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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down.

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery.

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.”

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later.

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head.

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere.

��Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.”

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?”

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?”

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.”

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?”

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?”

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow.

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on.

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you.

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before.

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears.

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.”

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.”

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.”

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.”

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly.

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit.

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.”

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death.

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.”

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily.

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.”

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.”

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.”

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper.

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge.

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.”

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.”

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat.

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes.

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story.

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you.

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…”

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

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Surgery VII

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You get in trouble

"Have to be quiet," You whisper as you clip Bagheera's harness on.

It was one of the first things your Mami taught you when you were little.

Bagheera mews at you as you pick her up, pushing her into your backpack. You zip it up but still leave a bit of it open so she can breathe in fresh air. That was another thing Mami taught you.

Animals must have little holes in so they can breathe but not big enough holes that they can escape.

"I've got it, cub," Ingrid says, reaching for your bag but you push her hand away.

"I'm a big girl," You tell her, pulling your backpack on all by yourself," Can carry it myself."

Ingrid laughs, fondly ruffling your mane. "Look at you," She says," So grown up."

"I know."

Your bag is a little heavier than usual but you're very determined. You think if you can prove that you can look after Bagheera by yourself than Ingrid will finally take you to the shelter so you can get your own cat.

"Whoa," Mami laughs as you get out of the car with your backpack," Look at you go, cub. So independent all of a sudden."

"I'm a big girl," You tell Mami just like you told Ingrid.

"Don't grow up too fast," Mami says," Or you'll have to move out soon."

You give her a deadpan stare. "Don't be silly, Mami."

You run off after that. You know Mami and Ingrid are going straight to the field so you duck around the corner and pull Bagheera out of your bag.

She mews at you a few times as you finally work out how to clip her leash to your little belt loops. That means she can't wander off without you.

You're very proud of yourself as you make your way into the locker room, chest puffed out.

"Oh, cub," Patri groans with a little laugh," What have you done?"

You frown. "Nothing!"

"Having the cat doesn't look like nothing," Patri says, very pointedly looking at Bagheera."

"We're having a day out!" You announce," So Ingrid knows I can have a ginger cat too!"

Patri full on laughs now. "You're very sneaky. How did you manage to pull this off?"

"I'm mature," You insist," And me and Bagheera are friends!"

"Come on," Patri says," Let's go to the pitch and see what your mums think of this."

"I want a ginger cat," You say as Patri escorts you to the pitch," And I want it to have a proper tail. Bagheera's got a stumpy tail. I want my cat to have a proper one."

"Cub!" Ingrid's voice yells across the pitch and you instantly know you're in trouble. Ingrid doesn't use that voice a lot with you, her grumpy in trouble voice but she's using it on you now. "Why is Bagheera here?!"

Mami looks angry too, arms crossed over her chest and Patri pushes you forward.

"Tell them what you told me."

You take a big breath. "Showing that I can have a cat too."

"Cub," Ingrid says sternly and you wilt.

You sniffle a little as your throat goes all tight like it does when you're about to cry. "I really want a cat, Mama," You say morosely, digging the tip of your shoe into the ground," Just trying to prove I can look after one."

Ingrid massages her temple in annoyance.

"Cub," Mami says sternly," What you've done is very, very naughty. Do you understand that?"

"Sorry, Mami."

"Very naughty," Mami insists," You could have gotten Bagheera very hurt."

"Sorry."

She takes your hand and leads you over to the corner of the pitch, turning you around so you can't see the rest of the team.

"You're four years old now so that means four minutes in time out. Sit here and think about what you've done."

"I'm sorry, Mami!"

"I know but you're still going in timeout."

Mami doesn't take Bagheera from you and she curls up on your lap as you sit there.

You know you sit there for four minutes but it feels like a lot longer until Mami and Ingrid come over.

They sit in front of you.

"You were very, very naughty," Ingrid says to you," Not telling us you took Bagheera could have gotten her very hurt. Do you understand that?"

You nod.

"That wasn't very responsible," She continues," And it doesn't make me think you deserve a cat of your own."

You burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Mama! I was gonna look after her promise!"

You turn your bag upside down and shake it.

Treats for Bagheera fall out as well as a bottle of water and the collapsible bowl you use for Bagheera's beach trips. You've got a blanket too and toys for if she gets bored.

"Oh, cub," Mami says as she looks at everything.

"Left my bag a little bit open so she could breathe," You insist," And made sure it didn't fall in the car!"

Ingrid still looks mad though. "Cub," She says," Bagheera is a very special part of the family. She might have been scared all alone in your bag, did you think of that?"

You shake your head. "I'm sorry." All you can do is keep apologising.

"I can see that but it was still very naughty of you. Do you understand why?"

You nod.

"Why?"

"'Cause Bagheera could have gotten hurt and I should have told you and Mami."

"Well done for saying sorry," Ingrid says eventually," And well done for knowing what you did was wrong. You did a good job in making sure to pack everything Bagheera will need today."

"We can't do much now that Bagheera is here," Mami continues," So you'll have to take care of her today."

You nod. "I will, Mami."

"And when we get home, we'll discuss your own cat," Ingrid says.

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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five-rivers · 8 months ago

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My Kingdom of Fish poll fiction! Continued from here.

After a small amount of dithering, Danny took the cameras. He was here to show his parents the library, and he couldn't do that if they couldn't see it. The ambient array could collect data here as well as anywhere else. The Fenton Finder's 23rd iteration was as buggy as the first. He'd actually done a small amount of sabotage to the ‘self-defense system’ to make it safe to carry around, so… Yeah.

The only things he felt at all bad about leaving were the medical monitors and the environmental safety detectors. Both of those had helped him in the past. The Lost Library was supposed to be safe, though. It wasn't a truce zone or anything, but people didn't go there to fight, and the librarians were supposed to take care of any environmental dangers that popped up (mostly because things that could endanger ghosts could certainly endanger books). The Library of Tongues did that, anyway.

He did have to rearrange and remove some of the cameras, especially the redundant ones and the ones that weren't taking his amplified aura well, so that they fit on his much-reduced frame, but they were made to be serviceable, and soon he was ready.

The coat room, as it turned out, was right behind the reception desk.

“There are doors that aren't visible or that won't open for you unless you're a member or have a badge,” the librarian explained as she put the equipment on a shelf. “Another reason not to lose yours.”

“Where's the way in?” asked Danny.

“This way.”

The librarian led him back around, then to the side of the desk. Here, again, the wall had folded back into a set of doors, this one more ornate.

“The copyist's room attendants will meet you down the hallway,” said the librarian, sitting back down at her desk.

Danny nodded. “Thank you.”

The hallway forked right sharply. A ghost woman with bronze skin and dark hair was waiting there, not far from the corner. There was a spiral on the center of her forehead in what looked like gold wire under her skin. The outside end of it disappeared under her hairline.

“Oh my,” she said, hiding her mouth behind a pair of bell-like sleeves, “you’re so cute. Iphigenia didn’t tell me you were cute.”

Danny made a face.

“Ah! Precious! How old are you?”

“I was fourteen when I died,” said Danny, flatly. “I don’t know why places like this make me tiny, but I’m not.”

“You must be young at heart.”

Danny squinted at her.

“Mm? Are you looking at this?” she asked, pointing at her spiral. Danny shrugged, then nodded. He hadn’t been, not really, but in the interest of changing the subject… “It’s what members of the library have instead of another alteration. It’s like the fires you get at the Library of Tongues.” The spiral moved, retreating, unwinding, vanishing under her hair and then spiraling out onto the palm she offered up to Danny. “It’s called the Lìshǐ Yánxù De Jīn Xiàn, although ghosts from western cultures call it Ariadne’s String. No sense of pride for their work, I swear.” She shook her head. “So, if you get lost, or need help finding something, find someone with one of these, okay? We have a pretty big children's collection, believe it or not.”

“I'm not really a child.”

“Oh! So mature!” She poked his cheek, then stood up and opened the door behind her. “Let’s get you situated.”

The copyist’s room was large and brightly lit, lined with beehive-like cubbies that served as shelving for scrolls. There were several work tables spread throughout the room, and a mid-sized manual printing press. There were two other ghosts in the room. One, a stressed-looking larger man with a curly, box-cut beard, and the other a severely thin, angular man with a long, looping tail.

Both wore guest badges, and both had features that did not seem to match the rest of their appearances. The severe-looking man had large, fluffy, soft-looking wings with feathers that twitched and shifted near constantly. He had a quill badge clipped to the belt of his tunic. The other, larger man had moth antennae and wings, but also enormous, ribbed bat ears. He had not one but two badges attached to his robe-like wrap, the candle and the gong.

“Now,” said the attendant, “I know you said that you wanted to do Ancient Greek to English, and when people say Ancient Greek, they mean Ancient Greek from Life, not old Zone dialects, but the Mausoleum of Macaria tipped into the Acheron a few weeks ago, and were swamped with Elysian, Asphodelian, and Tartarian Greek. Especially Tartarian Greek. Would you mind doing something from one of those? It would be much shorter than what we'd give you in regular Ancient Greek, only a few pages.”

