#he's lurking so i'm manifesting his presence here

[millyxando]

and juan 🧍🏽‍♂️🧍🏽‍♂️🧍🏽‍♂️looked 👁️👁️ up ⬆️⬆️⬆️ at the painting 🖼️🖼️🖼️and saw 👀👀 that theresa’s 💃💃💃 dead 😵husband 🕺was roberto 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️he had eloped 💍with his enemy’s widow 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ it’s a telenovela 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 21 — Thigh Fucking

Pairing || Beefy!CatholicPriest!Bucky x Inexperienced!Innocent!Virgin!Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 2000

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Dark/Taboo Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, non-con, explicit content/language, pet names, religious themes, blasphemy of religion, sacrilegious acts, biblical references, sexual content involving a catholic priest, strict/religious parents, age-gap (Reader is early 20s, Bucky is early/mid 30s), Father kink, priest kink, size kink, corruption kink, authority kink, inappropriate/forceful touches, begging, thigh fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

Most Sundays after mass, you would accompany Father James in tidying up the beloved church of your small community. Some people would probably be annoyed being tasked with cleaning and organising, but you seized every opportunity to be in his presence, knowing what it would most likely lead to when you and he were alone.

You were in the process of placing Bibles on the pews in front while casually humming along to the soft radio echoing through the vast and holy hall. Your mid-length dress rose slightly as you bent over to place the books down. It was such a small gesture that you didn't think much of it, but it seemed like someone had caught a glimpse of you.

It was hard to ignore the manifestation that lurked up behind you—the essence that exuded from him. His unholy and ungodly behaviour was out to show and play. All of his holiness put away for the day.

His broad and muscular chest made soft contact with your back—a significant contrast to the determined power that radiated from him. You automatically tilted your head slightly to the side as your body had become accustomed to this scenario since it wasn't the first time Father James had crept up behind you like this.

His lips skimmed your earlobe, and his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck, making a wave of shivers flow down your spine. He placed his colossal palm on your clothed mound, pulling you flush into his firm chest, making you lightly gasp. The hardness that outlined his tight pants rubbed against your behind, and he groaned so deep in your ear that you felt a delicious tingle in your stomach.

“When will you finally let me defile this innocent little cunt of yours, sweet thing?” His alluring voice dropped an octave lower when he spoke, making your knees almost buckle at the sinister tone. You clutched a bible tightly to your chest, making Father James chuckle as you held onto the frail words of God, but that wouldn't help you here when the mighty Devil had come out to play.

This wasn't the first time Father James had shown you the ways of impureness, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But losing your virginity? That was a step you were not ready to take, not yet, at least. You weren't willing to give up your pureness, not when it was so engrained in your brain by your strict religious parents that sex was a great sin unless conducted between a man and a woman that had been wed in holy matrimony.

“When will you finally let me corrupt this tiny pussy, angel?” He uttered again as he groped your covered core, wanting an answer from you.

Father James had never forced his way on you in the sense of penetrative sex, but he did lust for it every sexual moment you had together, and it seemed like he was trying his hand on it again. But you just couldn't.

“Father, I-I can't. I-I'm sorry.”

He groaned in slight annoyance as he put more pressure on your poor core, making you shut your eyes tight before he loosened his grip. You felt ashamed that you couldn't please him the way he wished the most, but you wanted to make him satisfied in a way he had taught you some weeks ago.

“But, I-I can get on m-my knees a-and worship you.”

He chuckled darkly at your willingness to submit to him in the sense of wicked prayer and worship.

“Or, we can both be pleased and blessed at the same time while still keeping the pureness that you so desperately hold on to.”

“I-I don't understand, Father.” You'd only known blowjobs and fingering from him. What other possible solutions did he have for pleasure that didn't involve those two and penetrative sex?

“Let me show you.” He growled like a possessed man.

He came to stand in front of you, towering over your small frame with his enormous one, a sinister smirk and a sinful glimmer in his eyes. His pants and long-sleeve shirt were as dark as his demeanour. The white clerical collar was the only thing that indicated that this was a man of God, after all. You practically shook, in both exhilaration and horror, for what his wicked plan was as you peered up at him.

He took the book from you and tossed it to the side before he sat down at the pew and relaxed his arms on the back of it, and spread his thick legs. Since he was now at your eye level, it was a little less scary, but still, you became flustered as you stared into his crystal eyes with hints of darkness, so you averted them to the floor as you twiddled with your fingers.

“Take off your dress.”

Your eyes went wide at his words. You've never undressed for him, ever. The thought terrified you—in both factors that it was sinful to reveal your flesh and fear that Father James would be disappointed in what you had to offer.

“Father, I-”

“Take. It. Off.”

With shaking hands, you slowly lifted the dress off your body and let it drop beside you. Once it was off and you stood bare in front of him with nothing on than your peachy cotton underwear. His devilish behaviour displayed a hint of softness as he leaned forward a little, and his lips parted in awe.

The way his eyes skimmed all over your untouched flesh made you incredibly shy to be so exposed to him, so you brought your hands up to cover yourself, prompting Father James to be highly disappointed.

“Hey,” he took your hands in his and pried them away from your body and pulled you to him until you stood between his open legs. “Don't shy away from me, sweet thing,” you met his eyes again that now held nothing but adoration in them, “you're the most perfect angel ever to walk this earth. God spent his time perfecting your beautiful body. So pretty, sweet one.” Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincere compliments.

“T-thank you, Father.”

As quickly as his sweetness came, it disappeared in a flash, and he returned to his true and wicked nature. He chuckled darkly as he undid his belt and pants, pulling them down with his underwear until his mighty impressive dick stood heavy and erect. The sheer size of him always left you astonished and nervous at the same time.

Father James always found it amusing how innocently in awe you were at the size of him. He took great pleasure in how his dominant and assertive demeanour contrasted to your innocent and inexperienced one. It drove him wild with desire.

“Turn around for me.”

With wobbly legs, you turned around until you faced the altar, peering up at Jesus hanging from the cross as you said your forgiveness for the great sin that would be conducted in this holy church.

“Oh, sweet little thing.” His massive palms took a soft grasp on your hips and pulled you closer until the back of your thighs met his inner ones, and his throbbing length rested against your behind. “You're so godly perfect,” he mumbled, softly kissing your shivering spine.

He peeled your panties off and quickly found your folds as he ran his fingers through the sticky arousal, making a breathy and needy sound escape your mouth as he played with you.

“Your little pussy is so messy, sweet thing. Are you sure you don't want me to take your innocence? It seems like your pretty cunt wants it.”

“N-no, Father,” you softly sobbed.

Suddenly, his fingers disappeared and were replaced with his bulbous head teasing your quivering opening. You tried wiggling away from him, but he kept a steady and firm grip on your mound.

“I can just slide in here, you know. Force my cock through your tiny velvet walls and split you in half. It's not like a frail little girl like you can stop me,” he sneered as he pushed just half an inch inside you.

“N-no, Father, p-please,” you cried as you shut your eyes tight, forcing tears back. Your fingernails dug into his plump thighs to brace yourself in case he didn't care for your pleas to stop.

