#Manny; blood Bound

[theesirenteller]

BLOOD 🩸BOUND

🄼🄰🅂🅃🄴🅁 🄻🄸🅂🅃

Pam Grier as Serafina

Eiza González as Maria Bellá Lopez

Manny’s words replayed in Serafina’s mind as she laid in bed at the ariza house. She hasn't known him long, less than 72 hours. But, he was by far the nicest, the most gentlemanly out of the men she'd met at the clubhouse. As she stared up at the chipped wallpaper in the bedroom she occupied, Serafina let out a deep breath and then proceeded to sit up. Almost instantly, pain shot up the side of her neck and inner curves of her inner thighs. The sensation was a hot, uncomfortable feeling that sent cold shivers down her spin. Her body was drenched in sweat, her white-blood stained t-shirt clung to her body like a second layer of skin. The moment she stood up, she felt lightheaded. Serafina ignored that feeling and walked out the room.

Instantly, the sound of multiple women chit-chatting could be heard. But, that wasn’t new. The Ariza house was always a jam packed whore house that hoarded feedlings for the bikers. It wasn’t her life plan to end up one, but she did. “Bout time you woke up, chica.” a familiar voice said from behind her.

Serafina turned around and almost instantly rolled her eyes, “Anyone would sleep like the dead when you’re getting sucked off by one.” She replied with a weak smile, “Where were you last night Marie-Bella? After you left with Bishop, I got worried.”

Marie-Bella wassup an alluring beauty in Mexico. Her long, raven-black hair cascades down her shoulders, framing a face that is both sharp and captivating. Deep, expressive eyes—accentuated by a hint of intensity—tell a story of a life lived on the edge. Her full lips, often painted a deep crimson, reveal a quiet confidence, hinting at her undeniable influence among those in her circle.

Clad in a sleek black corset and matching leather pants, she emanates an effortless sensuality. The detailed studs lining her pants enhance her boldness, while her form-fitting top highlights her curves, amplifying her command of any room she enters. As a feedling, Marie-Bella has honed her ability to navigate the underworld, using her charm and sharp wit to cater to the Mayans MC. Known for her strategic mind, she often moves through shadows, ensuring that her actions always benefit the club. Serafina, her closest confidante, and best friend.

“Amor, you worry too much.” Marie-Bella laughed as she ran her hands through Serafina’s hair, “Bish is like thee nicest out of all of them, well maybe the second nicest next to that blood-thirsting feen Coco.” she giggled. Her dark eyes skimmed Serafina from top to bottom, her giddy expression weening.

“You look like shit.” She said,

“Gee thanks,” Serafina replied sarcastically, “Taza didn’t exactly take it easy on me last night.” she informed Marie-Bella with a sigh. The sound of floorboards creaking had caught Marie-Bella’s attention just as she was about to reply. The friends shared an unspoken look before Serafina announced she was going to freshen up.

“Cool, I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re done.” Marie-Bella replied before she headed downstairs.

And with that, Serafina made her way into the bathroom. She soon stood beneath the hot water, her body trembling as the warmth cascaded over her bruised skin. The steam filled the small bathroom, but it did little to ease the ache deep in her bones. Faint purple bruises marbled her arms, the delicate tracery of veins beneath her dull-brown skin standing out starkly from the abuse. Darker patches bloomed across her collarbone, hips, and thighs—reminders of where Taza’s hands had gripped too tight, his hunger too raw. Each bruise throbbed, a testament to how close Serafina had come to being drained completely.

As the water poured over her, she pressed her forehead against the cold tile, eyes squeezed shut. A hollow ache gnawed at her insides, like a hunger that could never be sated. She craved Taza’s touch again, the biting edge of her fangs, though she knew how dangerous it was. The sharp euphoria of being fed on had left her yearning, her mind foggy, her limbs weak. Every muscle aches, not just from the roughness, but from the withdrawal that gripped her. It was a craving, a twisted need, much like an addict’s for their drug of choice. Even the hot water couldn’t chase away the cold that settled in her chest, the way her pulse pounded in her temples, begging for that release again.

Serafina’s fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady her breathing. She hated this. The bruises would fade, but the craving would not.

The transition from finishing her shower, getting dressed, and then leaving the whorehouse was a complete blur. She’d been brought back to reality an hour later. She blinked slowly, now finding herself seated across from Letty in some run down diner. The scent of burnt coffee and empanadas filled the air. The diner buzzed with the afternoon crowd, Letty and Serafina sat across from each other in a booth, sunlight streaming through the window, casting a warm glow on the wooden table. Serafina stirred her coffee, her mind racing with thoughts of the Mayans Motorcycle Club. She already knew their dark secret; after all, they fed off her and the other women connected to the club. ‘Crow-eaters’. Just a stupid name for the word whore.

Letty leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Bishop Losa and his cousin discovered the secret to becoming vampires ages ago. But it’s not just about blood; it’s about power. They can turn others, but only one of them has the authority to gift that power. that’s why they’re so selective with who they choose;Manny, Gilly, and EZ… they were all chosen for a reason.” she proceeded to lean back slightly. “Manny’s fiercely loyal with charm, Gilly’s is loyal and obedient, and EZ? He’s got this fire that draws people in. When Bishop or the Alverez turns someone, it’s more than just a bite. It’s a ritual, an honor. They’re sharing their strength and binding them into the family.”

Serafina’s heart raced at the thought. “So, when they turned those three, they weren’t just making more vampires. They were expanding their influence, solidifying their power.”

“Right ,” Letty said, her tone serious now. “It’s a code they live by. Once you’re in, you’re family, and you protect your own. The club’s like a fortress, and they’ll go to any lengths to defend it.”

Serafina remembered the times she had felt that fierce loyalty among them, a bond that ran deeper than blood. “But what about us? The women who get caught in all this? We’re just… collateral?”

“Not collateral,” Letty corrected, her eyes fierce. She shook her head as an angry look flashed across her eyes.

The diner hummed with life, the smell of coffee and grilled burgers began hanging in the air.

Serafina had seen the way the men looked at her and the other women, how they consumed their essence—blood slaves, nothing more. “Then what? Marie-Bella got us here from Los Vegas a few days ago. We partied at the clubhouse with them and then I woke up covered in blood with my virginity gone and Taza feeding off my legs.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled the events. “It was terrifying.”

Letty’s expression darkened. “It’s not just terrifying; it’s brutal. Bishop Losa and his cousin have the power to turn someone, but they choose their mates so carefully, and it’s a painful process.”

“Painful how?” Serafina asked, her curiosity mingling with dread.

“They don’t do it for love,” Letty said sharply. “Most of the time, their wives aren’t even considered for that privilege. For them, love is a weakness. They want loyalty, control. It’s about power. When they choose someone to turn, it’s because they see potential for obedience, not affection.”

Serafina’s heart sank. “So, we’re just… vessels? Nothing more?”

“Exactly,” Letty replied, her voice heavy with contempt. “They’ll drain you dry, both physically and emotionally. You think you might be special for a moment, but really, you’re just another blood source. It’s a brutal hierarchy, and the pain of being chosen or discarded can be unbearable.”

“What happens to those who aren’t chosen?” Serafina asked, the weight of reality pressing down on her.

“They stay as they are—used and tossed aside when they’re no longer needed, or in some cases dead,” Letty said bitterly. “It’s a cycle of exploitation. They revel in their power, and for the women involved, it’s often a nightmare.”

Serafina felt anger and despair swell within her. “So, we have no power at all?”

“None,” Letty confirmed, her voice low. “you guys exist to serve their needs. They take what they want and leave you feeling empty. The men don’t see you guys as partners or equals; we’re just tools for their pleasure.”

The realization hit Serafina hard, and she shivered at the thought of being nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game. Letty’s words echoed in her mind, a dark truth that made her skin crawl.

As they sat in the diner, the bustling world around them faded away, leaving only the weight of their conversation. Serafina understood that in this perilous game, survival depended on navigating a reality where power ruled, and love was a cruel illusion.

### Transition Scene: Midnight Carnival

The neon lights of the carnival flickered like fireflies against the night sky as Letty and Serafina wandered through the bustling streets, their arms laden with shopping bags. The air was thick with the scents of popcorn and cotton candy, and the sounds of laughter and carnival games created an electrifying atmosphere. Midnight struck, and the vibrant chaos of the carnival seemed to pulse with life.

“Can you believe we stumbled onto this?” Letty exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This feels like something out of a movie!”

Serafina smiled, momentarily pushing aside her thoughts about Manny. The colors, the lights, the music—it was a welcome distraction. They drifted toward a carousel, its horses gleaming under the bright lights, and Serafina felt a rush of joy wash over her.

But then a shiver ran down her spine, and she instinctively turned. There he was—Manny—leaning casually against a lamppost, shadows playing across his sharp features, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that sent a thrill through her.

“Manny,” she whispered, a mix of excitement and unease stirring within her.

Before she could process her feelings, he glided toward them, his movements smooth and confident. The crowd seemed to part around him as he approached, his gaze never leaving Serafina. “Ladies,” he said, his voice low and entrancing, like velvet laced with danger. “Enjoying the carnival?”

Letty frowned, sensing the shift in the air. “We were just having a little fun, Manny,” she replied, her tone a mix of defiance and caution.

Manny’s grin was charming yet predatory, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Fun’s cool and all, but Serafina, I think it’s time we had a little chat.” He reached for her, his fingers brushing against her arm, and the contact sent an electric thrill through her that both frightened and excited her.

“Wait, Manny—” Letty began, stepping forward.

He turned to her, a warning flickering in his gaze. “Listen, Letty, I’d keep the stuff you hear from your pops on the down-low if I were you. It could get real messy if it falls into the wrong hands.” His tone was smooth but had a chilling edge that made Letty’s skin crawl.

Manny’s attention shifted back to Serafina, his smile turning possessive. “Come on, Mama, let’s roll. We need to talk.” His casual nickname sent a mix of warmth and fear racing through her, and she felt drawn to him, the carnival lights fading behind her as she looked into his dark eyes.

Letty hesitated, concern etched on her face. “Manny, she’s not some plaything,” she protested, though the confidence in her voice was wavering.

Manny stepped closer to Serafina, his presence enveloping her. “Nah, she’s way more than that,” he said, his voice low and entrancing. He took her hand, his grip firm yet gentle, and she felt both exhilarated and anxious as he led her away from the carnival, the laughter and music fading into the distance.

As they slipped into the shadows of the night, Serafina glanced back at Letty, whose expression was a mixture of worry and anger. Then, with a smooth motion, Manny guided her deeper into the darkness, leaving the carnival—and the light of their carefree night—far behind.

TAGGED : @lovedlover @nobodygetsza @spaghettificationandpretzels @ravennaortiz @fvckthisbxtchup @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth

[vifilms]

#001.5 TOUCHING YOURSELF!

❝ ABBY!ANDERSON SERIES ❞

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: lowkey loser!reader, voyerisum, dub-con, dildo penetration (abby!r), minors hop off my shit, friends to lovers (eventually), nerdy!abby.

....AND THEY WERE ROOMATES, she’s always been just abby to you. best friends and thick as thieves. sweet as can be, breathing shy naivety with ever inhale of oxygen — a walking angel on earth. a gentle remainder of what’s good but looks can be so convincing? can’t they?

The college bar is no busier than it would have been any other thursday night. Any other night, you would have been able to handle the rowdy college kids, the old men checking out your ass with a lingering promise of a nightcap you would never attend but the promise of more kept the tips rolling into now deep pockets. 

Two regulars going at it, again, leaving you and Jesse to split them up. Frank, the alcoholic with violent tendencies reaches for the visible switchblade attached to your carabiner. With a swat of his hand, Manny catches his limp wrist before shoving the chaotic pair outside. 

God to honest truth, you should have been able to handle them on your own but your mind happens to be occupied elsewhere tonight. 

You catch glimpses of her tonight. Abby’s tucked in the black leather booth, her laptop and books laid out in front of her. She insisted on coming here tonight, not caring to be alone in your shared apartment so there was no saying no to her sweet smile. 

Soft, slushy braid lightly woven together, but it hardly held. Blonde strands framed her face beautifully, accentuating her soft jawline and supple cheeks. When she wasn’t looking, given you had a moment to breathe, you would take her in. 

Abby sheds herself of her vest, a loose white button up disguises her figure along with the navy trousers fitting her loosely around her muscular thighs. 

Adorable. 

Quietly, you sport a smile, wishing it could be suppressed but it can’t. 

It’s been a few weeks since that night. You’re sure you’ll never forget the way she moved, her beautiful hair you were goddamn obsessed with at this point, watching her hamstrings succumb to the pleasure, and the way her body writhed as she came. So, naturally, you hid here. With your loose lips, you were bound to spill. 

But this? You couldn’t. 

There wasn’t anyone you could talk about this with, especially not Abby. In your mind, you’ve run it over a few times, none of them end well. She’s always been a sensitive girl. Taking everything to heart since grade school. Her big heart remains on her sleeve and you adore her for it but now? It’s the demise of your doom. 

You want to have her. It’s a craving in your blood, but you’d just tear her to pieces. So, what if she knew how to fuck? Emotionally, spiritually, mentally - you’d only ruin her into bits until she didn’t even know where you ended and she began. Abby being so woven in your day to day, the friendship the two of you shared, it’s all so complicated. 

You did the only thing you know how to. Avoid. 

Luckily enough for you, the first week is easy. Abby is busy enough with her schedule, the thought never even crosses her mind that you're avoiding her intentionally. Until you change the time you’re going to the gym, and you’re picking up extra shifts on the days you’re normally off. Still the saint she is, nothing is uttered. A hum, short and crisp with just a hint of disapproval laced in her tone. 

She’s smart…careful.

Abby asks to come when she knows you’re unable to deny her request. Here you are, behind the bar, distracted. Again, with her nose buried in her books, pushing up her glasses to the bump in her nose ever so often. She sips the iced water, a lemon wedge and a couple cucumbers sinking to the bottom of the frosted glass. You offered her beer, something to help with her social anxiety but she refuses like she always does. 

Need to keep my head clear, she says with a small smile. 

Your shift is nearly over, thankfully. There’s a few stragglers in the bar, regulars who are often here every Thursday night make their way out as you clear off glasses, wiping down the countertop. Jesse’s words keep echoing in your brain. 

“What’d you do to her?” Jesse raises his eyebrows, subtly nodding his head in Abby’s direction. 

“Nothing! Why would you assume it’s me?” You shrug off as you make another cocktail for a woman tucked in the corner. “Because Abby’s as innocent as a fly. Some might find her annoying, but it’s her. Abby looks like a puppy who's been kicked. Stop being a dick to your girl.” 

“She’s not my-” Jesse runs off before you can complete your sentence. Leaving you to huff alone, pouring another shot of tequila into the drink. “Fucking men…” You curse to yourself. 

You waltz your way over, picking up her empty glass, removing the apron tied around your waist. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take so long, Abs.” The apology slips from your lips, but inwardly you find yourself apologizing for something else entirely, not that she would ever know that. 

“It’s alright. I really don’t mind waiting. I, um, got some work done anyways. It felt good to get out of the house. Thanks for letting me tag along.” Fuck, she’s so sweet. 

“You don’t have to thank me, loser.” You playfully wink, causing a light giggle. The tension in her shoulders dismisses as you help her pack her things. Instinctively, you wrap her books in your hold as she carries her bag. 

The ride home is silent again, leaving room for your mind to wander. Your mind can’t help but end up here for the past week, occupying every second of every day. You ignore the wet patch forming beneath your trousers. The way your cunt is sticking to the fabric, your clit thumping its own heartbeat because of her. 

Hardly do you sleep and if you do, you’re dreaming of your best friend. Sometimes, it’s delicate. Soft moments which feel like memories but more intimate. It’s Abby and you, hands cupping her jaw as the pad of your thumb soothes over her chin. Bottom lip tucked between both of hers as you savor her taste. Hints of raspberry balm and something minty invade your senses. 

She’s perched on your lap, hips grinding into you as you slip your tongue inside her mouth. Exploring every inch of her, dominating her every step of the way. It’s almost harmless but it leads to more. 

Just like tonight. 

You’re able to sleep for once. Even if Abby and her perfectly sculpted, bare body is imprinted on your brain, you find rest. Or so you thought. 

Really, you don’t know how you even got here. But she’s on top, the strap fucking up into her as she rides you like there’s no tomorrow. Abby’s freckled body facing away from you. Her palms resting on your strong hips, as she fucks down on to you. 

The harness rubbing against your clit, watching the baby blue dildo sink into her aching hole as she chants your name like she’s praying to some god. Instead, it’s you. All she needs is you and fuck all you crave is her. There’s no one else nearly as special as her. The way she rides as if she was made for you, taking everything you have to offer, even when you thrust up into her, soft whimpers being pulled out of her each time. 

The edges of her are blurry, she never turns around, but fuck can you feel her. Using you for own pleasure, not giving a single damn if it benefits you are not but fuck it does. It’s doing everything to you. From this alone, you could cum. You know you shouldn’t but you crave more. She’s a need that can’t be undone. 

Desperately, you want to sink your teeth until all of her. Whatever she wants, you’ll do it. Even if it comes at the expense of your own sanity. God, you’re not careful enough to think about what it means and your hands speak for you on their own. Greedy palms reach out for her, needing to touch her and just as you do, reality sinks in. 

Quickly sitting up in bed, realizing your alone, finally awake and fucking soaked. Blood rushes to your brain, your heart thumping. Unfortunately, sweat welcomes nearly every part of your body. You can feel damp hair sticking to for forehead as you feel utterly suffocated by the duvet. 

You need to take care of this. She can’t know. She can never know. 

The heavy heart beat in your chest, threatening to pump out, doesn’t stop. A sports bra clings to your sweaty chest as you attempt to catch your breath. Flashes of the dream plague your mind, intoxicating your brain with her. You see glimpses of her sparkling golden hair reflecting in the moonlight, entranced by the complete control she has over her body. Each moment calculated with purpose as she lets you fuck her. 

With images of only her in mind, fingers sink deep within, a choked moan echoes out as you see the defined muscles in her back clench. You imagine the dream is real, it’s you taking what you please from her. It’s Abby sitting herself on your cock taking what she’s owed. 

The thought alone has you slipping in another finger, severely lost in the thought of her, you’ve yet to clock your door open. Too lost in wondering how her face crumbled when she tumbles over the edge. Does she like to be fucked through her orgasm or does she prefer a gentle voice, whispering sweet affirmations in her ear? Both? 

Curling your fingers into your g-spot, drenching your fingers as you find the one spot as you picture Abby, fucking herself on the dildo as it brings your closer to the edge. All you see is her and as much as you try to rid yourself of the thought, you can’t help how wet it’s making you. 

Trying but utterly failing, you’re getting louder, incoherent moans tumblr before you can catch them. Soft whimpers as if you’re some sex deprived teenager rubbing your clit for the first time. It’s stupid, trivial, yet, you need this. 

“Abby—” before you catch it, it falls from your lips. Tirelessly needy, you grab the vibrator from the drawer, bring the shaking toy to your puffy clit. Over-abused by your ministries but if you don’t finish, your actions are terrifying. The thought alone scares you. 

“Please, Abs, I need you.” It’s then, you feel it. The tight band in your stomach being released from it’s strong hold. Deep pools of blue and golden waves haze your mind. As your eyes shut, you ride the wave as if you’re riding her. 

As if she’s the one to bring you to completion, coaxing you with the soft rasp in her voice as sweet little nothings are whispering into your ear. It’s impossible to stop the way your body shakes, just when you watched her come undone the first time, you can’t stop it. 

Maybe you would have if you’d know the truth. 

Your blonde nerdy best friend wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. No. 

Not when she leaned against the wall, your bedroom door opened as she got off along with you. Abby’s pussy swallowed her fingers as she pictured they were yours bringing her to the edge.

Fuck….No.

All the sins were piling up, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up to the both of you.

This is what roommates are for, right?

lmk what you think! mwah! ♡

[juletheghoul]

friendly neighbourhood handyman

Gif by @manny-jacinto

Authors note: I just want to live in a world where Joel and Sarah are alive and well. So I wrote it, please enjoy being Joel's neighbour! (Thanks to my bestie @wheresarizona for encouraging me and to my literal wife @foli-vora for being the bestest cheerleader)

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, oral (both m & f receiving) let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

---

It was the dog that led you to him, running out the door once you’d pulled it open, powerless to do anything but yell with your first big run of groceries in your arms. 