She looked at him hopefully.

“It would really help if you knew any of them,” she added.

#danny phantom #kingdom of fish #poll fic #choose your own adventure #dannymay #dannymay 2024

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tthatsonme · 4 months ago

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I wish u roses, by molly.

This is not unisex!! Can be used by MTF + this is lgbtq friendly.

— You’re pure temptation to everyone that you meet, most people know that they should probably steer clear of you before they want you too much. Obviously, you can’t attract anyone that you don’t want, but that doesn’t mean that half of the population of the gender you’re attracted to doesn’t want you, you’re truly too attractive for this world, people wonder if you’re either an angel that fell from heaven or a siren that traded her tail for legs and is now living as a human woman in disguise. They may never know. You have the same sex appeal as the songs Angel and Fue Mejor by Kali Uchis, So high and Streets by Doja Cat. You have the same amount of sex appeal as Margot Robbie, Ana de Armas, Alexa Demie, Kali Uchis, Doja Cat, SZA, Angelina Jolie, and Sydney Sweeney. Even though you’re as equally sexy as them, you’re mainly interested in sensuality over sexuality, you don’t need to be nude to be attractive your face was enough in the first place.

— You’re as sensually attractive as Sade and Alexa Demie, you’ve mastered the art of sensuality, you’re the embodiment of the songs Like a Tattoo by Sade and Leopard Limo by Alexa Demie, you’re like my “Leopard Limo” subliminal come to life, you’re everyone’s type even if they don’t think you are, everyone wants you in some way, you’re the dream girl of anyone who lays eyes on you, whenever someone dreams of a nice girlfriend or wife they immediately think of you, people always associate you with sugar and honey because of how visually and physically sweet you are, you’re the definition of “eye candy”. The Kardashians WISHED that they had the same amount of influence that you do, you’re constantly influencing people because they want to be just like you, you don’t necessarily make people “jealous” but they may be a little bit envious of you. You don’t care that people copy you anymore because why wouldn’t they? Someone like you (someone who’s not a basic b) is bound to set a trend for two.

— You’re like the perfect mixture of Alexa and Maddy, on one hand you’re sweet and peaceful but on the other you’re overly confident and a “c*nty bad bitch” as they say + you hold as much influence on others as they do. You basically run the school that you go to, it’s like you’re mysterious yet popular, every time you walk into school it’s like a slow motion scene of the hot girl walking in in a 2000s movie, everyday is like one of those scenes. Everyone can’t help but stop and stare and check you out, people genuinely fw your confidence, your confidence is always through the roof, you could walk through a huge group of boys and remain unfazed. Kind of embarrassing, but people really are doing the most just to get you to look at them, they don’t even care what they have to do to get your attention, they’re at a point where they’re making a complete fool out of themselves just to make you smile. A very small but important detail about you is that you’re completely immune to peaking in high school or college whatever you’re in if you’re still in school that is, you’re completely immune to being social unaware or socially awkward, one of the many things that people love about you is your quick responses, people love your personality and how you’re so good at talking to people.

— Your face is physical perfection, whatever you don’t like about you face is now being changed permanently. Your face and bones are being forcefully shaped and morphed to become whatever you desire + all of the benefits from Opia’s desiredful 1 and 2 (body affirmations looped twice). And personal affirmations for desired, long, thick and beautiful hair, hair type, pattern, thickness, and colour. Your hair turns into a 1A hair type/texture whenever you straighten/flat iron it + it moves, looks, and feels like natural 1A hair.

#beauty #subliminals #manifestation #subliminalbenefits

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sapphicbookclub · 10 months ago

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Author Spotlight: Bam Stroker

Today, we're bringing you a special musical guest post from Bam Stroker, author of the current club read Rusalka. Read on to learn more about the music that inspired this erotic retelling of the slavic rusalka myth!

When you think of a lady in a lake, what comes to mind? For me, it’s the haunting trickster of the Rusalka!

Rusalka/Rusalki folklore exists in a pretty far reach, and the folklore for them is fascinating. Most folks will call them the “slavic mermaid”, but that’s not quite right. These ladies do not have fish tails! They hold a history much closer to nixie and nymphs, tied to the land. Until later in time they became associated with women who met their untimely deaths. Usually, by their own doing after losing the love of a man. Where they would then become haunting spirits that would seduce, trick, and drag anyone who dared come by their dwellings to a watery grave.

I first heard about them through the song Rusalka, Rusalka/ Wild Rushes by the Decemberists. When I listened to it, I was absolutely possessed to write a story where a woman runs to the lady of the lake, and instead of death finds love. It’s a setup we all know so well by now, of the historical lesbian gets hitched to a man and runs away to escape it all. And there have been plenty of historical lesbian stories where that escape is usually of the death variety.

Rusalka is a love letter to the complex history of Rusalki, and the stories we have been told about lesbians in history. For once, they both get a fairytale happy ending.

Music is a huge inspiration to me as a writer, especially of the folk variety, and while writing Rusalka I had many different songs on loop throughout the process. The first one is that Decemberists song:

Rusalka, Rusalka / Wild Rushes

While reading the story, music is very present with Sasha singing to the lady of the lake, earning the loving nickname of “Handsome songbird” from her smitten monster. One of the songs hinted at is from the opera Rusalka by Antonín Dvořák. For any Hans Christian Anderson fans out there, you’ll notice the plot of it is very familiar.

Song to the Moon - Rusalka Opera by Antonín Dvořák

Rusalka: “Song to the Moon”

When it comes to folk songs about Rusalki, Kitka’s The Rusalka Cycle: Songs Between Worlds album truly is an amazing inspiration. I’m still on the hunt for Rusalka folk songs, so if you happen to know of any I would be so excited to hear them. In the meantime, here’s a song to set the mood of Sasha’s mad dash to the lake at the start of the story.

To the Lake - Kitka

As far as other music, the songs I had on loop while writing were folk songs from different areas of the region. Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, volume III, from The Bulgarian State Television Female Choir has got to be the most on loop music of them all though. I can almost hear them in my sleep at this point!

Here are some of those below:

Svatba (The Wedding) - Bulgarian State Television Female Choir

Solo Gousli - Stars of St. Petersburg

Kukułeczka - Mazowsze

Two Guitars - Andreyev Balalaika Ensemble

Echo of the steppes - Ukrainian Bandurist Ensemble

Whether you want to talk about monster folklore, monster fuckery, or have any monster folk songs recs, you can find Bam Stroker on their tumblr! Or if you’d like to peruse their erotic tomes, you can find them on itchio ✨💀✨

#wlw books #booklr #lgbt books #book recs #sapphic books #diverse books #fantasy #paranormal #rusalka #bam stroker #music

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shadowed-vigil · 3 months ago

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day 29: lapse - free day

verb: come to an end. characters: paulecrain de fanouilley, warrior of light

word count: 664 notes: endwalker spoilers. one last night before the end of the world.

It doesn’t take him long to notice her missing.

As much as Grinnaux may feign disinterest when it comes to the Warrior of Light and her whereabouts, Paulecrain can tell the other man notices her absence, too; not enough to make actual mention of it, certainly not enough to want to do anything about it.

Paulecrain, though —

He doesn’t find her down by the docks like he expects, like the last time, but she’s still by the sea — just higher, perched up on the cliffside that juts above the Last Stand. He knows she hears him coming by the twitch of her ears, the flick of her tail — the half-glance she steals back over her shoulder. There’s no widening of her eyes, no flex of her hand. She regards him plainly, and that’s how he knows.

She says nothing as he situates himself beside her. He presses his palms down against the cool earth, listens to the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. The steady inhale, exhale, from the woman beside him.

Eventually, he speaks up.

“It seems you had quite the day.”

She doesn’t laugh, but he casts her a sidelong glance and catches the curve of her mouth, the ghost of a smile, her gaze steadfast along the horizon.

“When do I not?”

Which, fair. He hums.

“Not enjoying the party?”

“...It isn’t that.”

(He knows that, too, but —)

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she says by way of gentle deflection.

“I don’t have to be, if you’d rather I not.”

“I don’t mind.”

It’s the unspoken conversation between them that has him pause. There’s that invisible barrier again, a wall that seems impenetrable when they’re this close. He can’t help but think of the memory — her hand on his thigh, his arm looped around her. Can still feel the brush of her nose against his, back down at the docks.

(Maybe that’s why she chose to steal away here instead. A reminder, a reinforcement of what lines not to cross.)

“I’ve been thinking about Azys Lla,” she says, finally.

Ah. Perhaps a few lines still yet to cross.

She goes on, “If you two survived, there’s no reason to think that the others did not.”

Paulecrain agrees, but there’s been no word, no news. They would have been too conspicuous holed up together, all twelve of them; it hadn’t been a formal decision to scatter, no time, no choice, but —

“When you do return to Ishgard, I assume the rest will come out of the woodwork. I trust you’ll pass along my apologies.”

You’ve nothing to apologize for.

“You can tell them yourself.”

She hums. “Perhaps. Although, who knows when I’ll be in Ishgard proper again.”

“When you talk with Aymeric.”

