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instasiswetrust · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodshot

Brown eyes stare into the void.

And the void stares right back.

Pitch-black and dark.

Dark, darker, and yet darker.

Vaguely, he registers liquid inside his mouth. His lungs. His chest. A part of his brain that's still working whispers that he's choking. Weird. He thought it would hurt more than this. Thought there would be more panic and flailing. Desperation to breathe.

Instead, all he feels is calm.

There's a sense of peace that instills in his body. Fills every crevice, nook, and cranny inside his flesh. Inside his bones.

Yes, he's dying, but he's accepted this as an immutable fact.

What use is there for panic when the croon of Miss Death is already so sweet in his ear? Why should he flail and claw to a life filled with heartache and pain, when instead he could stay in this calm embrace forever?

He's dying, and he's fine with this.

At first, he thinks he might be at the quarry. It would make sense. Maybe he was too drunk, tripped, and slipped off the ledge. Those kinds of things tend to happen to lonely people like him. Maybe others will think he jumped, instead. That's fine too.

But the liquid in his mouth tastes salty and coppery. A little too thick to be water.

Oh. Right.

Blood. He was choking on his own blood.

Things are coming back to him in slow increments. Flashes of scenes. He understands now where he is.

Or was.

Time is confusing when you're dying.

They had been in the tunnels. The demodogs had been close at their heels and the entrance just a few feet away. He had been so scared, utterly terrified, but not for himself. Never for himself. He needed to get the kids out first, all of them.

And he had.

Too bad it had been just a second too late for him.

Just as he was about to reach for the rope, a strong body had crashed into him and he had fallen on his back. Pain had jolted through his nerves as claws dug themselves into the skin of his chest. He remembers being vaguely concerned about the wetness spreading in his chest before that maw had bloomed into the most horrifying of flowers, and the petals wrapped themselves around his neck.

He thinks Dustin might've screamed. Steve felt bad that the kid had to see him like that.

But now the pain was no more and he was suspended in the void. Calm. Serene. Accepting.

Death was peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

---

The thing that crawled out of the earth, a whole week after the gate was closed, was not Steve Harrington.

At least not anymore.

Not in a way that mattered.

He still looked the same. Sounded the same. Moved the same. Felt the same.

He could think, and like, and long for things the same way he could when he had been alive.

But his mind was never quiet these days.

Hunt. Feed. Claw. Rip.

Blood.

A never-ending loop of words strung together until they sounded unrecognizable until they no longer made sense. And yet the feelings that came with the words would never go away.

Not when he started cooking his meat less and less to the point he resorted to just shoveling spoonfuls of raw hamburger meat into his mouth.

Not when he passed by the rotting corpse of a deer in the woods and had to take a moment to wipe the drool off his chin because for some reason the scent was appetizing.

Not when he gave in and hooked up with Nina Collins, and she let him bite her neck until he drew blood.

They never went away. Neither did the gnawing hunger inside of him.

And Steve could only be so dumb. He knew perfectly well what it was the voice in his head wanted. Could recognize it in the way his dreams had been filled with spiked bats hitting skin, breaking bones, and hands burying themselves in a mess of blood and guts.

He only wondered for how much longer he could hold himself back.

The answer came to him less than a week later.

---

First thing he notices when he wakes up, is that the hunger is blessedly gone.

For a single moment, he's glad. Happy and relieved. Until realization settles in and horror fills his chest.

Second thing he notices is that he's naked, sitting in a puddle of blood. The scent is strong.

And appetizing.

It makes him curl up onto his side and retch, but thankfully nothing comes up.

Quiet breathing is what clues him on the third thing. It also freezes him in place.

Somebody is looking at him. Saw what he did. Who he is. What he is.

Fuck.

Then they speak.

Double fuck.

"I knew you were fucked up, Harrington. Didn't think you were this fucked up though."

It's not the words that make him turn, eyes open wide. It's the voice. Because he knows that voice. Because it's Billy Hargrove's voice.

Ain't that just nice?

With the hunger and the voices gone, at least for the time being, it's much easier to try and recall the events of the night before. Steve almost wishes he couldn't though, because what he experiences -- not sees because those creatures don't have eyes -- is so repulsive that he can feel nausea clawing up his throat again.

"I killed your dad."

It's a fact, not a question. He doesn't need confirmation, his memories of the event are clear albeit fuzzy.

"And ate him. Yeah."

The fact that Hargrove doesn't sound horrified, or scared in the slightest, confuses Steve. He forces himself to ignore the panic, the nausea, and the embarrassment warring for his immediate attention and instead focuses on Hargrove's face.

Hargrove meets his gaze unflinchingly.

There's not a single ounce of remorse in those blue eyes but then again, why would there be?

After all, the bruises and cuts that litter his face and naked chest, speak enough about the type of man Neil Hargrove was.

"I did not... hurt you, right?"

Steve doesn't remember having approached Hargrove. The demodog hadn't wanted to hurt Hargrove, like at all. Still, he has to make sure. Just to put his mind at ease, of course. Not because he's worried about Hargrove or anything.

Hargrove shakes his head, frowning. The bruises must hurt pretty bad though because he winces. "You don't remember?"

"The memories are... fuzzy." Steve grimaces, pushing down another bout of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. "It's not- I'm not- I know what it looks like but I'm not that thing, okay? The dog- That's not me."

"And yet I watched that thing morph back into you. You are still lying in a pool of blood, you know?" He sounds unimpressed. Slightly annoyed too. "You just said you have memories of it. I'd say that counts as you being that thing, Harrington."

Yeah, okay. Steve can't really counter that logic. Doesn't help lessen the knot of guilt that sits heavy at the pit of his stomach, though.

"Fine. Okay. Yes. I just-" But the words die on his tongue because he's not sure how to even finish that sentence. He's just what? Horrified? Guilty? Considering taking a dive off the quarry or meet the bad end of Nancy's shotgun?

Hargrove must have read the indecisiveness on his expression because he huffs, crossing his arms. He winces again and Steve’s almost tempted to demand he take it easy.

"Here's what we are going to do, Harrington." His voice has an unexpected strength to it that commands all of Steve’s attention. “You're going to take a shower, borrow some clothes, then I'm going to clean off all this blood before Max and Susan get back, and then we're going to talk about Neil’s sudden disappearance. Understood?”

“Uh...”

Hargrove was... helping him. He was helping him cover up a murder. The murder of his own father. Hargrove watched as the demodog fucking ate his dad, morphed back into Steve, and now he was helping him.

Steve wasn't sure how he was feeling about this but grateful and confused came pretty close to explaining it.

“I asked if you understood, Harrington.”

“Yeah I uh, yeah. I understand.”

So that's how he found himself in Hargrove's kitchen half an hour later, clad in grey sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt that had seen better days. Hargrove sat in front of him, idly eating from a bowl of Lucky charms, his gaze not straying far from Steve.

The clank of the spoon as it fell back into the empty bowl was jarringly loud in the awkward silence.

"You really don't remember what happened last night, then?"

His gut reaction was to say no. He didn't remember anything. That the memories were fuzzy and the thing wasn't him. But that would be lying, wouldn't it?

And he had to admit that being able to share this secret with somebody else, even if it was Billy Hargrove of all people, felt like a much-needed reprieve of all the bullshit life had been throwing at him lately.

"I do but as I said, it's fuzzy. Fragmented, I guess?" He looks down at the table, drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. "This thing, it doesn't see things as we do. Doesn't have eyes."

Hargrove hums, and Steve can see the way he leans back on the chair. Feels those eyes on him, not moving. It should set him on edge but instead, it makes him feel grounded. Like this is the first time, since he crawled out of the earth that somebody bothers to truly look at him.

It makes him want to look up and meet that gaze.

So that's exactly what he does.

"It was you that I- that the demodog was hunting, not your dad." Steve is glad he doesn't look away because it allows him to see the shadow of regret that crosses those blue eyes. "But then I- it jumped through the window. Saw what was happening. So the prey changed."

"And you have lived with this thing for how long?"

"Technically speaking, I'm not alive. Haven't been since that night in November, a little after the whole thing at the Byers."

Hargrove blinks, taken aback by what must surely sound like nonsense considering Steve was sitting across from him, breathing and talking. He's not sure how to explain it either but he knows with unwavering certainty that he's not alive anymore.

Not like he should be.

Not completely.

Liminal spaces. Whatever. Fuck.

"One of those things bit me. Dustin saw it happen too. Or at least saw the blood. And I remember dying." He shrugs, drums his fingers again just to have something to do. Restlessness eats at him but he's still under Hargrove's gaze and the itch to run has settled for now. "A week later I apparently dug my way out of the earth and Hopper found me at the junkyard. I can't remember it at all."

The marred skin of his throat is evidence enough. These days he does his best to cover it up with makeup or turtlenecks, not wishing to deal with the unwanted questions that would undoubtedly come. Not to mention that Dustin can't see it without tearing up. Kid still has nightmares about Steve covered in blood with his throat ripped out.

"Shit, Harrington." Hargrove tangles a hand in his blond curls, pulling lightly on the strands. As if the pinpricks of pain could reassure him about all this being real. "This is what you and those snot-nosed brats were up to that night? Fighting these things? Are you insane?"

"Only a little." The self-deprecating grin that accompanied it really sold it.

Steve watched as Hargrove's hands formed into fists, a dangerous sort of fire lighting up in his eyes. It lasted for a second or two before the fight left his body in a rush, body slumping slightly into the chair. It was a little impressive.

"What even are these things?"

The thing is, Steve's not even sure what those creatures are. He says as much and spends the next fifteen minutes explaining what he knows -- and what he's theorized -- about Will Byers, the Upside Down, the Mindflayer, and Hawkins Lab. Surprisingly enough, Hargrove listens through it all without commentary.

"Nobody understood how I was alive but I didn't want to question it too much. Guess I already knew something was wrong with me but I didn't want to see it."

Hargrove's eyes have drifted down to his empty cereal bowl but it doesn't seem like he's really looking at it. After a moment, he nods. "Okay so what now, Harrington?"

Steve's taken aback by the question, not understanding what Hargrove is getting at. "What do you mean what now?"

If looks could kill, he's sure that he would be dead again. Hargrove heaves an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before facing Steve.

"Harrington, I knew you were an idiot but this is too much even for you." Steve makes a sound of protest but Hargrove throws him a look and he goes quiet again. "The demodog needs to eat people to live, meaning you need to eat people to live. So tell me, what are you going to do about that?"

"Oh."

Well fuck.

#WIPS #bloodshot au #stranger things #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #this kinda got out of hand but i kinda wondered if maybe this idea worked for a fic #possibly #idk feedback is appreciated lol

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jubilantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 6: These writings on paper are all I have of you.

(AO3) (First) (Previous) (Next)

Word Count: 7558

////

The Lady is aware of the loops. She's aware of how the struggle seems endless - no matter how desperately she clings to the hands of those she loves, they're always forced from her grasp as she watches them fall fall fall fall fall each time.

They always fall.

Over and over, be it by her hand or some unforeseen force.

Always always always always always.

The girl in the raincoat falls.

Mono falls.

Even RK falls.

And she's left having to witness them each time.

The loops continue even as a new member joins the fray, and she's left wondering if dragging him into this mess was worth it, if it was worth trying to break the loops in a fruitless attempt of escape. They can never escape - haven't they learnt this as children already? The forces that control this world will always win out, and they will always remain trapped no matter how desperately they struggle.

She's aware of the loops. How she's always the last of them to die. Each repetition takes its toll on her. She never breaks as a child, not yet fully aware of the weight of the loops to succumb and break down when she sees her friends, but aware enough that she clings to their hands when she sees them, feels an uncontrollable urge to protect them and never let go.

The girl in the raincoat falls after the Pretender lunges at her, despite all that Six does to try and keep her alive.

She lets Mono fall after a hopeless feeling strikes her core, and she knows that dropping him is the only option she has.

And she watches as RK falls to his death as an adult, no matter how much she reinforces the railings, no matter how much she tries to race or teleport after him to try and catch him.

She's aware of the loops. Aware that the tragedies continue to build and build and build despite all their struggling. The girl in the raincoat dies, leaving behind the raincoat that Six inherits. Mono becomes the Thin Man, relegated to helping from behind the screen and retainer of all their memories. RK becomes the Caretaker, doomed to die in an accident before he reaches his true potential.

And she is forced to watch it all happen, powerless to truly stop anything.

She is aware of the loops.

She stands in front of a television screen, wishing it would turn on. She wants to hear his voice again. She wants to know how he sounds as an adult. But she can't. His loop has already ended, and she can't reach out to him until the next one has reached its midlife. Still, it doesn't stop her from placing her hand on the screen and wishing that it would turn on.

The Caretaker had already fallen earlier in the day. She'd almost grabbed his hand before he slipped away, mere centimeters away from her own hand. He'd fallen with a terrified expression, a look of realization that all his struggling to stay alive was for naught as the Maw jerked and jolted to keep him from taking any more steps forward in their plan. She left his body where it laid - her one vase was already filled up with his ashes, and anyway, she could feel her time running out soon enough.

Her loop ends in blood and blood and blood. When she looks up at her younger self, mouth covered in viscera, she can see so much of her own pain reflected back at her.

"I'm sorry," she gasps out, the child looking more and more confused as she stares down at the Lady. A boy in blue grabs her hand, dragging her away from the Lady as she lies there dying alone. She closes her eyes and imagines a world where her hands are never cold.

She's aware of the loops.

But she's not the only one aware.

She opens her eyes, and Mono is running by her side, his paper bag still on his head. Before she can say a word, he tugs her into a room that is empty of life. They take a moment to rest, having little to worry about in the moment now that they have no one chasing them. Mono looks around the room, taking in the strange paraphernalia littered around it. A small statue sits on the ground, and he grabs it, dragging it to Six. Six takes it wordlessly, a familiar destructive feeling surfacing up from... somewhere.

She picks it up and throws it on the ground, shattering the statue with relish. When she turns to Mono with a smile, he's got his attention focused on the scattered posters on the ground. He takes one, looks it over, and folds it up to put in his pocket. She takes his hand and gives it a little shake, nodding to the posters and then to him.

He presses a finger to the front of his bag. It's a secret. Frowning, she bends down to pick up a poster herself, but he gets in the way and shakes his head. Not yet. But soon. He pats his pocket and points to himself, and then to her. He'll tell her soon enough. She takes his word for it, nods as they continue to search the room.

Events continue, and she finds herself dangling Mono over the chasm beneath them. He looks up at her with sad, sad brown eyes as she cries. Don’t make her do this, don’t make her do this-

"Six," he whispers, because they're not used to speaking normally yet, and perhaps they never will, "it's okay."

"No," she gasps, and her tears fall faster when he smiles up at her. Her arm hurts, and he’s already starting to slip from her grasp. "Don't make me do this, please."

"It's okay, I won't be mad. I even left a surprise in your pocket." When she doesn't let go, he yanks his own hand from her grasp with that sorrowful smile. She yells and reaches for him again, but he's already gone gone gone into the abyss, leaving her to leave by her lonesome. When she makes it to the exit, she checks her pocket just as her Hunger already begins rearing its ugly head.

A poster for the Maw. Nothing as special as she'd imagine it would be.

"Turn it over," her Shadow whispers, and so she does.

A doodle of an ugly man in a boat with a face that sags and stretches until all that is visible are the long holes that could be his eyes. And then the words written in a rushed, childish scrawl:

"Ask him to come back."

She's aware of the loops.

But she's not the only one aware.

The Caretaker carries around a notebook. When she first asked about it, he'd shyly put it away and waved her away, saying it was full of notes he'd written down. She'd shrugged it off, having other tasks to attend to. It wasn't until after she (re)introduced him to the Thin Man that he revealed what it was he was carrying around.

Items on the Maw carry over from previous loops. It's how the television stays in place, it's how her library remains untouched and the same no matter how often she dies. The only things that change are the faces of the Guests and children.

...Well, for the most part.

The Caretaker pulls her aside after her conversation with the Thin Man ("Did you see my note?" "Of course I did." "Will he come back?" "He said when the time is right."), and holds out the notebook. "I'm sorry I didn't share this with you before but," he flips through the notebook, showing off page after page of scribbles and doodles, charts and diagrams, "I wanted to wait for the right time to show this to you."

She takes the notebook out of his hands and realizes. Realizes that this was one of the many things on the Maw that carried over from previous loops. The Caretaker is one of them now, and as a result...

"These hold your memories," she breathes out.

"Well, not quite, but close enough." He takes it back, thumbing through each page carefully. "Reading each word reminds me of something, but I can never quite grasp it. Still," he taps at a diagram showing the outside of the Maw from the top down, "it looks like I've been planning this for ages. This shows potential docking areas away from where the Guests usually board. It gives me an idea."

"Just an idea?"

"It's something we can work with." He shrugs while grinning blithely. "And frankly, I think we all could use something to work with."

Of course, even after that one little spark of hope, the Thin Man still dies at the hands of Mono. The Caretaker falls before her very eyes, bones snapping and head cracking on the cold, unwelcoming floor of the Maw. And as she sits in her loneliness, humming her familiar tune, she waits for that bright, yellow raincoat to pounce upon her.

She is aware of the loops.

But how much longer can she take before she stops trying altogether?

She is aware of the loops.

They scratch at her memories, drag her around like a toy, and her Shadow continues to watch and remember in her stead until they're one once again.

She is aware of the loops.

Aware that they've done this song and dance over and over again with no end. She doesn't understand how Mono can keep this up. How RK continues to go along with this horrible reality, as if he's always been a part of their team. Is he just as single-minded as Mono? They truly would get along so well if that were the case.

Six stays where she's lying on the ground, Mono hopping around on the piano beside her.

"Six, come help me."

"I'm tired." Despite their journey having only lasted the day thus far, she's already feeling this deep-seated weariness that she can't place. Mono must sense it too, for he stops hopping around and lands on the ground next to her. He sits besides her, tangling their fingers together and humming the tune from her music box.

Something about it makes her want to sob. But that's stupid. Sobbing in a place like this is stupid. It's what gets them caught by monsters - the noise, the weakness, the vulnerability. In fact, she should be getting up right now so that they can continue moving.

Mono rubs his thumb into her hand, humming to her as she lies on the ground.

"We can stay here for a little bit."

"Thanks." He doesn't move from where he sits, and she's grateful for it. "Can we just stay here? It's quiet, and no monster can get in here easily."

"It's not that safe." Mono looks away from her and sees something that she can't see. "But there's somewhere else we can go. Somewhere where there are no monsters, and we can laugh and run all we want. I'm sure we'll get there soon enough."

"How soon?" She's tired. So. Very. Tired. "I want to sleep."

"Soon," he says, and he holds out his hand for a pinky promise. "But until then, I promise I won't leave you alone."