“Goddamn it, Tucker!” You all but tossed the groceries inside the house, hoping against hope that the carton of eggs was still intact as you ran towards your dog. Luckily he’d stopped at the house opposite, jumping up onto a dark haired man standing outside his truck. 

“Oh god I’m so sorry! Tucker, get over here!” The man was smiling at the dog, thankfully. A young girl came out, no doubt to investigate the noise. 

“Oh!” She squealed happily, “Hi there!” The dog moved from the man to the girl, jumping up rudely, trying to lick her face. 

“He doesn’t bite! I’m so sorry.” You finally made it over to where his tail was wagging wildly. “Tucker, Jesus Christ, get over here.” You gently pulled him away, catching your breath while staring daggers at the dog. He was nonplussed. 

“He’s so cute!” The young girl came over to pet him where he stood beside you, “Hi Tucker.” His tongue lolled, ecstatic at the attention. 

“You’re alright.” The man finished up behind the truck and walked towards you, he was tall and broad, dark eyes to match his dark hair. He was very handsome. “You just move in?” He scanned behind you.

“Yes, moved in last night.” You smiled, introducing yourself to him. “It’s nice to meet you-“

“Joel.” He shook your outstretched hand, shocking you with how warm his grip was. “My daughter, Sarah.” He gestured to the girl petting the dog at your side. 

“Hi!” She smiled, giving the dog some more love before moving away. He fiddles with the keys in his hand. “Come on Sarah, we’ll be late.” He nodded his head, signaling he couldn’t stay. “I know that house. Garcias used to live there, they had some trouble with the deck if I recall. You have any issues, come see me. I’ll fix it up for you.” He smiled before getting into his truck, letting you walk your unruly dog back to your house. 

It was hard not to look out for him after that. Not failing to notice the lack of a wedding ring. 

From then on every rumble of a truck crawling down the street made you glance out the window. Whenever it was him getting home you’d stare, lip caught between your teeth as you watched him make his way into the house. He always had a quick word for whichever neighbour was out, always a gorgeous smile on his lips. 

You thought about taking him up on his offer, about asking him to help with projects around the house, but then what? What if he had a relationship? How could you find out?

The answer came a few days later while you were out on the front lawn, tackling the disaster that was your garden bed. Denise, the friendly woman next door, had come over to say hello. She was commenting on your flowers when Joel’s telltale truck rumbled towards you. 

You tried not to stare, tried to keep your eyes on Denise, keep your attention on the words she spoke but he caught her attention as well.

“Hey, have you met Joel yet? Joel!” She called him over and it made your stomach drop off a cliff. Your blood buzzes with giddy excitement, reducing you to a schoolgirl with a crush. You couldn’t help but smile at him as he walked over. Tucker was tied to the porch with a long leash to stop him from running out into the street again, and he’d been laying in a patch of sun calmly but that went out the window once he noticed Joel walking over. He bounded over to him and was greeted with a friendly welcome. 

“Hey boy, you behavin’?” He patted him firmly on the flank before reaching you both, “Yes, dog made sure we met.” He smiled. “How’s that deck treatin’ you?” He had a squinty smile on his handsome face. One of Denise’s kids came out then and practically dragged her away, leaving the two of you alone. 

“It’s seen better days, whole house has really.” You turned to look at the house from his perspective. “I take it you're a carpenter?” He moved to stand beside you, both of you facing the house. 

“My brother and I work construction, but I know enough to get by. What’s wrong inside?” 

“Well, the banister is loose, wobbly when you go up the stairs. Couple of loose floorboards and the bathroom could use a new sink. Aside from that-” 

“New coat of paint on the outside wouldn’t hurt either.” He was frowning at the exterior. “You all alone in there?” He turned to face you, “Aside from the dog I mean, anyone to help out?” 

You shook your head no. 

“Just Tucker and I, what about you? Just you and Sarah over there?” You gestured towards his home. Probing. 

“Just us, and occasionally Tommy. My brother.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket to check the time, “Can I take a look at your stairs? Sounds dangerous.” 

“Sure–come in.” Your heart raced as you walked up the porch steps, opening the door for him, making sure to untie Tucker and let him in with you.

He made his way in, wiping his boots off as best he could on your welcome mat, Tucker rushed past you both and made his way over to his favourite spot. 

You definitely hadn’t planned on having visitors. 

“Don’t judge me–I’m almost done unpacking.” There were still a few boxes littering the almost set up living room. Shelves that were halfway filled. Books scattered on the floor. 

“Oh don’t sweat it. You should see the way my place gets sometimes.” He smiled, making his way towards the stairs. “Okay, let's see what we’re workin’ with.” He curled his fingers around the banister and gave it a firm shake, swearing under his breath when it almost came off in his hands. “Okay that is really unsafe. Give me a sec and I’ll grab my tools.” He turned to head for the door. “I can’t fix everything tonight, I have to get dinner started but I can do this.” 

“Oh, please if you’re in a hurry it’s okay!” You rushed out after him. “Really, it’s okay–” 

“No it isn’t, I'll be right back.” He jogged quickly across the cul de sac, reaching into his truck for his tool belt and what looked like a drill. “Okay, I’m going to tighten this up and make it safe, and then later on if you want to replace it or update it or what have you, we can do it.” The way he said we almost let you believe that you were an item, and it thrilled you. 

“You’re too kind Joel, really.” You watched him with hearts in your eyes, eating up the sight of him working away, the way his arms flexed when he pushed on the drill to tighten up some loose screws, when he put a few new ones in. It was a warm day, and you could see the evidence of it as a drop of perspiration rolled down the back of his neck, down past the collar of his shirt. All of him a taunt. 

“Okay–I think we’re in business.” He was up and testing the bannister faster than you would have liked, testing it and smiling, happy with his handiwork. “You free tomorrow?” He was tucking his drill into a loop on his belt. 

“Yes, I get home just after four.” You fiddled with hem of your shirt, your hands itching to circle around his neck. 

Jesus woman, get a hold of yourself. 

“Perfect, I’ll get Sarah to go next door–” He caught you staring at his arms, your lip between your teeth, every dirty thought you’d had about him no doubt plain on your face. You looked at the bannister quickly, too quickly. “...Okay if I just park in your driveway?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. You could almost hear the smile on his lips along with the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

“Uh, yeah. No problem.” You smiled big. You tried to glance at him quickly but he held your gaze, his head swiveling when you moved. 

“Well okay then.” He smiled big, his dimple the cherry on top. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He winked and then left. Tucker let out a sigh as the screen door banged behind him. 

“Tell me about it boy.” You spoke to the dog, watching Joel as he walked away. 

—

You’d gotten home early, and spent it tidying up the living room, hoping to have it all cleared away by the time Joel came over. 

You’d just managed to put away the last few things and change into something a bit nicer than work clothes when his truck rumbled down the street. Tucker bolted to the screen door, barking happily as Joel unloaded his things. 

“Hey boy.” Joel put down his toolbox and shut the screen door, making sure Tucker didn’t get out. “How you keepin’? He gave the dog those flank pats he loved, moving up to scratch behind his ears.

“Thanks again for doing this Joel-” He looked up at you with something like surprise. 

Was the dress too much?

He smiled wide, giving you a not so subtle onceover. 

“It’s no trouble at all.” He straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “Let's see if we can straighten this place out.” You couldn’t help but smile back, his dark eyes lively with something that looked like mischief. 

He did a walk through of the house, noting the things that needed repairing and once he had assembled the mental list he got to work.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tucker was standing near his bowl, pawing at it to get your attention. “I have beer, water, could make a pot of coffee.”

“Coffee would be great, if you make some for yourself. Don’t just make a pot for me.” You heard tools being set down, the general rummaging noises of a handyman. 

“I could have some coffee.” You set about making it, pouring a pot full of water into Tucker's bowl, and then into the machine before adding the filter and the grounds. It was nice to have something to do instead of standing there gawking at him, 

“So—how are you likin’ the neighbourhood?” His voice carried, deep and friendly. 

“It’s great, nice and quiet.” You called back, reaching for a couple of mugs. 

“And the neighbours?” There was something in his voice, something playful.

“They’re alright.” He laughs before you hear drilling sounds.

When the coffee was ready you poured two cups, and fixed yours the way you liked it. 

“How do you take your coffee?” You called out.

“Just black please darlin’.” Your heart raced at the endearment, making you smile privately before heading towards him. “Thank you kindly, this smells amazing.” He took a greedy sip, seemingly unbothered by the temperature and let out a deep groan. 

“Good?” Pride swelled in your chest to see him enjoy it so much, thankful now that you’d remembered to buy coffee on your first grocery run.

“Fantastic. I can never get it to taste this good. Might knock on your door before work.” He set the mug down after gulping down almost half the cup. You laughed, enjoying your own a little bit more now. 

The sun was making its way down as he worked, patching up all the little problem areas of your home. Sanding the edges off so to speak. He talked a lot, asking questions about you, about Tucker, about family and spilling about his in turn. He was so easy to talk to, his voice easy to get lost in and more than once you got the sense that the conversation was a little more flirty than you’d expected it to be. 

He’d catch you staring at his neck, his arms or his mouth and smile to himself. You’d turn and catch him staring at your legs, at your ass but mostly, his eyes drifted down—to your cleavage. 

Eventually the chit-chat stopped, the only sounds were the sounds of his tools, the jingle of Tucker’s collar, cicadas outside. There was something else though, an energy, a vibe flowing between the two of you, shy smiles were exchanged, his hand brushed softly against yours when he handed you the empty mug. He laughed softly to himself after catching you staring yet again. 

“Darlin’, are you givin’ me the eyes?” His tone was playful and you felt your face heat up under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Maybe.” You played with the hem of your dress. “What if I was?” Your ears were burning, the words almost getting caught in your throat. 

“Well,” He turned to face you, hands on his hips, “I’d have to say I’m givin’ you the eyes right back.” Your heart kicked it into overdrive, brain buzzing with giddiness. “I’d have to confess that I’ve been thinkin’ about what you’d think about me kissin’ you.” He took a tentative step closer, his tools forgotten on the ground. 

“I’d be very agreeable to that.” Your voice was steady despite the adrenaline flooding your veins. 

He closed the gap, his big hands landed on your hips and then he went for it. Pressing his lips softly against yours. 

The kiss was lovely and chaste, until it wasn’t. 

Your hands rested on the arms you’d been staring at, sliding up up up past his shoulders, finally curling through the soft waves on the back of his head. He smelled like clean laundry, mixed with something citrusy, something spicy. Mouthwatering.

He pulled you closer, pulling a surprised gasp from somewhere in your throat. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, begging for entrance that you readily gave. 

It was his turn to groan, your fingers tugging at his hair, pressing yourself closer. 

He pulled away after a moment, coming in again to press more kisses to your lips, feather soft and devastating. He pressed his forehead against yours, the both of you catching your breath. He had lit a fire in your belly, awakened a heartbeat in your cunt and made it weep for him.

“Would you think less of me if I took you to bed?” You watched your own hands as you said the words, holding them against his chest, bringing them down slowly and savoring the solid feel of him beneath them.

“I’d love to–” A trilling noise sounded from his pocket and he answered it with an apologetic frown. “Yes baby girl, what’s wrong?” He stepped away for a moment, sighing quietly and hanging up quickly before coming back towards you.

“Dad duty?” You kept your voice neutral, ignoring the way your panties stuck to your body. 

“Dad duty, but–would you be okay with me comin’ back after I put the kiddo to bed?” 

“Of course, I’ll be waiting.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, licking into his mouth before pulling away. “Don’t forget about me.” You smiled sweetly. 

“Keep the door unlocked, this kid is going to bed in record time.” He pressed another quick kiss, and gave your ass a sharp swat that had you squealing into his mouth. He hurriedly gathered his tools and left. Tucker barked excitedly when the screen door slammed behind him. You couldn’t help but laugh as he practically ran home.

-

Hours passed and the blood settled down from an unbearable heat, to a slow simmer. Tucker retreated to his bed, the last few remaining chores were completed by the time the sun had fully set. With nothing to do but wait, you took a nice, long shower. You fantasized about him surprising you while the cool water flowed over your heated skin, butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly at the thought of his hands on you again, moving down your arms and over your hips, sliding between your thighs to find you wet and wanting. 

The shower ended without any surprises, which left you to dry off and enjoy the still of the night around you. A soft breeze blew through the open window, the cicadas were singing loud as ever and with a growing sense of doubt you saw that the hour was getting late. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he’d been so tired from all the little projects he’d done, not to mention his full time job, and the kid he took care of–

There was a quiet tap on the door that had Tucker’s collar jingling. Your heart raced as you all but sprinted to the front door. 

“Good christ woman.” He was staring at your nightie, “You tryna kill me?” made his way in, careful not to trip over the dog on his quest to lay his hands on you. 

“You like my nightgown?” It was simple, but it complimented you nicely. 

“Like?” He shut the door with his foot before pulling you into his arms, his mouth finding yours with an urgency that made you groan. “Darlin’ I love it.” His facial hair tickled the sensitive skin of your neck when he kissed you there, making a shiver run down your spine. Your hands were restless, moving to feel as much of him as you could. The muscles in his arms flex under your palms when you slide them towards his neck, the skin of his back was warm and he all but purred when you scratched at it lovingly. 

Your confidence grew with every press of his lips. 

“I want you in my mouth Joel–” He surged up to capture your mouth, his tongue obscene, making you ache with arousal. 

“That so?” He herded you up the stairs, the two of you giggling as you made your way into your room. “What else do you want honey?” You pulled his shirt up and off tossing it onto the floor with a grin. 

“I want you to show me how much you like my nightgown.” You bit your lip, pulling him by his waistband towards your bed, you sit close to the edge and look up at him through your eyelashes. His desire for you was obvious. Hard and heavy and tenting out the front of his sweats. 

“Go on Honey, open up that pretty mouth of yours.” He pulled the front of his sweats down and your eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Yes sir.” You do as he says, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, your hands moving to pull him closer. He groans at the sight of you there and takes his cock in hand, taps it against your tongue a few times and you can’t help but moan at the salty taste of his arousal beading on the reddened tip of him. 

You move one of your hands to hold onto it, noting with nervous excitement at the size of him. He moans when you place open mouthed kisses to the sensitive underside, moving to the base to give him a wide lick all the way to the tip. Repeating it until he whines. 

“Come on sugar, stop teasin’ me.” He reaches down to put the straps of your nightie down, palming your breast before holding onto the hinge of your jaw, guiding your movements gently. “Can you take me a little deeper?” You nod around the tip of him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep into your mouth as you can, swallowing around where he's hitting the back of your throat. He groans deep in his chest when you keep him there, eyes watering, spit spilling around the girth of him, gagging and sputtering. 

“Jesus christ woman.” He says it like he’s in pain and you preen. “Fuck, fuck that’s good.” His thumb presses softly into the plump apple of your cheek, angling your mouth the way he wants it. 

You know you must look a mess, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest, tears streaming down your face and yet still, Joel is looking down at you like the sun shines out of your ass. 

“Keep this up and I’m gonna fill your mouth.” The words come out strained and despite how much you love having him like this, the ache between your legs is growing unbearable so you give it one final kiss and pull away. 

“My turn.” He pulls the rest of everything off, smiling wide as you scoot back onto your bed, your nipples tightening almost painfully. “God I bet you taste good huh?” He kisses your knee, swearing under his breath at the site of the wet spot between your legs. He curls his fingers around the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips to help him pull them off, his big hands parting your thighs the minute they’re sliding off your ankles. 

“Look at that.” You rest on your elbows watching him get comfortable between your spread legs. “Been thinkin’ about this since the first day I saw you.” He presses a kiss to your mound, then your thigh, sinking his teeth into the meat of it before he nudges at your plump little clit with the tip of his nose. 

You thread your fingers through the dark waves of his hair, smoothing out his eyebrow with the pad of your thumb. 

“Come on baby, who’s teasing who now?” You wiggle your hips a bit, trying to get closer and he laughs, drunk on your excitement.

He dives in, wide licks from the rim of your opening up to the sensitive bundle of nerves. He groans, moving down, sliding his tongue as deep as he can to drink you down straight from the source. 

You watch him through the haze of arousal, breathing hard as he sucks your clit into his mouth, eyes closed in his unabashed enjoyment of the act. His hands squeeze your thighs for a moment before they slide up to pluck at your nipples while he devours you. 

It spreads through your belly like a wildfire, the pleasure building and building until your hips are chasing his tongue, grinding onto his face, your whole body a string being tightened until it finally snaps. 

You shudder, falling back onto the bed, your body practically bowing under the intensity of your climax. 

He presses another kiss to your mound before he crawls up and slots himself in the cradle of your thighs, his cock hot and heavy pressed up against your cunt.

His kiss now is aggressive, all teeth and tongues, breathing hard while he grinds against you—his cock slotting itself between the lips of your sex. Coating himself in you.

You reach down between your legs and line him up, pulling his hips in slowly while his mouth is pressed against yours, both of you sharing a moan when you pull him flush against you. 

“Good god Joel, you’re splitting me open.” You wrap your arms around his neck, biting at his lip and relishing the rumbly groan your comment garners. “So fucking big.” You love how wrecked he is to hear it, so you keep telling him. “Need to be really wet to be able to take you baby—“ he starts off with shallow thrusts, short jabs that make you pant into his mouth. “Hear how fucking wet you made me?” You barely get the words out before his tongue is in your mouth again. 

He slides one knee up for leverage, slipping his forearm under your thigh to hold you open for him and it knocks the thoughts right out of your head. Your mind blanks with every punch of cock and your arms cling to his neck for dear life. 

“Touch yourself baby, need you to come for me.” He looks down, watching the place where you’re joined and you hurry to obey, sticking your fingers into your mouth before bringing them to your clit and he shuts his eyes tight, sweat gathering in his hairline and yours, a thin sheen of it covering you both., 

It only takes a few perfect circles and you're clenching around him with a scream. Your legs try to close automatically but he keeps them open, fucks you through your orgasm until his rhythm stutters. 

“Inside Joel, I wanna feel it—“ he groans, seizing up for a moment before he grinds in deep, filling you to the brim. 

“Fuck.” He collapses onto you, his face buried into your neck while you both catch your breath and it’s only now that you notice your nightie is still around your middle like a belt. You ignore it though, instead focusing on the warm weight of him, comforting and solid on top of you. 

He lifts his head, a blissed out mischievous grin on his face.

“You know, if you didn’t have the money to pay for my handyman services we coulda worked something out—“ you slap his shoulder playfully and he laughs full-throated. The sound is almost more exciting than anything thus far. 

“You’re hilarious.” You push his hair back away from his forehead, smiling to yourself. “A regular comedian, this guy.” 

“I try—“ he pulls out with a hiss, “—you busy this weekend?” He pulls you close, finally divesting you of the nightgown turned belt. 

“Nothing planned yet, why? Are you planning on asking me out?”

“Was thinkin’ about it. Would you say yes?” He skims his nose along your neck, raising goosebumps in his wake.

“Yes. Yes I believe I would.”

—

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince

[ordinaryschmuck]

Full Family AU Part Five

Vee practically inhaled the waffles given to her, eating each one served with such intense delight. And as she ate, Luz was, per usual, in her own little world.

"Then after school, we can play 'Pew-Pews and Laser Swords!'" Luz said between bites of waffles. "It's a game I made up, but needs two people to play and Papi is too slow to play it now."

"For now, at least," Manny chimed in. "Still getting my strength back."

"And maybe hold off games for now," Camila suggested. "Especially the one where you run around swinging a plastic laser sword while the other goes 'pew-pew' with a toy ray-gun. Might be too much for our...new guest."

"Vee's not a guest." Luz defended. "She's part of the family!"

Camila and Manny shared a look. "Uh, family's a bit much, Mija," Manny told her.

"But she slept in my room and not the guest room. And she's eating our special waffle breakfast, not our cereal or some toast or--"

"Yes, but, uh, Vee might have a family of her own," Camila said, turning to Vee. "Don't you?"

Vee stopped her eating, fork full of waffles inches away from her mouth as she sat still, her mind in thought. She eventually looked at Camila with a curious expression before asking, "What's a family?"

Camila didn't respond. She was too taken aback by that question. This creature knew how to talk, how to feel, and how to do that...bizarre shapeshifting thing. But it didn't know what a family was?

