#like wilderness survival guides

[multifandom-traveler]

asking this question for future me: hi, um, when i soon start applying for colleges and they ask for my reading list/bibliography. how do i tell them that my reading interests are strictly fiction. and most books i read have pictures in them. and i have basically no interest in anything else.

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[melophobia2013]

[ID:

#girl who wants to be a martyr that they’re making a god

/end ID]

Lot wants to die for them so hard and they said no you don’t get to. Lottie says I belong to all of you let me die. They say yeah you belong to all of us and we say you’re not allowed to. They said get back on your shrine we have more worship to do.

[hayatheauthor]

Surviving the Wilderness: Writing Realistic 'Lost in the Woods' Scenarios

The wilderness, with its vastness and unpredictability, can turn from serene to menacing in an instant. For writers, depicting a character who is lost in the woods offers a rich tapestry of emotions, challenges, and survival instincts to explore. But to do so effectively requires a blend of authenticity, attention to detail, and understanding the real-world repercussions of such an event.

Whether your character is an experienced outdoorsman or a city dweller thrown into the wild, this guide will help you craft a realistic narrative that resonates with readers.

1. Setting Up the Scenario

A. Choosing the Right Wilderness Environment

The first step in creating a believable lost-in-the-woods scenario is choosing the appropriate setting. Different types of wilderness present different challenges, and the environment you choose will shape the narrative.

Type of Forest: Consider the differences between dense forests, temperate rainforests, boreal woods, and tropical jungles. A dense forest might offer limited visibility and a disorienting array of trees, while a tropical jungle could present humidity, dangerous wildlife, and thick undergrowth. Each environment comes with unique hazards and characteristics that will impact your character’s journey.

Seasonal Considerations: The time of year plays a significant role in the story. In winter, your character might face snow, freezing temperatures, and the challenge of finding food. In summer, they might struggle with dehydration, heat exhaustion, or the difficulty of navigating through thick foliage. The season will also affect the availability of resources, like water and shelter.

Location-Specific Details: Consider the unique features of the chosen location. Is it known for dangerous wildlife, such as bears or wolves? Does the terrain include steep cliffs, rivers, or swamps? Researching the specific area can add layers of realism to your story, providing challenges that are true to the environment.

B. Character Background

The character’s background is crucial in determining how they will respond to being lost. Their level of experience, purpose for being in the woods, and psychological state all influence their actions.

Experience Level: Are they an experienced hiker with survival skills, or are they a city dweller with little knowledge of the outdoors? An experienced character might know how to build a shelter and find water, while an inexperienced one might make dangerous mistakes. Balancing their skills with the challenges they face can create tension and interest.

Purpose of the Trip: Why is your character in the woods? Whether they’re on a leisurely hike, conducting research, or fleeing from danger, their purpose will affect their preparedness and mindset. A hiker might have a map and supplies, while someone fleeing might have nothing but the clothes on their back.

Psychological State: Consider the character’s mental condition before they get lost. Are they overconfident, stressed, or fearful? Their psychological state will influence their decisions—overconfidence might lead to risky choices, while fear could cause them to panic. Understanding their mindset will help you write a more nuanced and realistic portrayal.

C. The Catalyst: How They Get Lost

The moment when a character realizes they are lost is a critical point in the narrative. How this happens can be gradual or sudden, depending on the story you want to tell.

Common Triggers: Characters can become lost for various reasons, such as deviating from a marked trail, encountering sudden weather changes, sustaining an injury, or simply having poor navigation skills. Each trigger offers different narrative possibilities—an injury might limit their mobility, while poor navigation could lead them deeper into danger.

Pacing: Decide how quickly your character realizes they are lost. It could be a slow realization as they fail to find familiar landmarks, or it could be immediate, such as after an unexpected event like a storm or injury. The pacing of this moment will set the tone for the rest of the story.

2. Writing the Experience of Being Lost

A. The Initial Panic

When a character first realizes they are lost, their initial reactions are often driven by panic. This moment is crucial for establishing the tone of the story and the character’s mental state.

Physical Reactions: Describe the character’s immediate physical responses, such as an elevated heart rate, adrenaline rush, sweating, and shortness of breath. These physiological reactions are the body’s natural response to fear and uncertainty.

Mental Reactions: Mentally, the character might experience denial, anxiety, or confusion. They might try to convince themselves that they aren’t really lost or that they’ll find their way back soon. This denial can lead to irrational decisions, like wandering in circles or making impulsive choices.

Immediate Actions: The character’s first actions after realizing they’re lost are critical. They might attempt to retrace their steps, call for help if they have a phone signal, or check the time to gauge how long they’ve been lost. These actions are often driven by the hope of quickly resolving the situation.

B. The Descent into Survival Mode

Once the character accepts that they are truly lost, the story shifts from panic to survival. This is where the character’s skills, or lack thereof, come into play.

Acceptance of the Situation: The character moves from panic to a more rational state of mind. They begin to assess their situation and prioritize their needs. This shift marks the beginning of their survival journey.

Basic Needs: The character will need to address their most immediate survival needs: shelter, water, food, and fire. Describe their efforts to find or create shelter, locate water sources, forage for food, and start a fire. Each of these tasks presents its own challenges and dangers.

Navigational Challenges: As the character tries to find their way, they will face navigational challenges. Dense foliage, fog, and the lack of clear landmarks can make it difficult to maintain a sense of direction. The character might struggle with the disorientation that comes from being surrounded by identical trees or losing sight of the sun.

C. Emotional and Psychological Effects

The emotional and psychological toll of being lost is significant and should be explored in depth.

Isolation and Fear: The character’s sense of isolation can amplify their fear. The fear of predators, injuries, or never being found can become overwhelming. This fear might cause the character to make rash decisions, or it could paralyze them, preventing them from taking action.

Hope vs. Despair: The character’s emotional journey will likely fluctuate between moments of hope and despair. They might find something that gives them hope, such as a sign of civilization or a source of water, only to be crushed when they realize it was a false lead.

Hallucinations and Delusions: In extreme situations, such as severe dehydration or starvation, the character might experience hallucinations or delusions. These can add an element of psychological horror to the narrative and further illustrate the severity of their situation.

D. Interaction with Nature

The character’s interaction with the natural environment is a key aspect of their survival story.

Wildlife Encounters: Depending on the location, the character might encounter dangerous wildlife, such as bears, wolves, or snakes. Describe these encounters realistically, focusing on the character’s fear and the steps they take to avoid or confront these animals.

Environmental Hazards: The natural environment presents its own set of dangers, such as quicksand, poisonous plants, and unstable terrain. The character might have to navigate these hazards while dealing with their growing exhaustion and fear.

Natural Resources: The character can use nature to their advantage by finding water, edible plants, or materials for building a shelter. This not only adds realism to the story but also gives the character moments of small victories that can keep them going.

3. Survival Tactics: What Works and What Doesn't

A. Basic Survival Skills

Understanding and depicting basic survival skills is crucial for writing a realistic lost-in-the-woods scenario.

Finding Water: Water is the most critical resource for survival. Describe how the character identifies potential water sources, such as streams or dew on leaves, and how they purify water to make it safe to drink. If they can’t find water, their condition will deteriorate rapidly, leading to severe dehydration.

Building Shelter: The character needs shelter to protect themselves from the elements. Whether they find a natural shelter, like a cave, or build one from branches and leaves, this task is essential for their survival. The process of building shelter also gives the character a sense of purpose and control over their situation.

