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dat-town · 5 months

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blood red and snow white

Characters: Beomgyu & female reader

Setting & genre: dark fantasy, (horror-ish?), Red Riding Hood (2011) and Hansel & Gretel (2013) vibes (or at least the way i remember them)

Summary: The woods was Beomgyu’s home. It might be his grave too.

Warnings: mentions blood and bleeding, crossbow as a weapon, werewolf attacks, non-sexual nudity, implied deceased parents, minor character death, (temporary?) major character death, honestly people in this just keep dying, one mention at the cliché power of true love

Words: 5k

Author’s note: this is not the “if you ever write fluff Beomgyu” that’s been on my to write list for ages but here, take something darker, sorry and love you @lily-blue <3

Inspired by TXT’s Gayo Daejeon performance

Header photo credit: 13thStars

The snow felt crispy under Beomgyu’s boots. The crunching sound was loud in the quiet forest, and it scared some birds off the tree branches as he got closer. But not close enough. He didn’t have much time to reach his grandmother’s wooden guesthouse; sunset was already dancing on the horizon, painting the whitewashed scenery in hues of golden and carmine.

The boy hardened his grip over the bag over his shoulder and yanked the hood of his red robe over his head with the other, protecting his curly locks from snow frost. He panted hard, his cheeks rosy from the cold and urgency as he crossed the frozen creek, counting down the steps he still needed to take to reach safety.

He should have left the village earlier, he should have known that he would be slowed down by the snow and dead branches along the way. He should have known better than to accept Yeonjun’s mulled wine and listen to his sob story about a girl that got away. Too late. It was already too late to wonder about what ifs and wrong decisions, he needed to hurry.

Between tree trunks, the outline of the snow-covered wooden structure finally appeared within reach. Beomgyu let himself look around and behind, feeling paranoid even because of the small noises of the animals finding shelter just as hastily as him. He was almost there. He was almost out of time.

He sped up his steps, his boots leaving ugly imprints in the snow while his panting became panicky loud. It was getting darker with each step he took.

Just three more. Two. One…

For exactly one moment, eerily long and quiet, the world stood still, stuck in the limbo between night and day, day and night. And then, all the light went out as the Sun disappeared beyond the woods. The stars barely flickered without the light of their companion, the Moon. It was the darkest night of the month.

The boy shakily drew in a breath, the puffs of his breathing visible in the dark. His hand lingered over the doorknob, frozen in place, trembling from the cold. Quiet. He needed to stay quiet and calm.

Beingyu gulped, weighing his chances, before he reached out and twisted the knob. The metal cracked and just then he heard footsteps behind him.

When Beomgyu was younger, he didn’t believe the woods was a dangerous place like other kids his age did. This was his home, his playground, his childhood. He had visited the old guesthouse more often than he could count on his tiny fingers. He thought that all those terrible stories were only his grandmother’s way of scaring him like how she said he wouldn’t grow taller if he didn’t eat his veggies or that evil fairies would kidnap him if he didn’t lock his door well. He didn’t believe in any of those silly warnings.

But then everything changed when he met you.

It was a scorching hot summer and you almost killed him.

The arrow pierced into the tree trunk barely centimeters away from his shoulder as he got up from the raspberry bush he was trying to clear off the sweet fruit. He got away with only a scratch on the back of his hand because in his startled state he managed to get caught up in the branches. He was so taken aback, he didn’t even notice the ting of pain as blood dribbled from the thin wound onto the ground until you pointed it out.

“You okay? Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Oh, shit, you’re bleeding.”

Beomgyu was probably more shocked about the fact that a girl his age, not more than sixteen, appeared by his side than the pain registering in his brain. He hissed as you took his hand and blew on the wound, mesmerized by how practiced you looked as you took a handkerchief out of your little bag and wrapped it around his palm. He felt his pale cheeks bloom into a rose garden. It was like a scene from one of his grandmother’s beloved romance stories, only that it was usually the other way around: a gentleman treating a lady’s wound and the boy, raging with teenage hormones, didn’t know how to feel about being forced into the role of a damsel in distress. But looking at you next to him, he knew there would be no doubts about these roles. After all it was him with a bucket full of sweets and you were the one holding a deadly weapon and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“What are you doing out here with that?” He finally found his voice and pointed at the crossbow in your hand. It probably wasn’t the best thing he could have said but this was what he was the most curious about. What was a girl like you doing in the woods instead of being at home, helping your mother with dinner?

“Practicing,” you shrugged as if it was normal to walk around with a deadly weapon. “My brother is teaching me to hunt.”

