#(of the ones i've watched. there are Many i haven't yet)

[jordanthewerewolf]

WEREWOLF HRT CHAPTER ONE: MISSING

The bell jingles as I enter the diner. It's got a nice, homey, atmosphere and the air is filled with the chit-chat of many patrons. The smell of coffee fills my nose. I pull out the piece of paper in my pocket. Scrawled across the back in blue ink is the address of the diner, followed by a time. 3:15. My watch says it's 3:10. I'm early.

I flip the piece of paper over. I look at the picture that's mystified me for the past three days. It's a young male. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and his hair is dyed red and styled into a spiky Mohawk. A total punk rocker. Yet it's his face that I end up staring at. Jade eyes. A hawkish nose. Crooked smile. This boy’s face is identical to mine. And written in big bold letters at the top of the page are the words:

MISSING: ERIC FORRESTER

My friend Nezzie sent me a picture of this poster a few days ago, and now I’m walking into a diner in a city I’d never heard of, to chat with some lady I’ve never met. Because apparently, this guy is my twin brother. We were separated at birth, and he stayed with my parents while I ended up in foster care. While he was growing up an ordinary teenager, I was dealing with transphobic adoptive parents who didn't appreciate my efforts to be more… feminine. I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He definitely got the better deal. But he’s my twin. My identical twin! You know that twin bond they always talk about in movies? I've felt that ever since it was little. Like I’d feel random flashes of joy, sadness, anger, and once, a wave of impending doom that brought me to tears.  I never knew what caused it. Now I do. I'm feeling what he feels.

And of course, I don't find out I have a twin brother until he disappears. The dude has been missing for a month. And in Hyper City, which I've already discovered to be the most bizarre city in the world. Hyper City is where the infamous Dr. Erian resides. About two years ago he developed the revolutionary Humanity Removal Treatment, which allows people to transform themselves into animals, mythological creatures, even fictional characters! Since then, people have been flocking to Hyper City in droves, with the desire to remake themselves into something inhuman. During the cab ride from the airport, I saw at least two dozen pedestrians who were mid-transformation. People with scales, feathers, fur. Snouts, paws, wings, tails, fangs, claws, and more. I saw some incredibly unique looking creatures. Like a hairless humanoid with deep purple skin and three pairs of glowing eyes. Or what looked like a giant green bear passed out in the park.  I make a mental note to do more research on this Animal HRT fad. It's been blowing up the news for the past two years, and Nezzie's been talking nonstop about it because she plans to transition into a dragon, but I haven't been paying much attention.

“Jordan?” I hear a voice call out. It's a young woman, about my age, who for some reason is wearing… a rabbit suit? She waves me over to her booth. I note her serious expression and her piercing blue eyes. I sit across from her. I feel her gaze burn into me for a few seconds. Then she relaxes. Her face softens. 

“You've got his face,” Rabbit Girl says. “You look just like him.” I know exactly who she's talking about. My twin.

“So you're the one who's been putting up the posters?” I ask. 

Rabbit Girl nods. “Me and a few others.” I notice a badge pinned to her chest, displaying blue, pink, and white stripes. Trans colours. I subtly flash my trans pride bracelet. Rabbit Girl notices it. She relaxes more.

Rabbit Girl offers her hand. “I’m Candace. Candace Double. But you can call me Candy.” 

I shake with her. “Jordan Forrester.”

A waitress comes by. “Can I get you two anything?” 

“Can I get a hot cocoa?” Candy asks. I order the same.

After the waitress leaves, I ask Candy, “What’s he like?”

She ponders that for a moment. “He was super sweet. Kind of awkward, and he had the tendency to say the wrong things at the wrong time, but he was well-intentioned. And he wanted to be friends with everyone. Eric saw the best in people.” Candy looks wistful. There's a faint smile on her face.

“Why are you using past tense?” I point out. “He’s not dead, is he?”

Candy shakes her head, making the plush rabbit ears on her hood flop around. “We know he’s alive. Just… there's some heavier stuff about Eric I'm going to need to tell you. But let's leave that till later. What's your story?”

“Erm, well…” I hesitate, trying to figure out how to describe myself. 

“I’m nothing like what you said Eric was like. I guess the only thing I can relate to is the awkwardness. Total introvert, and definitely not nice. I've been told I can be kind of a… bitch.”

Candy chuckles. “Also humble. He was like that too. Never bragged. I wonder what else you two have in common.”

We spend the next hour comparing me to Eric. Taste in movies, favourite music, video games. During this time, the waitress comes back with our drinks. Sipping my cocoa, I learn that in terms of our interests me and Eric are pretty different. He's into metal and rap music where I have a penchant for techno and EDM. I’m more into first person shooters where he favours RPGs and strategy games. But we do have a lot in common. Eric shares my general disinterest in movies and television, which is caused by my ADHD (which he also has). We’re also both really into punk and emo music like Fall Out Boy and Maneskin. Craziest of all, we both have the same favourite song: Good Charlotte’s The Anthem. A song about rebellion and deviation that’s always helped me when I feel oppressed or dysphoric.

Sitting here with this girl in a rabbit suit, I'm learning about this boy who I’ve never seen face to face, but who I somehow know better than anyone. I’ve felt his greatest joys, his lowest lows. Somehow, the two of us are tied together. I have no doubt that Eric can feel my emotions just like I can feel his. I have to find him.

Candy finishes off the dregs of her cocoa. “So, Jordan, do you like horror?”

“Yeah. I'm a complete horror nut. I'm, like, crazy obsessed with…”

“Werewolves?” she finishes.