"Good." She hooks her pinky with his and gives it a firm shake. "I'll bite you if you do."

A silent laugh shakes his frame, and she can't help but smile up at him. She wants to stay like this with him, where he can be happy and she can be happy and they can be happy together, like it's normal to be happy.

But they're not meant to be happy. Happy means letting their guard down. Happy means forgetting that they're in constant danger. She's reminded of this when they're cowering in a child's room, and the Thin Man holds his hand out and grabs her. A monster with gentle, gentle hands.

The world is cruel, with their moments of tantalizing happiness and monsters with gentle hands. The world is cruel, because it lets her believe that there's a happy ending somewhere if she just tries hard enough. But maybe that's where her failure lies.

In believing that her efforts are worth something, when really her efforts amount to nothing.

She presses a hand up against the glass. It doesn't turn on, but that's okay. She's gotten used to the loneliness long, long ago.

"What happened to promising to never leave me alone?"

No one answers her.

Her life amounts to standing in a puddle of blood, surrounded by the sounds of broken static.

The loop ends as it begins, and she closes her eyes with the hopes of never opening them again.

She is aware of the loops.

Every bit of her wants to give up, to succumb and let herself mindlessly follow the flow of tragedy, but her stubborn, stupid, terrible friends refuse to give up. Sometimes, she wishes she never introduced them to each other, what with their antics giving each other hope. But then something warm shakes her from her thoughts. The Caretaker takes her hand and tugs her up topside of the Maw. It's overcast, and the threat of rain looms overhead. She closes her eyes and lets the cold air wash over her.

It reminds her of the Pale City.

"We're so close," he says, fingers intertwining with hers. "We just need one more thing."

"What kind of thing?" Rarely is she able to help. Instead, she asks all these empty questions that do nothing but serve as a vessel for their thoughts. It's the least she can do, when all she does is let them fall.

"I need... to find a place. Away from all the adults, away from all the monsters." He taps his chin, deep in thought as the clouds shadow their faces. "But surprisingly, your library lacks maps of any sorts."

"Unfortunately." She stares out into the vast sea. Not a single landmass in sight. Given that they just recently picked up their latest batch of Guests, it comes as no surprise to her that the Maw has steered itself so far away from any coastlines. "The ship goes as it pleases, after all."

"And it doesn't surface often." He tugs on her hand to swing it back and forth. How childish of him. "I thought maybe standing out in the open would cheer you up."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been... incredibly down lately." A thoughtful hum. "Lifeless. You glide around the Maw, attending to every sort of business but your own. Even when you talk to the Thin Man on those few occasions, I hardly hear you say a word. He's noticed too, you know." She can't help the little twitch she makes at the mention of the Thin Man's concern. "He's worried about you. Says that you've been getting more and more quiet."

Of course he noticed. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't think so." The Caretaker squeezes her hand lightly with a smile. So much like his title, it's hard to see him as an adult. How did he end up so normal? "We'll get through this, dear Lady. It's only a matter of time."

"How lucky are we then, to have so much of it?" The waves start to breach the ground they stand on, and she begins dragging him back to the door. "Though it seems our time here is up."

He looks around, taking in the sight of the sky before she closes the door on the outside. "Only for now. Someday, we'll see those blue skies I read about in storybooks. The blue skies from your favorite stories."

"Hmm." She doesn't say anything more as she takes him deeper into the Maw, away from railings as they continue on their day.

He dies six days later in a bloodied heap on the floor.

She kneels by his body, fingers carding through his hair as she hums her familiar tune, his head in her lap as she waits for the time to pass.

Soon, her time will be up and she'll have her moment of rest.

Her loop ends at the hands of a girl in a yellow raincoat, and she wonders if the girl knows just what kind of living hell she's walked into?

She tires of the loops.

The awareness stings at the corners of her mind as she's strung upside down, the feeling so hopelessly familiar that she wonders if being captured is the only thing she's good at. The Bullies cackle beneath her, but the mocking only lasts so long until a familiar grunt is heard, and the sound of breaking porcelain echoes in the bathroom. She's dropped unceremoniously from where she's strung up, and when she comes to, a familiar boy in a paper bag offers his hand to her.

When she takes his hand, she lets all of her weariness flop her around, and the boy has to support her until she gets her bearings. Silently, he takes her hand and drags her around until they find a room with a piano. She half expects him to start jumping on it (it's obvious that they need to use it to break the floor beneath it), but instead, he sits her down and... lets her breathe.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"No." She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her face against them. "Tired."

"...Yeah." He doesn't say anything more and lets the silence reign between them. It lasts for a total of two minutes before he pipes up again. Mono was never really good at keeping quiet like this, after all. "What do you wanna do if we ever get out of the City?"

"Dunno," she says, eyes drifting close. She's so tired. "Maybe find a soft bed. Sleep forever."

"Sleeping forever sounds... kind of nice." Still, he shakes his head, and the paper bag crinkles with his movement. She crinkles her nose in response and flicks his bag. He makes an affronted noise, which is enough to make her giggle. "Meanie. But okay, but like, what would you do after you slept? Like, what would you do when you wake up?"

"Dunno," she repeats. It's not really a thought process she tends to follow. "Eat? Maybe do something fun. Like kick a ball around. Or lie in the grass. Maybe read a book." She pauses for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as though she can see it. "What would you do?"

"Hmm." He lies beside her and folds his hands on his stomach. "I want to see the sun. Did you know there's something called the sun? It's supposed to be bright and warm and dry."

She ponders his comment. Has she ever seen the sun before? Probably not. "Where'd you hear about that?"

"I think the Teacher was scribbling about it on the board when I was sneaking around. It's supposed to be hot and full of gas." He gestures aimlessly in the air. "I bet if she could talk, she'd say like, only good students get to see the sun, so they better study good or else! And then she’ll whack a desk with her ruler."

"Ew." Six crinkles her nose in disgust this time. "I hope her ruler breaks."

"Yeah, she probably breaks them all the time. She's just a big ol’ meanie."

"All monsters are mean."

"You're right." They grow quiet together, listening to the pitter patter of the rain before Mono suddenly sits up. "Oh! I found this in one of the rooms I was trying to get through." He searches through one of his stupidly big pockets (seriously, how does he fit an entire collection of hats in his pockets?) and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it, and unfolds it, and unfolds it...

She snatches it out of his hands and shakes it open impatiently.

"Hey!" He snatches it back out of her hands and holds it carefully. "Don't do that!"

"You were taking forever." She rolls her eyes and helps him straighten out the huge sheet. The top and bottom are torn messily as the paper feels oddly fake and like a weird kind of plastic. On it is a large, red scribbled eye that takes up most of the paper, but beneath that eye are shapes that she's never really seen before. She points to one shape and frowns. "Someone doesn't know how to draw a triangle."

"That's not a triangle, silly." Mono straightens out the paper and points at all the different shapes on it. "I think this is a map!"

"A map?"

"Yeah, it's supposed to show you all sorts of different places." His finger traces all the shapes on the map, humming to himself as he does so. "If we're gonna leave the Pale City, we gotta figure out where we should go from here."

"Where's here?"

"Um..." Mono squints at the map, but the entire thing is a mess of lines with red scribbles and confusing markings. He sighs with defeat. "I dunno. There's no words on it."

"So how do we know where we are?"

"...We don't."

"...That's okay. Maps are dumb anyways."

Despite her words, they both stare at the map in silence. Six begins tracing over the shapes herself, wondering where each place could be, and how long it would take to walk there. She points to a lonely blob in the middle of the ocean and wonders who lives there, and if they're just as lonely as the blob. "What do you think is here?" she asks softly, gaining Mono's attention.

"Hmm..." He taps his chin, making the paper bag rustle with his movement. "Maybe more kids? And no adults."

"No monsters."

"Clean water."

"And food everywhere."

"Maybe even toys!"

"Balls?"

"And blankets and pillows!"

"Music boxes..."

"Lots and lots of music boxes." Six glances over at Mono, and even though his paper bag obscures his face, she knows he's smiling at her. "I bet they all play different songs too."

"That'd be nice." She smiles back as Mono begins folding up the map. He folds it and folds it and folds it until the large sheet manages to be pocket-sized, despite how bulky it becomes. After a bit of consideration, he hands it over to Six.

"You take it."

"Why?"

"So that you can pick where we go once we get past the Signal Tower!"

"But I don't have any pockets."

"Huh." He looks over at her shorts and cardigan and realizes that she's right. "We should find you something with pockets."

"Yeah." She watches as he pockets the map and stands up, offering her a hand up. Once she grabs it, he easily pulls her up as they look over at the piano.

"Guess we should start going, huh?"

"Yeah."

It was nice while it lasted.

They continued their journey, Six getting her raincoat along the way. Somehow, when she wasn't paying attention, Mono must have slipped the map into her pocket. He probably meant it as a surprise, maybe a last minute, "Watch this, a magic trick!" sort of gimmick to make her smile that he never got to use. After all, she dropped him to his doom. She'd forgotten all about the map, too focused on growing into her role as the Lady that when she'd packed away the yellow raincoat, she'd almost missed the strange bulge in the pocket.

Taking it out was surprisingly difficult. It amazed her that she never noticed the tightly folded up sheet until now. However, she had little use for it - the Maw steers itself, and therefore, she never needed to learn how to read maps.

But.

She knew someone who could make use of it.

Quietly, as she walks past him, she presses the wadded up map into the palm of his hand, so small that it’s impossible to see being passed along the two of them. The Caretaker didn't so much as glance at her, closing his fist around it immediately and shuffling off to his own quarters. There was little she could do with the map, but with what he'd shown her of his notes from previous loops... maybe... just maybe...

The Maw laughs at her with its mocking groans as her hope quickly turns to despair. As it turns out, she'll never know what he figured out with that map this loop. Having any sort of hope means that any sort of means can be used to squash it before it can bloom. And who else to pay for her crime than the man who gave it to her in the first place?

He barely even shares a single conversation with the Thin Man before she finds him toppling over into the drop between the Janitor’s workspace and the kitchen, meathooks dangling above and below him as the Maw careens yet again into another obstacle. All because he wanted to chat with one of the Chefs on their break, standing so close to the edge that she should have known better but instead was too busy watching the other Chef prepare their meals.

So of course she hears his scream too late, the Chef’s startled cry echoing her own as he too fails to grab the Caretaker’s hand. Crashes and bangs ring out as both Chefs hold her back, keeping their Lady from following the same fate as she screams for him over the ledge. It’s one of the few times she can’t find his body no matter how hard she searches. The Thin Man could only do so much to comfort her before he too disappeared from her company.

And again, she was left alone. Always so alone.

She waits for her loop to end, only for it to begin just as quickly the minute she closes her eyes. All she wants is a break. A small reprieve. But even that is too much to ask.

Events played out as they should. Little divergences are made here and there, but nothing so drastic that it feels like it matters. A hand is pressed against the warm glass of a television. Quietly, she asks, "Why do we keep doing this?"

He answers back, "So that we may have a future where we can all smile together."

And she asks him, "Didn't you want to quit long ago?"

And he responds, "Didn't you want these to continue long ago?"

And she laughs. Cries a little when she replies, "How the roles have reversed."

His head bows. "I'm sorry."

Her fingers curl. "Don't be."

So he asks, "Why did you want them to continue so long ago?"

To which she explains, "I thought it was our only method of survival." A pause. "I was wrong."

"Not entirely," he says. "As terrible as they were, it made me realize something."

"What was it?"

"I wanted more than just survival, to live to see another pointless, repetitive day." His head tilts back up, making her believe that he's looking at her as he speaks with the words on the screen. "I wanted us to be free."

"That's quite different from my reasoning."

"A bit." She can see him lean back in his seat with his hands folded in his lap. "But sometimes, it makes me wonder if our reasons are really that much different from each other."

"Perhaps," she says with no follow up. The two of them stay in silence, basking in the other's presence. She misses holding his hand. Her forehead presses against the screen, porcelain mask clinking delicately against it. "I want to see you again."

"Soon," he soothes, because that's all he can do.

Their conversation ends with a flurry of static as the Thin Man is taken away by the Signal Tower to do some tasks. Her sigh is heavy as she turns away from the screen. "Soon" is such a finicky word, she decides. It's been used so often that she thinks that it no longer means "a short wait". How often has he told her "soon", only to have her suffer through loop after loop?

(Though, didn't she used to do the same to him?)

A blue blur barrels into her as she makes her rounds, interrupting her thoughts as hands grasp her arms.

"Lady," the Caretaker says breathlessly, "there's something I need to tell you."

"Did you read something about vegetables again? I told you, I'm not eating them-"

"No- though, we still need to have a talk about that at a later time but- it's something more... groundbreaking." His hands splay out in the air with dramatic fanfare before taking her hand, tugging her along in a manner that has her gripping his tightly. They travel down the halls at a brisk pace, shuffling past Guests that lumber aimlessly through the passages until they take a quick turn into the back paths of the Maw. He thumps towards the engine room, veering off into a secluded area that has the nomes shuffling past him anxiously once they see her in tow. A little side room is uncovered as he pulls open a loose panel and steps into it. Inside is... a map. With a large red eye scribbled over it. Lines and words are written in black to stand out against the red drawing, arrows pointing this way and that, X's made to mark specific areas, and scribbles scratching out areas unwanted. Little writings litter the map, notes made of certain areas until her eyes are drawn to a teeny, tiny island circled excitedly in black ink.

("What do you think is here?")

"Caretaker?"

"Six, look." He drops the title as he points at the island with a bright grin. "I found it. A place that's devoid of any life!"

"...Sounds peachy."

"I mean- I mean there's no one who lives there. It's deserted, out of reach, completely uninhabited." He picks up a pen and circles some notes and draws arrows leading back to the island. "My notebook tells me about these... these conversations with someone named the Ferryman. There's not a lot about him, but from what my notebook has recorded, he doesn’t seem like a horrible person. He cares about the children and wants them to be safe. Granted, he tends to drop them off here, but the notebook says he’s nice, if a bit weird. It also seems like he knows his way around the ocean. I'd say he might even know where this island is."

"I know of him.” Memories of being dragged aboard a wooden rowboat repeat in her mind as the saggy faced boatman stays silent during their trip. She never saw him again after that. “I can only assume it'd be near impossible to reach him."

"Not for me. Not for the Caretaker." A nome wanders over to them, allowing the Caretaker to bend down and pick them up. He cradles them in his arms as he looks at the Lady expectantly. "I take care of the children. I ensure they remain safe and relatively alright. If he were to entrust the children to someone, he'd have to entrust them to me."

Slowly, she makes the connection. "You've met him before."

He nods, holding the nome closer to his chest. "And according to my notebook, countless times before. It looks like there's a meeting spot somewhere on the Maw where he drops off any children he finds in his journeys. If I meet him there, I can ask about the island. It'd be a place where children can not only survive, but thrive." A glance is shared between the two of them before they focus on the map before them. "Somewhere where no child will have to step foot inside the Maw."

"...Or be taken to the Tower."

The Caretaker nods solemnly. "I had to tell you this soon, before my time runs out."

She turns abruptly to him as he shares a sad smile. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." He puts down the nome and takes out his notebook. Thumbing through the pages, he hardly looks up as he speaks. "Each time a discovery is made, the entry stops there. Nothing continues until I pick it up again. Each day is marked with a tally, see? Even if I have nothing of note, I always mark down the day." He brings it towards her face to see the little tally marks that line the borders of the pages. "Each new start begins when I find the notebook, and I start to dig. Not a lot of time spans between start and finish. It didn't take me long to figure out why."

"...RK-"

"If my guesses are correct, I think I’m going to die soon."

"RK, please-"

"Six." He stows away his notebook and gently takes her hands. When had she started wringing them? "Listen to me."

She stills, all of her attention on him as she memorizes as much as him as she can. How his bangs still fall over his eyes no matter how often she trims them for him. How his gaze always tends to look sleepy until he's around something that demands his attention. How his feet are covered in calluses because he forgets to wear his geta frequently after a life of running barefoot as a child. How the scarring on his right leg remains prominent after all these years even after they managed to get that awful manacle off his leg.

She memorizes all this and more. Like how his hair looks when it's coated with blood. Or how his eyes glaze over as they loll in his head. Or how the blue of his haori both blends and clashes with the red soaked up from his broken body, a shade she still struggles to put a name to despite seeing it so often.

RK squeezes her arms, drawing her out of her head. Quietly, he removes her mask and gently dabs at her cheeks. Ah, she forgot she can still do that.

"It's going to be okay."

"No it's not." Her mind spirals at the thought of having to watch him fall again. How many times does she have to watch him fall? "You know you're going to die, how is that okay?"

"Because." He presses his forehead against hers, solid and reassuring. "It gives us some time."

"For what?"

"To make sure we don't waste whatever moments I have left."

She closes her eyes as she focuses on his warmth. "What do you need of me?"

"I just need you to leave this bottle at one of the drop sites for the Ferryman." He pulls away just enough to retrieve a bottle stashed away in his clothes. She takes it without complaint, rolling it between her hands like a toy. "After a few days, return and see if he's left a response. Whatever you find, write it in my journal and sign it with your real name."

"That's it?"

"Small actions can go unnoticed," he whispers, pulling her in for a tight hug. "And that's what we need in a world where we're always being watched."

Her eyes close as she leans into his warmth. How she ever managed to get through previous loops without his constant support and comfort is beyond her.

(The thought of eating a nome revolts her more than the thought of vegetables. It only makes her despise the Hunger even more, with how it digs its claws into her and makes her crave living flesh, making her the monster that she is now.)

They part not long after that, her drawing away from her dear friend reluctantly as he shoos her off, making sure the bottled message is safe in her clutches before disappearing to do whatever he needs to get done. It comes as no surprise to her that after she places the bottle where he asked, safe and secure in a nest of rope, that he tumbles before her very eyes once again and lands with a sickening crunch just a few days later.

Once she's grieved over his body for what scant minutes she possesses, she rushes off to the drop site and looks for the answer he needs.

Another bottle sits in its place, innocently out of place as she retrieves it. The message inside is released and she reads the response in RK's place. When she finds his notebook, she quickly scrawls down the answer to his message:

"Aye, but it won't be easy."

It's the last thing she manages to do before her loop ends violently. Closing her eyes has never been easier, and it makes waking up even harder than before.

She is aware of the loops. Anyone who lives constantly in them must hold some level of awareness regardless of how much they desire to live in blissful ignorance. Does it help that each loop is a promise that she can reunite with Mono, even though it will always end with her betraying him in the end? Does it help that each loop is a promise that she will get to meet RK again, even if it's at the cost of his untimely death?

Does it help that she gets to see that girl one last time, get to see her smile of gratitude before she ends up like every other child in this wretched, despicable world?

Maybe.