Oh, that made sense. Beomgyu had only ever seen huntsmen with that kind of thing. But he had known every huntsman in the village since he had lived there his whole life and he was sure that he had never seen you before. The next one was miles away, on the other side of the woods, so he wondered whether you and your brother were from there. Or maybe you were one of those families living in the woods, hunting for a living from meal to meal?

“Hunt what? Rabbits?” The boy found himself asking, feeling silly, because you didn’t look like you were malnourished, struggling to find something to eat, nor did you look like you could have hurt a fly with that easygoing smile on your cherry lips. Even your eyes shone like innocent stars when you laughed at his question.

“Nah. The kind of things that would kill us first if we didn’t kill them.”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyebrows, feeling stupid and out of place. The wound on the back of his hand started to pound as his heartbreak picked up. Did you really just say kill?

“Like wolves and bears?”

“Yeah, exactly like wolves,” you chuckled, somehow finding his reaction amusing and took the crossbow into your left hand, letting it fall next to your body as you extended your right towards him. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

“I’m Beomgyu,” he said as he tentatively took your hand and shook on it. Your hands felt rough against his skin. It tickled.

“I have to go before my brother starts looking for me but it was nice to meet you, Beomgyu. Be more careful next time. The woods is a more dangerous place than it looks,” you looked him deeply in the eyes, way too serious for a sixteen year old and the boy couldn’t look away. He was stuck in those dark orbs and wondered whether it was you who stole the stars from the sky every month.

He was dreaming of your bright eyes later that night.

Beomgyu’s grandmother told him that your family was bad news. That he should have kept far away from you. Easier said than done. The boy felt himself gravitating towards you like a moth to flame, not afraid of getting burnt.

He wandered around in the woods, humming folk songs to himself, hoping to catch a sight of you again. You were unlike any other girl he knew from the village. The boy kept your handkerchief tucked neatly in his pocket. He had washed the blood off it until it was white as fresh snow and smelled like nothing but chamomile. He thought it would give him a good excuse why he was looking for you. Just common courtesy, he tried to convince himself but the handkerchief was long forgotten when one day he finally saw you in the middle of the valley.

It was full of poppies and daisies, their petals painting the green scenery with red and white dots. You wore a simple pastel brown dress as you sat in the middle of the colorful cavalcade. From that distance he couldn’t tell what you were doing but as he got closer it became obvious that you picked up flowers and put them into your basket. It reminded him of his tasks when his grandmother needed ingredients for her creams.

Beomgyu was still a good ten meters away when you must have noticed his approach because you turned and looked straight at him, suspicious at first but soon recognizing him.

“Oh, hi!” You greeted him with a smile, casual and kind. Sure, your heart must not have been doing excited little jumps in your chest like his. He still couldn't believe his luck. After long weeks and even longer months passed, seasons changed and the spring bloom came, you were right in front of him again.

“Are you not practicing hunting today?” He found himself asking a bit awkwardly but you didn’t seem to mind. Your smile was still the same as you shook your head.

“No. My brother is sick, so I’m collecting marigold flowers. It’s good for the body, you know,” you told him, reaching for the next bright-colored piece.

Actually Beomgyu knew, his grandmother taught him well, so for once he believed it was a useful knowledge because this way he could sit down next to you and tell you all about the other herb and plant health benefits that he knew of.

Beomgyu told you about his village too. About how the Sunday market was the most eventful thing over the week. Or how the baker’s daughter ran away with a boy from the next town and it had been such a scandal. You seemed invested in his stories. Sitting cross legged in the middle of the meadow, you smiled at him like he was the Sun. It made him a little shy, just like when your fingers touched over the basket. Just a small yet thrilling feeling.

“We only visit the villages when we need to buy something or have something to sell. I rarely meet new people,” you admitted, your fascination with his boring stories suddenly making more sense to the boy but he couldn’t help but wonder why you lived so secluded from other people.

“Are you living in the woods then?” He inquired, watching intently as your long, messy hair fell into your eyes after you nodded.

“Yeah. Me and my brother with a few others.”

Beomgyu furrowed his eyebrows, confused. Others? Strangers? His grandmother had told him about people at the edge of society who lived together despite not sharing a blood relation. Beomgyu had always imagined them a little wild.

“Your parents?” He blurted out with a closed throat.

“It’s just the two of us,” you shook your head, keeping your gaze on the flowers in your lap. You removed the tiny orange petals one by one. “He’s more important to me than anything.”