I stare at her. “How did you know?”

She smiles. “Eric was a complete lycanthropy fanatic. He talked about it nonstop. And then this Animal HRT stuff came up…” Candy sighs. “I guess this leads right into the heavy stuff.”

I get a sinking feeling in my gut. “You mean…”

“Yep. He applied to transition into a werewolf.”

My heart starts to pound. “Oh, God…”

Candy puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Hey, hey, calm down. I'm not done yet.” 

“O-Okay. Go on.”

“Things went really well at first. He asked me to hang out with him during the full moon. So he wouldn't get lonely.”

“Isn't that dangerous?” I ask. She laughs. “Absolutely. And yeah, the first time he went wolf I was pretty certain he was about to eat me. But then Eric, this giant wolf creature, just walks over and sits down beside me. And he hugs me. I could see how happy he was. It was honestly adorable.” 

“So it became routine. Every full moon we'd hang out together while he transformed. Our other friends started joining us. We'd watch movies or play games and sometimes we'd go for walks around the city. Never the woods. Eric was scared he'd start attacking wild animals. He was a total softie. Honestly more like a big puppy dog than a wolf.”

Candy opens up her phone. A few taps and swipes later, she shows me a picture. It's of a bunch of people sitting around a campfire. I see a girl dressed completely in black, with black lipstick and eyeliner. A dragon woman with teal scales. A bird the size of a small child, sitting on the shoulders of a large green bear…

“I saw that bear,” I blurt out. “It was passed out in the park.”

“Behr does have a tendency to do that,” says Candy. 

I return my eyes to the picture. There's a girl covered in black fur with enormous, segmented eyes and a pair of antennae. And next to her is… Yep, it's Eric, all right. A big beast covered in shaggy brown hair. At the top of his head I can see his signature red Mohawk between a pair of pointy ears. He’s got a long wolfen snout filled with sharp animal teeth, and a pair of big paws tipped with razor sharp claws. But he looks happy. His yellow animal eyes are glowing with excitement.

“Wow. Just… wow.”

Candy puts her phone away. Her expression gets serious. “That was two weeks ago. And the last time we saw him. After we got home from that trip, his girlfriend broke up with him. The poor guy was crushed. I saw him check his phone. His eyes got wide. I watched the fur sprout, the fangs grow… and then he just ran off.”

“Have you guys looked for him?” I ask. Candy nods grimly. 

“We searched the woods every day for a week. We couldn't find him. But we know he’s there. We found paw prints, the occasional mangled squirrel, and every night we hear his howls.”

Candy sighs. “And as to why, well, we have three theories. One, Eric's snapped and gone feral. Or two, he's hiding in the woods, acting like a monster to numb the pain. Or three, this is what he's really wanted all along.”

So that's it. My brother’s become a monster. I feel the room start to spin. My stomach churns. My twin brother is a bloodthirsty beast.

“Behr went into the woods two nights ago. She said she found him, but he wouldn't say anything. She talked to him and she thinks he understood her, but then… he just ran off.” Candy has a helpless look in her eyes. “The government knows that he's in there. They're tracking him. They're leaving him alone for now, but if he hurts anyone…” She fidgets with her empty mug. “They'll kill him. They’ll put him down. Like he's a fucking animal.”

I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I somehow manage to reach across the table and take Candy’s hand. “It's okay, we’ll find him. I know I can find him.” I briefly describe our twin connection. “So, I think that I can help him. Like, I don't know, maybe he'll recognize me.”

“You think so?” Candy looks skeptical. “That sounds kind of unreliable.

“I promise,” I tell her. I try to change the subject. “What’s with the bunny suit?”

“Oh, this? It's part of my year living as my preferred species. I'm about to start Animal HRT in a few weeks.”

“Living as your preferred species? What does that mean?” I ask. 

“Erian has this rule where you have to dress and behave like what you're transitioning into for a year before you can actually start treatment,” Candy explains. “For me it basically means wearing this rabbit onesie. Everyone else who does AHRT just lies to Erian and says they've done the year already. But I don't want to risk this going wrong. I'm doing this by the books.”

“Ah.” I stand up. “I think I should be going now. Thanks for your time.”

“Thanks, Jordan,” says Candy. She gives me a quick hug. “Good luck.” 

I walk out of the diner, knowing I’ve just made a promise that there's no way I can uphold.

That night I dream about wolves. 

I'm running through a forest. The full moon hangs above me.. Every sound is magnified. Every leaf is in perfect focus. I feel my heart pounding, my breath coming out in deep grunts. The scents of nature fill my nose.

Ahead of me, I hear a wolf howl. An eerie noise that reverberates through the night. But I don't stop. I keep running towards the noise, bursting out into a large clearing. And there he is. My brother. Just like I saw him in the picture that Candy showed me. His jaws open, howling his longing into the night. Calling out to me.

He stops. Looks right at me. Strides over. “Eric?” I try to say. But it comes out as a wolf growl. I reach out to him, but my arm… it's not my arm anymore. It's a werewolf’s forepaw, covered in thick brown fur. I’m a wolf creature, I realize. Just like him. Before I can do or say anything else, Eric reaches me. Suddenly he pulls me in to a tight bear hug. “I’ve missed you, sis,” he murmurs. I try to say that I missed him too but it only comes out as growls. We hold the embrace for a long time, our furry bodies entwined, claws dug deep into each other’s pelts, our snouts touching tip to tip.

Finally Eric pulls away. He's grinning ear to ear as he takes my hand. As one, we lift our snouts into the air and bay at the moon, howling our joy at our reunion in perfect harmony.

