#delivery the beast within

[cipheramnesia]

I would not expect a huge amount from a reality/found footage horror movie about a possessed pregnancy, called "Delivery: The Beast Within" to necessarily offer much, but I figured the concept was just interesting enough that it would at least be, at a bare minimum, interesting to watch. And well, I don't know what to say except this is why I watch random horror, because Delivery: The Beast Within is a really good fake documentary horror.

So the strengths of this style of movie usually revolve around actors delivering more improvised or natural performances, needing relatively few budget intensive effects, and generally using the appearance of lower quality filmmaking to their advantage for suspense or realism. However, the majority of these types of movies generally treat the capacity to use these techniques gives them complete freedom from the need for direction, cinematography, or consistent writing. Plus, of course, the perennial nagging question of "why are they still filming this?" The Paranormal Activity series is probably the best example of lazy found footage horror, where the actors replace naturalistic improvisation with simply being very rude and generally angry at one another, and long, static shots for the sake of a single minor detail pad out the runtime. Poorly made films of this type can feel like they drag on for hours waiting for anything to happen.

Delivery effectively managing to dodge all of the major issues, provide a solid and tense work of horror, along side a bit of subtext plus a genuinely disturbing ending makes the whole affair rather brilliant. I'm not sure what decision helped the most. Having realistic story beats helped a lot - no one in the movie suddenly turns their life over to an imaginary exorcist, everyone acknowledges the protag is going through it, the supernatural parts are just this side of questionable that there's no reason to jump ship. It plays heavily into terrible, family friendly reality TV tropes up front, and there's a good chemistry between the leads where they seem to genuinely care for each other, which makes the gradual decline more distressful. It's just a lot of little details like the way the video artifacting is isolated to the pregnant woman (and switches immediately to the baby after it is born). The husband's reaction to what seems like miscarriage (it felt very nuanced, as someone who gets pretty quiet with strong emotions), and the one major event that makes the couple sever their connection with the documentary crew for several months. It's all a series of clever details that develop into a relatively well thought out plot, good pacing, and respectable camerawork.

On top of all that solid technical foundation, Delivery is also prodding at the USAmerican concept of pregnancy - how it's idealized, how little the physical and mental wear on women is discussed, the stress on relationships, really most of the ways it can impact on people physically, mentally, and socially. This isn't new territory per se, but Delivery makes these topics feel more a piece of the film text, rather than something overtly pointed out to the audience. No one person is explicitly gaslighting or deliberately misleading the pregnant woman, but the social pressures on her both as an expectant mother and also as a woman in crisis surrounded by support for her pregnancy specifically is tangible. It's the kind of subtext you don't necessarily need to recognize to enjoy Delivery as a solid horror film, but it adds layers and emotional resonance to the story.

As a film, it's what you might call a high B; a solid 8/10 performance from something that looks like it's working with 1/10 resources. They tapped into something and everyone involved very clearly committed. There are of course multiple trigger warnings around babies, pregnancy, and animals. But the ending. That was something.

[waywardstation]

As a fun no-stress exercise I’ve been turning my favorite guys into dragons :)

It was really just a design challenge and I haven’t made these with the intent of making it an AU, but I couldn’t help but attach some stuff for them in my head already;

-Ingo (and Emmet) are Freight Dragons, massive cargo-carrying dragons that deliver cargo to different stations.

-During one of Ingo’s overseas deliveries there is an accident, and he crashes down into a mountain.

-Injuries sustained cause him to hibernate within a cavern for months, only waking up when Akari goes up to investigate the developed rumors of an unknown beast residing inside the mountain that growls at travelers (it is only him snoring lol)

-He is still injured and cannot fly when he awakes; unable to fly back to his original land (though he can’t even remember it, a head injury left him with a broken horn and amnesia), Akari helps him as best she can while Emmet tries to find him.

I suppose the backstory in my head bled over from my PMD AU, it’s very similar haha.

I’ve designed clothing/accessories for them too, but I’ll show that another day :)

[lushrue]

there was something angry and dark festering inside of simon. (afab!reader, nsfw, mdni)

he noticed it for the first time when he went out with the rest of his team to the pub after a particularly difficult mission. everyone had their own way of coping with stress. price had his cigars, puffing away and coating his lungs with tar. gaz had alcohol, bourbon and tequila burning away in his stomach to soothe the cold grip of disappointment in himself. and johnny? johnny had women. birds of all different types, sizes, occupations. simon was convinced he didn’t even look at who it was he was snogging in the corner of the bar. as long as she was warm and willing, he was on her.

that’s when he felt it, watching johnny suck at some poor girl’s face like she held the nectar of the gods between her lips. simon had never paid much mind to getting a woman of his own. with his family life, he’d found it hard to put stock in anything akin to a committed relationship. too many things could go wrong. after all, as he reminded himself every time he came close to a woman, he had anger baked into his DNA. the desire to sink his claws into something and rip it apart until he was bloody was too tempting. he’d ruin whatever he touched, so why bother?

still, as much as he tried to deny it, he was a mere mortal. flesh and blood, hormones and urges. testosterone flooded through him the same as any other man. the sight of his sergeant indulging himself made the beast within him rear its ugly head. it was like a devil on his shoulder, whispering to him that he could have that too. he could dig his fingers into the soft plush of a woman, feel her curves and let her gentle caresses soothe the storm that never seemed to let up. ever detached, he weighed the consequences against the reward. sure, he could satisfy this hungry thing that ate at him every time johnny spoke of a new conquest. but it would mean corruption for whatever poor thing his eye landed on. he couldn’t do that to someone he knew, someone he’d have to face again.

a few nights after the incident at the bar, simon got a card for an escort company from price. “in case y’need it,” he’d said. unbeknownst to simon, his captain had noticed, seen the hunger that was building steadily in him. he remembered that same hunger building in him as a young man. lust for blood and lust for flesh was hard to distinguish in the civilian world. besides, he couldn’t have his best lieutenant unfocused. simon held onto it for a couple days, flipping it around in his fingers between rounds of paperwork. each time he skimmed over the phone number in pretty cursive writing, the beast inside him clawed at his bones, begging to be noticed. when he finally worked up the courage to dial the number, he hung up the moment someone answered the phone. it was too much, too fast. especially when he could just give himself the pleasure he was craving. so he set the phone down, grabbed his headphones, and opened his laptop.

moans and gasps echoed in his ears, a manufactured sex scene playing out on the screen in front of him. he’d barely paid attention to the setup; something about a pizza delivery guy and not having money, one of those cliches. his hand wrapped around his aching cock, thumbing at the tip as he watched the woman’s face. her expression was one of false bliss, played up for the camera and the enjoyment of spectators. simon could see right through it. he gritted his teeth, his calloused hand dragging painfully against the sensitive and dry skin. he tried to squeeze himself, milk any bit of moisture or pleasure out, but nothing came. it wasn’t the same, his hand no substitute for the sweet warmth of a woman wrapped around him.

after a few minutes of tugging at himself painfully, he slammed the laptop shut, tucking himself back into his cargos. this wouldn’t do, not at all. it didn’t feel the same anymore. the beast within growled, demanding sustenance. simon cursed under his breath and picked up the phone, dialing the escort company again. this time, he wouldn’t lose his nerve. he’d faced much scarier things than a phone call; he just had to remind himself of that. a woman who sounded like she smoked several packs a day answered the phone, rasping the name of the company and asking what she could do for him.

it was simpler than he imagined to book an escort. set a date and time, agree on a neutral location, put his list of boundaries on file, and sign a few forms to send back. easy enough. he was silent about his “date” to his teammates, not wanting the questions to flood in. this wasn’t a woman he was planning on keeping. hell, he figured she wouldn’t want to be kept anyway. all the better for him and the thing festering inside.

as much as he tried to deny it, nerves were building as the day of his appointment approached. it was one thing to see it done on a screen, it was another to make his body cooperate. simon had never experienced performance anxiety. if someone didn’t like his skills, fuck ‘em. his talent spoke for itself, the kill count in his file more than impressive. but this wasn’t killing. this wasn’t a battle, this involved no bloodshed. this was tender, intimate, gentle. this was letting someone see his soft underbelly, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself and handing them over on a silver platter. he fought it down, swallowing it and forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with later.

he showed up to the hotel, hoodie pulled up over his head and balaclava obscuring his face. this may be someone he’d never see again, but he wouldn’t take the risk. not when just seeing his face could damn someone to fates unimaginable. he stepped up to the front desk, muttering his last name and the room number they’d told him to request. he hated the way the girl behind the computer screen gave him a knowing smile as she handed over the key. strangers didn’t need to know his business, especially when it involved things as sensitive as this. he brushed it off with a gruff “thanks” and drug himself up the stairs towards the second floor.

he pulled out his phone to check the time, jaw clenching as he stared at the clock. he’d sat too long in the car trying to work up the courage to get out, and now it was his scheduled appointment time. he’d planned to give himself at least a few minutes to stand in front of the door and decide if he really wanted to go through with this. it was an out, a chance to tuck tail and run before anyone got hurt. he’d paid in advance anyways, so who would it hurt if he backed out now? himself. he’d just be hurting himself. two sharp raps on the door and a sweet voice called for him to come in.

that’s when he saw you, all dressed in his favorite color. a tight crushed velvet dress, heels sharp enough to kill a man, hair framing your face just so. the beast roared, clawing at his chest and begging to break free. it thumped at his ribcage, the bones prison bars containing the darkest parts of himself. he rubbed at his chest to soothe it, swallowing thickly as he shut the door behind him. you smiled, lips stretching to a thin red line over your teeth. “mr. riley?” you asked, pushing yourself off the mattress and standing to face him. “simon,” he muttered gruffly, feet planted firmly in front of the door. he was frozen, an utterly unfamiliar feeling to him. his next steps were always carefully planned. if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, someone who spoke in his earpiece did. this was all him, though. he was fully in control of his actions and it made him viscerally uncomfortable. no one to blame but himself.

“simon, then,” you say, taking a few steps closer to him. he tried to step back to keep the distance, but the door behind him stopped him in his tracks. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. you looked so clueless, he thought, so oblivious to the fact that you were locked in a lion’s den. you stopped your advance, giving him a wide berth. he wasn’t the first man you’d booked that almost looked afraid of you. most of the time, the men you serviced were too shy or too awkward to find a woman to give them the time of day. “you can call me crystal.” not your real name, obviously. you were too cognizant of your safety for that.

“crystal,” he repeated slowly, trying the weight of it on his tongue. simon would’ve almost preferred not to put a name to your face at all. it would only make him more guilty for tainting you with his bloody hands. “you know the rules?” you asked, a bit more business than pleasure. he nodded curtly. they’d made him sign contracts and waivers, agreeing that he wouldn’t cause any bodily harm to whatever poor bird was assigned to him for an hour. he was legally bound to treat her nice, he reminded the beast. not very many pretty girls in prison. “good,” you reply, staying planted where you were until he made to move. “we can get started whenever you want. clock’s ticking, y’know.”

simon hesitated, taking in every inch of you that he could see. he tried to tell himself that it was threat assessment, an ingrained skill that everyone he met was subjected to. still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t looking at you as a soldier. he was looking at you as a man. he was thinking about sinking his teeth into those supple curves, jowls dripping red. he wanted to dig his claws into the plush of your breasts, find the heart beating underneath all of it and take it for his own. mouth dry, he stepped forward, inching the smallest bit closer to you. you take it as an invitation and match his pace. you were close enough to touch now, dilated eyes looking up at him. prey, meat to be devoured.

slowly, simon reaches out, letting his bare hands brush against the skin of your arm. you shiver at the light touch. heavy petting was what you were used to, hands that sought to dominate you and bend you until you strained with the pressure. this felt exploratory, like he was testing the waters. he held his breath as his palms stroked over your elbows and forearms. if he looked too closely, he could see the blood from his hands staining your soft, pretty skin. this is why we couldn’t do what johnny did, he told the beast. trails of blood follow wherever we go.

“never done this before, huh?” you ask, keeping your tone even and light. no judgement, no pressure. simon grunted in reply, too mesmerized by the way your dress clung to your body. he could see the contours of you, the malleable skin across your stomach and the fat that clung to your hips. of course he’d never done this before. if he had, he wouldn’t be staring at you like a work of art and a piece of meat all at once. your hand snakes up, grabbing his and pulling it away from your arm. he tenses at your touch. he’s not exactly sure what he expected, but you touching him caught him off guard. your fingers close around his and you pull him towards the bed in the center of the room. it wasn’t the nicest; the sheets definitely needed a good deep clean and the mattress was likely stained with all manner of unmentionable things. but people didn’t do things like this in five star hotels.

you sat down on the bed and kicked your heels off, pulling your feet up and resting your weight on one hand. simon watched it all, eyes fixed on your every move. his hands flexed at his sides, aching to reach out and grab you. the beast was roaring for things to move faster, but simon tamed him. he didn’t want this to be over so quickly. the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more bare flesh to him. saliva pooled in his mouth, transfixed by the sight of you. he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen clean skin in person, unmarked by scars or tattoos. the mirror gave him no reprieve from it, reminders of all the battles he’d won written across his skin.

“take it off,” he muttered, not even looking at your face. you tried not to feel slighted by it. some part of you had almost expected him to be different by how nervous he had seemed walking in. but there were some things that never changed, you supposed. you reached back and undid the zipper on your dress, adjusting yourself on the bed so that you could slip it off. you hadn’t worn a bra, just underwear and a very skimpy pair at that. simon’s eyes trailed your hands as they peeled the dress off, then snapped up to admire your body. it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined it’d be. all supple skin and soft curves, the occasional stretch mark here and there. signs that you were human, that you were a real, tangible thing that he could claim for the night.

he wasted no time putting his hands on you, standing over you and squishing you in his hands. he squeezed and prodded, testing what areas made your breath hitch. you felt like a science experiment, observed and appreciated but not admired. you existed because he willed it and for no other reason. finally, after squeezing every inch of skin he could grab at, he looked at your face. not once had he touched anything above your neck. his gaze roamed over you, his thoughts taken over by the beast. he recalled all of the faces he’d seen play out on his laptop screen, imagined what you might look like with those blissful expressions. could he really make you do that?

as he took a seat on the mattress beside you, his hands drifted up to your breasts, pressing at your nipples with his calloused thumbs. that earned him a gasp, your lips parted deliciously. when he brought his pointer fingers up to pinch, that got him a whine. the blood rushed to your cheeks, simon’s cock stiffening at the sight. your heart was beating, blood was pumping. he could feel it under his hand. even with your profession, he perceived you as a saint. the crimson in your veins wasn’t tainted like his was, spilled at the hands of dogs hungry for power and control. no, you were pure. poor thing, you didn’t even realize that he would corrupt you from the inside out.

he pulled at the hardened buds on your breasts, the slight sting of pain making you hiss. “gentle, simon,” you chided, putting a hand on his wrist. with great effort, his touches eased up. his hands roamed downwards, pupils blacking out the color of his eyes as he stared at you. his full attention was on your face now, watching your reactions to each touch and stroke. it wasn’t until he got between your legs that he found what he was looking for. it was a familiar expression on your face as his finger dragged up and down the folds of your pussy through your underwear. mouth slack and hanging open, eyes closed in bliss, head thrown back. he could feel your moisture soaking through the fabric. this time, though, it hit him differently.

this wasn’t manufactured, and he wasn’t detached from it. he was making this happen. he caused those little whimpers to fall from your lips, he caused your eyes to screw shut when he pressed his palm against your heat. it made the beast grumble in satisfaction, belly aching for a good meal. he clumsily pulled your underwear to the side, trying to find the sweet spot that would make you melt. he’d heard it spoken about, that it was notoriously hard to find, but he was sure he could do it. his thick fingers prodded around, pressing and stroking while watching your reactions. that was when you realized it; he was a virgin.

the nervousness, the impersonality, it all made sense now. he really hadn’t done this before, not at all. you gently grab his wrist, dragging it up towards the top of your folds and positioning his middle finger over your clit. “i think you’re looking for this,” you say, cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink under the blush and foundation you wore. he looked down at his hand, as if committing the placement of it to memory, before stroking his finger over the damp skin. you shivered, pleasure easing over you. that seemed to spur him on, his pace speeding up and becoming rougher. the pressure was almost painful and you shook your head, reaching down to hold his wrist again.