The boy hadn’t had siblings of his own, so he didn’t know whether that kind of devotion was normal or not but he could understand the importance of having only one living relative and the co-dependence of it. So he told you about why it was his grandmother who brought him up and when you put your hand on his, his heart fluttered.

It became a habit to meet at the meadow.

You sneaked away from your brother and he always took a detour on his grandmother’s errands.

Sometimes you walked over to the trickling creek or fed birds in the middle of the woods. Sometimes you just lay side by side in the shadow of the trees, watching the white puff of clouds move over the perfectly blue sky. Over time you found more and more to talk about, more things you unexpectedly had in common (like the preference of apple pies over cherry ones or the smell of chamomile over lavender) and Beomgyu was too enamored already to notice the signs. That the blush on your cheek was a bruise or that it wasn’t a joke when you said you would become a hunter like your brother.

The first time Beomgyu had seen one of your preys, he was nineteen and already irrevocably in love.

It was already dark by the time he left the guest house but he knew the path by heart. He could have probably found his way with his eyes closed around that area, thus he wasn’t wasting the matches his grandmother had given him nor did he need the full moon to light the road for him. He knew where he was going and yet, he stopped short when in the eerie silence of the woods he heard a strange voice. It sounded like broken sobs, like somebody crying.

He wasn’t sure what came upon him. Whether it was recklessness or his endless feeling of safety in the woods which he felt at home in. But he changed his direction and slowly he started to walk towards the strangled voice. It was only later when he realized it was you. He had never heard you cry before after all. You had always seemed so sure of yourself and so brave, he had no idea what could have triggered such a reaction from you, not until he saw you lit by the moonlight with tear streaks on your cheeks and blood on your hands.

He stepped on a branch accidentally, it snapped under his weight and in a moment you were on your feet, aiming your crossbow at him before recognizing him and collapsed to the ground again. That was when he saw it: your grief and your sin.

On the ground only a few steps away from him laid two bodies. One of them looked every bit of a hunter Beomgyu could have imagined but the young man’s body was shredded so badly by a wild animal that the boy had a hard time looking at him. But it wasn’t much better as he looked further either. First he thought it would be another victim of the animal attack but the other man was naked on the muddy ground, covered in dirt and blood. His hands and face was full of redness that couldn’t have been his because the only place he was severely wounded was his back where a single arrow hit him right through the heart.

To say that Beomgyu was having a hard time processing what he saw, convincing himself that it was reality and not just a nightmare was an understatement but he willed himself to pull it together. You needed him, he thought as he looked over at your shivering, weeping form as you gently brushed the sweaty fringe of the clothed man away. The boy knew without needing to ask that he must have been your beloved brother. The one you would have done anything. And now he was gone.

“What happened?” He whispered into the darkness, still in shock, not knowing what to do. Should he have called the ranger from the village? Or a doctor maybe?

“I was too late. He killed my brother,” you muttered, sounding only physically there with him. Beomgyu gulped.

“Did you kill him?” He asked, tentative and innocent, just to be sure. Your eyes burned like fire when you looked up at him again. Conviction burning through them.

“He was a monster.”

You told Beomgyu about werewolves after that and he helped you bury the bodies.

He let you cry on his shoulder, held your hand and promised to never bring it up.

The first time Beomgyu actually saw the true form of the monsters you hunted, it was already that time of the year when tree leaves dried up and fell. The ground was swimming in colors of caramel, sunset and blood. In the rain soaked frontyard he almost didn’t notice it: the drops of crimson over the leaves.

“I’m home,” he called, sniffing into the air that was crispy with the scent of freshly baked apple pie, a bit burnt, too sweet, just how he liked it. “Grandma?”

Beomgyu put his basket down on the wooden table in the kitchen. It was a mess and his grandmother never left chaos behind. She was meticulous about cleaning. She was proud of being civilized ‘unlike those savages’. She was… never this quiet. She liked singing as she moved around in the house, she talked to either her plants or the little animals of the woods. Beomgyu had always thought it was a weird habit but the house suddenly felt empty without it. He started looking for his grandmother more frantically, feeling in his guts that something was wrong. He looked everywhere in the house but the old lady was nowhere to be found, so he even skipped putting his hooded robe back on as he stepped out into the cold air, wondering if his grandma had gone to the creek without leaving a message behind. He only took a few steps when he heard the growling.