She's still not sure if it's enough to have her push through with each iteration. But when Mono offers his hand to her, she still takes it. When RK follows her around, she allows it. And when the girl stops to help her up, she still moves to push that same, useless boulder.

Quietly, she hums to herself.

The world is loud and frightening, with monsters at every corner waiting to kill her as a child. When she grows up, she becomes another monster at the price of survival. Her eyes open, as they always do, to the sight of the loop unfolding all around her. Little changes create large ripples, that’s what they tell her. She watches these ripples passively from a distance. That's all she can muster nowadays. Passing along messages, carrying around items to give to the other recipient, always acting the willing messenger. It helps that she always dies last.

The scribbles on RK's map grow by the loop. Mono's determination only grows stronger as he passes along the things he finds to RK. And what does Six do, besides be their messenger?

She blinks, and words flit across the screen just for her eyes to see. "You're the key to all of this," he states. "Don't doubt your importance."

"As a porter?" she scoffs.

"No, as our last fighting chance."

"Against what?"

"Against all odds." His hand reaches out from beyond the screen to cup her face tenderly. It strokes just beneath her mask's eye, presenting a comfort she doesn’t think she deserves before reluctantly pulling back into the screen. "You're the spiteful spitfire who will last the longest out of all of us. And we're depending on you to bare your teeth and fight when we can't."

She blinks, and the television is gone. A hand rests gently on her shoulder in the library, a soft hum coming from the other. "This wouldn't work without you, you know."

"Flattery gets you nowhere."

"It's the truth though." He squeezes her arm with a smile. "Who else would be strong enough to strongarm a change like this?"

"Not me."

"You're lying to yourself." His touch is soft as he holds her hand in companionship. "How else would I be here? I know these loops have lasted longer than my existence." He grins brightly at her without a hint of malice. "Somehow, you dragged me into this mess through sheer will. It always feels oddly surreal being here. I always feel like… I was never meant to live this long.” A distant look settles in his eyes, and it’s one of the few times where she can’t figure out what’s going on in that mind of his. With a quick shake of his head, he clings tighter to her hand for reassurance. “But somehow, you made it work. Who am I to not return the favor?"

How did she end up with two wonderful, lovely, amazing, brilliant friends?

They believe in her. For whatever profound or idiotic reasons they may have, they believe in her. To fight, to continue surviving, to refuse to step down - that's what they claim they need from her. So she continues what she does best. When she wakes up, she puts one foot in front of the other and continues forward. She survives, in spite of all the hardships and monsters that block her path. And as she survives, she keeps seeing them again and again and again. Perhaps it's her selfishness at work again. Dying to wake up to be found and chased and found again. Waking up to run and fight and see them again.

Waking up to see the girl in the raincoat still alive, still radiant and doing her best to help any child she comes across. Kind until the very end, when she perishes due to no fault of her own.

Waking up to see an axe drive itself over and over again into a wooden door as a boy forces his way into her life, and she grows less and less resentful, and more and more grateful for his presence.

Waking up to find food presented to her in hopes of staving off her hunger, a tentative but hopeful smile on the face of a boy still getting used to the idea of helping other children. He grows up beside her, knowing of her antics and behaviors and being the only one exasperated yet fond of her actions.

She wakes up again and again just to see them over and over. She wakes up because despite how the world seems intent on taking them away from her, she refuses to let things be until she sees them again.

Her hands are cold, but she refuses to let them stay that way.

A part of her hurts knowing she can't save them all. Her selfishness rears its head again as she desperately tries finding a way to twist fate, allowing another of them to live - another of her precious friends to stay alive. But nothing goes her way for that one moment; there is no rope to dangle down, not another boulder, no tree root she can tear out, no amount of reaching down to save the girl in the yellow raincoat. A terrible thought plants itself in her mind as she watches her die for the umpteenth time - perhaps her death is what makes her so much more desperate to see that her two other friends stay alive until the very end.

Six clutches tight to the yellow raincoat she wears.

She has to make sure they survive. If she can't save them all, then she can save as many as she can.

Her resolve blossoms anew, and she thinks that maybe she understands what Mono finally discovered after suffering loops upon loops of disappointment. When she presses her hand against the warm glass of the television, complete understanding is finally shared between the two of them.

"So, when will you come to get your meal?"

"Soon, I promise."

"I’ll hold you to it."

But of course, nothing goes her way. It never goes her way.

The first time she realizes something's wrong with the Thin Man is when she attempts to reach out to him like normal. She is met with a hazy sort of static, his visage distorted and broken before the screen did something it never did before - it lost signal.

Multicolored bars appear, surrounding a single image of an eye as it leers at her before shutting off. She (hopes, prays, begs, refuses to acknowledge) assumes that the television is finally meeting the end of its long, beleaguered life and asks the Caretaker to help her find a new one for her quarters. But even with the new television set up in her quarters, the television still says that there is no signal.

"...Something's wrong." The Caretaker places his palm against the screen with a newfound horror in his eyes. "They're finally making a move." Their gazes meet for a moment before drifting towards the Eye insignias that have followed them through each and every loop.

She’d forgotten that they were a warning as much as they were decoration.

The true horror of the situation is made apparent to her when she faces down her tiny successor. Her form is rigid, stiff, but not with the desperate strength of a child trying to survive and conquer.

No.

The little brown bag that threatens to fall from her pocket is more than enough for the Lady to understand what the Tower had done.

She dies at the hands of an angry, grief-stricken little girl, and the only thing she could do is hope that her new iteration clings to that rage as she grows up.

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #ln lady #ln thin man #ln runaway kid #ln six #ln mono #six is like 'man i LOVE feeling hope for once'#and then there's me #holding up a bat and swinging it at mono's head like #'lmao you say sumthin'#anyway the map joke was originally supposed to be like #'hey this map is cool what do the words say mono'#'i can't read'#'its okay reading is stupid anyways'#but then i remembered i made them super literate so now its the 'maps suck' joke #ANYWAY!!!#HOMESTRETCH FOLKS WE GETTIN IT!!

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rudysrings · 5 years ago

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Happier - JJ x reader

Just a lil songifc based on Ed Sheeran’s Happier

Summary: JJ didn’t mean for things to end the way they did between you two. If he’s being honest, he didn’t mean for things to end at all. He can’t help the longing when he sees you’ve moved on. At the same time, he can’t deny that you look better, happier.

Warnings: I’m such a sucker for angst jiokdfnijhwuerfhi I’m sorry…

Walking down 29th and Park I saw you in another's arms Only a month we've been apart You look happier, you do

The HMS Pogue was docked and JJ walked towards the Wreck, where his friends were waiting. It had been a long day of surfing, fishing, and drinking and he was just about ready to collapse after some good food.

He flicked his lighter, tossing it around in his hands as he walked up the street. He stopped short when he caught sight of a ghost. He swallowed tightly, trying to push down the feeling of his stomach rising to his throat at the sight of you. Of course, that was just his luck. The moment he managed to get you off his mind through pure exhaustion and hunger, he had to see you. The part that made him want to yak the empty contents of his stomach, however, was seeing you tucked into the arms of a guy. He was tall. Taller than JJ, maybe. He was blonde and smoking a joint.

He smiled inwardly. Guess you had a type, after all.

He didn’t want to admit it, but you looked more content, your shoulders relaxed, your hair down and a slow, unhurried pace in your step.

Taking in a shaky breath, JJ shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and continued walking.

Saw you walk inside a bar He said something to make you laugh I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours Yeah, you look happier, you do

Imagine his surprise when he saw the guy you were with open the door to the Wreck, gesturing overtly for you to enter before him, even bowing theatrically. You giggled, but obliged, walking through.

JJ wrinkled his nose, deciding that the guy’s name must have been Kyle. He just looked it. Kyle. God damn it, Kyle, why’d you have to steal my girl?

What he did next made JJ shake in his boots. Kyle followed you inside, his hands reaching for your hips as he ducked into your neck, whispering something in your ear.

JJ swallowed thickly, raising his hand to slightly rub his chest through the cotton of his shirt, feeling an uncomfortable stinging sensation in his heart. It didn’t stop the ache.

You laughed and JJ felt like he was back at the bar where you sang gigs here and there, your laughter as you interacted with the audience his favorite filler. Your laughter was always generous. You were never shy to smile at a passerby or chuckle at his lame innuendos. And whenever you did completely let out that contagious, musical laugh of yours, bubbling up and out of your mouth like it was meant to be freed, JJ knew that he’d do anything to keep you just like that. Happy. The kind of candid happy that you rarely saw in anyone older than 10. That was his favorite thing about you, JJ decided, how you were still a child in the ways that mattered.

The part that killed him, however, was he couldn’t remember when you’d last smiled at him that big, the way you were smiling at fucking Kyle.

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain't nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal, baby If you're moving on with someone new

JJ quickly tugged his hair, scrunching his face in anger before relaxing, walking through the doors behind you. Cool as a cucumber. Sure.

He made sure not to look at you, trying to swallow the memory of the last time you had talked to him.

You weren’t one for yelling. It wasn’t in your nature. Maybe it was because of your family life which molded you into someone who couldn’t stand to yell, maybe it was that it not only hurt the other person but you as well.

That’s why it shook him so much when you yelled at him. JJ knew he hadn’t been doing right by you. He knew he had been reckless. He knew he wasn’t there when you needed him the most. He knew he was hurting you. What he didn’t know, was that while he was losing his mind trying to make his way back to you, you were giving up the fight.

“I can’t do this anymore, JJ!” You screamed, pushing at his shoulders.

“Why not? Because I can’t always be there? Because I like a little adventure in my life?” He glared at you, not able to stop the words he would regret saying. “You know my life style, Y/N! I can’t be your little bitch for the rest of my life. I want to live! If you won’t let me do that then…”

You leaned in, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Then? Then what, JJ? You’ll find someone else who will?”

“—wha—”

“Then I’ll find someone else who’ll be my little bitch. It’s better than having a self-destructive asshole for a boyfriend.”

JJ saw the instant regret in your eyes, but your pride had taken enough of a beating from his words for you to apologize. You approached him carefully. “Are you saying…are you saying this is it?” He asked, terrified now.

You smiled sadly. “It doesn’t look like we have another choice.”

“We always have a choice!” He refused.

You nodded. “Right, and you never chose me.”

All he remembered after that were his tears and mumbled apologies, his pleas to the air as you had already said goodbye and left. Left him.

'Cause baby you look happier, you do My friends told me one day I'll feel it too And until then I'll smile to hide the truth But I know I was happier with you

JJ found the rest of the pogues at their usual table in the back and they greeted him heartily, John B slapping his back playfully as he sat down.

“You leave anything for me or has everything been shoved into your maw already?” JJ asked with a fake smile on his face.

Kiara handed him some food and he thanked her, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it, instead pulling out a joint, hoping he could then blame the redness in his eyes on the weed.

Pope slapped it out of his hand, scolding him. “Bro, you know you can’t do that in here.”

JJ’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Pope with absolute surrender, a pleading look on his face as he asked quietly, “Please, man. I just—” His eyes flicked over to where you were sat with Kyle, trying to braid his hair.

The pogues turned to JJ’s line of sight, seeing you and understanding completely.

“Oh,” Pope said simply.

John B ruffled JJ’s hair, trying to comfort him in the few ways he knew how. “Hey, man. You’re better off without her, alright?”

Kiara scoffed at that, probably knowing as much as JJ did that you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

Pope squeezed JJ’s shoulder. “You’ll find someone who makes you happy.”

JJ shrugged, nodding and giving his friends a tight smile. “Yeah, you’re right.” His lies tasted bitter in his mouth for the first time. It felt wrong to even say that he could be happy without you when he knew that he had never been happier than when he was with you.

Sat in the corner of the room Everything's reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier Aren't you?

The rest of the pogues had left for a late night surf, JJ giving the excuse that he was exhausted and would meet them at the Chateau later.

They left reluctantly, knowing JJ was bound to torture himself some more by watching you and your new boyfriend Kyle, which ironically enough, was apparently his name. Kiara had confirmed.

JJ had an empty beer bottle in his hand, rolling the neck of it between his fingers every now and then, putting it to his lips just to have something to do as he lost himself in the memories.

You hated this beer. It was always too watery, you had said.

I know that there's others that deserve you But my darling, I am still in love with you

JJ saw Kyle take care of you, wrap his jacket around your arms, press a kiss to your forehead as you smiled.

Maybe Kyle was good for you. JJ had never deserved you anyways. When Kyle leaned down to kiss you carefully, JJ was glad that he was sat in the corner of the room, out of sight from the two of you because he couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eyes, his hand coming up against his mouth as he tried to physically force the whimper down his throat. He finally tore his eyes away from the two of you, not sure if he could take the sight of you two macking on each other right there in front of him.

He quickly flicked away his tears with his fingers. Fuck, he was still so in love with you. The feeling hadn’t dimmed after a month and he didn’t think it was going to dim in another month, in another year, maybe never in this life.

JJ smashed the bottle against the trash can as he threw it out, the violent action only releasing some of his aggression.

He pulled his lighter out again, looking back up to see you staring right at him, probably startled by the sound of the bottle breaking.

I knew one day you'd fall for someone new But if he breaks your heart like lovers do Just know that I'll be waiting here for you

A soft expression settled over your face. You looked guilty…and sad. JJ didn’t want to dwell on the thought too much, because false hope would most definitely destroy him. But the look in your eyes reminded JJ that he would always wait for you. There was never going to be anyone else; that, he was sure of.

He watched as you pushed Kyle away, saying something harsh to him. Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. You stood up and walked away from Kyle, towards JJ.

JJ straightened, trying to discreetly make sure there weren’t any more tears on his face. That was the last thing he needed, the last piece of his dignity. Not only was he watching you with your new guy while all alone, but he was crying? Just perfect.

You stopped just a few feet shy of him, crossing your arms over your chest, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

The look in your eyes gave him hope, hope he tried so hard to stomp out. “Hey,” You said.

After hearing your voice after so long, watching his name roll sweetly off of your lips, JJ didn’t trust his own voice, simply raising his eyebrows in greeting.

You played with one of the many bracelets on you wrist, a habit you had picked up from him, actually. You bit your lip, before saying. “I miss you, J.”

And JJ thought he could finally breathe again.

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darkestfable · 4 years ago

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Safe Haven

Oribos

Raetos groaned as he found his way back to the waking world. He knew he was alive by how much his body ached. His head, most of all, felt like someone was hammering multiple nails in place. Only one luminous eye opened, the other still swollen shut under bandages wrapped around his head. His abdomen was also strapped tightly. He could feel the pressure of the wrappings limiting his movement, as to not aggravate what he assumed was broken ribs. The wound on his arm had been well cleaned and bandaged. Someone had been talking very good care of him.

He smiled, not having to wonder who, feeling the body curled up against his own. Tilting his head down, he caught a glimpse of the top of Fable’s head… there was no mistaking those lovely indigo locks.

“How long have I been out?” He asked.

For just a moment, Fable grumbled and curled more tightly against Raetos. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. The hellscape that had been The Maw was no longer ringing in his ears, and his lover was by his side again. This had to be a dream. It was never this good.

Or was it?

The blood hunter finally peeled open his eyes, sitting up after a moment to look over the large lightforged next to him. His heart fluttered at the sight of his lover’s smile, and he reached over to lay a gentle hand onto his bandaged chest. This had been no small feat, what Raetos and the others had pulled off.

“Days, love. Take as long as you need, yeah? I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Fable’s expression softened as he curled his fingers against the bandages on Raetos. Yep, still there. Still real.

The Draenei’s smile only grew wider as he reached up with his good hand to cup the side of his lover’s face. Raetos didn’t understand much of anything about death and spirits. But Fable looked well. Looked healthy. Better than he had in the Maw, for certain.

“Careful what you say, Babe. I might ask to stay here forever,” he said, flashing his signature grin, “...wherever here is.”

It suddenly dawned on him that they couldn’t be on Azeroth. They still had to find the soul dagger to get Fable his body back… and they obviously weren’t in the Maw anymore. Last thing he remembered was a very pissed off Avehi.

“Uh… where are we?”

“Oribos. Think that’s what they call it, anyway. Kinda a hub for uh...all sorts ‘a people,” Fable glanced at the door, as if the answer would be there. Truthfully, he’d been more worried about Raetos than asking about the name of the establishment.

He leaned over Raetos carefully to kiss him. Tender, sweet, and like he’d been afraid he’d never see him again. Everything had culminated to this point, and truthfully Fable wasn’t sure what he was doing. Getting out of The Maw had been his first task, but the blood hunter wasn’t sure if he could retrieve the dagger by himself. Wasn’t sure he’d want to do it alone. Doubt weighed heavily on him, tied down by the guilt of what he’d done to get here in the first place.

“Hey, love… You got my body, yeah? I’m gonna have somethin’ t’ go back home t’ when this shit is figured out? ‘n th’ animals are taken care of?” his voice was quiet, almost unsure. Fable loved their little life that they’d built, and still worried that he’d ruined it all.

“Mhm,” the Draenei managed a nod, thumb stroking his lover’s cheek, “The tree elf dude you got to take care of the animals while we were away agreed to stay as long as needed. I think we owe him a really REALLY big tip. Obligation and Responsibility really seems to like him, though, so don’t have to worry about them. Did you know he lived in that big ass tree that the Horde burned down? That’s where he got all the scars. Poor guy… Anyway, I was able to find your body at the dig site after going through your maps and stuff. Brought it to the healer chick that was deployed to Darkshire with me. You’re in a coma-like state back on Azeroth, and she’s keeping you nourished and stable until we manage to destroy that dagger.”

He paused in his rambling for a moment, knowing the next part was a bit touchy.

“Hey… uh… on that subject. Bad memories, I know. But like… anything you can tell me about the lady that stabbed you… physical description or name… if she gave you one…”

Another pause before adding.

“Was she hot? She must be hot.”

“Well, yeah… I mean it ain’t like I got bad taste,” Fable smirked, then paused a moment. “Wait, tree… They’re called Kal’dorei.”

The news of his body being taken care of was something of a relief, though the blood hunter still didn’t like the situation at all. Cebina had royally screwed him, and now he had to go find that dagger too? This was just getting more and more complicated…

“She uh… I’d know her if I saw her, yeah? While you were restin’ tho, I asked ‘round ‘bout the dagger ‘n souls ‘n shit ‘n this creepy lookin’ dude called a Venthyr told me ‘bout this place called Revandreth. Said a lady was there ‘n might have a dagger kinda like it?” Fable scratched at his chin in thought.

“Sounds like our next destination,” Raetos nodded, a cheerful smile on his face, “I know it’s not the best of situations, but we get to explore this whole new place together, and I’m sure we can get supplies so that you can map it all out.”

Obviously it would have been much more ideal to have Fable whole for the adventure, but there was no harm in seeing the bright side of the situation.