The sound is so loud that it wakes me up.

Suddenly I'm not in the forest anymore. I'm laying on Nezzie’s couch, drenched in sweat. I feel my face. My arms. My backside. My hands. No snout, no fur, no tail, no paws. I'm not a wolf after all. It was just a dream. In surprise I realize that I'm disappointed. 

“Jordan?” Nezzie calls out sleepily. She's standing in the doorway, bleary eyed and clutching her hoard of plushies. “What's going on?”

“Just a really weird dream.” I rub my eyes. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah. You were howling.”

“Like a wolf?” I ask hopefully. 

Nezzie shakes her head. “You sounded like someone was torturing a pig,” she snickers. “Anyway, I need my beauty rest. Try not to have any more dreams about slaughterhouses.”

Nezzie heads back into her room. I lay back down and stare at the ceiling. What was that dream? It was so… weird. And why did I like being a werewolf so much?

Then I hear his howl. It's faint. Distant. But it's unmistakable. It's the exact same howl from my dream. In an instant, I understand everything. What that dream was trying to tell me. What I’m supposed to do.

I rummage through my duffel bag and pull out my laptop. I Google Animal HRT then click on the first result. On the next page, there's a link that says “START AHRT”. Clicking that link brings up a form asking me to fill out my information. I enter my legal name, email address, and medical info. Under DESIRED TREATMENT I enter WEREWOLF HRT. I move my mouse to the SUBMIT button, and hover my finger over the ENTER key. I ask myself, Is this really what I want? Am I willing to give up my life for this?

I hear Eric howl once again. And I know my answer.

I slam the ENTER key and begin the process that will change my life forever.

Featuring @candyrocks03 and @nezhoardsthings

[egginfroggin]

*yeets this and runs*

My hand regrets my decision to try for more realistic wings, frankly

Transcriptions:

Mabel Pines - Steller's Jay

Dipper Pines - Blue Jay

fledglings

can't quite fly yet

wing's aren't adult-sized yet

Dipper often forgets to preen

Mabel likes to put glitter in her wings (and Dipper's, when possible)

Dipper collects his primaries to make quill pens

Mabel collects their feathers for crafting

Yeah so I'm just gonna drop this here and uhhhhh run, thanks for checking this, and I hope you have a good day

(program: krita; time taken: about 1 hr 45 minutes)

[psikind]

my friend has been showing me explorers of the spirit recently and I got so into it that I started a run myself w one of my dnd characters and the guy* she's trying to manipulate (another pc)! it's going as well as I hoped it would

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[crimeronan]

i started watching the ravening war and i'm kind of losing it at brennan creating a character with All of his skill points in lying, and then TWO other players rolling NAT 20S at the SAME TIME to Force him to tell the truth, and him managing to finesse his way out of doing so anyway. feels like a Fantastic omen for the kind of character interactions i'm about to watch. god bless.

[wewontbesleeping]

oh man i still have yet to see so many oscar noms.

[horrorsequel]

i love making people who care about video games deal with me (guy who refuses to stop loving bioshock 2)

[quilleth]

I don't know if something similar happens on each background, but I love that Harding calls a Mourn Watch Rook out on speaking differently when talking abut Mourn Watch/ necromancy things.

And Rook's instant attempt at denial. Like these aren't the greatest screenshots of the moment, but Rook completely shifts the way they speak. Which honestly is so fucking relatable and also so interesting for a PC.

For one thing, I think most people do this to a certain extent about topics they know a lot about with people who similarly know about it. But Rook isn't just using jargon or similar specialized language, they completely change their manner of speaking. Which can be a mirroring thing, but it raises the question (to me) of what else they're mirroring that they might not even realise they're mirroring (like they clearly don't with their speech patterns). It's even more noticeable with the British female voice, which has more of a Northern accent. In the moment in the screenshot, that shift from speaking with Emmrich (and thus more formally or more "properly") to "No I don't" comes with a slight shift in Rook's accent as well.

I am enjoying this but also please i must study them like a bug. Crack them open and see what it takes to make Rook break down all the sorts of walls they've built up. Please i need them to get some kind of seriously painful but cathartic storyline or moment (for Rook--I'd be eating popcorn cackling).

[mel-loly]

-Gear 5!✨

[god-of-knk]

I watch way too many video essays on books I haven't read but also in my defense I have ADHD.

[braceletofteeth]

tag someone you want to know and/or some of your besties.

I was tagged by @fourth-quartet 😊 Thank you!!

favourite colour: Gray but I'm currently in a brown phase

last song: I've got recently reacquainted with Beginner by AKB48 😄

last series: The Kidnapping Day. It was a lot more wholesome than the name suggests.

last movie: Saw X (surprisingly also a lot more wholesome than you'd expect????)

sweet/savoury/spicy: Sweet :3

currently watching:

Koisenu Futari

Chains of Heart

The Golden Girls (season 1)

Love in the Air (2nd rewatch)

other stuff I watched this year: Not listing all of it here (I've never watched so much stuff as I did in 2023), but I'll mention the ones that I enjoyed watching the most from each month so far (*not including rewatches):

JAN: Wednesday

FEB: GAP

MAR: Not Me

APR: Tick, Tick... Boom!

MAY: Utsukushii Kare

JUN: Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938

JUL: Takin' Over The Asylum

AUG: Marry My Dead Body

SEP: Utsukushii Kare: Eternal

OCT: The Sandman

shows I dropped this year/didn't finish: I barely remember the ones I watched till the very end 🤡 But ok, let me see...