Shakily, Beomgyu sucked in a breath, his heart battling his head whether he should have made a run for it or turn around but his body decided it for him. He felt rooted to the ground, unable to take another step, so running was out of the question. He reached into his pockets, hoping to find something useful there but he only came up with a matchstick box. With his heart beating like a horse race, he slowly, carefully turned his head to look over his shoulder and he had to swallow the strangled noise forcing its way out of his throat because what was behind him was the largest wolf he had ever seen. It had dark, messy fur and clenched teeth, its eyes glowing golden while cherry liquid dripped down its jaw. It was every bit as terrifying as you had warned him. A creature that would kill him without a second thought if he didn’t act first.

The animal growled again, more threatening this time and behind the layers of fear, Beomgyu remembered what you told him: werewolves were afraid of fire. So the boy gripped the small box tighter in his hand and lit a matchstick just when the wolf pawed closer, baring its teeth, ready to jump. The little flame reflected in gilded eyes and the animal took a staggered step back, giving Beomgyu just enough time to get his bearings and start running after throwing the match to the ground. A part of him wished the leaves would catch on fire to help him escape but another was grateful it was all too wet to happen because he wouldn’t have wanted to see the guest house burn down. Not even at the price of his life.

Hence, the quickly dying flame of the match didn’t do much of a job of keeping the wolf away. Beomgyu could hear it chase after him as he stumbled and raced ahead. He headed towards the village knowing that his best chance was to get to a crowded place where maybe the animal wouldn’t be able to follow him but it wasn’t that close and he could feel the puffs of warm bloody breath just behind him.

When he fell in a tree trunk, the pain didn’t register at first. He might have twisted his ankle but he was too busy trying to fight off the weight of the animal on top of him. Realistically speaking, Beomgyu knew he didn’t stand much chance: he was weaker, smaller and based on your stories, it was almost impossible to fight against a werewolf with bare hands but there must have been something about survival instinct because he just couldn’t give up, he couldn’t just wait for death with open arms.

That was when you came. Like a vengeful angel, as if his subconscious prayers have been answered. Your arrows hit the animal straight ahead and its painful howl almost made the boy feel some king of empathy for it. Hunting was in their nature, wasn’t it? Maybe they couldn’t help it. Not that Beomgyu felt any kind of remorse as he watched the wolf drag itself away, injured.

“Are you okay?” You knelt beside him after the animal was out of your view and you deemed the area safe enough to lower your guards and put your crossbow down.

Beomgyu winced as he tried to sit up. Some of his ribs might have been fractured just by the sheer weight on top of them, but he was grateful for your help when you helped him up even if he felt slightly dizzy from the sudden movement. It was like the ground was unstable under him and your hands felt cold against his feverish forehead. He was covered in mud, dry leaves and drops of blood, yet suddenly he felt so cold.

“Beomgyu…”

He had always liked the way his name fell off your lips but this time there was something wrong about it. Your tone was nowhere near as fond or amused like usual. There was something akin to dread laced among the syllables, something like fear.

Through the hazy fog that was in his mind, Beomgyu tried to concentrate on your words. Or on your eyes. He had always loved your eyes.

You were looking down at him, more specifically, at his feet where his ankle was bare and bloody. He only registered the pain then, the needle-like sensation that he mistakenly thought of as muscle pain. Looking at the clear teeth marks, torn flesh and blood dripping down, he suddenly felt the phantom sensation of getting bitten.

Beomgyu found your eyes again, your name leaving his mouth like a plea, hoping that you would tell him that he was just hallucinating, that everything would be alright but you yanked yourself away from him so fast and so roughly that he stumbled again, his weak body lying feverish on the muddy ground.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard you whisper or he might have been imagining that too. “I… I will have to kill you if you turn. So please…”

Beomgyu was too tired to make sense of what you were saying or what you were asking. It came to him a lot later that he wasn’t sure whether you meant to tell him to survive or to die, to leave or to stay.

Ironically, everything he knew about werewolves was because of you.

It helped him survive, to stay alive, to keep his humanity. He hoped that it would mean something, that it would make a difference if you were ever to know. He had never killed anybody since he had turned. Sure, he had gone crazy the first few times when the full moon controlled his wolf more than him but even then he only hunted forest animals and he felt bad even after that. He hoped the fact that he hadn’t seen you had also meant that you cared but the worst part was that he wanted you beside him. He missed seeing you. He missed daydreaming in the depth of the woods or out in the valley. He missed play fights and hide-and-seeks. He missed your smile. He missed you.

But you were the type who kept their promise.