"A family is what we are!" Luz said, though Camila wasn't entirely sure who Luz included within that "We."

"She's right, actually," Manny tried to explain. "A family is, um, a group of people bound together by blood and love. It's something you're born with or something you can make for yourself. People you love with your whole heart, trust to always be there for you, and you would protect them through thick and thin, no matter what."

Vee looked as though she was digesting that knowledge far more than the waffles she ate. She looked down at her plate with a furrowed brow and played with her fingers.

"I don't...have family..." she muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear her. And the sound of her tiny, broken voice caused an ache in Camila's heart and a desire to hug that creature--To hug Vee until she stopped hurting.

Thankfully, Luz beat her to it, jumping out of her seat and running to Vee's to give her a tight squeeze.

"Don't worry, Vee..." She said softly. "You have a family now. And it's us. Right?"

Luz smiled at her parents, but they shared another look.

"Come on," Luz whined. "She just said she has no one else. And Papi did just say that family can be something you can make."

"I did just say that, didn't I?" Manny said abashedly.

"How about we save this conversation later tonight?" Camila asked. "Right now, you need to focus on finishing your waffles and getting ready for school."

Luz responded with a pout but still returned to her seat and focused on her food. But Camila still kept her eyes on Vee and how she didn't even touch her food again.

[108garys]

Randolph Hodgson journal audio transcribed

For hoa's 21st in inuniverse anniversary I have transcribed Hodgson's diary using this video

You can also check out my previous transcriptions of Manny Sherman's tapes and all puritan dialogue in little hope

I will always love this plotline and so wish there was more to it, I love that Randolph is such an unreliable narrator and damn do I wish I had the music in this separate, well at any rate...

September the 24th 1945.

When Lady Bradshaw summons you, you go. Mary and I were bound for our honeymoon, but the chance to dine with one of Britain's finest antiquarians was too great for us to miss. When we met, Bradshaw wore a brooch that caught Mary's eye: a Sumerian relic recovered from a dig site in the Hashemite Kingdom of Iraq. After dinner, she showed us another find from the same site, a gold cuneiform tablet. She called it the final puzzle piece in her life's work - a map that pinpoints the tomb of Alexander the Great. If she's right, the tomb lies somewhere on the border between Syria and Iraq. Lady Bradshaw wants us to lead her expedition. I realise now that our honeymoon will take place in a dusty dig site in the Zagros Mountains. __

April the 2nd 1946.

We have assembled our team. Top of my list was my old comrade from the wars, Captain Sherman Crow, the bulldog of Omaha Beach. We found him in Cairo, brawling for money in a Levantine drinking club. Crow recommended an experienced dig foreman, Arthur Pulman, and in Haifa we picked up my assistant, the always inquisitive Aline Journeau. Lady Bradshaw insisted on the presence of her own advisor, Ellis van Huyten, an archaeologist I know only from his poor reputation. Our team complete, we shall head to the Lebanon and from there by train to Baghdad. __

October the 21st, 1946.

Crow was the first to break into the tomb: an honour he shared with "Bessie", that damned machinegun of his. It was a beast of a weapon, but it seemed to comfort the fellahin doing the digging. This place has lain undisturbed for centuries. It is not the tomb of Alexander the Great, but a temple of an even older God-King: the Akkadian despot Naram-sin. We have been mistaken, but Lady Bradshaw still declares it a find for the ages. A discovery that will write our names in the annals of history. Looking out at this sceptered hall, I have no reason to doubt her. __

The catacombs beneath the temple are heaped with human bones. Aline has worked sacrificial digs in El Castillo, but even she hasn't seen death on this scale before. The Akkadians killed thousands in the name of their gods: most ritually decapitated, but others crudely slain and dumped in charnel pits, as though the slaughter had spiralled out of control. What plague of cataclysm demanded such a price? So much blood spilled, and for what? Whatever happened here, a millennia ago, is a secret waiting to be discovered. Our work begins in earnest. __

7th of December, 1946.

Our finds have been so spectacular, I couldn't resist breaking out the champagne. As I entered the survey tent to pour a glass for Mary, I realised something was awry; she'd found Bradshaw's crate of dynamite. I tried to calm her, but she worked up a full head of steam, sounding off about the risks of using explosives at a dog site. She was right, of course, and I feel terrible for hiding it from her. Just then Crow arrived and picked up the dynamite. When Mary ordered him to put it down, he looked her boldly in the eye and said they'd found something below. __

The bottom of the chasm stank of death and was littered with corpses, fresh enough to be covered in flies. Crow thinks that local bandits must have tossed their victims down here after robbing them. I pity those hapless wanders; the fear they must have felt as they tumbled to their doom. But this was not what he wanted to show us. An unearthly light pierced the rocks. When Mary asked us what it was, Bradshaw nodded to Crow who broke open the dynamite. She said she intended to find out. __

Blowing a hole through the rock face, we found a gateway to a strange world below. A phosphorescence emanated from beneath, casting its eldritch light over us all. Lady Bradshaw was insistent that we descend further. Perhaps Mary is right, and Bradshaw is becoming reckless and uncontrollable, but I can't stop thinking about what's down there. I am now working with Crow and Pulman to set up a winch and elevator to descend into the shaft. What mysteries lie below, I wonder, undisturbed by the world above? __

13th December.

Crow, Bradshaw and I descended in the elevator. As we left, I was struck by the change in Bradshaw's temperament. She seemed eager, almost manic, in the face of our new discovery. When we reached the bottom, Crow could not prevent himself from letting loose an oath. There before us, set in a dizzying vault, lay a city. It was loathsome, colossal and sleeping, a great carcass built in some ancient age before men. Overcome with awe, I fell to my knees. __

28th December.

God, forgive us. For days we have studied this dead, silent realm and its entombed abominations. Now the horrors have come for my own dear Mary. Crow found her unconscious in the Star Chamber, her notes scattered around her. He carried her back to our supply room and laid her down in one of the cells. When Bradshaw learned what had happened, she was evasive about Mary's work down there. As I cleaned my wife's face, she spoke to me in a fever, sounding distressed and confused. I have resolved to keep a vigil over her. I pray her fever abates so we can escape this cursed place. __

29th December.

Pulman says the radio has been sabotaged; an expert job, with vital wires severed. Someone wants us cut off from the outside world. Aline fought in the Resistance, but while she is undoubtedly capable, I refuse to accept she's responsible. Personally, I still harbour doubts about van Huyten, although without proof, everyone remains a suspect. All I can do now is place sentries on the expedition's equipment. __

30th December.

Mary's condition worsens. This evening, I awoke from an exhausted daze to find Lady Bradshaw asking my wife more of her damned questions. Mary was babbling something about winged demons. At this, Bradshaw's eyes lit up and she asked whether Mary could sense them now. Gripped by delirium, my wife lashed out, clawing at Bradshaw's chest. Lady Bradshaw withdrew, and I was, after a while, able to calm my wife. __

31st December.

Mary is dead. I sat with her in her final moments, telling her how sorry I was. Sorry for accepting Bradshaw's offer. For ever coming to this hell-forsaken place. For placing my vanity above our love. When Mary spoke about "the end of everything." I knew she sensed death coming. With her last words, she made me swear to bury this place. __

9pm.

Something unholy has happened. As I sat with my wife, I noticed something in her hand; Lady Bradshaw's brooch. She must have pulled it from her shirt when she grabbed at her. Turning it over, I noticed that it looked like one of the creatures we exhumed from the cocoons. Were these the demons Mary had spoken about? Had Bradshaw known all along what we'd find down here? Then Mary's corpse moved. It was not my wife - it was something inhuman! It leapt at me, and only the bars of the cell spared me from its fury. __

The camp is in uproar. Workers are missing, and Lady Bradshaw has returned to the city deep below. No-one knows why, but I can guess. She yearns for the same fate that befell Mary. She wants to be one of them. __

1st of January, 1947. 1 am.

The saboteur has struck again, sealing us in here. We are hopelessly trapped with those things. All around us, they shriek from the darkness. Crow has set up his machinegun, pointed towards the catacombs. Mary was right. We cannot fight that which does not live. There is only one option now: bring the whole damned temple down on them, even if it means bringing it down on our own heads. They cannot be allowed out of here. __

When this temple falls, my wife and I will be buried together, side-by-side. I owe her that, at least. The portrait that I carry in my watch case is the Mary that I remember. Not that thing in the cell. __

This is all Lady Bradshaw's doing. She knew all along what was down here. She led us to them. I found her below, hunched over the murdered corpse of Van Huyten. As she turned to face me, I saw that she had changed. My hand fell to the closest weapon I could find - an iron tent peg. I stabbed her with the metal, impaling her in the heart. As she died, unholy screams echoed from below, as if answering The sudden release of blood. __

The are coming. We must end it here, with fire and gunsmoke. If there is time, my last act will be to dictate this diary onto tapes; perhaps if it is found in the rubble, it can serve as a warning to any who follow us. __

The bones of this temple are drenched in blood. We have set foot on an uncharted shore and roused something ancient and wicked; a blasphemy that comes in indescribable shapes and forms. For eons, we lived as children in this world, unaware of the horrors that slumber beneath our feet. Now, we have blindly thrown open the gates to madness. I fear being taken, but I must do what I must. We must seal this place for eternity. For all mankind. Mary, I'm sorry.

___

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @tatjana-fantasy

@tinynightmarewoman @blubary @oblivious-troll

I always be pouring over these things and then I don't have the remaining space to figure out who to tag 😅

[melis-writes]

Blood Money (Tony Montana x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut) Chapter 2 – The Strings of Fate.

Chapter 1 / Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“The American dream, huh? You’ll see. It all goes up from here, man." / "The one who did the killing was Tony, Tony Montana. His friend’s name was Manny Ribera. Do those names ring a bell?"

Your return back home to to Miami is marked with bitter disappointment but an insatiable curiosity about this Tony Montana you met, whose world continuously moves to collide with yours. Migrating to Miami with Manny, Tony has leverage "knowing you" that he intends to take advantage of. Your heart simply aches and remembers too much to let go of the incident back in Havana and you find yourself almost wanting to see Tony again, but the thought of what you'd say and do next to a stranger holds you back. Tony on the other hand is bound to make his fate intertwine with yours no matter what it takes.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of blood & violence.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Another update/chapter just as promised for the Tony Montana girlies!! 🤗🤩 Long overdue but it's here at last and I couldn't be more happier with it. 🥴 Blood Money is definitely one of those fics I want to take my time with piecing and weaving the story together. It's building up just as the film would, so there's a looooot of excitement coming together and a gradual, authentic feel and touch of intimacy to Tony and Celeste's upcoming relationship! 🤭

With a taste for success and dollar bills, Tony Montana’s drug empire grew in vast wealth, power and influence by your side as the kingpin’s lover. From sharing an intimate history in Cuba, you and Manny Ribera were the only ones to believe and support Tony from rags to riches. Embroiled in the same lifestyle and sharing enemies, you and Tony come to build your empire and world together with the threat of it collapsing from the inside. As partnership turns to betrayal and thrill to danger, you find yourself in-between ultimatums and sacrifices for the man you love.

[ Havana, Cuba ]

‘Oh my God,’ you blink, almost staggering back into the hotel lobby—unable to stand remaining outside for a moment longer in Havana. 

Taking a deep breath, you place your hand over the small splatter of dried blood that landed over your jeans; a strange relief washing over you to know it’s not your blood, but still a reminder of what your trip to Havana has gotten you into it. 

Keeping your head down to avoid drawing suspicion or attention of any kind to yourself, you move past the front desk and quietly enter the elevator. 

The elevator doors slide open with a ding only a few seconds later as you slip inside, hitting the fourth-floor button. 

You lean your back against the elevator wall, tilting your head up to stare at the lights on the ceiling, taking another deep breath. 

The initial rush of adrenaline and surprise you felt just fifteen minutes ago has worn off but sinks realization back into you. 

The only thing you can focus on is getting back into your hotel room without doing anything else—attempting to process everything that just happened and what it means to you. 

You’re out of the elevator and speed walking to your suite from the moment the elevator doors slide back open, wasting no time. 

Unlocking the door, you step inside and shut it immediately behind you—giving your head a shake. You move your hand off of your jeans, checking your palm to see if any dried blood smeared over it only to see nothing. 

Raising your head, you look around your hotel room before slowly stepping forward; taking everything in bit by bit. 

It’s as if absolutely nothing’s happened; just as calm and normal as you left it this morning but you’ve returned back to your hotel room with someone else’s blood over your clothes and the vision of brains splattering over the ground for your memory. 

The blood of the man on your clothes is the same one who attempted to mug you almost an hour ago, then got shot in front of your face at close range by two men you’ve never seen before—conveniently there at the wrong place but the right time. 

‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ You frown, moving towards your hotel bed. 

There’s too much to think about; how you ended up in that situation, to begin with, leaving empty-handed, then coming across two men named Tony and Manny when you least expected it. 

‘Still…’ You slip off your shoes and sit over the edge of your bed, clasping your hands together in your lap as you let your mind continue to think. 

At the very least, your business is concluded in Havana. You have nothing else to do or look forward to here, and now without much of a choice you realize the danger you can find yourself in going forward here. 

You don’t know what you expected. You flew down to Havana to find proof of your mother’s claims of a family estate, which was transferred to your name after her divorce with your father was finalized only to find crumbling rubble and a mugging lurking around the corner. 

You’ve come from Miami with something to return with nothing and no reason to call home or your father right now as you’d prefer to let him know in person. 

Not to mention the political tensions rising in Cuba only insists your best options now are to get back to Miami and never look back. 

You move off your bed, approaching your half-opened luggage propped up next to the television, and stuff back the loose pieces of clothing sticking out as your mind continues to wander. 

Truthfully, you’re not shaken by the mugging since it isn’t the first time you’ve been followed or provoked, but you’re not desensitized to crude, spontaneous violence either. 

Had nobody else been around, you still could have dealt with the situation yourself and defended yourself just fine; you can handle a knife swiftly and well and you know how to use a gun. 

Almost everything you’ve come to learn in terms of defending yourself one way or another has been because of the nature of your father’s business. 

Even with bodyguards, you refuse to have someone else fight your battles, especially if it means business rivals gone rogue or inconspicuous assassins sent your father’s way. 

Where Manny didn’t notice your relaxed state and lack of hesitation in your defensive prowess, Tony did. In just the sight of seeing you quickly calculate your moves with your flight or fight instinct, Tony easily discerned you from any other woman he’s met before in Cuba. 

In fact, Tony liked nothing more than seeing how you held your ground before he made his presence clear, but your first impression of Tony is far from anything similar to what he thought of you. 

It’s not that you think this Tony figure is some sort of show off whose trigger happy or a slum lord, but much closer to a truly born killer whose made peace with his own violence. Tony did what he did back there for you, after all. 

You’d rather just forget the whole thing and move on, but your mind continues to linger on Tony with unease. 

‘Those two…’ You stare down at your suitcase. ‘If all of that wasn’t bullshit, they’ll be on their way to Miami too.’ 

At the very least, your father will want to know everything that’s happened and hasn’t happened since you landed in Havana and you don’t plan on holding back any details either. Maybe the names ‘Tony Montana’ and ‘Manny Ribera’ will mean something to him. 

When your eyes land back on the little splatters of dried blood upon your jeans it only reminds you that you’ll be telling your father everything. 

You’ve come to remember Tony’s comment about him not being a name or face to forget, but you know you can’t say more or think more on the matter until you return back home at least. 

Still, Tony’s come off as bold, confident—cocky even to you and you barely know who he is. You’re completely unaware that if you don’t see or find him in Miami, he’ll certainly come to find you again. 

You almost find yourself blushing a little remembering the sight of him; although both men before you are very attractive in their own ways, there’s just something else about Tony that’s rubbed off on you differently. 

Putting your hair up in a loose bun, you check the time on the alarm clock by your bed before leaning down and beginning to zip up your suitcase. 

Regardless of finding anything for your family heritage or not, you’re finally ready to go home. 

If you’re meant to see Tony again after all of this, you will. Either way, it’ll give you something to think about for the rest of your life. 

~

[ Next Day, 5:02 AM]

Up at the “ass crack of dawn” or as Tony puts it, Tony and Manny are but two in a crowd of hundreds of Cubans preparing to board on boat to finally immigrate to the United States first thing in the morning.

Having barely slept the night before due to excitement, Manny can hardly keep his eyes open and finds himself consistently rubbing over his eyelids or scratching at his arm just to stay focused and awake.

Tony on the other hand slept like a baby, snored throughout the night, and knew what he’d come to expect at the “ass crack of dawn”; lineups, paperwork, and being kept under a watchful eye by guards for order.

“Think they want us gone more than we want to be gone,” Manny grumbles, rubbing his eyes again.

Just across from Tony and Manny are dozens of boats designed to carry hundreds of passengers, already beginning to pack on crowds of sweaty men bumping into each other—hollering to get a decent place to sit.

Regardless of the chatter and noise, the guards patrolling and policing the nearby area and the docks maintain order and peace well; shoving those around who lash out or are deemed disobedient to ensure security is kept in line this morning.

“We all going to one place this early in the morning,” Tony looks around his environment, appearing annoyed by Manny’s sleepy state. “That’s why I told your ass to sleep early last night, but no—you didn’t listen to me.”

“I tried man, I tried,” Manny whines back, slowly moving up in line with Tonny. “But I got too excited. Look, we’re finally leaving this place, man. Don’t blame me.”

“Yeah, finally,” Tony mutters to himself as he looks up at the boat closest to his and Manny’s lineup. “That could be the one.”

“Maybe,” Manny’s eyes light up.

“Your ass gonna be packed on there with me like a sardine anyway. Then you can sleep,” Tony comments.

“Shut up, man,” Manny chuckles, playfully smacking Tony’s arm.

“NEXT!” The officer sitting at the makeshift desk at the very front of the lineup calls, leaving Tony and Manny next in line.

Tony steps up first, staring back at the officer as he hands over his passport and crumped up documents upon the table.

“State your name,” the officer takes Tony’s passport without breaking his cautious gaze over Tony’s face.

“Antonio Montana,” Tony replies.

“You go by ‘Tony’?” The officer asks, staring at Tony’s passport pic and squinting his eyes.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tony shrugs his shoulders.

Tony appears nonchalant in his passport photo, but the officer’s trained eye knows it’s no fake or forgery; this is the very man in front of him now only appearing handsomely crude.

The officer stamps Tony’s passport and hands it back to him only a moment later, gesturing to the very boat behind him. “That one will take you to go. Go to the next line ahead.”

Tony glances over his shoulder to give Manny a smug smirk before taking back his passport and papers and being nudged toward the next line by another officer.

Manny’s passport check is no longer than Tony’s and bound for the same boat, now standing in the same and last line to sail off from Havana.

“This is what I need, man,” Manny grins as the two walks aboard the boat at last, squeezing through a small crowd. “We gonna be in Miami before you know it, man. America! Sweet Miami!”

“The American dream, huh?” Tony crosses his arms, looking out towards the docks with an amused expression on his face. “You’ll see. It all goes up from here, man. That’s what I’m talking about, now—” Tony taps Manny’s arm, pulling him back from near the edge of the boat. “Stay close, man. You gonna barely have room to breathe in here and I’m not looking for your excited ass if you fall into the water.”

“Okay, man, okay,” Manny bursts out into laughter, moving aside. “Let’s go, let’s go. I wanna get out of here already. Miami, here we come, man!”

Unlike Manny, Tony doesn’t even bother to look back once at the life he was leaving behind, whether it was to say goodbye to Cuba one last time, reminisce about his childhood or think about where he came from.

Tony’s mentality and future are already settled in America; embroiled in the American dream without even being entirely aware of it. Tony can’t see anything else or past it.

All Tony knows now is he’ll no longer have to toil under a regime while being under a watchful eye in case any of his words or actions are warranted as “counter-revolutionary”.

Tony will no longer have to think his life has no meaning in Cuba but build his future elsewhere; one that doesn’t involve slaving away working at the docks and catching octopus ten hours a day only to be fucked by the government on the daily.

Tony always knew that if he couldn’t feel like he’s come to accomplish anything in Havana, he wouldn’t give up and decide this is how he has to live.

Even now, Tony keeps his eyes affixed on the waters ahead of the boat as security on the docks gives the all-clear to keep sailing onward while Manny watches the distance growing between him and Havana.

