#pallid means PALE

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆DOLL SMITTEN

SYPNOSIS:: In which, Suguru Geto can’t bear to let you go and was unable to accept your death, so he made a doll version of you instead.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Dark themes, Disturbing things, Unhealthy Obsession, Gore, Suguru is a total creep. Suggestive Themes. Angst.

PAIRINGS: Yandere! Suguru Geto x Fem! Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

━━━━𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃

━━━━𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐎𝐍 assaulting suguru’s mind.

The memories of your body, laying before him like a macabre painting—your skin an eerie shade of pallid, with rivers of crimson flowing freely, pooling and congealing in the crevices of the floor, your left arm was severed and lying at an unnatural angle, the bones protruding like twisted branches.

“Suguru”

“Suguru.”

“Suguru!”

Suguru was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard satoru’s voice calling him.

“You’ve been spacing out again...” Satoru sighed, watching as the black haired male clutched the doll that you had given him tightly to his heaving chest.

“M’ alright... don’t worry ‘bout me...” Suguru muttered, staring at the doll.

He missed you so much.

So, so much.

He misses you so much to the point that he even started wearing the cringeworthy clothes that you had gifted him during your anniversary — a shirt that has your face on it.

It was so embarrassing but..

No matter the humiliation, he couldn’t bring himself to remove it.

The fabric was already damp with his tears, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

It just hurt so goddamn much. 

He didn’t even flinch as satoru gently placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. Satoru too looked down though , his face drawn in shared sorrow.

“Seriously... I’m worried about you, man.”

“You look like you’re about to have another breakdown...” Satoru mumbled hesitantly, fumbling for the right words.

“She wouldn’t want to see you broken...” Satoru said softly.

“She would’ve wanted you to live on.” Satoru added, hating the weak consolation but unable to think of anything better.

“and move on.”

 Suguru just scoffed bitterly, before forcing a smile.

“No.. She wouldn’t want that...” he said through clenched teeth, tracing the outline of the small doll, his finger lingering on the embroidered smile that you sewn so long ago.

“What do you mean?” Satoru asked gently, already dreading the answer. 

“I mean...” suguru trailed off shakily, shoulders sinking further as he smiled a smile that didn’t reach his  eyes.

 “She wouldn’t want me to move on...”

Suguru stared at Satoru intently.

“Satoru.”

Those bottomless onyx eyes bored into his own, searching, probing.

“Tell me something,” Suguru muttered, so low Satoru had to strain to hear it.

“Where did they take her body?”

The question caught Satoru off guard. His mind raced as he tried to understand Suguru’s motives. Was he paranoid they’d desecrate your urcorpse? Or was there something more sinister at play? He hesitated to answer.

“They took her to Shoko,” he said stiffly and hwsitantly.

“With Shoko, huh?” Suguru finally replied, his tone as sharp and bitter as a winter wind.

They sat in loaded silence, the air thick with tension.

Satoru searched Suguru’s face for any clue to his churning thoughts, but found only an impenetrable void. 

After what felt like an eternity, Suguru spoke again, his soft whisper slicing through the tension like a blade.

“Satoru..”

His silky black hair had grown shaggy and untamed during his days of isolation, falling over his pale face like a veil as his head sagged downwards.

Through the parted strands, Satoru could see the gaunt hollows of Suguru’s cheeks and the dark circles under his reddened eyes — evidence of sleepless nights spent weeping and longing for the woman he had lost. 

“Do something for me,” Suguru’s quiet voice cracked as he spoke, barely above a hoarse whisper.

With apprehension clawing at his insides, Satoru nodded slowly. “Yes...?”

Satoru braced himself, unsure of what request could suguru probably ask.

“Can you... Help me.. sew a lifelike doll in her image.. One with her face, her hair, her body...” Suguru continued, his hands trembling as they tightened around the doll.

“And get her body too... get to hug it before shoko.. do her thing.”

“I just want to hold her corpse, to feel like she’s still here with me.” 

“...Suguru, what the fuck?”

Suguru’s dark eyes burned into Satoru’s soul as he contemplated the request to retrieve your corpse. Satoru’s chest rose and fell rapidly with each panicked breath.

“Get her body? Turn her into a doll?” satoru rasped, disbelief thick in his tone.  

Satoru saw the desperation swimming in Suguru’s gaze and felt ashamed for entertaining such a twisted idea, even for a moment.

He swallowed hard.

He couldn’t just let that happen..

“Please, Satoru...”

Satoru winced upon hearing the small crack in suguru’s voice.

He really just can’t let that happen!!

But... He also wants suguru to be happy.

He drew a steadying breath, loathing the decision he felt compelled to make yet powerless to refuse his friend in such a state of despairing need. Slowly, hesitantly, he spoke.

“You do know that...she wasn’t killed with cursed energy, right?”

“[Name] can become a cursed spirit if we don’t get rid of her body. You know that she died with hatred.. for them.. right?”

The words struck Suguru like knives in his heart. Blood pounded in his ears, vision swimming, as realization dawned with dreadful, delicious clarity

It’s true.. you could become a cursed spirit... And.. and that’s a good thing.

That’s a good thing, right?

He doesn’t even need to worry because he has cursed spirit manipulation... And could tame you if that ever happens...

And then the two of you would live together again... You can be in his arms again.

“I’m sure...”

━━━━𝐖𝐄’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

Nanako and Mimiko sat like statues, feeling awkward.

The moment that they saw the human flesh on the doll, they ended up zipping it back up and scramming away from suguru’s room — they made sure to lock it first, ofcourse, as they don’t want suguru to find out about their snooping around.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Suguru questioned softly as he lifted his teacup to his lips and took a slow, measured sip, savoring the bitter warmth as it flowed down his throat. He then set the porcelain down back to its saucer with a faint clink and leaned back with a casual grace that bordered on obnoxious, his knees spread wide, elbows resting on his thighs, and head supported by his intertwined fingers.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost, is somethin’ wrong?”

Suguru noted, his tone gentle but probing. Propping his elbows upon his thighs, he cradled his face in long-fingered hands and tilted his head inquisitively.

Nanako shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, fingers twisting together anxiously in her lap, looking at Mimiko but the brown haired girl couldn’t bring herself to meet suguru’s gaze either — instead, she was staring fixedly at the pattern on the carpet.

“Master Geto... Uh.. well..” Nanako trailed off awkwardly before she decided that it’s better to keep silent than tell Suguru about the snooping that they’ve done.

“Well?”

Nanako grasped for her phone as a means to avoid further questions. She scrolled methodically through meaningless updates and messages, clinging to the false sense of occupation as an uncomfortable hush fell over the room. 

“Well? spill it. What’s got you both so spooked?” Suguru prodded, leaning in slightly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really...” she said, attempting to sound nonchalant as she busied herself with her phone, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Suguru, sensing her unease, narrowed his eyes.

“Come now, don’t clam up on me now. I can tell something’s off,” he prodded gently, concern softening his features.

“It’s nothing, really. Just boy problems,” Nanako said, her words rushing out almost faster than she could catch them.

Suguru raised an eyebrow at her response before settling back in his chair, his mind already conjuring up overprotective scenarios.

By boy problem...

Did they mean—

“Don’t tell me that you two are sleeping around with some boys?” 

“NO!” Nanako replied and suguru sighed in relief.

“Just... Girl things..” Nanako muttered, as she looked away.

“Oh. I see…” he murmured, though the thought of his girls having boyfriends made him uncomfortable. Despite his protective instincts, he knew he couldn’t stand in the way of their happiness. It’s not like he can deprave them of that, he wants them to be happy after all.

Turning to Mimiko, Suguru inquired,

“And Mimiko?”

The brown-haired girl shifted nervously, her fingers anxiously twirling her doll's hair as she avoided his gaze.

“How was the meeting?” Mimiko asked, trying to change the topic.

“Good. How are you?” Suguru replied with a warm smile, trying to coax her out of her shell. Mimiko bit her tongue, not knowing what to say.

“Good too,” she finally managed to murmur.

Sensing their discomfort, Suguru could tell something was amiss.

“Why the long faces, girls? Don’t tell me you’re hiding something from me now now, hm?”

Nanako and Mimiko exchanged guilty glances, both trying to find the right words to explain their unease.

“It’s just that...we realized we missed you while you were out. That’s why...why we seem a bit...down,” Nanako stammered lamely, not knowing what to say.

“Y-yeah, what she said,” Mimiko chimed in, finishing her sister’s sentence with a sheepish grin.

“I doubt it,” Suguru chuckled, taking a slow sip of his tea as he observed the two girls sitting across from him.

Their uneasy glances and sudden topic changes couldn’t go unnoticed after all, and suguru knew whenever they were lying.

It was as if they were tiptoeing around some hidden truth, and Suguru found their behavior quite amusing, and suspicious.

Just as he was about to press further, Nanako’s voice broke the silence.

She locked eyes with Suguru, her demeanor shifting between nervousness and curiosity.

“Master Geto... Be honest,” Nanako started cautiously.

Suguru raised an eyebrow in response.

“Yes?” he prompted, his curiosity piqued by Nanako’s hesitant tone.

Nanako hesitated, trying to find the right balance between subtle inquiry and blatant prying. Finally, she decided on a more indirect approach, leaning in slightly as she carefully framed her question.

“Did you... uhh... used to have a girlfriend?” Nanako finally blurted out, her eyes searching Suguru’s face for any reaction.

Suguru’s smile didn't falter as he responded, his tone light yet firm.

“Why are you bringing this up again? I’ve told you before — no girlfriend now, no girlfriend before.”

Nanako couldn’t shake off the unsettling feeling. If Suguru was telling the truth, then who was that girl in all those photos? And what was the deal with the eerily realistic life-sized doll she had seen in his room... Not to mention, the human flesh in them??

It’s not like they cared about the human flesh anyways, because suguru has done more fucked up things than that — he literally committed mass genocide and other heinous crimes!! This shouldn’t be so surprising.

But still...

It felt so strange...

“Flings?” Mimiko asked.

Suguru simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“None either,”

Suguru replied, his lips curling into a half-smile. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed a hint of confusion.

The two girls seemed interested in prying into his nonexistent love life, which, in his case, was quite literal... non-existent, since his everything, his betrothed, his soul, was already non-existent indeed. He had come to terms with it, of course, but he still doesn’t wanna let go.

“Girl friends? As in girl friends, I mean. A female friend,” Nanako clarified.

“Like a really close female friend,” Mimiko added.

“That’d be Ieiri,” Suguru replied, a fond smile playing on his lips as he mentioned her name. 

Mimiko and Nanako exchanged puzzled looks, seemingly trying to connect the dots. Was Ieiri the mysterious girl they had seen on the pictures then?

“Do you really wanna know?” Suguru’s voice was tinged with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers and tilting his head to the side. His deep obsidian eyes gazing off into the distance.

“I used to have a fiancée,” Suguru dropped the bombshell casually, and Mimiko and Nanako’s eyes bulged in disbelief. Fiancée? This was news to them. Was she the mysterious woman in the photos, the one who seemed to inspire the lifelike doll of Suguru?

“A monkey killed her, if you can believe it,” Suguru stated with a hint of disgust.