Beomgyu didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was you behind him. He would have recognized your scent from miles away. He had always loved the peachy undertone that usually hugged him like a blanket, reminding him of hugs and warm pies. He had known you were dangerous from the day you had met yet he had never associated coldness with you. Not even in the unforgiving winter as the two of you stood now: his hand on the door handle and your finger on the trigger of your crossbow, aiming at him.

“You left tails, Beomgyu,” you spoke up, hoarsely, no greetings, no courtesies, straight to the point. It was a jab to the boy’s weak heart. “The others… The other hunters know about you too. They will come for you and they won’t make it quick or painless.”

There was nothing about it that was painless. It had been so long. Beomgyu ached with his whole body because he wanted nothing more than to run to you and pull your body to his, sniffing your hair, and never let you go. Wishful thinking.

“So you came to kill me before they could?” He found himself asking, not so naive anymore, not asking whether you came to warn him or to check on him. He knew you better than that.

Your heart was full of hatred towards his kind ever since you had lost everything to them. There was no way you would have forgotten. He must have been a monster in your eyes despite your past. And yet, Beomgyu had always thought that he could avoid hunters because he was behind closed doors after the sun had set. You had told him before that you weren’t hunting in daytime with the group you lived with, so he assumed he should have been safe then. Staying indoors during the night, tying himself to the ironclad tubes during full moon, he thought that was what kept him alive but as it turned out it was that you kept quiet about him. But now you were coming for his throat, breaking his heart.

“You should have left when you could,” you whispered, resigned and Beomgyu wished he could have seen you better in the darkness in his human form.

“This is the only home I have ever known,” he said and it was as much of an answer as any. Yes, he could have left but he would have had to live in hiding anyway, so why would he have left the one place that he considered his home? You sighed, probably not understanding it but he didn’t expect you to.

“Then this is where you will be buried.”

Without any more warning, you pulled the trigger. It was his newly developed wolf sense that helped him jump aside in time, then he started to run.

Funny, wasn’t it? His kind was supposed to be the superior predator yet when it came to you, he became the hunted. He would have never hurt you no matter how strong his murderous instincts were.

That’s why it was both a blessing and a curse – and probably a careful calculation on your part – that you had come to him on a new moon when the wolf’s pull was the weakest, so Beomgyu’s rationality was more in control but it meant he was more vulnerable too.

You both knew this part of the woods like the back of your hands and it felt like a twisted version of your old hide-and-seek. Snow and branches cracking under his feet, Beomgyu could never hide where he went, so he wasn’t surprised when one of your arrows passed by him, grazing his upper arm, drawing blood. He hissed as his blood dirtied the white snow and he tasted iron on the tip of his tongue. His wolf was fuming, urging him to hurt, to avenge but he didn’t give in, not even when it turned out it was exactly what you wanted.

“Change, Beomgyu, come on! Don’t just run away! Fight me,” you yelled after him, clearly frustrated, but the boy couldn’t understand your reason. He just didn’t want to hurt you.

“What would it change? You will kill me anyway,” he panted, gripping on his injured arm as he hid behind a tree.

“Coward,” you hissed.

Then the others showed up. Beomgyu cried out in pain when a bullet hit him in the shoulder and the pain made him lose the last of his control over his new animalistic instincts. The red hooded robe fell into a puddle of blood over the fresh snow as a wolf took the boy’s place. A wolf growling with anger at the humans approaching him from all directions, four or five of them. He attacked the one that shot him, going straight for the throat after pushing the guy off his feet but that only earned him another bullet wound in the back.

A pathetic little moaning sound escaped the animal and you cried out, tears running down your cheeks, begging for the hunters to stop, to leave him to you because despite everything you had done you never wanted to see Beomgyu in pain.

You took out one arrow from your sachet and dropped your crossbow onto the ground. Your hands trembled but it wasn’t from the cold as you approached the wounded wolf lying on the ground.

“Please come back to me,” you pleaded through shivers.

There was a legend, a folktale claiming that a werewolf had two hearts: one human, one wolf. And if it was killed in its wolf state, the human heart could still survive.

But only if they were killed by somebody who loved them.

You had told Beomgyu before that you didn't believe in such silly things and there was no way you would ever loved a monster anyways, so it was useless asking what ifs but as you drove the sharp arrow through the wolf’s heart, you couldn’t help but wonder whether your love would be enough for a miracle or you were about to lose the last person important to you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered as more crimson was spilled on the winter blanket of the woods, on the ground that birthed and buried all of you.

Your tears were falling over the wolf as Beomgyu started taking back his human form. You sobbed harder when you saw those curls you had always loved so much and the pouty mouth and button nose. You laid down over his chest, praying, hoping to hear a heartbeat until you were dragged away.