“Soon as moving doesn’t hurt anymore…” he winced as he shifted, “So... what’s a Venty. Not another type of elf, is it?—Not that there’s anything wrong with elves! There’s just so many different kinds and I can barely keep up with the ones I know.”

“Venthyr, luv. They’re like uh...anima vampires? Ain’t too clear on ‘em yet but I was watchin’ ‘em wander through Oribos while you were restin’,” Fable pulled out a notebook he’d obviously obtained here in the Shadowlands. A keen eye would notice that its leather bindings were a bit unlike any leather on Azeroth.

The first few pages were sloppy, slightly disproportionate sketches of the various different types of people he’d seen wandering through, along with notes of things he’d either overheard or asked them flat out. The page with the Venthyr man had no notes, however. Clearly, the hunter hadn’t approached him.

“They got fangs ‘n glowin’ eyes kinda, most of ‘em are real skinny. Nice clothes though, ‘n some of ‘em wear thigh high boots. Thinkin’ maybe I should get a pair?” the elf chuckled, leaning to stretch his leg out as far as he could, toes pointed.

“Babe, you would look hella amazing in those boots,” the Lightforged agreed, “Are there any with heels? If so, you should avoid them, because then, your already sexy ass will just look too good for me to resist. Afraid you won’t get anything done in that case.”

His hand slipped down to give his partner’s behind a little squeeze, before he attempted to sit up. It was a more daunting task than anticipated with his injuries, but he managed.

“Fashion sense aside, are these Venthyr people safe? The one you drew has like… an evil look to him. Or are they all that withered looking and ugly? Also, what’s anima? And what are the lampshades with legs that you drew in there?”

A smirk spread on his lips at the squeeze, but his attentions to the affections were pulled away when Raetos was trying to sit up. Fable assisted, but his brow furrowed in worry. Had his lover been hurt worse than initially thought? Damn it all, now he was fretting like a mother hen. The lampshades comment pulled the hunter out of his head though, and he just blinked for a moment before tilting the book towards him.

“The lampshades with legs? Oh, those?” Fable pointed at one of the doodles of a Broker. “They call themselves Brokers. They help facilitate trade of goods and services. Information too, ‘m sure. Ain’t got a chance to really chat jus’ yet.”

The concern crept up onto the elf’s face again, and he leaned over to kiss Raetos’ cheek.

“You doin’ okay? If you gotta rest…”

Raetos shook his head.

“Nah, just sore is all. The headache is the worst part, probably. Dude, Avehi hits -hard-! Did you see how pissed she was? Ha! Good times!”

He smiled brightly to his lover, bringing his hand up to cup the side of his face again.

“Honestly, I’ve rested plenty. I just want to look at you,” he admitted, “I missed you so much, Bae… so don’t mind if all I want to do is cuddle and make out for a while.”

He paused, before adding with a wink.

“Wouldn’t hate a blow job either.”

The elf just smiled. That sappy, sweet, completely enraptured smile as he nuzzled into Raetos’ hand. It had felt like an eternity, fighting for his life. Being reunited had been on his mind the whole time, but even now Fable’s heart ached for the life they’d had before. Though, in the middle of his thoughts, a smirk broke through. That was the Raetos he knew.

“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t…” Fable turned his head to place a kiss in the palm of Raetos’ hand. “If it won’t hurt you, I’m gonna swallow you whole…”

“I mean… not like I can move much in these bandages,” he grinned, running his thumb along Fable’s bottom lip, “Doubt I’d be able to find a way to hurt myself.”

He paused as he thought about that a moment.

“—Okay, so I would -probably- find a way to hurt myself. But it would be hella worth it, though.”

Fable caught Raetos’ thumb between his lips, cerulean eyes closing as he pressed the barbell through his tongue against the calloused pad. A promise. As his lover spoke, the elf savored the taste of his flesh, finally opening his eyes to look up at him with a smirk. He released the thumb after a moment only to place a kiss into Raetos’ palm.

“Jus’ sit back ‘n enjoy then. You deserve t’ be worshipped,” he mumbled against the blue skin, continuing to kiss down from his hand to his wrist. Of course, he’d wait for permission.

It felt like lifetimes since he’d been away from Raetos, and only minutes that they’d been back together again. Fable felt that familiar skin hunger, but it had only gotten stronger after they were in safety, and he could touch and smell his lover again. The blood hunter had to remember to pace himself; Raetos was still recovering, and they were still in a strange place. But tomorrow could wait. Tonight belonged to them.

(Raetos is @raetos / @kidcatgemini )

#Fable #Raetos #Raeble #romance #world of warcraft #rp log #void elf #lightforged draenei #flirting

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nomstellations · 4 years ago

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what’s your favorite trope in vore? write it ♥︎

Anon bless your soul bc I got to write something very self indulgent that only appeals to me, probably. This might be a blend of more than one favorite trope, but hey! I loved writing this! It’s pretty long, so apologies to you guys for that ; ; I love dialogue!

Inkopolis was a bustling hub of culture and activity, filled to the brim with seafolk of all kinds. Nestled in the corner of the plaza was a cafe known as the Coral Reef, which was notably quieter than the area around it. Inside it seemed as though things were slow, with only one cashier behind the counter and a handful of inklings enjoying their snacks. Artemis, the colossal inkling behind the counter, is staring off into space with a rather dreamy expression on his face. Truth be told he was waiting on a certain someone he adored to come in today, and the gentle chime of the door being opened got his attention. In strolled an ink stained inkling, one he knew very well and it caused him to grin. “Well, if it isn’t the one and only~ You look like you’ve been in a fight or two.” The small bobtail squid strides up to the counter, sighing as she tries to wipe ink off herself. “Ugh, hey Artie...ranked was a struggle today. What’s with the look, did you get a raise or something?” He shook his head and stood up to his full height, reaching under the counter and handing her a towel to dry herself off with. “No no Ace, I was just thinking about some things. Thanks for bringing me back to reality, as you tend to do berry blue~” Ace takes the towel and wipes her face, hiding the small blush Art’s baritone voice brought her. He was always a big flirt, but he always laid it on a bit thicker with her. She figured it was just how he was, but she couldn’t help but get blue in the face when he directed them at her. Setting down the towel, she yawns and stares up at the menu. “So, whatcha got today? I’m starved after all that action!” “Well~” He hummed, gesturing to the display case full of treats. “I just finished setting out some of our house specials and a few fruit cheesecakes! I’ve been working on a little secret that may be on the menu as well, buuuut it could use some taste testing to assure its quality!” Ace’s eyebrows raised in curiosity, interested in the new development. “A secret, huh? Mind telling me, your best customer??” She smiled at him, and one to match it slowly grew on Art’s face.

If he can pull this off...he’ll have her right where he wants her.

“Well...it wouldn’t be a secret if I said it during business hours, but you are my best~” He leaned down to whisper it into the much smaller squid’s ear, taking note that she smells deliciously sweet as always. “Red Velvet Cake~ How’s about you come try it for me? You’ve got good taste!” Literally. Or, so he hoped. Ace visibly perked up, that was her favorite! And Artemis made the best cakes, she almost immediately jumped on the offer but a realization gave her pause. That back room...she’s seen a few inklings go back there with him, but only he ever stepped back out. She was suspicious, but the allure of her favorite dessert was a hard one to resist...going back for just one slice shouldn’t hurt. “Alright, you got me...I’ll just have a slice, I wanna get back to turf!” Artemis can hardly contain his delight, he’s been waiting so long for this day! “Ah, so the blue beauty finally joins me for a tasting session...I must say, I’m honored~” He opens the little door that separates the two of them, beckoning for her to come back with him. “Layin’ it on kinda thick there, Artie.” She grumbles as she follows his lead, trying to ignore the blush on her cheeks. He opens the door to the back for her with a wide��smile, the light glinting a bit off of his fangs. Curiously and a bit hesitantly, she peers into the room and is met with the sweet scent of things baking. There’s a tray of muffins cooling on the table, along with a covered pan. Is that it? As if he was reading her mind, the orange-hued inkling stepped forward and pulled the cover off, revealing the red dusted cake to her with a mock bow. “Ta-daaa~ A lovely cake for the lovely little lady.” Ace gasps in delight, moving over to get a closer look. “Oh, Artie...that looks so good! Cut me a slice please!” He’s way ahead of her, slicing through the moist cake as she says this and cutting her a sizable piece. “Your wish is my command, sweetness~ Enjoy!” Ace smiles at him and wastes no time digging into the moist cake, humming in delight at its sweet flavor. It doesn’t take long for her to finish it, and she pushes the plate away with a happy sigh. “That was a perfect pre-game snack, thank you so much! This’ll be a big hit with the customers, I guarantee it!” “Thank you for your input, but is it good enough for seconds?” He nudges another slice onto her plate as he says this, it’s slightly bigger than the last. “Well, I don’t want to get sick fighting...after this I’m going to get going, okay?” The cake was eaten so as not to disappoint her large friend, and when she was finished she stood up and prepared to leave, much to Artemis’ dismay. “You’re leaving so soon? Ace my dear, I haven’t seen you all day...why don’t we talk about how you are over a third slice of cake?” Ace stared at him a bit suspiciously, why did he want her to eat so much of it? “Third…? That’s a lot of cake and I’m just one squid, I want to stay in fighting shape!”“Oh darling, every shape of yours is flattering and ready for a fight~ I baked this with love knowing you’d see me today...won’t you eat my gift to you?” She blushed, her tentacles curling up a bit as he mixes a few flirts into his words. “It’s a lot, can’t I just take it home?” Artemis’ stomach growls impatiently, he better move fast...charming her is fun and all, but his cravings are growing stronger by the moment. “I would much rather see those cute cheeks puffed out as you finish it off...come on, it’s taking you on! The great Ace could finish off a cake just as easily as she can wipe a team!” Ace nervously eyes the cake, it was smaller than what he’d normally bake as it was for tasting purposes, but it was still a lot for her. However, it’s at his insistence, and she didn’t want to waste something he made specifically for her… “Alright, fine. You owe me if I can finish this off!” “Oh not to worry, you’ll definitely be rewarded~” He smiles, trying to keep his exterior calm as he watches his plan work beautifully. Ace drills through the cake despite her previous remarks, leaving her with a visibly stuffed stomach that Artemis eyes hungrily. He didn’t want to abuse her competitive spirit but it was worth it, it’s about time for him to eat.... The sound of a chair scraping against the floor pulled the colossal squid from his hungry thoughts, and he watches in surprise as Ace stands up to leave. “Ugh, definitely overate...I think I’m just going to head home, sorry Art.” No, she can’t leave now! He can’t, he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers now that he’s so close! As she makes her way to the door he quickly cuts her off, leaning against it and smiling nervously. “W-wait Ace, you can’t go quite yet…" She stares up at him, his immense size over her starting to intimidate her alongside his weird behavior. "A-art, why can't I leave…?" The look in his eyes is ravenous, and as he leans down closer to her she can hear the loud and impatient growls of his stomach. "Ace...I've wanted this for the longest time now, I'm sorry…" He opens his mouth wide, his orange, slimy tongue dragging itself up the side of her face, making it clear exactly where she'll be going. Rattled, Ace digs her hands into his large, soft belly, hoping to get him away from her. “A-ARTEMIS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He’s undeterred, making a shaky and pleased hum as she’s sweeter than he could have possibly imagined. “I’m sorry, I just can’t hold myself back any longer...you’ll be fine, I can promise you that much.” No longer listening to her protests he clamps his mouth down over her head, sealing her in humid darkness and continuing his tasting. Though now he’s mostly driven by hunger he gently strokes her back, trying to relax her so he doesn’t accidentally hurt her. She squirms and struggles as much as she can, tapping into her battle strength even, but it’s moot as Art pulls her further into his mouth and begins swallowing. Her small size relative to him makes eating her simple, with a powerful gulp already pulling her head and chest into his throat and her belly into his maw. He takes his time here, licking all over it and savoring her flavor and its fullness, before standing up and tilting his head back to let gravity do the work for him. Ace’s struggles gave out at this point, and she let peristalsis and the occasional light glurp from the colossal inkling pull her ever deeper to the loud groaning that was his stomach. When she was finally entirely sealed in his throat he sighed, sitting down in a chair and gently rubbing his stomach as she slipped inside it. She curls up without another word, and there’s a beat of silence before Artemis speaks again. “Ace...I’m truly sorry for deceiving you like this, but...I love you. I have for so long, and I wanted you as close to me as possible...you’re safe in there, I would never bring any harm to you. I just...wanted you in my embrace.” She lays still in him, processing his words. All those flirts...he meant them? She wondered if he was telling the truth, and judging by his stomach’s harmless churning and quiet, gentle burbling, he must have meant it. She had always liked him, but didn’t quite know what to say. As if he read her thoughts, he spoke again. “I understand that it’s overwhelming...when I let you out, we can talk more. I just want to hold you for a while, if that’s fine…” She subtly shifts, which is about the best answer she can give. He sighs, settling in to give her a massage. Truth be told, it wasn’t as bad as she thought in here….will he be doing this more if they got together?

She wouldn’t mind the idea of cuddling like this, if so.

#vore fic #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #halfsize vore #stuffing #splatvore #unwilling vore #kinda but she warms up to it #no this isnt m/f my inksona is nonbinary #i love confessions and stuff through vore like this #and big charming preds #and stuffing in vore #lmk if this needs more tags #sorry vore community i only know how to cater to myself but it WAS a request #Anonymous

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tiliamericana · 4 years ago

Text

Muay Thai: 1.13

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” said Agatha acidly as Nairi held the door to the pizza place open for her.

“I’m sorry,” said Nairi, no longer feeling particularly apologetic after a week of saying nothing but. “We’ll only be here for what, an hour? And then we can go.”

She didn’t love that she was already on edge. It was hardly the first time in her life that she was deliberately sitting down to spend a couple of hours with an unpleasant man, but it was still frustrating. She liked spending time with Agatha and Linden who were only occasionally frustrating, but they tended to get tense and catty with each other, and Nairi’s teeth were aching at the thought of dealing with that on top of Simon.

Well. They were usually catty, but when not talking about relationships they could be relied on to be friendly-catty rather than terse-catty.

Linden was sitting alone at one of the tall tables near the centre of the restaurant, and she waved at them as they approached, her smile wide. “Hey guys!” she said as Nairi sat down across from her, and if her smile was fake then she at least sounded pleased—or, well, relieved, at any rate.

“No boyfriend yet?” asked Agatha archly, sitting next to Nairi with a disapproving curve to her lips as their eyes met.

“He’s running late,” said Linden, clasping her hands together in front of her and making her bracelets jingle. “Promised he’d treat me to a nice big pie and dessert to make it up to me, though!”

“Nice of him,” said Nairi, snagging a complimentary breadstick, more out of habit than hunger.

“Very,” said Agatha, inspecting a menu without looking up.

Linden’s expression faltered. “Yeah,” she said anyway.

Nairi knocked their ankles together under the table in an attempt to reassure, and Linden flashed her a grateful look, the tension across her shoulders loosening a little. “Things are going well then?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of water and pushing the jug towards Agatha, who ignored her.

“As well as they can be,” said Linden, nodding a little too much, her bracelets jingling again. “I mean, things get bumpy occasionally, but we really haven’t known each other for long in like, the grand scheme of things. We already know we like each other, so we’re just feeling everything else out as we go.”

“Oh goodie,” muttered Agatha, pushing her glasses up her nose again before setting the menu down and joining the conversation. “Nick likes this one, then?”

Linden snorted. “Simon’s not that exceptional,” she said dismissively. “Nick thinks he’s too flaky.”

Agatha glanced at her watch conspicuously. “I wonderwhy.”

Linden gave her a sharp curve of a smile, darkly amused. “Look, that might be a dealbreaker for Nick, but he’s not the one dating him. I can handle a little flakiness, and besides, he’s working on it.”

“Is he working on anything else?”

“Yes,” said Linden, looking Agatha right in the eye. “Nick told me—I promise he won’t call you that ever again, I even slapped him around a little to make it stick.”

“Right,” said Agatha, unimpressed in the face of Linden’s humour. “Because if he does then I’m just going to leave. Why does he even talk like that in the first place?”

Linden wrinkled her nose. “It’s his masters, I swear, he spends his entire time with his nose up the ass of these old school poets, and then he like, forgets that language has changed in the last eighty years? It’s really annoying, he literally called me the ‘whore of Babylon’ the other day and then got offended when I told him to fuck off because I ‘didn’t get the compliment’.”

Nairi snorted.

“Oh! Such a catch! I suddenly understand why you’re so determined to make this relationship work,” drawled Agatha.

“It’s a better basis for a relationship than some I could name,” said Linden snidely, narrowing her eyes across the table.

Damn, Agatha’s last boyfriend must have been a real piece of work. “There’s always going to be worse relationships out there,” said Nairi diplomatically. “And I mean, people are even meeting and dating on the internet these days, everything starts somewhere.”

“Exactly,” said Linden, relaxing a little with a grin. “That’s a bad basis, we all know the internet’s for porn and arguing with strangers.”

“And LOLcats, don’t forget those,” said Agatha, nodding at her.

“How could I?” said Linden, her grin widening.

Nairi was saved from having to ask what the fuck a ‘LOLcat’ was by Simon’s arrival. “Hello ladies,” he said breezily, draping his coat over the back of the free chair with a waft of eau-de-cigarette over the table. He leaned in and kissed Linden’s cheek from behind before sitting. “Hello babe, sorry I’m late, transport was a bit of an issue.”

“You’re fine,” said Linden, smiling indulgently at him as he sat. “Just gave us time to work up an appetite.”

Thankfully, the process of deciding on pizzas and drinks, and then the conveying all of that information to the waitress meant that Nairi didn’t have to speak directly to Simon. It also meant that he didn’t try to speak with Agatha, who was coolly ignoring him from across the table with a total lack of eye contact that veered dangerously close to the border between ‘civility’ and ‘rudeness’.

Once the food actually arrived however, she was out of luck.

Pretty much every pizza on the menu that wasn’t explicitly vegetarian had some kind of bacon or ham or pork-based sausage in its toppings, so there wasn’t any quibbling or half-and-halfing on the one Nairi was sharing with Agatha. Simon, however, had ordered without asking Linden, which she’d ignored, much the same way she’d ignored Agatha’s quiet snort at him doing so. Nairi was about ninety percent certain Linden didn’t even like green peppers.

“So,” said Simon brightly, gesturing across the table with his wine glass. “How have you two been this week? Anything exciting?”

Agatha took an enormous bite of pizza and chewed loudly, glancing at Nairi. Nairi sighed internally and lowered her own slice to answer him. “Not terribly exciting. Work, mostly.”

“That’s right,” he said, chewing obnoxiously and giving Nairi a chance to start eating. Next to him, Linden was carefully tugging peppers off the surface of her pizza. “Lindy said you did some kind of fighting thing, right? MMA? Kickboxing? Sweaty punch ups in sports bras?”