“We were childhood sweethearts.” He sighed, a mixture of sorrow and bitterness evident in his expression.

“But she’s gone now,” Suguru continued, a hint of melancholy in his voice as he clenched his jaw ever so slightly.

Nanako and Mimiko were struck silent. So she was actually dead...?

Their frowns deepened as a twinge of guilt began to seep in.

Had the life-sized doll been Suguru’s way of coping all along? And to think they had once been repulsed by it... It was making them feel guilty.

The realization weighed heavily on them. They had no idea that Suguru had a fiancée, and now they felt genuinely remorseful. 

“She would’ve adored you both... especially since she was such a girl’s girl.”

“You know, I’d do just about anything for her,” Suguru said with a lovesick sigh, sinking down into the couch and gazing off into the distance with dreamy eyes.

“I would walk across hot coals barefoot if she asked... I’d kill for her..”

“I love everything about her... First of all, i love her eyes, second, her smile, third, her hair, fourth, her face, fifth, her personality, sixth, her confidence, seventh her wit, eight, her intelligence...

Suguru sighed blissfully as he began to ramble on.

Nanako and Mimiko exchanged a horrified glance as Suguru enthusiastically rambled on about all the strange quirks he adored in his late fiancée.

It was utterly bizarre to witness how utterly and completely captivated he seemed by a woman who was no longer among the living.

His enthusiasm for his deceased fiancée was bordering on the absurd — it was as if he was carrying on a love affair with a ghost...

“—Ninety-fourth, her kindness,” Suguru counted off on his fingers dreamily.

“Ninety-fifth, her passion for—” He paused, just now seeming to notice that mimiko and nanako was gawking at him.

“...Why are you looking at me like that...?”

“A man’s allowed to worship his queen.” He cleared his throat.

He was just getting warmed up, ready to pour his heart out about his undying love for [Name], when mimiko interrupted his soliloquy.

“Master Geto... how... how did she die?” mimiko asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Nanako shot her a disapproving look, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Suguru’s face suddenly fell.

“Don’t you think that’s an invasive question—” Nanako began, her words trailing off as she glanced nervously at Suguru, fearing his reaction.

Suguru was stagnant, scarily stagnant before he finally spoke after some moments 

“it’s fine...”

Suguru’s fingers twisted in his long, ebony hair as he stared into the distance, his expression distant and troubled. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he considered how to answer.

“Let’s just say it was brutal,”

“Through Evisceration and Mutilation.”

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: Faster Updates and longer chapters here!

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: 𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠♡ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞<𝟑

𝐀/𝐍: this one is unedited and not proof read and is a mix of the other chapters on doll smitten on wp:)

Also, this is out of topic but i’d really appreciate it if you all read this and this, and spread awareness of what's currently happening on my country:) because we're currently in danger and in near in declaring war against china.

[acid-ixx]

why do we have to be pale in the neglected Batfamily series :(((( no hate it just sort of took the immersion out of it….

HELP 😭 i didn't intend to write it off as a skin-color thing, i'm a tan person myself and typically when i describe someone as pale, i mean it as a figure of speech (someone anemic, lacking sleep and sunlight exposure: the reader in my interpretation) since i'm anemic myself and people often say i look pale whenever i get sick.

(in my language namumutla = pale. it's not exclusive to fair-skinned people when using that word, it can be described to anyone who looks faint, blanched, ill/pallid)

but still, i apologize if i made it seem like i'm describing someone's skin color, genuinely didn't mean it like that huhu. it's what i was accustomed to but i see the implications. i try my hardest to make it as inclusive as possible so i try to avoid physical descriptions, so this was a mistake on my part.

[psychidion]

ancient greek words for colors:

On the whole, the Greeks were not really concerned with giving names to specific colors. Their color terms were vague, often had more to do with shade than color difference, and drew in a sort of dynamic physicality that is honestly incredibly interesting.

μέλας and λευκός, which were commonly used to refer to black and white respectively, were still more involved with shade than the particular colors that we perceive as black and white. μέλας also meant dark, murky, and swarthy. λευκός was light, bright and clear, referred to any white color from a pure white to a light grey, and could also refer to someone with lighter skin.

χλωρός meant pale green or greenish yellow, but also commonly meant pale or pallid when referring to people and fresh or blooming when referring to plants and liquids (including blood and tears).

πορφύρεος is where we get the color term purple. And when it was referring to clothes or things, it did mean purple. But when it was describing people, especially their complexions, it meant bright red or flushed. This definition originates from the basic meaning of the word: heaving, surging, gushing, coming from the verb πορφύρω.

ξανθός and ἐρυθρός are perhaps the only straightforward terms, meaning yellow or golden and red respectively. ξανθός was typically used to describe blonde (ish) people; Achilles is described as having ξανθή κόμη (golden hair).

γλαυκός was commonly used to refer to the color grey, or simply to describe something as gleaming. When it refers to eyes, it usually describes the color; the most famous example being Athena and her epithet of γλαυκῶπις or grey-eyed (or gleaming eyed).

And now let's talk about κυάνεος. We get the color term cyan from it, and the word is popularly considered to refer to a dark blue. But that isn't exactly accurate. If we look at what this word typically described: hair, people, etc., it is clear that the concept of blue that we have nowadays wasn’t really coming into play. In fact, the more general translation is dark or black, conveying a shade rather than a color, like μέλας. If I were to attribute a color term to this word at all, I would probably say blue-black, or a cool black, to convey the depth of that shade, which is probably what the Greeks were describing.

[zombiekombi-if]

Zombie Kombi

An interactive story by @josru

DEMO TBA | CHARACTERS

The cities are barren.

Not a soul has been seen navigating North America's metropolitan landscapes in years.

The undead are considered soulless, anyways.

In the late 2040s, zombies have overtaken the greater part of North America. You live on the outskirts of San Francisco, in an old, beat-up, secondhand Volkswagen Minibus. Also known as a Kombi (not sponsored).

You've been alone for as long as you can remember. Your elderly parent is long gone, and you have yet to meet another person, let alone one you're sure can be your ally.

Play as male, female or NB/GNC.

Choose your hunting level. Pick between amateur, alright, and advanced.

Romance one of four potential options (or keep them as friends, adversaries, or enemies, depending on your choices)

Choose your path:

Discover what happened to the world, causing it to be filled with the undead, by traversing to the city.

Find out about the first owner of your Kombi. (#??? videos found so far.)

Navigate conspiracies about a local settlement that seems too friendly.

Howard "How" Ngam

A mid-thirties, quiet, skeptical Thai-American man, How Ngam hates everyone and everything that's happened to him. He's the previous (read: not the first) owner of the Kombi- imagine his surprise when he stumbles upon you, living in a place he was sure he left locked and empty, meant to be his personal solitude.

He isn't the easiest to talk to, but his bristly attitude has it's purpose in this world. He's discovered a lot about the city, and How could take you there, but he's protective of those he cares about, which might include you.

Appearance: Tan-olive skin, deep-set eyes with wrinkles and dark circles, wide nose, prominent lips, shaggy, ear-length black hair, brown eyes, and stubble/mustache going on. About 5'8", fairly lean, some muscle. He's usually wearing a hand-me down, dark green jacket, and a copper-toned beanie. Heavy worker boots. Non-descript pants and shirt.

Dylan Chase

A late twenties, Half-Irish woman, Dylan is always searching for a greater purpose. She's scared, but determined to find herself in the midst of the apocalypse. You could worry that she's read too many self-help books, but she knows herself. Even if she can be a bit harsh about it.

Dylan wants more than anything to be caring, to prove to others that she's not a bad person. She lives in a well furnished settlement, where lack of resources seems to never be an issue. The guilt of being there, when everyone else is suffering, eats at her, but you could soothe her feelings, if you wish.

Appearance: Pale, warm toned, freckly-orange skin, hooked nose, sharply defined, thinner lips, deep red long hair past her shoulders, (basically think of a tomato), green wide eyes. About 5'6", very skinny, long runner legs with muscular calves. Despite the cold of San Francisco, Dylan runs hot and wears jean shorts, cropped shirts, or athleisure like hoodies and leggings.

Gloor

He's a zombie. Gloor's skin is a pallid green-blue, with splotches of beige that reminds you he was human at one point. There are chunks of skin and flesh missing from his body, but he persists on, in the way the undead always do.

He can barely hold a fully fledged sentence with you, but you can tell he doesn't mean any harm. There's something lifelike in his eyes as he stares with you, a strong purpose held in his pupils, untouched by the typical fog that zombies carry. It's even more obvious in the way he seems to still have fine motor skills: he's capable of writing a few letters for you, if you want him to.

Appearance: Green-blue skin, brownish-grey hair that's mostly all fallen out, brown eyes. No nose, lips receding. 6'2", surprisingly wide in the middle due to his ribcage. He's wearing an old, dilapidated suit, and a wrinkly dress shirt, and torn up pants.

Alia Jacobs

Named after Saint Alia of the Knife, Alia is a mid-thirties, black woman that absolutely adores pop culture and trivia. She's a massive, optimistic nerd, and maybe one that's a bit obsolete in this current time- nobody really cares to get into escapist fantasies the way she does. Either way, she's got a cabin filled with comics, old video games, and DVDs. You wonder where and how she's collected so much paraphernalia, and mainly why-  and she's willing to share that with you if you don't judge her.

Appearance: Deep cool toned skin, natural loose afro to about the end of her neck, brown eyes, slight smile lines, prominent lips, straight nose. 5'3", pear shaped, hourglass body. She wears billowy, silky tops, and well structured cargo pants. She wears a lot of jewelry like rings, bangles, and earrings.

[littlefireball]

Can we so get a version of Seongwha like F*ck away the pain? Seongwha is a clean freak so I'd love to see this side of him

Here you go~~ btw there is an exact same request lol

Other members (fk away the pain series): yeosang

ꜱʜ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ ꜱ*x (ᴀ/ᴍ)

ʙᴜɴɴʏ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ꜰᴏx ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ|ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ɴᴇᴄᴋ ᴋɪꜱꜱ|ʙʀᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ|ꜱᴇx ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.9ᴋ

You and Seonghwa have been apart for a week. It was unusual for you both to be separated for so long, as you were used to spending everyday together. There was no choice, however, a pressing matter awaited at the residence that demanded immediate attention.

You neglected to inform Seonghwa of your early return, opting instead to delight him with a surprise. Stealthily making your way into the house, you caught sight of him seated in his favorite chair.

"BA~BY~~" You leaped onto Seonghwa's back, unaware of the fact that he was holding a cup of noodles. "Goodness gracious!" Due to your unexpected jump, he inadvertently spilled noodles all over the legos.

"Oh my…" He straightened up abruptly, releasing your grip from his neck. "Have you returned?" His expression soon shifted from surprise to a hint of annoyance. "Well…yes. My apologies." Sigh "Let me clean up first" The tension in the air was palpable, especially since it was his beloved limited edition legos that was now in disarray.

His silence left you speechless, unsure of what to say next. Okay, look at what you've done. The entire desktop became a mess, not to mention his legos were all dirty─what he hated most as a clean freak.