What Manny sees in Havana and what he’ll always remember is his home; the city he grew up in and had no intention of leaving until the Castro regime.

Manny grew up with Tony on the streets of Havana; it’s where he attended education all the way through high school, got his first job, had his first kiss, learned how to drive—just about everything.

Nothing else happened in Tony or Manny’s life outside of Cuba before it all went to shit; neither Tony nor Manny felt welcome in their own home anymore.

Still, optimistic and excited enough for the future, Manny welcomes the new chapter in his life. It’s just like the way it’s always been, of course, still side by side with Tony doing anything and everything they can just to make a living.

Before Manny can turn to tell Tony, “we’re really going, man”, he sees Tony already moving in line to get into the living quarters without a care for anything he’s leaving behind.

Tony’s already had one too many times to gaze out towards the sea and wonder how he’d get away from Havana and actually start living his life; he has no reason to do it to himself again.

~

“Aww, man,” Manny mumbles under his breath, cringing as he tenses his muscles and squirms through the packed crowd with Manny just to get inside the living quarters of the boat.

“What I say?” Tony pipes up, having reminded Manny well one too many times over as to just how crowded the trip to Miami will truly be.

“Yeah, yeah,” Manny and Tony get ushered towards one room by a guard, noticing six more men inside the crammed living space before the doors shut behind them.

Four of the sweaty men are already on their bunkbeds, reading newspapers and making quiet conversation with one another while the other two sit at a small, worn-out end table with flimsy, plastic chairs playing a game of cards.

With nothing but a rag as a makeshift rug in the middle of the room separating the bunkbeds from one another, Tony and Manny notice the bunk beds themselves are made of cheap stiff metal consisting of thin, very worn, old, and yellow-stained mattresses.

The crushed-looking pillow on each bed is in the same stained and sorry state as the mattress with a pilled-up, wrinkled wool blanket in the middle of the bed.

Manny cringes at the filthy sight of discomfort before him he has no choice but to spend hours with whereas Tony raises his brows for a moment, but accepts it.

“You go up,” Tony points up at the bunk bed before moving towards the lower bed. “I’m staying down here.”

Nodding, Manny begins to carefully climb up to the top bunk; wary of every step he takes up the shaky metal ladder with complete distrust and caution.

“Jesus,” Tony mutters under his breath, picking up the scent of body odor reeking from the other men in the room mixing in with the humidity and clear lack of proper ventilation.

Grunting quietly, Tony lays flat on his back—feeling no different from laying down over concrete or anything else stiff and guaranteed to cause back pain only to see a few of the men in the living quarters beginning to peek over at Tony and Manny, even letting their conversations fade out to do so.

“What?” Tony furrows his brows, immediately agitated by the staring as he smacks his pillow—attempting to fluff it.

The men immediately look back away to mind their own business from Tony’s gruff response.

“Tsk, tsk,” Tony shakes his head, resting his head back down on the reeking pillow.

“Hey, man,” Manny’s eyes peer down on Tony, catching his eye.

“Enjoying the kingdom up there?” Tony asks sarcastically.

“Please,” Manny whines quietly, “my ass hurts, man. This feels like a brick.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Tony rolls his eyes, looking up at Manny. “But it gonna be over before we know it.”

“Right,” Manny rakes a hand through his hair with a strained sigh, “like a whole day of travel.”

“Nobody else complainin’ here but you, man,” Tony points out. “What did you expect?”

“I dunno, man,” Manny plops back down on his bed. “Just thought your new friend would help.”

“What are you talking about, man?” Tony yawns, closing his eyes. “What friend?”

“Oh, sorry,” Manny lets out a soft laugh, “I mean your new girlfriend.”

The other men in the room begin to curiously look back over at Manny and Tony again, listening to their conversation.

“Or did you realize you can’t talk to a woman like that?” A playful grin crosses over Manny’s lips.

“Like what?” Tony’s eyes snap open as agitation begins to grow in his tone of voice. “Because I was good. I always am.”

“Yeah, you a real ladies' man, alright,” Manny scoffs, “if I didn’t know better man, I think you knew that American girl for a thousand years.”

Tony almost feels immediately possessive at the very mention of you; his muscles tensing up in response.

“Got tired of digging through old rocks, now you chasing women, huh? What I tell you, huh?! This is 

my neighborhood, so if you fuck with it, you fuck with me!”

There isn’t a single detail of how Tony encountered you with Manny that Tony can’t remember; your face and voice are still etched in his mind with no intention of Tony wanting to forget just how he met you in the first place.

From how quickly everything happened and how Tony took the heat knowing your life was very much at risk right then and there out on the street, Tony can’t let go of meeting you. It’s like in a way, you were already his. What kind of coincidence could that be?

“I bet your girlfriend on a nice, fancy plane right now flying to Miami,” Manny continues, chuckling to himself. “She waiting for us or something, man? ‘Cause you said she gonna remember your face and all that shit for some reason.”

“Hey, shut up, man!” Tony snaps, leaning up on his elbows. “Shut up!”

Manny holds back his laughter by clasping a hand over his mouth as the other men in the room once again begin to stare at the two from the sudden yelling.

“What?!” Tony scowls towards the other men in the room; his voice sharpening. “What you all looking at, huh?! Nobody minds their own business in here, huh? Stop fuckin’ staring at me!”

This time, all heads are turned away sharply, pretending as if nothing ever happened.

“God,” Tony grits his teeth, rubbing his temples gingerly. “I’m in a goddamn mental asylum here…”

“I just asked a question, man,” Manny’s voice pipes up again.

“Yeah, I answer,” Tony snaps back, “we gonna see her again. I got a name, you forgot? What you think? I’m gonna mention her name when we get to Miami; when we talk to customs.”

“Wait, seriously?” Manny’s eyes begin to widen.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, “I do her a favor, she do one for me. Maybe she don’t know it’s coming but I know she not like that. If she really the big shot in Mami and not lying, then we see her again. She owes me.”

“She don’t have to help us, man,” Manny points out, “what if she don’t want to do nothing for us?”

“Then she gonna have to explain to the customs why she know our name,” Tony mentions with complete confidence in himself. “I told you, easy way out. I gonna thank Celeste for all she done, don’t worry, man. She need me, I need her. She’ll see.”

~

On your return flight back to Miami two hours later in first class, you remain indifferent and rather nonchalant about the trip home; doing well in getting your mind off of it.

Enjoying the comforts of first class and having a much-needed drink, you’re easily able to distract yourself and indulge in a book—curled up on your seat with a faux fur throw over you.

When you land back in the United States, your father’s private chauffeur as expected and scheduled picks you up to drive you back to his estate.

You’re grateful for the rest and relaxation you were able to get on your trip back, feeling the lasting effects of travel exhaustion only minorly over you.

In any case, the news of your trip to Havana and just what happened may surprise your father a bit, but it won’t cause him to become upset to any degree.

Only when your step outside of your chauffeur’s vehicle and make your way towards the guarded, front gates of your father’s estate do you feel a numbing ache inside of you desperate to be back at home.

You don’t plan on delaying the news of everything to your father a moment longer.

“Celeste!” Your father’s eyes light up at the sight of you entering the grandiose living room from the foyer. “Welcome back, sweetheart,” your father rises to his feet with a smile.

Standing in the first of many living spaces in your father’s estate with the floors polished in marble, a flair of Roman and Spanish architecture decorated with silver and gold finishings but also inspired by modern American interior design greets you once again.

“Father,” you can’t help but find yourself smiling back at him.

Your father extends out his arms, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand as he begins to approach you. “How was your flight, honey? You’re back almost just as scheduled—impressive.”

“As well as it could be,” you hug your father as he sets down his drink, embracing you back. “I’m just so tired,” you groan out over his shoulder, “every single time, and it always hits me at home.”

“It’s only ever so comfortable,” your father chuckles, patting your shoulders before pulling away. “Well?” His eyes fill with amusement, “I won’t have to guess too much as to how it went. I can see the disappointment in your eyes.”

“That obvious, huh?” You sigh softly.

“Mhmm,” your father nods, “it makes me even more curious. Let me just assume that…” Your father purses his lips, leading you towards the velvet couches to sit down together. “There was just nothing there?”

“Yeah,” you answer back.

“Figures,” your father moves towards the bar table across the room as you take a seat first. “But it’s also no surprise. Here…” Your father pops open a cask of whiskey, pouring some over ice in a glass and mixing half of it with a bottle of coke. “You could use the relaxation. I’m sure you’ve got more than enough to explain.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you lean up to take the drink from him before both of you sit side by side. “But you know I didn’t expect to come back empty-handed myself.”

“Sure, I know what you mean,” your father shrugs. “We can’t say it was entirely for nothing but it was no vacation either, huh?”

“Please,” you shake your head. “Havana is beautiful and lively but some parts... Well—that can be said for just about anywhere, including Miami.”

“Absolutely,” your father reaches for the drink he set aside.

“There was something, though,” you mumble, staring down at your drink. “Mom didn’t entirely lie to us.” You slouch down on the couch, taking a glum sip of your drink. “I don’t know how long it’s been or what happened to it, but there was something.”

“Your mother’s estate was there as she said?” Your father raises his brows. “It actually exists?”

“It did at some point,” you nod, “it’s demolished now, along with every other decent-looking villa I could have found there. Gone. It’s destroyed, just rubble.”

“I see,” your father frowns. “Grim news then.”

“I don’t know what happened to it, and it’s not like I could ask anyone,” you swallow down another sip of your drink. “The villa was right around the outskirts of something like a ghost town.”

“The rebels must have done some work to it,” your father rolls his eyes. “I’m not surprised. The villa must have been standing there for many years prior.”

“If Mom never told you about it, maybe it was only up and around when you two first married,” you suggest.

“A lie is a lie, isn’t it?” Your father raises his drink to his lips. “Your mother kept many things from me since we began dating; her family estates being one,” your father emphasizes the plural of an estate. “Although, I suppose it would be hard to legally prove it was destroyed when and how she owed us this much from the divorce.”

“I don’t know why she did this to us,” you swallow hard, continuing to drink. “First the lies, then the divorce—all of this. She just… She tore our family apart.”

“Yes,” your father agrees, “but it’s her fault and hers alone. She chose to do that to us, so we have no choice but to let it be. The same goes for her so-called villa—estate, whatever you wanna call it. I never wanted any of it for myself, but she owed you.”

“If it’s just a piece of history rotting there now, so be it,” you point out, “I don’t care, Dad. It’s not important to me. I just don’t want you to be upset by it because it’s…” You bite your lip, sighing again. “It was just another lie. Ugh, I can’t take this anymore.”

“And you don’t have to,” your father finishes his drink, exhaling quietly. “Neither of us do. We can leave it at that.”

“Only we can’t,” you lower your glass down to your lap—remembering just how you came across Tony and Manny back in Havana.

“My first American friend and she wanna help me. All Americans like you must be so nice.”

“I met someone,” you say, “two people, actually…”

“You think they may have known something about your mother’s estate?” Your father raises a curious brow.

“Well, they definitely knew more about where I was than me,” you shrug your shoulders. “They were two Cuban men. I assume they probably grew up around or in that same neighborhood from how they spoke of the street and knew it so well. “

“Hmm, interesting,” your father muses, listening to you explain. “And they helped you find the estate or at least what was left of it?”

“More like they saved my life,” you shake your head. “There was some other street rat lurking around, preying on me. I don’t know how long he was stalking me when I was there, but he snuck up on me good.”

“Are you alright? Did he do anything to you?” Your father’s eyes begin to grow with worry. “That man didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“Honestly, Dad, no. I’m fine, really. It was more of a question of what I was going to do to defend myself.”

“I know that sweetheart,” your father chuckles to himself. “No doubt you could, but it doesn’t make you any less concerned.”

“I know,” you purse your lips, “then those two men showed up like nothing. They must have been around. One of them… He…”

“The least you two could tell me are your names.”

“Tony. Antonio Montana.”

“He shows up, then he shoots my stalker right in front of me. Killed that guy like nothing; mocked him first and got him fearing for his life first. It was…something. His friend next to him just stood there like he’s seen this sort of thing every day.”

“He may have,” your father suggests. “What were their names?”

“The one who did the killing was Tony, Tony Montana. His friend’s name was Manny Ribera. Do those names ring a bell?”

“Hmm, no,” your father smoothens out his dress shirt, “I can’t say that they do. Should I?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you laugh a little to yourself, “they just seemed awfully convinced they’d see me again as if they already knew me.”

“And you’ve never seen or met these men at all before?”

“Never,” you reply.

“I’d just assume these men may be well known in Cuba,” your father rests his back against the couch.

“Or they could just be two guys in the right place at the right time,” you sip your drink again. “Either way, I do owe them. They didn’t have to do anything for me back there.”

“No shame or harm in that. I’ll keep their names in mind,” your father rakes a hand through his hair, “but how can they be so convinced that they’ll be seeing you again? You’re back in Miami now.”

“They’re migrants,” you point out, “and from everything going on in Cuba, I’m not surprised that they’re leaving like everyone else.”

“Now there’s something,” your father’s eyes light with curiosity. “So they’re coming to Miami.”

“Mhmm,” you swirl around the ice at the bottom of your drink. “They’ll be here eventually. Whatever part I seem to play in that doesn’t make sense to me.”

“You know you don’t owe either of these men anything, Celeste,” your father tells you. “You’re not obligated to do anything, although I can understand your appreciation towards them for what they’ve done for you.”

“I know,” you shrug, setting your drink down, “I’m just as much of a stranger to them as they are to me. Their words mean nothing to me anymore. We’ve forgotten each other already, it’s just… When I think of Havana, I’ll remember them again. I can’t forget that. It’s like I have to remember.”

“Celeste, honey…” Your father frowns, looking down at his hands for a moment as he ponders how to phrase his next words. “I do believe you’re getting a little too desensitized to all of this, sweetheart. All of the blood and carnage… This isn’t good for you whatsoever.”

“It’s not like that, Dad,” you murmur, denying it. “I was still shaken too and it’s not new, is it?” Your eyes meet with his. “We see it all too often ourselves.”

“Mm, that much is true,” your father notes. “I’m intrigued about these men because of what they did for you so I’ll keep their names in mind, but that is as much as I’ll do. Like you said,” your father begins to rise up from his seat, “you’re as much of a stranger to them as they are to you.”

“It’s all over now, Dad,” you scoff, slouching on the couch. “I’m never going back to Havana again. There’s nothing now.”

“I’m sure they’ve come to understand that too.”

~

[ Miami, Florida: Cuban Migrant Camp ]

“Okay, Tony,” The immigration officer sighs in annoyance, wishing to get done and over with this mandatory questioning held with high suspicion and an even higher rate of being refused a green card and full entry into Miami.

“So,” The immigration officer lets the file folder holding Tony’s documents plop down onto his desk with a smack, eyeing Tony carefully. “What’s your full name? What do you go by?”

“Antonio Montana,” Tony’s reply is as smug and confident as always; more like he’s at a job interview he knows he’ll get through anyway instead of being questioned about every aspect of his life in Cuba by US officials. “But everybody call me Tony.”

“Tony,” the other cop repeats, “and whose ‘everybody’?”

“Everyone,” Tony shrugs his shoulders. “Everyone who know me; my friends, you know. And you? What you call yourself?” The playful grin on Tony’s lips begins to grow.

The immigration officer rolls his eyes, avoiding the small talk invitation. “Okay Tony, where’d you learn to speak English like that?”

“In school,” Tony’s tone of voice begins to grow more serious. “Then my father taught me. He was from The United States. Just like you guys, you know, but he was a Yankee. He used to take me a lot to the movies, so you know, I learn a lot of English from there. I always knew one thing,” Tony points back at his chest, “coming to the United States. That’s what I wanted to do.”

“And where’s your old man now?” The police officer asks, picking up his clipboard.

“He dead,” Tony replies plainly. “He died somewhere, sometime. We not close after I began growing up. He left the family.”

“And your mother?” The immigration officer raises a curious brow.

“She dead too,” Tony answers, convincing enough.

“Tell us what kind of work you did back in Cuba, Tony,” the cop moves on to his next question.

“I worked in construction business,” Tony begins, “trades stuff. I work a lot with my hands. I build things. I was in the army too.”

“Hmm…” The immigration officer muses, opening up Tony’s file before exchanging an unamused glance with the police officer. “Interesting enough but far too convenient. What do you think?”

“I think he’s full of shit,” the cop answers, looking Tony dead in the eye. “You really don’t have any family in the United States at all? No cousins? Not even a brother-in-law or something?”

“No,” Tony remains unphased by their comments. “Nobody. Like I said, man, they all dead.”

“You ever been to jail, Tony?” The immigration officer sits on the edge of the desk directly in front of Tony.

“Me?” Tony blinks, almost appearing offended by the very question. “Jail? No. No way, no.”

“Been in a mental hospital?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony lies jokingly, “on the way coming here.”

Holding back his own laughter, neither the immigration officer, the cop or the guards in the corner of the room seem the slightest bit amused or entertains Tony’s jokes.

“What about homosexuality, Tony?” The immigration officer begins to slowly pace around Tony’s seat. “You like men, huh? You like to dress up like a woman?”

‘The fuck?’ Tony thinks to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “The fuck is wrong with this guy, man? Are you kidding me or what?”

“Just answer the question, Tony,” The cop sighs out of impatience, shifting in his seat.

“Okay, no. Fuck no.” Tony answers. “No, okay?”

“Have you ever been arrested for anything? Marijuana? Heroin? Drugs of any kind?”

“No, no. No way, no,” Tony denies.

“Cocaine?” The cop narrows his eyes, growing increasingly suspicious.

“No, man.”

“Uh huh,” unconvinced, the immigration officer suddenly grabs Tony’s face, pointing at the glaringly obvious scar over Tony’s left eye. “Where’d you get that beauty scar, tough guy? Eating pussy?”

Tony is all the more wildly entertained by all of this. “Eating pussy?” Tony points up at his scar, “how am I gonna get a scar like that eating pussy, man? It happened to me when I was a kid. Mhmm, yeah, you should see the other kid, you know.”

“Then explain this,” the immigration officer lets go of Tony’s face, snatching up his hand again to show a small poorly tattooed, stick and poke heart pierced by an arrow. “The hell is this?”

“Ah, that’s for my sweetheart—” Tony begins, but neither of the officials are buying it.

“Sweetheart, my ass,” the immigration officer rolls his eyes, “we’ve been seeing a whole lot more of these lately. It’s some kind of code you and your friends used back in the can, huh? This is what? A pitchfork of some kind? Means an assassination happened, huh?”

“You wanna tell us about it Montana or should we take you on a little trip to the detention center?” The cop crosses his arms.

Tony pauses for a moment, remaining calm. “Okay, okay. You got me. I was in the can one time. One time, okay?” He holds his free hand up in surrender. “Nothing crazy though. I was buying dollars. Fake dollars.”

“Funny,” the cop begins to rise to his feet, alerting the attention of the guards in the corner of the room.

“No, it’s true,” Tony continues his story, “I got it from a Canadian tourist. Didn’t know it was fake.”

“Let me guess, you mugged him first?” The immigration officer appears all the more frustrated, thinking now’s his chance to brush Tony aside with the dozen others he’s interrogated already today. “Get him out of here!”

“So I fucked up, what’s to it?!” Tony protests, nudging back the immigration officers that begin to attempt to restrain him. “Wait—wait! Wait, man, hold on. Just hold on. Let me talk to this guy, okay!” Tony holds both of his hands up in surrender once the officers pull away. “Let me ask you something, man,” Tony points at the immigration officer, wetting his lips. “Are you a communist? Huh?” He asks completely calmly.

The immigration officer crosses his arms, staring back at Tony with a mix of disgust and disappointment in his expression.

“How’d you like it?” Tony scowls. “They tell you all the time what to do, what to think, what to feel. Do you wanna be a sheep like all those other people, huh? BAAA, BAA!” Tony bleats, beginning to loudly imitate a sheep.

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit!” The cop fumes, rising up from his seat abruptly.

“You wanna work eight hours a day; you owe everything, you got nothing?” Tony redirects his attention to the cop, pointing at him as he speaks. “You want someone standing on the corner of every street watching everything you do and say, man? You wanna live and work like that? That’s what I did, okay? That’s what I did,” Tony gestures to his chest, “I made nothing. They make me clean octopus eight hours a day, every day! I got fucking octopus coming out of my ears, man!” Tony gestures to his ear. “I got holes in my shoes and they work me like that every fucking day. How’d you like that? What did you want me to do, stay there and do nothing? Huh?” Tony’s voice sharpens as he continues, “What could I do, man? What would you do?”