It earns him a chuckle. “That should be a quick enough meeting, if I’ve anything to say about it. And I’m certain I’ll have other places to be besides.”

“So quick to scamper off again, even after saving the star?”

“I’ll have to actually do that, first.”

“Won’t you?”

“Of course,” but it comes out too quick, too petulant, too —

He looks at her and catches the furrow of her brow, the set of her jaw. The wind ruffles her hair and his first compulsion is to raise a hand to smooth it, to tuck it back into place.

“I’m glad you two at least had each other,” she finally says. “In the aftermath. It would have been worse to be lonely.”

It was worse, she doesn’t say. The words hang in the silence all the same.

He ignores the proverbial barrier as he leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of her head; some small bargain, something he does in lieu of what he’d prefer to do instead. He has spent so much of his life wanting, both in the before and the after. Here and now, he supposes this is nothing new.

Arcelia shivers. If her fingers brush up against his, he’s certain it’s by accident.

#ffxivwrite2024 #xivwrites #ffxivwrite

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minusgangtime · 18 days ago

Note

"WOOHOO!"

*Gold swam like a mad man to get her off of his tail but she ain't getting off 😭*

Golden zoomed around and doing loop de loops in the water-

#fnf ask #ask

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a-ladyman-in-waiting · 8 months ago

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Randos on the street

A little prompt.

In a time that Madeline’s image has started to circulate around the web, people started looking for answers.

Although, the Dragonkin to be is certainly unhappy with the amount of eyes prying outside their windows and on top of rooftops.

Especially after the ruckus two days ago…

—

Brendon (daytime form) was in a rush to catch the train to get home quickly for personal reasons.

Running through the crowds, he accidentally bumped into a woman carrying groceries.

“Sorry!” He exclaimed while looking back, doing his best to avoid anyone else.

As he ran up the stairs, he overheard curse words and perhaps a slur in his direction. As much as it frightened him, he continued to run through the turn-tables with the swift train card access.

And then he scampered to the platform, ready to board the train.

But it didn’t arrive yet.

In fact, he walked around the platform to look for the next scheduled train, only to find that it would be 5 more minutes.

He looked around again, anxious to see if anyone had followed him.

Just then, he caught the glimpse of the same woman that he bumped into earlier, accompanied by a large man.

Thanks to his enhanced vision, he could see the scowl on his face.

Brendon began to hide behind the stairs.

Fearing the worst, he used an ability to pinpoint the soul of the angry man to avoid a confrontation.

But as he thought the worst, he accidentally bumped into another person.

As he turned to apologize, they immediately shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

“FUCKING [BEEP] ALWAYS FUCKING BUMPING INTO ME.”

An angry woman started berating Brendon, terrifying him inside.

All that Brendon wanted to do is just slowly back away, so they took slow subtle steps as the woman continued berating him.

Suddenly, Brendon felt the aura of the angry man.

He was close behind him.

With only a few seconds to react, he did what he could only do:

He made an illusion of himself while disappearing simultaneously.

He quickly sneaked around the staircase using his quiet footwork.

He went up the stairs to ran across the station the other staircase, where he entered the train from there.

After that, he tried listening to music to calm himself down, all the while shaking.

—

Brendon, now as Madeline, was still shaken up from the whole thing.

So they stayed in their room for an hour before deciding to fly out for the night.

Once the clock struck 1 AM, they leapt out of the window and flew around the city to joyride around the skyscrapers.

Madeline took a long dive to gain speed, where they loop-de-looped, they barrel rolled, and they flew upside down for a brief moment.

Until it was time to take a small cruise towards a rooftop to have lunch, they packed a sandwich, a bag of chips and a bottle of soda in a pocket dimension earlier.

After some time had passed, they slowed down and perched on a ledge, placing Light Discs under their feet once they sat down.

Now it was time to prepare their lunch experience;

They pulled their meal from the pocket dimension, gave their prayers, then dug in to the California Chicken sandwich. Then they took a swig of their soda and opened their small bag of Dorito chips, just before they begin enjoying the view.

It didn’t take long for Madeline to disassociate from her surroundings, their legs bouncing around, their tail wagging around, and her mind drifting around the clouds.

It was a good time.

—

Several minutes had gone by when they started eating and they were in the middle of an imaginary scenario.

However, a familiar looking figure had begun to walk up the staircase, angrily muttering to themselves.

“Dumbass internet, breaking every goddamn time.”

Then as they stormed to the top of the staircase and opened the door, she spotted Madeline, who jolted and looked back.

Madeline’s heart sank, it was the woman from 2 days ago. The angry one that she bumped into, when she locked eyes with him.

They both locked eyes again, the terrible habit that often got Brendon into a trouble.

“Oh my god, there’s a crazy ass bitch sitting on the rooftop. They have a fuckin costume and everything.”

Madeline began to shove the sandwich into her mouth, placing the trash into the plastic bag with the bag of chips and the soda.

“Hey, HEY! Who said you could leave?”

The woman pulled out her smartphone to record Madeline and started running.

Madeline shoved the bag into the pocked dimension and prepared to jump.

”Oh no you don’t!!”

The woman had ran halfway into the rooftop when Madeline leapt from the ledge and spread her wings.

She managed to capture Madeline gliding around the streets before flying back up a few stories.

“Holy fuck, I just found the crazy ass girl flying around the city.”

She stopped recording and went to fix their internet.

—

Madeline, shaken up even more, took solace in the Lake of Tears, where they cried.

to be continued.

#story stuff #short story #story fiction #madeline rivera oc #dragon girl

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blisslight2005 · 2 months ago

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Animals across the savanna can challenge their king and take the crown every one thousand years. Consequently, King Kikoumba is determined to defend his title for a full year.

Every thousand years, all the animal speaks in the kingdow are allowed to challenge their king, with the goal of scratching the crown! There's no escaping thescratching the crown! the law of the savanna. For one full year, every day is the big day for Rock Paper Scissors, who must repeatedly defend his crown! 365 days, 365 challenge, 365 contenders, the King of snoozing! it's going to be a very long years!

!!!The Crown Down Finale: Winner:become royal and Loser:Moves To Antarctica Forever

Since: The Beginning Challenge.... Rock and Paper try to end a feud between Scissors and a Khamsin The Fennec Fox before her hosting all challenge crown ruins their lives.

there's

a list of opponents who challenged Rock Paper Scissors "Since Kikoumba to every winning the crown" !

First Challenge:

• Khamsin The Fennec Fox is hosting the "Challenge Crown": This time, Rock paper scissors must win the challenge of "Good Manners". Normally, it is already complicated but by facing his worst enemy: Khamsin, who has wanted his place since the beginning and knows challenge Kikoumba.

• Clodomir The Bear is the judges "Challenge Crown": Rock Paper Scissors has no choice, to remain King, he must learn the ropes against an unexpected rival: Clodomir! Yes Clodomir, a very courteous, very good-natured, very sleepy member of the jury.

• Habiba The Giraffe is the judges "Challenge Crown":

• Vindaloo The White Tiger is the judges "Challenge Crown": Vindaloo, who exceptionally leaves the jury table. Who will be the greatest fakir of the savannah? In a Bollywood atmosphere.

• Pan The Bird (helpful a Khamsin The Fennec Fox): In the savannah, Pan the parrot is never where you expect him. Today, he finds himself as Rock Paper Scissors rival!

:Every Opponents/Every Challenge

• JoeJoe The Anteater: Joe Joe the Cowboy Anteater, perched on his sheep mount, arrives. He wants us to respect the spirit of the Wild West and will do everything to ensure that order reigns in this corner of the savannah as well.aspiring cowboy and lasso ace. Between cleaning porcupines, collecting eggs, and milking elephants/cow.

• Helmut The Sloth: Helmut, a narcissistic and contemptuous lazy person. Boat inflation, beach volleyball and bather rescue.

• Croabunga the ninja toad: But even if for the Rock, Paper and Scissors a ninja is "so cool!".

• Salvador The Blue Monkey:

• Mario the porcupine: because to lead a flock with a rod of iron without any ear or tail sticking out of line, who better than Mario, the porcupine shepherd?

• Speedy The Orange Monkey: Speedy, a marmoset that reacts faster than its shadow. If Kikou wants to keep his throne, he will have to forget his legendary ease and his.

• Ethel Crank The Brown Monkey: A smashing entrance for today's rival: Ethel Manivelle, the queen of stunts. Falls, rolls, cannons, flames, she's not afraid of anything! To the great joy of Léanne who is a big fan.

• Tonio Silverbeak The Stork: Another hair-raising challenge for Rock Paper Scissors! If he wants to keep his crown, he must face the famous Tonio, the heron who wields his beak like a pair of scissors, in a hairdressing challenge.

• Nicklaus Von Tigerwood The Stork: A distinguished golfer, Nicklaus de Tigrebois the Heron is a snob, stiff as a board, except when he hits the ball. Balancing on one leg, he uses the other to putt, which gives him a golf.

• Shreekar The Elephant:

• Looping John The Duck: Take off now! Who will be the king of the air? Looping John, the daredevil duck, flies faster than his shadow and is not afraid of anything.

