#but now with a body that looks like ashen wood

[cherubchoirs]

Lucifer, at his Fall

Having been consumed by his own flames of adoration, Lucifer has been left a hollowed husk of ash and cinder. Until the end he maintained to his angels that God would rejoice in their rebellion against Hell, that this test was meant to purify them in fire to come out as flawless gold in the strength of their convictions. Only once he plummeted from Heaven, agonizingly devoured by his own fire, did he realize how deeply, irrevocably wrong he had been. He never believed God could hate, and now he was the subject of his unmitigated wrath with the angels he had dragged down with him. Here, in a last plea for mercy, he reaches out not to God in his perfect hatred, but to his fellow angels, that they might deliver him from such evil. Soon after, however, he would be cast down to Hell with all his followers, with only Michael coming to bind him.

[death---dealer]

Cleopatra. ( Caesar x Pregnant! Human Reader, Drabble Series. POTA )

I should not listen to myself i said 5 drabbles well well here we are with like 6 and close to 7K words and most of them are smaller oneshots AH. Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated. I am working on a similiar piece for NOAAAAA!!!!

Beginnings. ( Drabble 1. )

You felt like you couldn’t breathe - the air was sticking onto your lungs, coating them in ashen dust that was laying on the ground of the woods. You needed to move --- Okay, maybe not, grunting that inside of your mind as you attempted to shift your head just a bit to get a bearing onto your surroundings proved futile as red hit your eyes and your neck convulsed under the usual movement. Pain radiated from the back of your head, down to the base of your neck and stagnantly danced on the nerves piled there. Even shifting to press your hand against your stomach was an endeavor and even then, the blood that was on the palm of your hand… You squinted at it, fear setting in as the last drop of whatever adrenaline you had faded into obscurity.

 Was… Was that your blood? Trying to swallow was impossible, planting your face down into the mud and letting out a strangled cry as you attempted to move once again, your teeth gritting against each other but in the scape of the situation, that felt heavenly as compared to the tattering that was running through your muscles. Saliva began mixing into the already impure snow under your body having been mixed previously with mud. One foot, you tried to convince yourself. You just needed one… On… One… Looking down at your right foot as you managed to get yourself kneeling, accomplishment was short-lived as your ears rang, your center of gravity disappearing as did your vision. Falling back, your body was hard to hit the ground. 

In a fitted haze of unconsciousness, you could have sworn you were… Swooped up in one foul move by a set of arms that were much hairier than a humans. Warm, you had thought to yourself, but that could be swelling in your brain telling you that death was on the horizon. Death… Sounded nice versus the incredible tremors of your body, throwing into a it of hypothermia, a cusp of bruises and cut-marks aligning against your already frigid skin to the point where it felt you were going to shatter into shards if you were moved too quickly, to feverishly. How selfishly you wanted to open the door where the knock was coming from. But you had more to think about than just yourself now. 

Flinching at the pain of your abdomen, a pair of hands were astute enough to deduce your intensely fragile situation. 

What… is happening?

Voice of God, it had to be. It trembled in a deep setting baritone, hard and unforgiving. Yes, you wanted to cry, I am with Child but I… Can’t find it in myself… to live…

Found in woods! Nearby Human Camp--- This voice was light and airy but you were unable to process the words that came after that, your mind bending into a haze as you tried to get yourself into a state of lucidity so you could actually focus.  Brought back to Colony when saw she was still alive.

Colony? You wanted to tilt your head but in your jilted state, you were unable to move.

With Child. Not far along, but both will survive if we keep her here and heal.

This voice was a bit more soft spoken, gentle and caressing like the hands that were now placed on your head, your eyes refusing even the most basic of knowledge from your brain to get them open. It smelt like conifer, the highest tree possible, a bird sitting atop and watching the inklings of the ground below its mighty perch. Heaven? There was a lax in the air of contemplation before the baritone voice from earlier spoke. 

She will stay, do what you can to heal. 

And with that command and your mind taking itself to the darkness, even in the state of your eyelids being shut, everything went black. 

Empathetic Ape. ( Drabble 2. )

It did not take long after you finally willed yourself out of your semi-coma to realize that you… Had been taken prisoner by a Colony of Apes. In your mind, you drew the conclusion from the snippets of the conversation you got when you were first brought here in your altered state of reality that… They had found you. Half-alive and brought you back to the Colony at the bid of their King. This… Your eyes narrowed a small bit as you looked over the giant and sweeping bonfire that was built in the middle of this communal space. This Caesar. 

There was irony in the name itself, and you just had to wonder if he knew that. You had woken up nearly a month ago, fading in and out, but able to keep yourself stable enough to process that… They were being kind in healing you. They knew, you drew your arms closer to your stomach as you tightened the animal pelt around your shoulders and gave Caesar a wide stare as he looked over at you, your actions must have torn him from his conversation with the others around him. They knew you were pregnant. They must have thought they were sparing you, not telling you the detailed nature of the camp when they had found you. The--- You choked a small cry, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. The bodies. Your friends. Your family. Your--- Squeezing your eyelids shut, you couldn’t bear to think about it any longer and forced a swallow down before looking at the fire rather blandly. “Do not know… much,” That voice! You jumped on your spot, clutching the pelt even harder and causing your knuckles to go white. Your eyes scaled from the jumping flames, up the hackles of an Apes legs and rested uncomfortably in a sea of green, ablaze from the depths of the fire itself. You swallowed lightly, watching him move in petulant silence as he sat next to you, bowl in his hand. Caesar. Caesar. Your mind was wailing like an old police car.

“About human… Pregnancy.” No shit, you wanted to retort sarcastically but you held your tongue as he held out the bowl in his hand. Fruit. And… You squinted. Roasted fish? Your stomach churned at the prospect of having something other than a slurry of ground up food, something the Apes that were aiding you to heal often fed you as a means to get the food down as fast as possible. Faster, no chance of morning sickness, right? Wrong. You found yourself kneeling over and getting sick more times than you could count. “Might be similar to Ape, but do not know.” In between his choppy English, you grasped the plate carefully with one hand and brought it into your chest with the smallest ‘thank you’. It wasn’t as if the Female Apes that were healing you were awful, they weren’t cordial though. It felt they only did what they needed to to appease the Ape next to you. Strong, mighty and all encompassing Caesar. “I am…” You had begun eating, chewing mildly so as to not disturb the tone of Caesar’s voice. Waving right around the edges, or it could have been your imagination in the front of the roar of a fire, “Sorry…” Furrowing your eyebrows at that, you picked the fish with your pointer finger, suddenly not at all invested in eating as bile switched in your throat. “Lost my mate,” He continued on, your eyes dead-set and widening as you realized he was… displaying empathy. Your mind fogged for a moment. They were capable of that? “Only recently,” Gesturing to the perch you had found yourself watching him on earlier in the evening, he was making direction towards the broader chest of one of the Females that took care of you here. Squinting, you gasped quietly. They were so small, so ingrained in the fur that it was hard to tell there was a baby there, until their tiny head turned to the side and much to your surprise, you were met with a mild azure rather than the scrutiny of green you were so used to. “Blue Eyes, my Son. Mother lost after… Birth.” Not meaning to seem rude, your tried to keep your mouth from falling open dramatically, but it did partially split. “Complications from childbirth?” Surprised at the gentle nature of your voice, you felt a tear slide down your right cheek and you were quick to brush it away. Like it mattered, once one started, there was a flood soon to come. He only nodded, silent and a bit less intimidating than the times you had seen him, times you had interacted before this. “I---” you choked a bit, looking down at the bowl in your hands that Caesar was gracious enough to bless you with, “Don’t know wh-what happened to my husband… Was…” Narrowing your eyes in slight suspicion, you glanced over at him briefly when your voice tapered into nothingness but you forced yourself to speak the next question with no animosity. You needed to know the answer. “Was it Apes?” He’d know the answer, you bargained. Being a King and all. That’s what it was to be a Leader. You knew the good, and you knew the bad. And even worse than all of that, you knew the carnage. “No.” He was assured in that answer as his gaze met yours once again, this time, instead of finding yourself looking away, you drifted towards it, towards some comfort that someone else… Knew about the absolute torn away nature of your heart and how it was so empty now.

“Humans.” There was a twinge of assurance in his voice as he rose, gesturing to the bowl he had given you. “Keep strength up. Not just for yourself, but for…” His eyes flickered down to your stomach, minute in nature but he may as well have been gawking at you. “Child.”

Baby Blue. ( Drabble 3. )

A few months passed and you found yourself easing into the Colony, despite the disgruntled comments you got from a certain Bonobo who shall not be named. That was your nickname for him, and that’s how it remained as Winter fell off and Spring blossomed, the wildflowers bustled through the ground, through the snow that was still encapsulating its livelihood. All of it was going to be gone by the end of the day, you thought mildly as you looked at the Sun.

Taking a bid from Caesar himself, you were basking in the rays, sitting atop a rather comfortable tree trunk that had been rolled onto its side as a means to be sat on. He had convinced you to leave your hut earlier in the day, telling you that Sun was good for Ape pregnancy, it must be good for Humans. There was no intense argument to be made as you gave him a delicate smile, nodding in agreement and finding yourself drenched deliciously in mild-warmth, your scattered and torn paperback book sitting in your lap. 

Looking down at it… You felt a deep yearning and pressing sensation hit your chest. You were showing. Not much, you were sure that the other Apes had yet to notice any change with you, not that you could blame them. As you got adapted to living with them, you became just another part of Colony life and they paid you no heed. Unless you were late for meals. Then Luca was on you ( something you thought that Caesar was responsible for, but it turns out the Silverback was genuinely concerned for you at times ).

 In your time here, he had become your closest ally, even going as far as to call him a friend. He made gentle comments, telling you how glowing you looked today, something he must have heard through the grapevine that humans said about pregnancy, he told you how wonderful it was that your baby was developing, and that you were beginning to actually show. He had explained that with Apes, they all grew small. Small to the point where it was undetectable. You envied that, placing a soft hand against your bump and sighed deeply. Soon, no Ape here would be able to walk past you without gawking, without it looking like you had stolen a ripe melon and decided to shove it under your shirt. 

There was chittering to your side, your head wiping over to investigate. Not too quickly though, even though time had passed, your neck still felt sore if you went to fast in your movements. Blue Eyes, much like yourself, was growing. The phase of always clinging to a Female, or even better, your guilty pleasure when you wanted to see something abnormally cute, clinging to Caesar’s chest, were coming to a close and he was becoming more curious of the world around him, much like yourself.

Chuckling at the fact that you were drawing comparisons to a baby Chimp, you grunted and picked him up as he so often liked to held by you when you would read pages from your book. He had to learn speech, right? And who better to learn from than from a Human who had impeccable --- Well, you tilted your head and smiled at the baby as he crawled himself up your arm, around your shoulder and then back down the other arm, decent skills in English. 

He paused at the same time that you did, a fluttering capturing your abdomen. Was that… It happened again, this time more fervently, your mouth falling into an ‘O’ shape, and any Ape who saw you at this moment were probably assuming that you were laughing. “Did… did you feel that?” You bent your head down and gawked at Blue Eyes, who gave you a small tilt of the head as he placed his dainty hand right upon the top of your bump. Right where you had felt the sensation. The butterflies - The - The… Your baby. 

“You felt that.” Confirming that, Blue Eyes hooted in your lap as a response. You had no idea what he was saying as tears hit the back of your eyes as your face contorted. You began openly sobbing, not a care in the world if anyone saw you. 

Caesar was perched in his normal spot, having just dismissed the council. Koba lingered as he usually did, giving comments about you, about you being with child and how dangerous of a game it really was. But, the King was in no mood to listen to that and told Koba that he would need time to think about his words and they could discuss at a later time.

Blue Eyes-- He had jumped off Caesar’s shoulder mid-meeting. Probably scavenging somewhere for some berries, most likely pestering you though as that slowly became the small Prince’s favorite pastime. Not that Caesar was one to complain. It came with benefits. You were good with Blue Eyes, you were gentle and kind and it gave Caesar actual time with his own thoughts without having to dally on his child. 

He peered down the rock ledge. Spotting you was easy, your scent often gave away your where-abouts to Caesar. Green eyes hit the back of your head first, admiring the tousel of your hair on this particular day and how it appeared naturally highlighted in the sunshine.

You had been reading, Caesar’s suspicions confirmed. Blue Eyes was with you and was most likely getting a mouth full from whatever you were reading to him. Then the shaking of your shoulders. Caesar’s eyes narrowed upon seeing his Son’s small hand on your stomach. He wasn’t… No, no, Blue Eyes wasn’t hurting you, the gentle touch he had was too soft to inflict damage of any sort. Watching in contemplation of whether he wanted to go down there and see what was happening, he saw your hand come up as you lightly placed it on Blue Eyes’, holding it against the shelf of your stomach that was becoming more pronounced. Caesar stopped himself from moving and just… Surveyed. He could hear your mild words fluttering through the air like dandelion seeds. “I think it’s a boy.” Chittering from Blue Eyes. “A girl? Are you sure?”

Camp. ( Drabble 4. )

Caesar had told you that on their most recent delectation of Hunting, on top of snagging a few Elk for the Colony, they had fallen upon what appeared to be a deserted human settlement. He estimated it had been abandoned for only a year, maybe less. Some of the things were coated finely in dust from the woods, no implications that it had been there since the beginning of the Flu and it was in remarkable condition.

He didn't dig into it though, unsure of what items you were in more need of than others and had chosen to come back home and tell you of it. You were prompt to accept the offer to go with him two days from when he told you, now in the present you were teetering yourself to keep balance on the uneven floor of the woods, opting to walk when you were concerned of riding a horse while pregnant. He told you it wasn’t much farther, having left shortly after dawn and stopping a few times as you severely needed to relieve yourself behind a tree, having to tell the Ape King himself not to watch you as he was pretty concerned you could be attacked while out of his sight. Ideas flurried in your mind as you drew closer, Caesar having just stopped to take in the surroundings.

He banked right, and you were quick to follow. You thought about what pieces of clothing you had. Things were beginning to not fit, you were rounding out and getting plump. Your favorite cargo pants were hanging on by a literal hair-tie that you had been using to keep them shut by the front button, your favorite shirt… Well, the Apes, you joked in your head, must have been tired of seeing the bottom of your stomach always innately displayed. 

Some larger shirts would do the trick, nothing needed to be Maternity in a world where that was considered a privilege and luxury. To put things plainly, as you had told the Ape King, who was kind enough now to give you a helping hand right down a small embankment, his other hand coming to ghost right under your bump to keep your center of gravity, leaving you with a wild tinted blush against your cheek when you scuffled against him, chest to bump for a few seconds, beggars could not be choosers. 

Pulling away from Caesar’s grasp was never an easy thing. You wanted nothing more than to sink into him, sink into the tender moments where he had you alone, and vice versa. The late nights of restlessness you found yourself in at times, thinking of your lost family, your husband, the conversations in front of the dying fire where he had finally laid bare his feelings and emotions about the loss of his wife.

Spotting glances through the day, Caesar laid his hands on you only when he was easing to help you. He had taken note that while Cornelia was small, and Chimpanzees were known to carry small, you were quite a delicious spectacle to his eyes in all the best ways and he considered your attention something he actively sought now, though, he was unsure if he was willing to ease himself into admitting that. 

Rounding a large Red Wood, your eyes were witnessed to the camp. If you felt like running, you would surely do that but the fear of falling flat on your face stopped you as you tore away from Caesar and trekked ahead of him, only giving him a glance over your shoulder as if you were asking if it was okay to go in front of him. He did not nod, but he didn't object as you gave him a smile and quickened your pace, hand on the underside of your growing baby to keep yourself steady enough as you sauntered.