Nobody answers, but Tony’s words are well-heard and understood. As petty and difficult as the immigration officers and officials are, let alone completely unsympathetic to the sob story of any Cuban migrant, Tony’s explanation can’t be argued against.

“It make anyone go fucking crazy,” Tony’s voice begins to calm, growing serious. “I’m no thief, no criminal, okay? I’m Tony Montana, a political prisoner from Cuba, and I want my fucking human rights!” Tony slams the palm of his hand down on the table. “Right now!”

“I don’t believe a word of this shit,” the cop speaks up, surprising the others. “All of you sound the same. You know that son of a bitch Castro is shitting all over us. Send this bastard to Freedom Town where they’ll take good care of him.”

Tony scoffs, bursting out laughing as he doesn’t resist being restrained. “You know something? You can send me anywhere. This, there, here—it don’t matter.”

The officers begin to haul Tony towards the door of the interrogation room by force.

“There is nothing you can do to me that Castro has not already done,” Tony attempts to halt in his tracks, pushing his back against the cops. “I have someone who can vouch for me, you know that?”

Immediately, the cops trying to restrain and shove Tony out let go and take a step back, staring at the immigration officer in shock as if Tony’s words have rendered them completely helpless.

“What?” The cop furrows his brows. “What the hell did you just say?”

“That’s right,” a wry smirk returns over Tony’s lips. “I know somebody. She’s an American, and she live here in Miami. She know me, I know her. You don’t believe me? Fine, but you gonna believe her.”

“You said you had no family here, Tony,” the immigration officer presses.

“It’s true,” Tony confirms, shrugging his shoulders. “That no lie. She not my family, but she know me. I can prove that to you.”

“Who is she?” The immigration officer rolls his eyes, taking a seat back down at his desk. “Go on, tell us about this supposed woman you know. I call bullshit. You’ll say anything to save your own ass now. Just so you know I’m fucking serious, I’ll call her over here to see if you’re telling the truth.” He leans over the desk, lowering his voice. “And she better look me dead in the eye and say you’re her fucking best friend.”

Tony leans back in, resting his palms over the immigration officer's desk with a mocking, sweet smile on his lips. “Trust me, she will. Go ahead. She know my friend Manny too, so what are you doing? Call her already. Go on, ask her. Ask.”

“Ask who?” The cop interrupts. “Give us your American girlfriend’s name.”

“Celeste Navarro,” Tony answers. “That her name.”

The room immediately falls with silence and expressions grow extremely concerned.

One police officer standing by the door chuckles to himself, but with one death glare from the cop, he too falls quiet.

The immigration officer clears his throat, “Celeste Navarro?”

“Yeah, I bet you know her, don’t you?” Tony crosses his arms, cockiness growing in his demeanor.

“And I bet you don’t,” the cop spits back. “Do you have any idea what you’re fucking saying? How much weight the Navarro family name carries?”

“Sure,” Tony grins devilishly, “that’s why I just said it.”

“You better not be fucking with me, Montana,” the immigration officer slams his documents down on the table. “I’ll look into it—”

“You have to,” Tony pressures. “So just do it now, man. Quit wasting time. I miss her and I wanna see her again.”

“If you’re lying, Montana, you’ll be in a whole separate pile of deep shit from that alone,” the cop threatens.

“Then I’m in no shit at all,” Tony brushes them off, sitting back down comfortably in his seat and slouching before gesturing to the telephone upon the center of the cop’s desk. “Go ahead, call Celeste, man. Tell her Tony’s here and he misses her.”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Angel Reyes Masterlist

Los tres Diablos (Reader/EZ Reyes/Angel Reyes/Bishop Losa foursome)

Wolf Moon (Werewolf!Angel/Reader)

Ménage à Mayan (Angel/Reader/Manny threesome)

Submit 

Sexy Little Doll (Angel/Reader/OC threesome)

Mr Big 

Heaven Bound in Black

From Blood, Love and Courage Story complete

Masterlist

Charlie’s Christmas (accompanying one shot piece to From Blood, Love and Courage)

Beyond the Blood Tie (Vampire!Angel/OC) Story complete

Masterlist

Edge of Seventeen Story complete

Masterlist

Forever Begins Now (mini sequel to Edge of Seventeen) Story complete

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The Dream Story complete

Masterlist

~*~Drabbles & Shorts~*~

Buzzed 

Lick 

Soft Bliss

Slow

Magdalena

Storm (Angel/Reader/Bishop threesome)

Fury Road

~*~Prompt Requests~*~

“My hand or my belt. I’ll let you choose for once.”

“Shit, baby. You marked me up good.“

“So, I can’t even take a shower alone any longer, huh?”

“If you can’t sleep, I could help with that?”

“I need you to ride me, babe. Right now.”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me.”

Three word short - Summer, sugar & laugh

“Lie back and let me lick this pretty little pussy until you can’t feel your legs any longer.”

“What do I need? I need you. Just you, all over me, right now.”

“Please, remind me again why we’re having sex against a tree?”

“Again? How can you want it again? Jesus, I’ve never met anyone so fucking horny before!”

“Take it all off, but leave those heels on.”

“Harder? You sure, baby.”

“Maybe I don’t want just you. Maybe I want your friend, too.”

“You’re more than just a one night stand.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“I mean, I know we’re just friends, but we could add certain benefits?”

“Well, that’s about the best present I could have ever gotten. I think you better let me unwrap you.”

“You gotta give me a kiss, look. We’re under mistletoe, it’s the law.”

“Those kids? They get their noise right from you, you know.”

“Don’t say it unless you mean it. I couldn’t take the pain if you didn’t.”

“You’ve never had an orgasm? Are you kidding me right now?”

“What do I need? I need you. Just you, all over me, right now.”

“Do you want a back rub?”

“Harder? You sure, baby?”

“I’m tired, but not so tired that I don’t wanna be all over you.”

“Have you ever cum so hard, you’ve cried? I could make that happen for you, you know.”

“Do you need a hug? You look as if you do.”

[ddelline]

fic OST | circulus vitiosus (salva mea)

blurb | bc it’s me ofc there’s a fic OST to be had! posting this in the wake of publishing part 1, despite having 2 more parts to both write & post. well. anyway: hereby the music which serves as the inspirational foundation for circulus vitiosus (salva mea), or as it’s colloquially called: time loop!fic. may contain vague, conceptual spoilers for what’s to come in parts 2 and 3 (though not that much bc everything herein is pretty consistently dark & foreboding, lol) what | 30 tracks which may or may not be arranged according to in-fic events & which fail to stick any sort of genre-bound landing, feat everything from broken beat avant garde electronica → triphop → psychedelic rock → classic r&b, plus some delicious instrumental electric guitar bits playlist → spotify tracklist | under cut

01 | VTSS — why we don’t deserve nice things

instr

02 | tzusing — 戴綠帽 (wear green hat)

instr

03 | aphex twin — formula

instr

04 | the dead weather — will there be enough water?

will there be enough water when my ship comes in? water when my ship comes in? will there be water when my ship comes in?

05 | gustavo santaolalla — the hunters

instr

06 | wax tailor — ungodly fruit

perhaps those who may be among us for the first time may be wondering what is going to happen now

07 | djuma soundsystem — les djinns (trentemøller remix)

instr

08 | DJ shadow — what does your soul look like, pt. 2

in a few moments you will have an experience which will seem completely real it will be the result of your subconscious fears transformed to your conscious awareness you have five seconds to terminate this tape five, four, three, two, one

09 | nicolas jaar — john the revelator 

now who art worthy, crucified and holy bound up for some, son of our god daughter of zion, judea’s lion

10 | ethel cain — two-headed mother

I’ve loved before, I’ll kill again you’re just the worst of all my men I’m not gonna pull you out the den

11 | regis — broken on the wheel

instr

12 | restive plaggona — lonely people after midnight

instr

13 | shudan — jiangshi

instr

14 | teeth of the sea — field punishment

instr

15 | parrish smith — fader

instr

16 | thom yorke — harrowdown hill

did I fall or was I pushed? did I fall or was I pushed? and where’s the blood? and where’s the blood?

17 | TENDER — machine

you cut me open, and pull me apart a hollow chest instead of a heart control, control me you do what you want with me, baby till I am spent, I’m so content

18 | BANKS — 27 hours

it’s been twenty seven hours since we even saw the sun

19 | deaf bones — only lovers left alive

instr

20 | parrish smith — sex, suicide & speed metal

instr

21 | low — poor sucker

some poor sucker at the bottom of the lake took the wrong way up when the ground began to break it’s a long way back that’s the price you gotta pay

22 | sade — long hard road

there’s a long hard road ahead but a voice inside me said said there’s something that you need to know it’s gonna to be alright

23 | massive attack, tricky & 3D — take it there

we’ll take it there, but take your time we’ll take it there, you’ll lose your mind

24 | plaid & björk — lilith

the moon it guides me on baby there’s absolutely no doubt

25 | sneaker pimps — lightning field

hope’s the child of what luck brings points to faith in higher things ask me now fire at everything at once strike me down

26 | mew — one flew over, one was destroyed

do you remember what made you fall? and does it matter to you at all?

27 | amor satyr — que dançar?

instr

28 | manni dee & akiko haruna — frowzy

a couple hours means nothing in the dark in the end the choice was never ours

29 | faithless, rollo armstrong & sister bliss — salva mea

I wanna take a look at the world behind these eyes every nook, every cranny reorganize realize my face don't fit the way I feel what's real?

30 | hozier — first light

the sky set to burst the gold and the rust the colour erupts you filling my cup the sun coming up

[identity-library]

Diverse Sexuality (Books)

A:

Alice Isn't Dead (Joseph Fink)

Alice (Unspecified WLW)

Keisha Taylor (Unspecified WLW)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Benjamin Alire Sáenz)

Aristotle Mendoza (Gay)

Dante Quintana (Gay)

Aru Shah (Roshani Chokshi)

Brynne Rao (Bisexual)

A Step Towards Falling (Connie McGovern)

Richard (Gay)

Harrison (Gay)

Hugh (Unspecified MLM)

B:

Blood Like Magic (Liselle Sambury)

Keisha (Demisexual, Lesbian)

Bruised (Tanya Boteju)

Daya Wijesinghe (Unspecified WLW)

Shanti (Unspecified WLW)

C:

Cemetary Boys (Aiden Thomas)

Yadriel (Gay)

Julian Diaz (Gay)

Chaotic Good (Whitney Gardner)

Brian "Farrin" (Unspecified MLM)

Cooper Birch (Gay)

Wyatt (Gay)

Connection Error (Annabeth Albert)

Josiah Simmons (Gay)

Ryan Orson (Gay)

Crown of Feathers - Series (Nicki Pau Preto)

Anders (Unspecified MLM)

Avalkyra Ashfire (Aromantic, Asexual)

Callysta Lightbringer (Lesbian)

Kade (Gay)

Latham (Unspecified MLM)

Nefyra Ashfire (Lesbian)

Sev Lastlight (Gay)

Sidra (Unspecified WLW)

Tristan Flamesong (Bisexual)

D:

Dear Mothman (Robin Gow)

Alice (Unspecified WLW)

Molly (Unspecified WLW)

E:

Exit, Pursued by a Bear (E.K. Johnston)

Amy (Lesbian)

Polly (Lesbian)

F:

G:

Gifted Clans (Graci Kim)

Bob (Unspecified MLM)

Chae (Unspecified WLW)

Gong (Unspecified WLW)

Jangsoo Jeong (Unspecified MLM)

Girl Mans Up (M.E. Girard)

Blake (Bisexual)

Penelope "Pen" Oliveira (Lesbian)

H:

Highway Bodies (Alison Evans)

Dee (Bisexual)

Eve (Unspecified WLW)

Jojo (Bisexual)

I:

Icebreaker (A.L. Graziadei)

Jaysen Caulfield (Gay)

Mickey James (Bisexual)

I Hope You're Listening (Tom Ryan)

Delia "Dee" Skinner (Unspecified WLW)

Sarah (Unspecified WLW)

J:

K:

Keep This to Yourself (Tom Ryan)

Mac Bell (Gay)

Quill (Unspecified MLM)

L:

Learning Curves (Ceillie Simkiss)

Cora McLaughlin (Panromantic, Asexual)

Elena Mendez (Lesbian)

M:

Matt Sinclair - Series (Tony Fennelly)

Matt Sinclair (Gay)

More Happy Than Not (Adam Silvera)

Aaron Soto (Gay)

N:

O:

P:

Pahua Moua - Series (Lori M. Lee)

Ka (Unspecified WLW)

Yeng (Unspecified WLW)

Paola Santiago - Series (Tahlor Kay Meija)

Carmela Mata (Bisexual)

Emma Lockwood (Lesbian)

Kit (Unspecified WLW)

Paola Santiago (Bisexual)

Percy Jackson - Universe (Rick Riordan)

Hemithea (Lesbian)

Josephine (Lesbian)

Lavinia Asimov (Lesbian)

Magnus Chase (Pansexual)

Nico di Angelo (Gay)

Paolo Montes (Unspecified MLM)

Piper McLean (Bisexual)

Poison Oak (Unspecified WLW)

Reyna Ramírez-Arellano (Asexual)

Shel (Unspecified WLW)

Will Solace (Bisexual)

Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky)

Patrick (Gay)

Pulp (Robin Talley)

Abbey Zimet (Lesbian)

Janet Jones (Lesbian)

Punk 57 (Penelope Douglas)

Manny Cortez (Unspecified MLM)

Ten (Unspecified MLM)

Q:

R:

S:

Sadie (Courtney Summers)

Sadie Hunter (Unlabeled WLW)

Sal & Gabi Break the Universe (Carlos Hernandez)

Reina Real (Bisexual)

Salvador "Sal" Vidón (Aromantic, Asexual)

Scholomance (Series - Naomi Novik)

Ibrahim Haddad (Unspecified MLM)

Jermaine (Unspecified MLM + Polyamorous)

Yaakov (Unspecified MLM)

Sikander Aziz - Series (Sarwat Chadda)

Daoud (Unspecified MLM)

Idiptu (Unspecified MLM)

Mohammed Aziz (Unspecified MLM)

Sidana (Unspecified MLM)

Six of Crows (Leigh Bardugo)

Jesper Fahey (Bisexual)

Nina Zenik (Bisexual)

Wylan Van Eck (Gay)

Synchro Boy (Shannon McFerran)

Bart Lively (Bisexual)

T:

The Agony of Bun O'Keefe (Heather Smith)

Chris (Gay)

The Art of Saving the World (Connie Duyvis)

Hazel Stanczak (Asexual, Lesbian)

The Buried and the Bound (Rochelle Hassan)

Leo Merritt (Bisexual)

Tristan Drake (Gay)

The Field Guide to the North American Teenager (Ben Philippe)

Eric (Gay)

The Immeasurable Depth of You (Maria Mora)

Brynn (Bisexual)

The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali (Sabrina Khan)

Ariana (Unspecified WLW)

Rukhsana Ali (Lesbian)

Sohail (Gay)

The Luis Ortega Survival Club (Sonora Reyes)

Ariana Ruiz (Bisexual)

Shanaya "Shawni" (Bisexual)

The Manifold Worlds (Foz Meadows)

Gwen Vere (Aromantic, Unspecified WLW + Polyamorous)

The Montague Twins (Drew Shannon, Nathan Page)

Pete Montague (Gay)

The Mortal Instruments - Series (Cassandra Clare)

Alexander "Alec" Lightwood (Gay)

Magnus Bane (Bisexual)

The 100 (Kass Morgan)

Octavia Blake (Bisexual)

U:

V:

W:

Way to Go (Tom Ryan)

Danny (Gay)

We Contain Multitudes (Sarah Henstra)

Adam "Kurl" Kurlansky (Gay)

Jonathan Hopkirk (Gay)

What Unbreakable Looks Like (Kate McLaughlin)

Elsa (Lesbian)

Will Grayson, Will Grayson (David Levithan, John Green)

Gary (Gay)

Gideon (Gay)

Nick (Unspecified MLM)

Tiny Cooper (Gay)

Will Grayson (Gay)

Winger (Andrew Smith)

Joey Constantino (Gay)

Wings of Fire - Series (Tui T. Sutherland)

Anenome (Unspecified WLW)

Burnet (Unspecified WLW)

Silverspot (Unspecified WLW)

Umber (Gay)

X:

Y:

Z:

#:

36 Questions That Changed My Mind About You (Vicki Grant)

Max (Gay)

[pdmtsn]

Various - Mr Bongo Record Club Vol. 6 (2023)

A1 Dora Morelenbaum - Japao A2 The New York Community Choir - I'll Keep My Light In My Window (12" Mix) A3 General Lee - Pleasure A4 The Drive - Africa Bossa

B1 Chiemi Eri - Okosa-Bushi B2 Manny Corchado & His Orchestra - Pow Wow B3 Sven Wunder - Easy Going B4 Dina Ögon - Bakom Glaset B5 Vee Gees - Talkin B6 Mave & Dave - Do You Really Want My Love

C1 Hazel Scott & The Braza Brasil - Ye Me Le C2 Inês Soares - Um Amor Para Toda A Vida C3 Hareton Salvanini - Estrada C4 Copa 7 - Copa Sete No Samba C5 Mirna - A Volta C6 Dina Ögon - Tombola 94

D1 Unknown Artist - I Do You Love D2 Ash Soul, Inc. - I Do Love You D3 Ponderosa Twins Plus One - Bound D4 Matty - Blood D5 Shira Small - Eternal Life

Genre: Jazz, Reggae, Latin, Funk / Soul, Folk, World, & Country Style: Afrobeat, Batucada, Soul, Jazz-Funk, Funk, Disco

[theesirenteller]

BLOOD 🩸BOUND

SUMMARY: INSPIRED BY THE FILM FORSAKEN. IN WHICH MANNY AND THE REST OF THE MAYANS ARE RUTHLESS VAMPIRES.

Manny leaned in close, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushed against stone. The dim light of the biker clubhouse flickered in shadowy patterns, casting his face in an eerie glow. His eyes glinted, predatory, as he studied the crow eater before him. She shifted under his gaze, trying to keep her composure, but Manny’s presence was suffocating, like the air had grown colder and heavier.

"So... how was it? Your first time?" His words were slow, deliberate, curling out of his mouth like smoke, wrapping around her, pulling her in.

The crow eater swallowed, her pulse quickening. She wasn’t sure if he was asking about her first night with the club or something far darker. His eyes seemed to penetrate deeper, searching for something more personal, more visceral. Her voice trembled slightly when she answered. "It... it was fine. Different than I expected."

A smile twisted Manny’s lips, the dangerous kind that made her skin prickle. His fangs just barely glinted beneath his upper lip, a reminder of the otherworldly nature that lurked beneath his handsome features. His gaze sharpened as if he could sense her unease. "Did you bleed a lot?" he asked, his voice dripping with a dark curiosity.

The question caught her off guard. Her breath hitched, memories flashing back—the wild chaos of her initiation, the heat of the night, the roaring engines, and the harsh world she had chosen to step into. "I-I don’t think so... not much," she stammered, though her mind wasn’t fully certain.

Manny circled around her slowly, his steps soft but filled with purpose, like a predator sizing up its prey. His voice deepened, carrying an unsettling mix of curiosity and desire. "Did it hurt? Hmm? Was the pain sharp... or did it linger, dragging its claws down your spine?"

A chill ran down her body as his words settled over her. He was close now, too close. His presence was intoxicating, overwhelming. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears. He wasn’t talking about the club anymore. "It... it hurt at first, but then... it felt... better," she whispered, unable to look away from him.

Manny stepped in closer, his breath cool against her skin. His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist, his touch cold, like ice but burning in its intensity. He tilted his head, eyes locked onto hers with a smoldering gaze that burned through her defenses. "And did you like it? The pain? Did it make your blood race? Your skin tingle?"

She hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke, barely a whisper. "Yes..."

Manny’s smile widened, a seductive, wicked grin that sent another chill down her spine. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, dark and filled with something sinister. "Good. There’s something about pain... it sharpens the senses. Makes you feel alive." He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "I bet you’ll crave it again... won’t you?"