"I'm sorry…" He glanced at you with impatience." "Can you be careful next time? You know it's hard to clean oil stains?! " His composed demeanor swiftly shifted to a slightly fierce one, his voice escalating in volume. His outburst, unlike anything you've witnessed before, sent a shiver down your spine. Coupled with your current irritable mood due to menstruation, his unexpected anger only fueled your own frustration.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" You shouted back. "But you are the one who made this mess!" Despite your strong urge to argue, you chose to maintain silence. Observing him meticulously restore his legos while muttering to himself, you swiftly retreated to your room to grant yourself solitude.

Feeling aggrieved, tears began to flow. Normally, you wouldn't cry easily, but the fact that you were on period slipped your mind. What followed such a display of emotion? The excruciating cramps that grip your stomach relentlessly. You gasped in agony as your body contorted in pain. Clutching your stomach, you struggled to sit up straight, let alone to take painkillers or call for help.

"Y/N?" Upon tidying up the desk, he pondered whether he had been too harsh with you, prompting him to seek you out but you had no response. 'Was she still angry?' "Y/N?I come in now." To his surprise, he found you huddled in a cocoon of pillows and blankets, your complexion pallid and your expression distressed.

"Y/N?Are you okay?Are you in heat? But there is no scent…" Alarmed, he hurried to your side to assess your condition, only to discover that you were in pain. You looked pale, drawn, and sweaty, as if something was torturing you.

"It's just on my period…" "Is it painful?But you won't be hurt before. Do you want some water?Or painkillers? Or something?" He gently caressed your head, his eyes filled with concern. You shook your head, taking his hand and placing it beneath your cheek. "I'm…fine…" Your furrowed brow betrayed your true feelings. As a fox hybrid, you knew that intimacy could alleviate menstrual pain, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask him. How could a rabbit, so obsessed with cleanliness, agree to such a request?

"Sorry, hwa.I didn't mean to. I know I am sweaty now and I'll wash the sheet." You pouted, your fox ears dropped.

"Why are you saying sorry? It's fine, baby. Let's not talk about this, okay? What can I do for you to reduce the pain, hm?" He comforted you softly while caressing your fluffy fox ears.

"Please don't be mad…" You hugged the pillow filled with his scent tightly, said "I want you…fuck me…" "Yo─you said what??" "Intimacy could reduce menstrual pain in foxes…" You hesitated, avoiding his eyes as you nestled into the soft pillow. A heavy silence lingered, intensifying your discomfort. It was no surprise that he reacted this way. He probably viewed you as unclean and not willing to help you.

"Forget what I said…I'll take the painkillers…seonghwa?" Strangely, you found him not in the room. Your attention was drawn to a faint noise, the gentle clinking of objects brushing against each other. As the door creaked open, Seonghwa stood before you, clutching a dry towel, a wet towel, a box of tissues and a plastic bag.

After placing down the objects on the table, he climbed over the bed, gently leaving your thighs and putting the dry towel under your body. "Hwa?" "It's okay, honey, I'm here to help you." As you watched him lift up your dress and pull down your panties, you held his hand to stop him.

"It's dirty…You don't have to do this, I can take the pill." He pecked at the back of your hand, whispering gently. "Taking too many pills is not good for your body and let me make it up to you. I'm sorry I was too tough." "I'm sorry, too."

Seonghwa caressed your head and placed a kiss on your cheek, giving you a sweet smile. "Let me help you then." With utmost care, he placed your foot on the ground, positioning you on the bed in a L shape. He removed your panties and set them aside, ensuring not a drop of blood tainted the fabric. However, upon witnessing the sight of your bloody hole, he hesitated momentarily. "It's fine, hwa. I can drink some hot water to reduce the pain…" "Everything is okay, honey." He wrapped up the condom before aiming at your entrance, slowly entering without hurting you.

Your tail puffed up as his cock fitted you perfectly, causing you to bite your lips not to make a sound. "Let me adjust first, honey." Wrapping by blood was weird, he could tell. It was hot and sticky, but indeed was a good lubricant. He found he can slide into your deepest part thanks to your blood. Maybe he could feel better just by thinking that it was not your blood but cum.

Slowly, he adjusted the feeling and thrusted into you. You were so sensitive that you moaned at the slightest touch to your sweet spot. "Fuck, honey, you are sensitive." He propped himself with both of his arms on either side of you, drew his hips and slid into your deepest area until he could not go further. "Ah~hwa~" The bed creaked as Seonghwa rolled his hip at a fast pace, you grasped the bedside and moaned choppy.

"I can't baby, it feels good." His hand trailed to your tail, caressing from bottom to top. He knew you loved it, badly. "Oh─oh!Gosh, hwa~ah!" Your wall tightened around his long cock as the numbness almost overwhelmed you and the period pain was gradually replaced. The musk scent belonging to you filled in the air combined with his sweet strawberry scent, fueling the desire within your bodies.

Seonghwa laid beside you and made sure the towel was still in the right place. "I love your scent so much." He couldn't help but bury himself into your crook of neck without breaking the thrust. Both of your left leg and tail were pushed forward to allow him to enter deeper. His hand trailed down to the hem of your dress, climbing up to your breast, kneading and squeezing it.

The electrifying sensation cascaded through your being, causing you to gasp in delight. You adored the way his form molded against yours, his imposing presence making you feel petite, while his intoxicating aroma surrounded you like a warm embrace, promising endless waves of ecstasy. You could cum multiple times because of this feeling.

But that's not enough. He licked the back of your ear, the sound of his tongue against your skin stimulating your nerves, making you tremble; his lips gradually moved downwards, planting shallow kisses on your nape, sucking on your fine skin, leaving faint red marks.

"Honey, are you okay right now?" His soft voice made you awake temporarily. "Yah, yah." He stopped thrusting and cupped your face, made you look at him. "Can I go rough?You can say no if you don't want to." "I can, please." Upon hearing your answer, he flipped you over to make your chest pressed against the sheet.

"Tell me if I'm too rough." You nodded, sensing the bed dip under his weight. He smoothly slid you once more, pressing against your back, his cock buried deeply in this particular angle. Contrary to the tenderness before, he pounded in and out with primal intensity. "Shit!!Fuck!Hwa!" Your derriere quivered with each rapid thrust, the delicate caress proving irresistible. He groaned uninhibitedly, reveling in the sheer pleasure of it all.

Seonghwa grabbed your hair and pulled it back a little bit, allowing him to leave a bite mark on your neck. "It's beautiful." Pressing a kiss on it, he sat up straight and continued to enter in and out as fast as possible. You were on the verge of losing your breath due to the pain and stimulation coming from below, and could only express your excitement through desperate screams.

His hand once again found your long tail, kneading it as if it was a ball. "Hwa…hwa…" "What if I pull it, a bit?" He pulled your tail slightly, pain blended with pleasure and numb, this sensation sent you to the edge of climax. "Hwa, I'm…oh fuck, ple…"Your cries of pleasure were now intertwined with the sound of weeping. You were rendered speechless, unable to form coherent words, only producing incomprehensible sounds.

"Tell me, what'd you want?" "Cum…Fuckkk!!" He collided with your sweet spot without any error. "Cum baby, let me feel you." Closing your eyes tightly, you could feel a knot in your stomach. His thrusting became sloppy and lost his rhythm, he was almost at his limit. With a few more thrusts, both of you reached your peak.

"Thank you, hwa." "Don't say this, honey. You're amazing." Catching his breath, he slowly withdrew from your body to ensure you can feel every vein of his manhood. "Clean up first, little fox. Stay still." He carefully took off the condom without dirty his hand, threw it in the plastic bag and cleaned you up with tissue and wet towel.

"Let's go take a bath first and I'll change the sheet, hm?" He pecked at your forehead as you nodded. After you showered, he already changed the sheets and all the pillow bags. Of course, all the rubbish was thrown away, and even the towels were put in the washing machine.

"Cuddle?" He guided you to the bed as you nod, cradling you tenderly in his arms. "Is it hurt now?" You shook your head, feeling comfort in his warm embrace. "It's much better now, thanks babe." He tenderly kissed your forehead, his eyes filled with affection. "Let's sleep, hm?" You snuggled closer to him, and together you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

And the legos? Well, although he said it's fine, you still buy ten more packages for him as a make up. One can never have too much of a good thing, right?

[acertainidontknowwhat]

As late as the fourth century CE in a satire attributed to the emperor Julian, Octavian (the later Augustus) is described as “changing many colors, like a chameleon: becoming now pale and now red”. In the satire, the god Silenus reacts to seeing Octavian by saying, “Bless me, what changeable beast is this! What terrible thing will he do to us!”

For comparison we have Pliny the Elder's comment on chameleons from his Natural History 8.120: "And [the chameleon] is more miraculous for the nature of its color, for it constantly changes its eyes and tail and entire body, and always resembles whatsoever it touches last, except red and white”

Pliny’s mention of the chameleon’s inability to turn “red and white” (rubrum candidumque) makes Julian’s description of Octavian turning pale (ὠχριῶν) and red (ἐρυθρὸς) take on a greater significance because it shows that Octavian is then more skilled than a chameleon at changing color by possessing the capability to turn both red and white.

Although Silenus' comment makes it clear that Octavian's color-changing should be seen as a reflection of his instability and danger, the change in color could also be an allusion to Octavian's constant change in health as ὠχριῶν refers to becoming pallid. Pliny further strengthens this reading by writing that when dead, chameleons are pale (defuncto pallor est). Thus Octavian is constantly changing between a state of near-death and great vitality as implied by Julian's ἐρυθρὸς and Pliny's rubrum, both of which can mean having a ruddy complexion.

[treason-and-plot]

Isla Paradiso International Airport, 6.17 am 

“We’ve got just over an hour before we have to head over to the boarding gates, Ma,” says Mia after they’ve checked in. “What do you want to do? Grab a coffee? Something to eat? You need something. You look pale AF.”

Nanette is wearing her hair a different way, pulled back from her face with no wispy bits, because she said her old hairstyle would have made her feel too frumpy and unkempt among the chic Parisiennes. It suits her but accentuates her pallid complexion and the violet shadows under her eyes. She shakes her head.

“I’m too nervous to keep anything down,” she says.

“Nervous? Seriously? About…the job?” says Mia.

“Oh, no,” says Nanette. “That’ll be a doddle. No, I’m nervous about seeing Rennie. What if he thinks I look old? What if….the spark isn’t there anymore? What if he’s involved with someone else? I mean, he told me he wasn’t, but it’s totally unrealistic of me to expect him not to have gone on at least a couple of dates. Men have needs, after all. Oh dear. The more I think about it the more anxious I become. It’s so ridiculous. I’m acting like a silly schoolgirl!”   

[murphy-kitt]

Ectober Day 7 - Unearth

Word Count: 3,082

Tags: Corpse AU, Description of Corpse, Mention of Blood & Violence

AO3

Coming to the conclusion that Phantom is the reason for Danny’s withdrawn behaviour, Maddie is forced to face the truth. Her son is dead—and it’s all their fault.

Something is very wrong with her son.

Maddie has observed it for months now, the way that something is not quite right. The frigid air that seems to be radiating from him, the pallid skin, his unblinking blue eyes. At first she thought he might’ve been overshadowed, but that ended up being dismissed as his eyes were still blue.