“…I teach judo,” said Nairi eventually. “Early days at my dojo, I don’t have a lot of students yet, I’m afraid. Uh, Agatha’s working on a paper at the moment though, that’s a bit more interesting.”

“Really? What’s it about?” asked Simon, turning both his attention and his chewing maw towards Agatha.

“Diatomic elements,” said Agatha shortly. “It’s just about nucleics, I’m not reinventing the wheel or anything.”

Simon stared at her blankly. “Oh, of course. Uh, I’m afraid I’m not familiar, is your field—?”

“Chemistry,” supplied Agatha, turning her attention back to her dinner. “My PhD was on inorganic, but I’m still in the process of post-doc applications so I’m mostly twiddling my thumbs and writing contributions in the meanwhile.”

“Right,” said Simon, his face showing a total lack of comprehension. “Academia’s a lot like that, terribly stiff in the paperwork and appropriateness departments. The right body of work and all that—I know exactly how it feels, I was going to do my thesis on the erotic underpinnings of Virginia Woolf’s work and the reflection of her relationship with her husband, but my advisor was really very pushy about playing it safe and sticking to Eliot’s body of work in the immediate post-war era.”

“Oh yes, much safer,” said Agatha with no inflection in her tone.

Simon laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and taking another long drink of his wine. “You know, Lindy said you had a sense of humour, and I must confess I didn’t quite believe her at first! Mistakes all around.”

He punctuated this with a conspiratorial wink across the table at her, though Nairi didn’t quite understand what was so funny about it. At a glance, neither did Agatha or Linden. Linden actually looked… embarrassed? It was only for a second, the expression gone almost as soon as Nairi noticed it, Linden covering the bottom half of her face with her glass as she took a sip.

“So how long have you two lovebirds been dating anyway?” Simon continued, not even glancing at Linden next to him with her small pile of peppers or his ignored slice of pizza on the plate in front of him.

“A few months,” said Nairi, her own dinner looking more unappetising by the second. “Since September, I think?”

“That’s about right,” said Agatha, the lines around the corners of her eyes easing as she glanced at Nairi. “Five or six months now.”

“Charming,” said Simon, polishing off his wine, smile bright and enthusiastic as he gestured. “You know I’ve always greatly enjoyed the figure of the lesbian, in real life as well as literature. Excising the men from the bed and the home—it’s always so representative of the purest form of womanhood, really illuminates the truth of femininity. And the politics of it! The ultimate commitment to the feminist ideal, the usurpation of the patriarchy from its most foundational stronghold in the home at the head of the family. Really brilliant stuff!”

Agatha’s eyebrows were somewhere around her hairline.

Linden laughed awkwardly, nudging Simon as she leaned in a little over her plate. “Well, I mean, it’s always gonna be a bit different from books, hun. People are people, real life is always more, uh—”

“Oh yes, yes, of course,” said Simon dismissively, nodding at her. “And writers have a tendency to exaggerate and eroticise that type of relationship as well.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that kind of relationship?” asked Agatha, tone sharp.

Nairi tensed as Simon opened his mouth and started bloviating again. Linden swallowed whatever she was going to say, giving up and quietly eating instead, leaning on one elbow.

Simon’s phone buzzed loudly, and he took a second to check it while Agatha sucked down on the straw in her water glass through her furious, pinched expression.

“Oh, I’m so sorry ladies,” he said, standing up as he punched a few buttons on his phone. “I have to run. I have thoroughlyenjoyed this discussion though, especially with you Miss Davids, we’ll have to do this again sometime—”

“Doctor,” corrected Agatha.

“Oh, that’s right, very good, attagirl!” said Simon breezily as he tugged his coat on, and a muscle in Agatha’s jaw visibly twitched.

“Oh, Si, really?” said Linden, frowning at him anxiously as he kissed her cheek. “But we were gonna go get ice cream af—”

“Really?” said Simon, with a piss-poor attempt at a surprised look. “I didn’t think so, babe, I had plans. There’s no need to end the night just because I’m leaving though! You should all have some fun, I’ll see you later, and I promise I’ll catch the next cheque!”

He was already walking away as he spoke, hand raised in farewell even as Linden opened her mouth in dismay. “Wait, Si, I can’t—and he’s out. Great.” She slumped in her seat as the door swung shut across the room and gave them a glum sort of smile. “Sorry guys, I kind of thought that would go better.”

“Really?” said Agatha under her breath, covering it with the movement of setting her glass down.

Nairi ignored it. “I mean, it’s not exactly your fault—” Agatha snorted “—do you want me to grab you a pizza you actually like?”

Linden gestured at Simon’s largely untouched pizza with an eyeroll. “No, I’ll live. Already gonna have to pay for this one.”

“I’ve got it,” said Nairi, tugging her wallet out. “May as well just pay for everything while I’m up. Do you want something a bit cheesier?”

Linden looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable, and then something in her relaxed and her mouth twitched into a wry smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Agatha turned her head as Nairi left the table, saying something she couldn’t quite hear. Her tone sounded dry rather than snappish, so Nairi didn’t think too hard about it. She got them another round of drinks while she was sorting out the extra pizza as well—it would probably go a ways to easing Agatha’s temper and cheering Linden up.

From the looks of things when she returned to the table though, they’d managed to have an argument in the few minutes she’d been gone.

“Better food and new drinks on the way,” she said, sliding into her seat and pretending she couldn’t see the angry twist in Linden’s lips, or the clenched tension in Agatha’s hands.

“Awesome,” said Linden, flashing her a sunny, fake smile as Agatha scoffed. “You know, I was just saying to Aggy that since this turned out to be such a bust that maybe we should try having a girl’s night instead, you know? Just us, maybe with Flo too.”

“Oh yeah,” said Nairi mildly, gently pressing the back of her hand against Agatha’s on the tabletop. “What did you have in mind?”

#serial fiction #series honey tree #book muay thai #113

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years ago

Text

KICKING HORSE B&B 9:25 PM

Marion revved the truck through the sea of dark mud surrounding Kicking Horse. In the rage of the storm, the once-elegant house took on a veil of ghostliness, its stately lines smeared white against the blackening sky. The only light from within leaked out from the tower, and it flickered hysterically, casting strange, incomprehensible shadows that danced and bled together and then disappeared, only to leap back to life again in shreds of brilliant orange. The other windows, in contrast, were empty and cold, as flat as the eyes of the dead.

As the house came into clearer view, so did Mulder’s silhouette, pacing barefoot and coatless on the porch. The sight of him scraped at Scully’s heart. Had he been out here since she’d left, scanning the horizon, waiting for her return?

They passed through the painted arch that marked the beginning of the driveway, and Marion gave the truck one last valiant surge of gas. When they were a stone’s throw away from the porch, she killed the engine.

Mulder leaned on the railing. His usually impassive face was rumpled in concern, but he didn’t move. Scully briefly met his gaze, but then the rain sluiced over the windshield and smudged him into nothingness.

A heaviness settled over the cab of the truck. Marion slouched into her seat, took a deep breath, and reached over to squeeze Scully’s wrist. Scully turned her hand over, threaded her fingers through Marion’s, and squeezed back.

“Marion,” she said, as they broke apart. “You said… you said that everyone, all of the Bishop women, had a natural… proficiency.” Marion nodded. “What’s yours?”

A sad, ironic little smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she gestured vaguely at the sky. “I’ve got a thing with the weather,” she said, shoving open her door. Before Scully could respond, she was gone.

Scully sat for a moment, listening to the rain on the roof of the truck, watching the streaked shadow that was Marion move past Mulder and into the house. She opened the door to the storm, and jumped down into the mud. As she climbed the porch steps, Mulder hurried towards her, his hands outstretched.

“Scully, you’re bleeding,” he said flatly, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the rain. He placed his hands on both of her shoulders. “God, you’re shivering. Where’s your coat? Where did you find Marion?”

“She found me, actually,” Scully replied. Mulder flexed his fingers against her, looking for more, but all she could do was look up at him, hoping that he could read her, hoping that he could understand.

He drew closer, leveling his face to her own, inviting her back into their secret, subtle dimension. “Scully…,” he pressed.

She opened her mouth, but the words evaded her. He smoothed a hank of wet hair from her forehead, searching her face. “Let’s dry you off,” he said, ushering her into the dark maw of the house, a guiding hand planted firmly against the small of her back.

He led her through the murky halls, up the stairs, past the ever-present audience of Bishop stares. She couldn’t help but look at their faces as she passed--each one of these women an echo of the one that came before her, bound by singularity. How did they contend with the promise of that loneliness, with the knowledge that they must always be their heart’s own keeper?

Mulder steered them past Anna’s closed door, and back into the room she’d shared with him for the last two nights. It was draped in velvet dark, illuminated only by the blue of the storm and thin shards of firelight leaking down through the tower window outside. She reached out her hand, felt for the bed, allowed Mulder to help her sit down.

“We can’t interfere,” Scully said, dazed, looking out towards the tower. “We can’t go up there, Mulder.”

He squatted in front of her and nodded solemnly, licking his thumb and swiping it across her cheek, clearing a path through the residue of a nosebleed she hadn’t noticed. “I know,” he soothed. “Don’t worry about that right now. All that matters is that we get you warm and dry, okay? We’ll stay here and let them do their thing. It’ll be okay.”

She nodded, shivering and bewildered, nearly on the verge of laughter at the absurdity of it all. She was grateful, she realized, for his gentleness, his concern, his utter lack of pride. No matter the rigours he subjected her worldview to, no matter how startling the myriad of revelations she’d experienced in their work together, he’d never once resorted to I told you so. With Mulder, it was never about winning. It was always and only about revealing the truth.

He bent with a grunt to remove her mud-caked boots one by one, peeling her socks off before taking each of her feet in turn, warming them between his palms like they were newborn whelps. The enormity of his tenderness stirred something soft and vulnerable within her, made her humble, made her feel limp and warm.

“Here,” Mulder said, releasing her foot after one last firm squeeze. “You can wear something of mine.” He spun away from her to ransack his open bag at the foot of the bed frame.

“Believe it or not, I did bring some clothes of my own,” she replied.

“I know,” he said, but continued to search. He unearthed a sweatshirt, and even in the dark, Scully recognized it as his favourite, a slightly tatty remnant from his days in Oxford Athletics. He tossed it to her, then turned his back to allow her to change.

She rubbed the well-loved fabric between her fingers and thumb, pouting softly in appreciation, then peeled herself out of her soaked shirt and bra, weakly lobbing them to the other side of the room. Her pants were next. She briefly considered losing her underwear, too, but in the end, couldn’t commit. The sweatshirt was so large that it hit her mid-thigh. As she slid it on and let it fall, the worn cotton caressed her pebbled nipples, drawing them tight and stiff and sending a flourish of shivers over her ribs. It smelled of him, of his favourite Rosemont laundromat and a hint of his stubborn sweat, and she breathed it in, brooding as she hugged her elbows.

“I’m decent,” she managed, sitting again on the edge of the bed. Mulder set right back to work, wringing the rain from her hair into a dirty t-shirt he’d produced, reaching into the collar of the sweatshirt to gently strip the sopping bandages away from her cut. She let him fuss.

Once he was satisfied, he finished by reaching around her for the comforter and draping it over her shoulders, rubbing her arms through the batting. She mustered a small smile of thanks.

“What happened out there?” he asked, dragging the desk chair over to sit knee-to-knee with her. She pulled the comforter more closely around her arms, silently replaying crashes of lightning and a cacophony of gnashing teeth, and found that she couldn’t find a satisfactory answer.

“You saw something,” he prompted. In the flickering dark, the strange dissonant structure of his face seemed miraculous, like a Rodin through a kaleidoscope, and she reached out to trace her fingers along the sandpapery flat of his cheek. He brought his hand up to her wrist, stroking her pulse point. “What is it Scully? What did you see?”

She looked at him, at his origami lips, his glimmering dark eyes. Mulder, who was capable of such sweetness, such violence. Mulder, whose merciless curiosity had cracked open the firmament and sent the secrets of the universe spilling out over the both of them like holy wine, amrita, ambrosia.

“Scully?” he whispered, but it was all there in his eyes.

He knew.

Slowly, with the clearest of intent, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his.

A drugged warmth spread through her, blooming from where they touched: his smooth, heated hand on her rain-chilled knee, his nose pressing into her cheek. She lost herself in the tender ache of it all, in the dark and secret world where they met, the crush of his lips against hers. She parted her lips, pulling back without quite breaking contact, encouraging him to chase her, to claim her, to make her his.

But instead of following her, he fell away, leaving her empty and cold.

Her stomach turned sour for one terrible, panicky moment, but then, to her great relief, he reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the base of her skull. “What do you want?” he asked her, letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

She stroked his curved jaw, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. What did she want? She wanted redemption, wanted justice, wanted peace. She wanted picket fences in the sun, wanted the thrill of midnight chases and gunpowder residue on her palms. She wanted Missy back, and the Farmer’s Market on Sunday, and for God to forgive her. She wanted the cold, quiet sanctuary of the Quantico morgue, the dark, dusty comfort of their Hoover basement. She wanted to run away. She wanted to crawl inside of him and live in the safety of his ribcage forever.

“I want to live.”

“Oh, Scully,” he said in a strangled voice, and a vindictive part of her was glad to have hurt him. Rain roared against the window, and in a rush of determination, she moved into him again.

This time, he surrendered into her kiss, deepening it, sweeping her back up into a slow, maddening throb. They kissed until they were panting, sharing breath, sharing hunger, sharing the sweet humiliation of want.

“Are you sure?” he asked against her lips, one warm hand resting on her bare thigh. “I need you to be okay.” In response, she fisted his t-shirt, nipped at his bottom lip.

“Scully,” he insisted. “Last night—”

“—Oh, fuck last night,” she pleaded, clutching at him. She pulled him down hard from the chair so that he fell before her, kneeling between her thighs. He groaned his compliance as he dove forward, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her neck, dragging it across her collarbone as she lavished kisses into the thick, fragrant silk of his hair. The comforter fell from her shoulders, as if to encourage them.

She squirmed closer as he sucked at an earlobe, tonguing the small pearl stud she wore. She was pressed up so tightly against him that she swore she could feel his heartbeat, noble and strong, keeping time against her belly. The heat bloomed through her, but made her realize that something was missing, something was wrong.

God, she used to get so wet just thinking of him, flushed and needy and swollen in rental car passenger seats and mouldering motel showers. But the cancer had stolen that from her, too. Whimpering in abject frustration, she willed her body to respond, focusing on the way her blood felt magnetized to his, the way her nipples strained and ached against him, the ferocity of her determination to finally have him.

Slowly, Mulder smoothed his hands up and over her hips, up underneath the sweatshirt she still wore, flexing his fingers where they bracketed the small of her waist. “You’re still so cold,” he said into her neck, nuzzling her softly.

“Then warm me up,” she said, digging her knees into his sides.

Under the sweatshirt, he found the soft, sensitive weight of her breasts, and uttered a reverent sound that arced through her sacrum like an old, secret magic. She pushed herself forward, and he grew bolder, clutching, squeezing, dipping down to latch onto a stiff nipple with his beautiful mouth and sucking it through the worn cotton. Her nerves sparked and fizzed, cold champagne on bare skin, but still she felt no welcoming swell, no hot liquid rush.

It wasn’t fair, damn it. When was the last time someone had touched her like this, with this much feeling, this much honesty? When was the last time she’d wanted somebody with such a grave and furious need?

Overcome, she released his hair and grabbed at his face, slouching, kissing him hard, sucking at his tongue and sighing into his mouth. She pulled at his shirt, and he ripped it over his head, tossed it aside. His muscular chest was cast in Aegean shadows, supple as clay and specked with a star-map of moles and fawn-coloured freckles. Darts of distant firelight from the window slid from his shoulders as he gazed up at her, utterly moonstruck, utterly at her mercy.

“Scully…,” he breathed, tracing his fingers along her stomach, down to the elastic of her underwear. Despite her certainty, her clarity, her breath caught in her throat.

He paused. “Hey,” he ventured, searching her face. “You okay?”

She flushed with shame, and hated herself for it. “It’s just that… it’s harder for me to… be ready. It’s a residual side effect from the chemo. I’m not as… I’m usually… I just don’t want you to think… because I do,” she said. “God, Mulder, I really do.”

His face softened. “Oh, Scully, it’s okay,” he promised, sealing his lips to a childhood scar on her patella. “It’s okay.” He nestled into her lap, his stubble grating decadently over her skin, his breath warm as a wild mountain spring. “Will you trust me?” he continued, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Let me take care of you.” He kissed a wet path from the inside of her knee up the line of her inner thigh, daring to venture higher, closer. “Let me,” he said against her skin, making her muscles quiver. “I want to. I dream of this.”

He dreams of this, she thought. He dreams of me.

She hummed a helpless note of consent, and he exhaled excitedly, rolling his jaw against her thigh. He moved closer, dragging his tongue, slowly rooting his way between her legs. A sharp, sweet pang pierced her gut when he nosed the hem of her underwear at the crease of her thigh, when he inhaled deeply and failed to stifle a drunken groan of approval. The heat rose in Scully’s cheeks, but she couldn’t help but lift her hips, couldn’t help but let her knees fall open just a fraction wider. She anchored her feet to the tops of his thighs, scrunching her toes against the rough of his jeans. He was there, right there, nothing between them but department store cotton.

Over the fabric, he traced the seam of her with his nose, with his tongue, twisting to lightly graze his teeth over the soft swells of her labia. He looped his hands under her knees and gripped her hips, yanking her closer, tilting her hard into his plush and Bacchanalian mouth. And finally, finally, with his rough cheek pressed to her thigh and his expressive tongue tracing the boundary of her bare skin, her body began to respond in a slow, liquid tide.

Scully whined in relief, in anticipation, her belly twisting with the satisfaction of watching him work to coax and please her, watching him work to make her wet and plump and ready for him. He released his grip on her hips and found the waistband of her panties, curling his fingers over the elastic. This time, she let him drag them down. He slid them slowly over her ass, down her thighs, over her feet.

She pulled her knees together, weak with nerves and desire, a little shy, but he smoothed his hands over her legs, warming her, opening her, gazing up at her as though she was Venus, Voluptas, his very best girl. His hands brushed the backs of her knees, and she let him lift her legs, draping them over his shoulders one after the other. Her breath fluttered as she inhaled, riding a furl of low, wet need, and he cradled her hips in his hands, drawing her forward, pressing her open. He spilled hot, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of her thigh, prying, spreading, until she was as open to him as an oleander, quivering and ripe.

“Gorgeous,” he exhaled, staring, running his fingers over her labia with a whisper-soft touch. “Unbelievable.”