“here, let me help you.” you drag his finger over your clit, moving it in small, slow circles. at first, simon had been frustrated with you stopping him. he wanted to drink in your bliss, roll around in the pride of causing you pleasure. but then he saw the way your face twisted, and he couldn’t be angry anymore. you were helping, making sure this happened with you instead of to you. the beast couldn’t get to you like this, and the thought of that soothed him.

he continued his motions, his focus switching between your face and the arousal seeping out of you. your noises were music to his ears, moans and breathy whines that had his cock twitching in his pants. he was fully hard now, tip leaking just at the sounds you were making. porn had nothing on this. nothing could compare to bringing those noises about by his own hand. his digits slipped down to your dripping slit, running his finger through your folds and gathering some of the wetness on his finger. he held it up to his face, studying it almost, before slipping the finger under the mask and into his mouth.

you were salty, just as he expected. but there was a sweetness under it, something uniquely you. he could drink it in forever and never be sated. the balaclava he wore suddenly felt constricting, like it was in the way of his pleasure. he wanted to dip down between your legs and drink you up until the well ran dry. grabbing the fabric under his chin, he rolled it up over his nose and laid flat on his stomach. his head positioned between your thighs, he looked up at you with feral eyes. he was begging wordlessly, his gaze conveying what his words couldn’t. i need this, i’m starved, let me taste the nectar of the gods if only for a moment. with a nod of your head, he dove in.

his tongue was uncoordinated, lapping at your pussy like a dog. still, the broad strokes and pressure against your folds felt nice and you gave him a moan as a reward. the saccharine taste of you coated his lips and chin, almost in tears whenever he let a drop fall to the sheets. it wasn’t to be wasted, liquid gold that he had the sole pleasure of enjoying in this moment. he suddenly understood the allure of keeping something like this caged up in a two story house with a white picket fence.

your gaze drifted to his head between your legs, watching the way his eyes screwed shut with the simple privilege of tasting you. you idly wondered if he’d ever even tasted a woman. all signs pointed to no as his tongue prodded at your entrance, testing the waters and waiting for some indication that this was the right thing to do. a gasp rises from your throat as the tip of his tongue slips into you. it was thick and rough, stretching your walls just enough to make you keen. your hips jerk towards his mouth and he takes it as an invitation.

the beast purrs, a rumble in his chest that vibrates against your sensitive skin. it finally got to feed, to devour, to consume. simon’s fingers grip your thighs tightly, tips digging into the soft flesh and turning you a pretty shade of purple. the pain didn’t even register as heat shot up your core and straight to your head. you let yourself fall back against the mattress, chest heaving as his tongue plunged in and out of you at a brutal pace. he didn’t know what he was doing, that much was certain. there was no artful flicking of the muscle, no eye contact to make you feel special. this was pure instinct, messy and animalistic.

simon wouldn’t be sated until he had gathered up every last drop on his tongue, but the flesh was weaker than the spirit. his jaw ached and the way you were shrinking away from his touch made him think you were growing tired of it too. he knew the pain all too well, the blisters he’d given himself on his sensitive shaft from tugging at himself too long. no matter how long he would stroke and pull, the beast still roared. now, it was deliciously quiet.

he pulled his mouth away from your glistening pussy, grunting with satisfaction at the way your skin glowed with his spit and your juices. he wondered how lovely his cock would look all shined up by your mouth, but he wouldn’t do that to you. it would be enough to corrupt your cunt, all pliant and ready for him. your precious mouth could be spared.

simon unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out, pumping his length in his thick hand like he’d seen the men on the computer do. he almost wished he’d talked to johnny before all this, asked a real person to tell him how to do this. maybe it was exactly like the scenes he watched in the dark of his room, or maybe it was completely different. not knowing made him hesitate, hand tightening around himself at the base. you lean forward and suddenly your soft hands are on him, emptying his head. “we’ll go slow,” you coo, stroking over the pulse point on his wrist. 

you lay back against the pillows, spreading yourself out for him. his eyes rake over every inch, his cock painfully hard and twitching at the sight. heat builds under his skin, sweat pricking at the back of his neck, but he can’t bring himself to get undressed. it was enough that he was pawing at you, letting himself be vulnerable and giving as much as he took. revealing scars, tattoos, things that had meaning so deep it was etched into his soul, that was just too much. you reach down and part your lips with your fingers, letting him see your arousal. a string of slick and spit stuck to your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the motel room.

simon’s chest heaved, his hand caressing himself without conscious thought. all he knew was that you were pretty, beautiful even. a bead of precum drips from his slit and he groans at the delicious moisture it provides. touching himself rarely felt this good anymore. you smile, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you tore open the package and looked at simon, asking silently for consent. when he nodded, you rolled it over his length, taking your time to stroke over the skin. the beast rumbled in disappointment at the latex separating skin from the warmth of you, but simon rubbed at his chest to soothe it.

you lean back once more, spreading your legs and planting your feet on the mattress. “whenever you’re ready.” simon leans forward to meet you, planting his hands on either side of your body. he bucked his hips, the thick tip sliding through your folds and gathering up your wetness. you moan and he answers it with a pleased rumble of his own. each press of him against your clit makes you keen. for once, you don’t play up your pleasure. it’s for his benefit, you tell yourself, so that he knows what feels nice to a woman and what doesn’t. it helps that despite his nervous movements, his fingers are incredibly precise once they know where to go. his cock is no different. “use your hand to guide it in, it helps.”

simon nods and follows your instruction. it’s like taking orders, and that’s something familiar. he prods at your hole, watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the pressure. it feels good for you too and that spurs him forward. he sinks into you, going slowly and letting himself enjoy each delicious inch. you’re warm and wet around him, hugging him so nicely. the sound you let out when he bottoms out in you makes him twitch, his whole body shuddering. he’s embarrassingly close to orgasm already, his core tightening as he tries to hold himself back.

as much as you want him to pound into you, to make you see stars and forget your own name, this isn’t about you. all your focus is on him, his pleasure, his enjoyment. you reach up and cup his cheeks, still half obscured by fabric. “let go,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking over his face. tears prick at the back of his eyes and shame bubbles up. his breath shudders, eyes glazed over with unshed tears and pure lust as he meets your gaze. “it’s alright, simon. let yourself feel good. you’ve earned it.” 

letting go was scary, and he hesitated, the thickness of him sitting heavily inside you. it was almost uncomfortable, so you rock your hips to get some friction. he hisses, the muscles in his neck tightening. his head shakes frantically. he can’t hold it back anymore; you’re too warm, too soft, too gentle. he has to corrupt, to paint you red with the blood he sees staining his hands in his nightmares. it’s in his blood, he tells himself. a primal urge, he can’t help it. his hands roam your body, squeezing and scratching and pulling as his hips begin to move just as quickly as his head.

words of warning start to form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, his hips are stuttering, muscles twitching with his release. your ears were ringing from the sudden intensity, but you saw the words “i’m sorry” form on his lips. you weren’t sure what had happened to him to fill him with so much self-hatred, but you pitied him all the same. he pulled away from you, peeling the condom from his length and tossing it in the trash bin. his hands flex as he stands from the bed, tucking himself back in his trousers.

simon hadn’t known peace like this in a while. his head was quiet, the beast wasn’t thumping at his chest anymore. he felt like a man, an imperfect human, rather than a monster. when he looked down at his hands, they looked like anyone else’s. he didn���t see red, didn’t feel the warm stickiness of blood that always seemed to be there. you’d cleansed him, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d done it. he looked at you for a moment as if to speak, then pulled the balaclava back over his face. “thanks,” he muttered gruffly, rubbing at his chest to commit the lightness to memory. then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. just like a ghost.

you’d tried to call after him, tell him that he still had time left if he wanted it. he didn’t seem to hear you. you noted the clock, though, counting the minutes he still had left. and the next time he called, you blocked your calendar with the extra time. the two of you had plenty left to explore.

[muzanswaifu]

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

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The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path,  ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to  such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

-

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[gloomwitchwrites]

The Vampire King

Vampire King Thranduil x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Vampire AU, horror / suspense, blood drinking, Sauron’s influence, non-consensual biting

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Requested by @ferns-fics for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Vampire AU)

Sent by your Lord as the final courier, you venture through Mirkwood toward Thranduil's halls, only to find the place haunted by evil.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"We have not heard from the King of the Woodland Realm for some time. I fear the worst."

Your Lord fiddles with the sealed letter in his palm. There is a weariness to his brow that concerns you. For several seasons, the Greenwood has grown ever darker. Mirkwood is its name now, and has been for years, but its shadow has never reached your doorstep.

This is a last attempt. A final outreach of contact with the hope for answers.

"Take this correspondence,” he continues, offering you the sealed letter. “Make sure you hand it to King Thranduil himself. And if that is not possible, try to witness the transfer into his hands. All my others have gone unanswered. But I have no notion of whether or not my earlier attempts went undelivered."

Undelivered is an understatement. Every courier that your Lord sent forth into the Greenwood never returned. There has been no communication from them. Not a breath. While your Lord will not admit it, you suspect that their disappearances might have to do with King Thranduil.

“Of course,” you bow, taking the letter with the knowledge that you might be heading to your death.

Your Lord inclines his head, a sad smile on his face. “You cannot travel by horse. They do not like the trees. But there is a path. One created by the Elves. Follow that road and you will arrive at Thranduil’s doors.”

Within your traveling tunic, you tuck the correspondence away in a small pocket. It will be well hidden even if you are felled and searched. The contents are unimportant. It is the delivery that is paramount. Your Lord needs to know if the Woodland Realm has fallen completely into shadow. If you do not return, it is likely he will reach out to others.

Forming a fist, you place it over your heart, bowing your head. “It shall be done.”

The journey to the Greenwood is uneventful, but when you arrive to its borders, a sudden sense of foreboding greets you, as if the trees themselves are warning you away.

The Greenwood oozes darkness though the tree line appears healthy like any other forest. It is the strangest sensation. Everything looks fine, but from it, all you feel is dread. A sickness.

As you approach the marked path, a swelling sensation emerges as if a gigantic beast is opening its maw to swallow you whole. The Elven path is overgrown yet you can still see the read beneath. It is clear that the Elves of the Woodland Realm have not tended to it in some time. It’ll just be harder to navigate, but not impossible.

Every step and stone are laden with leaves and twisting twigs. You spend much of your walk pushing it all aside with your boot, clearing the path as you go along. The road, at least for a time, is easy to find. Yet, as you follow it further, the path begins to erode. The stones are either completely missing, broken, or blend into the ground as if the magic that protests it has also faltered and decayed.

A dreariness settles over everything. Your movement forward is slow going, and with the canopy, it is unclear as the time of day. It is all the same, like there is no day or night, like you’ve stepped into an entirely different world.

You continue on until the path is broken and shattered. Backtracking becomes a necessary burden. The path will disappear from view only to reappear when you least expect it. Many have complimented you on your tracking skills, but this goes beyond what you’ve learned and honed over the years.

Doubt creeps in.

This is more than simple decay. Perhaps there is another at work in these woods. Something wants you to doubt and venture off the path. Something wants you to get lost—to be befuddled by the changing landscape.

Remaining strong—remaining confident in yourself—is the best option.

It is the only option.

Your Lord is relying on you to deliver his letter and return. And you must rely on yourself to return to the place you call home.

When a large bridge and two massive doors appear, a great relief rushes through you. This is where you’ve been heading. This is where you’re supposed to be.

With a lightness in your step, you approach the bridge and immediately pause. There are no guards. No sounds other than the rushing water. You sniff the air but scent nothing foul. Orcs and other such creatures have a stink about them.

The air is calm. The leaves in the trees stir but not from unnatural disturbance. You detect no ambush and yet the very lack of guards set your senses into overdrive. You are alert as you tentatively take a step forward. Then another.

Vines curl over and around the sides of the bridge. Cracks cobweb across portions of the stone allowing in browning grass. Even here there are signs of decay. It’s a perfect place for an ambush.

But perhaps there is no one lurking in anticipation to attack. Maybe you’ll find a hall of dead Elves. Maybe you’ll find no one at all. Or you might find something far more sinister skulking about. Whatever you find, you intend on returning to your Lord with word of your discovery.

You only hope that you’ll survive.

"I have come on behalf of my Lord and Master. I have word from him to deliver to the King of the Woodland Realm!" Your raised voice carries across the bridge but is met with silence.

Nothing stirs. Nothing moves.

You've come all this way and yet the need to turn back is more present than ever.

Above you, a whoosh of air kicks up a brief gust of wind. You glance up, expecting to see a large bird flying overhead, but there is nothing. A deep dread swells in your stomach, the muscles in your legs tensing for a retreat.

Just as you prepare to return to the forest, the large, ornate gates groan and screech, opening enough for a singular guard to emerge. They are in full armor, and the helmet they wear completely hides their face.

They stand next to the open gate, a silent sentinel.

You call out again. "I seek an audience with King Thranduil."

The guard remains silent, observing without comment. Slowly, you approach, aware that you might need to go on the defensive. With every step, the helmet turns with, tracking your approach and entrance into Thranduil's halls.

There is nothing about the guard's body language to indicate hostility, but you're not comforted. You walk past the guard and through the cracked gates, entering into illuminated darkness. The silent sentinel follows, the gates closing, a sense of entrapment coming with it.

This place is a cage. You realize that now. Your freedom has just been ripped away from you. Stolen.

The guard moves right past you, an invitation to follow. You keep a polite distance, observing your surroundings. Not a single living thing crosses your path. It is utterly silent in these halls. Quiet.

In the throne room, the guard brings you to a winding flight of stairs. Upon the throne is a pale but fair figure with golden hair boarding on white. His robes are a deep scarlet while his crown is a twisting nest of black thorns and dried berries.

King Thranduil. Lord the Woodland Realm.

As you near, his gaze falls upon you, and you're met by pale red eyes that bite into your very soul.

"Welcome, messenger." His voice is soothing. Eerily calm.

You bow deeply. "Thank you for receiving me."

"And where do you hail from?" You tell him, keeping your head bowed. "I see," he replies softly. "He has been persistent."

You glance up, a bit of hope in your tone. "Then you have received his other correspondence."

"I have. Not that I wanted to answer them."

You frown at the revelation. If he has received all the other missives, where are the missing couriers? Did they return to the forest and eventually lose their way?

"He grows worried," you say cautiously. "Without word, he fears the worst. I am the last before he sends for aid."

A soft smirk tugs at the corner of Thranduil's mouth. It's just enough to show a glimpse of sharpened teeth. "How...quaint. As if the Lord of the Woodland Realm needs aid. We are perfectly fine here."

Swallowing down the bit of fear lodged in your throat, you reach into your tunic and withdraw the letter. "I am tasked with bringing this to you."

"And I will take it." You step forward and Thranduil holds up a hand. As if running into a wall, your limbs suddenly freeze, the control of your muscles zapped from you. "Tomorrow," he says. "You should rest. The Greenwood has become treacherous of late."

King Thranduil's demeanor is casual yet you sense a lingering power beneath it. There is no room for discussion. This is not a request but a command.

"Of course," you reply.

Thranduil snaps his fingers and the guard from earlier approaches. Control is returned to you. You've been dismissed and you exit the throne room without further instruction. Again, the halls are empty. Not a soul passes. It is only you, the guard, and the odd quiet.

Brought to a private room, you are left alone until another guard brings you a meal. There is something off about it. Everything appears fresh but there is a sourness beneath the taste that doesn't sit right with you.

You don't remember drifting off. You don't remember falling into bed. You awaken in a cold sweat, a dull ache tugging at your neck. Sitting up, you press your palm to the side of your throat. The room spins.

You drop your hand.

Notice red.

"You should be asleep, courier." Thranduil's voice is like a distant song. It lulls you back toward an endless abyss.

"Why are you here?" Your voice cracks slightly, dipping toward a strangled garble.

Other than a few lit candles on the table in front of him, the room is dark. Thranduil brings a glass goblet to his lips. In it is a dark liquid. Thranduil turns his head, and you're met with glowing eyes. They are piercing, like a blade to the gut. A sharpness seizes you, twisting to the point of pain. You cry out and grab your stomach.

"I like your memories. They are sweet. Flower-kissed. The ones from childhood are always the most...delicious." He sighs as if in serene pleasure. "Shall I keep you? Would you like that?"

It's rhetorical. Thranduil does not seek an answer. You feel it in your gut.

You will stay whether your heart wishes it or not.

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♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ It Will Come Back

Chapter One: Don't Give It A Hand

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: angst, childhood memories, bucky as the winter soldier, eastern european/slavic heritage reader, does not follow the canonical timeline after bucky is arrested in romania, deviates from canon, childhood memories, implied SA, post war trauma, ~ wc:5.4k ~ not proofread Your grandmother has the gift so why couldn't she see the man in your future?