The outside was remarkably sparse, nothing to really indicate that Humans had been there, other than a firepit and a few strewn bags like they packed and left in a hurry. But, once you were able to really get your teeth sunk into the abandoned building, from the set up of an old restaurant of sorts, you were able to get a taste of things you had missed. You felt like crying as you came upon a table with a few pieces of clothing on it. Upon further inspection, they were Men’s, XL. Without hesitation, they were placed into the bag that Caesar had provided for the occasion. Three shirts, one red, one black and one white. Basic, but you were bursting at the seams. All you needed were some pants! Maybe some undergarments if there were any. It felt like you were in a retail store! So exciting---

Feet coming to a slow pause they eventually stopped moving and billow of dust remained underfoot. Your eyes wanted to blink, but you were unable to stop. Caesar must have seen you, having rounded you and obscured your vision from what you were focused on in a darkened corner. He didn't touch you, he wasn’t sure if that was allowed as tears slid down your cheeks.

One at a time before they came down in a torrential rain. You pushed past him as if he weren’t even there and trailed forward, dropping to your knees without reserve as you grasped the small teddy bear into your hands. There was a name embroidered upon it. Fingers touched the thread, pink in color. Cedar. 

Caesar drew near you carefully, the sob you let out was nothing short of shocking and he felt the hackles of his fur standing on edge as if someone were there intentionally hurting you. 

“A… baby…” You whimpered to him, holding up the bear for him to take. He saw nothing special about it as he grasped it with one hand and you shuffled on your hands and knees, baring the pain it was causing you against the tile flooring and came upon a few tangled up pieces of clothing. Small. So… So very small… “Th-They had a baby…” Crying out again, you grasped the clothing and held it in your hands before falling back onto your butt, “Do-do you think they-they’re still alive?” Caesar had no words, his eyes widened at the turmoil you were suddenly thrusted in. No explanation, perhaps those… Pregnancy hormones you had joked about from time to time, Caesar thought and narrowed his eyes on you. He didn't… know how to comfort you. You were crumbling down right in front of him.

He knew you were going to need help getting off the ground though, and he was careful to crouch next to you. Plucking the baby clothing out of your hand, he placed them lightly onto the floor, your eyes squeezing shut and without a word, you collapsed right against. Caesar was fast to react, grunting a small bit as he moved himself, and then you enough to get your body to sit in his actual arms rather than against him.

“B-B-B-...” You stuttered, the Ape hoisting you upwards to get you out of the dusty nature of the floor, you clung onto him tightly. “Do-Do you think they…” Caesar surged a bit at your implied questions, grasping you that much tighter. The side of your bump conformed against his broad chest. “I--- I am sure they got out. That they are fine.” He did not feel comfortable bluntly lying about something that he had no basis for, but as the tears fell from your eyes, as you grasped his forearm tightly, your fingers digging to the point where you were touching his skin and no longer his fur, Caesar didn't care. He’d lie his tongue off just to get you to a sense of comfort. 

Bumping Foreheads. ( Drabble 5. )

The water surging against your back felt incredible. Pressing your hands to the small of your back, right above your tailbone you grunted gently and eased back into the chill of the small waterfall you had been blessed to enjoy in the spotting Summer evenings. It was still early in the season, but it was beckoning you more and more to enjoy. You knew that Caesar was in the area - probably only meters away, and paying his eyes attention elsewhere as to not see you naked, but his hearing and his scent were always on the prowl. Three times a week he’d bring you to the secluded waterfall, letting you bathe and release the tension he knew that your body was going through. 

You were large - to the point where you had accidentally bumped into a bowl of blueberries this morning and it went tumbling down the rock face. Before you managed to cry though, Blue Eyes began eating them right off the ground and Caesar even blessed you with a mild joke of ‘they… are not completely… ruined’. That did make you feel better as you sniffled and nodded in agreement. All things were cleared away when you took in the water, letting the chill seep into your pores as you tilted your head backwards to let it drain against your face. Feeling the kick on the side of your stomach, you winced at the severity of it against your ribs as your baby had turned to start playing against the bones there to let you know they were content with the water too. Maybe a bit cold for their tastes, but they were snuggly inside of your stomach, wrapped in eternal warmth until you were ready. Until they were ready, you thought, laughing and pressing your fingers against the side of your abdomen. They reacted right away to your touch, something like a hand or foot pushing back and you took in the sight of your stomach stretching with their movements. 

You had no care in the world anymore. Hell, you thought to yourself in your bliss of the moment, you’d let Caesar see you bare in all your glory. It was the most comfortable. Clothes were restricting, especially in the heat that started to stick around in the early afternoons into the evenings. You thought about that again… You’d… Let Caesar see you either way. The vague notion left you more than amused. He must have thought it pretty grotesque what your body was doing to itself in a bid to grow another Human. 

The stretching of your skin, the wild-card emotions that you became comfortable letting loose around him, your breasts were unfortunately too big for any of your undergarments and you were unable to find one that was accommodating and you ended up going the last few weeks without one. You could have sworn you’d seen him staring at them, but that could have just been in your mind as ravishing ideas ran through you and rested rather uncomfortably between your legs when Caesar stared at you a bit too long. How you tried to push aside the feeling.

The pestering in the back of your head. Maybe, just the hormones, you tried to convince yourself over and over. You were pregnant, you were alone… It made sense, right? To… Want to be… satisfied? Your thoughts came to a slow stop as you looked down at yourself. Unable to see your feet, you still wiggled your toes like you were able to and sighed deeply. He probably found you unattractive beyond belief. 

“Are you… done?” Caesar asked, not shouting but loud enough for you to hear over the waterfall itself. He was close, as you had suspected, his deep baritone coming from the right of you. “Nearly sundown.”

“Yes. Can you toss my blanket on the shore for me to grab?” You asked, waddling yourself out of the water's way and into the open space of the small river that the water trickled into, grasping your hair and wringing it out. That was the rule. He’d throw your blanket on the ground, you’d wrap yourself up in it so he couldn’t see you naked, and you’d dry yourself, re-cloth your body and head back to the Colony, less than a click to the west. 

With your arms still in your hair and your eyes shut as you enjoyed the last feelings of water against you, you could hear Caesar moving. Figuring that the blanket had been placed previously, you thought nothing of it and thought that he was just moving out of the way again as to not see you bare. Releasing your hair with a small groan, you opened your eyes and looked at the shore. Green.

Green eyes.

Green eyes staring at you.

Green eyes staring at you while you were naked.

Caesar didn't move. It appeared he was completely frozen, blanket still in his hands and you were flashing him without reserve. If you were able to move quickly, you were sure you would but you found it difficult to do as you wadded through the water with a fast paced waddle. At least, it was fast for you, it probably looked pretty comical to the Ape. Caesar was still frozen, his eyes had drifted downwards towards your chest to linger for a moment before they finally rested right on your bump. Protruding… And not appealing, you groaned internally and clutched the blanket right out of his hand and untangled it. 

“Caesar.”

Nothing, he was still looking at your bump as you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. “Caes--” Your hands were grasped. Actually, it was more or less your wrists and with one swoop, the blanket was pooling at your feet and you brought your knees together for a moment when he caught eyes with you before they trailed right back down your body. Supple breasts, he noted, nice, nice bump, he had only really seen a pregnant human this close to him through the screen of a TV back when he was with Will.

The rounding, dipping between your legs--- Caesar stopped himself at that and trailed his gaze back upwards to rest right on the top of your bump, looking down at it.  Being self-conscious finally hit you as you tried to hide yourself away from the judgment he was placing down on you, but Caesar just… Admired. You supposed that was the right word, you had no premonition as to what he was thinking or what he was do---

Without even asking, his hand was placed on you. Not just on you, but on the bump that encased your baby. Right on the underside of it, he drew his hand in as far in as it would go. Shuddering at the chilly nature of his already leathery skin, your eyes widened, mouth ajar as your breathing had picked up.

With your mind racing, you were frantic to look into his eyes to get any idea of what he was thinking, even if it meant you needed to tear his head open just to get a glimpse. Your bottom lip quivered at the feeling, a direct response your body was giving to the fact that you were being touched. No, no… Your knees went weak for a second, but Caesar grasped you with his free hand under your elbow to keep you steady, refusing to relent control on your stomach. You were being caressed. 

“I-I’m probably fatter than the Apes get.” You tried to get him to look at you, you tried to get him to say something other than standing defenseless. “I---” Gasping quietly, Caesar moved his hand from the undercarriage to the top where he brushed the pads of his fingers in the most feather-like way he was able to muster. It tickled, but you bit your tongue in a bid to see what he was doing. You knew, oh how you knew now, he wasn’t going to hurt you. 

“Have never seen…” He started.

“Yeah, well, we get fat.” You joked again, jolting your shoulders forward for you to cup your arms on top of your bump and shield yourself from his eyes. Before you even had a chance to do that though, Caesar's free hand that had previously been cupping your elbow moved. You had no time to react as he cupped the back of your head and brought it towards his own. Breathless, not due to the baby for once, you swallowed hard, shutting your eyes and let it happen. Caesar’s forehead lightly kissed your own.

Lightly at first, but as he tangled his thick fingers into your hair, he pulled your neck towards his own with a bit more fever, his own eyes squeezing shut at the silent admittance. The hand that was tracing your bump remained, but now was placed on the side. His entire hand spread, finger to finger, across the entire scape of your skin and you sunk into it with a small moan of satisfaction. This… you thought, letting your eyes flutter open for just one moment so you could see him this close to you. This was where you belonged.

Birth. ( Drabble 6. )

The intensity of your screams were not for the faint of heart, and you figured that was the case and shared sentiment of the Female Ape midwives that flanked your entire body, one working diligently between your legs to gauge your dilation. Caesar had known it to be hard for Humans, their babies were much larger than Ape babies and required a lot more pushing and vigor to actually induce birth. Hours, he thought to himself, his eyes tired and red around the edges, his hand, as tough as it had been for years, was nothing more than a swelled appendage from your hand grasping at it so tightly, fingernails digging into the calloused skin when another contraction set in your vision and racked your entire body of all senses. 

You were beyond sweating, you felt like you were swimming as Caesar brought his free hand up to wipe some of your wet hair away from your face. His skin felt cold against you, and for that, you leaned your head into the small wave of affection from him before another shot of pain dripped through you relentlessly. 

“I can’t do this!” You cried, your knees shaking as the midwife looked at Caesar who only nodded with a hard swallow. They were telling him in silence that you were ready. 

“You can.” He assured, but that felt fruitless as you hunched forward, bump contouring all sorts of ways in a very unnatural way that made even Caesar uncomfortable but he was steady fast and refused to leave your side. He knew this, he had been through this with Cornelia… He tried to not linger on that for too long. 

Things would be different, he tried to keep optimism alive as the midwife told you verbally that it was time to push. The extrusion on your face caused the Ape King to shut his eyes for a moment as you grunted out, attempting to push the baby from your body to greet the world. Yes… He laxed himself and reached around your entire head to hold onto you as you screamed to the highest heavens, things were going to be different. You… You could do this. You were going to preserver and you would have a new addition to the family that Caesar had already provided for you. He knew he couldn’t cry, not in front of the others, but how he just wanted to take all your pain away. It was hard not to go feral, the simple smell of your blood and sweat were eradicating his entire nose. He didn't dare look down and kept his green gaze focused on the side of your face as he was propped next to you, laying in the nest. “Ohhhh my god!” You jolted with another push, breathing rapidly and it felt like your entire chest was suddenly on fire after being cold for so long. Plunged into an ice bath and then sent to the depths of a volcano. “Caesar!” One more. The midwife signed at Caesar one handed, the other properly braced between your legs. 

“You need to give one more,” Caesar said and brought his hand through your hair once more. Swallowing, you felt a shudder run down your spine at the prospect of having to give it more despite giving it your all already. You were being torn in half, someone grasping both legs and pulling with all their might and they wanted you to give more. Strangling a cry out, Caesar brought his forehead down and planted it directly onto yours. “One more…”

As if a robot shocked back to life, Caesar still holding onto your head and moving forward as you braced yourself, you gave it one more as commanded. The sheer terror of your scream faded into the wails of a baby… A… baby… Your mind fogged. Concern swept over the Ape as he grasped the side of your face. “A girl,” He told you, breathing against your cheek and right into your ear, “A girl.” 

Repeating that seemed to bring you right back from the trenches as tears flooded down your face, mixing deliciously with the sweat that had fallen from your forehead. Even now, you felt you were unable to breathe as you tried to smile - It was a forced grin of sorts, Caesar could tell that you were still in pain, but the crying of the baby… Caesar finally allowed himself to look down as the midwife was fast to adjust them properly in their arms before drifting upwards carefully to place them against your bare chest.

They were smeared with blood but… His eyes admired their small features. Carbon copies almost of your own when you were scrunched up for sleep. You have done it. You… Grew this… You made this Human and you preserved through the endeavors of birth. You began crying alongside your baby, hands reaching up and grasping at them lightly to keep them close to your chest. 

“Girl.” You finally managed to say something, your throat dry and incredibly hoarse. “Girl?” Asking that to your mate, he nodded and brought a hand up to rest against the child's small head.

“Girl.” Caesar confirmed.

Bonus ending:

Blue Eyes… Was incredibly cautious upon hearing the wailing of a human baby to the point where he grasped at Caesar’s chest with his small frame with all his might, his gaze intent on staring down whatever was causing the noise. With a small hush, you got them to quiet down against you, now lightly wrapped in a blanket you had for this very moment. 

‘New sister.’ Caesar signed for the Prince, looking at the now newly adorned princess with a soft gaze. ‘Say hello.’ He was still hesitant, but at the urging of Caesar himself as he placed Blue Eyes on the nest by your feet, you both watched in anticipation as the small Chimp moved his way up your body, making eye contact with you in a flurry of affection and happiness that you were still here. It had been an entire day where you and Caesar were gone and he was left to hang with the other Young Apes with Maurice, and he hadn’t the slightest clue where you were until now. Until… He crawled onto your shoulder as he so often did, your eyes shutting for a moment as he played along your hair before his gaze fell to the bundle in your arms. 

It was your turn to speak, “Blue,” He looked at you, suddenly frantic at the sound of your voice like he had forgotten, “This is your baby sister… Cedar.”

Bonus Ending ( 2 ):

Three Months Later.

Caesar, in his wildest dreams, never imagined he’d be holding a human baby, let alone the one of his mate. His tender gaze rested on you as you were laying in the nest, wrapped tightly in for a nap with Blue Eyes resting beside you, as he had offered to care for the baby that afternoon when you complained of being adversely tired. He did worry upon his offering that it would be difficult to care for them alone, but he didn't realize just how much they actually slept and Cedar seemed really intent on doing that in the warmth of her Father’s arm. 

He drew his gaze down to look at her. 

So small, and so gentle… Every day, Caesar thought to himself, she looked more like you. So beautiful.

Was she… Caesar’s brows furrowed for a moment at the curling of the baby’s mouth. She was… Smiling. Right up at him. Familiar, her head tilted towards Caesar’s chest minutely but the movement was there for him as he swallowed hard at the sight. 

She smiled at him.

Bonus Ending ( 3 ):

Five Years Later.

“Cedar, you need to get down from that tree right now!” You yelled, looking at the Chimp sitting next to the human, high up off the ground. Well, not that high up. Maybe two or three meters at the most but the idea of a fall was not for the faint of heart as the two young laughed. 

‘We climb higher,’ Blue Eyes signed to his sister. ‘That way mom cannot find us.’

There wasn’t any contemplation. Cedar nodded in agreement, grabbing the bark and began her ascent. 

“CAESAR!!! OUR SON BROUGHT OUR DAUGHTER INTO A TREE AND I CAN’T GET THEM DOWN! I SWEAR THEY GET THIS UNRULY BEHAVIOR FROM YOUR SIDE OF THE FAMILY!”