Starting a Fire: Fire is essential for warmth, cooking, and protection from predators. Describe the challenges of starting a fire in the wild, especially if the wood is wet or the character lacks the proper tools. The ability to start and maintain a fire can be a turning point in the character’s survival story.

Foraging for Food: Finding food in the wild is difficult and dangerous. The character might forage for berries, roots, or small animals. Describe the risks of eating unknown plants or the difficulty of catching and preparing small game.

B. Navigational Techniques

Navigation is a critical aspect of survival, and the character’s ability to orient themselves can mean the difference between life and death.

Reading the Environment: The character might use the sun, stars, or natural landmarks to navigate. Describe how they attempt to determine their direction, and the challenges they face if the sky is cloudy or if they’re in a dense forest where the canopy blocks out the sun. Their ability to read the environment will depend on their prior knowledge and experience.

Using Makeshift Tools: If the character has access to materials like sticks, rocks, or even a piece of reflective metal, they might create makeshift tools like a compass or use shadows to determine direction. These improvisational skills can add a layer of resourcefulness to the character’s survival tactics.

Trail Marking: If the character decides to explore the area in hopes of finding a way out, they might mark their trail to avoid walking in circles. They could use stones, branches, or even carve symbols into trees. This tactic not only helps with navigation but also adds to the tension if they realize they’ve returned to a previously marked spot, indicating they’ve been moving in circles.

C. Mistakes and Misconceptions

Realistic survival stories often include mistakes that characters make, especially if they are inexperienced.

Following Streams Incorrectly: A common misconception is that following a stream will always lead to civilization. While it can lead to water sources, it might also take the character deeper into the wilderness. Highlight the risks of relying on this tactic without proper knowledge.

Overestimating Stamina: Characters might push themselves too hard, assuming they can keep going without rest. Overestimating their stamina can lead to exhaustion, injuries, or even fatal mistakes. Describing the physical toll of these decisions can add realism and tension to the narrative.

Eating Dangerous Plants: Foraging for food can be deadly if the character lacks knowledge of the local flora. Describe how they might mistake poisonous plants for edible ones, leading to illness or hallucinations. This mistake can be a significant plot point, demonstrating the dangers of the wilderness.

4. Realistic Repercussions of Being Lost

A. Physical Consequences

Being lost in the wilderness for an extended period can have severe physical repercussions.

Dehydration and Starvation: The longer the character is lost, the more their body will deteriorate. Dehydration can set in within a few days, leading to confusion, dizziness, and eventually death. Starvation takes longer but will cause weakness, muscle loss, and an inability to think clearly.

Injuries: Describe any injuries the character sustains, such as sprains, cuts, or broken bones. These injuries will hinder their ability to move and survive. If left untreated, even minor injuries can become infected, leading to serious complications.

Exposure: Depending on the environment, the character might suffer from exposure to the elements. Hypothermia can occur in cold conditions, while heatstroke is a risk in hot climates. Both conditions are life-threatening and require immediate attention.

B. Psychological Consequences

The psychological toll of being lost is often as severe as the physical consequences.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD): Even after being rescued, the character might suffer from PTSD, experiencing flashbacks, nightmares, and severe anxiety. Describe how their ordeal has changed them, affecting their ability to return to normal life.

Survivor’s Guilt: If the character was lost with others who didn’t survive, they might experience survivor’s guilt. This emotional burden can be overwhelming, leading to depression and difficulty coping with their survival.

Long-Term Anxiety: The fear of being lost again can cause long-term anxiety and phobias. The character might avoid certain environments or experience panic attacks in similar situations.

C. Legal Consequences

There are also legal and financial repercussions to consider, especially if the character’s actions led to their getting lost.

Search and Rescue Costs: In many places, the cost of search and rescue operations can be billed to the person who was lost, especially if they were negligent or broke the law. This can be a significant financial burden and add a layer of realism to your story.

Negligence and Liability: If the character’s actions endangered others, such as leaving a marked trail or ignoring warnings, they might face legal consequences for negligence. This could include fines, community service, or even jail time, depending on the severity of their actions.

Impact on Relationships: The ordeal of getting lost can strain relationships with family and friends. Describe how their loved ones react—do they blame the character, or are they just relieved they’re safe? The legal and financial consequences can also impact these relationships, leading to tension and conflict.

5. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Crafting a realistic and compelling lost-in-the-woods narrative requires attention to detail and an understanding of the human experience in such extreme situations. Here are some tips to make your story believable:

A. Research and Authenticity

Understand the Terrain: Before writing, research the specific environment where your character will be lost. Whether it's a dense forest, a mountainous region, or a desert, understanding the flora, fauna, and climate will help you create an authentic setting. Pay attention to details like the types of trees, animals, weather patterns, and geographical features.

Learn Basic Survival Techniques: Familiarize yourself with basic survival skills, such as building a shelter, finding water, and starting a fire. Even if your character is inexperienced, knowing the correct methods will allow you to portray their struggles accurately.

Incorporate Local Myths and Folklore: If your story is set in a particular region, consider integrating local myths or folklore about the wilderness. This can add depth to the narrative and give the environment a more ominous or mystical feel.

B. Character Realism

Establish Their Skills Early: If your character has any survival skills, establish them early in the story. This could be through flashbacks, previous experiences, or hints in their background. This will make their actions in the woods more believable.

Show Their Vulnerability: Even the most prepared individuals can make mistakes. Show your character’s vulnerability by having them face setbacks, make poor decisions, or struggle with their emotions. This makes them more relatable and human.

Reflect Their Mental State: The character's psychological state should evolve throughout the story. Show how their thoughts shift from initial panic to determination, despair, and finally, either acceptance or a desperate push for survival. Use internal monologue, dreams, or hallucinations to illustrate their mental state.

C. Plot and Pacing

Balance Action with Reflection: While the physical actions of survival are crucial, so is the internal journey of the character. Balance scenes of intense activity, like building a shelter or escaping a predator, with quieter moments of reflection or memory.

Use Sensory Details: Engage the reader’s senses by describing the environment through sights, sounds, smells, and even touch. The rustling of leaves, the scent of pine, or the rough bark of a tree can immerse readers in the setting and heighten the tension.

Avoid Convenient Resolutions: Survival stories are often about struggle and perseverance. Avoid giving your character an easy way out, such as a sudden rescue or finding a cabin with supplies. Instead, focus on their gradual adaptation and the hard choices they have to make.

D. Dialogue and Interactions

Internal Dialogue: In situations where the character is alone, internal dialogue becomes crucial. Use it to explore their fears, hopes, and regrets. This can also be a way to explain their thought process and decision-making.

Flashbacks and Memories: If your character is alone, use flashbacks or memories to develop their backstory and explain their motivations. These can also serve as a contrast to their current situation, highlighting how far they’ve come or what they’ve lost.

Interactions with the Environment: Treat the wilderness as a character in itself. The environment should interact with the character, creating obstacles, providing resources, and affecting their mood and decisions.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

[thewidowsghost]

The Perils of Avenging (Natasha x Civilian!Reader)

Main Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Not me posting for once, also, English class coming in clutch with this one (?)

Natasha Romanoff had faced countless dangers in her life as an Avenger and a former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but this particular assignment felt different. It was supposed to be routine reconnaissance — a simple extraction and intelligence gathering operation in a remote part of Eastern Europe. 

Natasha, clad in black tactical gear, reviews the mission parameters one last time with Steve and Sam. The briefing room was starkly lit, seriousness etched on Steve’s face, creating an atmosphere of tense anticipation.