So, she doesn’t know what it could be. And she supposed the only way to find out is to confront him. She and Jack have given him plenty of months to say something, but to no avail.

“Danny?” Maddie’s breath hitches as she stands outside his bedroom door, her hand resting on the wood. There’s a faint rustling noise and the sound of something slamming.

“Yeah, mom?” Danny’s strained voice.

“Can I come in?” She asks, worried that she’s woken him up. He never seems to get much sleep these days, perpetual layers under his eyes.

“Uh…sure.” Danny’s voice trails off, developing into a hoarse cough. Not just tiredness, but he’s always fatigued and ill.

Maddie yanks the door open, preventing herself from the doubt beginning to form in her mind. She will confront him and she will do it now. Jazz’s voice of ‘giving Danny space’ rings in her head as she shuts the door, facing her son.

Danny is splayed out on his bed, his skin so pale she can even feel the cold radiating from him. A fever, but the opposite?

No.

“Good grief, Danny. You’re hypothermic!” Maddie reaches to press her hand to his forehead. The sudden icy contact makes a chill prickle down her spine.

“Mom! I-” He flinches back, holding his hands up defensively and blinking owlishly. This is the closest she’s gotten to him in months. Have his eyes always had the subtle greeness to them?

“What’s happened to you?” her voice trails off. None of this makes sense. Signs of ghostliness, the cold, the pale skin…yet he is still Danny. He consumes food, grows, goes to school. Doesn’t haunt Amity, or fly, or glow or show any signs of an obsession.

“I–” Danny grimaces, his hand resting on his neck, “I can’t tell you. Not now.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?! You won’t? Or is someone forcing you to stay silent?”

“A bit of both, I suppose.” He shrugs haplessly, and Maddie swears she sees a flicker of neon green. “I want to tell you. So bad. I don’t want to be lik– living like this anymore. It’s not fair. But I don’t know what else to do. Until yo– they see past their beliefs and realise the truth, then I’m stuck.”

“Danny, you need to tell me. Now.” her eyes narrow and Maddie nearly reaches out to shake him by the shoulders. What sort of trouble is he in? Someone’s threatening him to stay silent. She can see the desperation in his eyes. He’s trapped. Her baby boy desperately wants to say something, but is scared to silence.

“Who is it? Who’s threatening you like this? Did you see something?” Maybe he was witness to a crime. Murder? Drugs?

“No, Mom, it’s not like that.” Danny shakes his head, hopping off his bed and trawling across the room. The teen seems almost…dejected? Disappointed?

“Then what is it?” It’s like talking to a wall.

“Until they realise the truth and see how blind they’ve been, I won’t budge.”

“Realise the truth–what do you mean? Who needs to realise they’ve done wrong?” Maddie pleads, the confusion rattling even her scientific brain. The more he talks, the more questions arise and become more enigmatic.

“You, Mom. You and Dad are the ones who are blind.” Danny stares at her with a harshness she didn’t think he was capable of. “And until you see past your beliefs, I won’t tell you anything.”

He turns and walks out the door.

Maddie’s heart shatters.

What have we done?

—

“Get down and face us ghost!” Jack’s shout echoes through the streets of Amity Park, a shot of the bazooka following.

Phantom easily dances away from the shot, which lands and destroys a nearby building. The ghost twists to look at them, green eyes glaring with such ferocity that makes Maddie grip her gun tighter.

“Well I’m sorry that I’d rather not be shot at!” The ghost retorts, slugging a stolen thermos onto its belt. Her and Jack had been patrolling the streets, when in a rare chance, Phantom had been finishing up after another fight. Probably for territory.

“You’ve no other choice!” Maddie shouts back, strengthening her resolve as she surges forward. A green dot reflects on him as she takes perfect aim.

This is it, Maddie. This is all she’s ever wanted. To capture Phantom and stop the ghosts from terrorising Amity Park. At least by doing this, it might offer Danny some respite. He’s terrified of ghosts.

Danny… her prior helplessness returns in waves, making Maddie’s aim on the ghost falter. He stares at her with glowing green eyes, and she stares right back.

Just like Danny, even with a mischievous glower, deep down she can see the tiredness in Phantom’s eyes. That he’s sick of this too.

All the more reason to be rid of him. Her eyes narrow.

“Mads, what’s up?” Jack shouts, distracted from his shot as he turns to look at her and simultaneously fires. The shot veers off into a building, far off kilter from the intended target.

“I’m fine.” Maddie inhales, eyes narrowed. Since when did the air smell so strongly of decay? The stench is sweet and stings the back of her throat.

Holding her breath, Maddie points her ectogun at Phantom again. He’s not done anything, not tried to escape or make stupid remarks. He just remains there.

Floating. Staring.

Staring with those tired eyes.

Phantom floats down a little closer, maybe a foot or so infront of her. The aim on his chest is bright and burning, but Phantom doesn’t seem to care. Bile roses up Maddie’s throat as the smell becomes stronger.

The street is eerily silent, so much so that even Jack has put his gun down, letting it remain useless by his side.

Phantom stares.

“You need to see the truth.”

Just like Danny had said. Rage consumes her. How has he—how does he know what Danny said? She doesn’t know, she doesn’t care.

But now it makes sense. Why has Danny been like this.

Phantom’s been controlling him. Of course Danny wouldn’t say anything when Amity Park’s strongest ghost was threatening him to silence.

She looks at those eyes again. The tired green eyes. Almost pleading.

It’s just a ploy, and you know it.

Without hesitating, she points.

And shoots blankly in the chest.

Green and red everywhere.

—

She goes out at night, the full intention of finding Phantom. He’s downed and weak, lurking somewhere in Amity. It’s unlikely he has any sort of teleportation powers that can send him back to the ghost zone.

Her shot had surely been in close proximity.

In the dark, Maddie stalks the streets, trying best to blend in with the surroundings. She notes the scene of earlier that day, with the ectoplasm dully shining in the night. And then some darker patches, which make her stomach turn.

Ectoplasm and red. Ectoplasm and blood.

It shouldn’t be possible. Is it a trait carried over? If Phantom overshadows Danny for so long does Phantom get Danny’s traits too?

Danny’s got the cold, the tiredness, the green sheen to his eyes.

So Phantom would get blue eyes, warmth, perhaps a heartbeat and red ectoplasm?

Yes. That’s what it is. Phantom’s simply got red ectoplasm. It’s not blood, and the citrusy smell indicates so.

She recalls dinner time, what Danny had said. He’d been strangely reserved this time, much more than usual. He’d clenched a hand to his chest, and eaten very little.

“You deny and deny. It won’t help you. All the signs are laid out for you.”

He’d put his hand on his chest, and it’d been then that Maddie had noticed the branching scar on his left palm, disappearing down his long sleeved shirt.

A lichtenberg figure.

How’d he even get that? She thinks again, wracking her mind. There’s nothing jumping out at her, no accident or event where Danny got injured.

No. Maybe it’s not.

Rethink. Recoup.

Danny isn’t overshadowed. Why would Phantom tell you the exact same thing Danny said if he was overshadowing Danny? That would and did expose his whole scheme—and even for a ghost he’s smarter than that.

Moving away from the scene, she brings out the ghost tracker to try and find where Phantom is. There’s a trace of a powerful ectosignature up in the park.

Bingo. She thinks.

When she arrives at the park, it’s a haunting sight. The skeletons of trees are barely visible by the outline of the moon, and birds and critters chirrup in the distance. And there, on the top of the hill in the midst of the park, is a beacon of a figure.

Phantom. Careful not to bring attention to herself, Maddie puts the ectotracker into a compartment in her jumpsuit, watching the ghost’s every move.

Phantom’s hunched over, his knees tucked up to his chest. His green eyes are the brightest she’s ever seen, gazing up to the stars above. No fighting. No other ghosts.

Just Phantom, the silence and the stars.

“Have you ever thought about what's up there?” Phantom’s voice is just a whisper, yet it fractures the silence of the night.

Maddie freezes, instinctively reaching for an ectogun on her hip. She can’t do that though, not when she’s in the midst of research. What good would it be destroying the ghost that might have a connection her her son?

“You saw me?” The woman instead inquires.

“Of course I did.” Phantom narrows his green eyes before turning to look back at the sky. “Now if you’re gonna shoot me, can you at least get it out of the way or leave? I’m trying to stargaze here.”

“You enjoy stargazing?” She blurts without thinking. A ghost having hobbies? It should be impossible. All ghosts are driven by their obsessions.

Yet, here Phantom is. No other ghosts to fight and now crowds of people to cheer his heroics on.

“Of course I do.” The ghost hmphs , shooting her another fleeting look. Maddie guesses he’s getting testy about her being out of his line of vision.

Fine. She’ll bite just this once.

She’s about to talk when Phantom interrupts.

”You still haven’t realised, have you?” The ghost tilts his head in such a passive way it makes Maddie instinctively go for the ectogun. His smarmy, know-it-all attitude.

”What don’t I know?” She grits, playing along. It’s about Danny, it has to be. How they’re connected.

“You need to figure that one out yourself.” Phantom says dully, expression almost disappointed. “I can’t tell you.”

Clenching her fists, Maddie holds back the instinct to fire her ectogun again. She can’t go destroying Phantom a second time.

Is it just like Danny? That he wants to tell her, but can’t?

“I know my son is too terrified to even speak to me anymore! He was too scared because you’re threatening him.” Maddie narrows her eyes.

Phantom has the audacity to scoff, “You keep telling yourself that, then. You’ll not get anywhere if you think I’m to blame for the reason Danny doesn’t talk.”

Danny said that, too. That her and Jack were to blame for his withdrawal, that they needed to see the truth.

Maddie lets herself slump to the grass, grip on ectogun loosening. For the first time in years, she feels completely stumped.

Phantom hasn’t controlled Danny. He’s not threatened him. So what is Danny’s secret? Why the injuries, the constant absences?

“I just—“ she takes an intake of breath, trying to hold back the tears stinging the corners of her eyes, “I want to know what happened to him. It’s been so long. Danny’s so distant now, and I feel like I can never reach him.”

Out of the corner of her bleary vision, she notices Phantom watching. His posture stiffens, as if in shock.

She supposes such talk of Danny may come as a surprise to his system. After all, Phantom had to have parents once. Perhaps they were the reason for his…early demise.

There’s no doubt Phantom is a similar age to Danny. Perhaps recently dead, even.

“What about your parents?” She finds herself asking.

“Mine?” Phantom blinks, then considers. “Wasn’t one of your main theories that ghosts can’t remember their past lives?”

“Well..” Maddie feels her cheeks flush, before steeling herself, “This is your time to prove me wrong, isn’t it? Do you remember them?”

“Touché. I do.” The ghost pulls his knees up to his chest. “They were kind for the most part. Very aloof, though. Got so carried away with work that sometimes I slipped as their priority.”

And that’s just what she and Jack have done, isn’t it?

“That’s what me and Jack have done to Danny, I think.” The moment the words are out in the night, Maddie feels a sense of relief. She’s admitted it.