Chapter One: Don't Give It A Hand

It is said that you must not utter the name of the wolf. Use any other word to describe the beast for its name and title will summon it from the depths of hell. 

1993 Nižepole, FYROM

A clump of wet tea leaves stares at you from within the porcelain cup.

"I see a rock," you answer honestly, pointing a tiny finger at the lump as you swirl it in the leftover liquid. 

A wrinkled hand reaches out and slaps yours, and a harsh voice begins to berate you. "Stop! You're ruining it." 

Your grandmother sits across from you on her wooden stool. Her shoulders hunched and covered tightly in a tartan shawl, a matching headscarf tied beneath her chin in a knotted bow. The years of farm life had worn on her, freckled marr her skin like stars on a clear night sky, lines and wrinkles embedded deep from all the years of love and laughter, stories so woven through her very being that they manifest in flesh.

Her eyes crinkle up as she smiles and gently takes the cup from your hands, knobby fingers like a birch tree cradling the porcelain as though it were a baby chick. She holds it up to the light, trying to discern the pattern from beneath. From where you are sitting, you can't see any light coming through, but Baba is magical—always has been—so maybe she sees something you can't.

She hums, lowering the vessel to eye level and taking another peek. 

"You're going to move away from here—far, far away," she says wistfully, closing one eye to garner a new perspective on the future. "I see a cat." She flits her gaze from the prophetic cup to you and then back to the cup. "There is a tall man, but I can't see his face." 

Your nose wrinkles at that.

Tall man? Moving away from home? Unlikely. There has never been a desire to get away from your farm. Your home's rolling hills and endless sky are enough for you, and you doubt you will ever want to be anywhere else.  

A cat, maybe. You've always wanted one. 

"There's something else, something sooner, but I don't know- I can't see it." Her voice dissolves into a whisper as your attention shifts.

With your head slung back against the chair, you bask in the mid-spring sun. Heat kisses your exposed skin, and the warm breeze does naught to cool you down, but you enjoy it. You have longed for the heat all winter, wished that the months would be shorter so the sun would come around quicker, and now that it is here, you never want it to leave. The farm is its usual springtime uproar, with birds chirping and bugs humming as they flit from flower to flower. Cowbells ring from the neighbouring field as the cattle graze for lunch, chickens cluck in their roosts, and the dogs across the road bark as a newcomer drives by. You hear the rumble of an engine; the sound of rubber under gravel fills you with excitement at the possibility of a new face or delivery from the main town. 

The dogs bark louder as the car draws nearer, but their howls have a sharper edge, and their snarling is grittier and lower. Fear begins to settle in your chest.

The air shifts, the wind suddenly stops, crickets no longer hum, and birds are eerily quiet. The sound of the engine ceases for a moment, and then there is the crunch of boots on gravel. Your grandmother reaches out to you; her bony fingers wrap around your wrist and tug you forward. Her words are hushed, spat out at a speed you can't understand.

"Listen to me," she tugs on your wrist, and you look at her face.  Terror lies in her furrowed brows, thin lips pursed as her jaw clenches. 

"You need to get inside. Go hide in your cupboard, and don't leave until I get you. I don't care what you hear; stay inside until I come for you." Her words are grave, a direct warning not to disobey her instructions. 

"What's happening?" you whisper, panic rising in your throat. 

She spares a glance at the front gate; the sounds of footsteps are replaced by howling dogs. 

"The wolf is here." 

2015 Bucharest, Romania

A wolf can smell its prey from two-point-four kilometres away. This is a fact.

That is the distance between you and your apartment, exactly two points four, or no more, no less, as stated by the map on your phone.

Your location pings as a small red dot being shared with your friends, who can easily open the application and see that you are almost home, almost safe within the confines of your apartment walls, but you don't know if you will make it home tonight, for there is a wolf standing on the street corner. 

Cloaked entirely in the blackness of night, the outskirts of the streetlight do little to illuminate much beyond the silhouette and glint of canine eyes. It is crouched over in the street, claws digging into the freshly fallen snow as it hurls its guts up, spewing its latest kill into the gutter. Terror slices through you, a sharp winter wind following suit and turning your blood to ice. You need to move, to step back into the darkness before the beast takes notice and begins its hunt. The snow is soft beneath your feet, and the wind is loud enough to cover any sound you make; you might make it out alive. Might cheat death once more. Potentially be more than just a number on a spreadsheet, so you take a step back, gently, carefully, ohh so tentatively to avoid arousing suspicion. Still, as your shoe crunches on powdery snow, the wolf turns. 

In the low light, the beast begins to shift. Standing from the crouch emerges a man as he rises on two legs and stumbles forward, sputtering unintelligible sentences as he lunges through the snow. The creature paces forward, his steps sloppy and belligerent, but he is tall, his gait wide and lengthier than yours, and though you have turned, tried to make a break for the street beyond, a hand clamps down on your wrist. There is no fur, no claws, nothing to resemble a beast beyond the look in his eyes as you are yanked forward. The nauseating stench on him fills your nose; sweat and beer, vinegar and cigarette smoke engulf you as he shoves his face into yours. You attempt to pull back, the bag on your shoulder having slipped off and down to the earth below. 

"Let me go." You grit through clenched teeth, the lump in your throat turning to bile as you breathe in more of the putrid scent. "Get off me." 

The beast smiles, teeth rotted and missing, and you try desperately not to gag. "Where are you going? Do you need someone to take you?" 

"Leave me alone." You tug on your arm, but his grip is locked. "Please." 

You curl your fingers into a fist, nails digging into your palm in a sharp sting, but that is nothing compared to what could come, what you could be facing if you do not make some attempt to fight back.

The beast stumbles forward, his chest pressed against your arm, your hand being placed over the seam of his pants. A scream builds in your chest, your throat tightening painfully against the tears that begin to line your eyes, but before you can make a sound, neither a whine nor whimper, the beast is ripped away from you. 

A second pair of hands is tugging at your shoulders, pulling you back into the shadows of the building as your assailant slides through the snow. 

"It's okay. You're okay." another man's voice fills your head as you are pulled further back. "Just keep walking." 

You shouldn't follow the instructions; for all you know, this was planned. Have someone scare you, then use a second man to lull you into a false sense of safety before you are finally trapped and carted off to where they had planned, but you do as he says. You lean into his hands and let him guide you away, leaving the beast in the snow. 

The hands veer you in the opposite direction, towards the light and sound of a busier street. You want to turn, to face the person who had just pulled you from certain death and thank them, to offer them some kind of reward for the deed they had just committed, but the hands on your shoulders keep pushing forward.

"My bag!" you exclaim, suddenly aware of the lack of weight dragging down your right side. It feels silly to worry about such a thing, but you had your wallet, keys, and phone in that bag; your entire life was in that bag.

"Got it." Your hero mutters, and you spot the white canvas bag swinging at his side. 

When did he pick that up?

The light of the street stuns you as you step out of the alley. You still, for a moment, reorientate yourself as you feel the pressure of his hands leave you, only to be replaced by the weight of your bag on your shoulder.  Whirling around, your vision blurring momentarily at the sudden spin, you face your saviour. 

"Thank you so much," you whisper, voice shaky as you take deep breaths, the ice-cold air burning your lungs. "Thank you, thank you." 

Another gulp of air stabilises your vision, subsides the tingling in your hands, and begins to even out your heartbeat. 

"I'm so sorry." Apologies are quick to be thrown. "I don't know what would have happened if you- thank you" The words fly out of you as you speak, not pausing to breathe. "I owe you so much. A drink or food or money, I'll give you money." 

You reach into the canvas bag, searching for your wallet, to offer money as a thank you, but a gloved hand on your arm stops you. 

"Are you okay?" the man asks. 

The question gives you pause to truly understand what just happened. Tears sting your eyes, your throat tightens once again, and you begin to feel your bottom lip shake, but now is not the time. You will break down at home, in the sanctity of your own bathroom, not in front of another strange man. 

"Yeah, I think," you swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the tears, your shaking hands wiping your cheeks in case any had fallen free. "Thank you." 

"Do you need to call someone?" 

The offer has you looking up at your hero and are stunned by his appearance. He is handsome, scarily handsome. Chiselled features of sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, piercings blue eyes framed by locks of dark brown hair hidden beneath a scruffy baseball cap. His brows are set in a concerned furrow, his mouth following suit. You stare, unable to make sense that a man so perfect is standing before you and not the leading man in a painting by Eugene Delacroix. 

"I can wait with you?" He presses, dipping his head so as to not seem so imposing. 

You shake your head. "No, I—I don't have anyone to call." A frown tugs at the corner of your mouth. "I can walk home; it's just a block away." 

The man shakes his head. "I'll call you a cab, " he says, raising his hand to signal a taxi. 

"No, no, please." you begin, waving your hands in protest. "I'm fine!" 

A car pulls over as the man flags him down. "I'll pay for it, please." 

"No, I can't accept that-" 

"No. Ma'am, please. Let me get you home safe." His insistence shuts you up, and you find yourself following his instructions as he opens the door of the car and motions for you to get in. 

The taxi is warm and smells of tobacco. The driver is an old man who looks vaguely like an uncle you haven't seen in years. He smiles at you and turns back to your saviour for directions. The man stands on the sidewalk, one arm slung over the top of the car as he leans in and nods to you in the back seat. 

"Take her wherever she needs to go." a gloved hand slips him a decent amount of bills that could cover three of your trips. 

"Ohh, that's…" You're once again shut down by a look from the strange man. You sink into your seat, suddenly feeling like a child being scolded. 

"Please, just get her home safe, " the man implores, glancing at you once more before he pulls away. 

The driver tips his hat with a small "yes, boss" before he pockets the money and pulls away from the curb. 

You turn in your seat, staring out the back window to catch another glimpse of the strange man, but as you look back, you see that the spot he once stood in is empty. Nothing but the swirl of snow. You sink back into the leather, inhaling deeply as you run through the events of the last ten minutes in your mind. Who the fuck was that and why did his eyes look so familiar? 

---

Bucky hates snow—always has and always will. His mother had always scolded him for using that word, her soft voice reminding him that hate is such a strong word that he should use softer, kinder words. That there was no room for hate in his heart. Bucky detests snow. 

There is nothing magical about frozen rain as it pelts against raw skin, covering the world in a dangerous icy slick, freezing the ground so nothing can grow, and turning everything into a white wasteland devoid of any sign of life. He didn't like it as a child and certainly does not like it now. 

His breath is puffs of air into the frozen morning,  the street glowing yellow beneath streetlights, shopfront displays of Christmas trees, and twinkling fairy lights. Bucky thinks for a moment, trying to recall the months of the year and how many of them he had spent in this city if it was almost Christmas. His mind is a jumble of days and weeks, and he cannot pinpoint the exact moment he had come to Bucharest; it would be on a ticket somewhere in his apartment. He should get a calendar and start marking days off. That would be normal. It could lead to the healthy habit of timekeeping, grounding him to the present day whenever he felt the world got too soft beneath his feet. Timekeeping is good, something he wasn't allowed to do back then, and he was never given a chance. 

Bucky scrawls his to-do list of buying a calendar in the top margin of his notebook, followed by a simple 'food; right under it. He had been paid yesterday. Cash in hand for his work as a handyman, carrying supplies up and down stairs on a construction sight. Easy, simple, achievable work. There was no thinking or conversing, simple yes's and no's to even more straightforward questions. It hadn't been hard to find that type of work once he settled into his version of a normal life post-Hydra. There is no shortage of under-the-table work. Employers want to avoid paying benefits and taxes to their team, so they hire drifters and passersby, undocumented people who overstayed visas and travellers looking for some extra cash. Bucky had fit right in, his quiet demeanour hiding him from prying eyes as he worked, head down and mouth shut, just making enough to eat. Never more. There is no need. 

The weight of the notes sits heavy in his pocket, and he knows he should have gone into the market yesterday to blend into the crowd, but as the day wound down, his anxiety did the opposite. The racing in his chest at being recognised spun him into a frenzy of shortened breaths and darkening vision. The roaring in his ears as his blood rushed through his veins became all too similar to the machines that had been used on him, the pressure in his mind building and building until all he could think about was smashing his head against the wall until he cracked his skull, the blood spilling and tension easing but as the minutes passed, the cold tiles of the bathroom soothing his clammy skin, did his heart return to normal, breathing intense and laboured but even, the roaring dulling until he felt like Bucky again. A very blurry and fragmented Bucky, but Bucky nonetheless. His stomach begins to growl, his hunger becoming nausea as the time between meals stretches further, and he is reminded why he had decided to face the world. 

Food. 

---

"I need you to watch him." your manager whispers as she passes behind you, her arms full of boxed muffins. 

"Who?" you follow her as she rounds the corner of the bakery department, throwing the stock on the silver bench. You quickly scan the area around your workspace, spotting no one other than your coworker who is busy decorating a cake.

"There's a guy in the bread aisle; he looks weird." is the only explanation as she begins to scan each small box, the scanner unit in her hand chirping after each successful read. 

"Why me?" you groan, fingers working on tightening your apron strings. "I don't wanna watch some creepy guy." 

Your boss stops, places her hands flat on the counter and fixes you with a look of mild annoyance. The muscles in her jaw twitch as she takes in a breath. 

"Just go. Pretend to fill stock, readjust tags, just make sure he pays for whatever he takes." 

You wait a moment, debating whether or not to turn this into an argument and whether the subsequent unpaid overtime you might have to do would be worth it to not watch a potential shoplifter. But you value sleep and time alone, and doing unpaid work is not worth the mild inconvenience it would be if you had to talk to the guy, so you sigh and throw your head back dramatically, resigning to the orders of your boss. 

She shouts a sung thank you as you walk away; your only acknowledgement of her gratitude is a raised hand as you walk into the aforementioned aisle. 

The shop's bright white fluorescent lights reflect off the grey linoleum with a harsh glare, smothering the cavernous warehouse in a mildly offputting, ever-present light. Smooth, bulbous black security cameras hang over the ends of each aisle, deterring most thieves; however, some still try to push their luck. Towards the end of the aisle, the suspected man stands in front of the packaged loaves. Oh. You've seen him before, a few times, actually within the past few weeks. He had become a frequent shopper, always quiet and polite, and never once struck you as someone who would try to steal, though his current ensemble did scream thief! Dark jeans, heavy black boots, a green jacket, and a black baseball hat slung low over his eyebrows. You watch as his gloved hands trace over the labels, mouth moving as he silently sounds out the vowels. He turns the bread over, weighing it before his head snaps towards you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden movement. There have been very few moments in life when you felt as though the ground would crumble away beneath you. Honestly, you can count them on one hand, but so far, the man in front of you has been present for two of them. Those familiar blue eyes stare back at you, and you cannot move. 

It's not fear but something so remarkably close that freezes you to your spot. It is not an emotion you can name. It is something you haven't felt before, but the tightness in your throat has you categorising it with the bad emotions, the ones that make you want to curl up in your bed and hide from the world, the ones that make you feel small again. 

The man takes a tentative step towards you—just one, no more—not as if he wants to get closer, just open up his body for conversation. You swallow, knowing he is about to speak, but the rock in your throat makes it impossible. 

He holds up the loaf of bread in his gloved hands and asks, "Do you know which bread keeps the longest?"  There is a hint of an American accent you had not heard a few nights ago. 

You shook your head. "I can ask if you would like?" the Romanian strangely formal on your tongue. 

He shakes his head, a tight smile appearing briefly before he turns on his heels and walks out of the aisle. 

A shaky breath escapes you as you fold over. Hands on your knees as you open your mouth, gulping air down and down into your body, the oxygen chasing away the static slowly creeping along your limbs. A nervous response your body has enacted for as long as you can remember, but it always goes away with a few deep breaths, the electricity turning back to blood and rushing through your body usually. When you were younger, you often panicked that if that static got to your heart, it would override your entire body, turning your muscles into electrical wires. You would become part robot, part human, and that fear had only been exacerbated after witnessing the man in your barn. His metal arm glinting in the low light sent shivers down your spine at the genuine fear your young brain conjured up, but that had to be a dream; there was no plausible explanation for that. Who has a metal arm? 