• Sichuan The Panda: Pastry challenge! Yum, we could eat some… and it’s explosive! Especially against Sichuan, panda and renowned master pastry chef. He just

• Ramenkho The Sloth: Grand Slam atmosphere for Rock Paper Scissors because it is on the clay of the savannah that the king will have to face his rival of the day: the phlegmatic Ramenkho! A lazy guy with a nonchalant appearance but a tennis ace, capable of knocking down his opponents with a dazzling serve or a lightning smash.

• Marcel The Rhinoceros: Super-strong and very playful, Marcel is the king of the funfair. He knows all the attractions and he loves it. His little flaw? When things don't go his way, Marc's inner child.

• Bobby Bucchannon The Shark: Summer challenge for our good king who faces Beach Buccanon, the beach hunk, and rival of the day for the title of best lifeguard. Accompanied by Olga, the hen, girlfriend and supporter.

• Jiro The Bear: A summit meeting for Rock Paper Scissors who, to keep his crown, must beat Jirô, Clodomir's cousin and famous mountaineer. The duel promises to be complicated, especially since the mountain events.

• James Pond The Duck: Paper will face James Long, an ultra-efficient secret agent duck. Close combat, infiltration, the duck is formidable. But he has one flaw: he is excessively manic.

• Hudino The Magician Rabbit: Abracadabra! Rock Paper Scissors is challenged by Houdino, a self-confident magician rabbit, assisted by Mélusine, his charming dove. In this game, Scissors still has a few tricks up his sleeve.

• Bertrand The Robot Elephant: Vacuum cleaner trunk, drying ears, rag tail, dishwasher mouth… Bertrand the elephant is the Cleaner! A real robot! Nothing, apparently, can resist this “machine” programmed for every cleaning.

• Ramdam The Pirate Crocodile: When you hear his name, you tremble! Here is Ramdam the Red, the most fearsome pirate crocodile in the swamp. He knows how to make treasure maps talk, climb to the top of the mast in the blink of an eye and launch himself.

• Odile the crocodile: an outstanding plumber, over-equipped and fast. Her passion: taking showers and testing all possible scents of soap and shampoo. Rock paper scissors who still hates water as much, risks having a hard time. But fortunately, he will understand Odile's love of water and showers and use it to keep his crown.

• Olga The Hen: Today's challenge: a life-size game of hide-and-seek!!! Can Rock Paper Scissors hide from Olga, the colorful hen, a virtuoso of hide-and-seek? The challenge takes an unexpected turn!

• Octapaloosa The Octopus: Splash! Rock Paper Scissors has just been thrown to the bottom of the water by the octopus Poulperia. Surprise, it's his new opponent in today's challenge: to be the best circus artist.

• Jenga The Panda: Today's opponent is Jenga, a panda who, despite his plumpness, is an outstanding tightrope walker. Whether on foot or on his unicycle, he moves with the grace of a dancer.

• Berengere The Panther: Playing a little quiet soccer with Léa is nice, and that's exactly what Rock Paper Scissors has planned to do! But that's without counting on the arrival of Bérangère the black panther (in a flash and a sports).

• Adonis The Zebra: Haute couture challenge for Rock. The rock, paper and scissors will have to play the small hands... facing the zebra Adonis, famous couturier and prince of fashion.

• Katoucha The Cougar:

• Raoul The Rhinoceros: a rugby champion rhinoceros who is not afraid to take hits.

• Zlatos The Walrus: Best football player?! Now that makes Sandpaper laugh! He knows a thing or two about football. But be careful! Here comes Zlatos, the walrus who specializes in spectacular juggling, shots and goals,.

• Harelock Sholmes The Rabbit: That's good, the rival of the day is none other than Harelock Sholmes, the greatest detective of the savannah whose frankness and cold logic. Harelock the treacherous hare returns to the charge and challenges the king in tests of intelligence. He intends to use his talents for reflection and observation to put Paper in difficulty.

• Lucho Libre The Rhinoceros And Lucha Libre The Rhinoceros: it is not one but two opponents who will dispute his title with the king of animals. The imposing wrestling twins Lucha and Lucho await Scissors and Paper in the ring.

• Freddy The Elephant:

• Koolos The Elephant: during the best spitter competition, he has to face Koolos, the elephant with the super-powerful trunk, whom everyone admires. If Kikoumba starts handicapped, he will soon

• Kotkutsu The Kung Fu Hen: Kotkutsu the hen, a Kung-Fu champion who can't stand being a hen! The slightest annoyance, the slightest emotion and Kotkutsu finds her instincts as a hen

• Jacky The Zebra: Rock, Paper and Scissors is a racing driver! With him, on the starting line, Jacky the zebra with the peroxide blond mane, a speed freak, crazy about tuning.

• Duck Jones The Duck: In the humidity of the tropical jungle, Rock paper scissors faces Duck Jones, the reckless adventurer. On the program is a treasure hunt punctuated by traps and tests concocted by Khamsin.

• Odile The Crocodile:

• Jacqueline the octopus: Come closer, come closer! Today, Rock, Paper and Scissors plays the merchant. He faces Jacqueline the octopus, the one who sells everything and anything to anyone. She loves to put on a show and see the customer die.

• Alban The Firefighter Elephant: Today, things are heating up between the rivals! We can even say that the torch is burning between Rock, Paper, Scissors and Alban, the fiery firefighter of the savannah.

• Albertine the turtledove: a camping specialist. She has all the accessories possible and imaginable to camp in the savannah.

• Djou Djou The Wizard Rabbit: It is in the domain of mysticism and witchcraft that Rock paper scissors will have to prove himself today by facing the great sorcerer marabout: Djou-djou! While we could have believed our good Wizard.

• Constrictor The Cobra: Challenge of the day: keep your cool in all circumstances! No worries for Constrictor, the hypnotizing snake. Bad luck for Paper who is afraid of everything! You'll have to jump into the water... and even swim among the crocs!.

• Piaf The Canarie: Paper faces Piaf, a little chick who looooves the tale of Little Red Riding Hood and knows it by heart. A real advantage when you have to take on a somewhat special challenge.

• Melusine The Dove: helpful a Houdino the rabbit magic

• Pigeon

• Super CuCu The Pigeon: Super Coucou! A superhero with a steel beak and flying at lightning speed and whose greatest admirer, after Pan, is… himself!

• Coco And Gigi The Flamingoes Sisters: Come on, who's the best? Who's the strongest? Obviously, it's Coco and Gigi, two pink flamingo twins, virtuoso cheerleaders.

• Geronimo The Brown Horse: Who will be the best Indian? RPS puts on his feather headdress and becomes the "Sacred Banana". Whoo whoo whoo!!! Here he is ready to face Geronimo, a zen horse who defends nature.

• Newman The Blue Horse: No splitting of the pear or sprain of the zygomatics with the rival of the day: Newman the horse postman is indeed not here to laugh! He challenges the king to be the best postman!.

• Trix The Blue Lizard: To avoid returning to the frozen land of his ancestors, Rock paper scissors must prevail against a talented, friendly and nonchalant young lizard: Trix, the great skateboarding champion! Having never practiced.

• Richard The Brown Lizard: Too bad, he has to face Richard, the most energetic sports coach in the savannah. Sure that if he becomes king, he will put everyone into sports.

• Green Lizard:

• Lapinou The Pink Rabbit:

• Roberta a frog: who is very advanced in terms of protecting the savannah. Not a single piece of paper must be thrown away, not a single piece of trash must be left lying on the sand, not a single.

• Ricardo the Rabbit: Rock Paper Scissors will have to be the best pizza maker in the savannah. He is challenged by Ricardo the rabbit, a pizza expert, who makes pizzas of his own creation, white pizzas without tomatoes.

• Frankenstein The Green Shark: Who fears the monstrous Frankiestein? Maybe it's you, it's not Paper!!! The valiant lion and the monstrous shark are celebrating Halloween and everyone intends to be crowned the king of this party Halloween.

• Kikoubis The Lion (Cousin Kikoumba): Kikoumba faces his cousin Kikoubis, the challenges turn out to be a real disaster for Since Kikoumba and but Kikoubis ends up winning the crown.

• General Crackers The General Crocodile: Rock Paper Scissors will face General Crackers, a die-hard soldier. Seasoned with the arts of combat, Impatient and authoritarian, the crocodile swears by discipline. Here's his Achilles heel: He can't stand any violation of the rules and not... Best father of the Savannah competition. No worries for Rock Father, he's a real doting father! Except that he's facing General Crackers, the crocodile father who leads his little ones with a rod of iron... And the car.

• Krakor the Conqueror: a very angry and capricious little toad who thinks he is a fearsome barbarian. Kikoumba would easily get rid of this unbearable child-king

• Maestro The Stork: The king of music

• Gaspard the duck: excellent singer, talented dancer, and above all very funny. His particular talent is to make his audience laugh by caricaturing the people around him. He excels...

• Youri The Astronaut Sloth: Youri, the famous astronaut, Rock must take off in an elephant rocket, take a trip into space, discover Mars and return to Earth safe and sound! Mission impossible?.