"Remember, our primary objective is to retrieve the data from the Hydra facility without alerting their operatives," Steve reminds them, his voice steady and authoritative. "Natasha, you'll lead the infiltration. Sam and I will provide aerial support and stand by for extraction."

Natasha nods, her mind already calculating possible scenarios and contingencies. She had seen Hydra's resurgence firsthand, remnants of the organization scattered like poisonous tendrils across the globe. This mission is crucial in unraveling their latest operations and preventing further destabilization. 

The team departs from their base under cover of darkness, their Quinjet slicing through the night sky with practiced precision. 

As they approach the drop zone, Natasha's focus intensifies. She’s the first to descend, a shadow slipping silently from the aircraft and disappearing into the dense forest below.

The Hydra facility is nestled deep within the wilderness, its existence hidden from all but the most trained eyes. Natasha moves with grace through the underbrush, her senses attuned to every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs. She approaches the perimeter with caution, utilizing her years of training to evade detection.

Her entrance is swift and silent. Natasha incapacitates the guards with calculated efficiency, swiftly disabling surveillance systems and securing the outer defenses. Each step brings her closer to the heart of the facility, where the encrypted data awaits extraction. The corridors are cold and sterile, lined with doors that lead to rooms filled with ominous machinery and clandestine experiments.

Meanwhile, above the Hydra base, Steve and Sam maintained a vigilant watch from the Quinjet, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble.

Inside the facility, Natasha encounters unexpected resistance. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls, and Natasha’s combat skills like a deadly dance amidst the chaos. The mission had escalated beyond reconnaissance — for now it is a battle for survival.

Minutes pass in a blur of adrenaline and danger. Natasha fights her way deeper into the facility, each confrontation testing her resolve and skill. She sustains minor injuries — a graze here, a bruise there — but her focus remains unwavering. 

Back in the Quinjet, tension mounts as Steve and Sam monitor Natasha's progress. They dispatch drones to provide additional reconnaissance and firepower support, their hearts pounding in unison with every transmission from Natasha.

Suddenly, a burst of static disrupted the comms. Steve's voice crackles through moments later, strained but resolute. "Natasha, report."

There was a tense pause before Natasha's voice came through, breathless but determined. "I've secured the data. Heading to the extraction point."

Relief washes over both Steve and Sam. They guided Natasha through the facility, clearing a path for her retreat while monitoring Hydra's response.

Outside, the night air crackles with tension as Natasha sprints towards the extraction point. She can hear the distant shouts of Hydra operatives closing in, their footsteps echoing through the darkness. Adrenaline surges through her veins, every sense heightened as she navigates the treacherous terrain.

Just as Natasha nears the rendezvous point, a sudden explosion rocks the ground beneath her. Debris rains down, and she is thrown off her feet, the force of the blast sending shockwaves through her body. Pain flares in her left arm, and dazed but determined, Natasha staggers to her feet, her vision blurred. The extraction point is within reach, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. She sprints towards it, every step a battle against exhaustion and pain.

Meanwhile, in the Quinjet, Steve and Sam watch in horror as the explosion erupts on their screens. "Natasha!" Steve shouts, his voice filled with urgency.

Sam's hands fly over the controls, adjusting their position to provide cover fire. "She's almost there, Cap," he says, his voice tight with concern. "Hold on, Romanoff."

Back on the ground, Natasha pushes herself, the extraction point looms ahead, its promise of safety a tantalizing reality. She can hear the whir of the Quinjet's engines, feel the rush of adrenaline as rescue draws nearer.

With a final burst of energy, Natasha reaches the extraction point. The Quinjet hovers above, its hatch open and waiting. Steve and Sam lean out, their arms extending to pull her aboard amidst a hail of gunfire from Hydra operatives.

Natasha dives into the safety of the Quinjet, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Steve and Sam secure the hatch behind her. She collapses against the cold metal floor, relief flooding her weary body. The data secured, the mission accomplished — but at what cost?

As the Quinjet ascends into the night sky, Natasha's thoughts turn to (Y/n). Her anchor, the steady presence that grounded her in a world of chaos and danger. She knows (Y/n) will be waiting for her back at their shared apartment, her worry and love a beacon of light in the darkness that Natasha had been forced to endure through her childhood.

Hours later, the Quinjet touches down at the Compound, the team dispersing with practiced efficiency. Natasha heads straight for the debriefing room, her mind still processing the events of the mission. Steve and Sam followed close behind, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

Inside the debriefing room, Natasha recounts the mission. She details the layout of the Hydra facility, the resistance she’d encountered, and the extraction of vital data. Her voice is steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churns beneath the surface.

Steve and Sam listen intently, asking probing questions and offering insights based on their observations from above in the Quinjet. The debriefing is thorough, every detail scrutinized in their quest for understanding and improvement.

Finally, the debriefing concludes, and Natasha is dismissed to MEDBAY so her injuries could be treated. Steve and Sam accompany her, their concern palpable as they watch the medical team tend to Natasha's wounds.

The MEDBAY is a stark contrast to the chaos of the mission — a haven of sterile surfaces and hushed voices. Natasha sits on the exam table, her mind still reeling from the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat. The medical staff works swiftly, cleaning and stitching her injuries with practiced efficiency.

As Natasha waits for the medical team to finish, her thoughts inevitably turn to (Y/n). Her girlfriend was her constant, the one person who understood the weight of her choices and the dangers she faced every day. Natasha longs for her embrace, her touch a soothing balm to her battered soul.

Finally, the medical assessment is complete, and Natasha is cleared to leave the bay. She dresses in fresh clothes provided by the medical staff, the weight of exhaustion settling heavily upon her shoulders. Steve and Sam wait outside, their concern etched on their faces.

"You did good back there, Nat," Steve says quietly, his voice tinged with admiration. "We'll get through this."

Natasha nods, her gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thanks, Steve," she murmurs, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "And Sam, you too."

Sam grins, though there is a flicker of worry in his gaze. "Anytime, Nat," he replies, his voice steady despite the underlying concern. "Let's get you back to the safehouse."

The journey back to the apartment is quiet, the hum of the car’s engines a comforting backdrop to Natasha's thoughts. She leans against the cool leather of the seat, her mind drifting between the mission's successes and its costs.

Upon returning to the apartment building, Natasha headed straight for her apartment, her steps heavy with fatigue. She pauses at the doorway, steeling herself before entering. Inside, the living room is bathed in soft lamplight, casting shadows across the walls.

And there, sitting on an armchair reading, is (Y/n). Her presence is a welcome sight, a beacon of warmth and love amidst the darkness of Natasha's thoughts. (Y/n) looks up as Natasha enters, her eyes widening at the sight of Natasha’s disheveled appearance.

"Baby!" (Y/n) exclaims, her voice filled with concern as she rushes to Natasha’s side. "You're back. Are you okay?"

Natasha manages a faint smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just a scratch," she reassures her girlfriend, though the weariness in her voice betrays her attempt at nonchalance.

(Y/n) frowns, her hands gently cupping Natasha's face as she studies her injuries. "You're hurt," she murmurs softly, her touch gentle against Natasha’s skin.

Natasha leans into (Y/n)’s touch, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "It's nothing serious," she insists, though her voice holds a note of weariness. "Just a part of the job."

(Y/n) shakes her head, her expression a mixture of frustration and affection. "You shouldn't have to go through this alone," she says quietly, their voice tinged with concern.

“I don’t have to come home alone anymore,” Natasha murmurs, stepping into a hug offered by her girlfriend. “I have you now.”