“It's ok, sweet thing.” He kissed your spine again as an apology for taking it a little too far. “I won't be that cruel. Let’s both be blessed and pleased while still keeping within your boundaries, yeah?”

“Y-yes, Father.”

He situated the upper side of his thick length against your delicate flower. “Keep your thighs closed. I need you nice and tight for me,” he demanded in a husky tone.

You closed your thighs around his whole dick, moaning softly as he throbbed against your leaking folds. A groggy groan sounded from him as you squeezed hard, resulting in some of his pre-cum squirting out of his tip and coating your bundle of pleasure.

“Please,” you pleaded sweetly, making him groan against your spine as he left a sloppy kiss on your skin.

He took a firm grip on your hips, wanting total control of your body. With a heavy grunt, he drags himself back before pushing forward between your folds again, his tip flickering your sensitive nerve, making you gasp softly at the buzzing tingle.

His groans are thick and heavy as he moves with slow movements into you repeatedly. His dick splits your folds in half as he runs through your slick mess with his girth while his bulbous head bumps and leaks against your tingling and needy nerve with each slow and torturous thrust. The slickness makes it easier for him to pump through your tight flesh effortlessly.

“Father, it feels so good,” you mew as your eyes struggled to stay open as you peered up at Jesus on the cross again, who looked mighty disappointed at the violation happening in his church.

Your soft and pretty whines and cries prompt Father James to handle your body with such ease as he drags you into his heavy and rough thrusts, making your luscious behind smack against his pelvis.

“God, your thighs feel amazing, sweet thing. I can imagine how good your tiny hole must feel. One day I'll corrupt it and make you all mine,” he groaned possessively, making your empty walls flutter around nothing.

A swarm of tantalising butterflies tingled and teased at the pit of your stomach, aching to be released and provide that heavenly and sinful sensation that would ascend you into pleasure.

“O-oh, Father, please. I-I,” your words were broken off by a series of high-pitched moans and whines as you came for him. Your body shaking, and hadn't it been for Father James holding you up; you would have collapsed to the floor due to the raging intensity coursing through your nerves.

His hips stuttered as his thick and raspy voice sang praises to the good Lord while his holy seed painted your swollen folds and stomach. He was breathing heavy and hard as he thrust through both of your highs, making sure you both felt blessed and satisfied.

He hissed while you whined when he pulled away from your tight and used flesh, plopping you down on his lap and making you rest your head on his strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your frail and tired body as he gave you some much-needed gentle care and love.

“Good girl,” he praised you while you melted further into his warm and comforting touch as he kissed your forehead, making you sigh in relief and contentment.

“T-thank you, Father.”

“No, thank you, sweet thing. For keeping myself and the Lord happy.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[moonsun2010]

You have a section about Mina in Whitby with Captain Swales and how it's actually intertwined with the Demeter logs? 👁️

Well not quite a whole section haha, since the "chapter" of the essay its in focuses on Dracula Daily's form and the effect of 'real-time correspondence' on the narrative, and so draws examples from Seward's entries + the September ones (if you know yknow). The extent of showing Mina in Whitby and the Demeter logs being intertwined is pretty much just here:

Sadly no Mr. Swales, I was reaching the word count limit of 11,000 wayyyyy too fast 💀💀 Otherwise I'd definitely have expanded sections discussing that. Its just fascinating!!! Like I mentioned in the essay, you really just have this space where Dracula is not quite present in the story; he's confined on a ship, that much is made clear, which ironically takes away part of his mystique, the lack of clear confirmation of his location. In Jonathan's initial entries, Dracula feels like a constantly lurking presence—Harker is trapped in his castle, and so in some sense constantly enveloped by him (metaphorical but also literal if invasive physical contact/castle as extension of owner as per aristocratic conventions whichever).

In the Whitby/Demeter sections, however, the reader knows that Dracula is on the Demeter, and so whatever that is occuring in Whitby almost feels empty? In the sense that you know that no (supernatural) monsters are present; the only "real" one in this novel is off terorrising sailors. So in place of a tangible supernatural threat (and there is something to be said about how by this point the aupernatural has been normalised to the assumed skeptical reader, the foundation for which has alr been set with Harker's entries) you have local legends and folklore, which Dracula was previously considered part of. What then, is real? Are these local legends and folklore just that? These are complicated questions because representation and reality in the novel are increasingly blurred. Mr. Swales's whole role rambling about these superstitions parallels that of the passengers in the calèche, where it seems like the mere reference to the existence of the supernatural manifests it—in the latter, a disguised Count appears, and in the former, a shipful of death, as if to specifically prove the skeptic wrong.

I'm so obsessed with this section because its simultaneously a part of the narrative where readers and characters literally wait for the main antagonist to arrive, creating tension, and yet it is also effective as another bit that questions rationalism, continuing the work of Harker's entries.

[reverieparacosm]

The Unwavering Depths of Despair: A Yandere Bondrewd Oneshot

Bondrewd (Made In Abyss) x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You killed your lover Bondrewd…But did you really? Sometimes escape is impossible.

Warnings: violence, abuse, emotional abuse, attempted murder, blood, abusive relationship, manipulation, derealization, possessive behaviors, angst

Note: The idea of this Oneshot comes from an anonymous request! I have to admit that this is one of my first full texts. Nevertheless, it was a lot of fun to get out of my comfort zone. While I was writing this, I was listening to "Transcendance and Hanezeve!" The song fits perfectly with the Oneshot. The Oneshot is absolutely inspired by the "Bondrewd Resurrection Scene." Disclaimer: the following text does not describe a healthy relationship and I do not support such relationships in any case.

My love, I never envisioned our story to culminate in such a way. Your blood stains my clothes and saturates the earth beneath us. Nothing in this world can instill fear in me anymore, for I have witnessed so much death that no fate can intimidate me.

As I stand here drenched in the relentless downpour, the tremors coursing through my hands are a mere physical manifestation of the storm raging within me. My heart is pounding with a ferocity that threatens to break free of my chest. For, just moments ago, I committed the unthinkable - I ended the life of the one I once cherished with all my heart. A love that was once pure and unadulterated had decayed over time, morphing into a toxic blend of bitterness and resentment, until it became an unbearable burden that I could no longer carry. And yet, in my moment of desperation, I made a choice that I now deeply regret. The consequences of my actions, I know, will be dire.

The rain washes away my tears as I try to come to terms with what I have done. Now I must live with the guilt of my actions for the rest of my life. But, despite my guilt, I know that I have done the right thing.

My mind is reeling, and I find myself in a state of utter disbelief. Could it be that I have finally managed to free myself from the clutches of my tormentor? Yes, it is true. I have taken the life of Bondrewd - the very same individual who had kept me captive, subjecting me to unspeakable horrors that have left me scarred for life. The weight of his tyranny had been crushing me for far too long, and I had reached a breaking point. But now, as I stand here, my hands still trembling with the force of the act I have just committed, I realize that my situation is far from ideal. The repercussions of my actions are sure to be grave, and I cannot help but wonder if it was worth it.