Eve (dropped after one episode; Rich People and their Rich People Problems™, I think was the reason)

A few straight GMMTV shows that I didn't really catch the name (I. Well. I just. I just couldn't make myself give a fuck, ok 😔)

+ Currently deliberating whether or not I should drop Chains of Heart. All the subtitles I've found are lacking in terms of coherence, and the story itself is already not the most straightforward, so I can only hope I'm understanding what's going on at all? 😀 And I'm also not feeling the main couple from either the present nor the past (? I suspect they are the same (but I may never know))... HOWEVER, I like the acting of the main, and the Thai scenario that is not Bangkok for once. That's always refreshing. And sometimes the cinematography is pretty too... Decisions, decisions...

currently listening to: Back for More by TXT & Anitta (I went after the link for it and distractedly searched for "banger" instead of the title 😆)

currently reading: Codename Villanelle (it's a small book but I'm. ..struggle)

current obsession: I'm not obsessing over anything at the moment 😟☹😫 Have been too busy with mundane adult life problems (therefore, as you can imagine, I'm just about going up the walls here :))

tagging: @eatprayworm @thisautistic @hyp-no-tic @visualtaehyun hi 👋

[leitmotif]

went into the tumblr tag for a show i've been watching w my grandma and really enjoying just for funsies yknow to see if anyone else knows about it. only to find out not only that it's apparently still ongoing and has a sizable fan base and has 17 seasons but also that there's two gay characters that are NOT the ones i was expecting.... wishing there were also lesbians

[bisexualmadney]

so many movies to watch and a guy who can never commit to watching a movie

[tkbrokkoli]

:O

[foxstens]

one day i'll watch nirvana in fire

[hcneymooners]

⋆ and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet.

farmhand!sevika x farmer’s daughter!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you find a woman in your barn who looks suspiciously like the fugitive who remains wanted on your town's bulletin board. but you've always a soft spot for the strong ones.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, outlaw!sevika, farmhand!sevika, farmer's daughter!reader, reader has curly hair, reader is in her twenties, reader is feral for sevika but tries to keep it cute, soft!masc!reader (i'm not sure if she counts as masc in this but that was the intention! i said soft bc there are times where she dresses overtly femme in the beginning), muscular!reader, strong!reader and sevika is insane about it, touch starved!sevika, soft!sevika, sevi getting praised and spoiled as deserved, petnames, non-sexual intimacy, seduction, dirty talk, praise kink, strength kink, you manhandle sevi like a mf, begging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, tribbing, face riding, nipple play, reader waxing poetic about sevi and pretty she is, dom!reader, pleasure domming, sub!sevika, bdsm elemetns, dom/sub, power play, subspace, implied switch!sevi, mommy kink (specifically mama!). notes: guys i'm so fucking PISSED because tumblr deleted the fucking ask that made this even happen. but nonnie please know this is for you and i hope you love it, mama. also this got a little crazy. did not intend to write sub!sevi but then i was possessed and saw the light.

The morning mist hasn't burned off yet when you find her. In the barn's half-light, dust motes swim like sparks around the stranger's sleeping silhouette, her broad shoulders rising and falling against the hay. There's dried blood on her knuckles, you notice, but her hands are curled gentle as a child's against her chest.

Your daddy's shotgun rests steady in your hands, barrel aimed low but ready. The wild dogs haven't raised any alarm; they're curled near the woman like she belongs there. You watch her breath, take in the way her mouth hangs a little open like she’s aching to feed. Moths flutter against the high windows, their wings catching dawn's grey light.

"Daddy's gonna want to know why I didn't shoot you," you say softly, your voice carrying in the hollow space. 

Your short hair tickles your jaw as you tilt your head, studying. You’ve chopped it for the summer and the heat you applied to it is lifting. You can feel the curls right bursting around your cheeks.

There's something about the woman's face - even in sleep, it holds a story you've seen somewhere before, maybe on that board in town square you've trained yourself not to look at too closely.

The stranger's eyes open - dark and steady as well water. She doesn't startle, despite the gun trained on her. Just watches you like she's reading something written in the air between you both, her gaze catching on the way your corset top pulls tight across your chest, the intricate lace trim exposing your shoulders to the morning air and accentuating the swell of your breasts. 

"Would you have?" the woman asks, voice rough with sleep and something else. Her accent isn't local - has too many edges.

Your lips curl. 

"Ain't shot a thing yet that didn't deserve it." 

You shift your weight, dark jeans whispering against your boots. The corset suddenly feels more revealing under the stranger's gaze, dawn light playing across the ropy back. "You got a name?"

"Sevika." A pause, heavy as August air. "You always dress up to do barn chores?"

"Only when I've got a feeling about something." You step closer, morning light catching in your hair like a halo, shotgun lowering just slightly. You can smell gunpowder and road dust on her, underneath the hay. "Kitchen's got coffee on. Might even have some bacon, if you can convince me you're worth feeding."

Sevika sits up slow, careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild thing. Her shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with scars and something that might be tattoo ink. "That an invitation or an interrogation?"

"Guess that depends on what kind of answers you give." 

You rest the shotgun against your shoulder, turning toward the barn door, letting morning spill across your exposed skin. You don't look back - don't need to. You can feel Sevika's eyes on you like a physical touch, can hear the soft grunt as she stands.

The horses shuffle in their stalls, steam rising from their backs. Outside, a rooster crows - late, like always. Everything's waking up slow and sweet, the way summer mornings do. 

Your pulse thrums steady in your throat. There's danger in this - in the way Sevika's boots fall into step behind you. But you've never been one to let fear stop you from taking in strays. Even ones that look at you like they'd like to devour you whole.