“And you’ll always have me,” (Y/n) replies firmly, and Natasha nods, smiling widely into (Y/n)’s shoulder, despite her exhaustion. “Now,” she takes Natasha’s hand, leading her to the bedroom where their cat, Liho, lies at the foot of the bed, “let's get to bed.”

Word Count: 1581 words

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[itstimetojellyfish]

Why must you endure this for my sake? ( Because I love you) Blade x reader

A new post! I just have way too many ideas in my head….. anyways! Criticism is appreciated!

Why must you be the one who has to endure this? Why must you watch as your lover gets beaten to a pulp? Yes , Blade might be immortal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain

( It tears your heart apart )

Soon enough , your captors have left you alone with his broken body and you to try treat and comfort him .

“ Blade?….” You timidly reach for his body in the cold damp room , smelling like blood and sweat .

He stirs , before looking up at you , his body repairing himself unnaturally fast . “ What?…” His voice rasps .

You stare at him before timidly curling in on yourself next to him . Guilt blooming in your chest “ Why did you ever take the hits for me?…”

You two wouldn’t have been in this situation if you just hadn’t insisted upon taking a walk in the wilderness on uncharted territory.

He had warned you .

You just ignored him.

( now you pay the price )

You were ambushed while you were walking along a path , Blade gently taking your hand and guiding you so you don’t trip . While you were chatting away , a group of rebels sneaked up on you and took you hostage , Blade , being the lover he was . Willingly went along side you and didn’t fight in case they slit your throat .

When you regained consciousness , they were about to hit you , however , Blade knew you wouldn’t survive the beating , so he took it , he took the brunt of the blows while you watching your lover getting beaten .

( You wouldn’t ever forgive yourself )

You were traumatized. Your lovers beaten body lay in front of you like a ragdoll , blood all over him . Your lip quivered and your eyes began to water . Your breath started to hitch and you cried for him .

As soon as he heard the first few droplets of tears fall from your eyes he sat up and broke his bonds . You stared at him in shock as you questioned him .

“ Why…. Why did you do that earlier?…” Tears pouring down your cheeks , you reached for him , and he took your hand and pulled you to him . You didn’t care he was covered in blood , you just needed to know he’s alive.

He gently rubs your back with his large hand as he nuzzles your neck and held you close to him , trying to make you feel comfortable.

This is a stark contrast to his usual character, cold , sharp, and a ruthless killer . You know he is like this most of the time , but that’s only when he’s putting up a mask , a lot of the time he’s sweet to you.

As he coddled you , he replied to your question with a monotone voice , “ Because you wouldn’t survive “ .

But

There’s another reason too .

Because Blade loves you so much to the point he’ll break his bones for you .

————————————————————————

Thank you for reading this! If anyone has any recommendations on what to write about I’ll gladly try my best to make a fic about it!

[heavenlymorals]

Arthur's Redemption: A Reflection of the Dregs of Idealism

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2)

Arthur's redemption is the reason why RDR2 is as loved and coveted as it is. It is the reason why it is in the videogame hall of fame and it is the reason why I'll never forgive the game awards for giving GOW 2018 Game of the Year instead of RDR2.

But what I find very interesting is exactly WHERE his redemption is aimed towards, because remember, Arthur never gives up the gang life until the VERY end when he has to confront Micah on being a rat.

One of the first things that the game tries to remind us of is is that Dutch's gang is different. It isn't savage, or heartless, or "as bad" as the other gangs like the O'Driscolls and the Del Lobos. In every single mission that involves robbery, the VDL gang either robs crooks, corporations, robber barons, rich people, slavers, people with fucked up political views, etc. Etc. That is what puts them above other gangs in terms of their reputation, alongside the fact that they, before the Blackwater massacre and before they got so desperate, would give away portions of their proceedings to the poor and destitute.

And the thing is, the VDL gang's philosophy isn't really different from what you see today, especially here on Tumblr. Kill the rich, eat the rich, tax the rich, etc. Etc. Only real difference, honestly, is that the VDL gang carries out those philosophies violently when we don't.

Does intense violence continue to make philosophies and beliefs just? That's ultimately up to you, I don't want to get into that discussion, but this is very important to take note of because Arthur's redemption isn't realizing the gang life and violence is bad, but by going back to the original thought processes and beliefs that guided the VDL gang. He goes from apathetic to passionate.

Notice the "redemption" missions of chapter 6. You forgive debts and kick out Strauss because he represents all the evils of money lending and usuery. Arthur begs Edith Downes to allow her to let him help her, but he doesn't want her forgiveness as he knows he doesn't deserve it. He teaches a grieving woman how to hunt and survive in the wilderness. He befriends a veteran and connects with the great American wilderness. He gives people his blessing to get out of the gang and ultimately sacrifices his final moments to get John, Abigail, and Jack to safety.

Arthur focuses on people and their personal lives. He focuses on their struggles, their dreams, their hopes, their stories, and just all the things that make them human.

Let's look at the debt missions in chapter six. There are three of them. Mrs. Londonderry, J. John Weathers, and Edith Downes. Arthur either comes to face with how morally bankrupt the business of usury is, which then relates back to the more political side of the VDL gang, which is the resistance of the predatory upper class, or he tries to mend the wrongs of being in that system without the expectation of forgiveness.

Those debt missions, though side missions, are super important to Arthur's redemption.

Other than the debt missions, there is also the more personal aspects of missions. Some missions are completely personal, like the Charlotte missions or the Hamish missions, while others are slid in such as Arthur lecturing John after blowing up the bridge.

Arthur cares about the people, the everyday people, and he loses his apathy that makes him violent and mean, which is where his redemption lies.

But the gang life? He doesn't quit that. He doesn't have any qualms, morally, about blowing up bridges, fighting against the government, the army, and anyone who may support the organizations that Dutch taught him to hate from such a young age. There is no guilt there. Arthur only has guilt towards hurting those the gang was originally there to help.

His redemption isn't him realizing what he is doing is wrong, and that the gang life is wrong. His redemption is him going back to the original ideals that Dutch taught him.

I just think that's really interesting. It also opens up a discussion on the philosophical nature of the blurred line between violence and Idealism, and whether or not someone can still be good whilst being on that line.

In any case, yapyapyapyapyap

[whoistartaglia]

genshin men as types of influencers—part two

part one

cyno has a prank channel, but “prank” is a loosely-defined term. sure, he acts like everything he’s filming are pranks, but are they really? he laughs at them meanwhile the person being pranked ends up more confused than anything else. the ends of the videos include an in-depth explanation as to why the prank is funny and why the audience should be laughing (they’re still not).

dottore has a very bland account dedicated to his research and experiments. this includes hours long, unedited videos of him going through the procedure, and barely explaining anything at all. he doesn’t get a lot of views, except for one random video with millions of views, likes, and comments. it’s definitely not pinned on his channel either.

albedo also has an account dedicated to his experiments, except that his videos are more like tutorials. he’ll explain the procedure, what materials you’ll need, and go through step-by-step on how to set up and complete the experiment. struggling high school and college kids love him, and he even takes his time to respond to some comments.

heizou is the host of a true crime podcast. what started out as him bragging about his escapades turned into biweekly uploads about true crimes around teyvat. sometimes he’ll bring on co-hosts, other times it’ll just be him. heizou knows the ins and outs of the detective side of things, and he’s such a naturally-gifted narrator that he’s swiftly amassed a legion of loyal fans.

tighnari has an account dedicated to nature and the environment. you’ll find several videos of animals, wilderness survival guides, and even a glimpse into his own day in the life. he most certainly has a couple rants about travelers and adventurers getting a little too friendly to hostile animals—he tells his audience to learn from their mistakes, no matter how funny the story may be.

kazuha posts pictures of short videos of his travels over teyvat, and his account is very aesthetically pleasing. he has an overall neutral color scheme and the photos he takes breathe serenity and peace—even if his day-to-day life can sometimes be anything but. he always includes where he’s currently visiting and comments on the county in the caption.

lyney posts card tricks. he is able to captivate his audience with such tricks, even fooling the most keenest of eyes. his shuffling is also impressive; can he split the deck and have the cards arranged in whatever order he wants in under a minute. his audience begs for a tutorial that lyney will never give—a magician never reveals his secrets, after all.

