You could tell from the raucous launch party for Heimat, where Arnold Schwarzenegger improbably rubbed shoulders with Yolandi Visser, and most of the models from the shoot ended up jumping in a swimming pool. Von Unwerths Instagram feed is also one of the few that make fashion weeks actually look fun. On International Womens Day, the fashiony corners of Instagram were awash with tributes to her: You bring fun, sexy, craziness to set. I always enjoy pushing my boundaries, embracing my femininity/sexuality and of course my personality always loud and proud when we work together, wrote one model, Alexina Graham. Ellen von Unwerths playful and empowering photos are such a joy to be a part of and I am so happy she is there to represent women in such a male dominated profession! wrote another, Syrie Moskowitz.

I always give the models something to do: Ellen von Unwerth. Photograph: Steffen Kugler

It is clear that everyone had a whole lot of giggles in Bavaria. Von Unwerth motions towards an image of three women topless on a sled: This model is Miss Russia and she brought a lot of vodka to the shoot. So they were drinking behind my back in the snow. Von Unwerth is not much given to analysing. When I allude to the male gaze she has no idea what Im talking about. When I find myself grasping for the word pornography she shoots back: Have you ever seen a porno? Well, one of your pictures does literally depict two people having sex in a hayloft. Its more inspired by a B-movie sense of camp. I wouldnt say porno. (After our interview, one of her assistants calls me to make sure that I dont think its pornographic.)

Of course, the word I should have reached for was erotic. Or perhaps simply German. Look at the scandal there was with Janet Jackson over here, she says referring to the Super Bowl nipple slip of 2004. It was a boob! Its something you should be proud of and not hide. Especially if its nice. Ha ha ha ha! In Germany it is not like this. Even if you go to a park in Berlin in the summer, everybody is naked and playing frisbee. You would get arrested if you did that in LA.

Leg pull: Bumpy Slide, from Heimat. Photograph: Ellen von Unwerth

Von Unwerth was born in Frankfurt in 1954 and grew up in an orphanage and a succession of foster homes. She has no recollection of her parents and not much inclination to reflect on their absence. Its what made my life, she says. I was free from influence and I was able to take the best from everywhere. I dont really have a heimat. So her heimat is wherever she happens to be? Exactly.

She moved to Bavaria aged 16 to join a commune and later went to study in Munich. On her first day at university someone said: Hey, would you like to do a modelling job? And I turned around and never went back to university. That led to a shoot for the German magazine Bravo, which in turn led to her being signed by Elite models in Paris. I kind of hated modelling, but somehow I did it for 10 years. I was not really the exhibitionist type. Its hard psychologically to be a model. And mostly people told me not to move when I was posing. I just wanted to be like the girls in my pictures now.

Your Turn, (Rihanna), 2009. Photograph: Ellen von Unwerth

It was only in 1986 that she first started taking photographs herself a boyfriend lent her his camera on a fashion production in Kenya and she ventured into a nearby village to shoot local children. I came back home and showed them to my friends and they were like: Theyre really good, Ellen! Because models are supposed to be stupid. I was surprised myself because I wasnt so interested in photography. I had never learnt how to do it.

Her images were published in the French magazine Jill, and she went on to shoot for i-D, the Face, Interview and Vogue, in the vein of her greatest influence Helmut Newton. It was a shoot with the then unknown Claudia Schiffer for French Elle in 1988 that made both of their careers. She was a sweet girl and I didnt think so much of it, but when I looked at the pictures, I called my husband [music producer Christian Fourteau] and said: Doesnt she look like Brigitte Bardot? The teeth, the eyes? Soon after we did the Guess jeans campaign and it was a jumpstart to my career. She also discovered Eva Herzigov (shes oozing with vitality) and Nadja Auermann, and shot the infamous 1995 Playboy shoot that announced that Drew Barrymore was no longer the girl from ET. She has remained in demand even though the smartphone era has cheapened the art.

Saddle up: On the high horse, 2015. Photograph: Ellen von Unwerth

Its not special any more to be a photographer, she says. Even when I take a picture, everybody stands next to me and takes the same picture. Five minutes later its on everyone elses Instagram and Im old news so Im forced to take pictures on my iPhone too.

She tells me she can usually tell the difference between a photograph a man has taken and one a woman has taken. But I find it crazy how women photograph themselves all the time. When I was a girl and looked in the mirror, my stepmother would come in and give me a slap. There was this idea that if you did that, the devil would get in you and steal your personality. Now everyone does this. I ask models sometimes, Do you have to take so many selfies? And they say: Only when I take selfies do I get likes. Its sad! Narcissism is so celebrated in our society, sometimes people lose interest in other people.

Heimat by Ellen von Unwerth, price 650, is published by Taschen as a collectors edition of 1,500 copies, each numbered and signed by the photographer. For more information, go to taschen.com