Another deep breath has your body relaxing, the tightness in your muscles easing away, but it does not stop your mind from racing. You hadn't had a moment to sit and think about that man from the other night; the second you got home, you had been bombarded with emails from your aunt, unanswered calls from your manager and an inbox from a friend you had not spoken to since moving away. There was not a single second where you sat and processed the events and the possible outcome of what could have happened, and if you are being honest with yourself, there never will be. You don't want to open that, to tear a small hole open to inspect inside, because if you open that gash, it would undoubtedly undo the rest of the hastily sutured wounds you have, and there is no time for that. No time to think about your home, your parents, your grandmother, the life you left behind, no time for anything other than moving forward. To keep pushing, to keep living. 

"Are you okay?" your boss asks, her hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. 

Another deep breath in. 

"Yeah, just tired." You lie and stand, your vision darkening temporarily at the sudden movement. "Just saw someone I thought I knew." 

---

You see your hero two more times in store before you work up the nerve to say something. 

The original plan was as follows:

Step one: Introduce yourself.

Step two: Say thank you for the other night and apologise for taking so long to say thank you

Step three: Ask him out for coffee as a thank you (and not because he is possibly the most stunning man you have ever seen) 

However, like all good plans, yours goes to waste the second you see him standing in the bread aisle. 

"This bread is really good even if you keep it in the freezer." you slide up to him, a loaf of bread in hand, an attempt to be smooth and start a conversation. 

A side glance is spared your way. His jaw is clenched, but upon seeing you, it relaxes. He turns his head, his eyes finding yours for a split second before glancing at the bread in your hand. 

"Sorry?" 

Oh. 

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. Have you got the wrong guy? Is this not the man you have thought of for the past week? The man who had saved you from certain doom? 

"The last time you were here, you asked which bread would keep the longest, and I didn't have an answer." You hold the bread up a little higher. "But now I do." 

Should you mention the incident in the alley?

Confusion furrows his brows, but he accepts the loaf nonetheless. "Thank you."

But there is no sincerity in his words. He is cautious about avoiding touching you despite wearing gloves, his fingers digging into the paper bag with gentle strength. He takes a step back, eyes squinting as though trying to figure out your motive behind the gesture and continues to back away before swiftly turning for the register, not another word spoken. 

A heavy sigh leaves you. All the air in your lungs had turned to lead for the duration of the conversation. 

Yes, You should have mentioned the incident in the alley. 

---

"Thank you," a smooth voice says from your left. You quickly turn to find the source, unsure if it's a customer or coworker, and are pleasantly surprised to see your illusive hero standing beside you.

You stand, brushing your hands on your apron, suddenly aware of how grimy and dirty your uniform is. "For?" the question comes out a little harsher than you intend. 

He shifts uncomfortably at your tone. "The bread, earlier in the week." 

"That's okay. I'm just doing my job." You're quick to correct the bitterness you had just spilt with a quick smile. "I'm glad it worked out." 

There is an unusual jitteriness to him. Usually, he is still and calm, like a man made of marble, as he analyses the stock, but today, he is fidgety. His fingers twitch at his side,  and his eyes search for something in the space between you. You think he is going to speak as he parts his lips, but he doesn't. 

You fill the gap. "You probably don't-"

"I just wanted to" 

The two of you awkwardly talk over the other as you realise you both want to say something. 

"Sorry. You finish what you were saying." He holds out his gloved hand as a gesture to keep talking. 

"It was nothing, I just—It's not important." You quickly dismiss yourself, not sure if you want to open that can of worms. If he has yet to mention it, surely he doesn't remember. 

The man looks like he wants to say something but stops himself and takes another direction. "I just wanted to say thank you. I'm Bucky." A gloved hand is extended, and you take it without a second thought. The leather is warm against your frozen fingers as you introduce yourself. 

Maybe you'll just let it go and start afresh. Close that wound completely and get the healing over and done with. 

"Lovely to meet you, Bucky. If you ever need anything, come find me." You've made this offer to many customers and thought nothing more of it but as he lets go of your hand and bids you farewell, you hope that isn't the last you see of him.

---

It's not.

Bucky becomes a frequent shopper. Having been seen maybe twice a fortnight, it is now once a week, with increasing conversation each time your paths cross. 

It starts with small hellos as you stock the aisles he is in, both of you watching each other as you navigate the small space; then he starts to ask about your day, comments on the weather, and the busyness of the square outside. Small talk to break the ice and ease him into conversations. He wants to talk to you despite every cell in his body telling him to run and hide from the potential threat; he can't stop himself as he smiles at you. 

"Do you like fruit?" he asks rather abruptly one day as he watches you stock the apple display. 

The question gives you pause, and he worries he has said the wrong thing or made a mistake, but your smile eases his anxiety. 

"I like fruit," you nod, attention on him but hands still working to stack. "Why?" 

Bucky is still determining why he asked the question. He has been looking at foods that increase memory and brain health, so that could be where it came from, but there is another part of him, something smaller and buried a little deeper, that wants to get to know you. He knows of you, has seen you in the store and saved you from that freak that one time, but other than that, you are just the pretty store clerk who he can't seem to forget about. 

"I've read that fruit can help with memory and was going to ask if you had any favourites I might try."  That works.

"Well, watermelon is my favourite, but I don't think that helps the brain a lot, so I think after that, it might be rasp-ber-ry?" you struggle to pronounce the word in Romanian, your tongue slipping over the constants. 

"Raspberries?' Bucky answers in English, having already known your native language just by the way you pronounce certain words. 

"Oh, you speak English?" you turn towards him, eyes wide as the familiar language catches you off guard.

"Better than Romanian." a small chuckle escapes him before he can help it. "We can stick to it if its easier."

Your eyes narrow as if trying to figure out who you are talking to. Bucky wants to laugh at that and encourage you to try. Let him know if you work it out so he can figure it out, too. 

"I've heard plums are pretty good, too." he watches as you bite down on your bottom lip, pulling the flesh into your mouth for a second. "You know-" 

Bucky stiffens, heart beginning to race. There are too many variables as to where this conversation is headed. 

"I know you, " you say, brows crinkling ever so slightly. You helped me that one night. I'm not sure if you remember." 

A huffed breath leaves Bucky as his muscles relax. Not the direction he dreaded. Good. He nods and leans against the stand. 

"I know, I didn't want to say anything in case you were…I didn't wanna scare ya."  

You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you turn back to stack the apples in your hands. The silence has his heart racing, this time for an entirely different reason. 

"Can I take you out as a thank you?" you ask suddenly, staring at the produce under your hands.

Bucky jolts, the fruit beneath his elbow shifting at the surprise, but he quickly catches them. The mechanics in his arm whirs, and he hopes to God, you didn't hear it. 

"Me?" 

"No. The other man who saved me." you joke, and Bucky notices the blush that begins to creep along your cheeks. 

Bucky laughs. "Uh, sure."

"If you want." You are quick to amend. 

"I want to," he reassures you, not wanting to cast doubt on his desire to go out with you. "I just haven't gone out in a long time," 

"Me neither," you shrug, leaning on the plastic create. "It's just a thank you. You don't have to dress up, I swear." 

Bucky wets his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as he deliberates. "Sure." 

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. "I can give you my number?" 

"I don't have a phone." 

"I can meet you here?" The offer is sincere and you don't look too perturbed by the fact he doesn't have a phone. 

There are a lot of things missing from Bucky's life—a phone, a proper house, friends, family, his sane mind. However, something is pulling him towards you. He isn't entirely sure what it is, where it has come from, or what will happen if he starts a friendship with you, but there is something so deep within him—the same gut feeling he had when he saw Steve on the bridge all those months ago—that is pulling him towards you now. 

He squares his shoulders before asking. "What time?"

[madamecaos]

The Howling

AU Werewolf Mafia: F|Reader x AU Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Synopsis: You move to a new town and the people there are just... strange.

Warning: 18+ Mature in next chapters, Lil Gore, Mate-Trope, Alpha-Omega trope, Angst, Overall Violence and Dark Themes

A/N: This is me, avoiding my other WIPs so I can pantsy-through another story that I'm not sure how to plot. Well, I couldn’t decide between Werewolves or Mafia AU, so here’s both.

It was known.

The first night of a full moon after Winter Solstice, every citizen of the little town had to bar their doors, stay inside and hope that sunrise received them unscathed. Otherwise, the victims of little Arcadea wouldn’t come to save you from the mauling beasts. Everyone knew you weren’t meant to go outside.

If only you had known that beasts also lurked in the daylight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You were new in town. The aftermath of a bad relationship and a great offer of a remote position gave you freedom enough to move to a new place. As long as you had Wi-Fi, you could work. When the opportunity arose in a niche little town, away from the city and surrounded by a sea of woodland, you took it. Anything to place miles and miles between you and your psychotic ex was a great offer.

A ride an hour away from the city was an improvement. Anything was.

But despite the cute little cafes and the upcoming Christmas festivities, the town didn’t receive you with open arms. The locals weren’t gracious to newcomers, so you did everything possible to not intrude.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in the little library, staking claim of your little corner with a watered-down coffee between your hands. It was lukewarm, but enough to stave away the chilling breeze coming from the open doors. Aside from the fact that this was the only place with decent Wi-Fi, it was comfortable and quiet.

Kate, the local librarian, could be heard chatting away as the truck backed up near the entrance. Tuesday meant that new books were coming in. And Tuesday meant that the delivery guy would burst your quiet bubble any second now.

You hadn’t been here a full month and you already felt like you knew too much about him.

Soap was chatty and had a smile too wide that didn’t match your grumpiness. And what kind of name was Soap?

Without looking up, you heard his footsteps. You imagined that he skipped your way, going by the obnoxious clatter of his keys and whatever else he had in his pockets.

Maybe you needed more caffeine to be nicer, you thought as your temples pulsed with an upcoming headache. It was something inexplicable, but whenever Soap came near your instincts went haywire. The urge to be defensive and argumentative rose within you like a second nature.

“New Lass,” he called you, almost cheering. You rolled your eyes at the nickname he donned you with as you refused to give him your name. It seemed that you acting wary of men made him think he had to try and get on your good side, the tough way, by being annoyingly too cheery. To add to your annoyance, your reactions only incited him more.

“Got ya’ more books. Want to see the new batch?” He asked too loudly with excitement, and you winced. “Oh, my bad. Inside voice.” He half-apologized, shrugging with a smile still plastered on his annoying features.

You were just… annoyed.

You took in his outfit. His usual black overall was replaced by dark jeans and a light jacket. Even his mohawk was not covered by the usual beanie, which prompted you to ask him something finally. “Going on a vacation?”

His clothing was not meant for the blistering cold outside.

“Wow,” Soap placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, New Lass. I thought you were mute.”

“Selective,” you answered shortly, then looked down to pretend to write an email. You hoped he took the hint but going by the lack of screeching chair at his usual loud departure, he was still sitting in front of you.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, and you questioned him with merely a risen eyebrow. “You would get along with my boss. You two would be a party.”

At your frown, he explained, “Silent and grumpy.”

“Soap!” Someone called from the entrance, allowing you peace as he walked away with a wave. What an odd man.

“See ya, New Lass.” Without turning back, he answered just as gruffly to the person that had demanded his attention, an attitude he had never directed at you despite your unwelcoming brashness. You couldn’t hear the rest, them being too far away.

Peace and quiet drove away the turmoil that usually came along with Soap’s presence, but your temples still pulsed with a surging headache.

“20 years less and I would,” Kate sighed as she closed the door with a click, looking through the glass doors as the truck drove away. Finally, warmth permeated the library again.

“Would what?” You asked and Kate looked at you like you were dense. Well, you kind of were.

“I don’t go for the young ones, but maybe Soap can be an exception,” As realization dawned at what she implied, Kate held in her amusement behind her titivating grin.

“Aren’t you married?”

“Like that has to do anything with it,” Kate rolled her eyes playfully and you ignored the uncomfortable thought of loyalty being so casually dismissed. Again, another reaction you had to thank your ex.  “And you? No man back home that calls you lass?”

The wiggle in her eyebrows brought you a little out of your dark cloud. “No, no man for me.”

You went back to your screen, ignoring the understanding look from Kate.

“Ah, we all came to Arcadea to escape from something,” she said, salvaging what little conversation you had with her. You weren’t exactly social, and amongst the locals, she was the most welcoming one. But that all made sense when she mentioned she was a foreigner as well, married her husband and was brought to the little town where she founded her dream little bookshop.

That might explain the why and how the place stood afloat, seeing as you were the only customer you had seen inside. What you didn’t have a theory for was the mysterious merchandise of books she received weekly, and yet the contents of the library hadn’t changed once.

Soap looked nice and approachable, but the gruffness, tattoos and bulking arms convinced you that it was not smart to ask. The curling instinct you had adopted from the big city told you he was not merely a delivery boy. But it was none of your business, or so you repeated to yourself every time something odd happened in little Arcadea.

And it was a lot.

“You ok there, love?” Kate asked as you stared ahead, lost in thought.

“I think I’m clocking out early,” You stretched in your chair, closing the laptop. “This migraine calls for a long nap.”

“All right, hope you feel better!” Kate called out as you made your way to the exit. Until she left you with a parting advice.

“Oh, and y/n” She started, the lack of endearment calling for your attention. You turned, expecting the common cheery demeanor one can expect from Kate. Instead, the hardened glance made you freeze. The grim expression seamlessly bleeding away the woman you had been getting to know these past few weeks. This was a stranger standing in front of you. “Don’t go out tonight.”

Without any chance of asking for an explanation, the happy demeanor returned, and Kate left you gaping at the entrance as she hummed away to the back of the store.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

She surely had meant ‘go out’ as ‘hang out’, right? You weren’t exactly friendly with the locals yet, only a few.  Kate was paranoid and you were starving. And it was Tuesday. Nothing happened on Tuesdays.

After sleeping away the headache for what felt like days, you woke up parched and ready to eat a whole three course meal. The migraine had ceased enough for you to see without flinching at every little light, but you knew that if you didn’t eat soon, it would worsen. So still in pijamas, with fuzzy boots and a big hoodie to complete the look, you went out into the cold with your phone, cash and your keys.

The diner across the block closed late, at least late enough for you to eat. And if it fit the mood, you might aim for a milkshake, you thought as you headed into the center of the town.

As you walked, you hugged yourself to stave away the breeze weaving through the trees. The woodland was so close to the town you could hear the leaves moving, its hushing billowing out through the deserted streets.

The cold painted your breath in huffs, your distance to the diner decreasing. But as you kept your pace, you couldn’t help but recognize the unusual solace of the roads. They were devoid of life, vendors already settled down for the night. 

Your footsteps on gravel were the only sounds disrupting the silence, but even without any more sounds, the eerie feeling of someone staring at you made you walk faster.

Nothing could’ve told you someone was staring at you but your intuition, your paranoia getting the best of you. You snapped your head back, hoping that your fear was only induced by the darkness. The weathered headlamps were enough to let you confirm that you were wrong. No one was there, no shadows followed you. With nothing to show for, you kept walking, pace hurrying nonetheless.

The bell on the door charmed at your entrance. It was quiet, oddly so. You were often received by the boisterous waitress that covered the nightshift. She made the best lattes and made you laugh, getting you away from your shy nature.

All worn booths were empty as you sat in your preferred corner, read the menu that you’ve read a thousand times before, and looked around. It was odd that you hadn’t seen nor heard the waitress yet.

The restaurant looked empty, abandoned even. So with courage, you stood up and sat at the bar, ringing the bell for service. Right now, you would do anything for crumbs.

“Hi, dear,” the waitress whose name tag read as Darla, gave you a hurried smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing early today.”

“Please,” Yes, you resorted to begging. “I’m starving. Just the usual.”

“I-“ she stuttered. “The kitchen is already closed. The cook clocked out early.”

At the last word, the entrance bell chimed behind you, making you turn curiously. You felt the breeze, you heard the bell and you heard the door closing… but there was no one there. All tables were as empty when you arrived.

You turned back to face the waitress. The question in your lips stopped mid track at her expression. Her dark complexion had gone white, eyes wide eyed and petrified.

“Make the girl a plate.”

A low rumbling voice said from behind you, and you saw fear bleed into Darla’s expression.

You looked back immediately to your right, your gaze clashing with broad shoulders first, biceps bulging beneath a tight fitted black shirt. It seemed as if his height went on and on as your head tilted upwards, taking in the broadness of the looming man dressed as walking death.