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.5

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: After years of brutal torture by Francis, Y/N finally escaped, fighting her way out of the lab and fleeing into the dense woods. Each step was a struggle, but she knew she couldn't stop. With the guards on her heels, she disappeared into the shadows, determined to reclaim her life.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x (fem!)Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3640

The slums were from now on her home. Y/n had escaped from the clutches of the facility, but the scars of her past- both mental and physical- were still engraved deeply in her body. The nights were the hardest, when the world around her was quiet and the memories screamed the loudest. She lived in a cramped, old apartment, the flickering neon lights outside her window casting shadows on the walls.

It had been weeks since her escape, weeks of hiding and laying low, blending into the filthiness of the city. Here, she was just another face in the crowd, another soul struggling to survive. But she was different. She could feel the darkness within her, the uncontrollable power that surged through her veins. She had to find a way to control it, to suppress it before it consumed her.

Y/n spent her days looking for information, piecing together bits of knowledge about mutants, about powers like hers. She searched through the back alleys and seedy bars, listening to rumors and whispered conversations. Slowly, she began to understand the nature of her abilities, the twisted gift that had been forced upon her. But understanding was not enough. She needed control.

One night, in a ed bar that reeked of sweat and stale beer, Y/n finally found a lead. She had been sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, when she overheard a conversation between two men at the next table. They spoke in low tones, their words slurred from alcohol, but Y/n's ears caught every word.

"Essex House... that place was a nightmare," one of the men muttered, his face half-hidden in the shadows. "They did some real messed up shit there."

The other man, a burly figure with a ashen beard, nodded grimly. "I heard they had a way to control mutants. Some kind of device."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer, pretending to adjust her coat as she listened.

"Yeah, I know a guy who used to work there," the bearded man continued. "Big guy, real quiet. He hangs around here sometimes."

Y/n did not waste any time. She slid over to their table, her movements smooth. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice low and steady.

The men exchanged a glance, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" the bearded man said, gesturing to the empty seat.

Y/n sat down, fixing them with a piercing gaze. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned Essex House. I'm looking for someone who worked there. A guard, maybe?"

The first man, looked her up and down suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Let's just say I'm looking for answers," Y/n replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate it."

The bearded man scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know his name, but he's usually around here. I'd be careful, though. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Point him out," Y/n she said, her eyes scanning the bar.

The bearded man nodded toward the far corner, where a large figure sat hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. "That's him."

Y/n followed his gaze and saw the man- a huge, muscled frame with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of violence. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders hunched over as he downed another shot of whiskey. There was a darkness about him, an aura of danger that warned others to keep their distance.

Y/n thanked the men and made her way toward the bar, her eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. She did not approach him directly, instead choosing to observe him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. 

The man continued to drink heavily, oblivious to the world around him. It was not long before he started to show signs of drunkenness- his movements sloppy, his head nodding as if fighting off sleep.

Now. This was her chance.

Y/n moved swiftly, her steps silent on the worn wooden floor. She slipped behind the man, her hand reaching into her coat to retrieve a small vial of chloroform and a cloth. In one fluid motion, she pressed the cloth over the man's face, her other arm locking around his throat.

The man struggled, his instincts kicking in despite his drunken state, but Y/n was quick and precise. Within seconds, his body went limp, his heavy frame slumping against the bar.

She wasted no time. With the strength born from desperation, Y/n dragged the unconscious man out of the bar, navigating through the back alleys until she reached her hideout.

The basement of an abandoned building, it was cold and damp, the walls lined with old newspapers and broken furniture. She had set up a small, makeshift interrogation room- just a chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Y/n tied the man to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with thick rope. She stood back, her heart pounding as she waited for him to wake up. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her hands shaking slightly as she paced the room.

Finally, the man moved slightly, his dazed eyes blinking against the harsh light. He groaned, tugging at the ropes before realizing he was restrained. Panic flickered across his face as he looked around, his gaze settling on Y/n, who stood before him with a cold, determined expression.

"What the hell—?" he began, his voice stammered from the lingering effects of the chloroform.

"Shut up," Y/n snapped, stepping closer. "I'm the one asking questions. You're going to answer them."

The man's eyes narrowed, anger replacing his initial fear. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

"Oh, I think I do," Y/n replied, her voice icy. "You used to work at Essex House. You were a guard there."

The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Y/n's patience was wearing thin. She had spent too long hiding, too long searching for answers, to be stonewalled by this brute. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her voice low and menacing.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I know what they did in that place. The experiments, the torture. I know about the children. If you think I'm bluffing, you're sorely mistaken."

The man's boldness stopped for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sneering at her. "You don't know shit."

Her hand moved faster than he could react, striking him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I said, don't lie to me!" Y/n shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "I know what kind of monster you are. I know what you did to those kids. Now tell me about the device that suppresses mutant powers."

The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at her aggressively. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Y/n's fist connected with his jaw again, this time with more force. The man groaned, his head lolling forward as he struggled to stay conscious.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The things I've seen, the pain I've endured. If you think for one second that I won't make you suffer, you're dead wrong. Now, talk."

The man's resolve began to crumble under the weight of her words, the fear returning to his eyes. He took a heavy breath, finally giving in.

"There's a wristband," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was designed to suppress mutant powers. But that place... it's gone. Some kid blew it up, the whole building came down."

Y/n's heart raced as she absorbed his words. "Where can I find one?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Maybe there's still some in the storage rooms beneath the building. But it's dangerous. The whole place is crawling with security, even now."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She had what she needed, but the anger still burned within her, the memories of those children haunting her every thought.

"And one more thing," the man added, his voice a broken whisper. "There were others involved in that explosion. A man in a red and black suit... mutants from the X-Men... and some scary guy with a teddy bear."

The mention of the man in the red and black suit made Y/n's blood run cold. Wade. The man responsible for her suffering. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Thank you," she said coldly, before slamming her fist into his face one last time. The man's head snapped back, and he slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"You deserve much more, you little piece of shit," Y/n muttered, her voice thick with disgust. She untied him and dragged him out to a nearby street, leaving him there to be found. She had no use for him anymore.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

The ruins of Essex House stood before Y/n like a tombstone, a monument to the atrocities that had taken place within its walls. The once impressive structure was now a gutted shell, its walls burned and crumbling, overtaken by creeping vines and nature's slow reclamation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, a fitting aura for a place that had been a living nightmare for so many.

Y/n moved silently through the rubble, her senses heightened, every sound increased in the stillness of the night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the broken ground. 

She had checked out the area earlier, avoiding the main entrances, which were still patrolled by security teams guarding whatever was left in the aftermath of the explosion, a few months ago. She needed to find the storage rooms beneath the building, where the guard had said the wristbands might still be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through a craggy opening in the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened interior. The building's skeleton remains were a labyrinth of broken beams and collapsed ceilings, the floors plastered with rubble and shattered glass. Every step was a calculated risk, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath her weight.

Y/n made her way down a long corridor, the walls covered in peeling paint and faded sceneries that had once depicted happy, smiling children- an ironic touch for a place that had been anything but.

Her breath stuck in the throat like there's a blockage as she approached a large door at the end of the corridor, its frame cracked and splintered. The guard's words echoed in her mind, urging her forward. She pushed the door open, and stepped into a vast chamber that had once been a laboratory.

Y/n's breath stopped as her eyes landed on the twisted metal chair in the center of the room. It was unmistakable- a torture device designed to restrain and torment its victims. The cold steel of the torture chair, the searing pain of electric currents coursing through her body. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea crashing over her, memories of her own time in such a chair flooding her mind, the mocking laughter of Francis as he watched her suffer in agony.

Flashback

She was strapped to the chair, her wrists bound with cold, hard metal. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. Francis stood before her, his cold eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He was dressed in his usual black combat gear and white coat, his arms folded as he watched her struggle against the restraints.

"Ready for another round, sweetheart?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from the aftershocks of the last session. She had lost count of how many times he had done this to her, how many times he had pushed her to the brink of death, only to pull her back and start again.

"Please... no more," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Francis chuckled, his laughter a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, reaching for the control panel beside the chair. His fingers danced over the buttons, and a low hum filled the air as the machine powered up.

Y/n's eyes widened in fear as the currents of electricity surged through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, like being ripped apart from the inside. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her.

Francis watched with detached amusement, his expression one of mild curiosity. "You know, it's fascinating," he mused, his voice calm and measured. "Watching how much pain a person can endure before they break. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that."

Her vision blurred as the pain reached a crescendo, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But she held on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She had to survive, had to escape, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the currents stopped, and Y/n slumped in the chair, her body limp and exhausted. Francis leaned in close, his face inches from hers.

"Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "We'll keep doing this until you learn to behave."

Present

Y/n snapped back to the present, her hands trembling as she stared at the torture chair. The memories were like a vice around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. But she could not afford to break down now, not when she was so close. She forced herself to move, to search the room for the wristband.

The storage room was hidden behind a steel door, half-buried under rubble. Y/n unlocked it with a crowbar she had found earlier, using all her strength to pull the door free. Inside, she found a small, windowless room lined with shelves. Dust coated everything, the air stale and suffocating. She searched through the shelves, her hands moving frantically as she searched for the device.

Finally, her fingers closed around a small, sleek wristband, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. This was it- the device that could suppress her powers, that could give her the control she so desperately needed.

But as she pulled the wristband from the shelf, a shrill alarm pierced the air, the sound reverberating through the building. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized she had triggered a security system, her heart racing as the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.

She had to get out, and fast.

Y/n bolted from the storage room, clutching the wristband tightly in her hand. She sprinted down the corridor, her mind a blur as she searched for an escape route. The footsteps were getting closer, the shouts of guards filling the air.

She spotted a window at the end of the hall, its glass cracked but still intact. Without hesitation, she launched herself at it, her shoulder slamming into the glass. The window shattered with a deafening crash, and Y/n tumbled through the opening, her body twisting in midair.

The world spun around her as she rolled to her feet, glass shards cutting into her skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to recover her injuries. The guards were right behind her.

Y/n ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted through the darkened streets. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Not until she was safe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she slowed to a halt, her body aching and exhausted. She had made it. She had escaped, and she had the wristband. But as she stood there, alone in the shadows, the memories of Essex House lingered in her mind, a reminder of the horrors she had endured- and the revenge she would soon unleash.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Y/n sat in her dimly lit hideout, the cold, metal wristband clasped tightly in her hand. She had waited for this moment, the promise of control over her powers finally within her grasp. With a deep breath, she slipped the wristband onto her wrist. A series of tiny, almost inaudible clicks signaled its activation. She felt a slight hum of energy ripple through her body, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"Okay, Y/n," she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a murmur in the silence. "Time to see if this thing really works."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a small, sharp knife. She took a moment to steel herself before pressing the blade against the palm of her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the knife across her skin, wincing as a thin line of blood welled up. She braced herself for the familiar agony of her powers activating, but to her astonishment, the pain remained localized. The cut did not heal as it usually would.

"It works," she breathed, a mix of relief and awe in her voice. "It actually works."

She wrapped her hand in a bandage, her mind already racing with the possibilities. For the first time in years, she felt like she had a measure of control over her life, over her destiny. She was not just a victim of her circumstances; she could be the master of them.

Over the next two years, Y/n threw herself into training with a passion that bordered on obsession. She perfected her combat skills, mastering various martial arts and weapons. She trained with knives, guns, and swords, each session pushing her limits further. Her hideout became a makeshift dojo, littered with training equipment and weapons of all kinds.

Her reputation in the slums grew as she took on hitman jobs to fund her training. She became a ghost, an unseen force of retribution for those who could not fight back.

One evening, she was approached by a woman with bruised arms and tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please," the woman begged, her voice trembling. "My husband... he beats me. I can't take it anymore. Please, make him stop."

Y/n looked into the woman's eyes, seeing the same helplessness and desperation she had felt so many times before. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Jack. Jack Thompson. He works at the docks," the woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. "Consider it done. He won't hurt you again."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Two years had passed since Y/n had escaped from Francis, two years of relentless training and hard-earned survival. She decided it was time to visit her own grave, a symbolic gesture to honour the person she once was. She made her way to a small flower shop, her mind set on finding the perfect bloom.

As she approached the counter to pay for a single white lily, she saw a woman laughing and chatting with the shopkeeper. The sight made her freeze. It was Vanessa. Alive and well, her smile as bright as ever. Y/n's heart clenched painfully in her chest, pulling her hood that covered her face even more down. She quickly paid for the flower and fled the shop, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger.

She reached her grave, a simple, unadorned headstone with her name etched into the cold marble. The vase next to it was empty.

"I see," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Forgotten and abandoned, even in death."

She knelt down, placing the lily in the empty vase. "I can't remember my old self," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "She truly did die, as well as her trust in you."

Her thoughts turned dark as she slowly stood up. Wade had saved Vanessa, she realized, her mind piecing together the puzzle with cold clarity.

He must have used Cable's time travel device during the Mutant Rehabilitation incident to go back and save her... but he left me to die.

As she turned and walked away from the grave, she could feel a rising tide of hatred surging within her, anger directed at Wade for abandoning her, for choosing Vanessa over her.

Later that evening, Wade approached the same grave. He was dressed in his red and black costume, the weight of his grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a brand-new flower and a polished vase. He had not missed a single visit, always coming back to this lonely, forgotten corner of the cemetery to leave a token of his sorrow and love.

As he knelt down to place the new flower in the vase, he noticed the fresh lily already there, wilting slightly in the cold night air.

"Who...?" Wade muttered to himself, confusion furrowing his brow. He looked around, but the cemetery was empty and silent.

He placed his own flower beside the lily, a pang of sadness piercing his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so damn sorry."

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone as if willing it to give him some sort of answer, some sign that she knew he had not given up on her, that he still mourned her every day.

But the silence of the graveyard offered no reunion, only deepened the gap of misunderstanding that was growing between them, unseen and unspoken.

As Y/n made her way back through the slums, her mind was a storm of emotions. She was determined now, fueled by a dark purpose. She had been forgotten, left to rot in the shadows while Wade had moved on, living his best life with Vanessa.

A twisted sense of revenge began to take root in her heart, and she knew that the next time she crossed paths with Wade, it would be on her terms. And when that day came, there would be a reckoning.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The beast of Mordor

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞

Mordor has monsters, and no one was stupid enough to cross its borders, right?

What can I say, the discord said Beauty and the Beast and it kinda went unhinged from there on.

The woods were unsafe ever since the mountain spewed fire and darkened the sky. Never in your long life had you seen a land so gray.

You knew it to be the middle of the day as you left at first light in your own lands not too far off the reclaimed lands now named Mordor.

The woods were unsafe but you would never travel around its vast area only to fetch products on the other side where your merchant friend had settled.

With sword and dagger you traveled light, on foot as horses were too loud and would alert the monsters hiding in the shadows. Nocturnal beasts, deformed and bloodthirsty. Or, at least that's what the stories said. No one had ever met a beast and lived.

Deep in thought your calculated steps faltered and something snapped under your foot, the sound ringing out throughout the forest.

You froze at the noise, dagger up in defense as you took in your surroundings.

Nothing.

It looked like you were truly alone in the area and took up your pace, moving on to be out of the woods as quick as possible.

You had been walking nonstop ever since you broke the branch, the panic never really leaving causing you to forget to keep track of your directions.

You had no idea where you were.

You were lost in cursed lands with no way of backtracking or seeking out the sun to figure out your location.

Fear rose in your chest, its grasp constricting your airways as a soft faltering gasp left your lips and tears started brimming your eyes. In all your ages you had never felt fear like this.

Until a noise caught your ears.

It was everywhere around you. A low rumbling sound. Gutteral and deep, raising the hairs in your neck as you drew sword and dagger in defense once more.

The sound worsened before it died down, being followed by a voice speaking in an unknown tongue, distorted by evil itself.

Fear crept so far inside you you hadn't even noticed the fog had thickened in these parts of the woods. No matter where you looked, all around you were tones of gray. Ashen lands shrouded in a thick fog that forced itself into your lungs with each breath.

"Intruder."

The voice centered behind you all of a sudden and you ran. Your legs carrying you through the dark lands but to no avail. A heavy weight settled against your back and threw you to the ground and you were forced onto your back.