Despite herself, despite her pride, Scully glowed with the pleasure of receiving his praise, of being the focus of his wonder. He bowed to her, and at the first cool touch of his tongue, she gasped, another well of wetness rising to meet him. He licked her from her swelling, pulsing core to the peak of her clitoris, a low and ravenous sound rumbling in his throat.

Jesus Christ.

Again he stroked her, but harder this time, his tongue flattening and his fingernails biting into the flesh of her hips. But just as he reached her clitoris, he lifted off, barely grazing it, making her writhe and whine and pant, making her wild. He soothed her with a reassuring, self-satisfied hum, and continued to lap at her, slow and sweet and perfectly evil.

Scully closed her eyes and let her head fall back, trying to lose herself, but he nipped at her sharply, demanding her full attention. Chastised, incredibly turned on, she obeyed, watching him as he sucked at her clit, as he twisted and rolled his tongue. Fuck, this is what she’d been so nobly resisting? This?

The rain thundered against the roof and rattled the window in its frame, and a sudden surge of panic filled her chest—she needed him inside of her now, before it was too late, before the Fates discovered this breach in reality. She tugged at his hair, unhooking her legs from her shoulders, and he began to suck at her fiercely, determined to make her come.

“Mulder—,” she begged, wriggling. “Please—”

He lamented into her cunt, dragging his tongue over her again with a weak growl, but followed her as she pulled him up and over her body. As he rose from kneeling, there was a crack, and he let out a sparse, sharp breath. Scully paused in concern.

“My knee,” Mulder explained, chuckling bashfully, shaking it out as he bent over her on one hand. She pouted in amused sympathy, shifting back further onto the bed to make room for him. God, it really was Mulder, she thought, admiring his sheepish grin. It really was them, here, together.

He brushed back a lock of her hair as he loomed over her, and she dragged him down for one languid, complicated kiss, savouring the trace of her own oceanic flavour on his lips.

“I want you,” she confessed.

“You have me,” he whispered back. “You’ve always had me.”

With a sharp surge of need, she reached down and began to fumble with the fly of his jeans, her fingers trembling as they grazed the confined ridge of his erection. She couldn’t get a grip, her fingers slipping over the metal button, so he reached down with one hand to help her. He exhaled hotly into her neck as he worked the zipper open, kicked himself free of his jeans and underwear, and settled himself carefully between her legs.

Propped up on one elbow, his naked thigh slid against hers, and then, with a subtle shift of his hips, his cock made contact with her lower belly. It was smooth as buckskin, hard and hot and thick, and her pulse raced in a joyous, fretful cadence as she took it in hand and squeezed. Mulder growled, thrusting into her palm, and she ground up desperately against his hips. God, she needed it, needed him, now, now, now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t, you won’t,” she urged, burning with frustration, and to prove it, she pushed him off of her, gripped him with her calves, rolled him over, and straddled his hips.

Trapped below her, taken delightfully aback, he half-smiled, one slightly crooked eyetooth catching the light. He melted his hands over her thighs, over her hips, up under her sweatshirt, becoming greedy.

In the low light, she caught her breath and settled into his eyes, mooring herself in their murky glimmer, losing herself in his hunger, his worship. A thought swung madly into her head that this was what she’d been created for, what her spirit had been cast earthside to do: to love him, to be loved by him, and to love the strange, sublime universe into wholeness together.

The thunder howled viciously, victoriously in the sky. She let the sound pass through her, let it charge her nerves, let it shatter her guilt and her grief, leaving something pure and keen as starlight in its place.

Mulder lifted the hem of her sweatshirt, and she helped him without self-consciousness, easing it over her shoulders with her good arm and letting it fall to the bed behind her, goosebumps blooming over her skin at the touch of the cool storm air. Between her thighs, he released a pained and shaky exhale, eyes glazing with lust as his palms traveled over the gentle crimp of her ribs. He traced his fingers down the sides of her breasts, and her nipples puckered and strained in response.

Underneath her, he was beautiful, his hair tousled across the pillow like a shadowy halo, his lips swollen from kissing her. She leaned down and pushed her fingers through the sparse patch of coarse hair on his chest, luxuriating in how the life within him thrummed under her touch.

With careful restraint, she lowered her hips, swiveling so that she met the ridge of his cock where it burned against his belly, and God, he was so stiff and hot that it made her light-headed. She slid over him with the swollen, spit-anointed groove of her cunt, grinding her clit against his spongy head, and he jerked, gasped, dug his fingers into her waist and urged her down harder.

“Fuck,” he swore, reaching up to fondle one of her breasts and searching her face for a reaction. She let him see it all; how good it felt to touch him and be touched by him, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and whining softly as he rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger. She canted her hips forward again, gliding along his length, loving the torture of it, loving the violence it wrought within him, how it made him tense and curse and writhe.

With a shiver of pleasure, she fell forward fully so that her breasts pressed against his chest, her face hovering just above his. She needed to feel his breath, needed to share in his life force, his prana, his spirit. Hungrily, she lapped at the divet in his bottom lip, and he lifted his head, catching her in a dizzying kiss, clutching her ass to force her down harder onto his cock.

At least there was this. Even if she’d been rendered powerless, even if her future had been stolen from her, at least there was this. At least she could still make this singular, strange man want her, could wrench those sweet, despairing sounds from his throat, could conjure this thunderous, convulsive need within him.

When the lightning hurled down close outside, illuminating the room in brilliant white for one ghostly, shocking moment, she didn’t jump, but rode out the wave of thunder that followed, relishing the slick drag of his body against hers.

No more words, she thought, her stomach clenching in anticipation as they spun towards the inevitable. No words now, because it would make this impossible, would rip it back into reality, would make it a topic for discussion, for dissection, for analysis and argument. Sure and steady, she rose and reached between them, lifting his cock to where she wanted it.

He flexed his thumbs against her hipbones, gaping at the spot where they met. She drew breath. And then, oh, then…

She sank down onto him, sighing as he forced her open, as he filled her up. And oh, Christ, it was good, and it hurt, and it was everything.

She met his eyes, saw her amazement mirrored. He reached up and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm for support. Gently, gently, she lifted herself back off, nuzzling into his hand, running her tongue over the heel of his palm. She lowered herself again, thighs already tight with the effort of it, and he was even more perfect than before, heavy and thick and hotter than her core. He moaned, pulsing inside of her.

“Fuck, Scully,” he said, as she lifted herself again, rocking forward, swaying back, finding a rhythm. He traced his hand from her cheek to cradle her neck, her breast. She covered his hand with her own, urging him to knead and to pinch, to give her more, to treat her like she deserved. “Is this happening?” he asked dazedly, almost to himself. In response, she seated herself fully, clenching around him. He whined and lifted his hips to meet her, and though there was nowhere left for him to go, he continued to surge up into her hard, as though he could fuse her to him forever with only the force of his will.

She couldn’t control her hands, and they were everywhere, exploring the limber, vibrant animal of his body. God, it was good. He was so good. This man, this moment, this life was hers.

With a surge of power, she quickened her pace, taking him into her again and again. He tensed between her knees, open-mouthed in awe below her, and the adoration in his gaze billowed through her chest like holy incense. She bent to take his mouth, to slip her tongue over his, to taste that dark place inside of him. She drank her fill as he tangled his hands in her hair, and then, swifter than a prairie storm, a different need overtook her.

She slowed, dragging herself up, easing herself down, and the tension within him immediately melted to tenderness. “You okay?” he breathed, stroking her back, searching her eyes.

“Mulder?”

He stilled his hands.

“Fuck me,” she said. A glimmer of confusion crossed his face, and he pulled her back down for a soft kiss.

“Is that… not what we’re…,” he began, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“No,” she interrupted, speaking into his mouth, tasting the heat of his breath. “Fuck me like I’m not sick.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her resolve, and a familiar determination crossed his face. Without warning, his arms were around her waist, and she was flying, falling, losing her breath as his cock slid out from inside her, and he flipped her over onto the mattress. She landed on her cut and hissed through the jolt of fire that seared through her shoulder, but gasped in pleasure when she realized he’d taken her seriously.

He seethed with lust as he loomed over her, breathing hard. Yes, she thought, Yes, this, thank God—and he shoved her thighs up and apart, lunged into her with one merciless punch of his hips, and fell over her, ravaging the good side of her neck. She yelped with the thrill of the way he filled her, the way he reshaped her body, her mind, to make himself fit.

He fucked her, hard, for what felt like a swirling eternity, or maybe it was only seconds—brutal and sweet and so relentless that she thought she might lose her mind forever, might witness her own brain spill from her ears, sizzling, staining the floral sheets. The madness within her sharpened, grew desperate and pulsing and urgent. Just a little more and she’d be there, just a little more…

He lifted himself off of her. She nearly cried out at the betrayal, clawing at his arms, but he ignored her, sitting up on his knees and yanking one of her legs over his shoulder. He clutched her thigh with one hand and found her clit with the other, smearing his thumb through her heat.

Oh, fuck, but it was good this way, too, where she could see all of him, his beautiful, scarred chest, his pained expression; where she could see how his eyes raked over her body, could feel his gaze like touch, ravishing her belly, her breasts.

He turned his face and bit into her ankle where it tensed against his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. She jerked in surprise, and he smiled a gloriously wicked smile, kissing it better, synchronizing his thumb on her clit with his tongue against her skin. God, how easily he could hurt her. How easily she’d forgive him for it.

She fought to keep her eyes open against the assault of sensation, but it was impossible not to be swept away. His soft grunts, the sound of them meeting again and again, the feeling of him inside of her—it was all too much. She surrendered, letting herself escape inward, but then Mulder dove back down at her, scooping her up and lifting her so that she was nestled in his lap, his face close to hers.

“No,” he rasped, clearly near the edge. “Look at me.”

She shivered, but complied, letting her eyes fall into his. He cupped her ass and dragged her hips against his, and together, they found a rhythm that was clumsy and heartfelt, wholly sublime.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he said, his forehead against hers. His tone matched the darkness in his eyes, something dangerous, something dire fermenting within. “So beautiful. So fucking good…”

And it was his voice and his praise that brought her there, to that unreal, mystical release, that dark and starry place. She shuddered and tensed, and through the haze of her orgasm, she could hear his proud, frantic sounds of appreciation, his senseless stream of half-formed encouragements.

After what seemed like forever, she came down weak and boneless and dizzy, and he caught her, supporting her spent body as she draped herself over him. He laboured on, chasing his own pleasure, his muscles quivering below her as he forced himself up into her again and again.

“Oh, fuck, Scully, I’m gonna…” he warned.

Some primal creature spoke for her. “Inside of me. Inside…,” she whined into the hollow of his neck, tasting his pulse, the salt of his sweat.

As soon as the words left her lips, he stiffened, became silent, and thrust into her ferociously, stopping so deep that she swore she could feel the liquid surge of him pulsing into the deepest parts of her. He fisted the hair at the back of her head and dragged her face back up so that her forehead was against his, so that she was forced to bear witness to his euphoria.

I did this to him, she thought triumphantly, drinking in the pained twist of his expression. He drew back slightly as she held fast to him, and moaned as he pushed back in once, twice, never breaking his gaze.

He finally stilled, and they panted in each other’s arms for a long moment, the storm roaring wrathful outside. Without closing his eyes, he tilted his head to slide his lips across hers, to take her mouth in a kiss that was somehow both lazy and overwhelming, soaked through with afterglow.

Slowly, he laid her down, never leaving her heat, and in the dancing shadows, his face transformed, became softer, almost boyish, almost scared. Her heart ached with it. She wondered if she looked the same. She caught her breath as the night seeped back into reality, and he kissed her again, slipping wetly from her body with a sigh. He drew her close into his arms, rubbing her back, clinging like a wet cat.

She breathed into his chest, his hair tickling her nose. Surely the panic would set in now, the regret. Surely she would begin to rationalize this, blame it on the case or the cancer or the undeniable maudlin sway of a thunderstorm or even on Hugh, on that tragic magnetism that pulled her in and pushed her away, pushed her all the way into Mulder’s arms, his bed, his heart.

But it felt right. She couldn’t deny it. It felt natural, comfortable, to be here with him, with her nose tracing his collarbone, with his come inside of her, with her body wrapped safely in his while the skies rioted outside.

She looked up at him, and he brushed a stray hair from her forehead, inhaling deliriously, his eyes soft.

“Wow,” he said, the corner of his mouth easing into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered, suddenly struggling to hold back an unexpected swell of relieved, exhausted tears. “Wow.”

She reached up to trace the curve of his jaw, but then⁠—

BANG⁠⁠—

The sound was muffled by the rain, but it still brought both of them back to consciousness, their eyes sharpening in the dark. Scully leaned up on one elbow.

“What was that?” she said, quietly.

They listened a moment longer. Nothing.

“‘S probably the storm,” Mulder assured her. She smoothed hair from her cheek nervously, and he reached up to comfort her, stroking her arm. “Just the storm, Scully. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

BANG⁠⁠—

This time, the sound was accompanied with a distant, almost otherworldly wail. Scully’s blood piqued, her senses whipped into high alert. “That’s not nothing,” she said, and began to frantically search for her shirt and slacks, her chest tightening in panic.

“That’s a gun.”

#txf fanfic #omens

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yandere--stuck · 5 years ago

Note

Your smile for me yandere posts really take the sting out of my recent break up 👌👌 ((not saying this for sympathy I just wanted to thank you and also sent a request in one post//)) Do you think when you have the time, we can get more saucy stuff with Trencil, Habit, or Kamal?? Your yandere posts are just—MWAH! Perfection!!

Oh I'm sorry! I'm glad I'm able to help you feel better! I hope you like this :'B

---

You blinked your eyes open, squinting and wincing at the bright lights from the ceiling above. You moted how the world spun around you as reality sunk in, the world becoming more vivid.

You let out a groan, attempting to sit up - but finding yourself unable. Your heart seized up in your chest and you looked down, finding your arms and legs pinned down by straps, with your form lying prone and trapped onto an operating table.

You let put a squeal in panic and began struggling fruitlessly against the straps that held you in place.

"Strugle all u want," A deep voice chuckled from behind, causing you to freeze up. Habit. "U'll never get out! Ur trapped there, flowr brat!"

"What did you do?!" You yelled, trying to put on a brave face in spite of your fear. "What do you want with me?!"

Habit moved into your line of sight, chuckling. "All I want is 2 bee able to make ever-ee one smile and be habpy… And I won't let a pest liek YOU get in the way!!!! D-:<"

It was only then did you noticed the curtain behind the good doctor. Habit flashed a cherish grin, before reaching up to remove the covering.

In a small, glass room separate from the one you were in, stood Trencil. You watched the vampire wince and attempt to shield himself from the sudden change in lighting, before eventually adjusting. You watched his eyes widen as they landed on you. Immediately, he slammed his body up against the glass, trying to get close to you, hands sliding against the glass walls.

Boris laughed giddily. "O, poor littel bat, un-able to get to his preshus flowur!"

Trencil hissed, baring his fangs as he glared daggers into the good doctor. Hos voice was muffled slightly by the glass barrier. "What you have you done, Habit, you scoundrel?! Release them at once!"

Boris tapped his chin, seeming to consider it for a moment. "Hmmm… No."

The doctor laughed as Trencil scratched at the glass in an attempt to break free.

You watched as habit took a remote control out of his jacket pocket.

"What's that?" You asked, panic lacing your voice. You had no idea what the madman planned to do.

"It's a surprize! Wel, a surprize for the bat," The doctor beamed. "I kno how cloze u and he are, so I thoht to myself - how can I stop the flowr brat 4 good? An then it came two me! We'll juzt turn their dear frend aganst them…"

"What are you talking about?!" Trencil spat.

Boris turned, waving the remote teasingly in front of Trencil's face.

"Wait, please," You pleaded, catching the dentist's attention. "I- whatever it is you have planned, you can do it to me! Just let Trencil go, please!"

"Flower, no!" Trencil pleaded. "I won't let you!"

Boris rolled his eyes. "So ovur-drama-tick. Anywayz, sor-ee flower brat, but that's not the gaem we're playing."

And with that, he pressed the single button on the controller.

"NO!" You screamed, straining against your binds.

Trencil looked up in surprise, eyes widening in shock. The vampire watched as clouds of gas filtered into the glass chamber. Trencil attempted to back away from encroaching gas cloud.

"Wh- what is…?" Trencil stuttered. He breathed in a luff, before breaking out into coughs and hacks. Trencil gasped for air, trying to filter out the gas and oxygen, only to breathe in more of the gas.

"Trencil!" You cried, tears beginning to bubble up from your eyes as you could only lay helplessly on the operating table. "What are you doing to him?!"

"When I wuz makin my plans for world-wyde habbiness, i ran into sum failurs at 1rst. Insted of making one happy... well, u'll see. Long story short, it waznt waht I wanted," Boris explained. "... But than I reelized! I culd just use this formoola in a difrent way! :-D"

"What do you mean...? I- I don't understand." You asked, the doctor's voice almost being drowned out with Trencil's coughing and gasps for air.

Boris laughed, beginning to walk away, towards the door that exited the room. "You'll see!~"

"Boris! Get back here!" You raged, straining against your restraints.

But to no avail. You fell back against the table, and Boris exited the room. You heard the door lock on the other side.

You sighed, lips trembling as you fought back tears.

"Trencil.." You croaked, worried at how eerily silent the room was.

And in the next moment, the straps holding you down retracting, slipping into two compartments on each side of the table. You blinked, still with surprise. It took you a moment to realize that what had happened actually occurred, and you sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the table.

You jumped in surprise, whipping your head to the glass chamber, watching as two panel that made up the room's front walls parted.

Your eyes widened, brows raised, before hopping off the table and darting to Trencil's side. You dropped to your knees beside Trencil's form, who lie on the floor.

"Trencil…?" You said softly, running your fingers through his hair. "Please… Please, no.. Please wake up… I need you."

To your relief, you felt the vampire begin to move. A tired groan escaped him, and his eyes snapped open. His slit pupils darted about… Before eventually settling on you.

In an instant, Trencil was on his feet - albeit on all fours, crouched down almost animalisticly. The vampire bared his fangs, glaring and growling lowly in his throat.

You scooted away in shock, dragging yourself backwards against the far wall of the chamber - unfortunately allowing Trencil to block the exit.

Boris voice crackled through an unseen speaker. "Durring testing fazes, we had a lot ov… bad ackseedents. Most-lee becuz of this verzhon of the formula. It's funny, no? Something suhpozed to make you happy… Makes u go absolootly mad…"

Your stomach sunk, bile rising in your throat as the reality hit you like a weight to the torso - you could very well die here, at the hands of your closest friend.

Even now, Trencil stalked ever closer - hissing and growling.

"Trencil, please, it's me!" You begged, tears begging to fall from your eyes. "It's-"

In an instant, Trencil leapt and landed atop of you, pushing you flat against the floor of the chamber. You could see the hunger that shone in the vampire's eyes.