Never putting him first, and when she did finally notice it was too far gone. Of course Danny won’t open up to her now, given ghosts have prioritised over the past months.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

“I’m sorry Phantom. That you had to go through that, I mean. And your parents should’ve cared for you. Just like me and Jack should’ve for Danny.” She replies. “I’ll apologise to him tonight.”

The ghost gives her a crooked smile, strangely familiar. “I think he’ll know already that you mean well.”

And with that, Phantom looks back up at the stars, green eyes glimmering with reflections of galaxies. Maddie, feeling intrusive, stands up.

Hesitantly, she backs away, trying not to disturb the ghost.

But then Phantom looks at her over his shoulder. The expression is so strikingly familiar but she doesn’t know why, and stifles it down.

The starry glimmer in his eyes, the freckles sprinkled across his cheeks.

“Have you ever thought about what’s behind the portal?” His voice is gentle, steady. His aura flickers at the edges, brighter and fuzzier.

“No. We’ve never gone into the Ghost Zone.”

“Imagine it’s like the galaxy. There’s like, infinite galaxies. Just going on and on. There’s little pieces too. Sure you know that the ghost zone is through the portal, but have you ever wondered how it worked?”

She doesn’t know if she’s hearing things, but Phantom’s voice is getting weaker. His aura fizzling away like a candle on the last of its wick.

“—did you ever wonder how it switched on? What’s at the end of the endless tunnel?”

She’s not sure what’s going on. Or maybe she does. Phantoms drawling about the portal and she’s sure he’s fading—it doesn’t make sense.

“Why would we need to? We’ve never needed to know what’s behind the portal!” She responds, frazzled, “It’s just a wall.”

The strong scent of decay hits her again, making her stomach flip. It makes her nose burn, head clammy. Maddie presses her hands to her face, spluttering.

The portal. Electricity.

The decay.

“Are you sure?” Phantom's voice is echoey now, distant. “Or have you been so blind that you never saw the truth rotting behind the green?”

When Maddie uncovers her hands, the overpowering smell is gone. As is Phantom.

Only her and the glimmering stars.

—

The litchenberg. Of course.

The portal is the only damned thing in that lab with a voltage strong enough to cause such damage.

Maddie doesn’t even process coming back from the park until she yanks open the house door and runs into the kitchen.

”Mads!” Jack says in surprise, halfway through a packet of fudge, “Where’ve you been?”

Danny. Danny.

He’s in his room, has to be. She ignores Jack, dashing up the stairs, pleading that she won’t find what she thinks.

It can’t be true. None of this is right. Danny’s just...troubled. Sure, something is not right. But it’s none of this mess.

Behind her, Jack’s footsteps thump up the stairs, calling out for her in concern.

She rips the door open. Empty.

No unmade bed, or small lump of Danny under the sheets. No trash on the floor, strewn clothes.

”Is this about Danny?” Jack chatters, paling when he notices the absence, “Maybe he’s just ran off again?”

Maddie feels numb, heart sinking to her stomach. Her legs are heavy, weighted down by invisible anchors, chest feeling as fried as the portals shock.

God. The portal. That did this.

Their fault.

“Jack—it—it was the portal!” She finally manages to gasp out.

And then they’re in the lab, facing the green swirling vortex which reflects off of the tiles. Once a workplace, a sanctuary for her and Jack to make their weapons and research ghosts. Countless hours put into the Fenton brand.

How many of those are structured on lies?

Something catches her throat. There it is again, the putrid sweetness that claws into her lungs, makes her eyes water.

”Switch it off.” Maddie splutters, stumbling forward towards the green door. Once their pride and joy.

Now…

Jack presses the button. Sirens wail in her ears from the deployment.

And then they are in darkness. For the first time since initiation, the portal is still. No undertones of humming or neon green reflecting the walls.

Just stillness.

Maddie gulps, trying hold the bile rising in her throat.

”Mads…there’s something…” Jack whispers behind her, pointing directly at the back of the portal. Something small, a heap.

How long has it been here? Since the start? Just months?

Waiting. Decaying more by the day, desperately wanting them to set aside their blindness to realise what was lying infront of them the whole time.

Legs trembling, she traverses forward. The tang hits the back of her throat again, almost sickly sweet. Pasted into her memory for eternity.

And there something white juts up like a gnarled branch, gleaning slightly from the rubber material.

It’s irrefutable. HAZMAT.

And then the other, gnarled arm, withered and blackened, crisped like a branch in a bonfire. Black hair upon its head, once downy, now stiff as straw, inky as raven feathers. Skin—or what was, withered and twisted.

Eyes neither blue nor green.

Yet unmistakably Danny.

[dhampling]

sun astarion x reader drabble

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

-

wc: 600+

Blistering.

Eyes closed, toes outstretched - free from the confines of all leather and the tough of a sole long-battered - heels heavy in the fresh grass, the new soil. 

There’s a moment where all the air carries is far-off laughter and the smell of woodsmoke. 

You can’t say you’ve ever spent much time in Rivington - if any, at all. It’s charming in some lice-ridden rickety fashion, akin to other small towns you’ve travelled through in your time; and in prime position under the sun it simply bakes. Smoulders. Dirt paths trodden with clouds of pale puff, shoes laced with thick dry creases of dust. Warm ash on the waning breeze. 

The birds chirp in a dot-smatter overhead. Sky blue and vast and baking in the swell of the midday heat.

And it’s here you decide you’ll stay.

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

His first few tenday spells of day in two hundred years and he understandably basks in it. Pallid, occasionally wounded by the tender curse of long sun-reddened flesh for some small while before the skin heals over and his whinging stops. Forearm over forehead, eyes half-squinting; the gentle cant of his head toward yours on the lolling hill.

Astarion is quiet. It’s understandable. In a few long nights once reaching the Gate, he may have to relinquish his freedom once more. Give himself to the shadows, to the endless night; some awful routine of the moon rising as the stars sparkle overhead and the memory of every ounce of self-control leaving his corpse for the hunt. 

Granted, his centuries of plight will no longer be a problem. You’ll die if it ensures he’s free. Unspoken but he’s safe in the knowledge you won’t leave him behind. You won’t forget his struggle. You hold every ounce of his deliverance in safe hands and you’ve proven yourself time and time again to be in his corner.

“I’ll come with you, you know.”

A soft whispering into the sun; and you feel him shift to turn his head fully to you, still squinting; heat radiating from softened cheeks and lashes fluttering at the high of his cheek.

“Hm?”

“If you want me to. Whatever happens next.”

He offers some noncommittal hum and blinks slowly, wriggling a little to lay on his side with arms outstretched toward you.

“Come to me, lover. Please.”

You shuffle closer and rest a head on the hot skin of his inner arm, lips dipping to kiss your head.

“I mean it, Astarion.”

“I know. I do.”

A sleep-heavy sigh of contentment as he holds you still.  

“A house. Here. Thoughts?”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t see you settling here.”

“I could definitely settle here, if I wanted to. Little house. Little... pets.” 

His fingers flutter on the peachy low of your cheek. You groan.

“You’ve got a lot of life to live. Rivington shouldn’t factor into that, love.”

“Oh, I know. I’m familiar. However, it has a certain charm by day that I’d never seen before now. Cobble all… warm, underfoot. It’s nice.”

You grin.

“You’re the pet. A fat housecat.”

“I’m not fat.”

“No, but if you keep feeding on me the way you are doing, then that will change.”

He taps you playfully then pauses, before softly nuzzling his face deeper into the warmth of your hair. 

“That or the wine, I suppose. I’m a creature of comfort.”

“You’re a creature. Full stop.”

-

[wackyharpy]

Merchant's Daughter (Part 2)

God! Aemond x Human●Fem! Reader

Summary: In order to ease the wrath of one of the Gods, the girl among humans is chosen to be gifted to him.

Part 1

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: I know you've been waiting for it. So here is chapter 2, finally. Want to express my gratitude for your likes, comments, and reblogs. I appreciate it! Love you, guys! Enjoy the story :)

P.S. English isn't my native.

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW, sexual content, typical treatment of women those times, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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The man of her father's age opened the gates and kindly smiled at her.

"Welcome to Ēbrion, my lady. The residence of the God of Murk and Affliction — my lord."

She examined the pale complexion of the man, who wore perfectly ironed and starched white shirt with a black suit. His skin was pallid as if the blood no longer rushed in the veins. The man was acting as an alive human, though, there were doubts whether he was one.

"Who are you?" She cautiously inquired, still considering if she could trust him.

"I am a butler, my lady," the man was still smiling warmly.

"What is E... Ebrion?"

"Ēbrion," he pronounced it correctly and went on explaining, "this is the name of the castle, my lady. It means "dusk" in the Valyrian language."

Valyrian — the language of Gods.

The butler took her case and pointed at the lane with his thin arm. She made several uncertain steps walking into the territory of the castle. The gates behind her started closing by themselves what surprised her a little.

"Why is the castle named like that?" She curiously looked at the man and then turned her glance to the great piece of architecture in front of her.

"Due to my lord was born at dusk," she heard the butler's soft voice behind her back. "Please, my lady, may us come inside. Dinner is already awaiting for you, along with a hot bath. You must be exhausted after the journey."

She felt someone's presence the whole dinner as if an invisible person were in the room together with her, hiding stealthily. Somber aura hung over making the air in the castle humid. Although, it could have been her nervousness, and heightened temperature of the body due to her anxiety.

Massive walls were decorated with modeling, ornamented in pretentious paintings of mythical creatures and flowers; pictures in wooden frames adorned the rooms. Events of Gods' and humans' history were depicted on them. At times, it seemed the characters on canvases revived — expressions were altering on their faces, their eyes were watching her with the penetrating gaze. Here and there muted fragments of their conversations were echoing across the halls.

The servants of the castle were moving around ghostly — once they were working in one place, then, after a blink, there was no one in the room, the servants quickly were shifting to other places.

When the girl needed explanation or help, miraculously the butler appeared near her. A moment she turned her head, he vanished as though he weren't there initially.

Who were all these people serving the God of Murk and Affliction? Ghosts? Corpses who came to life? She doubted that someone ever would provide her answers.

She had been staying in this bleak place for a week and hadn't ever met its owner. Each day was gloomy and dull, the atmosphere outside was constant. Once in a while, it was drizzling — at those moments chilly spirit was sweeping through the halls, and the girl was hiding in the chamber, allocated for her, under the thick blankets.

The longer she had been staying here, the more dreadful anticipation of the meeting with the God became. She couldn't comprehend why he still hadn't appeared in his residence. But, she had a horrible feeling the moment she would meet him, it would be the most terrible encounter in her life. It seemed as if it were easier to face the Death than the God of Murk and Affliction himself.

One evening was especially murky. Since morning it had been pouring, so the whole day felt macabre. The poor girl had low spirits — there was no joy in here, nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to speak to.

The servants had prepared a hot bath for her. While she was lying relaxed in the tub, pleasant water was soothing her strained muscles, several women were readying her bed, changing usual white linen into black one with red intricate patterns on it.

After, they dried her with soft towels, brought her a beautiful transparent nightgown to wear, something unpleasant tugged and then dropped in her abdomen. Her mind gave the cue that tonight was going to be the encounter. Their lord was coming back home, and his servants were preparing Ēbrion to greet him with lush tables full of mouthwatering dishes, polished floors and decorations, and the main gift who was standing in this chamber.