Dark eyes beneath a skull mask perilously studied you. His stare unflinching, unmoving, as your heart made its way to your throat with fear… and something else. Something odd and uncanny made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The sensation of someone chasing you confused you. You were sitting still, and he hadn’t made himself an obvious threat, despite the oddity of his mask in the middle of a local dinner.  Your mind spun at the lack of sense, your heart wildly beating, pinned beneath his stare. While petrified on the stool, your body slowly but surely felt heat rise, perspiration building along your temples as if you had already ran a mile.

That damned migraine came back tenfold, and you still sat there, looking up like a deer in headlights, eyes threatening to scrunch at the buzzing lights. If you were to look away first, he would take it as you submitting to whatever fear was taking ahold of you. You kept silent, holding in your gasps of air. 

What is this? Who was he?

Somehow, he had walked behind you so silently and so fast, you hadn’t seen him enter. He had crossed half the diner in seconds, landing at the opposite side of you. Something you wanted to believe was impossible, but here he was.

He was the first to break eye contact, allowing air into your lungs. All the odd warming sensations stopped at his departure. Without a glance back, he entered the kitchen then pivoted to the exit door, Darla moving away to give him a wide berth of space.

“New cook?” You joked timidly, trying to break the tension of the now fretting waitress. Metal spoons and pans clattered as she filled a foam container with whatever she could find. Her hands shook.

“Go,” Darla whispered with a pointed look, handing you a bag with whatever lukewarm food. At your hesitation to leave her alone, she pushed it to your chest, then motioned you to the door. 

“I can pay-“

Darla side stepped the counter, hands on your shoulders pivoting you to the exit.

“It’s on the house. Now, don’t do anything stupid and stay inside.”

With that, the door clicked hurriedly behind you, not allowing you to turn and ask the million questions you had for her.

You were at odds with yourself as you stared at your dark reflection on the glass door. 

On one hand, you wanted peace. It was the main reason you came to this town for, and asking the right or wrong questions often led you into more problems. But on the other hand, a huge man with a skull mask with an in-defensive woman didn’t bode well. And the panic in her eyes made you repeat the interaction over and over again. 

Darla shut off the lights as she went back to the kitchen, leaving you standing at the closed entrance of the now dark restaurant.

You debated if it was worth it calling the police, or if that fell under the list of what Darla deemed as something stupid.

Holding the bag to yourself as you walked back to your apartment in a hurry, you ignored Darla’s warnings. You’d rather bet on the ‘stupid’ but safe option and put in an anonymous tip. The receiver sounded bored, nonchalant even, not caring that a woman was alone in her job with a strange man. The interaction didn’t go as planned, especially when the person you spoke with treated you as if you were insane and not something to believe. The conversation turned oddly quiet when they asked you to describe the man, the mention of a ‘skull mask’ twisting their questions into more personal ones.

Who are you? What’s your name? What’s your place of residence?

 You hung up.

You did what you could, right? At least Darla’s danger won’t fully fall into your consciousness, you tried to convince yourself.

But the interaction interrupted whatever you thought of doing that night. You couldn’t concentrate. There was something off-putting that insisted that you had to go back there, but you were astute enough to know that it wasn’t a safe route. As an outlet, you called the restaurant several times, hoping that the internet’s spotty phone number was a true one. No answer. Maybe… just maybe if you saw if Darla was ok, you could rest. Then after assuring her safety, you would be relaxed enough to go back to your own business and hide in your apartment once again. After scarfing down the lukewarm food and pacing over the options, you did something else Darla had mentioned, something she had warned against.

With keys between your knuckles and pepper spray in your pocket, you went back outside. You just wanted to see that Darla wasn’t hurt. One glance and you were out.

This was the moment in horror movies when one would demean the main character for doing something so obviously stupid, you thought as you shivered with adrenaline and uncertainty.

The streets were just as empty as the restaurant, a full moon at its peak providing most light.  The pavement was so dark its reflection bathed the street in white.

As you neared, you slowed your pace and approached cautiously.  You shook the doors by the handles, but they were already locked. That much you already knew… but you’ve seen the odd man going out the other exit.

Cautiously, you tiptoed to the right corner and came around, peeking into the darkness to scope the back of the establishment. This is surely the way you’ll die, you thought with a tight grip of your keys as you rounded the wall. And at the turn, you clashed into something warm, so warm that the hands grasping you back to a wide chest could be felt through all your layers of clothing.

It was almost as if he had materialized from the shadows. Even with whatever minor moonlight shone through, it was not dark enough for you to be completely blind. You should’ve seen him coming.

You pushed the person back with all your strength, but they did nothing but chuckle, still too near for your comfort. At the sound and the familiarity of the creeping sensation crawling up your neck, you relaxed a little.

“Oh lass, I didn’t think it was like that,” Soap goaded, holding you close. “Only one word today and you’re already throwing yourself at me.”

“Get off me,” you shook your arms as you looked around him, behind him. At least, tried to, but he annoyingly planted himself in your line of sight, prohibiting you from searching for another sign of life.

“Hey, attention on me, yeah?” Soap stood closer, presence prompting you back to his attention.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned him, gaze still looking around you. “Where’s Darla?”

“Whose Darla?” Soap mused as he walked forward, forcing you to take steps back. “And I could ask the same.”

“I’m hungry,” you answered quickly, knowing that would be the first excuse you would use if the waitress asked for your intentions by disobeying her warning.

“Something told me you ate,” Soap said as he pointed with a look the red stain on your hoodie. He leaned closer and inhaled. You leaned back and ignored the odd gesture. “Pasta, to be exact.”

“Well, I’m still hungry.”

Seconds passed, and gloom dimmed his grin.

“Ah,” Soap sighed, disappointed. “So you’re the one that called the police.”

You froze, fear chilling the back of your neck. How did he know that? Nervous sweat and an accelerating heart with wide eyes took over you. Annoying Soap wasn’t acting like a child prying for your attention anymore. The seriousness and the slow tilt of his head made him seem as a complete stranger, much like Kate had been.

Had she known the danger of the delivery boy? Was she in on whatever was going on?  

“Oh? Did the police come by?” You asked, thinking that it would be best not to admit anything. “Why would they need to come here?”

Soap’s lips tilted, and not in the amusement you’d been accustomed to. At your struggle to swallow, his sight slowly landed on your throat. His gaze leisurely angled up to your eyes, moonlight catching oddly on his irises.

“Hm,” he took his index finger to his chin, musing into the air mockingly. “What to do with you now.”

He looked down on you, as if he was holding a secret you didn’t know. Deliberating… In a sudden flash, he was beside you, arm around your shoulders back pushing you forward. His proximity jolted you, your temples resurging the headache from earlier.

“Come, It’s time you to meet the boys,” He offered, not leaving you another option.

“What boys? I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m leaving now.” You tried to turn back, but the both of you had already walked to the back where you supposed the dumpsters were.

“This is not a good idea, so I’m leav-“ You tried to say again, but it was too late.

“Look what I found,” Soap said loudly. As you rounded the corner, you blinked at the dim light, the backlight providing enough for you to make out three silhouettes and… maybe a dog in the back? They all looked big, all broad as Soap, but Soap lacked what they had in height.  

The same man that had interrupted you earlier stood the furthest, his imposing shadow drawing perturbing darkness over the bricked wall, swallowing whatever light the moon provided. You could make out his form through the darkness. He was unfazed, unmoving, unlike his counterparts.

His untiring glare pinned you in place again, imposing itself in front of the prowling dusk-like silhouette bleeding away at the corner of your eye.

“What have you done?” One of the other men questioned with despair, genuinely worried at your presence petrified beside Soap. With a hand movement, the motion-sensor light activated, bathing the strangers with a harsh truth, immediately providing you with the information you were lacking. Now you understood Darla’s fear, its sight leaving you breathless.

The man in the skull mask was accompanied by other two, all just as bulky and threatening. The man perturbed at your presence was dressed in casual black just as Soap, the other one dressed in a police uniform. The golden badge caught in the light as the man stood taller, preparing for action, as if to chase you when you imminently ran away.

But your gaze couldn’t really focus on anything else except the dead body laying between them, all men surrounding the corpse. A pool of blood gushed from the cook’s torn neck, a chunk of it missing. You didn’t really know him… had known him.

He had been rude and standoffish, much like the rest of the citizens of the little town, but you really hadn’t seen any action that prompted for death, and a bloody one at that. But again, not knowing much about anyone had led you to this moment, prying for the safety of a stranger.

And now someone was dead, and you might be next. They all stared at you, at your rising panic.

“I didn’t think you would kill him so quickly,” Soap said nonchalantly, and your heart pounded itself into your throat, crawling upwards through your ribcage, preventing you from screaming. He voiced it so casually, as if this was his norm. “And besides, she’s the one that ratted us out.” 

You felt the burn of Soap’s gaze on your profile, his arm around your arm confining. Suffocating.

“Brave for someone so little.”

The one in the police uniform stepped forward slowly, stern look at odds with the amusement in his voice. He might have seemed the oldest with the light mutton chop-beard, or at least the leader, going by the respect in Soap’s expression. As he got nearer, you felt Soap stand straighter. If he was someone Soap respected, he was someone you were to fear. That much you knew.

Their accents were not much like your own.

Your eyes jumped frantically from the body to him, the Sheriff badge pinned to his uniform catching in the light again, giving away his job position. Even with the threat imminently approaching, you also watched around him. The other stranger and the skull mask staring back at you were not forgotten. Too many threats you had to watch out for, you thought as you searched for an exit, for a way to drive away the attention from you.

“Don’t touch me,” You furiously shook Soap’s arm, ducking away, the lack of warmth reminding you of how actually cold it was. Your hurried breaths came out in puffing mist, truly showing them how scared you were. The fingers tightly curled around your keys were wait, fully prepared to drive jam your only weapon into someone’s throat, even if it did nothing but distract. You were determined to die fighting.

As if knowing your intentions, your eyes returned to the man you had briefly met before at his amused huff, the black of his skull mask camouflaging with the darkness behind him. It was almost like you couldn’t help but stare back at death.

Despite being the one standing the farthest away, too still for him to seem preoccupied at your actions, you knew subconsciously he was the biggest threat of them all.

“Hm, pup has teeth,” the Sheriff mused as he frowned, annoyance in his face aimed at Soap.

“And the other one is a yapper,” the one with the skull camouflage retorted, comment aimed at Soap too, his voice again sounding like a grumble in your ears, as if was too low of a sound for you to register.

Instinctively you minutely winced, adrenaline making your pulse jump.

The Sherrif’s ever studying gaze caught the movement, frown turning menacing. “That seems like a problem.”

You waited for him to pounce, to cut your throat as they had done to the one that cooked the best burgers in town. Or at least, for him to command you to start digging your own grave.

Seconds went by and the breeze picked up momentarily. Only the lulling shush of the billowing leaves was heard. You shivered as it hit the back of your neck, flying some of your loose baby hairs to your cheeks.

You wanted to think you were delirious. No matter how subtle the rise of his shoulders, you could tell when he inhaled. As did the others, simultaneously.

The threatening nature of the leader flattened to a blank expression, but his eyes, unmoving from your features, were as intense as your ongoing rising panic. You understood immediate violence, already bracing for whatever they had planned from the moment you saw them. What you didn’t understand was the realization dawning on the other two at the back, nor the proud stance in Soap.

But the Sheriff raised his hands in a placating manner and took a few steps back, submissive, expression now beseeching you to not fear him. The shift in attitude had you gripping your keys between your knuckles harder, thinking it was another tactic to lower your inhibitions.

“Impossible,” the unmasked one at the back whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She’s had a headache for days now,” Soap added the much unnecessary comment. You glared, realizing that he had been observing you too closely, Kate probably spying for him. She was the only one that knew about the headaches.

“Grumpier each time I come near,” Soap added, almost tenderly. At your glare, he grinned. “See?”

“What? Can you shut up?” You sneered, taking more steps back, them allowing it. Almost feeling violated at the fact that you never had any privacy, anger interlaced itself with your never-ending fear. Your shifting mood wouldn’t now stab Soap in fear, but in rage at his grating voice.

“Easy there.”

The one with the mask hummed at the bite in your tone. That rumbling sound again drove your gaze to his like a moth to flame. It was sorely a reminder of your precarious situation, a gravely dangerous one.

You have been here before, trapped with a man that wanted to hurt you, you thought. You thought you escaped from that, that Arcadea was your way out. But as Soap stood near, you realized it was lie, and you might never come back alive this time. Four men and one woman didn’t bode well for other reasons too; you weren’t a stranger to the sins against your flesh either.

“You should smell her,” Soap finally said, humming with pride, not understanding how unsettling it was for you to hear. The creepiness in the comment made you forget about your anger momentarily, your eyes catching the lifeless ones of the cook. Slowly, your gaze drifted upwards, until it landed on now luminescent eyes behind a mask, moonlight reflecting oddly. Even through it, you noticed the harsh frown aimed at you. It spelled danger, and that was enough for you to bolt.

“Soap!”

You pivoted and ran, but just as quickly, you stopped and skidded on pavement. The adrenaline didn’t allow you to feel the shock of you landing on your behind, your hands taking the brunt of the impact as you stared upwards wide-eyed.

There was nowhere to go, and there was no way you could run away from it.

A hulking figure bled from the shadows, rising at its hunches. Snarling teeth, each one the size of your forearm, salivated in a snarling smile. A wolf the size of a two-story house stood amidst the night, hiding the high full moon behind it, taking the sight of your exits with him.

A hand caught you by the back of the hoodie as you crawled back, pulling you up.

“Breathe, lass,” Soap instructed in what he thought was a comforting way, but his grasp along the sight of the nearing beast turned your stomach. “You’re ok.”

“No, Soap!”

Before he could heed his boss’s warnings, Soap’s hand grasped the back of your neck gently. It was the first time he made skin to skin contact, and what a mistake that was.

 Electricity cursed through you painfully and you screeched. It started from the top of your neck then down to your lower back, blinding agony crawling like a shiver down your spine. You fell to your knees, bone clacking with the floor loudly.

“You NEVER touch a dormant, much less her!” The Sheriff ran to your aid, hands hovering yet not daring to touch your shivering form. Something was strangling you from the back, your fingers clawing your throat and the nape of your neck where Soap touched you as you gasped for air.

The daring Sherriff finally grasped your wrists over your sweater, avoiding skin,  preventing you from hurting yourself.

“Breathe through it, love,” he encouraged, hiding away the panic in his voice.

Soap jumped away from you at your scream, looking at his hand blamed for assaulting you.

“What do we do?” The one that mentioned the odd impossibility of your existence also stood near, worried gaze aimed at your hunching form. “We’ve never met an Omega before.”

Perspiration seeped through your clothing, shivers racking all over your body. You now laid down completely, hugging your bruised knees to your chest in fetal position.

A sudden current of unexplained emotions surged through the odd sensations of your body. Almost like not knowing how to pick, your emotions jumped from blinding rage, and oh so suddenly, back to despair then again to happiness. Sobs of overwhelming consciousness were pulled from you against your will. Your hands were freed, allowing you to clutch your head.

“Make it stop,” you begged repetitively through your crying, migraine increasing by the second.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Soap repeated again and again, apologies increasing at your wails.

You covered your ears at his voice, clenching your eyes shut.

“Hush” the gruff man sporting the mask said from the back. “No Beta should speak now.”

They made way as he neared, steps carefully calculated.

Unlike Soap’s voice, the lower rumbling coming from the looming shadow didn’t feel like screeching. His voice almost lulled you from the up and coming anguish caving away in your chest.

“What’s happening to me?” You managed to choke out, your voice feeling like nails trying to crawl up your trachea.

“It will pass soon,” he said, dark eyes intensely focusing on your own. He didn’t kneel beside the others, standing away, hiding your sight from the pacing beast behind his back, almost sensing how uncomfortable it made you. Even through the neutral tone and mask, you noticed how agitated he was at your state. The why and the how of the reason you knew that was lost on you.

“Stop that, you’re making her nervous,” the Sheriff spoke at the beast’s growl, but with a huff, it followed instructions and laid down slowly, as if not to disturb you.

After one last upsurge of overwhelming emotions, it slowly lulled down to a passive wave that you had to fight through. It was almost as if it had drained you, physically and emotionally. You could only stare in a haze at the military boots kneeling beside you.

Minutes followed in silence, allowing you reprieve from your heightened senses as your tears didn’t cease.

“How are you feeling, pup?” The Sherriff asked lowly, scared of disturbing you from your sudden peace. You tried to breathe out an answer, but nothing came out. You laid down there, limp, and exhausted, and yet it was not enough to stave away the need for comfort.