Her pulse hammered beneath his fingers, and in that moment, she knew she was in far deeper than she’d ever imagined. "Maybe..." She thought to herself yet her lips never parted.

"Maybe." Manny taunted her, his once onyx-colored eyes growing crimson in the blink of her eye, "You know...I think I just might keep you, serafina."

TAGGED; @nobodygetsza @darqchilddaydreamz @spaghettificationandpretzels @lovedlover

SHOULD THIS BE CONTINUED? 👀

[booppooo]

Body Guard: Chapter Twelve

Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader Series

AN: here it is guys, the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed this series, and thank you to those who stuck around to see it from start to finish <3

Warnings: blood and injury, hospital setting, swearing

Word Count: 4,236

-

"Now don't go too fast."

"Like this?"

Abby pushed the wheelchair faster only until Y/n reached around and smacked her arm.

"You're an asshole."

Today Y/n got her prosthetic and she couldn't be more excited, Abby either. If Y/n would let her, Abby would sprint them the whole way down.

Once they arrived they started experimenting with the feel and the fit. Y/n said she didn't need anything special - she was only a doctor after all. But Abby reminded them that she did need something special, she deserved the best one they had to offer.

And Abby loved holding Y/n in her arms while she regained her balance. She forgot she could be this close to her, feel her touch, and spot the little details and new scar on her cheek. A constant reminder of how cruel the world could be - and how Y/n conquered it.

It was the first time their eyes had met in a very long time, and Y/n remembered how she loved the way Abby's eyebrow arched just an inch or so when she smirked. When Abby's tongue flicked out to wet her lips, Y/n's heart jumped into her throat.

"Feels good Mel." Y/n spoke to the surgeon, eyes locked on Abby's.

So Mel sat her back down and reminded Y/n how to keep it clean, safely take it on and off, physical therapy, and so on. But Y/n wasn't listening, she could've told Mel she knew all this, but stayed so Abby would sit down and listen for once in her life. Listen and learn.

-

Back in Y/n's hospital room Abby sat by her bed and went on about how her day had been prior to the appointment.

Somehow Abby had fought up the courage to get back out in the field and had been on a few assignments since her shoulder had healed. It was the biggest scar she had, but it fit in with all the rest, so she didn't pay it much mind...around Y/n at least. By herself she'd trace it and recall the worst and best moments of their journey. She'd do it all over again.

Y/n all the same. She'd get shot in the leg, tortured by Scars, confess her love, and lose her limb. Every moment was atrocious but worth it, because it meant that Abby was now laughing beside her, and not at her. It meant that this blonde that she was head over heels for would help her maneuver her new life, be vulnerable in front of her, maybe even love her back.

"Can you fucking believe that!?"

Y/n was too busy counting her freckles.

"Sounds intense."

Abby pursed her lips, "You say that every time?"

"Hmm...do I?"

That's when Abby noticed Y/n wasn't following along with her story. Her eyes did all the talking.

Ever since Y/n had told Abby how much she loved her, Y/n didn't bother to try to pretend it didn't happen, and made sure Abby wouldn't forget it either. She pulled every trick in the book and every time it made Abby's stomach do summersaults, however she couldn't tell if it was because she was flattered or if it was because she loved Y/n too.

Love was a touchy subject for the solider. This whole thing had started because she had carelessly rescued Owen and gone behind Isaac's back. Then it was because she loved Owen, and wanted to prove her love had no bounds, but reflecting on it Abby realized how stupid it was. When she thought about how love feels with Owen, it wasn't comparable to what she felt with Y/n. What she was willing to admit: whatever she had with Y/n was more than friends.

-

Much to Abby's surprise, Manny wasn't smacking her awake to run off on an assignment, so she took her time rolling out. It only took her a few seconds to figure out why the womanizer wasn't hovering over her when she saw his sheets strewn about with him missing - they must have the day off.

After tidying up her braid and throwing on a fresh pair of clothes, Abby bolted down to the medical wing and right into Y/n's room.

"She's with Manny this morning." Nora spoke from the door frame, arms crossed and an expectant smirk.

Abby cooly walked past her with an embarrassed tint on her cheeks, "I knew that."

"Mmhmm."

But Abby only got a few feet before she back tracked to ask were Manny and Y/n were.

"Shooting range."

That was the last place Abby anticipated, but Nora was a woman of her word.

And sure enough they were both emptying clips, Y/n groaning when their scores came back and her's was far lower than Manny's. Manny laughed and pointed at her rifle before Y/n's snapped back with something that made Manny laugh harder.

Abby loved Manny to death - for God sakes he's her best friend - but she wasn't going to deny that seeing him laugh with Y/n got under her skin. It was childish and selfish, after all they were just friends, but Abby wanted to be the only one laughing with Y/n.

She grabbed a rifle and a round of bullets and entered the range, unnoticed by Manny and Y/n. As soon as they started another round Abby joined, and blew them both clean out of the water.

Manny knew exactly who it was, he didn't need to see her, "'Bout time you came around Abs. Thought you'd bring us something to eat."

"Maybe Y/n, not you." Abby stepped from the booth and a smile spread wide on her face the moment Y/n came into view.

It was a little disorienting seeing Y/n holding a rifle like she had done it her whole life, but it brought Abby comfort knowing she was getting familiar with it.

"She'll never hit the target training with you." Abby teased.

"Uh, as a matter of fact, I did hit the target."

Abby hit the button next to Y/n's head and the target slid close enough for them to clearly see where she had shot. Most of the holes were scattered outside the blue and red targets, except for one that barley scathed the blue.

"Point proven." Abby quibbed.

Y/n furrowed her brows, "That's still a critical hit!"

"Yes, but-"

"Yes but nothing - I'm doing just fine."

Abby's brows rose in surprise and she exchanged an amused look with Manny.

"What, you don't think I can do it?"

With what Abby saw, she wasn't so convinced, and truthfully neither was Manny. But they wouldn't say that outright, everyone starts somewhere.

Y/n scoffed in disbelief, "Alright then, let's bet on it."

"Maybe not...for your sake." Abby bit her lip cautiously to hide a smile.

"Don't be a dick. If I get a head shot then..."

"If you get a clean head shot I'll steal Manny's mezcal and we can get drunk together." Abby finished, and Manny agreed having little faith in Y/n.

"No-" Y/n blurted out, but quickly snapped her jaw shut. Abby egged her to finish.

Y/n saw Manny peaking from her peripheral vision and motioned for Abby to lean down so she could whisper in her ear. The warmth fanning across Abby's skin made goosebumps ripple across her arms; she was close enough to smell Y/n's shampoo.

Before fear silenced her anymore, Y/n went for it, "A kiss."

The moment the words slipped past her lips her skin burned hot and her hands began to tremble with nerves and excitement. Abby's pupils nearly swallowed the rest of her eyes and her mouth went dry.

"Uh I-I don't-"

"Next round is starting! Whatever it is mija you better hope she doesn't make the shot." Manny winked at Abby seeing her pink face.

Y/n wanted to start celebrating, but the victorious cheer bubbling in her chest fizzled away when she had to raise her rifle. She wasn't afraid to admit to herself that she wasn't the best shot (excluding the time she miraculously saved Abby from that Scar - and even then it felt like another force was guiding her hand), but she would be damned if she didn't try.

All to be heard was the sound of guns firing, and Y/n was getting nervous that she was going to lose her own bet. A quick glimpse at her opponents targets told her she was failing miserably, and she was baffled at how sharp of an aim Abby had. Time was running out and everyone was down to their last few bullets - she had to make them count.

Then came the last bullet, and Y/n had yet to fulfill her bet. The sweat on her palms was slippery against the metal of the rifle, and she was losing focus. If she didn't make this, she'd die of embarrassment, and if she did, would Abby even kiss her?

There was only one way to find out.

With the final bullet piercing the air toward the target, Y/n's stomach flipped. Her vision was blurred with anxiety so even when she did lower her weapon she couldn't tell if it had even hit the target or not. With a shaky fist she pressed the red button and the target came flying toward her. The target swung and until it stilled Y/n's heart raced.

She looked at Abby's, then at Manny's, then at her own. Her breath left her body abruptly and she grasped the edge of the counter in front of her for stability. Had her eyes deceived her?

Manny slapped Y/n on the back proudly and leaned over to mock Abby, but most of their conversation was muddy in Y/n's ears.

"I'll see you two later, I had fun." Manny laughed, leaving the two women alone.

Abby watched over her strong shoulder as Manny sauntered off with a cocky smile still plastered on his face, and she swore his name in his native tongue. The idea of getting close enough to kiss Y/n made her skin tingle and head fuzzy, it overwhelmed her.

While Abby made sure Manny was out of sight, Y/n watched Abby. She noticed how she struggled with her thoughts and to steadily breathe, and it dawned on her how absurd it was for her to even ask Abby to kiss her. Though Y/n did get a bullet lodged in the paper head on the target, it didn't mean Abby agreed to it. Just because she loved Abby doesn't mean Abby loved her back.

"I'm sorry."

Abby told her not to worry with her attention on her rifle.

"You don't have to...you know. I don't know what I was thinking."

The awkward silence that had befallen them took Y/n back to after she had been attacked by that stalker. She remembered how furious Abby was, and the way she quietly followed Abby to the hospital. There was so much to be said, but nobody had the right words and was just too scared to speak.

The soldier straightened her posture to her full height and held the doctors gaze through a side view. She waited to see if Y/n would say anything else, or if she could respond within some closure for the smaller woman, but nothing she wanted to say seemed fitting. She left in silence.

And that was all the answer Y/n needed. She was foolish to think Abby would be flattered, the only thing she managed to do was push Abby away and catch her off guard. She was pushing her away because she couldn't accept that Abby didn't feel the same as her, and she had finally tipped her over the edge.

Instead of groaning and swearing, Y/n turned back to the paper target and decided to channel her frustration through some aiming practice.

-

Isaac shook his head dismissively.

"Why not?"

"Because I told you no. You know your place here."

Y/n crossed her arms and pressed her tongue against her cheek.

"Besides, you're not as...functional as you once were." His cold eyes were locked on the portion of her artificial limb that was not quite covered by her pants.

Y/n decided to use her new ailment to her advantage, "This is exactly why I should be a field medic, so nobody else has to deal with this."

"How our soldiers get treated out on the field is different from your situation. And we need you in the hospital wing - you're the best surgeon we have."

"Mel is just as good-"

Isaac stood from his chair and glared at Y/n, "I gave you my answer, Y/n. Now...go treat our people."

The surgeon stormed out and made it a point to slam the door as hard as she could. Isaac knew she wasn't going to give up that easy, but that was the end of their debate for the day.

Since Abby and Y/n's incident at the shooting range, neither of them had spoken to one another, and it was taxing on Y/n. It had been nearly two weeks since then and she missed Abby more and more everyday. She figured what Abby needed was space and time and didn't go looking for her, but sometimes she wondered if that's what Abby wanted. All of her conflicting feelings were making her irritable, and she wasn't he only one who had to deal with her frustration and attitude. A few times Mel and Y/n had made hostile comments toward each other in the operating room, and a nurse would have to step in and remind them about the task at hand.

Y/n wasn't necessarily thinking straight. She was irrational and hard to be around until she got what she wanted - Abby. But in the mean time she wanted to be the first face soldiers saw if they were injured. Everyone was familiar with Y/n, having either worked with her, or been her patient, so she was a relief to see. Besides, she was skilled in her field and a little too comfortable with what happens beyond the stadium.

"Where are you guys taking this stuff?" Y/n wondered, seeing some soldiers pack up medical supplies onto a truck.

"TV Station, a few people are being sent over for a week or two."

Y/n nodded in understanding, "Alright, I'll come with you guys in case someone gets injured."

The soldiers swapped confused looks, and before Y/n could conjure an excuse, she was pulled away by her arm.

She was lightly shoved into an empty corner some ways away from the rest of the bustling crowd, and before she began to protest and give whoever had did this absolute Hell, she stopped.

"You're a sight for sore eyes." Y/n murmured.

Abby ignored her, "I don't know what you're trying to pull but I hope you know Isaac told everyone not to let you leave the base."

"Uh - a hello would be nice."

"Well, I don't really have time for hello. Go back to the hospital wing where you're supposed to be."

"Is this you talking or Isaac?"

"Does it matter?"

Everything had come full circle. They were back where they had started as distant acquaintances.

Y/n scowled at Abby, but it didn't seem to affect her like it once did.

"Is that why you're avoiding me?"

"Wh-what?"

Y/n chuckled sarcastically, "Okay..."

Abby rolled her eyes, "Listen, I don't have time for you to throw a tantrum. So say whatever you need to say so I can go."

"Does it matter?" She used Abby's words against her, and it clearly struck a nerve.

Abby's teeth clenched before she bit back at Y/n, "You know what, it doesn't."

Abby stormed off and left Y/n in the corner.

When Abby joined with the rest of her team they all avoided eye contact. They knew not to poke the bear Abby became when she was upset, and obeyed her every word.

Both of them had become nearly unbearable to work with, and made everyone feel like they were walking on eggshells. Nobody dared to ask what was wrong, and those who did forbid themselves from saying Y/n or Abby's name around them. It was better off this way.

Abby helped to get the rest of the supplies into the bed of the truck before hopping in the drivers seat. She checked to make sure everyone was ready and everything was secure, and before she drove off she spotted Y/n's furious glare through the rearview.

-

Y/n found herself filing away some patient information behind the main desk, ready to wrap up her never ending shift. That was until several nurses and soldiers came sprinting in.

"Get all available rooms and stretchers ready! There was an explosion!"

"Explosion?!" Y/n called back with worry, but didn't receive an answer.

She was instead met with several soldiers being rolled in on bloodied stretchers or being walked in by nurses and others.

Rushing over, she began calling out which kind of treatment each patient needed and which room they needed to be rushed to. In all the chaos, Y/n managed to catch the cause of all of this.

Scars has essentially rigged the TV Station, and the second the soldiers opened the doors to bring in the supplies, bombs were detonated. Those who were caught in the initial explosion didn't make it, but those who were still lingering near the trucks were the ones currently being treated. She ran over to a soldier sat on one of the waiting room chairs being treated, "Did you see Abby?" He said he couldn't recall, and Y/n became even more frenzied, scrambling around to any conscious patient who was at the scene.

But she didn't have to look much further.

Abby stumbled in through the doors and over to the desk, leaning against the edge. A long cut bled across the length of her cheek, several smaller ones on her left arm. Below all of that, Abby held her waist, and protruding from it was a large piece of glass. It was above her hip and just missed her intestines, but it was bleeding a lot.

Y/n didn't wast another second and sprinted over, swinging Abby's free arm over her shoulders and guiding her to the nearest empty room.

"Jesus Christ Abby." Y/n huffed as she began treating her. Abby could only offer a painful grunt in return.

-

For the next few nights Y/n and many other nurses and surgeons didn't rest. They hopped from surgery to surgery or from patient to patient. The entire hospital wing was full to the brim with victims of the explosion.

But the final surgery did arrive and was another success. The patient was sent into the recovery unit and Y/n finally could take a moment to breathe and ground herself.

But she didn't.

Instead she ran the whole way to Abby who they had stitched up many hours ago. The shard of glass had penetrated enough to get itself stuck in her muscle, but it wasn't something to be operated on. Still it was sharp enough that anytime Abby moved it cut deeper into her, and was extremely painful.

When Y/n reached her suite, Abby was standing in front of the mirror in her room. The pain meds had started to do their job and she was moving around - more than she should.

"What are you doing?"

Abby didn't look away from the mirror, "Don't worry about it. Go make sure someone else is okay."

She was looking at all the bandages on her freckled arm.

"Come on, you need to lay down." Y/n reached for Abby's right arm to guide her back to bed, but Abby turned away from her grasp. The twisting made her hiss and lay a delicate palm over her waist.

This time Abby didn't fight Y/n's hold and let her walk her over to her bed. Then Y/n rolled over a stool and took a seat between Abby's legs. Her clothes dyed with her blood had been replaced by a hospital gown and some light blue socks which Abby did plan on keeping for herself.

Y/n rested her hands on Abby's knees and surveyed her sympathetically. She wasn't sure if she was overstepping by being this close to Abby, or if Abby was still too shaken to care much, but she didn't protest.

Abby's eyes met Y/n's, and she noted the deep, dark circles under her eyes. They were nearly blood shot and glazed over, begging for some rest. Abby wondered when the last time she ate was, last time she drank water or even sat down. In the spur of the moment, she rested her hand over Y/n's, and the doctor gently gasped at her cold fingers while her eyes widened at the feel of their hands together. It seemed to add back some life in her exhausted, dull skin. She took the next step and laced Abby's fingers in her's, softly squeezing and letting a heartfelt grin spread across her lips.

"Are you okay?"

Abby huffed a smile and bit her lip. Her attention fell to their hands in her lap and she faintly nodded.

"Yeah...yeah I think I'll be alright."

Y/n's thumb caressed Abby's skin and she held her hand tighter, scooping the other into her grasp. She brought Abby's bruised knuckles to her lips and left them a delicate kiss, and a bashful red burned on Abby's cheeks and ears.

It was then Abby remembered something Y/n had rightfully won. The idea of it had admittedly made Abby run away from Y/n and avoid her, purely because she still wasn't sure where she stood with the woman seated before her. She grew frustrated with herself and everyday and she wanted to find Y/n to tell her how lost she was, but argued with her instead. It almost brought tears to her eyes thinking those could've been her last words to Y/n, and she would've never known how Abby felt about their friendship.

Well, it was far more than that. Looking back on it, Abby's heart didn't skip a beat when Nora or Mel would stitch her up, they didn't make her skin buzz or her head light. She didn't miss their touch like she did Y/n's, and the way her warmth lingered for hours afterward.

They also didn't go through what Y/n went through. They weren't there to fight off that stalker or the creature in the basement of the hospital, they weren't there to save her from Scars, or carry her back to the stadium. Whatever happened on their journey made Abby view Y/n differently, she had created a nest in her heart. And in that nest Y/n pulled at her heart strings until they snapped and rebuilt others stronger than they were before. She was the reason why Abby's heart rang against her ribs or stopped cold in her chest.

If it wasn't for Y/n her heart wouldn't be beating at all.

They had saved each other. Although Abby had saved her life in the end, Y/n had saved her. She saved her from her cold, numb heart, and reminded her what it was like to want to care for someone and be fond of someone. Y/n guarded her heart.

"I owe you something."

Y/n perked up with a confused smile.

Abby slipped her hands from Y/n's and rested them on her cheeks, soaking up their blazing heat. Y/n's eyes trailed up Abby's strong arms until they reached her mesmerizing, half-lidded eyes. Every nerve in her body was bursting into flames as Abby brought her closer and closer until there wasn't any more space to be had.

And Abby kissed Y/n, her buttery pink lips gliding across Y/n's so meaningfully. God had struck Y/n with the lightning bolt of love where she stood and the electricity shot fast and white through her chest and made her muscles useless. On their closed lids both Abby and Y/n saw a firework show so beautiful and intoxicating that they shared a single tear.

Of course Abby couldn't compare the love she felt with Owen to what she felt with Y/n...because what she felt with Y/n was true love.

And this kiss for Y/n made Y/n forget how exhausted she was, because all she could think about was how heavenly Abby's lips felt on hers, and how they just fit so perfectly together; how much she loved Abby with everything in her.

They rested their foreheads together and Y/n held Abby's wrists to keep her palms in place, not that she planned to take them away.

"You felt it too, right?" Abby breathed with a love struck smile.

Another tear fell as Y/n laughed, "There was no way I couldn't."

This time Y/n kissed Abby. She kissed her as if reassuring Abby she did love her, and wanted her to never forget it.

Abby never would.

[richincolor]

August TBR

Summer is wrapping up for me which means getting in the last of my most anticipated reads for the month of August and just a few more days eating popsicles in the sun. This has been an excellent season for YA, and as usual, my TBR list is a mile high. What's at the very top? Well... I've got two sequels that I've really, really been looking forward to and one standalone. Check them out:

Blood Like Fate (Blood Like Magic #2) by Liselle Sambury

Voya Thomas may have passed her Calling to become a full-fledged witch, but the cost was higher than she’d ever imagined.

Her grandmother is gone. Her cousin hates her. And her family doesn’t believe that she has what it takes to lead them.