The snow would melt in a week but not even forever could erase his blood from your hands.

#txt x reader #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu angst #red riding hood au #stories

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bunnyyamor · 2 years

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[ OCTOBER 17TH ] COCK WARMING - TOBIO KAGEYAMA x fem! reader (stalker au)

synopsis; tobio has been in love with you all this time, although you don't know this. he has been watching you, every step you take and now he has finally entered into your house. he sees you. wk; 2k

warnings; mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, non-con, somnophilia, creampie, stalking, breaking and entering, unprotected sex, nicknames, tobio kinda a yandere in this, beta read!

notes; i thought this header kinda looked like tobio. scream kinda inspired this. hope you like it. remeber to change settings to unhide mature posts and remember to reblog, like and comment!

-nav : kinktober m.list : kinktober taglist

you always felt like someone was watching you. whether it be in your house, in your bed, at school or at work. it felt like eyes were on you, stalking your every move. somehow some way, knowing everything about you yet then not knowing anything at all.

you felt that feeling again today too. the shiver down your spine the moment you entered into the library. you felt it make its way up your skirt and rest at the bottom of your back. that feeling and bad energy, like something was coming out to get you.

perhaps? maybe? no, it couldn’t be. you shook off the feeling the moment it made a profound statement. it was all in your head.

you sat quietly in the library. subconsciously playing with your white leg warmers as you read upon romance, your favorite genre. it was dragging you in bit by bit. each word dripping with curiosity. you wore your headphones and tried to block out the world.

all of a sudden a man came to sit in front of you. this irked you, out of all the seats available he had to pick the one ahead? you gave a fake smile, trying to get on with your day. the man pointed to his ears, signaling you to take off your headphones.

“is it alright if i sit here?” he asked in a monotone voice. he looked odd. odd in a good way. he was a younger man, about your age. he had black hair and dark blue eyes. he look enchanting with his pale skin and bags under his eyes. you looked down at your book pages and then at him, he looked like one of the princes in your story.

“yes, g-go on right ahead,” you gulped. feeling nervous that this handsome man wanted to sit in front of you. he wore a black hoodie and seemed mysterious. but you were a person afraid of others. you didn’t trust strangers and you had every right to feel this way. the world was bad as it was, you didn’t want none of that.

you were about to put your headphones back in when you noticed he was glancing at your book. “do you want to read this?”

“n-no, no i was just…looking. it looks interesting.” you noticed he was shy.

you pulled the book up to show the title. “it’s romance. if that’s your thing.” you chuckled. he also laughed and your heart fluttered seeing his smile.

“i am not too keen on romance but if you recommend it, i’d give it a shot. so do you come here often?”

you nodded, “i try to come here almost every single day. it’s my me time, a place where i can zone out, you know. you?”

“here and there.”

“that’s funny. you’d think i’d recognize you. i can offer you some great recommendations on books. and no, not all of them are romance.”

the young man smiled and put his hand out to you, “tobio kageyama.”

you shook his hand, “my name is-”

“y/n...and i look forward to your recommendations.” he finished your sentence.

all the happy talk was flushed away. those butterflies were now replaced with a pit in your stomach. “h-how do you know my name?” your hands shook all of a sudden. your eyes widened in fear.

“i think i saw it on a library list somewhere around here. it had your picture, it said you were the number one visitor or something.” his eyes never left yours and never blinked. that was something you noticed from the very beginning was how hard his stare was. it burned deep within you. never leaving your form. it was uncomfortable and creepy. he wore a tiny smirk, something evil and you knew this guy was bad news.

you packed up all your items. “sorry to l-leave so early but i gotta go back home. i have classes tomorrow.” you quickly ran out of the library, thinking about that man.

you calmed down after a bath and went to put a spooky movie on the tv. you craved popcorn so you put the tinfoiled cover pot on the stove and waited for the kernels to pop. even though you were relaxed, the back of your mind was still thinking about that guy. how did he know your name?

your phone ringing knocked you out of your trance. you saw that it was your best friend yuu. “heyyyyy y/n. me and my buddies are going to a halloween party today? wanna come? i’ll pick you up.”

you honestly didn’t feel like going to a party at all especially after everything with your nerves. as you were about to answer you heard a bump coming from the entrance to your house. “um, yuu. i’m kinda busy now and i’m not really in a party mood. i, um, i got my period and yeah it’s bad like throwing up and stuff so how about next time.” you grabbed a pan and slowly tiptoed your way to the sound. your heart was in your throat, pumping from fear.