The thick fog engulfs me, its near-solid presence making it difficult for me to make out my surroundings. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me, my brain seemingly swathed in a cottony blanket. I can't help but feel like I'm being watched, my mind conjuring up all sorts of dark possibilities that may be lurking just beyond my sight. The chill of the cold wind sends a shiver down my spine, my gaze darting around as I try desperately to see if anything or anyone is in the distance. Despite my efforts, I'm met with nothing but the fog, its heavy presence making me feel increasingly isolated and uneasy.

Waves of memories drown me as I remember the promises, he made to me. I remember when he said to me, “Come with me. I have so much I want to show you. Let me take you to an unprecedented realm, a realm of the unknown. Come, enter this new world with me. I promise you won't regret it… Let me take you down to the deepest reaches of existence, the 5th layer of the Abyss…”

He wrapped me in promises, and soon I was blinded.

That was the moment, the moment that ruined my life, the moment I realized that even the darkness carried a shadow.

Initially, he showered me with an overwhelming amount of affection and admiration, which made me feel elated and cherished. However, I couldn't help but notice the gradual shift in his behavior, which became more manipulative and controlling as time went by. It was as if he had some sort of ulterior motive for showering me with love, and that was to never let me go.

As the days passed, I found myself getting more and more entangled in his web of love, despite the warning signs that were becoming increasingly evident. He would often talk about the Abyss and how dangerous it was, but assured me that all the answers I sought could be found in Ido Front. I was gullible enough to believe him, even though a part of me knew that something was amiss.

Soon, I found myself struggling to maintain my sanity in Ido Front, as the environment was highly oppressive and claustrophobic. My desire to do something about it outweighed my fear of Bondrewd, and I knew that I had to take action before it was too late.

Now, as I stare at his lifeless body lying in front of me, I realize that I will never again have the privilege of listening to him talk about his latest discoveries or spend long hours with him in the lab, discussing new inventions.

Memories of our happy times together come back, of the days when I felt like the happiest person in the world. The past devours me, while I mourn the future, slowly dying in my mind in the ever-present.

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.

The rain continues to fall, and I begin to feel a sense of peace. Though I have done a terrible thing, I found solace in the fact that I have taken a stand for myself.

With a focus on a new beginning, I'm taking steps forward. I look one last time at the body in front of me, which is now almost completely soaked by the rain. While watching Bondrewd, I have a tightness in my chest and a heaviness in my limbs. It feels like needles are poking into my throat. My tears are barely distinguishable from the rain running down my cheeks.

As I turn around, I am faced with the daunting prospect of walking into an unknown future, with no clear direction or sense of purpose. It's a feeling of being lost in a vast and unfamiliar landscape, with no clear markers to guide my way. Despite my uncertainty, I know that there is no other option but to keep moving forward.

Suddenly, a clatter breaks the silence, and I turn around to investigate the source of the noise. To my horror, I see an Umbra Hand approaching Bondrewd's lifeless body, picking up his helmet. At that moment, my mind is flooded with a thousand thoughts, ranging from fear to confusion and disbelief.

Before I can even process what is happening, the Umbra Hand takes Bondrewd's helmet, triggering a sudden and dramatic transformation in his body. My legs feel heavy, as if they are rooted to the ground, and a scream gets caught in my throat. It's a moment of sheer terror and unbelievingness, as I watch the unthinkable unfold before my very eyes.

Finally, I snap out of my state of shock and turn around, running as fast as I can. It's a desperate attempt to escape the horrors that have befallen me, and to find some semblance of safety and security in the midst of chaos and confusion. Despite my fear and uncertainty, I know that I must keep moving forward, even if it means facing the unknown.

A sudden constriction grips my throat, and my heart races with an unparalleled intensity. Despite the overwhelming urge to press forward, I hear a low, guttural growl behind me, forcing me to pause in my tracks. "You should not have tried to kill me," the voice hisses, its tone laced with a menacing edge. Every fiber of my being screams at me to ignore the voice, to keep pushing forward. However, my better judgement prevails, and I reluctantly turn around, bracing myself for the worst.

As I face the source of the voice, a towering, dark figure looms before me. The realization that this was no mere nightmare dawns on me, as I come face to face with Bondrewd himself. The man whose life I had taken, is now standing right in front of me. My mind reels, trying to make sense of the impossible situation. How could he be alive? I had made certain that there was no way he could have survived.

My entire body seizes up in terror, leaving me utterly paralyzed. With each slow, measured step he takes towards me, my breaths quicken, coming in short, sharp gasps.

“You have accomplished a great deed. You have shown the strength to hurt me, a lord of the Abyss and a White Whistle. Impressive… Very impressive. You have my respect for that. I find what you did both disrespectful and insulting, but quite remarkable.”

Bondrewd is now standing right in front of me. My words come back to me a bit and I manage to whisper, "But...How...This should not, this should not be happening.... How are you still alive?"

“The Abyss has provided me with all I require. I may die many times, and I will always return, no matter the cost. Do not doubt me. Your strength has allowed you to hurt me, but you will not be the one to bring my life to an end. Do not worry, I will never leave your side.”

There is only fog in my head, and I feel like I'm going to pass out at any moment. This can't be real. It can't. My surroundings appear distorted and blurred. I finally thought I was free of him and now he is standing in front of me, pretty much alive.          

My mind continues to buzz with questions about why he is doing all of this. Why can't he leave me alone?

As I notice his presence, a question escapes my lips, "What do you want?" I make an attempt to sound composed while masking the palpable sense of discomfort that has been triggered by his unexpected state.

"I want to talk to you," he replies, taking a step closer towards me.

"I don't want to talk to you," I respond firmly, taking a step back as I do so. However, he advances towards me again, and I sense my heart racing with apprehension.

"Listen to me," he implores, his tone softening.

Despite my inner reservations, I remain rooted to the spot, feeling as though I don't have a choice but to confront him.

"Why did you try to kill me?" he inquires, his voice calm and collected.

I avert my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "You know why," I respond, my tone barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand why you would do something like that," he continues, inching closer towards me.

"You were always so controlling," I reply, my voice rising with palpable frustration. "I couldn't take it anymore."

"I was only trying to protect you," he counters, his voice turning firm.

"Protect me?" I scoff in disbelief. "You were suffocating me."

Unsure of whether to believe him or not, I look at him with a mix of suspicion and trepidation. Is he really capable of changing his ways or is this just another ploy to manipulate me?

As Bondrewd takes steps even closer towards me, I feel a sense of fear take over me. My heart is racing again, and I can feel the adrenaline pump through my veins. With each step that he takes, my anxiety increases tenfold. His eyes are fixated on me. I brace myself for the worst as I feel something cold and sharp touch my side, just below my ribs. It is small-scaled yet sharp enough to pierce through my skin.

"Do you think I enjoy hurting you?" his voice is deep and menacing. I can feel the fear taking over me as he presses the shard against my skin. The pain is unbearable, and I can feel the blood trickle down my side.

"My love, you are mine and only mine. You are a possession of mine, and you will remain that way until the end. We are one, one in soul and one in body, and one in the Abyss." His words send shivers down my spine. I always knew that there was something off about him, but I never imagined the extent of his cruelty.