Her.

Now she realized why her bedroom was in the remote part of the castle — nobody would hear her voice, her screams, her calls for help. As though there were somebody who would safe her.

"My lady," the servant gently took her hand and led her to the bed, helping her to get onto it.

"Please, lie on your back, my lady."

She did as she was asked. Her breath caught in her lungs — the feeling of terror was capturing her body slowly.

"What are you doing?" The girl jumped terrified when the servants grabbed both her arms.

"Please, my lady, you have to lie on your back," the woman's gentle voice asked her again.

Be obedient.

The girl gulped and lowered herself on the duvet. She was trembling, as a small leaf ready to fall on the ground in late autumn, while her wrists got tied to the headboard. A silk bandage covered her eyes — according to the servants' words, it was an order.

And there she was lying, alone, on the fresh and still cold bed, her arms attached to the headboard with ropes. She relied only on her ears hearing attentively what was happening around. The baldachin made of heavy fabric was completely closed. She was in the utter darkness.

Anticipation was eating her from the inside. It felt as if her heart could jumped out of her chest because of how afraid she was.

The echoes of someone's steps were audible in the corridor, reaching closer and closer to her chamber. She strained her body and tightly clenched her legs — was stiff as the violin's string.

All at once, the doors opened and she heard heavy male breathing, and loud stomps of leather boots. She tried to produce no sounds as though he didn't know she was here.

The God knew everything since the moment the convoy entered his lands. His henchmen saw her every step in the mist — vultures, ravens, trees, serpents, the fog itself. Everything and everyone felt foreign presence of a stranger, a human they'd never seen. And he already knew her name — the wind had whispered him.

The girl heard clatters of the crystal jug and goblet, and then quiet pouring of the liquid.

"Do you know who I am?" She heard a deep voice rumbling right from the chest. It felt dangerous and spellbinding at the same time as if looking at the volcanic eruption and hearing grumbles that come from the inside of the mountain.

"God of Murk and Affliction," her own voice sounded pathetic that was natural for such a miserable human she was.

"Remember it. I am a God, you are a human. A little pitiful human."

The baldachin opened suddenly revealing her small body to him worn in transparent fabric. He, without any shame, was staring at her young untouched body smelling her scent — dulcet and virginal.

The girl began moving, yanking the ropes, pulling her legs. Her heart was beating as a bird in the cage, fluttering small wings with the hope to escape. Unfortunately, there was no way back, no way home.

The God's large palm wrapped her thin neck pinning to the bed, his long nose grazed the side of her left cheek reaching her ear.

"Be a good girl for me. If you appreciate your life, be obedient," he whispered and left a light kiss on the earlobe.

She was incapable to breath, her body felt numb due to fear — the girl was lying still on the bed praying to remain alive after this encounter.

But who was she praying to? The Gods who themselves suggested to send her here?

She became alone, abandoned by humans and Gods who knew, who saw, who heard everything from above. They didn't care. One mortal girl was not a big deal.

The night had been dragging a long while, darker than it had ever been in any place of the world. It felt like infinity until the dawn. The infinity with his hard cock between her quivering legs, his heavy breathing and rumbling growls and moans.

She felt sticky hotness between her thighs — blood mixed with her juices and his semen. His strong hands left bruises on her innocent body, he bit her with his sharp fangs, penetrated her with rough thrusts. It was pleasure and pain she was experiencing. Her fleshy insides were fluttering because of exhaustion, but for the God it wasn't enough. He interchangeably used his shaft and long digits exploring the girl's interior.

Her crying didn't halt him, her moans encouraged him to keep on moving.

He examined every inch of her body craving to know all her cavities, convexities, and curves. He played with her breasts, nibbled her nipples, smelled her hair, and teased her clit.

She was different, unlike the Goddesses he had laid with. He sensed purity in her which he was devastating with his sinful actions, wicked tongue and perverse, constantly seeking for fulfillment dick. He adored her hot blood that could be heard rushing in her veins, he relished her taste feasting between her legs for hours till she couldn't take it anymore.

Everything was his from then. She belonged to him and only him.

He took her almost every night, and when the daylight touched the floors of her chamber, the servants always fetched her hot bath and breakfast. The God bestowed her with rich dresses made of heavenly fabrics and precious jewels that no mortal queens or kings ever possessed.

She was his own little human.

She was a good girl for him, and according to his promise he once made, she enjoyed only pleasure in bed. The God allowed her to explore the castle and the territory outside as a gift for her obedience.

Daily she had been spending time in the library, in the garden, or riding a horse in the surroundings of the castle. Her white stallion — a present from the God — was her loyal friend ready to take her anywhere she desired.

The girl was scared no more. The God's henchmen were watching her, the woods were protecting her from the possible danger that may have come from outside of his possessions.

She felt save and secure. Once she came here as a slave, a toy for the God, now she became his girl who he cared for and cherished.

***

The girl was bouncing on the God's hard cock standing on the hands and knees. Light breeze was tickling her nude body, sweet scent of grass and flowers enveloped the space around them.

Since her appearance here, the God's lands has changed reasonably. Thick fog has gone from Ēbrion to the borders of his possessions hiding them from the world outside. The sky wasn't overcast anymore allowing the rays of the sun to elucidate the territories around.

"My Lord..." she moaned loudly.

He gripped her hair tightly accelerating his thrusts.

"My Lord... Aemond! I need a break. I can't take it anymore," her ragged breathing showed her tiredness.

The God groaned, and grudgingly came out of her hot insides. She stretched her body on the blanket, closed her eyes enjoying the warmth of the day. The woods around them were shuffling. How much time had passed since she arrived in here? She didn't remember.

The days and nights blurred, time had no sense for her anymore. Once she was cut from the world she was born in, left forsaken in the unknown place, but now it seemed to be just a memory of long ago times.

In front of her was sitting her beloved man, the God who was spreading his wrath in the world, but sought love and appreciation in her hands.

Her dear Aemond.

"Are you tired, my love?" He took her arm and kissed it.

"A bit, my lord," she smiled, exploring his sturdy body with her curious eyes, and stopping her gaze at his thick cock patiently waiting to be buried deep within her walls again.

"Hmmm..." He thoughtfully rubbed her abdomen. Something began sparking in his good eye.

"What are you thinking about?" She half rose up on her elbows.

"Want to breed you, my love. To conceive a child with you," lust was heard on his tongue. He leaned his face closer to her, his silver hair glistening in the beams of the daylight.

"Do you want a half-God child from a mortal woman? I'm not even a queen, just a merchant's daughter."

An astute smile appeared on his face. He delineated her cheek with his long finger, then gently kissed her full lips.

"I don't want a half-God child. I want you to give birth to a God." He whispered into her mouth, and then pinned her to the blanket with the weight of his body.

She gulped and asked surprisingly:

"How?"

"I will make you my wife. My Goddess."

With these words he pushed his hard cock into her entrance, catching her moan with his lips.

[excentricanthropologist]

Era 0 Ghoul Names

More Ghost worldbuilding

We now have more Era 0 ghoul content thanks to the music video for The Future Is a Foreign Land, and since I had so much fun coming up with a name for the Satanic version of the Rosary, I wanted to have some more etymological fun and try my hand at giving these ghouls some names!

Many have noticed that the patches that the ghouls wear in the dystopia sequence feature not only their elemental symbols, but also the symbols of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. This got the gears in my brain turning; since each Horseman is associated with a different colored horse, I wanted to see if I could find names for each ghoul that incorporates both their element and their Horseman color. After some fun research, I've come up with names for all four that meet both criteria!

Water/Conquest: Finn

"And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow..." (Revelation 6:2)

The name Finn is derived from the Irish/Scottish Gaelic name Fionn, meaning "white" or "fair-haired". It's also a homophone for the word "fin", like a fish's fin, which I think is perfect for a water ghoul. 😉

Fire/War: Phoenix

"And there went out another horse that was red...and there was given unto him a great sword." (Revelation 6:4)

Obviously the name Phoenix puts to mind the fiery mythological bird of the same name, which is derived from the Greek word φοῖνῐξ [phoînix]. The word has a rather complicated etymology and multiple meanings besides the mythical bird, one of which is the color crimson.

Air/Famine: Raven

"And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand." (Revelation 6:5)

This one is fairly straightforward; raven can be used as a synonym for black and is also the name of a bird, which I thought suited an air ghoul!

Earth/Death: Celadon

"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." (Revelation 6:8)

This one is a little tricky as the original words used to describe the color of Death's horse (pallidus in Latin and χλωρός [khlōrós] in Greek) were used to mean either pale/pallid or a shade of green. I decided to split the difference and went with the pale grayish-green color celadon, which gets its name from a type of glazed green pottery. I think that the association with earthenware matches up well for an earth ghoul!

And there you have it! This was really fun to put together and I'm very happy with the results. If you like these names feel free to use them in fanworks. 😊

Thanks for reading!

- Sister Serena

[lionheartedmusings]

so... if it's canon that q!bad was one of the angels under the euphrates river — one of the "four avenging angels rise from the river with their weapons, ready to fulfill their mission of killing a third of the people on earth" — and it's also canon that he's now a demon (mind you the angels under the euphrates were already there because they'd sinned and were basically on thin ice with the big man) that would ultimately imply that he fulfilled his mission of killing a third of the population and then got booted from the sky above by god himself. thus, demon.

we know he's (as a demon) responsible (accidentally or not) for:

the black death (possibly)

the destruction of pompeii

the fall of atlantis

he's also canonically "a" grim reaper, although he does this part time... but from last stream we can infer he's very much in tune with life and death still, to the point of it being the only reliable information we have from him right now.

we also know from last stream that the horse he found is... very fitting with the concept of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

the fourth and final horseman is named death. known as θάνατος (thanatos), of all the riders, he is the only one to whom the text itself explicitly gives a name. unlike the other three, he is not described as carrying a weapon or other object, instead, he is followed by hades (the resting place of the dead). however, illustrations commonly depict him carrying a scythe, sword, or another implement. the color of death's horse is written as khlōros (χλωρός) in the original koine greek, which can mean either green/greenish-yellow or pale/pallid. the color is often translated as "pale", though "ashen", "pale green", and "yellowish green".

now, for this to be a viable theory we have to discard the greek mythology figure of thanatos because in this case thanatos is simply a placeholder for the name "death" so there's no need (as of right now) for us to go down another mythology wormhole.

so, as of november 19th 2023, q!bad is most likely one of the future horsemen of the apocalypse, specifically death... but it's okay because "it's not time yet".

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronancetober day five. Quick little semi-angsty thing, Nancy-centric.

Prompt: Blood

They’re on patrol in the woods, Robin and Nancy and Lucas and Max, when Nancy gives the signal, two flashes with her light. The others stop and circle up, all signaling back with a single flash, waiting quietly and readying their weapons.

There’s a pack of dogs stalking them. Nancy hears them, hears the weird clicking that means they’re talking to each other, knows they’re going to do their best to trap them before they attack.