“alright, i guess next time.” yuu hung up. you kind of wished he stayed on just in case something happened to you. your mind already went there. you jumped out from around the corner and low and behold.

“nothing, jeesh what is the matter with you y/n?” you wanted to wack yourself. you were being ridiculous.

you jumped when your phone rang again. harshly, you clicked the answer button and shouted, “yuu i said i don’t want to go to your stupid halloween party. get lost-”

“hello y/n,” the voice on the other end was deep and rough.

“yuu, what the hell are you doing? are you trying to do a prank call? too bad it’s me. i know it’s you.”

the other line was breathing in and out. “i can see you.”

“oh really?” you put your finger in your nose. “what am i doing? huh? huh? what am i doing? hello? nice try yuu.” you giggled, loving that you caught him in the act. you hung up the phone and went with the rest of your day. not caring and not knowing that the phone call was indeed not your best friend.

you were sleeping soundly. cuddling with your blanket. leg dangling on the edge. what you didn’t know was there was someone watching you.

tobio kageyama. a fellow student in your college. you didn’t know this but he was obsessed with you, he felt healthily. he knew every place you liked to go and so much about you. what you liked and disliked. your interests. he knew when and how much you went to the library because he was stalking you. he followed you everywhere you went and who you associated with. he finally had the courage to come talk to you in the library and he knows you might have been scared but if you got to know him you would love him.

he managed to get into your house while you were on the phone and waited till you fell asleep. he was in your closet, watching you peacefully in rest. it made him feel so overjoyed with love for you. he truly loved you. and he couldn’t help but have a boner seeing you in nothing but panties. the way your breast moved up and down in tune with your breathing. and your perky nipples standing for attention. it all made him want to take you right then and there. he loved the way you smelled, the way you walked, talked, how you did your hair and how you dressed, how you did your makeup, how you conducted yourself, your personality, your love, you were his, he knew this. and if you didn’t know this, you will soon.

tobio gulped as he nervously took his shirt off and pants, leaving him in only his briefs. he gently moved your sleeping body to the side and laid behind you. his cock tipping your cunt. he inhaled your hair and gently licked your neck. you moved in your sleep but you were extremely tired and a heavy sleeper. tobio placed his clothed dick in between your legs and moved in and out making him develop precum and soaking through his underwear. he bit his tongue to stifle his moans because your legs were so tightly held together that it was so delicious the feeling. the way his rough underwear dragged against his sensitive cock, it made him so horny.

tobio pulled his briefs down to have his thick cock hanging out. it was touching his abdomen and swollen. he carefully lifted your leg causing you to whine. “shhh it’s okay baby. i got you. this is gonna feel so good, i promise to make you happy and feel the best. i love this beautiful pussy. i want this so bad.” he almost cried at the sensation of his cock finally being inside you. he waited so long for this. you were meant to be his. his dick dragged slowly in, popping inside you. “fuuuuuck,” tobio cried, hugging you so close to him so he can feel all of you, especially your heart rate quicken. he found it so cute to see your brow furrow in lust. “that’s it baby.” he almost cummed right then and there. your leg was bent before him holding it up. you were limp in his arms. he stayed right there. having his cock burrow inside you and call it home. the feeling was indescribable but also comfort to tobio. he loved how his dick was like a puzzle piece in your cunt. the missing piece. his thick, upright shaft stayed inside you. warming him up and oozing all over his veins and thick skin. it too everything out of him not to start moving but he wanted to enjoy this moment. wanted to enjoy being in bed with the love of his life. so he stayed there and laid beside you while his cock pressed inside. he almost was overtaken by sleep. he felt he was about to go crossed eyes at how good you fit with him. seeing stars the moment he entered into you. he wanted to feel this feeling forever. he could see himself being addicted to your pussy. it was like a drug to him, he couldn’t just have one hit.

again he set the pace. slow and steady. he wanted to really feel you so he went in his pace. “fuckkk, that’s it. right there.” your pussy was so tight. he loved how you took him. squeezing him inside, your cum mixing with his. he loved seeing his stringy cum inside of you. you gathering it inside you as if in a dire situation. “fuck, you feel so good y/n. i’ll do anything for you. anything.” he vowed as he thrusted higher and harder in you. he pinned your body down and repeatedly pumped inside you. noticing how wet you were getting and your body was reacting to it. it was too much for him, at this point he couldn’t break free. your eyes were starting to flutter and sure enough then opened wide.

“wh-what the?” you cried as tobio covered your mouth. needing to finish.