"If you have any thought for me, you would give me back my peace," I try to reason with him, but my voice is low and shaky.

"There is no peace for us, darling. Only despair and greatest happiness," his voice is deep and calm, as if he is trying to reassure me. But I know better than to trust his words. I begin to realize that I can never leave him. He has a hold on me that I can never break free from.

A tear rolls down my face as I ask him, "How many times can you break my heart?"

"As long as you love it," he replies nonchalantly. His words are like daggers to my heart, and I know that I will never be able to escape his grasp.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Hi! Here on your blog for the first time!

I saw your fic idea list and I am amazed by the range of your ideas.

I would like to know more about the following fics -

• Aemond falling in love with a female ghost

• Criston x greek mythology reader or was it Criston x reader but make it greek mythology

Sorry, my memory is too short!

Thanks for writing and sharing your fanworks with us!

Hi dear! Thank you so much for your kind words! Sorry for the delay, we're currently in an intense heatwave and I couldn't bring myself to write. Here's the first story - keep your eye on my blog and the second one should appear soon as well. I'm sorry if it's OOC or feels weird - I have never been able to master the craft of writing scary stories.

"Princess of Sorrows "

Aemond Targaryen x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: death, supernatural beings, ghosts, slight angst, mentions executions, mentions suicide, also MAEGOR (although not explicitly).

The room was hollow yet imposing, as if the walls were made of solid stone and stretched for leagues. Flickering candles illuminated its contours, adding an eerie quality to the opulence of the mahogany furniture and heavy tapestries. In areas where shadows lurked deepest in the chamber, mythical creatures seemed to move like ghosts in a faint fog, ever out of reach. At the far end, an ornate fireplace filled the room with warmth, while in the center lay Prince Aemond Targaryen's bed. It was large and majestic, boasting fine silk sheets and a down-filled mattress, surrounded by exotic objects that glowed like spectres in the night.

A painting of a woman with long white hair and crown stars perched atop her head hung on the wall like a menacing reminder of days long gone. She was draped in a rusted wine gown and stared out from the painting with an emotionless, yet weary gaze. Her white eyebrows were knitted together as if she were about to unleash some indescribable fury on whoever had painted her. He had never heard any tales about the painting; but he swore, it seemed to have been there even before he was born. It watched him intently, like a dark sentinel guarding his chamber. He had taken to referring to the woman as the "Princess of Sorrows".

As he sat there in the shadows, pouring through ancient books telling the Targaryen family's stories, Aemond felt a frosty chill ripple down his spine. Occasionally he had the sense that secretive eyes were watching him, and then he'd have to hold his breath until the sensation faded away. Even though his dread was mounting, Aemond never spoke of it out loud. He feared doing so would only manifest its presence further. It was on one of those nights when the moon shone brightly, that Aemond swore he saw a silhouette in the corner of his eye turning the page of a book. His heart skipped a beat as he jumped to his feet armed with a sword, but the figure had suddenly vanished, leaving behind the whisper of skirts. He stayed still waiting for its return, but nothing stirred. Was it all just his overactive imagination? No one could tell.

The next morning, he hesitantly dispatched one of his guards to scour the palace. But not a single one among the thousand women living there resembled the figure he thought he had seen. He was now more certain than ever that his chambers were haunted, yet still afraid to accept it and acknowledge his fear of the dead. Evening after evening, he sent the guard back again and kept his hand firmly grasping his sword. Days passed, yet nothing changed: Alone in the chamber, the Princess of Sorrows seemed lost within her thoughts...and then suddenly, as soon as he started feeling at ease, he'd catch a glimpse of her again. He was determined to unravel this mystery that was plaguing him, but didn't know how to proceed. He kept his guard close by and searched for any other signs of her presence - all in vain.

Finally, after weeks of haunted nights, Aemond had had enough. He gave the silent command and all his guards began their search anew, combing every inch of the palace for any sign of something out of place. But nothing emerged. Defeated and discouraged, they returned to Aemond but he seemed unfazed by the lack of results. He still felt that something was lurking in the dark shadows, hidden from his sight. He kept a keen eye on every corner as he patrolled with his sword, when suddenly one night he spotted something strange darting away from him. Instantly he leapt into action and charged after this mysterious being, running through the darkened halls in pursuit.

As he ran, he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He had no idea what he was chasing, but he was determined to catch it. The sound of his own footsteps echoed through the halls, and he felt the cool night air whipping past his face. His mind was racing, trying to anticipate his prey's moves. It was then that he saw her again: the Princess of Sorrows, darting ahead of him like a wraith, her crimson gown fluttering behind her.

He took off like a raging bull, stampeding through the castle without regard for consequence. She ran with grace and agility, always managing to stay one step ahead of him. His lungs burned and his heart pounded as he pressed on, determined to catch her this time. Time seemed to stand still as he lurched around corner after corner, hearing nothing but her echoing laughter in response. Eventually, she came to a dead end near his chambers and before she could turn tail and flee, he had her cornered.

He charged towards her, sword swinging. Stopping just short of her, he could feel the heat radiating off her. Her long white hair framed an angelic face, illuminated in the orange light of the torches. Her eyes were like galaxies, dark and deep with a sorrow that seemed to tear through him. She wore a gown of blood-red silk, and in her hands, she grasped a rose as white as snow. Aemond stood frozen in time; mesmerized by this beautiful apparition.

Aemond stood there, his breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon her beauty. He had been taught to fear this entity, but she seemed almost...human. He reached for the sword at his side and found it forgotten. "My... Lady?" he said, not sure what title would be appropriate for such a mysterious figure. The Princess of Sorrows met his gaze with a small, yet pained smile before disappearing back into the mist. Anger boiled within Aemond's veins as he marched back into his chamber, eyes fixed on the portrait of this wretched princess - her face still contorted in pain and anger.

The days seemed to fly by in a frenzied fever, yet the nights crept past with an agonizing slowness. Aemond yearned for the darkness; unable to sleep as he waited for her to appear. He was up before the sun, lost in thought in the shadows of his chamber, desperate for any sign of her presence. Though scared and uncertain, she had him in an unbreakable spell - he couldn't shift his gaze from her as they shared their clandestine tete-a-tetes.

He started to notice delicate shifts in her gestures - the way she'd linger in front of a painting as if it were speaking to her, or gaze out of the window with an enigmatic expression. He realized then that this mysterious creature had feelings like his own, and emotions and thoughts he could barely comprehend.

Aemond found himself captivated by the woman's delicate figure, her perfectly coiffed hair and petite features. Every time he saw her from afar, his heart raced as he walked closer to her in order to get a better look. He opened his mouth each time, but his courage failed him and she seemed to sense it; she quickly faded away like a phantom into the shadows, leaving Aemond perplexed and dejected.

In desperation, Aemond ventured out into King's Landing’s most notorious street - Flea Bottom - seeking out mystical knowledge from an old witch who gave him a spell that will trap any ghost in place if used correctly. Armed with newfound knowledge Aemond returned back to his chambers determined to get closer to the Princess of Sorrows and uncover the secrets that surrounded this captivating creature who had stolen his heart without even uttering a single word.