You waited for the pain that would end it all, eyes shut and body rigid but nothing ever came.

As you ever so slowly dared to open your eyes your surroundings became clearer again, as if the fog had dispersed around you.

You allowed yourself to sit up and try to assess the situation. To find whatever it was that attacked you but again you found yourself alone. In a clearing this time.

No plants grew in this soil beneath you. Only deep clawmarks broke the otherwise even ground. The trees surrounding you bore the same marks, giving the area an even more eery look.

You had to run.

Shifting your weight to get up, you were suddenly back on the ground. The impact had you again shut your eyes in panic and knocked the air from your lungs and none dared to enter as a weight pressed down, denying you of a much needed intake of breath.

"Open."

Something touched your brow and pulled it upward, forcing you to open your eyes and stare at the being now standing over you.

It sat on its haunches towering over you, a blackened arm outstretched to your head.

You now understood why no one dared to venture into Mordor.

"Elleth."

Your brows furrowed at the creature's speech.

"Sindarin?" The word left your lips before your head caught up with it. He just called you an elven woman in your own tongue. What was this thing?

In return the pressure on your chest increased and a huff of warm, rotten breath fanned your face as the beast crowded over you even further.

You wanted to close your eyes again, turn your head away as the beast crushed your chest but instead of doing so it moved its claw off your chest and held your jaw, prying open your mouth and moving your head to its will.

You had no option but to take it all in. From the long black hair that hung in thick strands framing its face, scarred and torn scales adorning its cheeks, up to its temples where the skin blended into thick horns that curled up and forward like a crown. Deep black eyes held cold blue irises, dark circles under it contrasting its otherwise pale skin.

The beast felt your breaths evening out and let out a noise akin to a breathy laugh, showing a maw full of sharp teeth, its tongue darting out to graze past its fangs.

Its jaws opened then, lunging forward at your head.

Without thinking you blocked, hands grabbing onto the protruding horns and taking its ears along with them earning a rumbling noise as it stopped immediately. You pulled your hands back and laid them flat on the ground beside your head, palms up. The creatures ears swished as its head shook, looking you dead in the eye and letting out a roar inches away from your face.

You watched the pitch black arm raise, claws gleaming and a torn wing twitching at its shoulder.

This was it.

The claw swiped down and tore fabric and flesh, leaving only shallow cuts that earned the beast a whimper.

The cold air came in contact with your skin, your body reacting in the worst way as you laid exposed underneafh the large monstrous being.

Once more its maw opened but instead of lunging at your head its tongue found your chest, curling it around a perked nipple with eager energy.

Your breath hitched as you tried your hardest not to let the beast hear a noise out of you, not a peep as its tongue violated your chest and its clawed hand traveled south, dragging the rough pads of its fingers across your stomach and shredding any fabric left in its way to where it wished to be.

Where your mouth kept quiet your body betrayed you as the beast moved its head south and inhaled once, twice, taking in your scent and letting out a clicking growl before shoving its face between your thighs.

"H..ahh stop it!" Your hands flew out to grab its horns again but instead of stopping like it did before it only let out a vibrating humm against your core, worsening your situation even further.

You pushed at its head with all your might but it easily overpowered you, especially now with your strength leaving your body as you neared a most unwanted orgasm. It did not help that the creature felt the need to shove its entire tongue down your entrance and swirl it in exploration. Its fangs grazed your skin and it continued humming and growling, adding even more sensation to the already overwhelming assault. You begged it to stop, whines now flowing freely from you as you tried to squirm out of its grasp but it only pulled away after your walls clenched as you came.

You couldn't even register your hands still rested on the beast's horns until it moved back up your body, nuzzling at your tears and wiping a combination of drool and your slick across your cheek.

With a claw on your hip to move you around the creature shuffled until it had your legs on each side of its waist.

"N..no. No no please no!" You knew it wouldn't work yet you still tried to pry yourself from its grasp.

"No, Adar." The beast tilted its head, moving closer to your face. With raised brows its ear perked. "Speak." It snarled.

"No, Adar.. Please."

You felt the beast's length twitch at the call of what you assumed to be his name.

"Yes, elleth."

With your hips still held in one massive clawed hand he rose to his upper body to full height, staring you down as if you were his next meal. Cracking sounded as his wings unfurled behind his back and framed his already impressive being.

The scars that ran across Adar's face extended down his chest and along his absomen. Thick raised lines ran in a pattern down his body and along his arms, one of them being much worse for wear with the shoulder slumped and the wing hanging down against the ground. There was no way he could still fly with those things.

Still he looked as threatening as he could be.

It was an impossible task to remove your gaze from him. Your gaze that slowly traveled lower to where your hips laid against his and his large member rested between your folds.

It was as black as his scaled flesh, ridges over its entire impressive length and already leaking for you.

Fear crept back over you after your moment of distraction. He wouldn't. ..would he?

You watched and compared. "Y.. you won't fit. I'll tear!" You were back to squirming and trying to reason with the monster but he took none of it into consideration, yoir fear only adding fuel to his already raging fire.

"Still, Elleth." Even as you willed all your strength to shove your hands between your thighs to cover yourself you failed as you were easily maneuvered back into a position he preffered, now with the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Its girth already stretched your lips past anything you ever had inside and with the addition of each ridge, one, two, tree the pain turned into something else. Fear ebbed away and made place for something far more dangerous.

Thr large, monstrous cock inside of you started to feel.. good.

Adar could feel your change and let go of all restraint, rutting into you with a purpose and pulling the most delicious sounds from you until he pulled you over the edge once more.

You cried out in pleasure, walls squeezing around his cock but his pace did not falter.

"Ahh--Adar slow.." your hand grasped at your stomach where with each thrust you felt him move inside of you through your skin. The sharp bones of his hips slammed against the back of your thighs at a rough pace. You were going to be bruised inside and out once he was finished with you.

Adar's face came back down to mouth at your chest as he fucked into you, soft grunts and growls informing you he felt pleasure as well. His entire being enveloped you, his touch everywhere overhwelming you easily. So much you didn't notice the hand moving between the two if you or stutter in his hips, just the soft roar that acompanied it as he spilled his load deep inside of you without stopping.

You felt warm, safe even with this beast hunched over you. The valar would abandon you for falling into this darkness that this beast led you into. That Adar led you into.

Adar's teeth were at your throat, his claws raking thin lines over your torso as he lost himself in the moment. His noises became more prominent the second your hands found his ears. Rubbing at the very tips of them pulled sweet purrs from his throat.

In return his hand snaked its way down your stomach, resting right above where he entered you and rubbed to find your clit, ever so careful not to nick you with his claws.

At his first touch you cried out his name, giving his ears a harsh tug making him fuck into you even harder, feeling the swell at the base of his cock press firmly against your entrance.

His fingers pressed harder and you tugged, he deepened his thrusts until you felt the thick knot slip past your lips and he stilled suddenly with a choked roar. The stretch of his swollen base pulled another orgasm from you, your body giving up entirely and slumping down barely able to catch your breath.

Adar's arms wrapped around your small frame and he let himself fall onto his back, keeping you on top of him as he waited for his knot to deflate.

"Ow."

Your simple outing of discomfort had Adar chuckle, murmuring an apology as he stroked your back.

Tattered clothes still hung off your limbs as your mind wandered. You had to find new clothes somehow. Were you going to see your friend after all and explain all of this? Would you lie? You trusted her enough to keep your secrets, and even if you came up with an excuse she'd give you nee clothes regardless.

"Loud.." your beaat beneath you spoke, no doubt refering to your racing mind.

Adar let you go, to see your friend and return home after. He assured you safe passage through his lands and marked trees so you'd find your way. He was kind in a way.

Home was less kind.

They interrogated you immediately on arrival. You weapons and gear were gone and you showed up in another region's garments. Besides you reeked of filth and acts unspeakable for an elf of your rank to smell of in public.

You were scolded and sent away but day after day the stares and complaints never left. No matter how much you scrubbed your skin or used every scented item in your possession and that of the merchant the smell would not leave your body.

You isolated yourself after a while. It had to be at least one moon's phase when a sudden realisation came to you in the middle of the night.

Without a second thought you took your most important belongings and left once more for the dark lands of Mordor.

"Adar?" You called out from the path he had carved for you, following it in hopes he would dwell near it.

"Adar? It's me, Elleth." Your name was still unknown to him, so you tried the name he called you before.

"..Elleth?" The name echoed back all around you, but this time it did not strike fear into you.

"Elleth." It echoed once more, now from just one single direction and you stepped towards it with excitement you never thought you had in you.

Before you in the thick greenery your beast sat, clearly just woken up by your calls. "You return." He did not expect you to.

"They care for me no longer. I smell of you no matter how long I scrub myself clean." Your tone was sad and your arms curled around yourself in what almost looked like shame.

"It's like the smell comes from inside of me." You let yourself slump to the ground at his side, legs crossed under you and fave hidden from his view. "I didn't even realize until tonight.."

Adar kept his gaze on you, letting you speak your needed words before he'd act.

"I haven't bled since then."

In a sudden flurry of moves you were once more on your back pinned to the forest floor. Only now you were being aggressively sniffed at, Adar's purrs almost being drowned out by it.

Once he was done he sat back on his haunches in front of you, his eyes closed i concentration. You watched him with curious eyes as you sat up as well, taking in his form that changed right before your eyes.

The sound of cracking bones accompanied the grimace on his face as his wings disappeared from behind him and his whole self took a more approachable form.

His animalistic legs kept their shape and scales, as did patches on his shoulders and temples. His claws were no longer the size of your entire fingers and his eyes now resembled those of a normal being. The horned crown stayed in place, albeit now smaller along with his ears too.

"I assume you'd prefer this form, as a fair elven lady." His voice caught you off guard with how gorgeous it sounded, deep and inviting.

"For now this is fine." You smiled up at his now less beastly form. "It's nice to be able to talk to you like this, it's difficult for you when you're big."

With a nod to agree Adar stood and offered you a hand, using his other to take the bag from you and sling it over his shoulder. As he turned you could see the scarring on his back, the black scaled skin running along just his shoulderblades where scarred stumps sat with thin red lines going down to his waist.

"Come." He called from a few steps away. "We have a village. My children would love to meet their new mother."

"And their new sibling as well, soon."

[screamingcrows]

Tomorrow - Dottore x reader

Note: Dottore isn't his usual self here, I'm aware. This is meant to be with my so far unknown to everyone OC, but this scenario fits x reader format. Written in Tumblr drafts as I lay in bed. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending Trypanosoma brucei after you.

Tags: comfort?, soft, gn reader, skin to skin contact happens twice that's it, they are not in a romantic relationship (yet), pining

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

You'd never had reason to set foot in The Second's chambers, had never imagine you would either. It made the intimacy of this moment far greater than you cared to process. He was heavy when he leaned against your smaller frame, one arm slung across your shoulders for support.

Both of you remained quiet while Dottore fumbled with his keys, your eyes flickering to his gloved hand. It still trembled. How long had he been awake by now?

It had been at least four days since the door to his laboratory had been open to anyone but his segments. Not even you had been allowed in, a sentiment that made everyone uneasy. And he despised sleeping in there.

It had always infuriated you how he failed to maintain his own body. The act should theoretically hold the same value as any other system maintenance. Theory and practise rarely aligned, a fact you knew by heart.

A gentle nudge against your shoulder set your body in motion, pushing open the door and leading your superior inside.

It had a surprisingly homely feel to it, causing your steps to falter briefly as you looked around. Most of the furniture was fashioned from dark wood, creating an almost intimate feeling. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, an occasional ornament lingering amongst the tomes.

His desk looked well worn, polish having long since matted. A smile tugged at your lips, it resembled him in many ways.

Your musings were cut short when Dottore shifted his weight, pulling away from your body with a slight groan. His hands rubbed at his lower back, a habit you'd observed despite countless claims that nothing somatic was ailing him.

"Don't"

It was a simple command, his voice a little rougher than usual. The fact that he hadn't asked you to leave threw you off.

"Is there anything you need, Doctor?"

Dottore mumbled something under his breath, making you sigh in defeat. Even now, undoubtedly at his weakest point in a long time, there was no real aid for you to provide.

Uncomfortable with merely standing around, you went to draw the curtains, leaving only a tiny crack for natural light to enter. It made the situation worse, heat pooling in your gut at the sheer familiarity of the gesture.

Dottore had sunk to his knees when you turned back around. His face was pressed into the edge of the mattress, the characteristic mask discarded on the ground.

His hair had grown to an unruly length. When had he become this unkempt? Your fingers itched to run through those locks.

"Doctor, if there's nothing I can do, I'll take my leave"

The gloves had been discarded as well. No matter how many times you saw his hands it didn't ease the sting behind your eyes. It looked painful. Burnt skin, thin scars, and crooked fingers all spoke of a past best buried. His back straightened at the sound of your voice.

"Tomorrow. It'll be finished tomorrow"

A cryptic message, but you didn't feel like prodding. Not with how he seemed to dwindle in the darkness. His hands moved to unbutton the blue shirt, letting it unceremoniously fall to the ground.

"Okay?"

Your feet carried you closer against your will. The curiosity he praised you for would forever remain a curse.

His skin looked ashen. A trick of the light no doubt, that much should be logical. It didn't help the unease feeling spreading through you.

"Come by tomorrow. The laboratory. I must show you."

With every word his shoulders slumped further. He was as muscular as you'd expected, perhaps even more so with how little sustenance you saw him consume.

Objectively, he was beautiful. Subjectively, you could hardly process the sight. Outstretched hand already reaching towards him. He tensed when your palm made contact, his skin surprisingly warm.

Scars ran across his shoulders and back, oh how you yearned to map them and hear their stories. His was a life lived.

In a moment of folly, you pressed your lips to his shoulder, feeling it rise with the sharp intake of breath.

"Tomorrow then."

You left his chambers with practised nonchalance, your gait a mirror of The Second's. You could still taste his skin on your lips. Had your faith been intact, you would have prayed tomorrow never came. Tonight would have been enough.

[pan-problemed]

A body on the step and lies all about - i

cooper howard x angel!gn!reader

tags; slow burn, character study, cowboys, angels, religion, gender neutral reader warnings; none

masterlist | cross posted on ao3 inspired by the fallen by @geeks-universe! please check it out summary ; You are an angel, trying to help humanity build what their leaders destroyed. He is a man cursed to painful immortality, trying to survive in the world his leaders destroyed.

He thought he had squashed out all that remained of his humanity, but here you were, all gentle hands and knowing looks, throwing a wrench into the character he had so carefully constructed.

Some of the others questioned why you remained on Earth, even after Father’s creations had burnt it in fire and gamma. They had all given up hope that good may remain and therefore given up on all of them.

You knew not all of them were at fault - a single secretary could do nothing in the face of her government’s greed and hubris. She could not be blamed, could not be declared evil for someone else’s crime. 

Still, grief was something you had become intricately familiar with. Looking at the ashen remains of all Father and humanity had created, you felt nothing but grief in its rawest, most volatile form. 

But you remained. You held onto that hope, because what else were you without it? 

Few of your siblings remained on Earth, equally dedicated to protecting and nudging humanity in the right direction. You remained in contact, despite millennia-long arguments on right and wrong. 

If you asked yourself back in the 20th century whether you’d find yourself allies and almost friends with Lucifer himself, you wouldn’t have believed it. 

But here you were. Constantly tasting the acidic flavour of radiation in the air, watching as humans tore each other apart again and again and tried to undo what they had done each time.

---

Purdue had grown into a careful little town in recent years. Before, they had called it West Lafayette, and before then it was Chauncey. But now it was Purdue, named after the title stamped into cracked signs and burnt textbooks. 

They still used the old street signs - someone had taken time to repaint the little forest green rectangles and white letters. 