[zorosdimples]

YOU’RE MINE

pairing ༄ alpha!kakashi x princess!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, predator/prey dynamics, light a/b/o dynamics, mild descriptions of injuries. reader is a princess, wears a gown, and has an intricate hairstyle, but there are no gendered terms aside from “princess.” kakashi calls reader “pup” once.

word count ༄ 922

notes ༄ everyone can thank cher @honeylavendr for unknowingly?baiting me into writing this. it was really only a matter of time… kakashi is my first love and i’ve lost the omegaverse battle, so this is the result. this has no plot, so just enjoy the whirlwind of emotions!

the cold air bites at your exposed flesh like a hungry wolf. you ignore your discomfort as you hike up the heavy skirt of your gown and delve deeper into the pitch-dark forest. stray moonbeams cut through the dense canopy and illuminate patches of earth and gaps between the trees, your winding path mostly guesswork as you feel your way through the vegetation.

branches sharp as claws rip your gown and flay your flesh, and while you can faintly feel the warm dribble of blood down your frozen temple, it’s difficult to focus on anything other than moving forward. shreds of shimmering velvet catch in brambles as you run, but the sickening sound of fabric tearing doesn’t reach your ears.

after what feels like hours of running, your senses are overwhelmed to the point of numbness. the only absolute truth is your ragged breathing; everything else is hearsay as you float through the night, a whisper among the leaves. the primal urge to just survive is your sole guide.

your lungs burn and legs ache—at least you think they do—but your mind and body are currently separate entities. you know your pace is unsustainable, and you cry out to the gods in relief when you finally crash through the tree line and into a clearing. the moon hangs brightly in the inky sky, light rippling on the surface of a lake so large it stretches beyond the horizon.

you collapse to the ground in a pool of tattered velvet, frantically gasping for air as the tight bodice of your gown painfully squeezes your chest. a wave of nausea rolls over you and you bite back the urge to retch.

stretching your legs out, you clumsily gather your skirt and pull it back, gasping when you see the mottled bruises and bloody gashes that litter your skin. feet in agony, you opt to crawl to the edge of the lake to peer at your reflection in the frigid water.

“you can’t hide from me, princess.”

the smooth taunt stops you mid-crawl, horror blossoming in your gut and unfurling to caress every nerve in your now-trembling body. as if you can no longer control your movements—can you ever when he’s around?—you slowly turn to face the shadowy forest.

you see his eyes before anything else. his right iris shines silver like a honed dagger and his left glows crimson like spilled blood. when kakashi emerges from the cover of darkness, you forget your fear for a moment and bristle with irritation. he looks impeccable—not a strand of hair or thread of clothing is out of place. he doesn’t look like he has been tracking you through the wilderness for hours. for a split second, your right palm itches to slap his perfect face.

kakashi is unhurried as he approaches you, soaking in the sight of the kingdom’s beloved princess at his feet, cowering in defeat. when he reaches you, kneeling down so you are eye level, he decides that you have never looked more beautiful.

your soft face is covered in claret scrapes and angry welts, shiny eyes swollen and dripping hot tears. your hair has fallen out of the intricate updo your handmaiden worked on all afternoon; most of the pearls and pins that once adorned your silken strands would now rot away on the forest floor. the expensive gown that took hundreds of hours of labor and dozens of seamstresses to craft is now unrecognizable.

fear courses through your veins under his scrutiny, but kakashi doesn’t have to look at you to know how you feel. he can smell how terrified you are. it only makes him desire you more.

he reaches out a gloved hand to brush your icy cheek, but you jerk away from his touch. he simply tuts in mock annoyance. “there is nowhere left for you to run, princess.” his coo is cloying as he leans over you. his signature mask covers the bottom half of his face, but when he sees you eyeing the fabric, he slips it down with a cruel smirk. “if you want to look, all you have to do is ask, my little omega.”

you swallow dryly at those words. you are no longer just an omega; you are his omega, his mate. the fetters of royalty have chained you to this man—this monster. kakashi moves to grip both of your arms at the elbows, large hands gently pulling you closer and closer until you tumble into his lap.

“no matter how many times you try to run, i will always find you,” kakashi murmurs into your ear, warm breath lighting a fire beneath your skin. he nuzzles your cheek then grazes his fangs down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps his wake; you shiver beautifully for him. “do you know why, pup?”

you whimper as kakashi’s lips ghost his mark on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. he kisses the healing wound sweetly before laving his tongue over it until you breathe a pleased sigh. kakashi raises his head to meet your heavy lidded gaze, one hand cradling your face, the other—now gloveless, claws exposed—slicing down the length of your dress until you sit completely bare. his lips meet yours chastely, but for some inexplicable reason, you hunger for more. he pulls back with a chuckle after you try to pry his mouth open with your tongue. both of his hands come up to wrap around your neck, thumbs pressing sharply beneath your chin.

“it’s because you’re mine.”

[thewinchestah]

Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby  @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation. 

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner. 

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option. 

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope. 

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail.  Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic - 

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue. 

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act. 

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound. 

You hear gunshots. 

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low. 

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide. 

remember to breathe, you are not breathing. 

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe. 

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

 Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail,  and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up  in one swift motion. 

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake. 

 Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends. 

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice?  Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling. 

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence. 

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

 The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse.  You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again? 

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth.  “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that. 

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it. 

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream. 

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

 Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon  guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem. 

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid. 

 How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic. 

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much.  Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes,  whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life.  “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it. 

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

 You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive. 

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym. 

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer. 

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries. 

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”

Are you? 

You decide that he doesn’t sound like  Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming. 

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed. 

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then. 

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck. 

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game.  Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress. 

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed  with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver. 

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric. 

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action. 

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

 “Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again. 

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing. 

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence. 

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned. 

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it. 

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns. 

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him. 

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him. 

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious. 

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims,  and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you. 

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said.  He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely  as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. 

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation. 

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

 “I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief. 

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards. 

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy. 

At last, Alastor finally enters your  tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness. 

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own. 

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together. 

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core. 

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him. 

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.  

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know. 

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier. 

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him. 

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter. 

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him. 

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin. 

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes. 

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together 

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw. 

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe. 

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into. 

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

 Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer. 

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed. 

 He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again. 

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game. 

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity. 

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it. 

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream. 

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes. 

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel. 

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention. 

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you. 

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your  entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm. 

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you. 

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness. 

-

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him. 

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever. 

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream. 

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts. 

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you. 

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

-

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room. 

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

 That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin. 

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood. 

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window. 

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep. 

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside. 