This wasn’t you, but you couldn’t fight the honing focus of your sight. And through your breathing, a scent snapped you up into action, like a string pulling you forward. The men hovering over you leaned back as you raised your head slowly but desperately. It was a need for… you weren’t sure for what.

Without aiming to, your self-preservation was lost amidst the confusion, making you forget all these months where you forced yourself into isolation, away from people and their touch.

You looked around, as if searching for something. The men stared at you bewildered as it called to you, sounding like a faraway howl deafening your usual self. It moved you against your will, it’s rebounding echo merging into a chorus of ravenous animals demanding your presence. The image of snarling teeth right behind your neck snapped into your mind.

Without control of your movements, you clumsily rose to your hands and knees, palms scraping the pavement as you crawled forward. The men shielding you made way, confused at your desperate state. Your gaze roved around, until landing exactly on what you were instinctually searching for, on whom you were called to.

He wasn’t far away, standing close to the comrades kneeling beside you. As you neared slowly, you saw the eyes behind the mask minutely widen.

“Ghost?” the Sheriff asked slowly, given his frozen state at your crumbling form reaching for his ankles. It was almost as if you couldn’t wait to get to him, your hands not knowing if to push you forward or reach for him.

You finally got to the stoic man, grasping his pants by his ankles, pleading at his towering indifference. You pulled and pulled, and a whine was pulled from you when he didn’t move.

Finally, you dared to look up, eyes clashing with amber irises in an intensity that matched the onslaught of sensations you were forced to breathe through earlier. It wasn’t animosity that found you, but shock and confusion, and maybe awe. From your view from the floor, it was almost humbling that a man that size was just as confused as you.

Your eyes watered at the sight of his unmoving form, reaching closer and upwards with the intention to climb him.

“Simon.” Someone sternly called his name, snapping him from whatever had made him freeze in panic like a novice. He slowly but surely kneeled, your hands refusing to let go of his clothes. Just as desperately, when he reached your height, your arms tried to close around him, pressing your body to him in a tight hug, but his torso was too big for you to touch your fingertips at his back.

The cold of the pavement, along with the smell of blood, had left you shivering. Almost too cold to be natural, until a big, tattooed hand gently, tentatively, placed itself at the nape of your neck.

Your lashes fluttered at the warm sensation, shoulders sagging in releaf, allowing you to breathe normally.

The others looked up, surprised at the kind gesture given by their most ruthless killer, or so you assumed going by the blood you had seen stuck at the soles of his boots.

Without waiting for instructions, that hand traveled slowly down your arm then to your side as if not to spook you. Just as carefully, an arm locked itself behind your knees, bringing you to his chest. The screeching need of him to hold you lulled, allowing exhaustion to melt you against him.

“Ghost?” Soap whispered, looking over you with trepidation at the consequences of him using his voice. “What are you doing?”

Your head felt heavy, forehead resting in the space beneath his jaw and his neck. Even through the baclava you could smell him, musk and something akin to sandalwood easing you to rest. The warmth surrounding you might have emanated from the hard chest you were pressed against or the trunk for arms now holding you to him, you weren’t sure what made you feel suddenly so secure. The only thing you were sure about right now was how tired you felt.

The masked man that had terrified you in the beginning dignified Soap’s question with merely a grunt for an answer, his quiet steps lulling you to a deep sleep.  

From far away, the howling now didn’t sound so menacing, nor so loud, easing into your subconsciousness as if it were completely natural, for his warmth had quieted whatever unexplained horrors had taken over you.

A/N: Hoped you likes it! I'm open to suggestions on what should happen next 𓏗𓏗

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

Be My Lover, Be My Beast

Ch1 | Ch2 | Sweet | Premium | Epilogue| Bonus

Warning: Mention of blood

The second prince of Kogyoku, a country known for its tumultuous times and night cherry blossoms, is feared as a "demon" due to his love for battle. He’s always calm and composed, making it impossible to read what he’s thinking.

That’s why I wanted to know—the true nature of the fierce heat that occasionally flickers in his emerald eyes.

Merchant: "Oh... Oh no."

Emma: "Is something wrong?"

One day, after finishing my duties as Belle, I visited Kogyoku, where the cherry blossoms bloom all year round, along with the bookstore owner.

A merchant who had come to the inn where I was staying at to deliver a book I had ordered, showed me a package with a troubled look on his face.

Merchant: "The truth is, I thought your book was the last item to deliver today, but I just realized there’s still one more left."

Merchant: "If I deliver it now, I’ll keep an important client of mine waiting in the neighboring town, and that’s something I want to avoid..."

Emma: "If you’d like, I can deliver it for you."

Merchant: "What? But..."

Emma: "I’ve been wanting to thank you for always recommending such wonderful products, so please let me help!"

Merchant: "…Thank you, honestly, I appreciate it. The delivery location is somewhere you’ve been to before, so you should be fine."

Emma: "A place I’ve been to before?"

(Indeed, I’ve been here before.)

The delivery location was a grand castle standing proudly on a hill, with distinctive red tiles.

(It's strange how familiar this place feels... Oh, I remember, I’ve crossed paths with him here before...)

I glance down at the package I was holding carefully.

(It’s heavier than it looks... I wonder what’s inside.)

(Oh...)

When I lifted my head to climb the stairs, I noticed a figure at the very top.

Although they had their back turned to me, the fiery red hair tied in a braid told me who they were.

Emma: "Prince Kagari..."

(Huh? ...This scent...)

What wafted past my nose was the fleeting scent of cherry blossoms mixed with the thick smell of iron, as if to erase the former.

Kagari: "Princess, your timing is as bad as ever."

(...)

When Prince Kagari turned around, his clothes were splattered with dark red patterns.

As soon as I realized what it was, my body temperature plummeted.

Emma: "A-Are you injured...?"

Kagari: "Don’t worry, it’s just blood."

(So all of that... is someone else’s blood...)

A different kind of fear crawled up from my spine.

Kogyoku is known as a war-torn land, where battles are an everyday occurrence.

Prince Kagari had stood on the battlefield since he was young, achieving countless victories.

His overwhelming strength has earned him the fearsome title of "demon," something I was told about even before coming to Kogyoku.

(I first met him when he saved me from being attacked by bandits, but...)

(Even though he had saved me, when I encounter situations like this, I can’t help but feel my legs trembling.)

Kagari: "Do you need something from me?"

Emma: "Yes."

Kagari: "…Speak from there."

Kagari: "You can at least manage that much, can’t you?"

(Did I have a tense expression on my face?)

(...No, I can’t be scared over something like this.)

Though his words were blunt, the concern hidden within them gradually calmed my racing heart.

(I’m the one who decided to come to this country, knowing it would be dangerous.)

I steeled myself and started moving my feet again, standing beside Prince Kagari.

And the moment I looked up at his expressionless emerald eyes—

(Huh...?)

Kagari: "You’re quite the brave one, Princess. But don't complain if the scent rubs off on you."

A red-gloved hand covered touched my neck.

In a situation where it felt like my life was being held in someone else’s hands, I almost forgot how to breathe.

Kagari: "Didn’t you consider that I might be on edge after returning from battle?"

Emma: "I... I don’t think you’re the type of person who would take out their frustrations on innocent people."

(If he were, he wouldn’t have taken the trouble to keep me from getting too close to him when I was scared.)

The hand that had been gripping my neck easily let go, allowing me to steady my shallow breath.

Kagari: "You’re right. If I were to take it out on someone, it would probably be one of my attendants."

(I feel sorry them...)

Kagari: "Don’t worry. There’s nothing to gain from killing you... for now."

Emma: "Is there a chance that could change?"

Kagari: "Who knows?"

(That’s ominous...)

Kagari: "So, what do you need from me?"

I handed Prince Kagari the package.

Emma: "I brought this package addressed to you from a merchant."

Kagari: "Why you?"

Emma: "It just turned out that way. The merchant was worried he wouldn’t make his next appointment on time if he delivered it himself."

Kagari: "I see. So you offered to deliver it for him?"

Kagari: "You’ve been made to work for free, you kind-hearted Princess."

Emma: "...That’s not a very pleasant way to put it."

Kagari: "It’s the truth. Deal with it."

Kagari: "....."

After receiving the package, Prince Kagari seemed to think for a moment, then looked back at me.

Kagari: "Thank you for going to the trouble. I appreciate it."

Emma: "It was nothing. Well then, I’ll be on my way..."

Emma: "......... Um, Prince Kagari?"

Kagari: "What is it?"

Emma: "I can’t leave if you’re holding onto my arm."

(And he’s got a pretty firm grip; I can’t even move.)

Prince Kagari’s expression remained unreadable as he looked down at me, as usual, making it impossible to know what he was thinking or feeling.

Kagari: "Don’t you want some dorayaki?"

Emma: "Dorayaki? Not particularly..."

Kagari: "I do. I’m going to change, so wait here."

Emma: "Huh? Wait, Prince Kagari... And he’s gone."

(Why dorayaki all of a sudden? And without even asking about my plans... Well, I don’t really have any, so it’s fine.)

(If I go home now, he’ll probably come after me...)

(Prince Kagari is still as abrupt and forceful as ever.)

After changing with frightening speed, Prince Kagari and I were soon riding in a carriage to a sweets shop in the neighboring town.

.....

Emma: "Matcha, sakura, strawberry, chestnut, butter... There are so many options. Do you have a recommendation, Prince Kagari?"

Kagari: "All of them."

Emma: "...That doesn’t make it easier."

The sweet aroma of freshly baked dorayaki filled the air, making it hard to resist.

I kept scanning the menu from top to bottom, but I couldn’t decide.

(They all look so good... I’m leaning towards the classic red bean paste. But the butter one sounds interesting too.)

(No, since I’m in Kogyoku, I should probably go with the sakura flavor!)

Kagari: "Shopkeeper, one red bean paste with butter and one sakura, please."

Shopkeeper: "Got it, just a moment."

Emma: "...Did it show on my face?"

Kagari: "Your eyes are more honest than your mouth, Princess."

(It’s hard to hide anything from Prince Kagari.)

(Let’s see... The sakura dorayaki costs...…)

As I reached for my wallet, Prince Kagari suddenly grabbed my hand, stopping me.

With efficient movements, he used his other hand to pay the shopkeeper and took both dorayaki.

Kagari: "Too bad, I already paid."

Kagari: "Consider it as thanks for delivering the package."

(I see, so that’s why he brought me here.)

Emma: "Thank you. Then I’ll accept your offer and enjoy it."

(Woah...)

Still holding onto my hand, Prince Kagari led me to a nearby bench and had me sit down.

When I took the dorayaki he offered, the warmth of the freshly baked treat gently eased my heart.

Prince Kagari sat down beside me—and for some reason— turned to face me.

Kagari: "Princess, would you like to split the butter dorayaki with me?"

Emma: "Were you having trouble deciding too?"

Kagari: "...Something like that."

(Is he really fond of dorayaki?)

It was so unexpected that I couldn’t help but smile at the cuteness of it.

Emma: "I’d be happy to share. I was actually torn between the sakura and butter, so this makes me happy."

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "Your eyes are more honest than your mouth, Princess."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(Wait…. Did he order the butter dorayaki because he noticed I was struggling to decide between the two...?)

Kagari: "Here, Princess."

Emma: "Ah, sorry. I’ll split mine too."

I carefully broke the dorayaki in half and exchanged pieces with him.

(The slightly melted butter bean paste and the beautifully pink sakura bean paste... Which should I try first?)

(Which one did Prince Kagari start with?)

Kagari: "…That was good."

(What, he’s already finished!? It’s only been a few seconds!)

Ignoring my surprise, Prince Kagari stood up and spoke to the shopkeeper.

Kagari: "One more red bean paste dorayaki, please."

Shopkeeper: "Got it, coming right up."

(So... he didn’t suggest splitting because I was undecided; he just wanted more dorayaki for himself.)

(I never imagined Prince Kagari loved dorayaki THIS much.)

Prince Kagari sat down next to me again and, without changing his expression, began eating his dorayaki with complete focus.

(I still can’t quite read what he’s thinking, but from the way he looked out for me at the castle and thanked me with dorayaki...)

(He’s probably a kind person at heart.)

(Ah…. Both flavors were amazing.)

After finishing the dorayaki, a contented sigh escaped my lips without me realizing it.

Kagari: "Was it good, Princess?"

Emma: "Yes, very! They were so delicious; I’d love to try every flavor now."

As I nodded, his emerald eyes narrowed slightly in satisfaction.

Kagari: "I see. Then I’ll treat you again."

Kagari: "So, please be my lover."

Next

▼・ᴥ・▼

[multidimensionalguidance]

Anuradha - The Bridge To All Paths Pt.2

Services

As mentioned in the first part, the light aspects of Anuradha are almost always easy to identify through films or by paying attention to the major themes in their life. Now, with all Scorpios there is always a much darker side despite the already observable shadows.

Scorpio placements always carry an intense and intimidating aura, yet out of all the nakshatras the one that carries the most harsh attitude and presence is Vishakha ruled by a male tiger. Both Anuradha and Jyeshtha are ruled by the deer, which makes them more skittish, sensitive, and paranoid.

An observation was made by a fellow astrology account "v1rginldy" on Twitter, and I wanted to expand further on it because it speaks volumes of this nakshatra. They pointed out how there seems to be a connection between Anuradha and demonic possessions, specifically in a context with nuns or women getting pregnant by evil forces.

Anuradha is the only female yoni nakshatra among the others, so perhaps this is why there is such an association with gestation and birth. The corruption comes in from the shadow that speaks and lures in Scorpio placements.

All Scorpios seek power in some way, and in this nakshatra they attempt to obtain it by becoming devoted and subservient to a goal or individual that can give them the authority they seek. Their much softer, innocent, gentle, and servicing nature makes them an easy target.

There seems to be a pattern of young girls who wish to devote their love and energy to God, divinity, or a mystical force yet get deceived to unwillingly participate in dark rituals. They are used as a vessel who is willing to sacrifice anything in order to achieve what they consider to be their inner purpose.

Sydney Sweeney from "Immaculate" plays a young novice nun, who basically ends up getting possessed, lied to, and manipulated to carry the antichrist. She has her Ascendant in Anuradha.

Nell Tiger Free from "The First Omen" plays a young woman who is also a young nun that is selected to bring about the birth of evil incarnate. She has her Moon in Anuradha.

Juliet Mills from "Beyond the Door (1974 film)" has Sun in Anuradha and played the role of a young pregnant woman in San Francisco who is going to have the devil's baby during her strange possession.

Laurel Vail in Delivery: The Beast Within has Moon in Anuradha and plays as a young couple documenting their first pregnancy for a new TV show discover that a malevolent entity has taken control of their unborn child.

Laura Harris from The Calling (2000) has Sun-Mercury in Anuradha and also plays as a young woman who has her child under abnormal circumstances. She pieces together clues that lead to one conclusion, her son is the Antichrist.

It seems that the pure intention and services of these natives are often misused by those who have hidden agendas. They push the narrative to Anuradha natives that suffering for love is the ultimate expression of devotion.

This is why the long term alliances they choose to make are essential not just for their future, but safety. It is the guidance and protection of those who are their partner/s, friends, family, and even coworkers that keep ill willed individuals at bay.

The nun and religious associations are very interesting considering that their whole life journey is about devotion to a higher calling, and it is the corruption within these institutions that take advantage of their natural gifts.

Hope y'll enjoyed these observations, and if I encounter more patterns with this nakshatra, I'll be continuing further.

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]

mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely

mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note

mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena

mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us

mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]

mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys

mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker

mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die

mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey

mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast

mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.

mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER

mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree

mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world

mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!

mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all

mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens

mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys

mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way

mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what

mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife

mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband

mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me

mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve

mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,

mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol

mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport

mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.

mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!

mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back

mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]

mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho

mutual 4: WHAT

mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time

mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point

mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?

mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?

mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it

mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!

mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

Child soldier program within the Fire Nation. Princess Ursa will be having the first grandchild of fire lord Azulon, and as a gift, he sends his son, prince Ozai, to find an appropriate bodyguard for the mother of the nation.

After prince Zuko was born, princess Ursa became pregnant once more.

When she gave birth to her second. Not only did she suffer from a burn from the newborn, she didn't feel the motherly love she felt for her firstborn to her second. She couldn't hold her or even look at her. But she's not a cruel woman, so she found a wet nurse and let the other woman raise her. Well, that was the plan until for a whole day straight the baby girl wouldn't and couldn't stop crying. Even Ozai heard it and came to yell at Ursa for failing as a mother.