• Mongo The Bromist Anteater: Slices of laughter guaranteed with the rival of the day Mongo the famous comedian, muse of Rock Paper Scissors who will not miss a drop of the anteater's antics. But he who laughs last laughs best, because too much.

• Mêêêryam The Sheep: Mêêêryam, a strong sheep, schoolyard champion who, beneath her innocent appearance, multiplies low blows... A real cheater! To achieve victory, Kikoumba must regain his CE1 reflexes,...

• Rap'O the toad: king of the street! Rap, graffiti, hip hop, he's got the style, he's serious and he knows it.

• Rouneev The Rhinoceros: Dance competition… It’s going to swing! Except that on a dance floor, Rock is as flexible as a baobab! And his opponent, the rhino Rouneev, is just the best dancer in the kingdom.

• Krakor The Toad: Krakor the Conqueror, a hyper-venere and capricious little toad who thinks he is a formidable barbarian. Sandpaper would easily get rid of this unbearable child king if the latter was not accompanied by d...

• Dame Ingrud The Hen:

• Jimmy the sheep: Best gardener challenge! Poor Scissors... For him who absolutely does not have a green thumb, it is a sure way to fail! Unlike his rival, Jimmy the sheep.

• Constrictor the hypnotizing snake: Today's challenge: keep your cool in all circumstances! No worries for Constrictor, the hypnotizing snake. No luck for Kikou who is afraid of everything!.

• Magnificent Jose The Duck: 4-3-3, 4-4-2, 4-5-1? Rock Paper Scissors will have to find the right line-up and the right style of play if he wants to beat the number one: José Magnifico, the best coach of all time.

• Professor Paléo The Elephant: an erudite and overpowering elephant. As is often the case, Paper compensates for his lack of knowledge of the subject with a savage energy.

• Brian The Prince Frog Charm: Brian, a toad, extremely charming and seductive who does not hesitate to wink at Pencil.

• Hypocratus The Crocodile Doctor: Best doctor? Really?! That makes Rock paper scissors cough! In addition, his rival, the crocodile Hypocratus, has everything of the model doctor. Well almost. He is just afraid... of diseases!

• Mister Côt: Rock Paper Scissors faces the champion of strength sports: Mister Côt, a huge bodybuilder chicken. Faced with this mountain of muscles, Scissors will have to use his head to get out of it.

• Miss Doris The Octopus Babysitting: Miss Doris, the babysitting champion octopus. Faced with the experience, seriousness and multiple tentacles of his opponent.

Final Challenge-mid:

• Vanilla The Lioness (Wife/girlfriend Kikoumba)

• Lea The Lioness Cub (Daughter Kikoumba)

Final Challenge Main:

• Kikoumba The King Lion: The main and final character of the cartoon, he's the king of the land. Every day, he has to face off against contenders for his crown. They engage in silly matches.

Comments, Winner/Loser and Draw to all Kikoumba characters style Rock Paper Scissors:

#nick rps #nickelodeon #nickrps #rock paper scissors #rock paper scissors nick #nickelodeon shows #kikoumba #Kikoumba crown down #tfou

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little-peril-stories · 1 year ago

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Whumptober 2023: Box in Your Heart

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

It's Halloween! Let's have a story set in a cemetery.

Warnings: angst, traumatic memories

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Word count: 4500 || Approx reading time: 19 mins

Box in Your Heart

Teaser: Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

I don’t tail Will every time he disappears. After the first time, once I realized where he was going and what he was up to—once I was satisfied that he wasn’t doing anything stupid—I just let him be.

Today, though, there’s a storm brewing in the distance. The early days of spring bring madness around here—as likely to usher in flurries of wet, sleety snow as to pelt the earth with vicious rain, and the steely clouds on the horizon don’t give any indication of which they’re bringing. All I know is that it’s still cold and wet outside, and if Will stays out too long, he’s going to get soaked to the bone, and then I’m going to have to contend with his sniffly, sneezing, complaining self for the next week while he whines and drives us all to distraction.

At least Verity might fall out of love with him if she realizes what a pain in the ass he can sometimes be—although, by some miracle, she hasn’t noticed yet, so it seems I just have to keep waiting until we skip town for her infatuation to break.

Will doesn’t turn around when I approach, and I have to wonder if he even hears me. “Hey.”

He stiffens, but doesn’t seem startled. “Hey.”

Not the warmest welcome I could have hoped for, but I knew that going in. All of us could see it this morning: there were green-gold storm clouds in his eyes, not just in the sky. I heard Jamie and Geoff muttering before I left to chase after him, and though I didn’t catch everything, I know I heard the word nightmare.

So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’s not thrilled to discover I’ve been hovering behind him.

“You all right?”

I have to smile, not at his gloomy silence, but at the way Will is perched on the ground. Without any of us noticing, he stole Jamie’s green scarf—old habits die hard, as they say—but he’s not wearing it; instead, he’s using it like a little pillow, keeping a barrier between his clothes and the damp earth. I can’t imagine Jamie will be delighted about getting his scarf back all muddy and wet.

Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

All right. It’s a silent treatment kind of day. Nothing I can’t handle. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, Colette.”

“Can I sit down?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

I bite back a sigh, grimace at the prospect of putting my body on the soggy ground, and take a seat, trying to fluff out my skirts as best I can. Wish I’d thought to bring something to sit on. He doesn’t pay me any heed, though, just keeps his eyes on the ground.

I know what’s here, and what he’s staring at, and why he always comes to this area of the churchyard. There’s no headstone, no marking whatsoever, and probably close to twenty coffins rotting away underneath the grass. The thought of Will and Jamie’s mother having had nothing more than a pauper’s funeral makes my throat ache. Probably, that’s not what Will is brooding about today, but it is the reason he always comes back to this spot.

The urge to prompt again, Want to tell me what’s bothering you? is so strong, it itches. I keep it inside, though, knowing he’ll spook and possibly fuck right off if I don’t play this carefully, but I have to tug a ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles out of my pocket for distraction.

“You look like an old woman,” he says, and I catch a glint of hazel as he sends another unimpressed glance toward me and my restless, looping fingers.

Perhaps I should be irritated by the comment, but the truth is, I despise knitting and I’ve only taken it up again out of the boredom these last few months, and to be fair, I probably do look like an old woman. “You want to take over instead?”

He scoffs. Looks away.

“Your loss,” I say, revelling silently in my victory when the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. “You don’t also want to look like an old lady?”

Biting his lip and attempting—royally unsuccessfully, I might add—to appear like he doesn’t want to laugh at least a little, he turns his face away before he asks, “How’d you know where I was?”

“Will.” It’s offensive, the suggestion that I wouldn’t be able to tail his grumpy, stomping footsteps. “You storm around like an elephant when you’re pissed off. Anyone would know where you were. Not just me.”

He hurls me a withering glare. “I don’t know what an elephant looks like.”

“If you ever picked up a book or any of the countless magazines Verity has delivered to the house,” I say, exasperated, “you might.”

To my surprise, the look in his eyes changes—a familiar, mischievous glint lights up. “Gotta assume they walk around real graceful and stealthy.”

“You would be incorrect in that assumption.”

Finally, he lets out a snort of laughter, and I have to suddenly entertain the possibility that maybe he’s pulling my leg about the elephant thing. “Why’d you follow me, then?”

It’s my turn to give him The Look. “To make sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Will.”

“Colette.”

“Fox.”

“Spider.”

“W—”

“I just needed a break,” he says before we can start going in circles again. “Okay? That’s it. I just… I couldn’t…”

His words fade away, and I let them. It’s hard to tell exactly what he meant: I couldn’t handle being in the house anymore. I couldn’t stay and wait for you all to pester me about my nightmares. I couldn’t bear the thought of more housework. I couldn’t look at all your annoying faces for a second longer.

He drifts off again, tugging tufts of grass and earth out of the ground, absently building a little pile in front of him, growing to collect rocks and twigs, too, as the silence drags on.

“Will,” I finally say when my patience for knitting and waiting for him to say something runs out, “it looks like it’s going to storm.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to be out here if it’s going to rain.”

“So go back, then.”

“I’d rather not go back without you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in and out. “You can. I don’t care.”

I shove out the next words before they can retreat. “I’m worried about you.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And I don’t think I believe you.”

He picks up one of the stones and throws it in the air, catching it in his fist, only to toss it again a few seconds later. “I know you were all talking about me this morning. All worried because I had…” So fast his arm seems to blur, he hurls the stone into the distance. It knocks against someone’s grave, clacking and hitting the ground with a dull thump. “Yeah. I had a fucking nightmare. It was bad. Okay? It was bad. I—I hate it. It… You know? I—”

I don’t have to ask what he saw in his dreams, what apparently had him in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, because I’m sure I already know, but I do anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll say it out loud. “Want to talk about what was in it?”

“Same shit,” he says, his back going stiff. “Back—there.”

Almost, Will. Almost.

“Bloody fucking Hatchett,” he says bitterly, reaching for another rock and lobbing that, too. “Bloody goddamn knife.”

Knife. Almost beyond my control, my eyes sweep over him, travelling over the clothes that conceal what we all know is there—the assortment of pale, fading scars. The ones on his arms and wrists I see most often, whitish pink and shiny. Jamie says the ones on his back are bad, and around his ankles, too, left by the bite of a cat-o’-nine-tails and unyielding iron chains.