Nancy doesn’t like being boxed in, and she’s gotten good at this. They all have, though she has particular skill with a gun, is the only one who carries one on patrol. It’s one deep breath, letting all the noise aside from her own body fade until she can focus on the sounds she wants. The sound of movement, clicks and shuffling leaves and a high-pitched buzzing whine, almost like a light bulb not screwed all the way in. She’s got them. Three to the back, two branching at the sides.

Or they’re starting to. Nancy takes two rapid shots with her rifle, a gift from Hopper that holds a magazine big enough that Nancy doesn’t have to worry about a reload every minute. The familiar, desperate whining snarl lets her know she hit what she wanted to, and the rest of them snarl too, trading stealth for a full charge.

She hits three and then four, and five is in her sights when she hears it, that clicking sound, that awful buzzing, coming from the wrong direction. Her heart, which so far had barely pinged with now-familiar warning, begins to thunder, and she takes the shot at five and whirls as fast as she can.

It’s too late.

Robin goes down, hard, a dog’s body atop hers as she shields Max and Lucas, who are charging with their bats and chains.

“Stay back,” Nancy yells, because she needs a clear line, and they listen, thank god, habit and trust overcoming the panicked desire to save Robin as fast as they can. The dog is dead immediately, three viciously accurate shots dropping him. Three viciously accurate shots Nancy can make because Robin hadn’t been moving. Robin hadn’t been moving. Robin hadn’t been moving.

Nancy’s on her as fast as she can be, Max and Lucas not far behind, and she cries, not bothering to try to hide it, when she finds Robin’s dazed blue eyes open and looking at her, a wobbly smile on her face.

“Knew you couldn’t take the shot if I was squirming,” she says, breath uneven and blood seeping at an alarming rate from her shirt and her pants, and then her eyes close, and Nancy nearly loses her mind.

-

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says lowly from the chair on the opposite side of Robin’s hospital bed.

“Sure,” Nancy says, because she doesn’t want to argue, Robin’s clammy hand in hers, her already pale skin gone totally pallid, freckles washed out from blood loss.

“She’d tell you the same thing. She will tell you the same thing, when she wakes up.”

“I know.” And she does, but that doesn’t mean Robin will be right either.

Steve doesn’t say anything else, gets up and comes back with coffee for them both a few hours later, and they wait and wait and watch.

-

“Nance,” Robin says, so gently, like Nancy is the one coming home after a week-long stay in the government-run, we-don’t-talk-about-it hospital located, of course, in fucking Hawkins Lab. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” Nancy says, less gently, because she’s not as good as Robin, not at things like this. She can patch a wound. She can plan through a crisis. The after part? Well.

Her hands are gripped tightly on the wheel, car parked in the driveway of Steve’s house, which is Robin’s house, too, now. Her parents had left more than a year ago, accepting I’m eighteen as a good enough reason to let their only child stay in a literal hellhole while they drove somewhere not full of demons and cracks bleeding poison into the air. Nancy is, selfishly, happy that she’s here. Isn’t sure what she’d do without her. She also wants to throttle her parents.

A hand comes to rest over hers, fingers rubbing soothingly at her knuckles until she lets go, turns her hand until their fingers lace. She lets Robin bring their joined hands over, feels her whole body relax despite herself at the warm press of Robin’s lips to the back of it, the fond, tilted smile waiting for her when she lets herself look, blue eyes far too knowing.

“C’mon, baby. Take a nap with me.”

She nods, and Robin kisses her hand again, the inside of her wrist, and then squeezes before letting go, opening the car door even as Nancy says, “Hold on, hold on, hold on.”

She does, amused when Nancy gets to her side of the car, and it feels like a grate against Nancy’s guilty, worried chest. Because she is who she is, it shows as anger, which she knows because Robin’s face shifts to contrition.

“Sorry,” she offers, with a small smile, and god, Nancy’s a bitch.

She gets down on her knees, concrete damp through her jeans, and puts her palms over Robin’s thighs, callouses against the soft cotton of Steve’s stolen sweats.

“I love you,” Nancy says, looking into inexplicably soft eyes, and means I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. She can’t always say it, her pride blocking her airways even though she hates it, wants to claw it out and throw it away because Robin deserves a real apology, so many real apologies.

“I know,” Robin says, and cups Nancy’s cheek, leaning down to kiss her. “We’re gonna have to talk about it at some point,” she whispers as she pulls away. “But first we need a nap.”

“Okay,” Nancy says, the way she only really says it for Robin, the way that means I love you and I’m sorry both. Robin knows her well enough to understand.

[midnightsun-if]

Do we have an alternate ending to the true love kiss scenario but the kiss ended up working? 🥹💔 asking for a broken hearted fellow

A heavy buzzing is what alerts you to your surroundings first, your eyes fluttering open blearily as you try to make sense of the world coming into focus around you.

You were in a familiar room. Faint aromas and scents waft over you, soothing, instead of alerting, the beast within you.

You were on a bed. That you could tell by the soft sheets underneath your hands.

You weren't alone. Your gaze settling on the figure seated directly next to you, a wave of warmth crashing over you at the familiar sight.

Koda: "Hi, sunflower," he whispers, conscious of how loud he needed to be in case you were still disoriented. A large hand cups your cheek, tears causing the gold within his deep brown eyes to shimmer like flecks of liquid sunlight. "You've been asleep for a bit, I'm glad I was able to wake you up." Koda dips his head. "We should get you a medal. I think you beat out a hibernating bear."

Scarlett: "My heart." The whispered admission, spoken through a strangled noise, as if the breath had just been forced back into her lungs, is filled with adoration. "You've finally awoken." A look of complete relief is etched upon her face, Scarlett moving closer, as if on instinct, to clutch your hand. The usual viridescent quality of her gaze was darker than usual, a pallid hue to her complexion, but the happiness the shone through seemed to make her glow from within. "I'll have to ask you desist from ever scaring me like that again. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

Cyrus/Cyra: "You're awake." A soft smile comes to their lips at the sight, golden eyes shimmering with all the love they felt for you. "I wasn't certain if you would awaken. If I--" They pause, shaking whatever thought away. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been able to help you." They gently take your hand into theirs, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. "You've helped me in so many ways, my flame, I'm glad that I was able to pay, at least some of, it back."

Quinn: "It's about time you woke up," they tease, easy smile on full display. If it wasn't for the strain around sapphire eyes, you would have almost believed it too. "I don't know how much longer I could have put up with your snoring, sweetheart." Quinn shakes their head, settling on the bed, making sure they didn't jostle you too much. "I'm just glad to finally see you awake."

Caden: "I'm glad to see you awake," they murmur, gently swiping a strand of hair away from your face. Argent eyes softened to a pale gray, black curls falling haphazardly across their forehead as they smile gently at you. "Is there anything you need? Anything I can help you with?" Caden settles on the bed beside you, light as air. "I will do everything in my power to make sure you're okay." They press a gentle kiss to your brow. "No matter how long that may take."

Sloane: A rush of emotions flickers across their face at the sight of you actually staring back. Hazel eyes flashing with the depth of the storm raging within them. "You're an ass," they grunt, hands tightening on the covers. "Do you have any fucking idea what you've just put me through?" Sloane barks out a laugh, shaking their head. "If you ever act like that much of a dumbass again, I might just leave you sleeping." Staring at you for a moment, their eyes soften, as does their tone. "But I can't say I'm not glad to see your beautiful eyes."

Blake: "I know I've said I enjoy Sleeping Beauty, but that doesn't mean you need to reenact it, angel." Violet eyes appraise your form, noting everything that could possibly be wrong. Seemingly content with what they find, Blake takes your hand into theirs, relief causing the tension within their body to rush out. "Let's leave curses and hexes to witches and animated movies, okay?" They run a hand through their hair, making the already messy locks even more haphazard in appearance. "Have no interest in almost losing you again."

Reginald/Regina: Blue green eyes brighten, a sunny smile overtaking their lips. "It actually worked!" They beam, rushing to your side in an instant. Slim hands cradling your face as they seem to simply want to soak you in. "I can't believe it actually worked! I'm happy that it did, of course. I don't want to even imagine it failing, but--" They cut themself off, clearly aware that they were headed towards a rant. Reigning themself in, they continue with a softer edge to their tone. "Even if I'm profoundly curious, I don't think I want to ever experience this again. I like it a lot better when you're the one answering my questions."

[unorthodoxposts]

draft: blood in the water

"I know what it means, Dark."

Anti could feel dark, dark eyes on him then, just the barest hints of red peering past the edge of his pupils. He was hungry. Dark was hungry. He needed to feed.

But, still, all Dark seemed able to do was look, stare at him. His skin was pallid, almost as pale as the natural tone of Anti's at this point; gray, even. Obviously, it wasn't right. It just made it less right that Dark's skin was tan, was supposed to be tan.

"Anti," came Dark's voice, low, a different kind of rough. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

Anti took a deep breath in through his nose, breathed out, and he looked at him. Dark was still stood at the opposite end of the room. If Anti didn't know better, or was anyone else, Dark seemed his ever-present calm; composed. But Anti did know better, and he wasn't anyone else. He could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigidity of his spine, like he was forcing himself straighter than he actually felt like holding himself. Honestly, he looked terrible, so, "Yes, I'm fuckin' sure. You need to feed."

Standing, Dark leant against the heater behind him, his feet crossed at the front as he raised his head to look at Anti. "How about this," he began, his head slightly tilted. "I agree to feed from you, and in exchange, you shift for me. Tonight."

Anti held back a growl at that, and he set his jaw. "Fine."

But Dark didn't move.

"Promise me."

Anti shut his eyes, took in another deep breath through his nose, opened them. "I promise."

He blinked, and Dark was directly in front of him, teeth glinting in the low light of the room. Anti held his wrist towards him then, his own impressive set of canine grit as Dark took the offered limb in hand. He made eye contact, opened his mouth. And Anti took that moment to appreciate the intensity of those teeth then, the precise point of them, their crisp edge; about to break skin. His skin.

He steeled himself, and Dark bit.

His teeth sank deep, deep into the pale flesh of his wrist, these small pools of blood beading at the surface as he fed from him. A sharp, metallic scent filled the air, and Anti resisted a wince when its poignant smell reached his nose, the stuff feeling like it was clogging his throat at the taste of it on his tongue. But Anti forced himself to remain still, steady as Dark took his fill.

Whilst Dark stayed busy doing his thing, Anti let his head fall to the other man's shoulder, his nose close to the thin skin of his throat as he inhaled. Anti narrowed his eyes, and he watched close as the color returned to Dark's face, flooding his skin with that familiar, tan hue. It was at that point Anti was content to shut his eyes, his form relaxing into Dark. As with everything Dark did, he was careful, and he pulled back slow; controlled, to an annoying extent. Anti huffed against him.

He felt hands cupping either side of his face then, and Anti looked up. Dark leant forwards some, his dark hair messy but falling in a way that was also pretty against his forehead, and something primal and hot stirred in Anti's gut at that. Dark's mouth was meeting his then, and Anti didn't hesitate to return that contact, his eyes squeezing shut as he put his hands to the other man's torso. His fingers gripped greedily at his waist, and his lips parted fast at the insistent press of Dark's tongue at his bottom lip. And he could taste himself. The flavor of something like metal, and coppery; of blood, coating the insides of his mouth.