"T- Trencil… Please…" You whimpered, scared out of your mind but unable to look away.

The vampire opened his wide maw, eyes trained on your bare and unmarked neck. Leaning closer, and closer and closer…

And then just like that, he froze.

Trencil gave a sniff. And then another.

The vampire blinked. And then he dove forward, nosing and nuzzling into your neck. You tried to hold back your keening and moans as Trencil began feverishly licking and nipping at your neck and shoulder.

"Trencil…" You whined his name, wrapping your arms around him.

"My flower…" Trencil growled hotly in reply. "Mine!"

You shuddered as the vampire licked a stripe up your neck. You could feel as his hands began rubbing up and down your sides wantonly, fondling you over your clothing.

"Huh…" Habit's voice crackled. "That's not suhpposed to hadpen… Oh wel, as long az it keeps u 2 buzy! Have fun, luvbirds!~ ;-)"

#yandere x reader #trencil x reader #trencil varnnia #trencil varnnia x reader #smile for me x reader #smile 4 me trencil #smile 4 me x reader #sfm x reader #s4m x reader #sfm trencil #smile for me trencil #s4m trencil #sfmg #sfm game #suggestive #yandere

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wowzers-howzers · 6 years ago

Text

Cursed Fanfic

They did surgery on a grape Cioccolata x reader

"Nurse, what's the schedule for today?" Cioccolata snapped his latex gloves on. Secco hummed happily in the corner, adjusting his camcorder and checking it had enough memory for another operation.

"Uuuuhhhhh...a grape?" (R/N) rechecks their chart. "Is this for real?"

"Ok! I'll just need to make smaller incisions. Wouldn't want the grape getting disemboweled too soon," the surgeon winked, as if he had just made a flirty comment at you.

“Um ok? I’m confused as to what we are even doing still...” (R/N) trails off. Cioccolata smirks and rubs your head.

“You’re not here to know things! So don’t worry! Just be a good (boy/girl) and hand me the utensils I ask for,” the green-haired doctor spins around with a flourish. “Now let’s get started. Secco, film this well and I will reward you with three sugar cubes.”

Secco squealed in pleasure. THREE WHOLE SUGAR CUBES!

“And you,” Cioccolata eyes you hungrily, “can also have a sweet treat.”

You shudder. He’s probably only thinking about what you would look like back up on this very same table.

You finally approach the operating table. The surgical light beams harshly down at the cold steel surface. On the table, a lonesome grape sits in the middle. Secco holds his camera and eagerly awaits the first incision.

“To start, I will need a scalpel. Nurse?” Cioccolata reaches his hand out towards you. You place the requested item in his waiting hand.

“Thank you,” he looks back down. He approaches the grape with surgical (HA!) precision and slowly slices through the outer layer of the fruit. The mushy grape meat glistens under the bright light. You catch the gleam of pleasure in Cioccolata’s green eyes.

The doctor reaches a gloved finger down and lightly smushes the grape. It squelches and you hear Secco zoom in with his camera.

“Did you get that noise? That better be in the video or no sugar cubes!” Cioccolata glares at his filming assistant. Secco nods quickly and whimpers quietly at the threat. Still confused as to what is happening, you just stare at the now smushed grape.

“Now we will peel back the skin to get a better view,” he continues. He uses both hands to slowly peel the skin off of the grape. “Notice that the inside is a completely different color than the outside. Fascinating!” His cheeks lift up. If he wasn’t wearing a surgical mask, you are sure he’d be smiling.

“I thought that was common knowledge,” you question. Cioccolata whips his head around to glare at you. You shrink back in fear and throw your hands up in defeat. Cioccolata returns his attention to the grape.

“This is the most important part. Secco, it’s very important that you capture this!”

Secco lees closer with his camera. Cioccolata let’s out a crazed laugh and slams his hand down, smashing the grape, and making a large metallic clang as his fist meets the table.

Your eyes widen from the display and you stare at the pulpy mess. Cioccolata’s laugh trails off and he looks to you. His eyes are clouded with lust. He gets hard for grape smashing? You are even more confused on his motivations than you already were.

“Now to finish up.”

Cioccolata throws the grape skin and bits into a red biohazard bag and removes his latex gloves. He waits for you to follow suit. Secco has already stoped filming and is checking his footage to make sure he got everything. Cioccolata moves to the sink in the corner to wash his hands and motions for you to join him. You slowly approach after removing and tossing your gloves.

Once you are next to him, he leans over and you feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“You know, amore, I’m really in the mood to explore your insides,” the man watches for your reaction. You blush and stutter out some response as you wash your hands.

“You’re my favorite pet, but don’t tell Secco,” he whispers far too close for comfort again. “Meet me in my room in five minutes,” he instructs. You nod sheepishly. On his way out, he tosses three sugar cubes at Secco, who quickly catches all three in his gaping maw. You will never understand how he is able to do that, and frankly it is kinda terrifying.

As Secco crunches, you quietly make your leave and head upstairs. You feel an apprehensive excitement for what awaits you up the stairs and past the door. You also take this time to process what just happened. They did surgery on a grape.

Your footsteps echo on the wooden staircase. As you climb, the grape surgery replays in your mind over and over. One specific thing about it in particular stands out. Cioccolata was especially excited and you really weren’t sure why. Of course you knew about his odd tendencies and interests but this was new to you. Grape surgery. Is that a kink?

You swing open the door at the top of the stairs and continue onwards down the hallway until you reach a black door. You knock twice and hear a muffled “come in.”

Closing the door behind you, you turn to see Cioccolata sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for you with his coat and pants already removed. This isn’t the first time he has invited you to some “private play” in his room before, but it feels different this time; more primal.

Upon your entrance, Cioccolata springs up off the bed and envelopes his arms around you. As he hugs you close to him, he pulls your shirt off over your head.

His room was kept at a cold temperature usually, so your nipples were already erect. The doctor pulled away from the hugs and stared you down. You felt like shrinking away from his gaze but you knew you would be reprimanded if you did. He licked his lips hungrily.

“You look sweeter than any grape could ever hope to be,” he looked you in the eyes before groping your chest. You moaned as his hands roughly twisted your nipples. A heat started between your legs, and you were excited. Cioccolata, for how weird he is, you had to give the man credit for knowing how to pleasure your body. You chalked it up to him having an intimate knowledge of human anatomy, including the erogenous zones.

You felt him hardening inside his thong, so after he leaned his head down to lick one of your nipples, you reached your hand down to cup him. He let out an animalistic growl against you and the vibrations added a new level of pleasure to the sensations he was giving you.

As you moaned, Cioccolata continued his ministrations against your chest, lightly biting and tugging against you. His unoccupied hand reached down to your waist band and he expertly slid them from off of your hips.

He broke off from your chest with a pop and you felt extremely cold from the lack of contact. Before you could whine, he met your eyes, “I’m sure you taste sweeter than a grape too.”

Cioccolata picked you up by your hips and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck to maintain balance. He slammed you down onto his plush bed.

You gasp as he moves his body down and roughly grasps your thighs. Before you can press your thighs together, he uses his hands to separate them forcibly, keeping his hands on your legs to keep them spread.

“No underwear? How naughty of you, kitten.” You whimper at the lust lacing his voice. His eyes are half lidded and you shudder at the feeling of him staring at your sex.

“Please,” you put a hand on the back of his head. He smirks up at you.

“Since you asked so nicely, uva,” he purrs. Cioccolata bows his head and slides his hands down your thighs to spread your ass.

He licks a long stripe up your sex and moans onto you. You gasp and sigh from the sensation of his warm tongue on your swollen parts. “Cio~,” you mewl. He squeezes your ass, leaving nail marks for sure.

You pull at his hair and yank when he hits particular spots with his mouth. You’re shocked that he’s being this gentle and loving with you. He usually takes what he wants and leaves you hanging, but something has sparked in him that has him yearning for more. You definitely aren’t complaining as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten.

He must know you’re close from your increased moans and jerks because he pulls away from between your legs licking his lips. His face is wet with saliva and your own secretions and he seems to be enjoying every bit of it.

Despite just eating a full meal, he looks at you with increased hunger in his eyes. He sits back on his legs in front of you, still looming over you. Your eyes trail down his body, landing on the green fuzz just above the black of his thong. His dick has pushed out of the thing awkwardly, so you reach forward to grab him and fix it. Cioccolata gets the message and quickly slides his thong down and kicks it somewhere in the room.

Fully uncovered, he laughs at you unabashedly looking him up and down.

“Like what you see?”

Nodding eagerly, you lean forward and take him in your hands. He lets out a hiss and leans his head back as you pump him slowly. He is average length but very girthy, so one hand isn’t enough.

His hands grasp your head, fingers slipping through your hair and grabbing.

“I’d love to do this another time, but there’s something I’d enjoy even more, uva,” he leans your head up to look at your face.

You feel paralyzed, but in a good way. Looking up into his green eyes, you feel comforted in a way you’ve never felt around this doctor before. Although he looks down intimidatingly, you get the sense that nothing could distract him from this pleasure right now, not even the urge to inflict pain and despair.

His face softens as he leans down on the bed with you. One hand rests by your shoulder, propping himself up, while the other firmly holds your hip in place. His grip is bruising but nothing you can’t handle, certainly not the worst he’s done. Again, this isn’t your first rodeo, just the easiest one.

Lining himself up, you feel his firmness prod between your thighs. His saliva from early thoroughly lubed you, and he slides into you with little resistance. You moan loudly as you feel him fill you to the brim. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip as he bottoms out in you.

“Cio please,” you moan his name and scratch his back.

“Cazzo,” he groans as he rocks his hips against yours. The friction burns in the best way possible and the coil in your stomach tightens again.

Picking up speed, he moans more and more as you clench around him. You wrap your arms around him and hold him against you as he fucks you. He uses the hand that held your hips to squeeze your upper body closer to yours. The new angle has you gasping as his body rubs against yours.

Hearing you, he speeds his thrusts up and your vision blacks out as you see stars, the force of your orgasm forcing you to arch into him.

“Sei la mia uza. Sto venendo!” Cioccolata growls out. His head burrows against your neck and he bites down as his hips stutter. You feel his teeth puncture your skin and draw blood, but at this point you don’t care. His nails scratch down your back as he rides his orgasm out in you.

Your chest still heaving, you drop your arms back at your side. He slides out of you and rolls next to your body. Both of you are covered in sweat and panting, but neither of you make a move to get up to clean off. You are vaguely aware of his intense green eyes staring down the side of your face as he holds you in his arms. Surprising, usually he immediately kicks you out of his room when he’s done with you.

His hand makes lazy patterns against your body and he hums in content.

“Something about that grape, it’s juiciness, made me need you. You’ll get a good reward for this, I promise,” he pushes his lips against you in an out-of-character act of passion. Honestly, you don’t mind this side of him and you wouldn’t be opposed to watching him operate on grapes again if it meant you got this treatment afterwards.

You smile sweetly against his lips. They did surgery on a grape.

Next part is https://wowzers-howzers.tumblr.com/post/185760174706/secco-x-reader-cursed-fanfic

Third part is https://wowzers-howzers.tumblr.com/post/185874753151/continuation-of-secco-x-reader

#cioccolata #cioccolata x reader #part 5 #jjba #jjba part 5 #vento aureo #secco guest appearance #this is just cursed shit i made as a meme #first time writing smut #behead me pls

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ranekvilmas · 5 years ago

Text

Uraveled (Chapter 1, Part 3)

Plans, strategies filled his mind.

“I could veil walk us both out of here. I could veil walk away and run behind him. Blythe could attack him and I could distract so she could-”

Her warning was heard, but not before the dart hit him. Even with the padded gear, enough to deflect a knife, was not made for a thin projectile at that speed and velocity to directly hit.

He sank to one knee, the pain as all of his nerves fired at once, causing the distraction of focus and a roar of rage.. The wolf howled as it was empowered, draining most of the rune's power and overloading his mind. He became a passenger again, and the pained howl was the last thing Ranek did before the enraged wolf was lost to hunger and blood lust.

The feral worgen looked between the two creatures, not hearing what was immediately said, but the notion seeped through and he looked at the large feline, lips peeling back into a snarl. The curse had found a focus.

He lunged at the feline, swiping wildly at first before gaining a better hold on the body it now had control over. And back in the far recesses of his mind, Ranek screamed and pulled on the bars of the cage he was now trapped in, watching as his body began to assail the woman he loved.

As the hunter's lips curl higher and higher in his smile, Blythe takes slow steps away from her friend, her eyes wide and her ears low. "I'll leave you two to it," the hunter purrs, toxin in his tone. And with that, he turns around and steps away into the forest, his gait slow and smooth with confidence.

Blythe narrowly manages to leap backwards to avoid Ranek's first swipe, but the second catches her across the muzzle. "Rane'..." she whimpers, a last, desperate plea as necessity and desire battle within her. Eventually, necessity wins, and she charges forth to meet him head-on, shifting mid-pace in an attempt to plow into him with almost half a ton of ursine muscle. Her goal seems to be purely incapacitate rather than actually hurting him, as she swings her massive head for his when she gets close enough.

The worgen, it's basic instincts focused solely on killing and eating, do not comprehend the notion of shapeshifting. There is a pause, split second, that the worgen does not understand what happened, and by then it is too late. The blow knocks the worgen away easily, hurling him a few feet away and onto his back.

As he rolled to a stop, the worgen takes stock of the situation and gets up quickly. The prey is now large, easily double his size. It plots, flexing its claws and snarls, blinking the stars out of its eyes. It crouches low, moving closer, but at an angle to spot openings, wounds and vulnerabilities. Knowing it needs to stay away from the jaws, it focuses on her back and rear legs, darting to close the distance.

Inside, Ranek used the small window of time it is dazed to focus what is left of his mind, straining and trying to exert some amount of control away from the wolf. “You.. and I.. had an agreement! We are one, and you need.. to Stop!”

Blythe doesn't pause. She lumbers forth, her chosen form requiring great time and distance to reach her full speed, but she still manages to get to a decent pace by the time she reaches him. She lifts one paw to attempt to slam it into the side of his head, keeping her claws flexed away from him, but misses due to his superior speed and catches a claw to her flank for the mistake. A rumbling growl passes her dark lips as she slides to a stop, turning to face him once more.

"C'mon, lad. Yer in there somewhere. I know i'," rolls her gravelly voice, warped to be nearly unrecognisable by the form. For only a few moments, hope overrides her sense and she leaves herself dangerously open.

There is the smell of blood in the air, it can feel it on it's claws. It licks its chops, fingers twitching in anticipation for a meal. From it's throat comes a wet growl, sneering at the large beast.

It tries to circle the bear, but knows it has to brave the jaws and massive paws to get any damage done. But then it.. stopped. A sound permeating from it that made it's head tilt.

“Gods damn it, STOP! If you kill her.. Your life is forfeit. OUR life is forfeit!”

The man pulled and jerked on the imaginary cage, his will straining to grasp hold of a creature that had once been in harmony with him for so long.

“Lad” was all that could make it through. It was small, the tiniest of purchases for Ranek to hold onto. He raged, howled like a mad wolf, screaming and fighting his own body once more.

“Please.. just hold out, love. Beat this body if you have to.. Just.. We made a promise...”

The feral beast hesitated for two heartbeats, confused and becoming more frustrated. It charged Blythe once more, on all fours now, looking to jump onto the ursine druid.

Hope. Hope is her downfall, as it always will be. Blythe roars with shock when he lands on her back, having been too slow to react to his lunge. She flails and rises on her hind paws in an effort to shake him, but her speed isn't nearly enough to produce enough momentum to throw him off. Additionally, his weight almost matches her own, slowing and weighing her down as she rapidly exhausts herself trying to find freedom.

Eventually, she pitches to the side and rolls with the aim of crushing him under her mass just briefly enough to steal away his consciousness.

Once more, the worgen underestimates his prey. Blythe has the advantage of sentience and bulk. The feral worgen has speed, but is moving on instincts matches her hesitation to want to harm him.

The beast's frustration at trying to fight the beast, yelps in surprise as it is thrown, looking up to see the bulk of the bear land on it. It snarls and thrashes, but it's powerful legs are trapped, and all it can do is aggressively nip and use on hand to try and pry her off. The fight is a losing one, the air knocked out of it's lungs does the most damage to the fighting power.

“Gods.. thank you, Blythe!” He calls out, knowing she cannot hear him. The blow was gaining a little more purchase as the wolf is distracted on it's prey. He focuses that part of his mind, drawing from the rune and building a barrier to slowly expand his influence once more. He can see it.. the wolf. It is not the wolf that he tamed long ago, it 's fur is red, and it wants to feed and rip and tear. But it is frantic now, losing consciousness and it gives Ranek time to strike, forcing his will to hammer at the sickness.

Not wanting to suffocate her love by accident, Blythe is swift to roll off of Ranek and back to her paws, but she stands ready to strike should he attack again. She bleeds from gashes and holes left by his claws while she tried to throw him off, as well as minor bite wounds to the back of her neck and shoulders. None of the wounds are serious, thankfully, but they stain her thick fur regardless.

The commotion, however, is bound to draw the attention of lesser hunters, and she glances over her shoulder to stare wide-eyed into the woods upon hearing footsteps. Abandoning sense, the druid charges forward and, if she's fast enough, lowers her head to grab Ranek by the scruff and drag him through the forest, being as gentle with her teeth as she's able.

The feral is breathing, but has seemed to become passive for the most part. As Ranek fights his own curse, the body twitches. Claws flex, feet jerk and his maw opens in a silent roar, maybe scream?

When she plucked him up and began to run, there was little resistance, just growls of confusion. Occasionally the claws would lazily swipe, the motor functions seemed to spasm.

Inside, the pair fought tooth and nail for control. Ranek pooled his strength to fight the cruse made manifest. Blythe's attacks and robbing the body of oxygen to fight gave him the upper hand, but he had to move fast.

His hands suddenly moved, clawing at his own skin as if to tear the wolf out of him. He snarled, weakly thrashing as Ranek started to gain control of his own body, a raspy word struggling from his lips, flecked with his own blood. "L... l.... ov...e".

Desperate to escape the area, Blythe pays no mind to Ranek's change in behavior, simply charging through the forest and towards safety.

She howls past her grip on his scruff, however, when a limp swipe chances to catch her across the eyes, though she manages to close her seeing eye in time to protect it. Squeezing her blind eye shut, she continues on. Only when he starts clawing at himself does the druid stop dead in her tracks, barely a few loping strides from the forest's edge.

@theunfortunatedruid

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zippdementia · 5 years ago

Text

Part 79 Alignment May Vary: Safety in Numbers

We are more than three years into the game, now. Maybe it’s time for a little recap?