“I thought by now…” He doesn’t seem to notice my once-over, just attacks another distant grave with his rage-fuelled aim. “I don’t know, I just thought…”

Another stone. Another sigh.

I wait. That’s all I can do, I think. Because he’s lost again, quiet and staring, done slinging stuff around but plucking through the bits of damp dirt and grass. Not seeing any of it.

A loud bark rushes the air, originating somewhere beyond my sight, and I jump nearly out of my skin, spitting out a frustrated, “Ah, shit,” when my skein of wool rolls off my folded legs, away from the safety of my lap and onto the mucky ground.

He doesn’t notice, even when I have to strain to reach the errant, runaway wool.

“Not long now,” he says suddenly.

With a final stretch, my fingers grasp the yarn, and I jerk it back toward me before it can roll away again. “Until what?”

“Till we leave.”

My muscles still, drawn to a freeze by the razor-thin edge of sorrow to his tone. “No.” I have to school my own voice to keep out the relief and joy I feel over our looming departure, sentiments it doesn’t seem like he shares. “Not much longer at all.”

“I know I should want to go.” No surprise—he won’t look at me. “Just fucking leave it all behind, right?”

Well. I doubt that.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. What the fuck happened, you know? I just…I mean….it’s been months—”

“Will—”

“And you’d think months later, I’d just—right? The nightmares and all that shit and it’s so stupid, you—I—”

“Will—”

Somewhere over the city centre, there’s a crack of thunder, making me jump again. I guess that answers the question about whether it’s going to be snow or rain. In response, it seems, to the gathering storm, a howl rises from amongst the stones.

“Fuck,” I squeak, quite unintentionally, at the sudden onslaught of noise.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says, and to my surprise, he’s laughing. “That’s just Ginger.”

“Ginger?”

“The dog,” he says, laughing even harder at the look of confusion and not-unwarranted concern on my face.

“Whose dog?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t tell if she belongs to anyone. But I’ve seen her here before.”

As if she can tell he’s talking about her, the animal he’s apparently taken it upon himself to call Ginger appears out of nowhere, bounding toward him in a rapid gallop, presenting a tongue far too slobbery for my liking. Unable to help myself, I stiffen at the sight of her.

I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m not.

But this one is careering toward us pretty damn fast, and it’s big, and we did just hear her howl an eerie, ear-splitting wail into the coming storm.

“Relax,” he says as the dog skids to a stop in front of him, planting herself by his boots and immediately and enthusiastically beginning to lick the sleeve of his coat. “She’s sweet.”

She’s dirty is perhaps a more accurate statement. “Will, you’re going to end up with fleas. You don’t know where she came from.”

“Oh, shut up. She doesn’t have fleas.”

Based on the way she turns away from him for a hearty scratch, he’s wrong, but he’s also smiling, so I drop the matter and just watch him while he drifts off, showering affection on the dog. I’m still pretending to knit, of course. I mean, knitting. Actually knitting.

“Stop staring at me,” he grumbles after a while, once he’s cottoned on.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ginger yawns, revealing a gaping maw with at least two missing teeth, then curls up on the muddy ground, pressing herself against the side of Will’s leg. As he rests his hand on her flank, he heaves a long sigh.

Time to try again. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe with his favourite animal cuddled up at his side—fleas and all—he might be more amenable to talking about what’s bothering him.

But he just says, “Nothing.”

Another rumble of thunder. Not overhead yet, but I think I’ve lost my chance to make it out of here in dry clothes. But he doesn’t look like he’s moving anytime soon. “Listen to that. We’re going to die out here in this storm, tragically struck by lightning, caught out in the elements, and you’re lying to my face. You may as well just tell me now, since you won’t have another chance.”

He makes a face. “You’re being dramatic. And mor…” He paused. “What’s the word?”

“What word?”

“When you’re being weird and annoying and talking about how we’re going to die.”

Chuckling, I tell him, “Morbid,” which he remembers once I get to the b sound, and he ends up saying it with me.

God, what a relief to have a genuine laugh together.

“In all seriousness…” I try again once the giggles have faded. “You can tell me. If you want.”

He gives another long sigh, heavy enough that Ginger the dog looks up at him, affronted, when it bursts out of him.

“There’s nothing to say.” He’s mumbling, staring at the ground again. “Not really. I just… It was a bad morning. Started bad. Didn’t want to hang around, or I was going to end up punching Jamie in the face.”

“Why? What did Jamie do?”

“Nothing. He’s just the most annoying asshole in the world when I’m in a bad mood.”

Brothers. Good grief.

“Well, really, everyone was pissing me off, but I can’t hit Geoff. Or you.”

“That’s true,” I say. “If you ever tried, I’d break your fingers.”

“Yeah. I fucking know.” But he’s smiling, even though it’s sad and doesn’t really reach his eyes.

I venture a guess, one I’m pretty confident in. Maybe being more specific will help. “Is this all about us leaving?”

“I guess so.”

It’s a relief to get some kind of confirmation from him. I’ve no doubt our upcoming departure is part of it, but we both—we all—know that there’s so much more that eats away at him. The scars Baden Hatchett and the other constables left on his skin, they’re all covered up now. But he’s got more than even that. Scars on his soul, too. How often they crack open and bleed, set him on edge like they did this morning, how often he pretends he’s fine when he’s the exact opposite… I suppose only he knows.

“Never been anywhere else,” he says, rushing the words. “You know? Dad used to go around. With the railroad. Building it and whatever. But we were kids, and we obviously never went with him. So…”

So this city is all he and Jamie have ever known. The place that broke him time and time again, the place where people kept leaving him behind. And now, so we can all start fresh and get away from the constables who’ll wrap a noose around every one of our necks if we aren’t careful, he’s the one leaving instead.

“Come on, let’s hurry, before it rains.”

It takes me a minute to register that we’re not alone, and that a girl is winding her way through the gravestones, calling to someone I can’t yet see.

Happy to ignore her and whoever she’s talking to, I open my mouth to encourage Will to finish the thought he started, but he can’t hear me, not anymore. He’s off again, staring, his eyes fixed on the girl.

“Good god, Will, don’t stare like th—”

The girl calls to her companion again, wind whipping a dark blue skirt around her legs and sending wisps of dark brown hair crisscrossing over her face. At Will’s side, the hand that isn’t resting on Ginger’s mud-streaked fur clenches into a fist.

“It’s just going to be different.” It spills out of him, his tone suddenly frantic and unsure. “We’ll be gone and we might never come back. And it’ll be… If... We’ll be gone. You know, just in case…”

He clamps his mouth closed.

A little girl finally appears, sniffling, her hands covered in mud. A sister? A daughter? It’s impossible to tell. When the older girl turns to call for the child again, she notices the tear-streaked face and grime-coated fingers. “Oh…what happened?”

“I fell,” the kid whimpers, holding out her hands.

“Let me see,” the girl says, gently. “Oh, look at that. It’s a bit muddy, and I’m sure it stung, but you know what? I think you’ll be all right.”

Whatever the little one mumbles in answer, I don’t catch, but the girl feels in her pocket for a handkerchief, and when she produces it, she wipes the child’s hands clean. “See? Good as new.”

Ginger has sat up now, golden eyes fixed on the two in the distance as they pick up the pace again and head toward someone’s grave, quiet chatter drifting away on the wind. Will, like the dog, is still gawking.

“Stop,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

“Ow!” The jolt of pain seems to wake him up. “What was that for?”

“You were staring at them like a madman.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

He was, and he’s lucky the girl didn’t notice, because I don’t think she would have been happy to find a strange man gaping at her from across the cemetery. But I hold my tongue. “All right, all right, take it easy. You weren’t. I’m sorry.”

He resumes his grass-pulling and stone-throwing, quiet and pensive once more. Less angry now. Still sad.

“Do you want me to make you one of those?” I ask, pointing toward Jamie’s green scarf.

He blinks, coming back from whatever far-away land of daydreams he was in. “Huh?” I gesture toward the scarf again, and a tiny smirk slips onto his face. “You hate knitting.” He jerks his chin toward my mistake-ridden, misshapen, half-finished stocking.

“I know, but I’d do it for you. Anyway, scarves are one of the easiest things to make. Hard to mess up too bad.”

He chews his lip, still amused, tilting his head to the side, and I know there’s some kind of smartass comment coming my way. “I’ll ask Verity to make me one.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“She’s way better at it than you are.”

“I’m serious, William,” I say, brandishing my needles. “Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all I need—for Verie to read too much into an innocent (well, not exactly innocent, since he’s just trying to get under my skin) request from Will right before we leave, possibly forever.

“Forget it.” I roll my needles into the black wool and tuck the whole lot of it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll just teach you to knit and you can make it yourself.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” he says, laughing hard enough to earn a gruff whine and unimpressed look from Ginger. “No, thanks.”

“Jamie knows how to knit.”

He snorts. “Jamie’s Jamie.”

“And Geoff.”

“Yeah, but he knows how to do everything.”