What’s more, Voya can’t let go of her feelings for Luc, sponsor son of the genius billionaire Justin Tremblay—the man that Luc believes Voya killed. Consequently, Luc wants nothing to do with her. Even her own ancestors seem to have lost faith in her. Every day Voya begs for their guidance, but her calls go unanswered.

As Voya struggles to convince everyone—herself included—that she can be a good Matriarch, she has a vision of a terrifying, deadly future. A vision that would spell the end of the Toronto witches. With a newfound sense of purpose, Voya must do whatever it takes to bring her shattered community together and stop what’s coming for them before it’s too late. Even if it means taking down the boy she loves—who might be the mastermind behind the coming devastation.

A Venom Dark and Sweet (The Book of Tea #2) by Judy I. Lin Out August 23rd!

A great evil has come to the kingdom of Dàxi. The Banished Prince has returned to seize power, his rise to the dragon throne aided by the mass poisonings that have kept the people bound in fear and distrust.

Ning, a young but powerful shénnóng-shi—a wielder of magic using the ancient and delicate art of tea-making—has escorted Princess Zhen into exile. Joining them is the princess’ loyal bodyguard, Ruyi, and Ning’s newly healed sister, Shu. Together the four young women travel throughout the kingdom in search of allies to help oust the invaders and take back Zhen’s rightful throne.

But the golden serpent still haunts Ning’s nightmares with visions of war and bloodshed. An evil far more ancient than the petty conflicts of men has awoken, and all the magic in the land may not be enough to stop it from consuming the world…

This Is Why They Hate Us by Aaron H. Aceves Out August 23rd!

Enrique “Quique” Luna has one goal this summer—get over his crush on Saleem Kanazi by pursuing his other romantic prospects. Never mind that he’s only out to his best friend, Fabiola. Never mind that he has absolutely zero game. And definitely forget the fact that good and kind and, not to mention, beautiful Saleem is leaving L.A. for the summer to meet a girl his parents are trying to set him up with.

Luckily, Quique’s prospects are each intriguing in their own ways. There’s stoner-jock Tyler Montana, who might be just as interested in Fabiola as he is in Quique; straight-laced senior class president, Ziggy Jackson; and Manny Zuniga, who keeps looking at Quique like he’s carne asada fresh off the grill. With all these choices, Quique is sure to forget about Saleem in no time.

But as the summer heats up and his deep-seated fears and anxieties boil over, Quique soon realizes that getting over one guy by getting under a bunch of others may not have been the best laid plan and living his truth can come at a high cost.

[nevernevadahq]

THE SHOW IS ABOUT TO BEGIN— WELCOME, TATI! DAMIANO “D” NIETO HAS BEEN ACCEPTED. MANNY MONTANA IS NOW TAKEN.

XANTHOS was one of the immortal horses that drew the chariots of great heroes. His service is different to any sword and he lacks the ceremonial loyalty that comes from a name written in history. Damiano paves the way as Xanthos does, though what will it take for him to lead someone down the wrong path if need be?

GET BUSY LIVING, OR GET BUSY DYING. PLEASE FOLLOW THE NEXT STEPS HERE AND SEND IN YOUR ACCOUNT TO THE MAIN WITHIN 24 HOURS.

Everyone suspects DAMIANO NIETO of at least one of the cardinal sins, but in Nevada, the worst sins are bound by blood and HE has yet to roll the dice. HIS fixation on the neon lights of Nevada started TEN YEARS ago as a FENCE. Under the desert sun, they claim the act of PRO POKER PLAYER. They’re often mistaken for MANNY MONTANA before those crimson colored glasses slide down their nose. D better get busy living, or they’ll get busy dying by the ripe age of THIRTY-EIGHT. There are no second acts in a marked life, and it’s measured out by the melody of BAD THINGS BY MACHINE GUN KELLY.

[matteblackstars]

Nicholas x Tentacles : For Research

as requested by @catastrophicur fantasy verse + DP / sounding / throat fuckin’ / yes he’s a virgin / no its not written well, you know what, just keep walking, don’t look here

           Nicholas scampered down the halls with the type of excitement that had nearly everyone he passed looking nervously behind. Short cleric navigated past clergy with ease, slipping between droves of prayer walks that ended in disapproving scowls and heads shaking in disappointment. Not that he noticed, because he got the aFTernOOn oFF~ For research. Which terrified everyone. 

          Due to prior mishaps in the dorms, Nicholas was given his own room well away from the rest of the populace just in case he summoned another undead bear or 30ft snake that he still couldn’t find or the time when gravity reversed itself in the mess hall or-- needless to say, when half the clerics came down with a curse that made them dance nearly to death and the other half frozen in time reliving their trauma in a void-like hellscape, he was banished asked to move his studies far far away and to notify the higher ups when he was going to be doing something potentially dismal so they could avoid it. 

          So when the final piece of his spell finally arrived in the mail, he was beside himself running through the gardens to get to the abandoned wing of the church where he had been allowed to make camp. Dreary and a bit dusty, the large heavy door requires small thing’s whole body to push against and when he finally slips through, it opens up into a massive study. Books covered the walls and laid in haphazard stacks along the floor, papers spilling with ancient languages and symbols, candles and floating colorful orbs illuminating intricate gold writings, bones, potions, skulls, vials, gems, taxidermy rabbit, a mobile of the solar system, a mobile of a different solar system -- everywhere one looked there was something new and potentially dangerous lurking about. 

          His desk held a multitude of messy papers and ink pots filled with ink that shifted colors (one that looks suspiciously like blood), and a single thick heavy book. It was the same size if not wider than the cleric himself and it takes a strained heave to lift the cover before fingers rushed to find a particular page.           There.            It only takes him minutes to shuffle about his room, moving stacks of things out of the way to clear space on the floor and hunting down the bits and pieces of spell components that involved ink, a single bit of bone, chalk, and whatever else. The item he had been waiting for came in the shape of a small crystal pendant. Some easily made magicked trinket that produced as manny mirrors as the holder desired in any shape or size. The spell had a tiny hand written note on the side that strongly suggested its use and Nicholas wasn’t entirely sure why or how this aided in the spell, but mirrors had their own magical properties that he’d mentally note to delve into. Tall and rectangular, he follows the note’s directions until the space he’s made is surrounded by them floating delicately at the perimeter with gaps enough he can slip through. He takes a moment to proudly smile at himself in the corner of one and then another few minutes to apprehensively stare at the complicated chalk circle he’s made on the floor, wondering if it was... too big. He wanted to summon tentacles, not the whole tentacle monster. Or did he??

          There was a moment of doubt after everything was set up, last thing needed was the single drop of blood and ink to circle’s center, when his own eyes catch himself in a reflection.            “Am I being too nasty for this?”           Reflection shakes its head, of course not. It’s for fun. For research!            “Getting a handy by a tentacle for... research?”           You’re testing old magic that just happens to have the use of a few wiggly arms.            “And if it doesn’t listen...?”           Reflection chants back at him for research! for research! before short human is thoroughly convinced. For research. 

          Ink and blood fall with a deafening plop to its center, sleeves of thickly layered robes pushed up as far as they can so pale palms could press into the floor at circle’s sides, feeling the magic pulsate through limbs until incantation leaves the room silent. Chalk glows warmly, then dies out. The creaking groans of the walls and wood floor halting and little thing blinks, candle light flickering making the shadows dance and for a moment -- nothing happens. “WHAT” Disappointed bark has Nicholas flopping backwards and then forwards again to peer into the spell circle, sniffing bottle of ink and blood, wondering if it was his blood needed and-- well, that would make sense. Lips purse together, but the prick to his finger and the added dot of red leaves him full of expectation and.... noth-- oh?

          Leaning close, he can see movement, like a plant breaking its way through the surface of the earth, a single blackish-red tendril wiggles its way through. Arms shoot up with an excited YES, gaze bolting about as if someone would be there to congratulate him on his small success before immediately leaning down closer with words of encouragement. Maybe it was shy? Weak? It’s ok bb, Nicholas is here~ “There there little guy, come on, coooome on~” Chuckle brightens his face, completely forgetting the whole intent of bringing this thing out, and more focused on the fact that it was tiny and absolutely adorable. It wiggles nervously, then confidently, growing in size until finally Nicholas is sitting up and staring at it face to face. It’s inky looking and curious touch tells him it’s slimy but even that’s just clear with an almost oil-slick like sheen. 

          “Oh the staff at the cleaning staff would hate this--ACK??” Something touched his face! Head snaps around and in the reflected circle of the mirror is another tentacle, breaching its way through with curious intent toward summoner. Then another- and another-- “oh. Oh no, that’s too many--” Even in the circle before him do more start pulling themselves through, shapes and sizes varying as thin ones twisted about thicker bases, others nearing with clear intent to grab and-- “OOoooohkay, nope, we’re just going to just, stop all this. Do you understand me?” It’s definitely more of a nervous plead than a command. “I’m gonna need your friends to just... go back to-” Since when was there one wrapped around his ankle? And lord they were strong--

          “Hahaha-- ok ok, time to stop guys-- no-- no, don’t grab the other ankle, nooOOOoo-- I meAN IT--” The nervous panic was starting to set in as they took hold of each ankle that ignored his petty attempts at tearing them off and instead yanked legs apart with a loud yelp. The more he struggled, the more they seemed set on restraining him with their smooth heavy limbs, and even though feet kicked in an attempt to crawl backwards, his back smacked into the front of sturdy mirror that acted more like a wall caging him inside. Oil-slick slimy tentacles reaching from the mirror took their chance to drape over shoulders and slip into his neckline causing goosebumps across his skin. W-wait-- hey-- no no nO -- but the moment arm raises in protest, strong slick limb grabs his weak wrist, knee jerk reaction had frame twist to undo it, but all it does is make his free wrist captured. With arms now bound and ankles held taught apart, there’s a pause. Nicholas’ face contorted in frustration and then ultimately defeat as next tentacle wiggled across the floor in sly expectation over pants. 

          “F-fine. Fine!” Lips pursed together and things twisted in eager acknowledgement that had Nicholas bickering with it some more. “Oh- OH, So you CAN understand, fine! Just-- nothing too weird.” A mute point when he’s so compromised and a few more inky intruders start to tug and pull at his limbs until lower half is thoroughly spread and smaller constraints touch under clothes to elbow and knee. Another thicker one presses at his cheek approvingly, hugging against his neck in jaw as if that was some form of comfort before bold member slips beneath his pant line. 

          Now short cleric was... “pure”. Physically. Hands have enthusiastically explored himself and he was no stranger to relieving himself of his sexual frustrations, but this was the first time he’d had anyone but himself touch him and it showed. Any babbling he had done just seconds before cut themselves short and heart rate rises as warm limb grazed against him, sliding over balls and taint, between cheeks to come out the other side and wedge pants down just enough until butt sat on he chill floor and growing erection exposed if upper layers weren’t messily covering him. Something about not seeing what was happening only made everything more exciting, more nerve wracking as more eased their way beneath fabric to taste and squeeze gently over sensitive skin. 

          Anticipation and tinge of embarrassment has dark haired thing squirming with a single tentacle that wrapped around the base of him, easing itself upwards and back down again with ease. Then it moves a bit faster, others curling over sack with equally comforting tug, and it doesn’t take much for cleric to start breathing heavy against the limb that still licked at his cheek or try to hide behind elbows that were being raised ever higher by captors. It’s not until the smaller ones start writhing their way over the thick boys do things get overwhelming. 

          A long thin tip searches over penis head until it finds small slit to slowly wiggle into; gentle and curious, it presses in, waiting for any protest, and then out, repeating but going deeper while it joins brothers about the shaft, squeezing and releasing in an upward pulsing motion that has his legs trembling. It feels weird, tingling, and he has little control over how hips jerk desperately for escape or the friction at his wrists as tentacles tighten their grip there and at his ankles. Panting moans verge to the point of barely muffled whining, voice pitching and cracking with every wiggle as foreign limb slowly fucked itself into him. Another slithery blackish limb slid across pale thigh staying close to the crease of his leg before wrapping underneath his clothes possessively at his waist. Heat was pooling at the pit of his stomach with legs desperate to slam together, knees trembling as boiling point started to to get near. Panicked chest rising and falling, whatever this thing was, it realized he was getting close and started to move faster, wet suction growing stronger, and all too intrusive tip no longer leaving the hole it occupied, pumping with a dangerous speed that has Nicholas crying. 

          “Out-- Take it out-- Take it outtakeitoutplease-- PLEASE!!” Toes curled as he begged, overwhelmed tears welling up in the corner of his eyes before words are too complicated to say and tentacle slips out just as it gave conclusive squeeze and burst of cum decorated his stomach and thigh. Body jolts into silence that he’s finally granted release from his torture save for the echoed whine and pathetic needy whimpers that follow. Oh gross gross gross--! Shame is the first emotion to wash over him, embarrassment the next, and a tinge of fear-- why did that make him cum so hard?? Restraints give small cleric some slack and a welcomed relief as he tries to collect himself and palms smack tiredly against the floor. Head falls back against the mirror, hand resting on his chest with the realization that he’s been freed. Peace!! Peace at last -- mind evaluates himself and curious tug pulls clothes from over himself just to see the mess he’s left and that his dick was fine. Oh thank god. This relief last if only for a moment. 

          Single inky tendril slides sneakily towards his hip, feeling the air, attempting to take small tastes of his skin that Nicholas lazily tries to shoo away. Which was apparently the Wrong Thing To Do.

          The show of weakness has the same limb thick and strong, snatch at fragile waist, yanking him downwards onto his back with a hard thud. There was no time to yelp because the moment he does, mouth is occupied. Fat and heavy, slimy member forces its way to the back of his throat, excited by impulsive need for human to swallow and tighten around it. It’s patient enough to wait for Nicholas to stop struggling, a minute before he starts to breathe through his nose and then it moves, languidly pressing in hoping to feel the velvety vibrations of fragile mortal’s moans which would come soon enough. Beast, monster, demon -- thing doesn’t bother restraining arms (not that they weren’t eagerly feeling over their hopeless attempts to escape) because its focus was too busy working complicated layers of clothes to get at the softer fleshy bits. For Nicholas, it was hard to fight back when his attention was at his mouth trying to breathe, muffled protesting shouts dying off, and tongue curling instinctively about its surprisingly warm weight. Thoughts were a buzz and buzzing faster when he feels protective clothes leave him and holy garb torn to make way to his chest. He’s not sure if he’s completely bare, it wouldn’t have mattered now that pale skin was easy to mark and already was starting to turn pink in the places where tentacles had clung and sucked onto. 

          A multitude of thicker limbs caressed over him, feeling at the highs and lows of bone and muscle, and with nippled exposed, smaller mandibles slithered their way to dance and play with them. It doesn’t take long for distressed breathing to slow, acceptance as refractory period was rushed to a close, and soft muted moan surprised even him. He liked this -- sharp flick against his chest has him pressing his legs together, messy thighs sliding against each other while he takes what’s in his mouth a tad bit deeper. If he could swear he would, wondering if it was the lack of control or the feeling of captured prey that had him creeping up on next sinful sound.

          The tentacle at his waist smoothed underneath his back, lifting it to a small arch that Nicholas readily complied with, but he nearly chokes when lower half is flipped skyward. Thing must have sensed his tension and distraction came in the form of a strong thrust into his throat, a bit faster, a bit harder, then slowing down once the hands desperately hugged at the thing eased. Hands tried to grab for something else, something easier only to messily catch hold of the multitude of other tentacles that seemed to be joining to fray, curling around his legs that now hung over him. The embarrassment he felt before? Gone. Occasionally legs twitched and kicked, only to be haphazardly restrained while mandibles inched ever so dangerously close to the place no one has been in. Not that thing cared, it was busy coiling back over his hardening shaft, squeezing at balls and -- ok the embarrassments back when he’s hard again. Mind stimulated to a degree that was near overwhelming. 

          First to make curious prod is small, winding wet and slippery between exposed spread cheeks to tease at virgin hole, testing the waters and feeling his heart rate anxiously rise until breaching inward. Whimpered cry catches in his throat and once again legs try to right themselves with struggled jerk, back and behind wiggling in protest done more out of habit than need, but thick vice around his waist tightened and its tip pressed at his lower back so he was more firmly held in place. The one at his ass slid ever deeper, rhythmically pulsing at the edge, growing ever bigger the easier it was to stretch him wider, until it was finally built up enough to be fucking into him with wave-like motion that had little thing lightly bounding against the ground. 

          He’s melting into the floor moaning with little conscious need to hold back confused pitched sounds, every synapse bursting in strange new position when suddenly he tastes air. Deep breath gives way to shuddering sigh, tongue licking at wetted lips that had odd mix of saliva and mystery coating that had the faintest taste of magic to it and bleary eyes glance upwards to see the size of what was in his mouth now hungrily fall over tentacle-caged erection and taint to--

          “NO. HnGNGgghH-- W-Wait-- No-- I-- I can’t--ah-ah-aHW-Wait--” whether thing could understand him or not, pleading fell on deaf ears and tip was already wiggling and nudging around hole that was still occupied by far smaller guest that started to move slower, a bit deeper so that thick one could more easily lick at edges, pressing experimentally until finally it gave way. Clearly excited, it wasted no time trying to push deeper, twisting sloppy and moist around partner that squirmed eagerly inside of him.

          “AhhHHHhnNNN!!” Nicholas immediately became unabashedly loud. It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, event as fat member stretched him far beyond the limits he thought was capable, both fucked into him with opposite momentums leaving him a mewling wreck, calling for names he’d only heard in dreams. it wasn’t nearly as nice to him this time around, the multitude of tentacles wrapped about his dick squeezing just hard enough that it wouldn’t let him cum as the two continued to move faster. The fullness was tantalizingly thrilling, he’d never felt this way even with what little toys he could get and he’s gotten so noisy with every rushed pant that left his sweat stained against the floor. The closer he gets, the more it tries to restrain him; wrists against the wood by his shoulders, one even found purchase at his neck, pushing chin upward so his unbelievably lewd cries have no where to go but echo off the walls of the room. For a minute, he even catches a glimpse of himself entangled in multicolored arms that all moved with eerie fluidity into him and he knows it’s him because when he opens his mouth, it does too and-- god he looks so obscene-- but so-- good---

          Back arches with ready anticipation of what’s to come, a needy moan as one of the tentacles manages to brush against the spot that made Nicholas want to end it all and the smaller stopping its thrusting in favor of focusing meager attention on sliding against it while larger continued to pump in tandem with his breath. Teeth bite hard into his lip and he almost wished he could dig his nails into a person, but that sentiment is short lived when nipple is pinched and that familiar searing heat started to boil. He can’t hold back, he can’t -- he can’t--! It was too much! This was too much -- He can’t-- “I can’t--!!” Red flushed body burns and he’s slick with his own sweat and cum, tipping over the edge again with violent cry that shakes him to his core. Tentacles thrust hard and deep, the small bulge against his stomach visible if it weren’t for his release that fell hotly across chest and face. 

          Vision falls away and the tension he had held now released, leaves small thing empty and used. The things inside him twist and turn comfortably, lazily easing their way out while his waist is lowered back into the floor with a gentle thump. The others leave just as slow, taking their time over glistening body, licking across his neck and cheek where pearly white globs were smeared towards his mouth as they passed by before disappearing back into the floor, mirrors or... wherever they had come from. 

          So there he was left, breathless and disarray, clothes littered and torn, holy garb staring at him shamefully while he weakly sat himself up to survey the damage done. Covered in marks, ‘hickies’, bruises, sweat, oily substance, and cum, lower back tingling and feeling empty after having his insides just jumbled about; Nicholas quietly shuffled across the floor over mirrored circle to where the spell book lay, symbols and words still vivid across the page and he... tears it out. 

          He was going to keep this one for himself. For later.            For research. 

[dogsofwarhq]

𝐀  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊  𝐘𝐎𝐔  to  all  who’ve  showed  interest  &.  applied  thus  far,  as  a  roleplay  cannot  get  this  far  without  your  dedication,  after  all  !  i  was  blown  away  by  the  amount  of  applications  received,  and  due  to  that,  complied  them  into  a  mass  acceptance  post  found  beneath  the  cut.  i’m  looking  forward  to  both  speaking  &. plotting  with  each  of  you  tomorrow  (  bear  with  me  while  all  pages  are  properly  updated  )  —  welcome  to  dogs  of  war  !  please  review  our  checklist  and  report  to  the  bratva  within  the  next  twenty - four  hours.