Aemond cast the spell within his chambers and sure enough, the Princess of Sorrows appeared before him looking less translucent than she had been previously. Her features were clearer, her skin more visible and her eyes filled with a mysterious and deep emotion. Aemond was taken aback at this new transformation; he had never seen the ghostly figure looking so lifelike. She stood there in her usual red gown and her touch was cold and clammy. It made Aemond's skin crawl whenever she got too close to him.

The Princess turned to Aemond, her gaze filled with sadness as if something inside of her was crying out for help "Why did you trap me?" she asked him. He could not bring himself to answer, instead he asked: "Why are you haunting me? What do you want from me?" The princess’s expression softened and she replied: "Your death is near, I only wanted to warn you."

Aemond felt his heart break at those words - the ghostly figure seemed almost too familiar now. He took a step closer to her, desperate for answers yet still wary of what he might uncover. The Princess watched him curiously but said nothing - it was clear that she would not offer any more information until Aemond answered her own question first.

Aemond inhaled sharply, his face grim. "I trapped you because I wanted to find out your secrets," he uttered darkly, his voice like a whisper in the night. His hungry gaze bore into hers and her heart raced. Slowly she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she murmured softly. "There is much more hidden underneath my surface than meets the eye - mysteries only time will unravel. But I cannot tell you now."

Aemond felt his heart breaking as she uttered the words. He had been so certain that she would be able to bring him the answers he so desperately sought. Yet here she was, still refusing to tell him what it was that she seemed to know. How could someone be so secretive and why? His voice betraying his emotion, Aemond asked again, "Please, just tell me what you're keeping from me! What are you hiding?"

The Princess of Sorrows sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging, tears welling up in her eyes. "There are things in this world that are better left unsaid," she replied cryptically. "Things that would only bring more pain and heartache if they were revealed."

Aemond frowned, not satisfied with her answer. He took a step closer to her, his eyes searching hers. "Please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Help me understand. I am willing to listen, no matter what the cost."

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated for a moment before finally nodding her head. "Very well," she said, her voice eerily calm. "But be warned, you might pay dearly for it, dear Prince."

Aemond felt a shiver run down his spine at her words, but he didn't falter. He was determined to learn the truth, no matter what it might cost him. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady.

The Princess of Sorrows sighed as she prepared to tell her story. "We had a love that was forbidden," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "It was passionate and fiery, yet we managed to keep it hidden from those who would have forbidden us. But our luck did not last. They found out and I was forced into marriage while he...he was put to death." Her voice trailed off as tears spilled down her face.

Aemond listened in stunned silence, his heart breaking for the pain and suffering this woman had endured. He could see the pain etched into her features, the sorrow in her eyes. "Who was your husband?" he asked softly, knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated before finally replying. "He was your ancestor," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was a Targaryen prince, just like you."

Aemond felt his world come crashing down around him. He had always been proud of his family's history, of their legacy. But now...now he felt tainted, stained by the sins of his ancestors.

"Who was he?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a sad smile. "Maegor was my brother," she said softly. "And my husband."

Aemond felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

He stumbled back, his mind reeling with the revelation. "How...how could this be?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "And what of you?" he asked, his voice soft. "What happened to you after you were forced into marriage?"

The Princess of Sorrows let out a bitter laugh as she wiped away her tears. "I was never truly alive after that," she said, her voice hollow. "I tried to make the best of my situation, but every day was a struggle. My husband was cruel and abusive, and I spent most of my days trying to avoid him. But eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be free, to escape the pain and suffering that had become my life. And so, I did the only thing I could do - I jumped from my dragon and ended it all."

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to her tragic tale. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, to have lived through such pain and torment. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I had no idea."

The Princess of Sorrows gave him a sad smile. "It's alright," she said softly. "You couldn't have known. But now that you do, you must pay the price."

Aemond felt a chill run down his spine at her words. "What price?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a steely gaze. "You must be my lover," she said, her voice cold and firm. "And you must die."

Aemond felt his entire being freeze. Time seemed to stop as he heard her words. He couldn't process the meaning, but before he could act on his confusion, he felt the Princess of Sorrows grab him and pull him close. Her eyes were intense and mesmerizing, trapping him in their embrace. Slowly, she leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his. Aemond felt an indescribable sensation course through every inch of his body. It was a strange combination of pain and pleasure, as though something was being taken from him, some essence that he had never known existed until now, flowing gently from him into her.

Early next morning, two guards stumbled upon the lifeless body of Aemond on his grandiose bed. His mouth was agape, his eyes still open in horror as if he had seen a ghost. The maester pronounced him dead due to a mysterious heart failure that was brought about by some unknown force. Despite performing several tests, the maester could not find any clarity as to what had caused Aemond's demise.

Viserra's portrait hung above them, no longer frowning angrily but grinning widely instead. Despite the cheerful canvas painting, the mood in the room was somber as they all mourned Aemond's death; a death that had brought about by one woman's hard-fought desire for freedom after years of agony and servitude. No one noticed the strange smile cast down upon them or how it seemed to cast an ominous feeling around the gathering. Shrouded in grief, each person gathered in this chamber lost in their own sorrow and despair; unable to comprehend what had happened and why it had been allowed to occur.

[sleepydepresso]

Hi, Hello! Just posting this little brain rot of mine. It's just an interaction with Mob Howdy and barely polished anomaly oc. I'm thinking Home is not the only anomaly that likes to mess with mortal puppets. Yeah, something like that.

And also... I'm not really a writer(so, sorry for all the wrong grammar). But writing is the only mods of manifesting those ideas. Too bad I can't draw.

Tepid city air breezed their face as another fast car zoomed past, beating the red lights. They could only huff in annoyance watching the car from a distance.

What a welcoming neighborhood...

Shaking their head they carry on with their listless walk to satisfy their never ending wanderlust in this concrete jungle.

...

The bar's activity slowed down for the night. Finally, Howdy could ease some tension tightly knitted on his shoulders.

Every member of the family was all in their respective quarters, his boss was still busy in his office, and most of the patrons who visited the bar already got their fill.

He was left alone.

A rare instance of reprieve for his worn down body. A moment of solitude without hearing any orders from the others. Or to always be in high alert in case of an enemy attack. Or just be in the presence of his boss.

Howdy dimmed the bar light a bit... sometimes he wondered if he was supposed to be a moth with how lights attracts his attention.

But he couldn't remember anything.

Empty...

With how his body never runs out of stuffings pouring out from every rips on his felted skin, was how much of hollowed out his mind came to be. No thoughts, nor will to fill the silence of his mind. Not even a smidge of memories to echo in the basin of his head. Nothing.

"... the bar close?"

Howdy's body reverted from tensing his shoulders again, then he open his lone eye looking down.

This person was clearly not a citizen of this city or the neighborhood if they just enter this bar without any hint of fear in their lax poise. Their round black tinted spectacle big enough to cover their eyes, giving him the impression that they might be blind, but with the way their head angled to look up at him, this person was clearly not.

Then their lips stretched, too fluid, too practiced... a polite smile for casual courtesy.