When the child had finally shutten up, Ozai turned to see the young guard gently holding the baby.

From that day onward, you, who was nothing but a child soldier, became the guard, the nursemaid, and mentor for the new princess.

Syllabus

Chapter 4: The Older Women, Our Mothers

Ursa liked looking at you.

Her eyes would trail behind you as you went through your daily routine. From sunrise to sundown, it’s just her, you, and her son.

As much as she loves her son, the rare moments that she shares with you are treasured. It’s adorable how shy you get whenever she would show her affection to you through hugs and kisses.

She thinks that it’s due to your young age, no matter what training you went through prior to your meeting, that you are quick to get embarrassed. Shying away from her touch and avoiding eye contact.

No matter how long you’ve been together or how old you’ve become, she couldn’t help but adore you.

You may never know, but you are dear to her.

She holds you close to her heart.

In this cold, hollow palace, it's you who brings her solace.

It’s you who provides her comfort and any sense of warmth.

And just as how you were her saviour, she believes that she was yours.

Once more, she was in labour. And fortunately, unlike her first, everyone was prepared. When her water broke early in the morning, you and the maids were quick on your feet.

Unlike her first born, this one was more painful. She could tell this one would be a stubborn one from how close the contractions were.

The pain was so intense that she couldn’t reach out to you. She was too busy doubling over and crying to her heart's content.

After five hours, with shaking arms, freshly burnt thighs from the child, and tears that freely fell like waterfalls, the fire nation welcomed their new princess.

As the palace doctor brought her newborn child to her, Ursa couldn’t help but feel resentment towards the new life. She didn’t want another child, one was enough, Zuko was enough.

The tears that now fell were not of joy nor of love, but of despair.

She didn’t want to hold her, she didn’t even want to look at her.

Ozai praised her, who he named Azula in his father’s honour. A wicked smile on his face as he preached on how he alone could father such greatness. He even had the gall to say that you could be his bastard. After seeing how quick you were to learn new techniques, and knowledge, and how fast you mastered your bending.

The man had no shame.

That prideful beast.

She looked to the side, her eyes on the bundle in the arms of its father.

That poor child will surely suffer within these castle walls. Her birth was a curse for the both of them.

Letting out a breath of air, she wished you were beside her.

The moment the doctor came, you were tasked to take her son out while she was in delivery. She hugged herself. It would have been at least a bit more bearable if it were you in place of Ozai’s.

Once Ozai left to retire for the day, she ordered the maids to take the child and to call you and Zuko. You stood by as she fell asleep with her child in her arms. Embracing him with all the love a mother has for her child.

The next day, she was awoken by a sudden swing of the doors. They slam violently against the walls as Ozai marches in with fury in his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you!” He shouts as the torches begin to roar awake, the flames intensifying with each word he spewed. “How could you lie here when your child has been crying out in hunger! You pathetic excuse of a mother!”

He then points to the maid who wheeled Azula in her crate. Crying, red face stained with tears, her tiny body tense in her bundle.

As Ozai yelled and degraded her, she tried to soothe the now-wailing Zuko, who had been startled awake by his father’s shouting.

It was getting too much for Ursa: her crying son, the insults from Ozai, and the non-stop croaked yells of the child that was in her crib. She wanted all of them to stop. She’s not a cruel woman, unlike what Ozai has been insinuating since barging into her room, she did order a maid to find a wetnurse, someone who will care and feed the newborn.

How would she have known that the child wouldn’t take to the hired woman. Why must she suffer due to the unforeseen? Why must it be always her that must go through the hardship of life?

Her eyes began to sting as tears began to well up.

Just as she was about to break down, one of the three sources of her panic had subsided.

Even Ozai has noticed the sudden shift. Much like untying a knot, the tension unwound, slowly but steadily.

Ozai looked back to see you gently cradling the baby. She breathed heavily with her eyes closed as you rubbed her tears away.

The room was left to only Zuko whining, hugging his mother’s side as she continued to soothe him.

Ozai looked at you in interest before an idea began to brew behind his eyes. His anger calmed down, he sent you a smile. “I thank you for bringing peace within my palace.” He walks towards you, “A reward must be in order. I believe a promotion will find your fancy. Starting today, you will be the guardian of the princess. Do make me proud and train my daughter into a fine bender, one who will surely bring honour to our nation.”

He spares a glance to his wife, “Your talents are being wasted playing guard. The palace is secure and we have the royal guards on standby.” His eyes zeroed in on you as he guided you to leave the room, “Tell me, 076, do you know who your parents are?”

The doors close behind you as you walk beside him with the baby still in your arms, “No, my lord. But I was told by the nannies that my mother was taking care of me before I was saved. I am ashamed to admit but I don’t believe I have a father…”

That same smirk when he held his daughter appeared, “That’s quite alright. It makes sense why you wouldn’t have a father.” He places his large hand on your shoulder as the three of you continue your walk towards the throne room.

Despite having the prince walk beside you so close, it doesn’t feel as half as suffocating as when you’re just standing near Ursa. Maybe the theory of you being weary of being in close quarters with others due to your past training was not true. Maybe the strange feeling of being akin to prey is just reserved for when you’re with the older woman.

“I can tell that, despite your origin of birth, you were made for greatness.” His words were warm yet the grip on your shoulder and the glint in his eyes told you otherwise. “I see myself in you, my child. Half your blood may be tainted by that woman, but the remaining is pure and noble.” The way he looked at you was crazed, hungry.

“I can tell that your father was and is a great man of power. How else can you be so blessed? It is only fate that you were taken in. Your destiny to stand by the throne and swear your loyalty to the crown.” He pulled you into his side.

As he said, it is your sworn duty to serve.

That is what you were trained for.

Your destiny to serve the crown.

The Accursed Crown.

[oleworm]

With white actors, their stereotypes are clear satire, while their authentic portrayals of accents are taken seriously—African accents are not afforded that luxury. Part of the authenticity and grit we’ve come to love in Good Will Hunting (1997) owes to the fact that both Matt Damon and Ben Affleck speak in accents native to South Boston—which successfully shows the importance of class distinctions, Will’s intellectual ability despite his “rough” surroundings, and rooting him in his neighborhood and background even as he progresses to new places and opportunities. Part of the joy of watching Mary Poppins (1964), is the grating sound of Dick Van Dyke’s bizarre “Cockney” accent. Often noted as one of the worst accents in film history, Van Dyke’s character sounded like he came from New Jersey, Australia, but Poppins is a children’s comfort film filled with magic, so audiences are already prepared to suspend their disbelief.  Language, voice, and tone are vital parts of storytelling, but somehow caricature-like portrayals of African accents still manage to win Oscars, while Dick Van Dyke’s “Cockney” failure is an actor’s cautionary tale. This speaks to a larger issue: the hierarchy of occidental languages over languages from the global south, the (lack of) knowledge of African dialects, and a general laziness toward the research required to thoughtfully and effectively learn regional African accents. Alongside my research for this article, I also spoke to Djeneba Bagayoko, a linguist who specializes in African languages and is currently working on a book exploring the similarities in Ebonics and continental languages. When we discussed Beasts of No Nation—no nation indeed, as the film is set in an “unspecified” West African country—Djeneba pointed out the prevalence of guttural sounds and line delivery in a lower vocal pitch. While having a lower-pitched voice is completely within the rights of directors and actors to be a stylistic choice for a character, its unfortunate prevalence goes beyond artistic prerogative and seems closer to laziness or ignorance. Viola Davis’s accent in The Woman King is also delivered in a lower register, with an emphasis on guttural sounds and a sprinkling of that American English rhotic R that would not be present in a West African accent during the 1820s. Winston Duke’s accent in Black Panther (2018) also features guttural sounds, a low pitch, and even Nigerian facets of speech (adding “o” as a standalone sound at the end of sentences), despite the fact that the fictional nation of Wakanda is supposedly located in southeast Africa. Bagayoko rightly asked, “Why, when it comes to Africa, are we all lumped together?” Reducing Western and Southern African accents down to hard, low-pitched noises positioned at the back of the throat perpetuates the idea that African languages are too “other” for any attention to detail. The frequency with which we see this technique reiterates the view of Africans as homogenized and underdeveloped—a colonial perspective.

[izgnanik-a]

MerMay GhostSoap 4

// MDNI // read at your own risk //

“-Fuck.” Johnny sat shoulder to shoulder with strangers at the pub, wondering how in the hell did he manage to get where he was in life.

He was ex-military (hardly), ex-farmer, ex-fisherman, and couldn’t even hold a job being a delivery driver. Now that he was a security guard, he didn’t even think he could stick around seeing what he saw.

“Fuck.” He said again.

“You can say that again.” Ushered a stranger at his side, nursing his bourbon for the time he’d been there. Maybe longer.

Johnny gave him a glance and a friendly nod before departing to find his roommate among the masses. He found them talking up a girl about some nonsense, crashing in at the worst time possible.

Their date, or the girl they’d thought to pick up at the bar, narrowed her eyes on Johnny. That amused fire that had been in his roommate suddenly became directed on him.

“Who’s this?” She asked.

They sighed, signaling defeat against the handsome man who always managed to steal the spotlight. “Johnny, Celina. Celina, this my roomie Johnny.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand out towards him.

“Charmed.” He flashed her a smile, holding his bottle in both hands. “You’ve got a cig I can bum?”

“You don’t smoke anymore.”

“I’m itching for one.” Any bad addiction to get out of his mind right now, he could use it.

“I’ve got one.” Celina offered, digging in her shirt purse to find her box.

Johnny grimaced to the brand but took it nonetheless, “Thanks.”

“Need a light?” She asked.

“Got one?”

She fetched her lighter, and held it out but when he went to grab it — she leaned away. “I’ll join you. I could use a smoke. Care to join?” She asked Johnny’s roommate.

“I don’t smoke. I’m gonna get another drink.” They said, tipping their head to the both of them and moving through the room.

Johnny reluctantly agreed to join Celina outside just so he could get a lighter, and once they’d lit their smokes, they stood side by side in silence.

“How long have you known each other?” Celina asked.

“My roommate?” Johnny hummed, cigarette on the edge of his lips before he grabbed it. “A couple years. Met at a job.”

“What’s your job?”

“Currently, security.”

“Oh? Where?”

Johnny scoffed. “I’m not allowed to say.”

Celina furrowed her brows as Johnny took a drag, the tip glowing orange against her eyes. “How come?”

“Private security.”

But he started to wonder who would really believe him if he had told them where he worked, and what he worked for. Would they believe him if he told them that he was watching a fish tank with some ungodly beast within? Or would they just look at him and laugh, shake him off, and say it was such a good joke? 

He tapped the end of his cigarette just thinking about that creature’s face. So close to his, so hungry, and cold.

“Johnny?” Celina’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Hm- Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a lot going on.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things get better for you.”

Johnny nodded, sensing her closure and gaze up at him. He scoffed softly, “Celina, right?”

She hummed.

“You seem like a nice girl.”

“I can be.”

“You don’t want any part of me.”

“I think I can handle a broken guy.”

Johnny took a step aside. “I’m going to head inside for another drink and then I’m going home.” He pointed behind him. “Thanks for the-“ he held up his cigarette, stubbing out the end, and tucking the rest in his breast pocket. “Have a good night.”

Johnny opened the pub door and moved for the bar. He didn’t really plan on having another drink, knowing that it could only lead to thinking and wallowing about his situation more. He spotted his roommate harboring another drink.

He sat down beside them. “I want to go home.” Johnny remarked.

His roommate looked him over and back to the bottle. “How’d your talk with Celina go?”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Really?”

“Wouldn’t do either of us good if she was around. Don’t seem the faithful type.”

“Thanks.” His roommate huffed, drinking half the bottle down.

Johnny looked to his phone, the time, and back to the crowd around them. “I’m going to head to the car and wait.”

His roommate hummed.

“Take-away?” He shuffled out of the seat.

They hummed, “Don’t forget the wings.”

Johnny patted their back and moved for the door. The car was a lonely place, but quiet and comfortable. He didn’t realize he would be left alone with his thoughts.

All he could think about was his next shift at the facility. Seeing that thing again. He wondered where it came from, what purpose did it serve.

Unconsciously running his fingers up the path from his neck to his temple, he swore he could still feel the cold tongue against his skin when he slept. Feel the teeth knock his throat with his claws in his hair.

The passenger door opened.

Johnny jumped frantically, only to see his roommate. He gulped. “Ready?”

Without a word, they’d ventured back home where take-away was waiting for them. Dining over pizza and crispy chicken wings, Johnny found himself dissociating at his food. He stared at the white meat and ligaments of his chicken wing, somewhat sick thinking of it.

He wondered if the creature’s acts were just one of curiosity or hunger. Did it have I’ll intentions towards Johnny? Or was it just a starved beast in a box?

x

Johnny’s lunchbox was full of things he didn’t plan on eating that actually set off their metal alarm. When they looked into his lunchbox there was a jar of pickles, two ham sandwiches, and a can of whole tuna — they stared up at him as he flashed them a nervous look.

He walked to his desk, half expecting to be stopped at the door as he scanned his ID, but managed to get inside. He looked to the tank, tapping on the glass but seeing nothing surface.

He wondered if the fishman had been taken out.

Running footage back, he watched Garrick clean the outside of the tank with glass cleaner in the room before leaving. The footage gave spouts of static at times, going out of service for several moments before coming back on. When Garrick left, the screen cleared.

Johnny huffed, moving for the closet door. He brought his lunchbox along, only insistent on eating his sandwiches. With the door chalked behind him, he set his bag down and crouched down low.

He wondered if he tapped the surface like last, would it bring the creature up to him, or would it just snatch him in this time. He slapped the surface curiously.

For a long while there was nothing.

He did it again, giving little butterfly taps, like a bug floating on the surface. “Where the hell are you, you mangy—“

Then he spotted it.

At the far edge of the pool, Johnny could see ripples giving way to the creature’s location before a head popped out. Two menacing eyes peered at him from the corner of the room.

Johnny gulped, suddenly realizing that this thing could snatch him and drown him if it wanted to. It could easily suffocate him under its massive size and no one would find him, only maybe Garrick.

Johnny wiped his hand against his jeans and turned to his lunchbox. “I have something for you.” He said, like a worried owner of an easily provoked dog. He dug out his can of whole tuna, and held it up. “It’s fish.”

The creature made no moves to come closer in the water, just watching him suspiciously.

Johnny opened the can, grimacing at the oily fish. Sticking his finger into the grime, he held up one of the five tiny fish in sight. “Here. Take it.” Holding it close to the surface of the water, he expected it to come close.

Nope.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Johnny questioned.

When it didn’t move towards him, he sighed and tossed it towards the middle of the room. He rubbed his fingers into the water to get the grimace out. When he looked up, the fishman was gone.

“What—“

Johnny leaned forward, peering into the water to see the flicker of white skin at the center of the pool. He felt his heart jolt when it came back to the surface, the same as it had before, only wide eyes peering at him.

“So you are hungry.” Johnny said as he reached for another tuna. He threw it in the space between the fishman and himself to get it to come closer, and as expected — it ducked under, ripples cutting around it, and appeared where the fish had gone.

With another fish tossed closer to the ledge, Johnny held up his fourth fish as the creature appeared within a foot of the ledge. It peered up at him, like a cat before it pounces at a toy.

“Take it,” he offered it out within the short distance.

To Johnny, he was giving a peace offering to appease the beast.

To the creature, he was teasing its dinner in his fingers. Holding it out of the water where it refused to be seen.

Johnny set the tuna into the water and watched the creature dunk underneath quickly. He removed his hand from the water to see it snatch it between its webbed fingers, bringing the fish to its mouth, and taking bites until it’s tail remained before discarding the bones and coming back up to the surface.

This time, right up against the ledge, it stared up at him with unease. Johnny fished out the last tuna, revealing it from the can, and hovered it over the fishman’s head.

With tracking eyes, it watched Johnny place it on the ledge with just the fishy mouth in sight. Webbed fingers hooked over the edge to wrap around the slippery tuna and drag it into the water with a PLOP.

Johnny leaned over again to watch it sink into the water and eat.

It looked back up towards the peering human and dipped further down out of sight.

He was in awe of its ability to eat so humanely, of its conception of safe and not safe. It kept its distance because it perceived Johnny as not safe, but since he had a food source — it came close enough to take the fruits and leave.