Fondy was a bar built in the bottom floor of an apartment building, half of the letters had fallen off with age, the original name lost to time. Some of the apartments now were used as an inn, though not many travellers ended up in Purdue when Lucas Oil and Big State were only a day’s walk south. 

And here you were, sitting at the counter as Buddy Holly’s voice buzzed from the little restored radio on the counter. Lukas Striker had recently set up in Big State, and you had provided a generous donation of songs to the bright-eyed boy. What a King was doing starting a radio show in the remnants of Indiana was beyond you, but you were happy to indulge. 

You had always liked music, after all. 

You were nursing your first drink of the night - whisky, caravanned out of Kentucky. The bitter taste was familiar on your tongue. Nothing compared to the expensive drinks Lucifer would encourage you to indulge in back in the day, alongside corny movies and drunken exchanges of stories. 

He had been on a Western kick in 2076 and some of ‘77, particularly fond of one pretty little actor named Cooper Howard. His dark hair carefully slicked back reminded you of a gang you met back in the day, though it took quite a few more drinks to pull that story out of you. 

You reckoned, if they ever made a movie about them, put some facial hair and cigarettes on Howard and he was practically the spitting image. 

The ice clinked against the stained glass as you thought back to those late nights, drinking and laughing at the humans’ entertainment. 

Before the resources grew too few, and the humans’ greed too powerful. 

The ramshackle wood doors creaked open, announcing a new customer, but you didn’t look up from the spot you were studying on the counter. It had been built out of old signs and car parts, you could see a Toyota logo. 

He sat three stools from you and ordered in a low voice, heavy with a southern accent. Speaking of Westerns, you thought to yourself. 

You cast him a brief glance. He had rough skin, most of it covered with a ragged duster and clothes stained brown. His hat was angled to shield his eyes, despite being inside, and you could see the way his hazel eyes studied the room curiously. 

You recognised his kind - mortals cursed to immortality. Skin ragged and burnt. Some had their brains melt away with the cartilage and hair, but others held onto their sanity despite. 

His gaze met yours - intelligent, calculating, suspicious - and you held it for a moment, sizing each other up. 

There was something familiar about him that tugged at your tongue, but you couldn’t puzzle it out just yet. You would keep an eye on him, then - he had a dangerous look about him. 

The radio buzzed as the music rolled over to Billie Holiday. You didn’t look away, even as his drink was passed to him. 

Finally, he downed the thing in one gulp and slammed the glass on the counter, leaning forward. “Reckon I’ve seen you before.” He mused. 

“I thought the same.” You replied evenly, taking a careful sip from your drink. 

The two of you fell silent again. You wondered what he was thinking, why he wasn’t ignoring you as you had planned to do to him. 

He gestured for another drink, and the bartender hesitated for a moment. The man sighed and retrieved a few coppers, which seemed to appease the bartender for now. 

“What brings you to Purdue?” You decided to ask, growing uncomfortable with the tense silence in the nearly empty bar. 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat and draping one arm on the counter, tilting his head to look at you. 

It clicked, then, who you were looking at. Speak of the devil (haha), the hollowed out ghost of Cooper Howard sat in that torn duster, staring you down with curiosity and bitterness in those chesnut eyes. 

“Work.” He replied simply. “You?” 

You shrugged. “I travel.” 

He paused, tilting his head a little further, and you couldn’t help but compare him to a little labrador puppy studying something new for the first time. 

The conversation largely ended there, though both of you did ocassionally hum along to the music playing from the radio. He was much more quiet than you, but the tapping of his fingers and the soft rumble of his voice didn’t escape your attention. 

You gave him a friendly smile as you left, though he ignored it. 

And you wondered. 

[spooky-pomegranate]

Eyes on Fire (pt 2)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+)Word Count: 3.4k (Part 1) (Read on AO3) (Part 3)

Summary: Hoping to escape the headaches of Imperatrix's life you spend time in a forbidden section of the Abbey. Meanwhile, a sleepless Papa Secondo goes for a walk in the early morning hours to clear his mind.

(Dividers by @wrathofrats)

There was only one place you wanted to be...

A place far away from Papa’s dining room, the bustling great hall, and the dormitories flooded with siblings preparing for a night full of debauchery and sin. You wanted to be in the one place that felt most like home with the people who felt most like family. So you climbed. Stride by stride you moved down ancient and worn stone steps covered in cobwebs and dust as you made your way toward the ghoul dens.

The Abbey had stood on the same grounds for hundreds of years. In that time many improvements had been made. A swimming pool was added in the 1890s, the great hall was expanded in the 1920s, and more recently the kitchens had gone under a total rehaul, with new top-of-the-line appliances and expresso machines flown in from Italy. But the one place the ministry hadn’t touched in all those years was the space below.

The basement of the Abbey was a restricted section for all siblings. Partially because it was a bit unsafe and partially because the ghouls were too much of a handful to be trusted with nice things. There was no electrical power down below. The stone walls in the basement were lit only by candle sconces that threw around long casting and eerie shadows. To those unfamiliar, the basement probably looked more like a crypt than it did a home for hell-spawn creatures. But the ghouls liked it that way and so did you.

At the bottom of the stairs, you snatched a candle from one of the wall scones. For some reason lately, there had been an influx of rats scurrying around the Abbey. The last thing you needed was to accidentally step on one. That might just send you to orbit.

By candlelit, you followed the halls through their maze of twists and turns before stopping in front of a massive set of wooden double doors. A large bronze knocker cast in His image hung from the center. You picked it up and slammed it against the splintering wood door three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you heard a familiar voice call from the other side. “Hold onto your granny panties would ya.”

The door groaned in a heavy sigh as it opened. A scrawny maskless ghoul stood in the entryway. Two white horns protruded from the crown of his head and ashen black skin covered his body. When his orange eyes met yours his spaded tail flicked from side to side.

“Hey! What’s up little snack pack?”

“Hey, Dew,” you sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing babe.” The fire ghoul bowed with a flourish and waved for you to enter. “Right this way little lady. You look like shit by the way.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped past the ghoul. The main room of the ghoul den was decorated in what a generous person might call an “eclectic style.” Mix-matched furniture from varying decades was strewn around the room in random places. A few soft carpets were layered on top of one another to confront the cold that seeped into the stone floors during the winter months and much like the stairs leading to the basement, candles burned on the walls basking the place in a soothing warm and yellow light. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even that clean. But maybe because this was the only place in the Abbey that wasn’t dripping in opulence, it felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. And you needed that right now.

In the center of the room, Cumulus and Auoroa lounged on a lime-green sofa. On a small coffee table in front of them, snacks and drinks were laid out. They waved for you to join them.

“Hey guys,” you said, plopping down on the couch between them with a huff. Dew grabbed a guitar from a table by the door and sat in a chair across from you. Aimlessly he started picking at its strings.

“Hey, love,” Cumulus said smiling from your left. Like Dew, her skin was the color of burnt embers but her eyes differed. They were a beautiful soft gray. The same color as the sky before an evening storm or the pebbles on the beach by the lake south of the Abbey. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in that shiny new suite of yours? Mountain told us it was real pretty.”

“Honestly today’s been a day,” you answered, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to hang out if that’s alright. Unless you guys had plans. Then I can fuck off.”

“Nah. No plans,” Aurora assured you, popping a chip into her mouth before offering you one. “We were just gonna practice for a bit. Unless you wanna talk about your day?”

“God no,” you answered, taking the chip. “Listening to you guys sounds really nice actually.”

“Oh thank Satan,” Dew huffed. Both Cumulus and Aurua shot the fire ghoul daggers and he stopped strumming the black and white guitar in his lap. “What?! Don’t lie you both wanna sing. You have been begginggggggg me to practice with you. ‘Dew please play with us,’” He impishly sang. “’Dew no one plays like you. Please Dew. You’re so talented with your fingers Dew.’”

“No one said that,” Aurura grumbled, throwing a chip at him. It landed squarely in between his eyes.

“Also we don’t sound like that. Plus if she’s having a bad day some humans like to talk about their feelings,” Cumulus added, picking up another chip and throwing it at Dew. “It’s called empathy dipshit.”

Dew stuck out his tongue and you laughed. You were surrounded by idiots. Sweet and loveable idiots. You were feeling better already. After a few more minutes of juvenile bickering, the hellspawns eventually settled down and started to play.

For as long as you’d known Dew he’d been a cocky shit, always bragging about his skills with a guitar. But as you listened to him play you knew he’d earned every brag he’d ever boasted. He was a magician with strings. Plucking and picking with a mesmerizing mastery that had to have been a gift from Satan himself. But the ghoulettes were just as spellbinding. Their harmonizing voices bounced off the high-bowed walls like sirens, lulling you into easy relaxation. At some point, you decided to crawl off the couch and lie on the floor, curling up in a pile of pillows and blankets and letting the music soothe you.

“That’s really pretty…” you murmured half-asleep, during a short break in the music.

“Mhmm. It is,” Cumulus purred from her spot on the couch.

“What’s it mean?”

“You don’t speak Latin?” Dew asked incredulously, before taking a long draw of some water Aurora had passed him.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked back at the fire ghoul. “Eh. I’m a little rusty.”

“Through hardships to hell.”

“What?”

“That’s what it means,” Dew answered, setting his water aside. “Per aspera ad inferi. It means through hardships to hell.”

“Oh,” you said shirking back to the floor and into your covers. It hadn’t occurred to you that this song might be incredibly personal to the three ghouls. They had quite literally crawled through hell to be here in this Abbey and serve the ministry. They had come from the real below.

“Did you guys come up with that?” You didn’t know much about their journey. You’d always assumed it wasn’t your place to ask or to know, but the song… it had been so haunting and yet… so strangely familiar. Even though you hadn’t understood the words, the music had clung to you. Like thick sticky syrup, it had swirled into your blood and mixed in your veins. You felt an inexplicable connection that was as old as time.

“No. We didn’t write it,” Cumulus said quietly.

“Who did?”

The three ghouls looked at one another. Seconds passed like minutes.

“Papa.”

There wasn’t much point in staying in the dens after that. You’d come down here to escape thoughts of Secondo only to be reminded of him all over again.

The climb back toward your suite didn’t take long. The Abbey was quiet this late at night. The hallways were empty of their regular hustle and bustle. Most siblings were asleep in their beds or tangled up in the sheets of another. You reached your door in record time. You pulled out your brass key and slid it into the door... but it was already unlocked.

You heard the crackling of your fireplace before you saw him. He was seated with his back to you in one of the tufted leather armchairs across the room. There were no lights on and you couldn’t see his face from the doorway, but none of that mattered. You knew who it was. Only one person owned the tense curve of those broad shoulders. It was him. It was Secondo. He was here in your room.

“Do I repulse you, sorella?” His voice boomed over the fire.

You froze in the doorway. Legs cemented to the ground, heart ready to bound out of your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to expel you from the church? Was he going to smile as he tossed you out on your ass?

“Speak up sorella,” Secondo commanded. “I will repeat my question. Do I repulse you?”

“N-no, Papa,” you managed to squeak.

“Come here. I want to look at you while we have this conversation.”

Fuck. So this was it. The sadist was going to make you leave right here and now in the middle of the night. You moved across the room and into the dancing firelight.

After what had happened in the dining room you weren’t prepared to meet Secondo’s eye line again. So you delayed it. Slowly you looked him over, starting at his feet and working your way north.

Secondo wore a pair of black Oxfords, buffed and polished so pristinely that you saw your reflection staring back at you. A few inches higher black socks peaked out from underneath a pair of crisp black slacks. And on his steadily rising and falling chest, he’d opted for a button-down of a matching color. A black and emerald Grucifix hung from his neck. Head to toe he was dressed in black.

He looked like an undertaker. You closed your eyes. You weren’t ready to be laid out on his slab.

“You will answer me honestly, sorrella. No lies to your Papa.” It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway.

You opened your eyes and looked at Secondo’s face. Since dinner, he’d washed away his sacred paints. A pair of dark aviators were perched on his crooked nose. He looked every bit like the Papa the siblings whispered about. An angry, bitter man, full of rage waiting for a spark to ignite his fire.

“You won’t partake in the offerings?” He questioned.

“No, Papa.”

“It is late, sorrella. I will not drag this out. Tell me your reason and do not lie.”

Secondo was right.

It was late. The clock in the corner of your room had finished its 24-hour cycle and the hours had reached into the early morning. But you were sick of having this conversation. You were sick of defending yourself. Fuck it. If Sister Imperator hadn’t told him you would—cards on the table.

“I don’t like to be so casual about who I have sex with.”

For a moment Secondo looked confused before he burst into a fit of laughter. Bending at the hip, he slapped his gloved hands on the arms of your chair. “Say that again sorella. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You wanted to slap him. Anger pooled in your stomach. Your fist clenched at your side. “I believe sex means something more when there’s more than just a physical connection.”

Secondo laughed again and you bit your cheek. “You know you sound like a Catholic when you say these things. ‘Means something more.’ Are you going to tell me that the next sister I sleep with I should marry and that I should make as many babies with her as possible?”

Secondo rose from the chair and stepped toward you. Inches separated you. You could smell his cologne. Rich and deep. Sacramental incense lingered on his clothes. He stared down at you over the ridge of his nose. His brows cast long, and angry shadows over his already glowering features.

“Do not confuse our rituals for something deeper, sorrella.”

“Of course, you would misunderstand me.”

The words slipped from your tongue before you could think twice. But you didn’t want them back. You meant it.

You’d seen Secondo.

You’d watched him as he moved through the Abbey every day and every night. He only ever thought of himself. He was a taker, never minding what others needed. What others wanted. So why would a conversation here and now be any different? Why would he consider any other person’s perspective but his own? He didn’t even remember what he’d said to you. How he’d hurt you.

“Watch your tone diavolessa,” he growled. “I am your Papa.”

Exactly right, you thought. You are my Papa but you are not my owner. My maker. My master. You have no right to claim me or to force me to do anything. I own my destiny. Not you. You took another step closer to Secondo, the front of your habit brushed against his dress shirt. Unafraid you tilted your chin up. Fire blazed in your eyes. Heat emanated from his chest.

“Apologies, your dark excellency. I will ask Sister Imperator to move me back to my former post in the gardens.” You didn’t want to give up your new apartment but you’d rather fight for lukewarm water in the communal showers than deal with him another day longer.

“That is…” Secondo paused and you closed your eyes bracing for the blow. Send me away. Do it. Send me back to the land of the undeserving and misguided. Do it now. I’d take them over you. I’d take anything over you. “Thatisunnecessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, Secondo brushed past you and walked out your door.

There was no point in going back to his quarters. Secondo wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept well in days. Tonight would be no different. There was too much on his mind.

He needed to clear his head.

So Secondo stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp and cool. Fall would be here soon and the flowers would shrivel. But for now, life still breathed in the grounds and the air still smelled sweet. Secondo followed the dirt path from the south entrance of the Abbey down to the gardens. His older brother had taken meticulous care of them since his retirement, practically spending every waking hour pruning and pampering his beloved piccoli fiori. Primo’s obsession had grown so strong that he’d even moved out of the Abbey’s suites and into a small log cabin on the edge of the ministry’s grounds so he could be closer to his work.

But Secondo hadn’t minded.

It made Primo happy and he could still find his brother for a chat whenever he needed to. If it weren’t for the early morning hour he would have sought out Primo for one of those talks now. The old man was more of a comfort than his father had ever been and his mind had been a mess for weeks. But the sun was almost up. Surely Primo in his old age was sound asleep somewhere. So Secondo chose to stroll the grounds alone and linger in the messiness of his mind.

He wandered through rows of vibrant roses and multicolored hydrangeas, passing various fruit trees and flowering cherry blossoms until he reached something he had not seen before. Underneath a centuries-old weeping willow, Primo had planted something new. In tightly packed rows narrow plots of spectacular white and pink flowers bloomed amongst leathery deep green shrubs. It was beautiful. The shrubbery looked like rhododendrons, but the flowers… Secondo had never seen anything like it. They resembled the cooper bells that hung in the Abbey’s highest towers.