“Even my father knows how to knit.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “No, he doesn’t. You’re lying.”

“I most certainly am not.” I cross my arms. “Justine wasn’t always around, you know. There were a few years where he was alone. After my mother...”

I let the last word disappear.

“I know your ma died, Colette,” he says tiredly. “I’m not a little kid. You don’t have to be afraid to say it.”

Ginger stands up, stretches, scratches, and wanders over to me, sniffing enthusiastically. Will grunts in annoyance when she knocks over his precious pile of detritus with her muddy feet. “Aw, Ginger, come on.”

Biting my lip, I try to nudge her away from me as gently as I can.

Out of nowhere, she stiffens, whirling away from me, a low growl in her throat.

“Will,” I say, inching away even though Ginger isn’t growing at me.

Frowning, he grabs onto her, apparently not even considering the possibility that she might turn, snapping and barking, to take a bite out of his hand. “No,” he says, so sternly it’s almost adorable, while he scans the graveyard, trying to figure out what she’s growling at. “You’re scaring Colette.”

Which she’s not.

I think he and I spot what she’s detected at the same time: a fleeting glimpse of a long tail, too fluffy and red to belong to a stray dog, as an animal disappears into the gathering gloom.

“That’s rude. We’re practically cousins. He didn’t even come by to say hello,” Will says indignantly, and as I’m preparing to remind him that foxes are predators with sharp teeth and he probably doesn’t want the thing to come by and say hello, I realize he’s making a joke.

A stupid joke, but a joke nonetheless.

He clings to the still-growling dog—whether for Ginger’s or the fox’s sake, I’m not sure—while we chuckle, and it’s as she calms and he lets go that the first droplets of rain begin to patter around us.

“It’s just water,” he says when I groan in annoyance. To prove his point, he leans back on his hands, tilting his face to catch the raindrops as they fall. “It feels nice.”

“We’re going to get soaked.”

He shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t move.

Ginger, now officially the smartest out of the three of us, huffs, whines, and strides off, presumably to find shelter. Jealously, I watch her vanish.

“Bye, then,” Will says, snorting.

“I’m not just going to leave you alone in the rain,” I say, exasperated, “even if I am pissed off about getting sopping wet.”

“What?” The look he gives me is utterly bewildered. “I know. I was saying goodbye to her.”

And then we’re laughing again, yes, laughing, while we sit in the churchyard on his mother’s unmarked grave, riding out his foul mood and being drowned in the cold spring rain.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re almost in the clear.

“I just wondered,” he says, rebuilding his little pile of stones, grass, and tree debris despite how soggy it’s all gotten, “if, you know, this might be my last chance. To come here.”

It’s been many long months, seemingly endless at times, of Jamie’s recovery, and Will’s too, and actually, you know what, all of us, leading up to our opportunity to seek real freedom somewhere else. At the cost, though, of leaving behind everything we know.

“She’d understand,” I day, even though I never met their mother and only know what Jamie and Will have shared.

“You think?”

Deciding to take the risk, I reach for his hand. It’s ice cold, but I honestly don’t think he even realizes. “I’m sure she’d want you to be safe. Right?”

“Guess so.” He frowns down at my fingers over his, but he doesn’t tug them free. I’m all right with that. I’d rather have him glaring at me a little than watch him fall back into quiet emptiness, that silent enemy that’s never that far away no matter how much time passes.

I grit my teeth against the chill, knowing now that I am locked in a battle with my stubborn mule of a friend, and whoever admits it’s time to go first is the loser.

And I’m playing against the champion, so I almost whoop with triumphant delight when he mumbles a few minutes later, “I’m kind of cold now.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” I say, holding back my entirely justified I told you so.

He agrees, shivering a little but appearing to be in far better spirits than before. Apparently, all it took was fresh air, a flea-ridden dog, a fleeting visit from a mangy fox, some peace and quiet, a few flashes of lightning, buckets of cold-ass rain, and some messy, disorganized attempts at getting him to talk about the feelings he so staunchly keeps locked away.

Nothing I couldn’t handle.

He stands, helping me up too since I haven’t let go of his hand, which I’m grateful for, as wet skirts are not easy or pleasant to move around in. Before we head toward the road, he pauses, staring out at the cemetery like he’s looking for someone.

“I’m hungry,” he says right before I tell him that actually, it’s getting really stormy now and it’s time to go, thank you very much. He turns to me, and whatever he was thinking about is lost and locked away again. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I say, trying not to laugh as I pull him away.

“What d’you think it’ll take to get Verity to bake me an apple cake?”

All it would take is a grin and a single word, but I’m not saying that. “Leave her alone. She’s busy.”

“But—”

“Make it yourself,” I say firmly.

“I don’t know how—”

“Well, maybe it’s time for you to learn something actually useful, you lazy ass.”

When this is met with silence, I cringe, wondering if I went back to bantering too soon.

“Well, teach me, then.”

Rain forgotten, I stumble to a stop. “What?”

“Teach me how to cook.”

“Bake,” I correct automatically, because I’m not sure I’m hearing any of this right.

“Whatever. To bake, then.”

He stares back at me, chin jutted out. Waiting for me to tease him, I think, to give him a reason to change his mind and say not to bother.

“Okay,” I say uncertainly, mind still reeling. “Oh…okay. Sure.”

I don’t understand him, I really don’t. Knitting is a no, but learning to bake—or cook, hopefully—is a yes. We’re leaving soon, but he’s asking now.

Best not to question these things too much, I suppose.

“Hurry up, then, if that’s what you want,” I say, tugging him along again. “Still gotta make it home in one piece first.”

I want to look at his face, see what expression waits there, but I’ve got my head ducked now, trying to keep the rain out of my eyes.

“Here,” he says, dropping his hat onto my head. “See if that helps.”

It doesn’t, but I tell him it does, and even though he lets go of my hand after a few minutes, I catch a rain-bleary glimpse of him at my side. There’s no smile, not exactly, but the storm that was in his face before has moved on, slapping us with real rain and wind instead. As I watch, blinking water from my eyes, he tilts his head back again, relishing the scouring embrace of the storm as he draws in a long breath and keeps moving forward.

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Whumptober 2023 Prompts Fulfilled

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.” | Storm

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding. | Scars | “Let me see.”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.” | Bloody Knife

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.” | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” | Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

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bluemoonperegrine · 9 months ago

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Chapter 5: Respite

Where do you take a howling werewolf after escaping the (at least temporarily) insane pack alpha? Marc's got his work cut out for him in chapter five of Moon-Crossed Lovers.

Here's the start of it.

Jack wouldn’t stop howling.

Marc had been flying in circles somewhere north of where they’d left Jack’s out-of-her-gourd grandmother hoping that he’d calm down because where do you take a howling werewolf? Abuela’s was the only place he could think of and that wasn’t an option.

“Bebé,” Marc shouted over wind noise and the tail end of a howl. “Would you breathe with me?”

Jack’s furred cheek rubbed against his shoulder in a nod.

Marc touched Jack’s hairy arm with one hand. “Thank you, bebé. Breathe in… and out. In—”

Jack’s exhale turned into a wincingly loud howl.

Jake made the mental equivalent of a groan. It’s time for plan B.

Which is? Marc asked.

Do a loop-de-loop.

What?! Steven yelped. Is that safe?

Marc chuckled as Jake drawled, Hermanito, we’re Moon Knight.

Yes, I’m not daft! I mean safe for Jack, and why would that make him stop howling?

He’s holding on plenty tight, Marc said, and it’ll be a hell of a distraction.

Worth a try, I s’pose.

Read the rest on ao3.

#moon knight #werewolf by night #fan fiction #hallmark by knight #moon knight fanfic #werewolf by night fanfiction

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essayofthoughts · 2 years ago

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I'll get to yours later!

😭😭😭 For someone who *isn't* a de Rolo (this includes Vex)

😭- So the thing about horse-riding - and steering horses in general - is that you have to hold reins a pretty specific way. This isn't just holding onto rope, this is holding it in such away you can apply very precise pressure on the bit in the horse's mouth so as to direct them as well as making sure the rein doesn't slip through your fingers and also making sure you don't break your fingies - because horses are strong! It's why we domesticated them. Horses = Stronk.

The way you do this is you loop the reins carefully around certain of your fingers - you can hold additional reins in one hand by looping slightly differently, because you need to maintain contact if you want the horse to actually listen to you (note: some horses are stubborn and may not listen much anyway. Herd instinct is strong as is stubbornness and also horses).

Desmond really liked working with horses. He liked riding the horses out to make sure they were in good shape, he liked doing the finicky plaiting of their manes and tails so they looked their best, he liked his work as well as just being good at it.

And now he can't anymore, not the same way.

😭 - How do you grieve when you're not sure the person is actually gone? How do you grieve when you have to take on their mantle in the interim? How do you grieve when you have to give the last piece of them left to you to the same thing that cost you them? That you know they'll take up because they have a firm sense of responsibility and care underlying everything they do?

How many memories of Keyleth's childhood are mired in that complicated mix of unresolved grief and responsibility for Korrin?