As you walk, you can tell that she’s drinking in the sight of the farm as strangers tend to do. The acres go for miles, the sky straining and stretching across its great, green rolling body. Most of the buildings—the farmhouse, the barn, the bustling chicken coop—were built raised by your mother’s hands. She was an architect romanced and rescued by your father, though you suspect she did the rescuing more than him. 

You shimmy a hand down the downy back of one of the newest calves, nose scrunching with affection as he moos back at you. Eventually the house looms before you, the windows popped open and laundry swaying outback despite the expensive machine your mother couldn’t do without.

“You comin’?” You murmur, and Sevika blinks from where she’s been watching you stand in the doorway, your back well-muscled and strong. 

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

The screen door snaps shut behind you both with a familiar whine. Morning floods the kitchen through tall windows—your mother's insistence on "proper light for proper cooking"—and catches on the copper pots hanging above the island. The coffee pot gurgles its last, right on time.

You set the shotgun in its place by the door, muscle memory, though you keep half an eye on Sevika as she takes in the space. The kitchen tells its own stories: your mother's architectural drawings spread across one end of the table, your daddy's mud-caked boots by the back door, fresh-cut flowers in a Mason jar that catch the light just so. The dishes on the side of the sink are speckled stone, sanded and glazed by the artistry of your older sister. The washing machine hums through the wall, keeping time like a heartbeat.

"Sit," you say, gesturing to the worn oak table. It's been scratched and stained by three generations of family suppers, and something in you stirs at the sight of Sevika pulling out a chair—this stranger inserting herself into your history. "Less you'd rather stand."

She sits, those capable hands folding on the tabletop. Her shoulders are still coiled tight, ready to run, but her eyes follow you as you move through the kitchen's familiar dance. Two mugs from the cabinet (your favorite and daddy's backup), bacon from the icebox, cornbread left from last night.

"Sugar?" you ask, though you've already reached for it. The container clinks against your rings as you set it down.

"Black's fine." Her voice is softer in here, like the domesticity of the space has gentled her edges. But when you lean past her to set down her mug, you catch a whiff of leather and gun oil beneath the barn hay. Your curls brush her shoulder, and you feel more than hear her sharp intake of breath.

You take your time settling into the chair across from her, adding three sugars to your own coffee with deliberate movements. Your mother would be appalled at you entertaining company in just a corset top, but there's something thrilling about the way Sevika's gaze keeps catching on the lace trim, on the exposed line of your collarbones, the rise of your breath.

You let her observe because you’re doing the same. Sevika is gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that sinks deep inside of a woman and wears her out. Her grey eyes are like two beacons and they remind you of the deer you’d beg his father not to shoot. The ones you would run after, flapping your arms to get them to scatter.

 Her face is almost ridiculously romantic, with a strong nose sitting pretty in the middle that reminds you of royalty. Her eyes are never-ending, a pit that gapes into who she is. Her skin is textured, as it gets when you’re (allegdly) living on the edge of the law. You can tell she’s older than you without her saying it. Something about her radiates maturity, the same as your mother who’s practically seen the world rise and fall. 

"So," you say, watching her over the rim of your mug. "You gonna tell me what brings a woman like you to sleep in my barn? Or do I need to go take another look at that board in town?"

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't flinch. 

"Would it change your mind about the bacon if I did?"

"Depends." You lean back, let your chair creak against the floorboards. Through the window, you can see the laundry dancing on the line, your mother's favorite dress a splash of yellow against the morning sky. "On whether you deserved what put you there."

Sevika's fingers tighten around her mug, and you catch sight of old burns across her knuckles. "Most things ain't that simple."

"Most things worth protecting ain't either." You slide the plate of cornbread toward her, a peace offering. Your voice softens; you were never good at acting hard. "Eat something, sugar. Then we'll talk about what kind of work needs doing around here, if you're planning to stay.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise at the endearment maybe, or relief. When she reaches for the cornbread, her sleeve rides up, revealing more of that tattoo. It looks like a snake, or maybe a dragon, curling up her arm. You wonder how far it goes, what other stories her skin might tell.

The washing machine clicks into its spin cycle, and somewhere outside, your daddy's truck rumbles to life. The morning's moving on, and there's work waiting. But for now, you let yourself sit in this moment: the sun warming your bare shoulders, the quiet sounds of Sevika eating at your family table. 

“I suspect,” she says, her throat bucking as she swallows, “that your parents will have a bit more sense about hiring a fugitive for farm work.”

You shrug, pick a corner off the cornbread on her plate.

“Everyone out here is struggling. We all need someone or something. The only reason we’re faring slightly better is because this place was paid off as an anniversary gift by my grandparents.” You glance out the window. “Plus, I’m my daddy’s favortite. He tends to listen to me.”

There’s something sad about the way you say it, as if it aggrieved you to be so loved. But the moment passes and you’re looking back at her, lips full and curved like the moon. 

“It’ll be good for us,” you decide and she lets it go. “Get seconds if you’d like, sugar. I'll intercept them.”

“I’m older than you,” Sevika rumbles and you hide a smile, cock your hip out as you grab a basket for the chickens. 

“Doesn’t make you any less sweet on the eyes.” 

At that her head ducks down and you laugh, the sound clear and bright like a bell. 

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

With that Sevika finds herself hired as a farmhand under the stern eye of your father and the knowing eye of your mother. The work is honest and she relishes being able to lose herself in it, settle into the rhythm and flow of this little world your blood has built.