"Can I have a drink or are you closing up?"

Howdy conclude this stranger was one of those ignorant fools. People who didn't know any better and the one's who perish so easily.

The rug and glass he's been polishing carefully placed under the rack counter.

"The bar will close at four in the morning. What can I get you?"

"You don't mind if I stay for a while? Give you company?"

Howdy stare at them, rare curiosity stirring to wakefulness. Their odd inquiry struck him.

"No, I don't mind." Not that it mattered.

"Still better to ask, right? Even though I barge in here." A chuckle flutter from them, light and friendly.

The stranger took off their jacket and neatly place the dark clothing on the backrest of the barstool, an obvious sign they would stay for a long duration.

"Can I have whiskey on the rocks, please." They finally ordered after getting situated on their seat.

With practiced ease Howdy moved in such precision, even in simple tasks he prefer executing in perfection, being vain through and through.

He pushed the coaster along the glass of amber liquor on top to his lone customer.

"Anything else?"

"An ashtray, please if smoking is allowed of course."

Humming, he grabbed one of the ashtray stacked under the counter. He stood back to his usual position, still like a statue reverting to his usual trance of mindlessness.

"How long have you been in this neighborhood?"

"Been here ever since I could remember." Which he only assumed when he couldn't remember anything in his past... at all.

The stranger accepted his answer.

Silence slowly build up again after his reply. The stranger must have given up engaging him to a small talk.

"Mind sharing few things I should keep tabs with. You know—things that lurks in the dark?"

The hands tucked behind him move, discreetly pulling his ice pick, while he grabbed another glass and rugs refraining to his previous task.

"The only advice I can give you is to relocate. Look for another city to settle."

"Oh, that's a bummer." The stranger winced when they pull the glass away from their lips. Either from his answer or the strong brand of whiskey he serves them, he didn't know nor care. "Uhm, can I have an ale for this?"

When Howdy bent to open one of the drawer grabbing a can of ale his lips twitch a little before straightening again to a line. Then he place the can of ale to the only customer in front of him.

He might or might not purposely grab the tampered bottle of whiskey he purely reserve for special customers.

"So—" they started while busy pouring the ale. "Base from your answer every neighborhood in this city is claimed as a territory by mobsters. Of course, of course big cities always infested by those kind of groups, organized crimes and all." After filling up their glass with ale, he watched them taking another try of the alcohol now diluted in ale.

The hold he had on the ice pick behind him tightened, realizing that the person in front of them was more than what they appear to be. Blatantly speaking of their awareness of what occurs within the shadow.

"Anyway I just got here and you're the first actual person I interacted... God I need to socialize more."

Howdy went silent again. But the silence didn't live long when the stranger threw another inquiry at him.

"You don't talk much don't you? That's unusual for a bartender."

"No, I don't. And my boss didn't include entertaining customers to be part of my job. I only serve drinks, maintain the bar, and collect what is due." He said while looking down at them.

The first impression Howdy had from the stranger gradually changing the more he heard them talk. The person in front of him was not the usual fools prancing in the bar with arrogance, murderous intent, or hidden motives.

Howdy don't speak much. Having little to no will or opinion of his own, losing the voice of reason a long time ago, he doesn't indulge such interactions in form of conversation. It's his way to cope.

But his curiosity wiggling within the chrysalis of his remaining smidge of awareness, safely cocooned by fear. The terror of starting all over again empty and feeling lost, haunted by the feelings, of new stuffings weighs heavier, new stitches and grafted felted skin he couldn't even begin to recall having.

"Really?" Incredulity was thick in their tone. A sigh sounded almost like a whine break through them. "Man, you made one of the most fun job in the world tedious." They sigh again as if the knowledge burdened them a lot.

Unfazed, Howdy put down the glass he polished and proceed to fill another glass of whiskey for the sole customer. Without uttering any words he replace the empty glass with the one he just pour. Howdy leaned a bit lower, towering the stranger with his presence.

"It's on the house. An apology for not reaching the standard of an ideal bartender."

He pulled back, returning from polishing the glasses. Now he waits and watch.

"Wait? Did you just? Are you trying to pull—" they paused, even gasped in exaggeration.

That's the first. Most of the time Mr. Beagle would react violently since his apology always falls flat and bordering to being condescending. Apologizing became his habit of speech from the deep-seated regret anchored in his chest from the very beginning of his servitude to the family. And it's still a mystery why Howdy had this overwhelming regret weighing his unfamilliar body down.

The stranger start scratching the back of their head looking sheepish. "Sorry, my bad. I shouldn't have said something like that. Still, thank you for the free drink." Then they pulled up a smile cheery and carefree.

Every movement on his body came into an abrupt halt. There's an ache flicker in his chest. The pain awfully similar when his boss used his body as a pin cushion whenever his boss was having a terrible mood.

The sensation of thin cold metel puncturing his felted skin, digging deep in his stuffings. But instead of sharp coldness, the pain felt searing, burning in the depths of his emptiness. It's familiar yet still distant for all the consuming free space of his mind. Too soon and too fast the ache dissipate like the swirling smoke floating trails in the air.

The stranger blew a lungful of air to their side, he didn't know if it's a habit or on purpose to avoid the smoke going over his direction.

"You know I don't usually accept things from stranger, especially from a stranger that's obviously dangerous. It's something that really against the rule of my existence." A chuckle rippled between, while they pour the ale on the alcohol. "Also there's no such thing as free in this kind of industry."

There's an obvious shift in the strangers demeanor. Their laid back posture broadened into a poise that holds confidence. The curve of their lips no longer raised softly like a waving flag in the air, their smile now dipped with a sharp edge on the corner.

Holding the glass a bit higher the stranger tipped the glass towards his direction, a gesture of silent toast, before taking a drink.

"So, tell me. What do you want in return?" They asked.

A bit of a static like noise buzzed in his head while a thought slowly formed.

"..." The buzzing in his head grew louder and louder that the grip he had on his ice pick tightened into a breaking point. The wood handle starts to crack.

"What do you mean?" Howdy's curiosity finally found a crevice to the hardened cocoon. The buzzing in his head soothe a little bit.

"As straight forward it can be. What do you want? Can be anything." The stranger's voice also shifted into something eerie, where their words held uncanny meaning behind them.

Anything that he wants?

But Howdy doesn't have desire or the feeling of needing one. He doesn't have anything that he wants.

"Nothing."

The lights flickered before one of the lights nearby explode.

The stranger went still for a while, almost like they ceased to exist. Then he saw their shoulders hitched from the sudden jolt. A loud sigh rolled out from them.

"Well, this is a first. Sorry about the lights, you caught me of guard there." The stranger looked finicky, there's an obvious tremble in their wrist as they reach for their smoldering cigarette. "Are you sure you don't have anything you wanted to ask for?" They ask.

There's a stir of his intuition that he's doing something wrong so as usual he apologize.

"My apologies, but I don't have anything to ask for."

The stranger just nodded in return. "Guess I'll just save this debt for later. Maybe when I come to visit again you'll know what you want." Their smile reverted back from being soft and carefree.

"Debt?" He asked.