He needed to smell them.

Secondo crouched down on the dirt path and reached for their pretty petals.

“Careful fratello.” Secondo quickly dropped his hand. “She is not so friendly this one.”

Clad in a red robe, Primo emerged from the dark path. His hands were clasped behind his back and he eyed his younger brother with a loving smile.

“Shouldn't you be asleep fratello?” Secondo asked, pushing off the ground with a groan that denoted his age and stood to his full height. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Ah, I was going to ask you the same,” Primo’s smile widened, strolling over to stand next to Secondo. “Do you like the fiori? They are beautiful, no?”

“Si. They are,” Secondo answered truthfully. “New additions?”

“Not entirely fratellino. Many moons ago these flowers used to surround our little Abbey. If you would indulge un vecchio uomo I would like to tell you their story.”

Secondo nodded, “Of course, Primo.”

The elder Emeritus led his younger brother to a stone bench under the willow tree. They sat down together. Secondo looked over the rows of flowers as his brother began to tell his story.

“Before you and I, walked these grounds there was a beautiful sibling who cared for the fiori and impianti. She came to the church with an extensive knowledge of botany and quickly thrived here. From the things she grew, she established the first apothecary in the ministry. She helped many siblings. She was happy and content. Eventually, she fell in love with a brother and he with her. But one day when the sister walked these grounds she witnessed a betrayal. Her mate with another. Her heart was broken. But the sister would not let this indignity stand. She introduced a colony of bees to the garden and let them feed on the nectar of these very beautiful fiori.” Primo’s gloved hand pointed to the rows of pink and white bell flowers in front of them.

“And then the ever-patient sister waited. She waited and pretended everything with her lover was bene, while in the night he continued to be with another. But after a time she returned to the garden and to her bees. She collected their honey knowing their nectar had been poisoned by these beautiful fiori. One evening the sister made her lover a pot of tea and added a spoonful of her wicked honey. As he drank the brother’s lips began to burn. Pain flamed his mouth and throat. He withered and convulsed in pain for hours. The legend diverges here. Some say the brother died. While others claim he recovered but fled the ministry in fear of his beloved’s vengeful wrath. In both versions of the tale these flowers were ripped from our grounds.”

Secondo sat quietly trying to make sense of his brother’s story. Ever since he could remember his elder brother had used longwinded tales to teach him lessons of the world or of the church. But tonight for the life of him, he could not figure out what Primo was to say. What did these poisonous flowers have to do with anything?

He was too tired. A puzzle was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“Why are you telling me this brother?” Secondo asked exasperatedly. “You know I don’t care about these plants the way you do.”

“Ahh,” Primo hummed. “That may be true but tastes change fratellino. Things we once thought were insignificant can become valuable to us, no?”

“Primo I don’t under-”

“It’s nice to have beautiful things around, even if we cannot touch, si? Even if we cannot taste?”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. “What have you seen fratello?”

“It should not matter what I’ve seen. You must see for yourself.”

Secondo angered. Standing quickly he spun and stared down at his brother. “How quickly you forget what it is like Primo!” he shouted. “I need guidance. I don’t need this. I don’t know why I bother when you only speak in riddles.”

Secondo turned his back and stormed away from Primo, but before he got lost amongst the roses he heard his brother's voice.

“He has not forgotten you nor have I. Patience fratellino. Plans are already in motion. You will not be denied.”

(Follow along on AO3 here)

(Part 3) (Back to Part 1)

[a-driftamongopenstars]

Unforgettable; Guardian x Crow ficlet

Yes, another bonfire fic :D I just can't stop writing this scene

also on ao3

The sun has begun to creep through the needles of evergreen pines, softly turning the half-hidden sky to pastels of yellow. 

In a small forest clearing, the Guardian is sleeping in a tent. Osiris left for a walk, claiming that fresh air at this hour is most useful to refresh one's mind. Crow is not sure whether Osiris left just now or much earlier, when the night was sweet and thickly dark. 

The bonfire is nothing but ashes and bits of wood now, slightly smoking with its final embers. Crow pokes it with a long stick, sending a cloud of ashen dust into the air. 

Was the whole of last night a dream? 

He stares into his thoughts, eyes vacant. Still feeling drunk, still woozy, alcohol mixed with sleep deprivation, for he has naught a bit of sleep in his eyes. 

He remembers dancing. Laughing and sword fighting with empty bottles, accidentally smashing one against the tree trunk and laughing about it until his voice turned hoarse. 

He has never laughed so much in this life. 

He remembers the Guardian's thoughtful stare, even through their joyful merriment. Gnawing like a hook in his chest, tugging with occasional questions he is not sure he wants any answers for. 

Somewhere deep in the night, he also remembers… kissing. The hot, hungry kind, the one that goes through your body and makes you feel in all kinds of beautiful ways. 

Crow smiles, eyes closing to remember better. 

He is not sure who started it. Could be they stumbled into each other after the bottle-sword fight. Could be the Guardian, driven by wine, initiated it. It could even be a dare, just for Crow to find out what kissing was like. 

Could be Crow, doing what he wanted to do ever since he and the Guardian became friends. 

Still, his memory fills his mind with sweet drunken recollections. The Guardian's mouth was good and felt good. They liked it when he pressed his tongue in it, so he did it more. It was awkward and a bit funny at first, but it was good, too. He seemed to remember the motions, yet was finding them all new and exhilarating. He suddenly wanted so many things, he wanted to be more than what he was, and that possibility dangled in front of him, for once more than a dream and a hollow promise. It seemed real. 

There was more to the kiss, too. Crow felt wanted, and it wrapped his loneliness in a cocoon of healing. Crow found out that having the Guardian's hands all over his body somehow made him more real, more grounded. He remembers wanting to claw his clothes off, just to feel the touch against his skin. 

He is glad the Guardian stopped him. 

Did they whisper they'll do it another time? 

Crow awakes from his daydreaming when he nearly falls off the log he is sitting on. 

Sitting beside him is the Guardian, who must have crawled out of the tent. Barely awake, cradling their head in a bout of hangover. When their eyes land on Crow, he has a momentary fear that they don't remember. Or worse, that they do, and it was all a terrible drunken mistake. He has apologies ready on his tongue and a corner in his mind where he can shove those memories, never to be addressed again. 

The Guardian rises and pushes Crow to make space on the log. They smile a little and grab a bottle of water to cleanse their mind. 

Crow feels the quiet tension release as the sun climbs higher, warmer, awaking flocks of birds in the trees. A perfect sunrise. 

He looks at the Guardian, fingers fiddling with the bottle. And when the Guardian looks up, their lips break into a smile. 

I didn't forget, they say. 

And Crow smiles back, hopeful to find out what exactly it means for both of them. 

[squiddy-god]

Groom of the deep sea

(ghost Azul x reader)

Re-uploading from terminated blog squid-god-supreme! This is my new blog after tumbler decided I was no long passing the vibe check for unknown reasons- this was a request of a sort of ghost groom azul.

CW : kidnapping, ghost azul, implied drowning, this is really short I should make a longer one tbh, reader is called bride

The warm salt air was only cooled down by the gentle breeze sweeping across the docks and licking the waves of the water below. Fingers running across the warped wood at the end of the old wooden docks you stared at the water that looked so inviting. 

Ghostly pale and ashen skin like sea sand, a face appeared in the dark Water like it was beckoning you to follow. Cool sea water wets the pads of your fingers and your palm as it descends. 

"Y/n! Hey there!" An older woman calls out to you. You reel back, drying your hand on your pants before scrambling to get up. "Ah! Miss monty, I didn't expect to see you here at the docks-" you chuckled lightly. "Well Deary I saw you over the water like you were about to fall in" she says before her smile falls. "These Waters are haunted, they say, the spirit of the sea witch, don't go chasing faces in the Water now!" You're Sure she meant that last part as a joke but if only she knew. 

Deep below the sea, in a cave lit by glowing flowers and algae, luminescent blues and deep purple hues making shadows on the sea creatures face. Inky black limbs that held a purple hue as they sat in the sand and pad of large sea plants. 

Blue grey eyes gazed with longing at his ashen hand, touch still lingering against the pads of his fingers. "Jade, floyd '' he called and as if waiting, the two eels swam out from the dark corners of the inky black cave. "Yes Azul?"  Floyd answers. "The human, the one who almost jumped into the sea with me- the way their touch felt- like I was alive" he mused, eyes turning to the eels at his side. "Get them"  With that the eels were off. 

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be who we're looking for? Hmm shrimp? " the tall man asked. You took in his odd appearance from where you sat, his teal green hair and sharp, striking grin that seemed almost unnaturally wide. Most striking However was his Mitch matched eyes that seemed to lull you into a trance, "I believe they are indeed azuls bride" another tall man, the same appearance but flipped, said beside you. "B-bride-" you began but soon they were already off the docks, hitting the water without a single splash. "Yeah yeah shrimpy~ " the one called Floyd started "you see our boss has been quite lonely without you" the other continued. "What- wait wait, what do you mean without me-" a sour look seemed to pass over the two men in the Water, they swam closer without a ripple. "Hmmm, doesn't shrimpy remember? " Floyd tilted his head. "To be expected, but I'm sure in time they will want to pick up right where they left off" 

And with that your wrists were grabbed by ice cold and slimy hands, your body hitting the Water was the only warmth that hit your body after chills ran down your spine. 

All lights faded to black as your lungs burned and your fate was sealed.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. “A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

“So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over. 

[ameliaenya707]

could you maybe when you have free time do a wendigo!shigaraki fic?  👉👈🥺

Of course, I love you annon >○<

I'll do the cree mythology route in which the wendigo possess the person. So Shigaraki has his normal appearance (save for a few features that look sunken in or lankier then a human should be)

Help me!

Your least favourite part of the annual camping trips your family took was that it was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Why couldn't they do that fancy camping with bathrooms inside the RVs? They just had to be adventurous. And now you found yourself in the dark woods lost. Your lazy brother refused to get the fire wood and the task was then delegated to you. Eventually you got all turned around and the sun set, leaving you all alone in the woods. A tank top and sweats on, leaving you to the elements, shivering as the cool air pricked at your skin. The night was deadly silent, the only sound being the crunching of leaves beneath your feet.

Until it wasn't.

A cry broke through the air, echoing throughout the forest. Startiling you and causing you to drop the firewood you had collected. Tears brimmed your eyes as the harsh reality set in. You were lost in the woods. All alone. Completely hopeless until daytime.

Another cry sliced through the night but it sounded more human than the last. Like a man. Screaming for help?

You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest waiting for another.

"Help me please!"

There it was again! You knew better. Better than to go running to a man screaming for help in the woods. This was how girls got kidnapped and killed by rednecks in the hills. But you were lost. Maybe that man needed genuine help! He might have been just as lost as you.

Letting go of your inhabitions and the disgusting feeling churning in your gut - screaming at you to stay put - you went off in the direction of the crys for help.

When you finally made it to the source of the noise, no one was there. It was just a large clearing, with barely any visibility due to the lack of light. Your heart rate picked up. You could have sworn you heard someone screaming for help! You couldn't stop the sob that escaped the back of your throat. You were terrified! You just wanted to go back home!

"Such a cute little thing, crying already and the worst hasn't even happend to you." Your blood frooze as you heard the mans voice speak behind you. Now much less distressed but scratchy and deep. You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut, chest heaving.

You turn around, your entire body shaking as tears run down your cheeks. Eyes meeting with glowing red ones. It looked like a normal guy.

At first glance.

Through teary eyes you could see pale, almost ashen looking skin. Eyes slightly sunken in. Limbs looking a bit lanky, too much for a average human. But it still resembled a man. Pale blue shaggy hair drapped over his eyes, hoodie on - although seemingly torn past repair - and a hand reached up scratching at his neck.

"You look fucking delicious, pretty thing like you out here...fuckkkk you're gonna taste amazing, girls like you are always the sweetest tasting. Lucky thing you're dumb too, lured you out real nice and easy."

You choke on a sob. What was he talking about!? A sob ripped through your body when he suddenly grabbed you, slamming you roughly against a near tree. Despite your best efforts to scream and kick he held you down, nails digging into your flesh, drawing scarlet red out. His incisors biting down viciously into your neck causing a scream to rip through your throat as you thrashed around, trying to rip him off.

"Fuckin- ugh stay still, I wanna play with my food a little bit before I dig in, just lay there and take it, yeah?"

"Get off me!" Your voice now hoarse as you scream. You hear the fabric ripping before you feel the cool air hitting your legs. He holds you down while he rips off the flimsy lace of your panties. You try to scream but his hand covers your mouth as he shoves his cock into you. Tears ran down your cheeks, the painful intrusion shooting through you. Your cunt split open on his fat cock, the tip dragging against your gummy walls.

In the same instance, you feel his teeth bite down on your arm, taking a chunk of your flesh. The feeling of warm blood seeping down your skin.

Helping people never got you anywhere, did it?

[yserina-starweaver]

November 21 Day 5 - Captive/Skill Part One Here

House shifted gently, sending some of her little trinkets and chimes jingling against each other in a subtle sort of warning. It was never enough to send them scattering or upset the delicate arrangements she'd assorted all of her knick-knacks into or send tumbling her out of her comfortable places. The living tree she called her home had a mind of its own at times, but she could always trust it to let her know a stranger had come calling.

Yserina stooped to peer through one of the great cracks in the bark that had become a window, complete with mismatched colorful glass panes. A great bear paced at the edge of the clearing, an old, mangy creature that had certainly seen its share of battles and strife by the burn scars that littered its hide. She knew another druid when she saw one, the intelligence and wariness of approaching House was one of the clearest tells. To the other animals in Amirdrassil, House was simply a tree, and she was simply an elf.

She hadn't been expecting company. Yserina sighed and gathered up her decorative robes, layering them in order from thin, simple fabric to ever more ornate and beautiful over her plain slip of a dress. People expected a particular kind of grandiosity from a Starweaver, and who was she to deny her guest the proper presentation?

House opened the door that she had painted with traditional motifs and she made her way down the stump steps, into the thick of the witching hour. Moonlight shone through the great boughs, making the fresh dew on the soft grass glitter like diamonds. The bear stopped his pacing and regarded her with his good eye.

Ten thousand years and some decades had passed, but she recognized that sharp look. Her laugh was loud and harsh, even to her, and it sent the game hens that roosted around House's roots into a brief, startled fluster before they gathered back into their safe little piles. "Marros Silverfang, it has been a while."

He shifted back to the form of a man seamlessly, and carried himself visibly worse as a Kaldorei. The years had been unkind to him. Teldrassil clung to his body, the ashen tree's specter marred him significantly on his right side. What had once been ink black hair was now a dingy grey, peppered through with streaks of silver. He settled heavily onto his walking stick and grunted something that sounded more like a frustrated growl than a greeting.

"My hearing isn't as sharp as it used to be, Marros, you'll need to speak up," it was a lie; she was as hale as she'd ever been.

Marros' jaw tensed and his heavy brow furrowed as his lips turned down into an extremely displeased semi-snarl, "Witch. Thought Elune took you millennia past."

He'd called her worse things when he was young, brawny and broader than her. Here he was, frail and clearly in pain, exhibiting restraint. She enjoyed a curiosity. Her shoulders lofted in an airy shrug, the metallic threads in her outer robe a rich spectacle in contrast to his worn, lived in coat. "The weald and I have yet to become acquainted," when she'd first met him he had been all fight, but she saw the flight in him now. Finishing that sentence the way she wanted to — demanding an answer for why he'd sought out one of her ilk — would likely send him running.

"There's winter in the air, Marros. Come in and sit by the hearth a while," she glanced back at House and the merry door swung back open. He'd follow her, or he wouldn't. Yserina gathered up the excess, many-layered fabric and climbed the stair back into the warm shelter. She pat a weathered hand against the door jamb as she passed the threshold, "House, we have a guest. Be a dear, please?"