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

[ozzgin]

Various Predators x Predator! Reader (IV)

@avaleigh16 asked (a very long time ago, sorry for the wait!!) for a fourth part to the Predator saga, where Reader is brought to Yautja Prime. Therefore I bring a potential sequel that focuses on Predator culture, depending on who you’ve chosen as your partner!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Horror Masterlist]

Feral Predator

As promised, your new home didn’t stray much from your expectations. Feral Predator is from a different hemisphere, of a drier climate. The imposing, sprawling megalopolis of Yautja Prime is but a distant outline, fading before the marvels of raw, unforgiving nature this place has to offer. Tribal architecture and interminable tunnels are the prominent features of these ancient cities. One has no need for advanced technology. In a way, it does remind you of Earth, of your modest countryside roots. Communities are made of small family units, so days are spent hunting or training in the company of your partner. Feral Predator is a patient and caring father, guiding his offspring and showing them the ropes of survival. There will be frequent visits to Earth as he, too, favors its wilderness, especially when it comes to honing one’s skills. While he treats you as an equal, he does hold you in significantly high regards as the mother of his children.

Elite Predator

With great status comes great responsibility. Elite Predator has been eyeing the Elder status for some time now, in order to provide you with one further reason to be grateful for choosing him. That implies, naturally, that he is often on special missions to teach or rescue Young Bloods, or clear out Alien infestations. Your offspring will go through Spartan training as soon as they can crawl their way around: it would be shameful if his own younglings end up weak or devoid of skill. Although he does not worry about such outcome. He hasn’t picked you out of random chance. Only someone of his level could’ve made it as his mate, and he was certain of it from the moment he saw you. Hopefully you, too, can tell that this outcome was fated to happen. You most certainly won’t regret your life with him, he will make sure of that.

Fugitive Bad Blood

If you were hoping for an idyllic, peaceful life in a humble hut with ocean view, I have some bad news for you. Even settling on Yautja Prime is an optimistic stretch when your partner is a criminal on the run. You’ve unwillingly followed in the footsteps of your parents, watching your child grow from within the confinements of a ship, sailing through space with no ultimate goal. Not all is grim, however. Despite his ruthless nature, the Fugitive has kept his word when it comes to being a fitting partner for you. Your wish is his command and he will not allow anything endanger his family. To your great shock, he’s even willing to take risky detours on Earth whenever you feel particularly nostalgic. He will stare at you incredulously; why the hell would he have gone through all the efforts to court you if he didn’t want you as a partner? Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with already? Whatever your heart desires, he will make it possible.

Berserker

The Super Predator cannot wait for his younglings to be old enough to begin their hunt. He lives to kill and one can easily tell from his impressive collection of trophies he has gathered from all across the Universe. Truth be told, you’re somewhat afraid to see the outcome of your copulation. Berserker Yautja are much larger and much more aggressive than your species. You’d assumed his first choice for a mate should’ve been from his own kind, but for reasons unknown he’s preyed on you instead. The Berserker seems to have a fervent attachment towards you and will even growl at his own sucklings if they show any sign of disrespect. There’s not much space for freedom and sometimes you feel like you’re trapped under the suffocating affections of a savage animal ready to defend its territory. From his point of view, you should enjoy the privilege of belonging to the superior Predator. There’s no one out there that could go against him.

[vintagerpg]

H2: The Mines of Bloodstone (1986) calms the connection to Battlesystem. There are still a couple mass combat scenarios, but this isn’t a box, there are no chits; it is mostly a standard, if unusually high level, adventure module. It’s mostly a dungeon crawl, in fact, exploring the Deepearth laid out in the Dungeoneer’s Survival Guide (the module uses some of the rules from that guide, and the wilderness guide, as well; lots of synergy happening here which, I gotta say is both unusual and surprising for TSR).

The dungeons and caverns are…OK. The monster selection is all over the place. It feels much more like a fun house than I’m really used to seeing from this period of TSR’s history. You’d think it would settle down somewhat at the end, with mostly thematic encounters in a temple dedicated to Orcus, demonic lord of the undead. But no. It turns into a zoo of sorts, a kind of greatest monster hits playlist that includes a frickin’ Tarrasque. And Orcus himself could show up in person, if things go really badly. It’s a lot, but then I guess the module IS rated for levels 16 to 18.

Graham Nolan does the interior illustrations, which are pretty solid throughout. Keith Parkinson cover. Always loved it. I’ve been enamored of the priests of Orcus, with their goat headdresses, almost as long as I have been into D&D. The color palette is classic Parkinson and the composition anticipates some of his later work for Rifts. I also like his skill flex with the mirrored surface of the statue. A+ cover painting.

[theresattrpgforthat]

would you happen to know about any ttrpg that could run/emulate the tone of STALKER/Annihilation?

Frail humain beings entering a Fucked Up Zone with the intent if reaching the center and things getting weirder and more dangerous the farther they go in?

THEME: Eerie Fucked Up Settings

Friend I have some truly excellent games for you this week.

TRESPASSER, by Binary Star Games.

The Zone is an area that's been sealed off by a nation or group of nations due to its danger. It's filled with Anomalies, extremely dangerous areas where physical laws like gravity, magnetism, electricity, or chemistry can break down to lethal effect, as well as mutants and things considered impossible.

Like many, you have entered the Zone, but not legally. You are collectively known as Trespassers. Some inside are on their own, some in groups, some part of larger factions. But most want one thing: to reach the centre and claim what it conceals.

This game can accommodate a GM but it isn’t necessary - in fact, you can even play it solo! As this game is inspired by STALKER, I think it’s going to really give you the vibe you’re going for. Troubles in Breathless games escalate as you play, so the longer you stay in The Zone, the worse things are going to get. I definitely recommend checking out this game!

BLOOM, by Litza Bronwyn.

BLOOM is a solo gmless journaling game in which you play a teenage girl trapped in quarantine at a boarding school on an island infected by the Tox, a plague that makes the trees and animals grow huge and hungry, and mutates your body in strange and horrific ways. In it, you will draw cards and write journal entries based on specific prompts in order to craft a story of survival and love.

I’ve read the book Wilder Girls by Rory Power, and it has a lot of the same themes as Annihilation and STALKER, so it might fit the niche you’re looking for. As a solo game, this uses the Wretched & Alone SRD, so you’ll probably want a Jenga tower, and you’ll definitely want a deck of cards.

Navigator, by Micheal Klamerus.

Navigator is a two-player tabletop rpg created for the Just the Two of Us Jam. It's inspired by the movie Stalker and the games Alone Among the Stars, Memoirs of a Barbarian and Thirst.

In this game two players journey into a mysterious, restricted site known as the Zone to find a room rumoured to grant people their innermost desires. One player is The Client, a person who wants to find this room and have their wish granted, and the other player is The Navigator, a person with previous experience navigating the Zone that has been hired by The Client to help them find the Room.

This game is definitely inspired by media such as STALKER, but it doesn’t have to be inspired by that. When I played this game, we decided to go for something a bit more fantastical, but if you and the person you play this with agree on the same inspiration, you should have no trouble experiencing this as an eerie, unnerving, dangerous setting.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by Exeunt Press.

YOU ARE AN EXCLUSION ZONE BOTANIST. GET IN. DISCOVER AND DOCUMENT. GET OUT.

Another one for the solo enthusiasts, and it’s inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. Your character is specifically looking for plants, which you will locate by rolling 2d6. You get a little hex map to track your progress as you play. As you go, you risk being influenced by the corruption of the zone. Your goal is to document as many plants as possible before you become the forest - because if you are corrupted too much, they can’t pull you out. A delightfully time-sensitive game.