They stared up at him again, the intention for eye contact was there even if the tinted glasses covering their eyes.

"I strongly don't like owning something from people whatever it comes from small gifts or gestures. And like I said there's nothing free in this world. So, I owe you something in return."

Although he understood their reasoning, he couldn't help but think of them as dumb. Wasn't it foolish to give a man like him some sort of favor to ask in return, like a leverage when they meet again.

To give Howdy something he could own for himself, to make a conscious decision and choice. With this knowledge he didn't know what to do or feel about it.

But the word 'debt' tickled the emptiness inside of him. It reached the bottom of the abyss which he never knew existed when all he could ever see before was darkness. There lies an end that had been shrouded all along by the absence of light.

Light and debt almost sounded the same in his brain now.

His antenna twitch a bit. "I see. So, am I to expect some more visits from you for now on."

"Yes, but please don't take too long to think about something that you want." They said in an exasperated tone, he even noticed the wince they tried hiding behind the glass as they take a drink.

Howdy waited for the empty glass to slide in front of him, but the stranger started fumbling through their jacket, they pull a wallet. They placed their payment instead.

"I admit my impression of you isn't a pleasant one or the interaction I'm looking forward to end my night...but it's an interesting one." The lone customer's chuckle bounce through the quietness of the place.

He watched them gather their things and put on their jacket before looking back up again. The sunglasses never move or even mede a slight slip on their eyes, defying the motions and gravity.

"Make it worthwhile, ok." They said meaningfully like a reminder. "Have a good night and see you soon."

Howdy watched the odd customer walked out of the bar. The first customer who manage to walk out without the trembles of fear or tails tucked between the legs. Out of all the customers made out of the bar alive or not, they might be the first that would definitely visit back.

He was sure they'll come back, he mused to himself as he looked up to the busted bulb. This particular customer was definitely an anomaly.

...

Well, fuck. Now they're stuck here until they deal with that bartender. Great. When they ask for something different for fun they didn't mean this.

But, oh well it happened. Might as well go along with it. Go with the flow.

They sighed and just continue walking away from the bar without any place in mind.

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 36

*Warning Adult Content*

On His Knees

Knox places his helmet on and starts the engine on his bike, the sound blending in with the thunderous rumbles of the other engines.

One thing remains clear throughout the ride and it's his unwavering focus on the tan vehicle ahead.

Thoughts of Ghost, of the trap they've laid for him and of all the possible outcomes don't race through his mind until they arrive at their destination.

Finn parks the car in the center of the abandoned parking lot of the Kings Square Mall.

It's a sad, shadowy shell of what it once was.

A cool breeze whistles through the shattered remnants of the store windows and the faint smell of mildew and rotting wood taints the air.

The signs, once bright and inviting, are now broken and faded.

Perfect place to kill a man and hide his body... or multiple.

As the members begin to hide their bikes inside the dilapidated building to keep from tipping off The Jackals, Gavin and Alvin are quick to jump into action.

They walk the entire area, their eyes scanning every possible hiding spot to make sure there's no unwanted presence lurking.

Knox positions his bike in a dim corner inside the mall, leaving his helmet hanging on the handlebar.

Every fiber in his being is on fire with anticipation but he doesn't let it show.

While making his way back outside, he approaches the Jackals car.

It's The Fallen Angels' bait and Knox can't ignore the tightness in his chest every time he glances at Everett who sits inside waiting for the shit to hit the fan.

A gentle tap on the window captures Finn's attention.

The car door swings open and he steps out, having been expecting this moment.

"Take all the time you need, brother."

Knox's response is wordless, a simple nod.

Slipping into the driver's seat, he turns to face Everett.

The boy's mask of bravery slips even further and Knox can't help himself as he reaches out to entwine their fingers.

Their connection is buzzing and grounding.

"You good?" Knox's voice is soft this time, seeking confirmation.

It's not about the plan, the trap or even the danger that's literally on its way.

It's about him and Everett, this moment, their future and nothing else.

"There's still time for you to back out of this. Gavin will understand."

Everett shakes his head.

"I'm okay. Just ready to get it over with."

"You'll be alright," Knox replies reassuringly but all he wants right now is to snatch Everett up and take off down the road. "You don't have to get out of this car. The second Ghost shows up, we'll all be on his ass. You only need to remember..."

"To duck," Everett finishes, squeezing Knox's hand.

His brown eyes are full of questions and apprehension.

"But you can't duck while you're in the line of fire. So now what?"

"You know I'm not new to this, kitten."

Knox lets his thumb skim over the top of Everett's hand, the gesture more soothing than he knows.

"Neither are my brothers. So unless the man shows up with the goddamn U.S. Army behind him, we'll be able to take him down with minimal effort."

"I believe you," Everett's words ring hollow when stacked against the anxious look in his eyes and the way his knee won't stop bouncing up and down, a physical manifestation of the turmoil cooking inside him.

Everett's heartbeat rings loud in his ears, drowning out the faint sounds of the members positioning themselves for battle.

This isn't his world, it's Knox's.

But they've blurred the lines between their worlds so damn often that Everett can't help but feel entangled in all of this chaos.

And Knox feels every bit responsible.

"We have some time left before Ghost is set to arrive. Wanna get out of here?" Knox suggests, unable to sit there and watch as Everett suffers internally.

"And go where?" Everett's brow furrows, taken off guard by the proposal. "Disney World?"

"Just get out of the damn car."

A hint of mischief shimmers in Knox's grey eyes, his lips tugging up flirtatiously.

"I want to show you something."

Everett's cheeks tint red at the gentle command but he obeys and follows Knox's lead.

Neither of them pays anyone any mind as Knox's firm grip pulls him deep inside the mall.

They walk past dilapidated shops, stepping over garbage and ducking under fallen debris.

The smell doesn't get any better the farther they go in but it's the last thing on their minds when Knox stops in front of what used to be someone's office.

They step inside and the door clicks shut behind them.

Before Everett can utter a word, Knox's lips capture his in a searing kiss that makes both of them lose their heads.

It's a kiss so fucking good that it actually douses the flames of anxiety within them.

Knox pulls back just enough to murmur...

"You're too tense. You won't be able to think straight when shit starts popping off, so let me help you relax."

Everett's breath catches as Knox moves him toward the door, pressing him against it.

The need and wanting bubbling within them intensifies the longer they touch each other, one of Knox's hands fumbling with the button and zipper on Everett's jeans.

"Oh, fuck. You're not actually going to..."

Knox halts, his expression unreadable.

"If you don't want to, then I'll stop."

"What? Are you insane?" Everett blinks, confused and now sporting a semi. "Of course I want to."

Knox chuckles darkly.

His free hand grips the base of Everett's throat as he kisses him again, his tongue darting inside Everett's mouth to taste.

"Clear your mind for me, kitten. Don't want you thinking about anything except for me."

Everett moans in response to Knox's words, his hips bucking forward once Knox successfully frees his cock.

"Say it back."

"I..." Everett licks his lips, his body damn near trembling with the need to have Knox's mouth on him. "I'm not thinking about anything or anyone but you."

"Good boy."

Knox sinks to his knees.