😭 - Allura remembers her old party. Those that live, she's still in contact with and she's so glad she still has Drake and Kima in her life. The others... she has memories. She has keepsakes.

Between the demon attack on her tower pre-stream and the attack on the tower by Vorugal when the Conclave claimed Emon, a few of those keepsakes have gone missing or been damaged. It is somehow harder to keep going sometimes, when those last few pieces she has of them are gone too.

Send me a 😭 for one of my saddest headcanons about a character

#desmond otham #korrin of the air ashari #allura vysoren #cr headcanons #blorbologist #ask game #ask

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porcelain-clown · 1 year ago

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The Kraven Problem

Penelope Parquette, aka the Araignée du Cirque, [the circus spider] is sent on a mission to retrieve a Kraven anomaly with Miguel O'Hara, her close friend and confidant. But when the anomaly bears a striking resemblance to the same Kraven who destroyed her old life, Penelope is thrown for a loop. A loop that is made worse when Kraven starts trying to flirt with her.

also on ao3! user nyxtryx 🫶🏻

trigger warning for death, fire animals dying, etc. this is super evil backstory for my spidersona.. have fun!

i'll update as i write, no promises lmaO

“A Kraven anomaly? Vous plaisantez j'espère?” [are you kidding me?] Penelope exclaimed as she thwipped alongside Miguel, shooting him an exasperated look.

“Relax. Should be a pretty quick in-and-out.” Miguel grumbled, dismissively waving his hand before the pair settled behind a pile of rubble in Central Park, watching carefully as the Kraven anomaly rambled to nobody in particular about the state of the world with a thick transatlantic accent. He pulled a small, toothed comb out from seemingly nowhere, slicking back his Danny Zuko-esque hair with a flourish.

“LYLA, what do we need to know?” Miguel spoke quietly, as to not disturb the prowling, large man. LYLA, chipper as ever, popped up, her glitching yellow screens displaying scrolling data about this Kraven.

“Shouldn’t be any trouble, guys. He’s not even a successful villain in his own universe. Just web him up and toss him through a portal!” LYLA chirped, pushing her pink sunglasses up her nose with one hand as she used the other to swipe past multiple displays of video footage, showing Kraven sitting in the back of many, many cop cars. LYLA vanished, leaving Penelope and Miguel, crouched behind the rubble, to analyze and attack together.

“You alright, clownie?” Miguel tilted his head, flicking at Penelope’s shoulder affectionately. She bristled slightly at the nickname, but seemed distracted, her overpainted clown makeup doing nothing to hide the anxiety in her eyes as she kept them trained on Kraven, refusing to look away.

“Ce bâtard… looks just like him…” [that bastard] Penelope muttered under her breath. Miguel nodded slowly, realizing.

[earth-0254. paris, france. many, many years ago.]

“Ma précieuse araignée, nous devons partir! Les… animaux sont arrivés.” [my precious spider, we must go. the animals have arrived.] Guinevere, her long blonde hair, typically woven into the tightest, most perfect ballerina bun, now loose around her shoulders, falling across Penelope’s face as she sat up groggily in her sleeping quarters. The scent of smoke quickly filled her nose. She turned to the dreaded sight of the far lip of her tent curling into orange flame.

“Guinevere? Est-ce que les chevaux sont en sécurité ? Où est Monsieur Jamesion?” [guinevere? are the horses safe? where is mr. jamesion?] Penelope blinked rapidly, her movements becoming increasingly frantic as she threw herself up and out of her nightclothes.

“Je dois vérifier les chevaux. Monsieur Jamieson est avec le reste de notre troupe. Il n'y a que vous et moi qui sommes partis rassembler les animaux.” [i have to check on the horses. mr. jamieson is with the rest of our troupe. it's just you and me who are left to round up the animals.] Guinevere spoke, her crisp blue eyes darting around frantically. The tail end of her sentence was muffled, as the pair covered their mouths with the sleeves of their dresses to combat the growing plumes of smoke.

As Penelope and Guinevere darted out from beneath their tent, they caught a glimpse of their attackers. There were 6 men, all but one wearing various taxidermied animals as masks. They were tall and menacing, each one covered in various furs, holding torches and laughing at the way the red and white striped fabric curled and went up in flames. The unmasked one turned, his eyes cutting into Penelope’s soul as he held eye contact with her for a searingly painful moment, which was ended by Guinevere sharply pulling Penelope’s arm.

“Bouge-le, ma précieuse araignée. Nous n'avons pas longtemps.” [move it, my precious spider. we don't have long.] The intensity of Guinevere’s gaze caught Penelope off guard. She nodded, quickly trotting along. She almost swore she saw Guinevere dart a dirty look back to the sight of the men burning their tent, the unmasked man keeping his eyes on the two until they vanished from his sight.

When Penelope and Guinevere approached the animal tent, they were too late. The left side of the tent was collapsing in on itself, thick plumes of black smoke and fireworks of angry red sparks rising as the fabric folded and wilted. Guinevere, who danced ballet on the backs of the horses, let out a strange, anguished cry. She threw herself towards the burning tent, opening a flap before Penelope could stop her. The pain-filled wails of the animals bled out from behind the tent flap, as did the horrific smell of them burning. Penelope gagged, the sight overwhelmingly grotesque. She threw her arms out, ripping Guinevere away from the tent, the flap settling back into place.

“Vous ne pouvez pas les sauvegarder. Il faut rejoindre les autres, c'est bien trop tard pour les animaux!” [you cannot save them. we have to join the others, it's far too late for the animals!] Penelope screamed over the howls of the burning animals, fighting to pull Guinevere back from the tent, desperately grabbing at her arms. Guinevere fought back, ripping herself out of Penelope’s grasp so sharply that the two tumbled onto the grass. Guinevere was faster, throwing herself up from where she lay, tangled with Penelope.

Before Penelope could blink, Guinevere was gone, vanished behind the flap of the smoking, collapsing tent. Penelope’s heart lurched, a twisting feeling getting more intense in her stomach. She let out a strangled scream, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled beneath the tent flap.

The smell of smoke was suffocating, filling Penelope’s eyes with hot tears as she attempted to filter the smoke with her sleeve again, to no avail. She spotted Guinevere in the distance, untying one of her horses from his post, tears streaming down her face as she tried desperately to calm the braying, kicking animal down.

“Guinevere!” Penelope cried out, her voice getting whipped away by the sounds the animals were making, the smoke filling her throat even faster. She choked for a moment before her spider senses activated and she turned quickly, dodging a blow from the unmasked man who had tried to sneak up behind her.

Penelope dodged another blow. She gasped for air as she thwipped away from him, unable to tear her eyes away from his daunting figure, the smoke making any intense movement unbearably difficult.

“Que veux-tu?” [what do you want?] Penelope cried out to the man. He grinned, showing off sharpened teeth. More animal than man, a predator. Penelope thought.

“Je suis Kraven, le chasseur. vous connaissez ma troupe... les Chasseurs Voyageurs. mon maître de piste bien-aimé nous a demandé d'éliminer votre pathétique petite troupe. Moins il y a de concurrence sur le marché, mieux c'est.” [i am kraven, the hunter. you know my troop... the traveling huntsmen. my beloved ringmaster has asked us to eliminate your pathetic little troop. the less competition there is in the market, the better.] He shrugged at his last few statements, a smug movement that flared Penelope’s anger. With a cry, she threw herself towards him, landing a small barrage of punches, bruising his face only slightly before he quickly overpowered her, throwing her to the ground with one arm. She glowered up at him, his smug face smirking down as she rolled to desperately get away from the assault of harsh kicks and stomps he began aiming at her head.

From her position on the ground, Penelope twisted her neck to see Gunievere, finally able to get her horse to calm down enough to untie, narrowly avoiding a flaming piece of tarp that came crashing down in front of the horse’s legs. Penelope screamed her name out again, her voice dying at the end of her throat from the smoke. Quickly, she jumped up, fighting Kraven with a refreshed purpose. She finally managed to get him on the ground, immobilizing him with her webs.

But she was too late. Guinevere whirled in circles, searching for a way out, completely overwhelmed by the heat, the smoke, and the sound of her beloved animals screaming in excruciating pain. In her distracted, distressed state, her shoulder harshly caught a load-bearing wooden beam. Penelope ran over, seemingly in slow motion, as she watched the flaming beam splinter and collapse, a burst of red sparks and woodchips flurrying as the beam split, the flames growing larger as the beam sliced down onto Guinevere’s head. She collapsed with a shriek, the untied horse spooking and galloping off into the night.

Penelope fell back, the flames from the beam catching quickly to the grass, spreading rapidly towards her. She turned, dashing out of the tent, too shocked to cry. Flashes of the pale blue crinoline that made up Gunievere’s tutu swirled in Penelope’s mind, her perfect posture as she grinned a row of pearls and turned on one extended, strong leg while a large horse galloped beneath her now a thing of the past, faded away and burned.

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spidersona #lyla spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #there's French but it's translated #using google translate i'm so sorry #miguel spiderverse #circuscore #circus #french #angst #hurt/comfort #tw death #animal death #original character #original character death #my oc/Miguel o'hara #lesbians in the 1700s

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