The Zone, by Laughing Kaiju.

The digital tabletop storygame of magical realism, mutant weirdness, and collaborative self-destruction.

This is a really cool digital ttrpg, with a physical version on the way. You can play solo or multiplayer, and the website will guide you through play step by step. The game is meant to be collaborative, so everyone will have moments where they direct play. The author also encourages you to play to lose - this is a tragic game, a horror game. The game itself uses a number of cards representing locations, laid out in a spiral to form an abstract sort of map. Each location will have its own scene, probably more. And rather than rolling dice to resolve tasks, you choose whether something is easily doable, or not-so-easy - in which case you pull from a deck. This is where the mutations may come from.

If you are interested in the physical version of this game, they’re currently taking pre-orders on Backerkit!

[bluewonderer]

So, Luffy is actually hyper competent when it comes to outdoor survival.

Fire, of course, is so essential to this. He remembers fire on the quiet beaches of Foosha--remembers Makino's slim, calloused hands building a curious stack of wood, remembers the smell of smoke and the spark of warmth and light. The chocolate from the s'mores she made him got all over his cheeks, in his hair. His sticky fingers picked up a coating of sand and Makino washed his hands in the ocean.

That didn't happen too often. Makino was often dead on her feet, running her bar. But, when Luffy got a little older, when he got curious enough to ask "how do you do that?", she guided his little, chubby hands through the steps to build a fire. He was clumsy, and impatient, and in the end, she had to do it.

It was quiet, it was Makino all to himself surrounded by the stars and the sea and the warmth of the fire.

Shanks and the others never showed him how to build a fire, but their fires were different than Makino's quiet, private ones. The bonfires were huge--taller than Luffy! Even when Benn carried him on his shoulders! It was loud, and so bright it hurt his eyes, and so hot his hair would curl with sweat around his forehead and temples. And the men played so much music, and ate SO much food, and drank so much booze until they sloppily danced with each other and the young men and women from Foosha who were attracted by the fire.

Luffy loved those fires so much--he would feel full for days and days.

Grandpa tried to teach Luffy, maybe. Or maybe, Grandpa believes that he tried to teach Luffy. Really, he just said, "you build a fire like this, see? you need this, and you need to do that, make sure you do NOT do this, and done! there! now you know how to build a fire!"

Luffy did not know how to build one. It would have helped him in the ravine Grandpa threw him in afterward.

Ace and Sabo taught Luffy. Ace taught Sabo before Luffy ever met them. And it was good, because Ace taught a lot like Grandpa. "It's simple, Luffy. You just get this, do this, and don't do, no! I said don't do that! Ugh, why are you crying now?" But Sabo was there. And he wasn't more kind than Ace, but he was a competitive little shit. "You can't teach worth a damn, Ace--this is what happened when you tried to show me. I bet I can teach Luffy faster than you." And Ace, of course, had gritted his teeth and said, "you're on."

It took weeks for Luffy to properly build a fire on his own, under their competitive tutelage. He actually figured it out much fast than that. He just liked the attention of his big brothers. Besides, it was really funny whenever Sabo's sharp comments always made Ace lose control and tackle him into a wrestling match. Luffy always, always gleefully joined them.

Years later, Luffy's sort of surprised to find himself being the one to teach his crew how to build a fire and other things to survive out in the wilds. Zoro's shaped himself for survival in the bars and back alleys and the underground of East Blue's bigger towns and cities. He's never had to hunt for food before, but that was no problem. Luffy only had to teach him how to track prey, how to read the signs in the thick brush and camouflage of the wilderness. For someone like Zoro, who had something primal and hungry under his skin, the hunt comes naturally.

...Luffy should have maybe told him to stay away from those mushrooms, though. Zoro threw up for hours, and Luffy kind of felt bad about that. In his defense, he thought everyone knew about them. Like he thought everyone knew how to track an animal and build a fire.

"Oh," Nami says, puzzling over the thick stew Luffy makes one night under a forest's canopy. It's not as wild as Mt. Colubo, which is kind of boring. "This is actually good? I thought you were just pulling random bits of grass and leaves and mushrooms to throw in this. I was so hungry though, I wasn't going to care. Was just going to avoid the mushrooms in case you gave me poisonous ones."

"Yeah," Zoro grouses. "Nice to know about those, huh?"

"I can cook!" Luffy insists, not sure if he should be offended or flattered.

"Well, no," Nami says. "You blew up the last kitchen we were in. And somehow turned curry into a noxious gas."

"Ovens are hard!" Luffy insists, now sure that he's supposed to be offended. "And why were there so many ingredients? You just need meat! It was confusing!"

And so it goes. Gradually, Luffy shows them how to build a fire in the snow, how to build a shelter against the rain. He points out mushrooms that are safe to eat (and the ones that make you laugh and laugh, even if you don't particularly feel like laughing--Chopper hadn't been as amused with those as Luffy thought he would be). Good berry bushes and bad, what to do to make water safer, and how to hunt. He shows them how to trap small game, though that's not something he and his brothers did as often. They were always so hungry, and big game was always so much more fulfilling. But winters were hard, and sometimes trapping was they only way they ate at all.

Luffy likes to think he's a better teacher than Grandpa, but he's not sure by how much. How do you teach someone something that was once as normal as breathing to him? His friends are so smart, though. Smarter than him. (Except Zoro, who can build a sturdy shelter and then be trusted to never be able to find it again.)

He can tell not everyone particularly wanted to learn. But they're outlaws now. And when they're not facing the wilds of the Grand Line, they're pushed to the outskirts of civilization, camping out on beaches and on the outskirts of forests. These skills none of them thought they would need are suddenly essential.

But it's alright. Luffy's their captain. He'll always be with them, and can take care of them in this way.

(His favorite by far, though, are the beach bonfires. He's sure to build them as big as he remembers from his childhood. He insists on food and music and dancing and booze and s'mores each time. They're loud, and they're warm. And it's all his.

And he feels full for days and days.)

[kindasleepywriter]

Bird of Prey - Chapter 1 : The Hunt

Bird of Prey masterlist

Chapter summary: About to finish off your latest target, you are interrupted by a figure you haven't seen in centuries.

Rating: Mature - Minors DNI

Warnings: Story-typical violence, blood.

Word count: 0.8k

Next chapter

The wind assaulted your eyes and throat as you crossed frozen streams and jumped over fallen trees. You almost had him, you could almost smell his fear as you followed in his footprints. It had been days since you’d gotten a true moment of rest and you wouldn’t let it go to waste. The early morning rays shone through the high branches of the trees, guiding your steps towards your objective. He wouldn’t escape, not now.

Ice surrounded you, under your feet, covering the trees, and even pearling at your eyelashes. Oh, how you hated the cold. Had it been the Winter court you’d have kept quiet your inner monologue of constant complaining about the weather, but in the Night court this was just inconvenient. You already didn’t want to be here, the borders were too well guarded and the money was never worth the risk, but this evasive target had decided to jump from border to border hoping you would lose his scent. You didn’t of course, but the effort was admirable.

You slid under a rotting trunk, emerging into a small clearing. The ground was soft with snow, the air cold and biting, but the only thing on your mind was the figure ahead of you. A large boulder of a man, a logger they’d told you. More strength in one arm that you probably had in your entire body, but it was worthless. You didn’t need strength when you had speed and no one could ever outrun you. No one ever did.