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  KAZIMIR SKUTNIK,  the  OBSCHAK of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  he  is  originally  from  BUDAPEST, HUNGARY ;  perhaps  it’s  BEING TAKEN PRISONER DURING THE WAR  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  MANNY MONTANA.  the  THIRTY-TWO year  old  CIS MALE  was  PERSPICACIOUS  &.  AFFABLE  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  EGOCENTRIC  &.  CONDESCENDING.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  A TRAITOR TETHERED TO LOYALTY BY BLOOD AND GOLD; INTIMIDATING ASCENDENCY, FORGING WORDS AS COLD AS A DAGGER’S STEEL BLADE BETWEEN A SHARP TOOTHED SMILE ; A VAGUE ACCENT WHICH HAILS NO DISCERNIBLE REGION; A DEEP LONELINESS BURIED BENEATH AVARICE AND SADISM. ( VJ,  27, est/gmt-5,  he/they.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  ALEKSANDR  IVANOV  ,  the  SOVIETNIK of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  he  is  originally  from  MOSCOW  ;  perhaps  it’s  AN  INNATE  &.  SELF  -  SERVING  NEED  TO  SURVIVE  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  RICHARD  MADDEN  .  the  THIRTY FIVE  year  old  CIS MAN  was  CHARMING  &.  FORGIVING  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  DUPLICITOUS  &.  SHREWD.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  a  smile  that  doesn’t  sit  quite  right  with  you,  all  teeth  and  no  warmth;  oaths  made  and  oaths  broken;  a  hand  around  the  wrist,  neither  pushing  nor  pulling,  but  always  there,  a  persistent  warning;   an  eye  for  an  eye  makes  one  man  blind  .  (  julie, 21, mst, she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  KHRISTINA  VASILIEV  ,  the  MEDIK  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that   she  is  originally  from  ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  THE DEATHS OF HER PARENTS  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  ANYA CHALOTRA  .  the  TWENTY-FIVE  year  old  CISFEMALE  was  CLEVER  &.  INDEPENDENT  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  CYNICAL  &.  VINDICTIVE.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  QUICK MATH EQUATIONS DONE IN HER HEAD, A STOLEN WATCH SNUGGLED INTO HER POCKET, THE TAPPING OF DELICATE FINGERS TO STAVE OFF PICKING UP A CIGARETTE, STRONG CUPS OF COFFEE, & THE MEMORIES OF FIRE LICKING AT HER FINGERTIPS  .  (  alyssa,  twenty-two,  est,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  TATIANA  HENNESSEY  ,  the  BARMAID  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  are  originally  from  DUBLIN, IRELAND  ;  perhaps  it’s  TO CARE FOR HER AILING GRANDMOTHER  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  SARAH GADON  .  the  TWENTY-NINE  year  old  CISFEMALE  was  KINDHEARTED  &.  ADAPTABLE  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  REACTIVE  &.  CLOSED-OFF.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  the humming of irish drinking songs while working, curse words muttered in russian under her breath, the faintest smell of vanilla, old letters tucked in a hidden box, & a single ray of light pouring into a dark church  .  (  alyssa,  twenty-two,  est,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  AMARINE BERGER ,  the  MECHANIC is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  MONTPELLIER, FRANCE  ;  perhaps  it’s  AN ACHE FOR THE UNCONVENTIONAL AND UNKNOWN  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  ALICIA VIKANDER  .  the  THIRTY  year  old  FEMALE  was  DARING  &.  MOTIVATED  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  SUSPICIOUS  &. FLIPPANT.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  BRIGHT, FLINTY EYES, WHITE KNUCKLES FISTED ‘ROUND A WRENCH, A BULLDOGGISH TENACITY AND  DISDAIN FOR THE SOCIETY THAT BORE YOU.  (  meg,  26,  PST,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  LEONA DEL ROSARIO   ,  the  OWNER OF  THE NIGHTINGALE is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  BOHOL , PHILIPPINES  ;  perhaps  it’s  WANTING TO ESCAPE YOUR PAST  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  SHAY MITCHELL  .  the  THIRTY   year  old  CISWOMAN  was    LIVELY  &.  ZEALOUS  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  PROFLIGATE  &.  ACQUISITIVE  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  CHILDISH LAUGHTER ECHOING THROUGH THE CORRIDORS OF A NOW EMPTY THEATER , A COLLECTION OF FANCY DRESSES BROUGHT WITH YOUR FATHERS DIRTY MONEY , A PRETTY GOLDEN LOCKET ALWAYS SECURED AROUND YOUR NECK THAT HOLDS TOO MANY MEMORIES , THE LINGERING SMELL OF PERFUME AND CIGARETTES LEFT WHEREVER YOU GO , BATTING YOUR LASHES AND SENDING SULTRY SMILES TO GET YOUR WAY , & RED LIPSTICK KISSES ON OLD VANITY MIRRORS.   (  nina, 20+,  est,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  YURY LENKOV  ,  the  FIGHTER AT THE DEN  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  he  is  originally  from  KASIMOV, RUSSIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  THE NEED TO EARN MONEY, AND PERHAPS MAKE SOMETHING OF HIMSELF  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  WOLFGANG NOVOGRATZ  .  the  TWENTY-TWO  year  old  MALE  was  FRIENDLY  &.  ENTHUSIASTIC  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  REPRESSED  &.  NAIVE.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  ROUGH, BLOODY HANDS WRAPPED IN BOXING TAPE THAT CONTRAST YOUR SOFT, GENTLE BEATING HEART ; SEWING UP YOUR WORN OUT, THREADBARE CLOTHES LIKE YOUR MOTHER ALWAYS TAUGHT YOU TO ; BOUNDING WITH EXCITEMENT AND ENERGY THAT GLITTERS IN THE COLD POST WAR CITY OF MOSCOW ; A DESIRE TO DO SOMETHING MORE THAN YOUR FAMILY HAS EVER BEEN ABLE TO DO STARTING TO SEEP THROUGH INTO YOUR YEARNING HEART ; PACKING UP AND LEAVING EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER KNOWN BEFORE IS EASIER AFTER YOU END UP COMPLETELY ALONE IN THE WORLD  .  (  sarah,  twenty-six,  cst,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  KONSTANTIN ZORKIN  ,  the  MEDIK  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  he  is   originally  from  ABALAK  ;  perhaps  it’s  HUNTING DOWN THE REMAINING ROMANOV LINEAGE  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  LUCKY BLUE SMITH  .  the  TWENTY THREE  year  old  MALE  was  SEDULOUS  &.  VALOROUS  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  QUARRELSOME  &.  ABRASIVE.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation of SINKING FINGERTIPS AGAINST MOONSPUN HAIR AS LATIN SPEWED FROM DRY LIPS; SHOVING A HANDFUL OF STRAWBERRY CANDIES INTO A DIRTY HANDKERCHIEF WHILE GASPS OF ADMIRATION PEPPERED THE BACKGROUND; COAXING SMILES AFTER SELFISH PRAYERS FOR DIVINE MERCY; THE SMELL OF RUST DISGUSED BY PEPPERMINT BEFORE THE SKIN GROWS COLD AND THE DEATH RATTLE RINGS AT MIDNIGHT; DELICATE DRAWINGS OF THE WORLD’S MOST GROTESQUE EXHIBITION  .  (  J,  twenty six,  CST,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  NATALIA SUDAYEVNA ,  the  PRIMA BALLERINA  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  KIEV  ;  perhaps  it’s  THE KIEV OFFENSIVE  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL  .  the  TWENTY THREE  year  old  FEMALE  was  TENACIOUS  &.  CLEVER  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  COLD  &.  DISTANT.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  BLOOD ON POINTE SHOES, A BLAZING FIRE IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, SIBLINGS LOST AND FOUND AND LOST AGAIN, A NEVERENDING PIROUETTE IN A DARK THEATER, THE STING OF THE COLD .  (  skye,  21,  pst,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  VITALIYA YVONNE BALAKIREV ,  the  BOYEVIK  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  she  is   originally  from  VORONEZH , RUSSIA ;  perhaps  it’s  SEEKING OUT THE VOLKI TO JOIN THEM AFTER LOSING EVEYTHING  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  KAT  MCNAMARA .  the  TWENTY FOUR  year  old  CISWOMAN  was  FORTHRIGHT  &.  CANNY  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  VITRIOLIC  &.  DOGMATIC.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  WILD LOCKS JUST AS FULL AND BEAUTIFUL AS YOUR MOTHERS , THE FEELING OF A COLD METAL BLADE PRESSING AGAINST A WARM THROAT , DEAD ROSES WRAPPED ON AN OLD WEDDING BAND , LULLABIES HUMMED SOFTLY IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT AS YOU HOLD THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO YOU CLOSELY & CRIMSON DROPLETS OF BLOOD FROM SOMEONE ELSE ON THE FRESHLY FALLEN WHITE WINTER SNOW.  (  nina,  20+,  est,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  NATALYA  ALEKSEVNA  KHVOSTOVSKY ,  the  HANDMAIDEN  TO  THE  ROMANOV  FAMILY  BARMAID  AT  THE  GARNIZON  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  SAINT PETERSBURG  ,  RUSSIA   MOSCOW  ,  RUSSIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  ESCAPING  TOBOLSK  DAYS  BEFORE  THE  THREE  REMAINING  YOUNG  DUCHESSES  AND  THE  HEIR  APPARENT  WERE  TRANSFERRED  TO  YEKATERINBURG  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  LILY  JAMES  .  the  TWENTY  SEVEN  year  old  CIS WOMAN  was  ALTRUISTIC  &.  DILIGENT before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  MEEK  &.  GUARDED  .  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  BRIGHT  WHITE  GOWNS  TURNED  A  MUTED  GREY  BOTH  FROM  TRAVEL  AND  NERVES  THAT  NEVER  CEASE  ;  ONCE  DELICATE  FINGERS  USED  FOR  TYING  BOWS  ARE  NOW  RUBBED  RAW  BY  SPILLED  ALCOHOL   ;   BLONDE  HAIR  THAT  HAS  BEEN  STRIPPED  OF  IT’S  GOLDEN  SHINE  IN  FAVOR  OF  A  MEEK  BROWN  TO  HIDE  FROM  A  LIFE  ONCE  LIVED   ;   LETTERS  THAT  ARE  BURNED  LONG  BEFORE  THEY  ARE  SENT  ;  A  DAMNATION  AND  CONDEMNATION  TO  A  LIFE  ALONE  FOR  NO  ONE  CAN  KNOW  WHO  YOU  WERE  OR  WHERE  YOU  ONCE  THRIVED  .  (  lilah,  twenty two,  est,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , BAYEZID KUZEY , the BOYEVIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from TRABZON , TURKEY ; perhaps it’s USING THE VOLKI’S NETWORK AND CONNECTIONS TO RECRUIT ANARCHISTS that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to DENIZ CAN AKTAŞ . the THIRTY TWO year old CIS MAN was VALIANT &. BENIGN before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become BANEFUL &. INCENDIARY . rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of THE CROW THAT SCAVENGES ROTTED , RANCID MEAT , DEVOURING WHAT THE WOLF CANNOT STOMACH ; THE DEAFENING CHORUS OF CITY DOGS BARKING AFTER THE SUN IS WANED . ( zemër, 27, eet, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  MISHKA,  the  STABLEHAND is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear that they  are  originally  from  ZVENIGOROD;  perhaps  it’s  REPAYING THEIR UNCLE’S DEBT TO THE VOLKI that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  BEX TAYLOR-KLAUS.  the  TWENTY-ONE year old  NON-BINARY PERSON was  DILEGENT &.  SANGUINE  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  WITHDRAWN &. CREDULOUS.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  DIRT BURIED UNDER THEIR FINGERNAILS, THE CREASES OF THEIR SKIN, AND THE FIBERS OF THEIR CLOTHES | A SMALL BODY HOUSING THE MIGHT OF A MUSTANG’S HEART | AN OLD MILITARY COAT, AWKWARD AND LARGE ON THEIR FRAME, WITH FRAYED HEMS. (  VJ,  27,  est/gmt-5,  he/they.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  FYODOR  GRIGORVICH   RAKOVSKY ,  the  MANAGER  OF  THE  DEN  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  he  is  originally  from  MOSCOW ,  RUSSIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  BEING  A  RETIRED  BOXER  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  DANIEL  HENNEY  .  the  THIRTY  EIGHT  year  old  CIS  MAN  was  FERVENT  &.  PATERNAL  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  DEFENSIVE  &.  EXACTING .  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  A  FIGHTER  THAT  WAS  ONLY  HALF  SKILL ,  AWARE  OF  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  SHOWMANSHIP  (  NO  ONE  PAYS  TO  SEE  A  CLEAN  KNOCK - OUT :  QUICK  LUNGE ,  ONE  PUNCH ,  DROP  ) ;  THE  GHOSTS OF  A  CATALOG OF INJURIES  IN  BONES  THAT  REFUSE  TO  CALM ,  IN  A  LIMP  THAT  MAKES  OTHERS  THINK  THEY  HAVE  ANSWERS ;  IMAGINE  THE  WEIGHT  OF  THE  ONE  THING  YOU  HAVE  BEEN  TAUGHT  TO  DO  BEING  LIFTED  OFF  YOUR  CHEST ,  A  SUDDEN  NEED  TO  RELEARN  HOW  TO  BREATHE  WITHOUT  IT ;  UNOPENED  AND  UNSEEN  LETTERS  SCATTERED  ON  THE  FLOOR ,  STORIES  SENT  HOME  NEVER  HEARD ;  THE  CREEPING  FEELING  THAT  YOUR  MOTHER  LIED  ABOUT  DIVINITY  AND  GRACE .  (  quinn,  twenty two,  est,  she/her.  ) 

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  ELENA  ZORKIN  ,  the  SERVER  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  YEKATERINBURG  ;  perhaps  it’s  HER SEARCH FOR HER BROTHER  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  SAOIRSE RONAN  .  the  TWENTY ONE  year  old  FEMALE  was  GENTLE  &.  SWEET  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  SKITTISH  &.  ANXIOUS.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  A GENTLE SMILE HOLDING BACK TEARS, THE WHISPER OF THE WIND IN THE TREES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, LOOKING FOR WORK IN A NEW VILLAGE EVERY WEEK, THE ECHOES OF SCREAMS IN HAUNTING DREAMS, BACKROADS THAT NEVER SEEM TO END .  (  skye,  21,  pst,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  EVGENIA  KONSTANTINOVNA  ZINOVIEVA  ,  the  SOVIETNIK  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  VIENNA  ,  AUSTRIA  VLADIVOSTOK  ,  RUSSIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  FLEEING  FROM  THE  RUINS  OF  TWO  EMPIRES  THAT  WOULD  GLADLY  SEE  HER  SILENCES  BROKEN  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  NATASHA  LIU  BORDIZZO  .  the  TWENTY  FIVE  year  old  CIS  WOMAN  was  INTELLIGENT  &.  PERSPICACIOUS  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  APATHETIC  &.  WITHDRAWN.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  SLENDER  FINGERS  —  GLIDING  ACROSS‌  THE‌  SURFACE  OF  PRISTINE  PIANO  KEYS,  CLAMPED  OVER‌  THE  HANDLE  OF  A‌  WELL-WORN‌  BAG,  SLIDING  ACROSS‌  A‌  PASSPORT  WITH  ALL  THE‌  WRONG  WORDS  ON  IT  ;  CRIMSON  RED  —  THE‌  COLOUR  THE  STREETS  RUN  IN  YOUR‌  SLEEP,  SHADE  OF  THE  RUBIES  YOUR  MOTHER‌  TUCKED  INTO  THE‌  HIDDEN  DEPTHS  OF‌  YOUR‌  SUITCASE,  HUE  THAT  YOUR  COMPANIONS  DROWN  THEMSELVES  IN  ;  WELL  SPUN  AND  WELL  WORN  LIES  —  THE  ROLE  OF  WHO‌  YOU  ARE‌  TO‌  PLAY  NOW,  EACH  AND  EVERY‌  LAST  CALCULATED  WORD  THAT‌  FALLS  PAST‌  YOUR  LIPS,  THE  PRETENSE  THAT  YOU  ARE‌  ANYTHING  BUT  A‌  CHILD  BUILT  OF‌  THE  RUINS  OF  EMPIRES  .  (  kyoto,  nineteen,  gmt+3,  she / her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓    𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒    𝐎𝐅    𝐖𝐀𝐑    ,    MARIJA    TATYANA    KOVALEVA    ,    the    NURSE    is    seen    traversing    the    streets    of    moscow    ,    but    the    volki    swear    that    she    is    originally    from    YEKATERINBURG    ,    WESTERN    SIBERIA    ;    perhaps    it’s    THE    KOVALEV    FAMILY    PATRIARCH’S    PURSUIT    OF    DYNASTIC    WEALTH    that    brought    them    here    .    fellow    residents    liken    their    resemblance    to    LAURA    HARRIER    .    the    TWENTY    SEVEN    year    old    CIS    FEMALE   was    CONSCIENTIOUS    &.    MAGNANIMOUS    before    the    war’s    ruination    ,    but    in    the    aftermath    have    become    DEPRECATING    &.    PHLEGMATIC    .    rumours    throughout    eastern    europe    have    given    them    a    reputation    of    SUGAR    COATED    WORDS    SPOKEN    WITH    THE    INTENTION    TO    SOOTHE    WHISPERED    TO    DYING    MEN    ,     OR     ,    THE    GIFT    OF    COMPASSION    IS    LEARNED    WITHIN    A    FIELD    HOSPITAL’S    WALLS    ;    GRIEF    HIDDEN    IN    TORN    SEPIA    PHOTOGRAPHS    THAT    SHOW    SNAPSHOTS   OF    WHAT    USED    TO    BE    AND    THE    SUBSEQUENT    ACHE    FOR    WHAT    CAME    BEFORE    ;    BECOMING    OVERWHELMED    BY    THE    CHILDISH    YEARNING    TO    BE    CLASPED    IN    THE    SAFETY    OF    YOUR    MOTHER’S    ARMS    ;    CATEGORISING    YOUR    LIFE    AS    A    SERIES    OF    WHAT    CAME    BEFORE    AND    WHAT    CAME    AFTERS    ;    LIPS    PURSUED    IN    STEELY    DETERMINATION    AS    YOU    SKILFULLY    SEW    PEOPLE    BACK    TOGETHER    .    (    lucy    ,    23    ,    gmt    ,    she    /    her    .    )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  SORIN  LAZARESCU  ,  the  BRIGADIER  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of      moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  he  is  originally  from  BUCHAREST, ROMANIA  ;  perhaps  it’s  IN SEARCH OF HIS ANONYMOUS PENPAL that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of   the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  BILL SKARSGARD  .  the  THIRTY  TWO  year  old  MALE  was  DISCIPLINED  &.  PRAGMATIC  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  NIHILISTIC  &.  DECEPTIVE.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have   given  them  a  reputation  of  THE CRACKING OF THE RADIO RINGING LOUDER THAN STIFLED CRIES ; CURLS OF SMOKE DANCING ALONG PALE LIMBS AS THE CENSER DANCES ITS LONELY PERFORMANCE WITH EACH STEP TAKEN ; HOLDING DELICATE PAPER WITH TWO FINGERS IN ORDER TO INHALE EACH WORD AND TASTE THE WORLD THEY ESCAPED FROM ; HANDS RAISED HIGH AFTER WHAT ALMOST WAS HIS VERY LAST KISS FROM THE CROSS DRAPED SAFELY AGAINST HIS PLENDER GAP ; THE STIFFENING OF LIMBS AS HE ENTERS A ROOM, READY TO EAT THE FEARFUL .  (  j ,  twenty six,  cst,  she/her.  )

𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  MARGARITA MAKSIMOVA ,  the  OPERA SINGER is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  volki  swear  that   she  is   originally  from  PETROGRAD  ;  perhaps  it’s  SEEKING A SECOND CHANCE  that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  residents  liken  their  resemblance  to  ZHENYA  KATAVA  .  the  TWENTY-FIVE  year  old  CIS WOMAN  was  CHARMING  &.  GENUINE  before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  COLD  &.  DISTANT.  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  HAVING THE SOFTNESS OF A DOVE, LIPS WARM AS A SHOT OF VODKA,  A WISTFUL SONG PLAYING FROM ANOTHER ROOM .  (  sylv,  21,  gmt+1,  she/her.  )