"Now hold your shirt up for me."

[tsw-story]

Chapter 69 - Monster Party

Far from the prying eyes of man, lost in the never-ending wilds of Canada's outskirts, in a place animals dare not even roam, was a single cave among the rocks. It was an ordinary cave, but the contents within were what brought danger. Past the entrance, a tunnel descended, and then opened into a large expanse within, but it was far from vacant. Basic furnishings were set, from chairs to tables, and upon the walls were sconces that held eerie blue flames which emitted no heat.

Skello, as mostly skinless as he was, clicked along the stone with his skeletal feet, following along with a tap from the bottom of his scythe as a walking stick. The woman he was following, the one with purple hair, horns, and the rest, introduced herself as a demon. He pondered. Had he seen a demon before? He wasn't sure. All he knew for certain was she must be really partial to purple, though he didn't argue, as he felt the same.

“Not the most glamourous base, I admit. But you make sacrifices to get what you want. At least it's bigger on the inside,” she said.

They weren't alone. First, there was a black-haired, scantily clad woman with dark grey skin. Next, a tiny black creature with clawed fingers, horns, and teeth like daggers. It glared at Skello with cat-like eyes. There were noises from deeper on, like monsters lurking in the depths of the Earth, but somehow it was the demons uncomfortable with Skello's presence instead.

“You found another one?” Rend, the smallest creature, asked with an idle lashing out of his tongue. “I thought everybody who escaped came straight here with you.”

The woman's violet lips turned to frown. “I thought you stopped questioning me.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbled.

“The more we have on our side, the better chance we stand. This is Skello. Truthfully, I don't know if he's a demon or not, but his talent for killing is impressive. He's just a little odd. So unless he turns against us, and this goes for any of you, he's with us.”

Skello bowed. “It's a pleasure to meet you. I like taking kidneys, eating babies, and long walks on the beach. I hope we can get along this year~!”

Zayna, the succubus, exchanged glances with Rend. All demons were chaotic, and strange in their own ways, but something was off about this zombie. Though what the woman said was true. They did need the numbers.

“What a freak,” Rend muttered under his breath, and then proceeded to flick his tongue up to touch his own eyeball.

With a boney finger, Skello scratched down over the front of his skull. “So, what are you all doing in here? Some kind of party?”

The woman crossed her arms. “Demons can't exist on Earth. We're all escapees from the Demon World, and we don't want to get dragged back. So, we've banded together here. My idea. In numbers, demons are ultimately powerful.” She clapped her hands. “Ivar! I need your help testing our new recruit.”

“Testing?”

“I don't know what you are. I don't know what you can do. It's time to fix that problem.”

Slow, reverberating thuds echoed up from deeper in the cave. With each step, it became louder, as the creature came closer. Soon it came into view. The beast was nine feet tall, wide, and looked to be made of a pale material similar to stone. Two beady red eyes shone in the dimly lit cave. As it approached, it clenched its fists, and stared down at the robed skeleton.

“This is Ivar,” the woman continued as she moved to the wall. “He's one of our physically strongest members. If you can't survive a few moments with him, you're useless to us anyway. If you are a demon, let's see if you're as sly as one.”

Skello offered out his hand. “Hello. I'm—“

But his introduction was cut short. The beast slowly brought back his fist, and before he knew it, the fist was firing itself down towards him his a stone from a catapult, a meteor falling from the sky, or... a fist coming from a really big guy.

Two boney hands raised up, and a barrier of translucent energy appeared before his fingertips. The punch ricocheted off, causing the creature to stumble back, but he recovered quickly.

“So he's a wizard,” the woman muttered.

Skello tightly gripped the farming scythe, and a fiery energy manifested up the shaft and to the blade. He swung it back like a baseball bat, and thrust it in a slashing motion before him, and as he did, a streak of fire came out like a sword slash. It fell upon the creature, pushing it back, but it didn't pierce through the sturdy hide. Hell Slash!

As soon as the beast was sturdy once more, it brought a forward thrust of its fist directly into Skello's midsection. It launched him to the fall, and he collapsed to the ground with hardly a noise.

“Not an impressive one,” she added.

Meanwhile, Rend and Zayna watched like an audience at the Colosseum. His little claws flailed in the air with excitement, and then he turned to the woman beside him with a toothy grin.

“You know, I can turn that big too.”

“I know,” Zayna replied.

“Have you changed your mind about getting dinner sometime?”

“I told you. My heart belongs to only one man.”

“Pfft. I bet he's not so strong.”

Using his scythe to raise himself back to his feet, Skello glared up at the beast, but something was different. She peered closer, and noticed shadows starting to appear over his form, but it was difficult to tell what was happening. Soon she saw blue tendrils, so dark that they appeared black within the cave, emerging from various parts of his body to wrap around himself—his eye socket, his ribs, his sleeves.

The dark tentacles snaked out from his body, and lashed up to grab the beast's neck from behind. They jerked it back, and before it could do anything else, a few of the tendrils banded together to form a single spear, and they propelled themselves straight through the beast's stomach.

After a pause, the stone-like beast crumbled into dust.

The woman raised her eyebrows. “That's a new one. Hm. Well, you can come out for real then, Ivar.”

A new figure stepped out from the tunnel. It was a bearded man, standing at about two-feet tall, with a pair of long pointed ears. His eyes were completely red, which matched his manner of dress—a checkered lumberjack shirt and overalls.

“How did I do?” a tiny voice came from the man.

“Good. Thank you.”

Skello's head snapped to the stranger. His free hand raised. Each finger bent in twisted, but very specific ways, and dancing up each was an aura of dark magic. He held a clawed gesture up while starring daggers at the tiny person, and then he snapped his fingers.

“Do you need anything else from me?” asked Ivar. “Oh. I feel sick. I think I overdid it.”

“I thought your clones didn't feel pain.”

He gripped his stomach, and fell to his knees. He threw up on the ground.

“Ivar? What happened?”

“The pain. My insides are on fire...”

She looked to Skello. “Did you do something?”

“A curse of agony,” he stated. “It may not kill you, but the pain will grow into such misery that you'll beg me to kill you. That's what's so interesting about it. It's a curse that makes you want me to kill.” He stepped slowly towards them. “You wanted me to fight him.”

“The fight is over, Skello.”

Skello laughed. “The fight is never over! People will keep fighting until the heat death of the universe. And in the end, we all die, screaming.”

“We need the numbers,” she snapped back. “Don't kill a valuable member of the team.”

“I told you it may not kill him, but fine,” he said as he snapped his fingers again.

Ivar gasped, and remained laying on the ground for awhile.

“Well, do you know what I am now? I hate fighting things that can actually attack me back. And look. I think I'm bleeding. Oops! I don't have blood!” He laughed at his own joke.

She stared for a moment. “No. I have no idea what you are. But you've proven yourself to me. Welcome to the party, Skello. The world will be ours.”

Rend raised his claws up above his head. “Across the land of elves, demons, humans, and more. I will kill them all. Never again will I be trapped. All will fear... Rend Devilclaw!”

Zayna lowered her head and sat quietly. There was a troubled look on her face.