He looked over his shoulder to gauge the distance between the two of you at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes widened and he hesitated, stumbling slightly. A mistake, and it would be his last. You gave a forceful push to catch up with him, using his temporary loss of balance to grapple directly onto his neck and try to force him to tumble to the side. You didn’t wish to break his neck but he sure seemed to think so, as he immediately tightened his entire torso and head, rolling forwards to try to shove you off him with his body weight. So he was strong and knew a thing or two about fighting. Interesting.

You let go and tucked yourself into a tight side roll to his left to avoid crushing the wings you held tightly against your back, and immediately leapt into a crouching position. He quickly got up as well, disoriented for a moment. Weeks of being stalked through the woods with absolutely no knowledge about surviving in the wilderness seemed to have taken a toll on him. While the wait made the entire situation longer than you deemed necessary, it did have its perks. Still, you preferred your usual method. Ambushing a target, doing a quick and clean job, leaving within a single moment. Just like a raptor captures a mouse, and it was always more satisfying. They didn’t call you the Bird of Prey for nothing.

The second the man got his bearings, he took a sloppy fighting stance and started sprinting in your direction, clearly intending to somehow overpower you with brute force. His arms almost flailed by his side as he wobbled on his feet. “When was the last time he even ate?”, you thought. No matter, just another detail that solidified your already guaranteed win.

He didn’t even get in reach of you before you were ducking behind him, solidly tripping him on the way and jumping knee first onto his back. The man went down with a wheezing “oomph”, but you didn’t let him take a single breath before you had his arms crossed and shoved under your knees, one hand keeping them still and the other bringing a blade to his throat. For a moment, stillness and almost perfect silence. The only soundtrack to his death would be the early morning birds and the crackling of thawing ice.

You didn’t play with your kills. You may be efficient at your job, but you were not cruel. As you went to finish the job, he let out a “WAIT!” that held your hand still. He didn’t struggle but opened his mouth to talk again. You cut him off.

“Anything you want to say?’, you said, “I urge you to consider your last words carefully – you only get to say them once, after all.”

Again, a beat of silence, only broken by the slow drip of blood from where you’d already made superficial contact with the skin.

You sighed, wanting to finally end this contract and go home, but a cold pressure at the nape of your neck, probably quite similar to what the logger underneath you felt at his throat at this very moment, gave you pause. Your peripheral vision swarmed in unnatural darkness as you inhaled a sharp breath.

A deep, smooth voice rang close to your right ear:

“How about you tell me yours?”

Tell me what you think, i always appreciate constructive criticism!

Fair warning that this is my second langage and I don't have a beta reader - I'm just trying my best. If you spot any mistakes/problems, I'd love to hear about it!

Chapters will be longer for the next couple of parts, theyre already in the works. This is just the set up to the start of the story, there's a long list of events they'll have to deal with, just you wait.

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

Taglist: @sapphenaa

[naffeclipse]

Apex Polarity Personality Quiz

This is a small little thing for fun I made in order to have an excuse to make more things for Apex Polarity and its wide aurora of AUs and variations on setting and Y/Ns.

1. Claws, teeth, ravenous appetite, equally as devouring gaze.

To you these qualities describe -

A. A dangerous wild animal

B. Potential husband

C. The stalker who keeps leaving dead things at your address

D. All of the above

E. Are you in danger?

F. Circle if you need help

G. Yes

2. What you look for most in a partner

A. Obsessive feral devotion

B. Good with kids

C. Humble

D. Passionate

E. Good hunter

F. Bear trap level cuddler

G. Serial mental note taker on everything you say and do

H. Overprotective to a fault, perhaps very much at a fault.

3. Your favorite pastime.

A. Immersion in nature and being out in the wilderness

B. A cold dip in the sea

C. Basking in the sun

D. Acting like you're a dolphin

E. Curling up in a warm space

F. Spending quality time with your loved ones

G. The joys of parenthood

4. Your preferred superpower (totally not escape methods)

A. Teleportation

B. Super speed

C. Invisibility

D. Shapeshifting

5. Your favorite animal/animal you resonate with the most

A. Arctic fox, phantomlike and swift, hiding behind snowdrifts when danger stirs. Your instinct is to avoid the grip of vices no matter how tempting, except perhaps if your stomach is involved.

B. Penguin, despite the cold weather and unforgiving ice, you are soft at your epicenter, from inside it radiates, and like a mirror you are equally as besotted by that which is as innocent and gentle.

C. Beluga, spun sweet and melodic, on your voice is carried the play of heartstrings like the gentle waver of quivering arctic waters and dancing sunlight. You sing and although it is fearless, the depths do not murmur in vain.

D. Seal, eccentric and woven into everything you do, you tend to stumble over your nerves but when in your element you are freed from all anxieties. The world may have taught you caution but In time you may learn to embody this grace wholly.

E. Narwhal, reclusive but mystical at the same time, perilously shy, and gentle but possessing fierce zeal in dire situations. Unfortunately, your likeness to a unicorn is reflected in others and far from many intentions are pure.

6. What is the most valuable in your eyes

A. Sentimental things even long years after they've run dry of their practical use

B. Shiny objects like rocks and trinkets

C. Natural wonders and displays of the world's phenomena

D. Food and guaranteed survival

E. Companionship

Score

Count how many like numbers you get (aka, all 4s, 2s, etc) and group them to find how many you got each. The highest quantity number is the winner.

(Important!) - Some answers can have multiple numbers assigned to them, in order of most indicative to least. Add these as well, their order has no meaning or weight on the score itself unless a tie occurs.

Further Explanation Guide

- Totaling - Count the amount of each number separately to see which one got the highest amount, if you get 7 4s, 2 3s, 4 1s and 6 2s, 4 is the winning number because there are the most 4s.

Example - Answered D on 1, D has the numbers 1, 4, and 3. Therefore you would add each a 1, 4 and 3 to the pool of numbers for your result.

- Ties - If you get a tie you use the highest favor number of each answer to settle it, or you can enjoy your multiple results. The most favored number is always the first listed.

Answer Guide

- 1. Claws, teeth, ravenous appetite, equally as devouring gaze. To you these qualities describe -

A - 4, 3 | B - 3, 4 | C - 2, 1, 4 | D - 1, 4, 3

E - 4, 1, 2 | F - 1, 2, 4 | G - 4, 3

- 2. What you look for most in a partner

A - 4 | B - 3, 1, 4, 2 | C - 3, 2, 4 | D - 4, 1

E - 3, 1, 2 | F - 3, 2 | G - 4, 1 | H - 2, 1, 3

- 3. Your favorite pastime

A - 4, 3, 1, 2 | B - 3, 2 | C - 2 | D - 3, 1

E - 4, 2, 3 | F - 3 | G - 3

- 4. Your preferred superpower (totally not escape methods)

A - 4 | B - 3 | C - 2 | D - 1

- 5. Your favorite animal/animal you resonate with the most

A - 1 | B - 3 | C - 1, 2| D - 2 | E - 4, 1

- 6. What is the most valuable in your eyes

A - 4, 3 | B - 1, 3 | C - 4 | D - 1, 2, 3 | E - 3, 2, 4

Results

📷 Polar Y/N - Mostly 4s

🐧 Harpy Y/N - Mostly 3s

🦭 Selkie Y/N - Mostly 2s

🧜 Siren Y/N - Mostly 1s

Let me know if anything felt inaccurate or incorrect. I tried my best while still not reading much of AP because of mental health issues making it really too taxing to read a lot like as in books or fanfiction etc. Most of this is based on the various AU posts for Apex Polarity. You can adjust stuff if you feel like it doesn't fit.