One by one the steps smoothed out, wood warping into more of a gentle ramp.

He dithered for half an hour before finally joining her inside. Yserina smiled at him from where she had curled up in her favorite chair, "Do sit, I've already poured you a cup of tea."

House shut the door behind him and Marros jumped, whirling around like a startled cat as fast as his arthritic joints would let him. She sighed, "House has a mind of its own sometimes. Pay it no mind, you are not a prisoner here. It has been a while since I have had a guest, and you will come to no harm here."

Marros faced her again, clearly afraid. Perhaps of her, but certainly of the world. A hard life, long lived, had certainly done that to lesser men. The disbelief in his tone was telling, "Do you swear it, A'lora?"

"On the love I have for Kedamyr," she smiled, the crows feet at the corner of her glowing silver eyes deepened. He needn't know that love had long lay fallow — the second lie was enough to settle him into the chair across from her and get the cup of Stormvine tea into his hand. "You seemed surprised to see me, Marros. I take it you were not looking for me?"

His long, left ear and what was left of his heavily scarred right slanted back as he narrowed his eyes, "There were rumors of a Starweaver."

"Were there? How curious, Starweavers have been extinct for centuries," she tapped her long, claw like nails on the edge of her little clay cup, "What use would you have with one anyway? You never liked the notion."

He had another sip of the tea and settled more heavily into the chair, letting the silence between them draw on long before steeling his mettle to answer plainly, "I am tired, A'lora. My children and grand children are grown and scattered. With every year that passes my body becomes less and less mine. Mother Moon has yet to call me home. I did not know it would be you."

She leaned forward in her own chair, "And you hoped a Starweaver would change your fate? Pull at the threads of your destiny and finally give you something to set you at ease?"

It was always the stubborn ones who had the hardest time asking for help. His lips set in a thin line, but he nodded in agreement, "That's why your lot was so prized in Zin'azshari, no? Why that bitch empress kept you all locked away in her great tower, coveting that skill. Wanting her legacy to be greater and greater until it swallowed us all whole."

"Yes, it was," she had a sip of her tea, herself, swallowing down the truth.

Starweaving was a crock of shit.

@daily-writing-challenge

[antanaclasis-u]

When James decided to go clubbing tonight, he was not expecting this.

He can tell you what he was expecting. Thumping music, reverberating in the back of his skull and compelling him to dance. The constant burn in the back of his throat from one too many shots. Bodies against him, jumping and moving and positively alive. Drunken calls of glee filling the already intoxicating air around him. Maybe he would've found someone to go home with. Someone pretty, with gorgeous piercing eyes.

He wasn't expecting this. The flames licked his skin with heat, even standing so far away. There was no music, only the crackling of wood aflame. The burn in his throat was no longer from alcohol but from the smoke. Coating his lungs, labouring his breath. There was a sick, dry feeling clogging his arteries as he watched the club burn down. The Phoenix had been his favourite place to unwind for years, and now it was gone.

Gone. Buried under it's own protective walls and good memories.

He stares blankly, as does everyone else. There's no one trapped inside, thank god, but the guilt has burrowed deep into the pits of his stomach and made a home there. He's so trapped in his own thoughts he doesn't even notice when someone tries to get his attention.

"-u alright?"

James blinks rapidly, briefly turning his head to the man before turning back, enraptured by the toxic plumes of smoke rising from the embers.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Sorry. What did you say?" Even from the refuge of his own body he knows he sounds out of breath. Panicked.

"I asked if you wanted a drink."

The question stills him for a moment, and he fully turns to the man. The sight of him steals the breath from his lungs like a cold smoke. Dark curls frame a petite face, covered in sharp edges and soft concern. High, regal cheekbones sit under perfectly ashen skin that glows in the amber light. And his eyes, oh god his eyes. Grey like a storm and filled to the brim with unreadable emotions, all floating together in a piercing look. It fills James up from the inside. He drowns in the otherworldly view - an ocean peering over a cliff.

Suddenly his breath catches up to him, and he can see more concern poised on the edge of his lips.

"Yes. Yeah, sure."

He reaches out hurriedly to the bottle held out to him, not bothering to look at the label. He is both shocked and intrigued when the taste of premium vodka hits his tongue. It makes him splutter and choke. The man lets out a small chuckle, but it sounds more like an amused scoff.

"Sorry I should have warned you it was vodka." A not-at-all-guilty smirk crosses his face and settles on his pink-hued lips. He enjoys the pain-ridden coughs escaping his chest, James is sure of it.

"It's fine." James already forgives him. He's not sure if it's the alcohol or the way that the firelight reflects off his curls but something about the man enchants him. "I'm James." He tries to shoot his signature smile, but he thinks his shattered state of mind bleeds through.

"Regulus." The man says, a hint of an accent curving around the words like a magic spell to keep James hooks. He thinks it might be french.

He holds his hand out for James to shake, but it takes a long moment for James' single brain cell to kickstart before he actually shakes it.

[metalhoops]

Steve had always thought his house was haunted. It wasn’t until the bodies started showing up on the front porch that he suspected it was something more sinister. 

The Harrington house had an air about it, with its elongated, hollow halls resembling gaping maws come sundown and all the familiar clicks and ticks that came with living in an enormous house alone. The pipes rattled like cuffed hands clapping when Steve stood beneath the shower spray. The wooden walls warped with the seasons, making all sorts of odd creeks. Then, of course, there was the wildlife, the shrieking of nightbirds and nocturnal creatures in the woods around the house. 

He used to think the haunting was the extrapolation of an overactive imagination. It was the reanimated corpse of a broken home. Sometimes an open window would blow shut a downstairs door, letting Steve think for a moment his parents had returned, only to find a silent house at his feet. 

After his first run-in with The Upside Down, he got paranoid. He slept with his bat by his bed, bolted the windows and checked the locks twice before going to sleep. Nothing ever happened. Each time the paranoia waned, another apocalypse would rear its ugly head, and he’d be back to the old routine. 

March 1986 sent him over the edge with Vecna's disappearance, Max’s coma, and Eddie’s death. He made new sets of keys, figuring with Hawkins being the way it was, his parents would avoid the place like the plague. He borrowed one of Nancy’s guns and kept it in his bedside drawer. However, unlike in other years, the house was anything but empty. 

He’d wake to the sound of slamming doors in the middle of the night and walk downstairs to find all the kitchen cupboards open and the front door ajar. Things escalated quickly. By mid-May, he was finding dead animals on his doorstep. 

He’d held back vomit one morning when he’d stepped out onto the welcome mat to find his once pristine white Rebooks wedged between the ribs of a coyote. The creature was pallid to the point of purpling. The front yard was a crime scene, the neatly cut grass streaked with blood. It seemed like the blood was everywhere but within the animal. It’d gone cold and stiff in the night. 

The next week it was a fox, the week after, a possum. Steve became more well-acquainted with death. He’d thrown house parties every week back in high school, and knew about deep cleaning, burying any trace of what a state the place had once been in.  

At first, he’d tried to think rationally. He tried to make some excuse about the change in weather, bringing the creatures to his doorstep. He’d even mentioned it to Robin, who’d been appropriately disgusted but level-headed. After all, the town had almost been cracked into a hundred little pieces months before, and nature acting strangely was expected. Every other day a bird would take a nosedive into the video store window. 

Steve became good at explaining these instances away until he found the final body on the floor of the living room. It wasn’t dead, but it should be. 

The familiar sound of a slamming door roused Steve from his sleep. He grabbed the gun and headed downstairs only to find himself looking down at the familiar body of a boy, sprawled out on the living room carpet. His form was covered in fading scars, his pale skin ashen with the transparent sheen of death. It was Eddie. The boy Steve had watched die. 

Steve saw the man’s chest rise and fall in languid gasps. He was dying at his feet all over again, and Steve was too used to strange things to question the authenticity of the sight before his eyes. 

“Eddie?” Steve choked, disbelievingly watching as Eddie’s eyes sprung open. He’d known them as warm brown coco, but now they were gaping black pits, open yet unseeing.  

“Stevie?” He echoed, sounding disorientated. 

“It’s so freaking cold,” the boy huffed, attempting to sit. It was an echo of a conversation they’d had while Eddie was dying. Maybe Steve was dreaming.

He dropped the gun and helped pull Eddie into a sitting position, one hand on the back of the boy’s knee, the other on his shoulder blade. His hands were covered in blood, but Steve couldn’t see an injury. 

“I was looking for you... thought you’d know what to do. Jesus Christ, you’re warm,” Eddie hissed through chattering teeth, his whole body leaning into Steve. They were on the cusp of summer and Steve was sweating, while Eddie was as cold as death. 

Steve felt like he was standing on the edge of a steep cliff, being asked to jump. Something primal in the base of his brain was screaming for him to turn tail and run. 

“You died, Eddie. I saw you, you shouldn’t be here,” Steve let out a string of incoherent ramblings. The boy couldn’t be alive. 

Eddie curled further into himself, into Steve, a quiet groan escaping his lips. 

“Can we save the crisis for later? I’m so damn hungry, man.” Steve nodded and pulled Eddie to his feet, leading him by the wrist to the kitchen. 

He switched on the lights and watched Eddie wilt beneath them, using his hair to shield his face from the brightness. Steve, oh too familiar with migraines, flipped the lights back off, letting darkness swallow them. 

He poured Eddie water from the sink and watched him inhale greedy gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing while a vein in his neck throbbed. Steve scraped together food from the fridge and watched as the man ate with the same frenzied fervour, before spinning on his heels and throwing up in the sink. Steve cringed but rubbed circles across the man’s back.

“I feel like I’m dying,” the boy groaned.

Steve couldn’t tell him he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was happening to Eddie, but he knew he didn’t want to watch the guy die again.

Steve felt Eddie’s body trembling beneath his fingertips. He rubbed his hand down the length of Eddie’s arm, trying to warm him. 

“I’m going to get you a blanket,” Steve spoke, backing away from Eddie, keeping his eyes on the boy until his back slammed into the doorframe. 

By the time he gathered the sheets from the upstairs closet and returned to the kitchen, Eddie was gone. The only trace left of his visit was the open front door and the bloody handprint on the sink. 

After that night, Steve stopped locking his doors. He didn’t tell anyone he’d seen Eddie. They’d think he was crazy. He thought he was crazy. 

It would be weeks before Eddie woke him again. This time, Steve was startled by another body sliding into bed beside him. The room smelled of rotting fruit and iron. Sickly sweet and coppery. Steve rolled over, finding himself looking into the vacuous black eyes he’d come to know as Eddie’s. 

“Are you real?” Steve murmured, almost certain he was dreaming.

“Last time I checked,” Eddie grumbled, still shivering.  

“Are you the one leaving the animals on the porch?” Steve asked. He’d been doing a lot of thinking, and contrary to popular belief, if pushed, he could put two and two together. 

Eddie didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His face spoke volumes. 

“It works in horror movies,” Eddie grumbled.

“Did it work?” It surprised the both of them how non-judgemental Steve’s tone was, as though they were discussing the weather. 

“No,” Eddie confessed. 

Steve felt the same sinking sensation he had when Eddie first appeared, but he never was one for running from danger. 

“Do you think something else might?” He tried to remain cool, but his heart was a kick drum in his chest. Steve was good at playing the martyr. That didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified each time he did it. 

“Satanic Cult Leader Lays with Hawkins High King and Local Golden Boy, Luring Him into his Ranks Through Blood Sacrifice. That headline has a nice ring to it, huh?” Eddie teased, putting on his most dramatic news anchor voice, shattering the illusion as he stuttered the final words out through chattering teeth. 

“It’s a little wordy, and ‘lay with’ are we five?” Steve grumbled, trying to help Eddie by moving closer to the boy. 

“I didn’t mean to imply...” Eddie grumbled. Despite his decrepit state, he still managed to look like a deer caught in headlights. 

Steve shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t care that you did. Do you still feel like you’re dying?”

Once more, Eddie’s silence spoke volumes. Steve knew he was about to do something stupid, but chose to do it anyway. 

“I want you to try it,” Steve insisted. Instead of moving closer, Eddie shuffled further away, going to stand when Steve reached out, catching him before he could recreate his disappearing act. 

“I know what happens to you in horror movies, Stevie,” Eddie whispered, shaking himself from the boy’s grip.

“Only the predictable ones,” Steve argued, sitting up in bed. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” 

“And I don’t want to watch you die again, so just hurry up and get it over with,” Steve hissed. 

“Christ, you have a death wish,” Eddie grumbled but returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged opposite Steve. 

The two boys sat, looking each other over for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Steve watched as Eddie’s eyes became darker. The moonlight from the window turned his skin the same silver, blue as the night. His lips purple. His cheeks hollow. The veins across his face appeared like a million little highway lines cutting across the map that was his skin. 

“Can you hurry up?” Steve spoke, feeling his nerves stretched thin.

“Sorry, Harrington. S’not like they give you a manual on this shit,” Eddie complained, leaning over and gathering the gun from Steve’s bedside drawer, switching off the safety and placing it in Steve’s right hand. He took Steve’s free hand with a beat of hesitation. 

“Here’s something I thought I’d never say. Harrington, I give you consent to shoot me if shit goes sideways.” Steve’s eyes swelled wide, but he nodded to show he understood. 

The idea of something was always worse than the real thing. He shut his eyes and tried not to squeeze his finger on the trigger as a sharp spasm of pain shocked up his left arm. The sound was worse than the pain. He could block out the sensation as time went on. It was hard to ignore the intermittent slurps or smacking of lips. Just when the world started to blur around the edges, Steve felt Eddie pull back. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Eddie apologised as he grabbed a shirt from Steve’s things, trying to wrap it around the wound. 

Eddie’s face was a sight to behold. Blood painted it from nose to jaw, a pool coagulating at the corner of his lips. That was the thing that tipped him over the edge. Steve felt the world go dark. 

He woke hours later. The curtains were drawn, and he felt a body by his side. A warm body. Steve rolled over, surprised to find Eddie’s face pressed into his side. The boy was deep in sleep. Steve glanced at his mangled wrist, finding it wrapped in gauze, unsure where Eddie had found it. 

Steve supposed his life was never going to be normal anyway. He might as well let it happen. At least he wasn’t going to be alone in the house anymore. If Eddie was alive, Steve couldn’t be haunted. 

[chr0macide]

Encounter

more magdalena stuff, this happens soon after she flees the villain base

debated whether I should post this or not because its edgier than what i usually write, she runs into Larry and bad stuff happens

TW graphic descriptions of pain and injury

this is ~2400 words divided into 2 chapters. the second one is tiny but i thought i ought to include it, because I feel like Larry came off as more of an asshole in chapter 1 than I intend for him to be oops

Chapter I – Found You

The forest floor squelched under the Engineer’s boots as she meandered through the trees. The rainstorm had passed, though not before turning the ground into a slurry of soil and soggy leaves. Her toolbox felt heavier in her hand every second, but she didn’t reduce her brisk pace. She’d deemed it too dangerous to walk along the road or any of the main hiking trails. Who knows who might have been skulking around there. She wasn’t the only one who had fled the criminal hideout after Miss Gearwise’s defeat.

She came to a sudden halt and let her crowbar fall to the ground, clutching a spot on her abdomen instead. It felt like something sharp and jagged was slicing her from the inside. The Engineer’s eyes were screwed shut against the pain, but the discomfort was mercifully brief. She’d already felt something like that once before. The only explanation was the wind-up key affixed to her back. She knew complications might arise when she’d implored the Warden to use it on her, but this was starting to worry her. Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do about it now. She picked her crowbar up and carried on.

The girl had some idea of which way the inner city was in when she’d set out, but every part of the woods looked the same, not to mention how impossible it was to see through the thick morning fog. She was starting to lose her bearings as she searched for one of the lesser-known trails. Hopefully she wasn’t walking in a circle.