Anti exhaled harshly through his nose, and he pulled his mouth from Dark's. Dark was already doing the same, a tinge of red still staining his teeth. "Teeth," Anti murmured, his eyes somewhere distant, mind feeling like a thick fog.

"Ah," answered Dark, his hands moving to pull a handkerchief from his breast pocket. "Of course."

It's not that Anti had a problem with blood, really, but something about the taste of it in his mouth bothered him, and it wasn't its flavor. It took him back to the night of his first change, how hard he had fought against it, because he hadn't wanted to change. It reminded him how his teeth had elongated, formed into a set of thick, sharp canines, how those canines had dug into his bottom lip and caused a thin red fluid to glaze his tongue as he pushed back against the breaking and rearranging of bone. How he had clawed at his own throat, had ended up scarring it, to stay human.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

|| COCOON

fem! yan x fem! reader TWs: So fucking unsettling.

Lucille was a pretty girl—obnoxiously so. She was the kind of pretty that would cause one to strain their neck in search of their own reflection to see how ugly they were in comparison. They would always be uglier than her and often would blush for the shame of their own homely faces or plain appearance. This is how Lucille knew she was a pretty girl, not because people told her—no, they were far too insecure to do so—but by how miserable they looked whenever her presence graced the room. With whatever soul she had, she felt a deep, almost sadistic pleasure in it, but with how her concealed lips would form into a thin smile, nobody knew. Her father would often scold her for her debauched behavior and often wondered what he did wrong; perhaps he had been too lenient or delicate with his precious child—though he never did anything of any nature, he was simply there. Lucille hated the man but had no justification for her hatred, as he never laid a hand on her or yelled with a belligerent tone. She surmised that he had some hidden evil that he dared not to tell her; perhaps he was a drunk, a sloth, or a degenerate. Yet, she knew why she really hated the man, because she knew that behind his glassy baby-blue eyes, he saw her.

Lucille’s eyes were far prettier than her father’s and, if she ever met her whore of a mother, her eyes would be prettier than that skank’s. They were wide malachite-colored things that usually had pupils so dilated you could see your reflection in them. Her most recent ex-boyfriend frequently teased her and said he always thought she was high out of her mind. He would have to repeat himself more than once whenever he said anything. She never paid any attention. He left her at the start of spring break, and a day later, he left Duruston. Nobody remembered his name, they just knew him as Lucille’s boyfriend.

She wanted to leave Duruston too, but she did not have the money or the means. So, she spent all her time doing the usual things—wandering the strip mall, getting her nails done, letting the artificial glow of the tanning salon mask the shadows she couldn’t. At the bug-infested diner, she picked at greasy fries with her friends, spoke in half-laughs, and ended most nights at the cemetery. Most of the time, she did not have to even glance at her thrifted designer purse; everyone paid for her things. They just expected favors in return.

Except for Butterfly. Butterfly never asked for favors, except for that one time when she bleached her hair, and half of it fell off in the shower. Butterfly was a sweet girl, the sweetest girl Lucille had ever met—Lucille was so convinced of this that she thought if she were to bite into Butterfly’s pallid skin, all her teeth would rot out. Lucille had a habit of noticing every little thing Butterfly did; her green eyes would often sparkle with some form of stolen light and shine with a glow akin to grief. Butterfly never noticed this. She was always too busy fidgeting with the hem of the blue sweater Lucille bought for her.

“You’re cold again,” Lucille mumbled before turning down the C.D. Butterfly made for her—a collection of David Bowie’s greatest hits. “Hm?” Butterfly’s head perked up from the magazine she was reading, “Sorry, I didn’t—” “We should go to the tanning salon; I want to tan again. Am I pale? I think I look pale, and you know Blake doesn’t like ghostly girls.” “We could, but I hate it there. You could get skin cancer one day, Lucy,” Butterfly closed the magazine and tossed it over the bed, “I worry about—” “I’ll grab my purse, just wait in the car, okay Butterfly?” “God, would it kill you to call me…” Lucille exited her bedroom, gently closing the wooden door behind her. She traced her well-manicured fingers across the yellow walls, counting how many individual linoleum tiles were on the floor. She reached the kitchen and found a Franklin taped to the refrigerator beside a sticky note that read “For dinner — Dad.” She stuffed it into the pockets of her jeans, grabbed the keys from the counter, and left the house. The winter sun was sinking into the line of pine trees just beyond her house, seemingly disappearing and only leaving an embryo-colored glow in its wake. She started her father’s Ford Focus, honking the horn three times so Butterfly would rush out the front door. She had timed Butterfly’s movements in the back of her head; right now, she was probably taking a deep breath and reciting a prayer. In two minutes, she would come stumbling out the front door, holding her star-shaped messenger bag and rummaging around for the latest C.D. her mother let her buy. “You’ll like this one,” Butterfly smiled, her head tilting down and a light, coy blush crept over her face, “My grandmother recommended some oldies to me recently, I— I really love them.” “It’s so… you,” Lucille sighed, rolling her eyes as she tuned out the voice of  Frankie Valli for the hundredth time. “Is that a compliment?” Butterfly’s blush turned shameful, and she paused the C.D., fidgeting with the radio, “Never mind, we can listen to the station.” The rest of the car ride was silent. Lucille was not expecting that outcome at all—no, something was terribly wrong with Butterfly. She broke a part of her nail as she held the wheel, choking the hot-pink faux fur cover, ripping the fuzz off with her index and thumb. Her dilated eyes stared at Butterfly, who was too occupied fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. The sweater Lucille bought for her. “Can we park close to the salon this time? I don’t want to walk through the drizzle,” Butterfly’s hand found its way on top of Lucille’s, cautiously placing her calloused fingertips on her slender fingers. “Anything you want,” Lucille mumbled, finally facing the road again, and loosening her grip from the wheel. “Oh, you chipped a nail. You’ll—” “I’ll get Blake to pay for my new set. He said he would after what I did for him last week,” Lucille pulled the car into the parking lot. Butterfly took her hand off Lucille’s and grabbed her messenger bag, leaving Lucille alone to take a deep breath. Lucille took many shallow breaths, and she felt like she was stealing all the air from the world and choking on it. She watched Butterfly walk into the tanning salon—that idiot was probably fumbling over her words. Lucille decided to help her, again.

“Uhm, no I just— She should—” “I want room number 13, and bring one of those folding chairs with you, for my Butterfly,” Lucille crossed her arms, sizing the old hag at the register. “Hah, that’s just a nick—” “Sure thing, ladies,” The wrinkled thing said, grabbing one of the folding chairs in the corner with her flabby arms. They entered the room, and Lucille locked the door behind them. She stripped herself entirely, except for the heart sticker she applied just below her navel. She stared at Butterfly, whose face was burrowed deeply into the library’s copy of “The Metamorphasis.” “Can you set the timer for me?” Lucille asked, slowly heading toward the tanning bed, and crawling inside. The lid hummed as it lowered, sealing her in a cocoon of sterile light. The bulbs flickered to life, casting an artificial sun over her skin, too bright and too close. The heat pressed down, heavy and suffocating. She closed her eyes, but the somber blue glow seeped through her eyelids, pulsing like the beat of some distant, unseen heart. “So, how was your week, Butterfly?” Lucille asked, picturing how Butterfly’s face would scrunch in response. “You know I hate that name, Lucy,” Butterfly closed her book, tossing it onto the ground, “Why can’t you just call me—” “Is it because Lorelei gave it to you? Her and I went to blockbuster recently, rented a copy of that movie you recommended. It was so…” “So me,” Butterfly filled the silence, her voice trembling like a leaf blowing in the wind. “You know,” Lucille decided to tease her friend, in hopes it would strengthen the girl, “Lorelei said—”

“Stop.”

“She told me that you—”

“Lucille, shut up.”

“God, you are so dramatic,” Lucille laughed, she could see the silent tears, and could taste the refreshing sweetness of them, “Lorelei just told me about the party you and her went to. You know, the one where you got wasted.”

“Can w-we please talk—”

“I don’t think you’re a faggot, if that helps.”

Lucille heard Butterfly choke on a sob and could picture her pretty little fingers covering her chapped lips, pitifully trying to hide her shame. She bet it was beautiful—like one of those paintings left to collect dust in a gallery. She heard the rustling of books, a bag, and then sneakers. When Lucille emerged from the tanning bed to change sides, the door was wide open, and Butterfly was nowhere in sight.

For the first time in her life, she could feel her pupils shrink, shrinking so small that she could barely see straight.

“Butterfly…?”

“Y//N?”

…

Twelve days, three hours, and a few minutes had passed since Butterfly last spoke to Lucille. Odd, very odd indeed, was all Lucille could make of the situation—Butterfly never did things like this; she always returned to her in the end. She had gotten with Blake, precious little Blake, who paid for everything she wanted, took her downtown, and wouldn’t even record Lucille when she did favors. He was a nice guy, really, one of the sweetest she ever got with. Lucille’s mind flickered through a kaleidoscope of futures—none of them hers, all of them too bleak, and drenched in colors too bright, too wrong. The nausea came suddenly, rising like bile. She stumbled out of bed, each step a stagger across the cold linoleum, the floor stretching longer than it should—maybe she miscounted the tiles?

“To be Mrs. Fern,” Lucille thought, “Is to be dead.”

Her feet sunk into the mud as she headed into the pine forest, her skin drenched in a cold sweat. The pasty moon cut into the woods, illuminating the shadows on her face and hiding her eyes in a veil of darkness. There was an unmeasured rhythm in her footsteps: one… two… three… four… five… six—a waltz of sorts.

“Christ,” she muttered under her raspy breath, “Know she’s out here.”

Then, in the heart of the woods, she saw her. Really saw her. Butterfly stood bathed in moonlight, every shadow bending to her, every leaf trembling in worship. Her face—soft, radiant—blurred at the edges, as if she was slipping between worlds. Lucille’s breath caught in her throat, a sharp, reverent ache. This wasn’t a person standing before her; this was creation itself. God, she thought, whatever was left of her mind ablaze. This is God. Tears stung Lucille’s eyes as she dropped to her knees, arms outstretched, trembling under the weight of revelation. How could she not have seen it before? Every step, every word, every glance—it all led here. To her.

Lucille crawled to her, her ears clinging to the end of Butterfly’s prayer. Lucille’s abhorrent body rose above Butterfly, and she grabbed her face, forcing her to look forward. She slipped her slender hands over Butterfly’s mouth, sticking her fingers over her tongue, choking her words.

“Oh, Y//N, why did you—”

“H-ahng? Hoo arh yoo?”

“You’re so—” Lucille’s hand traveled down to Butterfly’s neck, and she imagined what it would be like to kill a god.

“I can’t breathe.”

“I love you, Butterfly.”

“L-Lucille, is that you…?”

Lucille’s hands slid further, deeper, until the boundary between flesh and god blurred. The warmth of Butterfly’s body gave way to something colder, something unnameable. A wet, visceral sound filled the air—part whisper, part echo, like the woods themselves were holding their breath. Lucille couldn’t tell where her hands ended and where Butterfly began.

The ink on the missing posters faded from the constant storms. Nobody had been able to find poor Lucille.