She doesn’t know what to do with you however.

Now, Sevika has lived several lives at this point. In fact sometimes she awoke in the night under the strain of them, the urge to run stampeding from where it sits behind her teeth and under the flat of her tongue. She understands on some level that women find her attractive, brooding. She’s unsurprised at the hints you keep dropping over the weeks. You probably find her intriguing, see her as a means to rebel with her older age and criminal nature.. (“I’m literally in my twenties, Sevika. ‘M not a baby.”)

At least that’s what she thinks at first. But then, she begins to doubt herself and overanalyze your rather…creative attempts to satisfy your coveteous nature. 

The first is when she wakes up one early morning, the sky slurred between cotton candy pink and a warm lilac, to find you taking a bath in a two-bit shining steel contraption of a tub. Your body is trembling, but you seem at peace. Your curls are heavy and swollen with water, made longer by the weight of the moisture. She watches your back flex as you move, takes in the hidden strength of your arms and peeking thighs. Your muscle takes her aback, makes her stomach warm real down low.

She should move—your parents will be up soon—but you’re just so captivating when you’re kissed by the dawn. The water sloshes as you pour it over yourself, the underside of your breasts flashing as you soap down. And then you turn, peeking over your shoulder and gazing at her with faux-bambi eyes as you trace a hand up and over your chest to get your back. 

She feels warm, teased in a manner that makes her throat squeeze and her hands clench. She doesn’t know what to do with this, doesn’t know how to naviage this eager rabid want that you show her so openly. And it just doesn’t stop.

But what really gets under Sevika’s skin is the kindness that you insist on bludgering her with, especially when no one’s watching. It’s genuine, unexpecting, and claws at her skin with tender phantom fingers.

Just the other day, Sevika had been unable to successfully ward off a duo of wolves and three sheep had been lost in her efforts. She’d apologized gruffly and repeatedly until your mother stepped forward and cupped her chin with a firm hand, telling her to “fuck off with this bullshit because it wasn’t intentional and you tried your best.” What was with you women and nurturing her?

After, Sevika had gone back to where the lasty wooly body lay—the small innocent bones of a lamb. She had felt sick at the sight because the lamb wasn’t a lamb in that moment; she’d seen something else. You saw the lean figure of her body as it bent over in some sort of grief, distraught at the sight of the dead animal beneath it. 

Sevika, You had said with shining eyes. Are you alright?

Sevika had looked at you long and hard before making a noise from deep within her throat. Turning swiftly, she tried to block you off from the sight.

I don’t think you’ll want to see this, she’d muttered and you’d settled your hands on your hips. 

I’ve lived this long before you were working here, you reminded her.

Sevika’s face was still broken in an open expression of confusion and remorse when you moved forward. Carefully, you swallowed the bulk of her body into the warmth of yours. You weren’t nearly as big, but you held your own and you held her fast. The two of you stayed just like that, with your hand tucked neatly behind her head as you steadied her. 

Now, she watches as your broad shoulders dip as you kneel to pick up the limp body of a fallen chicken. These goddamn wolves needed to be dealt with.

It’s in their nature, sugar, you’d told her.

“Wait,” she calls out and you turn to look at her, your cheeks apple-full under the thicket of your lashes. 

“Hmm?” you say back, your voice curious.

“Put gloves on if you’re gonna touch it. It probably had some sort of disease.”

Sevika walks closer, grabbing a spare pair of gloves she usually keeps for the other town boys who your father has helping him throughout harvesting week. She holds them out, those dark eyes glittering like grey moonstone.

You look up at her then, curls haloed around your soft face. They’re still kept short, dust your dimpled chin. You look so young and probably always would, the baby fat clinging to your cheeks like the hands of a lover. Sevika continues to gaze down at you, firm and unrelenting, and you smile gently as she eventually looks away. 

You’re not moving fast enough, so she crouches down and takes your hands, sliding each glove on and making sure the fingers fit. She notes that your nails are square and glossy, painted an icy pink. You watch with an affected air, scooping the small body up when she finally lets go. 

“I’m sorry,” You say to the glassy eyes of the hen and Sevika’s heart seizes.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you, gentle and understanding. 

You glance at her and then back at the animal you hold.

“No need to apolgize, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you help me dig a grave for her?”

Sevika doesn’t know if it would really be worth it to bury it, but you’re a little sad and so obviously cold in your oversized cotton tee and denim shorts. Your skin lights up with the mid-afternoon sun and Sevika can see all of your goosebumps and the fine dusting of hair.

“I—sure,” she agrees and You nod, walking away and trusting her to follow.

Before you begin to lead the march, you turn back and cup her elbow. 

“Thank you, sugar.”

And that’s all. She wants to fucking eat you.

You continue to unravel her expectations like cotton thread.

You catch her before dawn another morning, when the sky's still tender with sleep and dark like the evening is loath to leave. She's checking the fence line, and you appear like a vision with two thermoses of coffee and your father's old flannel draped over your worn dark green longsleeve. When you pass her the coffee, your fingers linger on hers longer than necessary.

"Thought you might be cold out here, sugar," you say, and the endearment makes her throat tight. She's not used to being the one called sweet things.

You settle beside her on the fence, close enough that she can feel your warmth. The morning fog rolls across the fields like a dream, and Sevika finds herself watching the way it catches in your hair and the bones of your fingers, how it makes you look ethereal and solid all at once.

"You don't have to keep doing this," she says roughly, though she cradles the thermos close.

"Doing what?" Your voice is innocent but your eyes are knowing.