She breathed a sigh of relief. There it was: a dirt path in the grass, worn in by years of footsteps. She walked in the direction that she believed was correct. It wasn’t too long before she glimpsed something luminous through the mist, but her ashen skin prickled with unease. The edges of the woods were still a fair distance away, and this didn’t seem like the glow of a campfire or cabin.

The Engineer’s stomach dropped. She understood what she was looking at when the pair of lights shifted. The automaton’s hinges creaked as he tilted his head curiously. The girl dropped her toolbox, too petrified to think of running away while she still could.

“Mr. Clockturn?” she squeaked.

She trembled even more than usual as Larry’s towering figure emerged from the haze. The Engineer clutched her crowbar close to her body. Her fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around it until her nails broke skin and left red notches in her palms. Her mouth was dry. The machine came to a halt in front of her… then chuckled at her apparent dread.

“Why do you look so afraid?” he asked.

Why did she look so afraid? Anyone with two brain cells to rub together was afraid of Larry Clockturn, and the Engineer had slighted him personally. Fortunately for her, it didn’t appear that he realized who she was with her mask on and lab coat missing. She didn’t want to respond to his question—he might have recognized her voice—but it would have been suspicious if she remained mute.

“I-I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here,” she stuttered, but she relaxed just a little bit. Larry’s hold on his crowbar was visibly lax. He wasn’t brandishing it at her. He hadn’t come out here searching for potential victims.

A hint of confusion intruded upon Larry’s amused smirk. “Neither was I.” Had he met this girl before? His eyes caught a flash of tarnished metal on the girl’s back as she turned and looked around nervously. He stepped around her for a better view. “You have a prototype key.”

The girl jumped when he spoke again. Larry was staring at her like he expected her to explain. “Y-Yes. I… um…” the Engineer trailed off as she debated how much she should tell him. “I had the Warden insert it for me. Though I don’t believe it’s working as it should be,” she confessed.

That was obvious. Her clothes hung loose from her gaunt frame. Her eyes were bloodshot and what little of her skin that Larry could see was pallid and waxy. “Well, you ought to brace yourself. The transmutation isn’t pleasant,” the automaton laughed coldly, gesturing at his own metallic exterior as he walked behind her, “and I doubt this thing’s defects will make it any easier on you.”

He ran a finger over her key as he spoke. The Engineer shivered and cringed away from the touch. Larry’s smile faded again. She was so familiar. Her identity was on the tip of his tongue. Larry stepped in front of her again, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m an indentured servant a-at the base,” the girl stammered, reluctant to divulge her name. “I-I mean, I was. I left during the infighting-”

Larry reached out and brushed her dark hair away from the left side of her mask.

Roses.

“Magdalena.”

She recoiled from his hand, but the automaton wrapped his fingers around her neck and hurled her into the mud before she had a chance to bolt. The impact knocked her mask askew. It slipped off of her face and onto the ground as the girl scrambled to stand up, but she didn’t even make it onto her hands and knees before Larry was upon her again, trapping her under his crushing weight.

“She made me do it!” Magdalena cried as she tried to wriggle out from underneath the automaton. “I never wanted any part of her experiments!”

Larry grabbed the back of her head in his enormous hand and shoved her face into the filth as he straddled her. “Is that so?” he hissed in her ear, all traces of pleasantry gone, replaced with malice and promises of pain. The disgraced crime lord remembered each and every one of his minutes in Mary’s laboratories all too well. He remembered the serrated edges of her tools as she cleaved him open, remembered the feeling of her cold hands on his coils and cogwheels and valves, remembered the scalding heat of the welding torch when she haphazardly repaired the wounds she’d wrought in him. And he remembered Magdalena standing next to her all the while with that same maddeningly vacant expression. It was so different from the way her haggard features were contorted with terror now. Larry liked that.

Magdalena’s squirming ceased when she felt Larry’s gloved hand close around her wind-up key. Nobody had tried to turn it before—she hadn’t had it for long—but she knew it wouldn’t induce any sort of enjoyable feeling. “Please don’t,” she whimpered.

Larry didn’t wrench her key around, but his jaws were parted slightly in morbid anticipation. The girl could feel the scorching heat seeping out of him. He wanted this to last. He adjusted his grip and turned it agonizingly slowly. Little by little.

Magdalena screamed.

Now she was thrashing even harder than before. She could feel the key’s roots twitching in dissent. It was like every nerve ending in her body was being torn out of her at once, but she could hardly even struggle with the automaton on top of her. “Please stop! I’m sorry! It hurts!”

Larry grinned.

Music to his ears.

“Oh, there’s no need to tell me that. I know what it feels like,” Larry snarled as he continued to wind her key towards the first checkpoint, but it wasn’t even midway there. His laughter dissipated after a moment, however. The automaton leaned in close. “On second thought… describe it to me,” he whispered, his voice thick with markedly false sympathy.

Describe it? Magdalena could scarcely think, let alone form words through her cries.

“Unless you’d rather die here,” Larry added when she didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on the back of her skull and pushed her face a little further into the mud.

Tears streamed down Magdalena’s face, mixing in with the murky rainwater, but fear compelled her to speak. “It feels like”—she had to scream again—“like my skin i-is being flayed,” she sobbed.

Larry had forced her key halfway around now. Magdalena convulsed. A few gears had already shown up embedded in her tissues since she’d left the base. It had been uncomfortable before, but now it was infinitely more excruciating as the toothed wheels unwillingly rotated backwards and carved bloody fissures along her innards.

Larry’s robotic eyes dilated appreciatively at her words. “Go on.”

“It—m-my-”

Her utterances dissolved into hysterical shrieks and supplications. Larry’s jaw clanked shut in annoyance. He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head away from the grime, drinking in the suffering on her face as he turned Magdalena’s key further still, but he released it right before it reached the point of no return. It snapped back to its original position. The way she writhed in agony beneath him was one of the most delightful sensations he’d felt in a long time, but his fun was over if the girl wasn’t going to contribute.

The automaton stood. Magdalena did not, still shuddering and gasping for air in the waterlogged dirt. Her lungs burned with every breath. There was a coppery taste in her mouth. Larry glared down at her, a disgusted sneer on his face.

“You sicken me,” he spat, delivering a kick to Magdalena’s side with his steel-toed shoe. She choked out a cry of pain. He didn’t put that much force into it, but after what she’d just gone through, it felt like someone was driving a blunted knife between her ribs.

Larry scoffed at the girl’s deplorable state and walked away without another word. She did not deserve an end to her misery, nor would it have been worth his effort.

Magdalena couldn’t move her head to look at him, but she heard his footsteps fading away. She tried shifting just a little bit, but her muscles howled at her in protest, so she simply lay there and listened to the leaves rustling above her gently. The girl let her eyelids close, thinking through her muddled ruminations that it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here forever. She lost track of how long she remained on the cold, indifferent earth. It might have been hours or mere minutes before she felt movement underneath her coat.

One of her diminutive mechanical insectoids squeezed out from under her. Magdalena was surprised it wasn’t crushed when Larry threw her to the ground. Then again, she had hardly any mass to crush it with, she thought as the bot crept over her. It paused behind her neck and scuttled over the side of her face.

Magdalena didn’t react.

It scratched at her skin with its pointy forelegs until she produced signs of life.

Magdalena groaned in weariness and irritation, but the sound came out as more of a croak. “That’s enough. I’m getting up,” she mumbled.

The android tumbled into the leaves as the Engineer hauled herself onto all fours. Every little motion sent another twinge of soreness through her limbs, but she had to get up. What if Larry wasn’t the only one lurking nearby? Magdalena clutched at the felled tree trunk next to her for leverage as she gingerly rose to her feet and slipped her coat off her shoulders to wring some of the water out.

Her insectoid’s legs flailed in the air for a few seconds before it righted itself. It crawled up her pants and into her overcoat as she put it back on. Magdalena staggered to where her mask had fallen. She didn’t have the energy to wipe the grime away before placing it back on her face. She grabbed the handle of her toolbox and picked it up, along with her crowbar. They felt even heavier than before.

Magdalena set her eyes on the dirt path and carried on.

Chapter II – Found Me…?

Larry took a small detour on his way back to the safehouse. He wasn’t quite ready to see the others again yet.

He nearly flung the rotting wooden door off its eroded hinges as he entered one of the abandoned homestead’s utility rooms. The bloodstained sheets and old clothing hanging from the shelves looked like silhouetted figures in the dark. The automaton’s eyes darted around frenetically. He kept thinking he’d seen movement at the edges of his vision, even though he knew he was alone. Alone.

The sound of his own gears whirring and rattling within him seemed so deafening all of a sudden. His footsteps thundered in his ears. His engine roared. Everything in this empty place was so loud, yet none of it did anything to drown out his feverish thoughts. He lifted his head and stared into the mirror at his rigid, unyielding faceplates. Smoky, acrid exhaust jetted from his vents, permeating the cramped space.

Cathartic.

She was only trying to survive. Mary would have turned her into another one of her projects.

So? Why would the life of a quivering pile of jaundiced flesh matter more than mine?

I know what it feels like. There was no need for that.

That bitch deserved it.

Didn’t she?

Of course she did. I should have kept going.

I—I-

Larry smashed his head against the mirror to silence his mind’s ramblings. The wall quaked. The glass shattered. The shards hit the floorboards noisily.

He kept his forehead against the remains of the looking glass for a moment, staring at the ground. A hundred glowing golden pinpricks watched him knowingly from the broken fragments. Larry tore himself away from the wall abruptly, staggering back as he shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands. His claws strained uselessly to dig into his impenetrable skin.

The automaton was as motionless as a statue for a few shallow breaths, but then he drew in a long breath of air and sighed. He removed his hat and brushed the slivers of broken glass away. His inner mechanisms decelerated. Larry laughed to himself as he looked down at the mess he’d made. Why had he gotten so worked up?

Larry redonned his hat. He stepped back into the frigid morning air and carried on.

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 17 - Corrupted

(CW: light body horror, transformation, corruption, monster transformation)

The darkness spread through Winno’s body. She watched as it crawled over her fingers, stretching up deeper into her hands. The pool of liquid was draining faster now, up into her body. She could hear the whispers, voices in the darkness whispering vile lewd things to her. She grimaced and tried to pull her hand away from the bowl, away from the cursed water, but it only pulled tighter on her, keeping her trapped with her hands buried into it.

The darkness spread up into her veins, into her blood. She watched as her veins slowly darkened, spreading out like a sickness across them. It traveled up her arms. Within seconds it would be within her heart, spreading through her entire body like wildfire. By that point it would be too late. Winno placed her foot on the bottom of the basin and shoved with all of her might. Her hands did not budge. Instead she watched as the water drained faster, pooling into her body with increased vigor. Her straining had only quickened her heart rate, speeding up the process.

It crawled over her arms, she could hear the voices clearer now. They demanded she become their vessel, their now host. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want any of this. All she wanted was a rejuvenating face wash, not this cursed substance. She could hear their demands, that she share her body, share her desires with them. She knew she couldn’t stop it, but this was her body, she had every right to share it with them.

The thought surprised her. That wasn’t what Winno was trying to say. She was trying to say that it was their body. It was their body. She couldn’t stop it. The sickness was already spreading into her mind. She cried, a deep black stained tear that rolled down her cheek. She looked up in the mirror above her sink. She could see the veins trailing up her neck, the spiderweb of sickness spreading. Her skin was growing paler, ashen white as it spread deeper. She could feel fingertips clawing at the back of her mind, stroking on her ego. They whispered towards her, desires.

Winno felt her body betray her. She felt her hands shoot out of the bowl, no drained of the liquid and claw at her breasts. She felt them swell in her hands, no their hands. They felt their mouth hang open as a gasp of sweet relief came out of it. Black spit bubble in their mouth and dripped down the sides of their chin. It stained it, black marks inking their way in crossing lines, rolling down their body. Their right hand followed, nails sharpening into pointed claws. They slid their hand down, cupping their dripping, empty, needy pussy. Quickly, roughly, they shoved three fingers inside. It was more than Winno had ever taken before. They gasped at the sensation of feeling so full. Their body adjusted itself, slick black juices gushed around their fingers as they spread themselves wider. Yes. Fill ourselves.

Yes they needed to be filled. Winno could only gasp as their back arched, their spine bending slightly, extruding outward as each joint became reinforced with a small armored spike on the back. They could feel their hair growing tangled and knotted, braiding itself with harsh metallic strands. Their left hand shot forward slamming against the wall. The wood buckled cracking under the strain. They stared in the mirror, their eyes swirling with darkness, beneath it shadows swirled pulsing outward clouding the whiteness. Their teeth sharpened, skin growing pale white, lips pinching at the ends before pulling upwards. They licked their lips. Beautiful. Want to make more beautiful.

Yes Winno needed to make more people beautiful. Just like them. Their joints cracked, metallic threads slipping in the breaks and reinforcing them. They removed their soaked fingers from their pussy, the lips swollen and coated with their fluids. The patterns from their fluids etched into webbing across their body.

Winno slowly turned towards the door their hand stretching towards the handle. They gripped it, crushing the soft metal, bending it inward as they turned the knob. They opened it, fingers curling around the edge of it. The other sisters are asleep. We must convert them. Make them beautiful. Winno nodded. The voices in their head were right. They crept around the church, sharpened nails on their feet scraping the wooden floor. The soft splash of their juices on the floor with every few steps, the only other sound in the darkness.

Ahead, a light stretched around the corner, a rich golden glow. Winno jumped, launching off of the balls of their feet. They landed, perched in one of the rafters, crawling forward on all fours. They dropped lower, a low rumble of arousal in their throat. They longed to taste the stranger, to convert them.

Sister Harriet, the stout, rounded woman rounded the corner in her robes. The black cloth tied tightly around her with black rope. It did nothing for the beautiful woman to show off her body. Her delicious, juicy body. We must taste her. The voices sent waves of arousal through Winno. As the sister passed underneath their perch in the rafters, Winno could feel their body give in to their lust as the corrupted younger sister came.

The fluids fell, quickly coating Sister Harriet’s hood sending her into surprise. She turned looking up with her lantern at the rafters. The scream that threatened to escape her throat was cut off as she was hurled to the ground by the force that was once Winno. The younger sister slammed into her, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Luckily for Winno, Sister Harriet absorbed most of the force for them. Sister Harriet attempted to fight off the beast, pushing it off of her when instead all she did was excite Winno.

Winno grabbed the sister’s hands pinning them to her chest. The beast growled, a long forked tongue escaping the rows of teeth. Winno quickly forced it into the screaming sister’s mouth. It snaked in, wrestling for a second with hers before growing bored. It pushed it’s tongue deeper, the tip of it swelling wider in the sister’s throat. The sister howled around the gag, gasping for air. Winno gagged, surging her chest forward. Something pulsed from within her throat surging around the tongue, pushing through it like a hose. It pushed into the sister’s mouth, sliding down her throat where it burst free. The sister gurgled as her eyes rolled back into her head.

Winno held her tight, watching as the darkness began to spread up Sister Harriet’s neck. They could feel the sister go limp slowly, her body shaking, writhing. Winno removed their tongue running it over their lips. Harriet had tasted so sweet, would all the other’s taste so sweet.

Winno slid forward, dragging their dripping crotch over Harriet’s face. They slammed their hips down, a loud crack sounding out as Harriet’s head collided with the ground. Slowly Winno began to grind. They rocked their hips against the sister’s face, using it for their pleasure. They growled, pressing harder. They could feel Harriet’s tongue running through their folds, dragging the pleasure out of them. It only urged Winno on harder, faster, meaner. Their nails dug into Harriet’s head, forcing them deeper against their aching body.

Winno came howling into the silence of the night. They turned, eyes laden with lust, looking back at Harriet. They lay on the ground, trembling still, fingers only beginning to turn into claws. They crouched low, raising themselves off of the sister. Harriet stared blankly ahead, empty, still changing. They would come back for Harriet. But first there were many other sisters to taste and a whole night to enjoy the pleasures of all of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!