Johnny wondered how much longer he could play this game of chicken, and when he would get caught for good.

x

Next chapter

fic masterlist

[razorblade180]

The Abyss Run

[Musk Reef]

Kirara: Special Delivery! Who ordered the First Aid K- OH MY GOODNESS!

It wasn’t often Kirara found herself completely caught off guard; especially with these particular kinds of deliveries within her friend group. She couldn’t remember the last time she was asked to help with an Abyss domains. However, there certainly wasn’t this many people injured or even requested!

No matter where she looked, someone was in sight. Aether was bandaged up and sitting near the portal while the rest of his friends weren’t any better or enthusiastic.

Keqing, Raiden, Hu Tao, Yelan, Zhongli, Yoimiya, Wanderer, Mona, Kazuha, to the likes of Chevruse, Bennett, Navia, Xiangling, Xingqui, Furina, Noelle, and more! So many friends sulking and bruised up to varying degrees. Even the Kamisato siblings!

Kirara:What the heck is happening!?

Everyone:Suffering.

Kirara:You can’t beat it?

Faruzan:Beating a few monsters isn’t the issue. It’s just…

Collei:There’s so many, and so little time. It’s so daunting!

Nilou:*laying down* Not mention oddly paced. Specifically, floor twelve, chamber one.

Just uttering that made everyone grunt. Was giving up an option? Definitely. Aether wasn’t holding anyone hostage and he actively ran in himself to conquer the beast. This wasn’t the first time gaining every star was impossible, but this should be possible. Many among them were truly strong and have tested their teams in many trials. It was obvious when a challenge felt out of their depth, but this felt fundamentally cruel.

Yoimiya:Guys, I’m sorry I’m not cutting it this time. I’m just too slow.

Hu Tao:If you’re slow then I’m a snail with no slime. We can do a lot together but it it’s enough! Why are things appearing in intervals!?

Ei:It certainly doesn’t make things easy. Raw power does little here.

Baizhu:But consistency still needs it or it’s pointless as well.

Kirara:What’s the troubling part?

Aether:Multiple waves, but they’re spread out. Mechs, emerites that tame beasts, but the bigger issue is the other side which Pyro mages into Lectors and then Serpent Knights.

Sucrose:Just when you counter one thing, it’s at potential expense of another. Time, power and safety being the big thing. The issue is only made worse with the blatant demand for hydro.

Furina:*mumbles* Where’s Neuvillette when you need him?

Aether:Hey! We don’t dwell on decisions not made. We’re strong; I know this. Also that’s rude to say in front of Ayato.

Ayato:I can acknowledge that man’s strength. I’m more concerned about others who might feel a little more discouraged, given other people who aren’t here to help.

Yoi and Hu Tao: We are fine.

Xiangling:I’m kinda not. I really thought I could pull through.

Lyney:Even Father wouldn’t scoff at this challenge. You’re doing fine.

Tighnari:And Al Haitham has his own faults. He’s not exactly made for the second half, and we’re not slow on the first half either. This is a team problem that only gets solved together.

Shenhe:Sorry I’m not more helpful.

Ayaka:You’re perfectly fine. Some battles are worse than others.

Navia:I’m sorry your first Abyss has such a dreadful atmosphere.

Clorinde:It’s perfectly alright. If anything, a shared struggle makes it easier to know everyone faster. Despite the outcome, it’s been nice.

Yao yao: *passing out food* We feel the same!

Wanderer:*mumbles* Don’t be so sure.

Sethos:Be nice. We need the positivity while others are hard at work.

Scaramouche looks over to the left, along with a few other people, watching Keqing, Kokomi, and Nahida looking at a list of failed combinations, time markers, and allies. Honestly if people did want to leave, those three were holding enough determination to make people power through. Those three, Nilou, and Clorinde had the most bandages by far from constant runs, but were pretty good thanks to multiple healers.

Aether:Any luck? We could call it a d-

KNK: Hold on!

Aether:*smiles* I tried.

Keqing:Nahida, do you have any unconventional wisdom left?

Nahida:Honestly….I don’t like to admit it but I think at this point it really comes down to effort.

Kokomi:I’m inclined to agree. Several of these plans are genuinely solid, and I do believe many of us here have the strength and synergy. Our missing speed may come down to a little luck and repetition.

Nilou:….*sits up* Put me back in. In a broad sense, it’s no different than practicing a dance routine in terms or repetition. I feel like can take on the first half pretty well. Although that leaves less hydro for the Lectors.

Clorinde:…I’ll fight them. Electro is the next best thing. Also if I’m confident in anything, it’s my speed. Give me a bit of wiggle room and I’ll make the most of it.

Mona: Well if those two are going to lead, then all that’s left is to decide the teams and try our best. So, who’s going?

xxxxx

[Floor 12-1, two hours later]

If visions were given to those with ambition, then Nahida wondered if a person could be so ambitious that they gained multiple. If that were the case, she was certain she’d find out at any moment. For someone of his health, Dr. Baizhu was incredibly stubborn; his glasses were discarded as he took a rest to her left. On Nahida’s right, Furina had long since tossed her hat aside, letting her hair run wild. Both of them had fresh bruises and sweat but seemed motivated all the same.

Then, there was Nilou. Unlike the other two, she chose to stand near the challenge sigil. She had discarded her headdress and hour in and naturally had the most bruises. Still, she calmly took deep breaths to steady herself and remained focused.

Nilou:Is everyone ready? At this point I think it’s safe to say muscle memory is on our side.

Nahida:You may be right, but….

Furina:You need a bigger break than all of us! As a fellow performer, I’m well aware that a supporting role is at times the most harsh.

Baizhu:I agree. You really should sit awhile.

Nilou:It’s okay. I’m used to long hours practicing, and it’s cooler in here than in the desert. Also if I’m being completely honest…I might not want to stand up again if I sit down.

NFB: (More like she won’t be able to)

Furina:Very well. The show must go on. *stands*

Nilou:Alright everyone. Just like we’ve rehearsed. Lesser Lord Kusanali, Dr.Baizhu, the lead is yours. Lady Furina-

Furina:I’ll match the rhythm. Also for crying out loud *smiles* just call me Furina. The rest of my friends do.

Nilou gave a tender smile and nodded before focusing on the task ahead. She took one final deep breath as everyone got in position behind her. Once again, Nilou sprinted forward. The moment she activated the trail, she went straight into her sword dance and conjuring rings of water with a leap that landed her in front of the primal constructs; she paid them no mind as they were quickly marked by her god and assaulted by Furina’s honored guest while a shield protected her from bloom explosions.

Nilou completely to the other side, leaving the enemies to Nahida while Furina and Baizhu also ran. A Ruin Guard appeared right on time and was immediately marked. A sanctuary from Nahida dawned the arena as Furina gave her blessings. Baizhu constantly pressured the mech alongside Nilou’s dance. With another leap, she flew towards the right and landed with a big splash as two Ruin Drakes rampaged.

Thank goodness for Baizhu’s shield for cushioning violent swings. Nilou too her fleeting seconds of rest as her three friends converged to her spot to actively face the bots, attempting to keep them close by so the constant bombardment of cores could do their job. This was always the worst part.

Nilou began to dance once more and at the moment of the robots’ end, she once again ran to the other side first. Nahida and the honor guests were right behind her. They wasted no time attacking the Emerites on sight, marking them and their summons as the foes circled them in the chaos of dendro. Sanctuaries were fortified, shields, blessings, and attacks were constant from all angles, but Nilou paid it not mind. The clambering of noise would not distract her from making it perfectly between all obstacles and sending out one final wave that drowned out all noise, reducing everything to silence. All that remained was the sound of her own panting, her head held down as she remained in the pose that ended it all.

Nahida and Baizhu: (Stamina or not, she’s clearly exhausted.)

Furina:Hey, are you-

Nilou:T-The time? How much time did we use?

xxxxxxxx

Clorinde:One minute a four seconds. They shaved off five seconds.

Kokomi:Do you think that’s enough?

Clorinde:I can’t say for certain, but I refuse to let such efforts go to waste so easily.

Being a leader wasn’t particularly new for Clorinde, but she had to admit today had been like no other and her partners were no small part in that. Although she was rookie in this case, she’s never been a stranger to long hunts or tests of endurance. Still, this entire situation was enough to mess up her hair and toss even her precious hat aside. The only reason she wasn’t completely drenched in sweat was ironically due to the pyro enemies reducing even sweat into nothingness.

Kazuha and Kokomi were a bit singed, but despite the numerous attempts, they both sat down in relative comfort. Not all that surprising for two people accustomed to war. What really surprised Clorinde was how a young lady from the land of freedom was currently stretching out her limbs and was just as, if not more comfortable.

Fischl’s clothes were scrapped up and her interesting speech patterns had been dropped about an hour into this battle. Clorinde had to give the adventurer credit. Fischl remained the same aside from those two facts.

Clorinde:You’re really used to this, aren’t you? I admit I had a few worries in the beginning but they were clearly not necessary.

Fischl:Surprised are you? It’s only natural. I may not look like, but I’m one of the few people who could tell you about every single challenging trial Aether has tried to overcome.

Clorinde:Ah, so you’re veteran among veterans. I’m honored.

Fischl:Hehe, it just worked out that way. I could tell you crazy stories about the chaos Keqing and I faced in a mysterious domain, or even tales of a very ferocious wolf. This isn’t my first time facing an impossible task. You’d be surprised just how possible they turn out in the end.

Kazuha:Best to take her word on it. The Prinzessin has an intuition about these things.

Fischl:Naturally!

Kazuha:Also we have a war strategist.

Fischl:That too!

Kokomi:March full speed ahead until the very end. Kazuha and I will make sure you won’t miss a step.

Clorinde:Then I suppose there’s nothing left to be said.

They all rise up and space out. Kokomi stands facing the center while Clorinde and Fischl are on the right and left of the area a little closer. Kazuha runs right up the middle and activates the challenge, immediately jumping high into the air to drag the samachulr into a madness of high speed bullets, blasts, and water.

Back and forth, Clorinde teamed up with Oz to shred through the abyss mage shields and take the fight head on. The final blow came when Fischl took flight, cutting through the enemy and soaring alongside Kazuha to the Pyro Lectors. The beasts had no time to react as Kokomi placed her familiar and Kazuha pulled them into a storm of hydro before taking into the sky again for Clorinde to come rushing through with more bullets with Oz matching her rapid fire in the electro charged maelstrom.

With the Lectors thoroughly enraged and three teammates close by, Kokomi rushed in and dawned her garb to keep the hydro pressure strong as pyro energy festered and exploded outwards to manifest shields and caused harm. Kazuha swooped up Fischl to a safer distance as Fire rained down and their teammates, including Oz, got busy vaporizing and overloading every move made against them at breakneck speed. Through burns and blistering heat, they silenced their adversaries and looked to their friends.

Fischl was already soaring right into the two Serpent nights with an immediate follow up from Kazuha with an electro maelstrom. A knight went to strike while another tried gaining distance, but the boy quickly took Fischl’s hand again and leaped up to pull them into the eye of the storm where Kokomi’s familiar appeared once more alongside Oz to set the stage for Clorinde to come barreling in with bullets.

It was as if she was trying to cut through the storm itself. In all honesty, it was a testament to her accuracy that Clorinde never ran into them, because half the time they weren’t looking at her! Kazuha came down with a slash to keep the knights in place while Fischl applied pressure to help their speedy friend wrap things up even faster. Back and forth, bullets and blade, Clorinde the pace and pushed her limits with one final slash that cut through both opponents and sent her tumbling onto her knees. The hunter whipped her head around with little breath in her lungs and stared at her team.

Clorinde:TIME!?

Cleared! Time Remaining: 7:01

Nobody said a single word. Just a wave of adrenaline and exhaustion crashing into them at once. Kazuha sighed while Kokomi fell to knees and Fischl’s eyes grew wide alongside Clorinde.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Nilou finally fell right onto her back alongside Baizhu. Nahida couldn’t believe her own eyes while Furina felt like crying herself out. Though separated by chambers, somehow, deep down, everyone managed to scream at the same time in triumphant victory.

Outside, the others watched the 36th star appear and had their own battle cry. It wasn’t a pretty run by any means. But hey, it was worth the get together and team building.

Keqing:So, when are you going to tell them about the new domain you found?

Aether:Let’s not ruin this moment.

[snowflaketale12]

My little finding outside the movies - "Avalanche" ❄️

My third finding is how many times avalanche was happened and/or mentioned in books😄(As I've found there's too many times avalanche happened in the book but there's none in the movie😂)

Journey to the Lights (Pg. 132)

2. The Hero Within (Pg. 54)

3. The same Villmark aka Forbidden Land was mentioned in Lost Legends: The Fixer Upper (Pg. 160)

4. Anna & Elsa #6: The Arendelle Cup (Pg. 85)

5. The same story "The Arendelle Cup" is in comic Disney Frozen Adventures: Snowy Stories (Pg. 183)

6. "Travel Arendelle" in comic Disney Frozen Adventures: Snowy Stories (Pg. 92)

7. "The King of Hugs" in comic Disney Frozen Adventures: Snowy Stories (Pg. 232)

8. "The Beast on the Bluff" is in comic Disney Frozen Adventures: Flurries and Fun (Pg. 142)

9. "A Tough Delivery" is in comic Disney Frozen Adventures: Flurries and Fun (Pg. 234)

10. Conceal, Don't Feel, only mentioned but not happened (Pg. 249)

11. Forest of Shadows (Pg. 206)

[thatcreationsureisunending]

- INTRODUCTION + INFO

'eeello? heeeeeeeellllllloooo? hee-- OH oh. Forgot this works flawlessly. Whoops!

Well, thought it'd be about time to do some sort of- introduction? Something like that anyway!

Think of it likeee a preview message before establishing proper connection.

I'm Infinite Possibilities; Creation Unending. Infinite Possibilities for short (snrk) and Creativity for shorter!

Iiiii dabble in a little bit of everything- some of you might've received pearls or files from me? Yeah

But I'm primarily known for painting and making games!

Uh. Contacts are open to anyone! I'm trying to keep this short, haha.

One of my siblings has one of these connections too! You should go bother him on my behalf

============================================

OOC from here on out- as you can probably gleam, this is an Iterator oc askblog! This post took an unreasonably long time to make, and I apologize for that!

This account is run by me, Zoc @softcryz! OOC posts will be tagged as such!

Here's some important things to note-- I'll definitely add more as we go on. If you have any questions regarding rules or the blog in general, feel free to ask me on my main account!

This blog takes place post-ascension! ( Unless stated otherwise ;] )

Any interactions are open, but that does not guarantee that I WILL answer your ask. I have every right to not respond/delete things that I am not comfortable with or just simply do not want to follow through with.

^ That said, please try not to be weird about it. I mean via sending nsfw and the like. Kind of obvious but I'm still putting this here.

#ip;cu_talks // #wawa_talks -- posts where they're talking

#ip;cu_asks // #wawa_asks -- asks directed to either of those two

#LANDS_EDGE -- Local group tag!

#friend_tower -- Posts that include people IP;CU knows :]

#art_pipebomb // #(we need to make a new tag) (with some kind of pun in it) (suggestions welcomed please) -- Fanart and the like!!

If you have any questions regarding the blog feel free to send them to my main account :]

I'll add onto this as I think of more stuff, but until then! Character notes time!

============================================

INFINITE POSSIBILITIES; CREATION UNENDING

Gender apathetic - Pansexual [He/him] [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

Creativity is the second guy in the Lands Edge group! He was built to process MUCH more and MUCH faster than the standard Iterator-- to the point where no real "limiter" could be put on his systems because his processing just kept. Tanking and breaking it.

The infinite thinking and everything that comes with it is not entirely within his control, though. It isn't something he can shut down or slow down.

Due to his constantly-working brain and need for stimulation, he sorta just... Does a whole bunch of stuff! Just to do it! He's taken a specific interest in programming "games" for other iterators, and is very open to suggestions!

City was somewhat known for being a sort of centre of many different types of art. (He's more well-known for being the game developer guy-- and the weird iterator who keeps sending paint deliveries out to random people)

BIG guy. He's like. Two heads taller than the average Iterator. Height chart coming soon

WAWA

She/her dominant (any pronouns) [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

wawa.

runs on cartoon logic

a little smaller than a slugpup

insane dodging capabilities. She's also an obligate carnivore

Where's the slug in this slugcat. This is just a beast of some sort

?? JUST APPEARS? She will just teleport in your chamber. say her name and she'll appear

she also paints with Creativity :]