"Taking care of me. Bringing me things. Being..." she gestures vaguely, unable to name the way you make her feel seen.

You laugh, and she shivers. "Sugar, has it occurred to you that maybe I want to? That maybe I see something in you worth cherishing? That I’m just being genuine?"

The word ‘genuine’ hits her like a physical thing. She ducks her head, unused to this kind of naked affection, but you just reach over and touch her jaw with gentle fingers.

"You're allowed to let someone be sweet on you," you murmur. "Even if you're pushing forty." 

There's teasing in your voice, but your touch is reverent. Sevika wants to protest—about the age difference, about her rough past, about how someone as bright and whole as you shouldn't want someone as weathered as her. But you're looking at her like she’s the human version of the Promised Land, and all her arguments die in her throat.

"I don't know how to do this," she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?" You're stroking her jaw now, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

"Nothing. I need to get back to work."

You lean back, let her go. 

“If it’s about learning,," you call, your voice trailing after like smoke, "the good thing is that I'm a real good teacher."

The next time I’m in town, she thinks, I need to buy a pack of damn cigarettes.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

From then on, you start to learn her tells. Like how she always positions herself between you and any perceived threat, how her hands flex when she's trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there anymore. How she startles, less now, when you're gentle with her.

You catch her in the barn one afternoon, trying to wrap her own ribs after a particularly rough day breaking the new stallion. Her knuckles are white with the effort of reaching around, face drawn tight with pain she won't admit to.

"Sugar," you say softly, and she freezes like a spooked deer. "Let me help you with that."

Her eyes dart to you, then away. "I've had worse."

"Ain't about what you've had." You cross to her, boots quiet in the hay. "About what you deserve now."

You take the bandage from her callused fingers, and she lets you - that alone feels like a victory. This close, you can see the way her breath catches when your fingers brush her skin. Like caring for her is its own kind of violence.

"Lift your arms for me, darlin'," you murmur, and something in her expression cracks when you call her that. Like she can't quite believe the sweetness in your voice is meant for her. But she obeys, raising her arms slowly, letting you wrap her ribs with careful precision.

"You don't have to-" she starts, but you shush her.

"I know I don't have to. Want to." Your fingers trace a scar on her side, old and silver in the afternoon light. "Anybody ever just take care of you, Sevika?"

She doesn't answer, but the way she trembles under your touch says enough. You secure the bandage and let your hands linger on her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin above her jeans.

"Well," you say, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, right where that dragon tattoo curls toward her neck, "better get used to it. I take good care of what's mine."

Her sharp inhale sounds like thunder, and when she turns in your arms, her usual swagger is nowhere to be found. Just vulnerability, raw and beautiful as a sunrise. You cup her face in your hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and she leans into your touch like she's starving for it.

"When did you decide tha?" she asks, voice rough. "That I’m yours?"

You smile, soft and sure, and smooth out the furrow in her brow. "You were mine the moment you settled onto my land, sugar. Just took us both a minute to catch up."

And maybe you came on too strong, ‘cause she yanks herself back and straightens her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

You sigh, loud and irate. She’s so fucking—

“No problem, honey.”

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

It happens during the last heat of summer, when the air sits thick as honey on your skin. You're in the barn, having just finished moving hay bales—work that would've taken twice as long if you weren't so used to it. Your blue and white bandana top clings to your chest, sweat stealing out from under it, and you can feel Sevika watching you from where she's meant to be fixing the tractor. You arch your back a little more, make sure to display the way your little rose-bud panties poke over the worn mouth of your lightwash, knee-length jean shorts.

You've caught her looking more and more lately. Noticed how her eyes track the contraction of your arms when you're lifting feed bags, the way she startles when you easily hoist yourself into the saddle. Like she can't quite reconcile your soft curves with the strength beneath them.

"You gonna fix that tractor, sugar?" you ask without turning around, smile curving your lips when you hear her shift. Your desire is practically shaking the bones of your teeth."Or you just gonna watch me work?"

Her throat clicks. 

"I’m—I'm nearly done."

You hum, reaching up to stack the last bale. Your shirt’s knot loosens a little ‘round your back, exposing the dip of skin, and you hear something metallic clatter to the floor behind you. When you turn, Sevika's staring at you with those storm-grey eyes, wrench forgotten at her feet. There's grease on her forearms, sweat at her temples, and she's looking at you like she's finally ready to break.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently, crossing to her. Your bare feet are silent in the hay.

She swallows hard when you reach her, especially when you grip the tractor's edge on either side of her, caging her in with arms that could just as easily lift her. "You know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?" You lean closer, letting her feel the strength in your body. "Tell me what I'm doing, sugar."

Her hands flex at her sides, like she's fighting not to touch you. 

"You're driving me crazy," she admits roughly.

“Oh,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “Do I make you nervous, baby?”

She flushes, tries to scramble back, and you laugh, soft and low. 

"Driving you crazy, huh? Only fair. You've been driving me crazy since I found you in my barn." You trace a finger down her jaw, feeling how she trembles. "The way you look at me when you think I can't see. The way you try so hard to be good, to keep your distance." 

Your other hand finds her hip, grip firm. You squeeze them in warning.

"I've seen how you watch me work. You like that I'm strong enough to handle you?"

She makes a broken sound, head falling back. "[Name]."

"I've got you," you murmur, and then you're lifting her onto the tractor's edge like she weighs nothing, stepping between her legs. Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, and her hands finally, finally come up to grip your biceps. "Been wanting to do that for weeks. You know you gotta tanline right here?"

You finger the thin edge of her boxers from beneath her jeans, 

"Christ," she breathes, fingers tightening on your arms. "You're gonna kill me."