I envision our adventure as taking part in multiple arcs. The first arc Preludes and Portents was mostly set up for the story, taking Karina, Shando, and Targaryen/Daymos up through the death of Shando at the hands of Reeves Testain.

The second arc An Unintended Quest follows Tywin (renamed Lorin in our podcast), Karina, and Abenthy on the first part of their quest for Haggemoth’s tomb, ending with the death of Tywin.

The third arc The Forgotten Past follows Karina, Abenthy, and crowd pleaser Tyrion (to be renamed at a later date) through the desert of Thud and up until the reveal of Abenthy’s demonic father at the monastery.

The fourth arc The Hidden Hoard follows the same party as they finish the quest of Haggemoth, gain Trakki the elven monk as a companion, and lose Abenthy to his own machinations. With Reeves Sar Testain finally defeated, the third arc ends, and Karina finally leaves the party to pursue her own destiny.

The fifth arc Into the Maw involves a new party of Tyrion (for our story, renamed Bitterberry), Trakki, and Nysyries as they pursue the Red Hand into the lands of Rhest. It ends as they become infected by the will of Nazragul.

The sixth arc Redemption takes us through the evil arc, ending with the death of Tyrion and the arrival of Aldric, and concludes with the purging of Nazragul from Nysyries.

The seventh arc The Fall into Night covers the battle of brindol, sees the newest party formed after the death of Nysyries: Carrick, Aldric, and Imoaza, and goes up through the party blasting (unintentionally) into space.

The eighth arc Hellspawn covers the party’s adventures in Hell and the elemental planet of air..

The ninth arc Crossing the Void begins with Aldric’s death. It covers the githyanki fortress and will end with what is about to come next, described in this post. Because there are a planned total of eleven arcs (after this there is Tears and Torments, and finally The Coming of the Three), this really brings us close to the end. It’s been a huge, epic adventure, but now it’s time to start pulling all the players together for the inevitable endgame, which is why we are going to start with the return of a character from long ago...

The Return of Daymos

Centuries ago, Daymos was killed on Faerun by Lorin, Karina, and Abenthy, and Abenthy sent his soul to Ia’fret to be tortured for eternity. Only, eternity didn’t up being all that long in the grand scheme of things. Ia’fret was called by Asmodeus to do battle in the final days of the blood war and so Ia’fret took his cavernous domain and transported it like a giant arc into the Abyss, using his souls to power him as he cut through swathes of demons alongside Asmodeus. However, while this gambit ultimately won the war, Ia’fret himself was cut down in battle and his “arc” left abandoned, sandwiched three quarters between the 9th and 10th layers of the abyss, the wayward souls he brought with him exposed to the depravities and hunger of an entire population of demons now cut off from the material realm.

Many of the souls perished in those early days, but Daymos was not among them. He hid through most of the initial carnage and when that was over, he emerged and made the now empty cavern his own lair. He could not command it the way Ia’fret had, but he could use it as a secret refuge. He wanted to get back to Faerun, to find his sister, Jade, and to restart his life. But he could not find a way out of the Abyss: it seemed shut off from the outside world completely. So he bid his time and wait, and in his waiting, he hunted. What did he hunt? Demons.

It may have been sixty years. It may have been a hundred. Time is... difficult... in the Abyss. Daymos aged, but he kept himself young by locating caches of potions of youth and using them. This was somewhat dangerous: sometimes the potions backfired and aged him. Other times, they deaged him too much and once he had to hide out until he grew back from a child into an adult again. Overall, though, he managed to keep himself in his young 20s and 30s. And he hunted demons, stalking them through many layers of the abyss, learning their secrets and building his psychic powers back. He quickly found that his powers were growing beyond his ability to control: he needed a focus. In Ia’fret’s lair he found a demonic spellbook and he poured his energy into this. This meant that he needed the book to cast most of his psionic powers but it removed the threat of his powers tearing his mind apart. He acquired other items during this time, such as a robe of stars, a ring of cold resistance, and a baleful dagger that he used to slit the throats of a few demons, but his greatest power lay in ranged ambushes, using his mind to dominate lesser demons and then slay them. He remained physically weak and would not long stand up to the direct attacks of even a mid-tier demon.

And so Daymos learned to be clever, and he learned to be silent, and he learned, above all, to be patient, while he waited for his opportunity to escape. And then, suddenly, it came. He felt the Abyss expand, reconnect to the outer world. And so he left Ia’fret’s cave, following his psychic senses to a newly opened portal. He leaped in, and escaped.

Not the Expected Homecoming

"What’s that?” Imoaza pointed through the frozen air and pounding sleet. Carrick, next to her, squinted towards the sky but it was like trying to see through a physical object.

“You’re going to have to describe it,” he said.

“It’s a light, human shaped, and it’s moving fast back towards the camp.”

“Could be trouble. We should head back. This hunt for a sabre-toothed tiger hasn’t done anything except make me colder.”

“Don’t mention the cold.” Imoaza was trying not to think about it. Her metabolism was not built for cold climates.

Heading back towards the camp, the two find Daymos waiting for them. He tells them the light they saw was him, that it is a way he can choose to travel when he has “a mind” to.

Daymos is mostly excited to be out of the Abyss and back on Faerun, but he is disturbed when he learns from Carrick that he has landed in the Sword Coast.

“Last I checked, the sword coast wasn’t frozen,” Daymos says. “How long has it been?”

But Carrick and Imoaza aren’t the best source of information, as they are new to this Faerun as well and can only tell Daymos that the last time they set foot on Faerun it was DR 1475. Daymos nods at this, telling them that he died in 1474, and he knows that was at least a century ago.

Ultimately, Daymos decides to travel with the group. The other travelers who are leading this pilgrimage don’t mind, they say anyone is welcome to “visit the lady.” He spends the evening gambling with Carrick, and using his psychic powers to turn the dice to his favor, a trick Carrick eventually catches. Carrick lets him keep his winnings, saying that he has paid to learn something about Daymos.

Milosh spends the evening weaving leather armor into his body, patching himself up, though he remains looking like a Frankenstein-ian monster. Imoaza curls up as close to a fire as she can and watches the strange and unfamiliar weave that the magic in this time creates in the air, visible to those who know how to seek it.

The morning is wet and miserable. The caravan soon comes to an inn outside of Baldur’s Gate and the players are warned it is haunted. But Daymos is keen to explore it and Carrick sees his paladin friend from the ship inside, his head bleeding from some kind of wound. The party as a whole decides to investigate, running through the rain and inside the arch of the inn:

The main doorway is unbarred, and the archway is as silent and gloomy as the exterior of the keep. Any wafting mists or ill weather seems to halt abruptly within 10 ft. of the open doors. There are no sounds of clattering dishes nor the bustle of inn keepers. Rain drips upon you as you pass under the keystone of the arch. From the glow of hundreds of candles that are lit in the lobby, though, you realize this passing has instead anointed you in red, dripping blood.

The lobby is an expansive space, broken up by a dozen hearth stations, and the dual stairway across the room, which converges into a landing and slopes to the floor. Once you are all inside, it’s as if a veil of shadow has been lifted from your sight, and you see a vast array of strange, stirring shapes around you. The scene has the aspect of a monstrous court of deformed demons dressed to nobility. Your nose warns of the unpleasant possibility that human blood is being used as perfume, and flesh is being roasted or consumed raw from the many spits planted over the hearths. In the air, there rises a crescendo of guttural chortling that you cannot comprehend.

A woman of undeniable beauty makes a dramatic entrance down the stairway. Her footsteps echo with the clack of thigh-high, studded leather boots and she carries an immediate air of dismissive authority. She is showing a generous amount of skin between silver plating that has been polished to a mirror surface, adding a shimmering effect in the firelight. She is wrapped in a shawl of white fox fur, and although she appears youthful and walks with a brash, flippant strut, her shortcropped hair is white and her unnaturally blue eyes betray some sort of ancient malevolence. She takes her place by the grandest hearth and reclines against two huge, muscled men in chained collars who kneel to form her chair. Her baleful gaze has never parted from all of you as she made this fashionable entrance.

The woman is a Demoness, really a Demon Goddess, named Eshebala and she explains that this isn’t Faerun, but rather a good possibility for what Faerun could look like if they ever return, based on what she has taken from the minds of the players and from Milosh’s prophecy, which is still buried inside of him and which she claims to understand better than he does. She offers them a chance to see for themselves by returning to Faerun, but first they have to play her game. Eshebala doesn’t mention her true motives yet, which are... well, no, I shouldn’t say now. My players could be reading. We’ll get to that in a later post.

In any case, her game is simple: the players have arrived on the 193rd layer of the Abyss, a place called Vulgarea. Now they have to survive 20 of Vulgarea’s most deadly locations. All the demons chant as the room goes dark, “...all will enter, one walks away…all will enter, one walks away…”

This is the beginning of a new dungeon, one created by a third party designer and illustrator, Ryan Durney. It is called Mirrors of the Abyss, and it is intensely interesting.

I choose Mirrors because it is the only campaign I’ve ever read that actually captures the chaos and insane deadliness of the Abyss. It is a player killer dungeon, make no mistake about that, but with enough personality that an enterprising DM can easily adjust the difficulty down simply by playing the personalities up; a haughty demon might not use all of its powerful attacks on a party it views as too weak to harm it, allowing them to gain the upper hand, bargain with it, or escape it’s grasp; a obsessive compulsive demon may have powerful melee strikes but will refrain from approaching a human because “they are gross and full of germs.” And there are lots of nooks and crannies in which to fit long rest options.

Regardless, the descriptions, the illustrations and handouts, and the sheer ambition of the dungeon makes for a truly unique experience for anywhere from 3-12 players and the dungeon has a ton of randomized elements that make it replayable. You can insert this into your own story (just make sure players are at least level 15) or run it once a year as a special grindhouse game for a big group of players. There are even rules for continuing to play if you are killed, at which point you become a wraith who is given a chance to get their life back by screwing over one of the party members. It makes for a memorable experience, to be sure.

The way the dungeon is laid out is that there are 21 rooms. The 1st room is always visited first and sets up the rest of the game, but after that the room order is randomized. Each room represents one challenge or series of themed challenges which the players have to solve or survive in order to progress. Along the way are hidden rooms and treasures and some of the deadliest (but avoidable) encounters I’ve ever seen penned in Dungeons & Dragons. And at the end... well, that’s another thing we’ll have to get to later.

For now, the players are left in the dark as the inn collapses around them. When the dust settles, they find they are in a dark cave, with a riddle and a clue and room #1: the start of Esheballa’s Game. Next time, Welcome to My Game.

#Dnd 5e #Dungeons & Dragons #Alignmentmayvary #Mirrors of the Abyss #Eshebala

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talesfromtheindigoghost · 6 years ago

Text

Good Intentions

I never remember how I get here. Not at first, at least.

It’s always the same, yet it feels like it’s the first time this has ever happened.

It’s heaven. Maybe. If you took any little kid out of sunday school and asked them what heaven looks like this is probably going to be about it. You would probably get an even better idea if you handed that same kid a package of crayons and a blank piece of paper and asked them to show you.

An enormous land of clouds, existing right in the middle of an unbelievably vast blue sky. The sun shines in the distance, brightly, yet softly. It’s a warm, secure kind of light. Golden rays of god’s love illuminates a land of angels and goodness. Honestly, even with the way I feel about everything, it’s breathtaking.

Nature, in its most mysterious form.

Until you spot the clearly man made gate made of shimmering golds and silvers, spun into the gaudiest, flimsiest fences you’ve ever seen. Next to it, and far more disappointing, is the small booth labeled “ENTRANCE TO HEAVEN” in even more unnecessary, self-congratulating dazzle.

The light sings, filling the air with its musical splendor only for it to resonate uncomfortably along the hollow metal structures and decorations.

It’s alarming how familiar it is, despite it being the greatest single mystery man can never solve without a dire commitment.

The man in the booth and I meet eyes as I approached the booth. I can’t tell for sure, but he gives me a look that immediately tells me we’ve met before and that it wasn’t a good experience.

“Hey Peter.” I don’t know why I said it, but it feels right and it comes out of me with all the casual ease of greeting the guy that works at your post office. I’m sure of it now. He recoils at first, but then catches himself and stays firm.

“SAINT Peter. Saint.” He corrects me. I’m not sure why, I KNOW why, but I don’t quite know why, but I grin like an asshole. I nod, of course, of course. “Lucky I was Catholic, huh?” The proud agent of heaven, grand and noble arbiter of whether or not you get through the obnoxious gates, adjusted his blue polo shirt and vest and pulled a small walkie talkie from the pocket of his khaki cargo shorts.

He brings it to his cheek and lets it press against it for half a moment, he gives me the kind of glare you always get any time a retail worker has to call their boss. We both know it was inevitable but it’s still such a hassle. “It’s different for everyone. This is what you know.” Saint Peter exhales the words out like a tired sigh, one moment of freedom before they have to pretend to be a perfect professional.

I already knew that, I thought, but it felt like I learned it for the first time.

The small toy chirped as he pressed down the button.

“He’s here. Yes, HIM.” We locked eyes as I heard static crackle from the speaker. “Yes, again. Yes, the same way.” I wiggle my eyebrows as I jokingly adjust the noose around my neck. “He was turned away, as I SAID- ” we both catch him getting angry, I shake my head. “- mentioned. Mentioned in my previous memo.” it chirps a final time as he lets go of the button.

We’re both waiting for a response, but I can tell he’s sweating. We both know this is a tense situation. I can already tell by the look of future regret on his face, the strained exhale and closed eyes, what his boss had to say.

That’s alright, I told myself. I knew this was a strong possibility.

“Sorry.” I can tell the guy means it by the way his shoulders slump and the word seems to weigh a ton. He hooked the walkie talkie back onto his pocket and sighed. “The boss says you’re not allowed in and you know why.” I should be pretty pissed off, but I gave him a pretty tired smile and waved it off.

“It’s alright, I get it. I’m not gonna shoot the messenger.” Watching him relax a little after I said that made me feel a bit better about the situation. I hold the dangling rope for a moment so it doesn’t hang as I lean over the desk and spot a mini-fridge right by the corner of the booth.

He shoots me a grin and bends down to take something out of it, a single cold can of cherry cola that tings quietly as he sets it in front of me. I popped it open and took a grateful sip as he opened his own can of ginger ale.

“It’s different for everyone.” He said again, but much sadder this time. I closed my eyes and took another sip. The pleasant taste turned sour as the crisp chill of cold bubbles was replaced by the warm, flat taste of some kind of beer I’ve never cared to get too familiar with.

I opened my eyes to find that the radiant clouds of comfort were now the toxic miasmas of suffering. The gentle music dancing in the air distorted into an unease that vibrated through your very soul and rattled you from the inside out.

I spot a red, handsome young man sitting on a stool next to the kind of podium you see at the entrances of fancy restaurants of night clubs. The pretty jerk with the incredibly important job of checking a list of names to see if you’re on it and who would never let you forget how socially important his job is. I knew he was smug incarnate before he even opened his mouth.

I double check the can in my hand and see it’s the same cans I remember seeing littering the whole place after any given sleazy party. I take another sip out of sheer spite as I approach the guy in front of a shattered portion of an old brick wall, blocked off by a single velvet rope suspended between two poles made of flesh and stone, much like the wall itself.

He locks eyes with me, pulling a rose gold encased smartphone from the pocket of his trendy suit with one hand and raising a finger with the other as if I’m too stupid to understand the concept of someone needing a moment to make a phone call as they’re already making the call.

He gives me a silent expression of “Well? Don’t you see I’m calling?” along with a headshake before he looks down and notices the can in my head and curls his lip in disgusting. I take another sip, just to appreciate the disgusted look he gives me.

It tastes like blood.

“Yes, sir? He’s here, just like you said.” He smiles brightly and his voice has that same forced kind of asskissing tone the smile does. “Right like always, sir! You truly are smarter than God!” He shoots me another dirty look, as if he’s daring me to say something about his obvious brown nosing. I scoff and raise my hands in that universal gesture of “I didn’t say anything.”

He lowers the phone and cocks his head towards me. “Do you know why they sent you down?” I loosen the rope around my neck. “No idea.” He starts to say something but then realizes I’m messing with him. I can tell he’s pretty pissed off that I got him with that, even just for a moment as he gives me a venomous smile.

“Yes, same as last time. No, I’ll tell him, but we both know he’s not going to be happy about that.” I laugh a pretty snotty laugh, slipping the rope off of my neck and casually tossing it towards the red punk just hard enough to gently slap across his face as it went over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir. I will let him know.” He says the words through clenched teeth and annoyance, the call comes to an abrupt end. I catch a brief glimpse of an older, more powerful looking man in a much finer suit leaning from behind the open door just beyond the broken wall. He disappears the moment he notices I’ve seen him.

I take another tip. It tastes like blood.

It’s alarming how familiar this is.

The pretty little twerp squirms in place, acutely aware that he’s been left alone out here with an awkward message to give. “Boss says you’re not allowed in yet. He doesn’t know how this is all going to play out just yet, so grats, you get some more time to mope about it.” There’s something about the way he says it all that tells me that me showing up here just ruined his chances of a promotion anytime soon.

“Whatever.”

I look down at the can again and shake it just enough to see how much is really left in there. By the sound and feel of it, just about a quarter full of whatever it was at this point. Without even thinking about it I suddenly found myself throwing the can at the foot of the podium hard enough to splash all along it and most of the man’s pant leg.

I turned around, closing my eyes before he has the chance to say or do anything in response.

I wake up in my bed a moment later as if I had simply caught myself daydreaming, the tang of blood and the cloying aftertaste of off-brand cherry cola reminds me what I was just doing.

As far as I can tell I’m alive and well, save for being intensely hungry.

I look across my bedroom and notice my corpse hanging from one of the rafters along the ceiling. I watch his arms swinging weak as his dead, white eyes weep thick tears of tar like blood.

This reminds me that everything was real, as it always has been.

My heart beats faster in fear, an indescribable sensation of terror and anxiety that can only be felt by seeing your own dead body. The kind of unknowable horror that can only be experienced by watching as your dead body twists and distorts into something less than human. Its fingers turning into claws of splintered bone and tar, its jaw turning into a maw of blades that clatter in grostque threats.

To watch as its flesh blackens and corrupts before your very eyes.

I stand helpless as its newly reshaped feet plant firmly onto the ground, allowing it to tear the noose from its neck and let out a deep, vibrating noise from its rumbling body in a feral hunger.

I should be terrified of the monster in front of me, the monster threatening to put an end to this story for good.

I can’t think straight. My heart beats even faster as he begins to awkwardly lumber towards me, each step seeming to teach it to walk better, faster and with more purpose.

It occurs to me that I should run but something seems to be stopping me.

I’m so hungry.

#horror #short story #cw: suicide mention #cw: death #cw: body horror #body horror

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