“Are you religious? That’s cutesy,” You smile, pressing closer until you can feel her heartbeat racing against your chest. "Nah, sugar. Just gonna take real good care of you." Your hands slide up her thighs, feeling the way she shivers. "If you'll let me."

She answers by pulling you into a kiss that tastes like summer storms and surrender, and you smile against her mouth. You've got her right where you want her—trembling and warm in your capable hands.

"That's it," you whisper when you pull back to breathe, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Let me handle you, mama. Just like you need."

And Sevika, who's spent years being the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who protects—she lets herself fall into you, lets herself be gentled by your hands. Maybe this is what surrender feels like: not a defeat, but a coming home.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺  ⟡ ݁₊ .

Your most prevailing thought is that you’re pissed you didn’t get to see Sevika like this earlier.

Her back arches beautifully, her chest rising with pleasure as you hold her down on the floor by the hips. Your mouth is relentless, suckling at her warm pussy with fervor. She tastes sweet and she’s so soaked, her arousal dribbling out of your mouth and onto your chin. You hum as she roots a hand in your hair, tugging harshly as she grinds down in tight little circles. 

She’s whimpering, high breathy sounds that you’re determined to keep streaming from her slick lips. She’s still quiet, as you expected, but Christ does she want it. You let her use you, sliding your hands from her hips up to cup and grope her tits. Her nipples are erect, so hard and pretty and pointed toward heaven like she’s trying to tempt God. She’d probably succeed. 

The sun slips through the slats of the barn and it illuminates her skin, the brown of it so warm that you almost feel as if you’re both on fire. You slip your tongue into the tight clutch of her cunt, gently dipping back and forth so that you’re fucking her on your tongue, and squeeze her ass in silent demand. She digs her nails into you, moans loudly, but still doesn’t heed.

With a groan of irritation, you clutch her ass with a grip of steel and begin to bounce her on your face until she starts to see the bigger picture. Eventually, she’s moving on her own—fast and uncoordinated as that bright spiral begins to coil in her stomach. 

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Just like that. Please.”

You pull away, spread her apart.

“I know, mama,” you murmur and then dive back in.

Her thighs come up around your head and you let her crush you, shaking your head like a dog in heat as you nurse and lap at her pussy. Above you, Sevika twists one of her nipples and you feel her body tense in response. You bring a hand up to rub at her clit, and she jerks. 

When she cums, she’s so bright and beautiful—like a star imploding onto itself. Her legs fall open and she lets out a low whine, like an animal, her hips still circling as she attempts to ride it out.

“Hold on, mama,” you tell her. “I’m gonna give it to you.”

You move quickly, undressing completely and laying your body against hers. Your tits push into hers and she nuzzles into your neck, mind still hazy. You soothe her, digging a thumb into her lower back as you slip two fingers into the meat of her. She lets out a strangled yell at the overstimulation, but you hold her to it.

You fuck your fingers into her, until the squelch is more than obscene, watching as she shakes and writhes alongside you. You use your other hand to guide her to your mouth, kissing her messily as you introduce a third finger to her pussy. 

“Oh,” she moans, low and raspy, and you coo at her. “Oh, shit. Holy—holy fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby? You have to tell me what you like.”

“I—mmm. Yes. Yes, it feels good. I need—I need—”

Sevika trails off, eyes wide and watery. You roll over, tucking her under you while you continue to finger her. You raise one of her legs, widening the angle, and she squeals. You laugh lowly into the seam of her neck before sucking the skin between your teeth, biting down and bruising her.

“What do you need, mama? More?”

“Yes, but—,” She blinks, attempting to clear her head. “I want you too. I want you to finish with me.”

“With you or on you?” You watch her face as you ask, eyes following the twitch of her brow. “Maybe in you?”

That makes her shiver, and you smile as you sit up. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” you mutter as you manhandle her into how you want her. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

She shivers again and you pull her up, drawing her against your chest so that your tits are once again pressing up against each other. Carefully, you extend her strong legs over yours and inch forward until your clits catch. The friction is insane and your mouth drops open along the same time that Sevika goes ramrod straight. 

You dive right in, fucking up so that your cunts slide and swallow each other. She’s so creamy, her previous orgasm sliding down her thighs. There’s a moment where your control dips, where she’s the one ramming the two of you together and leading you up so that you can grind harder until she stutters again.

Then it’s back and you’re holding her down, spreading her even further open as you rub your pussy roughly against hers. You need her to stay down, need her to take what you choose to give. Sevika is beneath you, trembling and open mouthed, and you stick two fingers down her throat ‘till she’s gagging wetly around them.

“Oh m’God,” you moan, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re such a fucking slut, mama. Jesus.”

That does it and you feel her pour into you, thick and warm. You follow shortly after, rocking and pushing down against her as you chase the feeling. She’s sobbing, a hand coming up to grip at her throat as she tries to match your movements.

You slow, come to a stop, and stroke her face as you rise off of her. Tenderly, you kiss at her cheeks and eyelids as you sush her. 

“I know, baby. You were so good. Such a good, perfect, strong woman. Hmm?” You kiss her temple. “You did so well, mama.”

She’s shaking, so you hold her until she’s less far away. You want to get up, get her some water and maybe something to eat but she’s holding you captive. Sevika turns into you, body big and curved like the moon come to earth.

The afternoon light paints everything gold, and you know you’ve got work waiting—always do, on a farm. But for now, you just continue to hold her. Somewhere outside, those wild dogs are keeping watch. 

© hcneymooners.

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