“take it in, yes that’s a good girl,” he muttered in your ear as he didn’t stop pistoning. you were so overwhelmed with feeling. your eyes widened as you realized this was the man from the library. and the bump? was that him? even though you had so many questions and were scared you couldn't help but cry and moan as your pussy got wetter each second. you screamed at how sensitive you were and how much he was giving you. you had never had sex this way before.

tobio didn’t leave your eyes, he decided to finish inside you. and so he did. his white cum drenched your walls. you barely knew who this guy was and yet he was fucking you so good. “right there,” you managed to cry out. your vision went hazy with his position. “y-you need to get out of my house…” sweat drenched your forehead. tobio was still inside you, coating your every crevice.

he smiled a big smile, creepy and teethy, “no i’m not. i’m not finished…in fact. i’m just getting started.”

#cry baby *🧸*#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #tobio smut #tobio kageyama smut #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio x reader #kageyama x reader #tobio x y/n #kageyama smut

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thevillainswhore · 11 months

Text

A Second Chance: Part 2

Pairing: Ex-Husband!Nick Fowler x Ex-Wife!Reader

Summary: Love just wasn’t enough to keep your marriage together - Nick’s restless ambition to get the promotion in his career ended up driving an everlasting wedge between the two of you, and resulting in divorce. But when you come back home to New York after three years away in London, can Nick win back your heart?

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: more flashbacks, more angst in this one too I’m so sorry 😭

A/N: headers made by @saradika , unbeta’d so pls let me know any mistakes I might have missed! hope you enjoy x

Although Nick was used to this lifestyle, it never got any easier to be a part of. He may have traded being the director of the CIA to become a businessman, but he was still interconnected enough with the agent community to have to announce his presence.

He gives himself a reminder to ask Elsie to fetch him a stiff drink of whiskey as soon as they’re inside to get him through this torture, already picturing her smirk of amusement at his unease.

Speaking of, he sees her keep an eye on him from the sidelines, catching his gaze and giving him a cheeky thumbs up in response to his grumpy face.

For a sweet fifty year old woman, she sure was an asshole.

Almost pulled off his feet, his walking nightmare forces his arm to loop with hers, all but dragging him down the carpet to take pictures.

If he didn’t have an image to uphold, he’d already be ripping her a new one. It wasn’t that he desperately needed her, but the advice given to him by his publicist to have a date wasn’t exactly one he could reject.

Rebuilding Nick’s name the last three years hadn’t been easy. At first he really couldn’t have given two shits about what people thought of him - the aftermath of losing you taking over his mind and his behaviour wasn’t pretty. He was pictured out drinking most of the days, heavy bags under his eyes when the paparazzi caught a glimpse of him. It was a miracle the CIA allowed him to keep his job for them six months of hell.

That’s when Elsie stepped in. An old family assistant hired by his father to help get Nick’s life back on track - a beacon of light in redirecting the path he was taking. If it wasn’t for her, he really didn’t know where he’d be right now - certainly not with his own company, he knew that for sure.

Not that his father really cared, Nick already knew how his dad viewed him - weak, a failure, in definite need of some help. Even worse when Nick witnessed how he reacted to his regret of the upcoming divorce.

“Son, you’ve got the promotion, you’ve got the life I always dreamed of for you. Now quit your fucking sulking over some pussy you could get anywhere else and man up.”

His father just wanted Nick to make the family name shine.

It shouldn’t have been at the cost of you, though. Never at the expense of having to lose you. He realises that now.

Elsie, however, genuinely cared. She wanted him to succeed because it was good for him. No ulterior motive. Just as someone who’s seen the harsh reality of his life from afar. Her first matter of business for him - leave the CIA and start fresh.

Pictures are taken as he walks down the carpet, a few words are given in answer to interview questions - the usual. He speaks about his growing business, plans for the future. He chooses to ignore those scavenging to get the tiniest ounce of information about you out of him and move on.

The doors to the entrance of the convention were in sight and Nick couldn’t be happier to see the end of the blinding lights and the whiny brat attached to his arm.

His haven was just within reach, just a couple more steps until he could start climbing the stairs to a lesser evil.

Until sudden screams from paparazzi and interviewers hold him to his spot.

Nick looks to Elsie to see if the commotion is worth holding back for, only to see her eyes widen and her mouth fall open in what can only be described as shock and dumbstruck.

He’s only seen that look on her face two times - first being the one time he broke down in front of her and trashed the entirety of his home in his depression of missing you. The second when he finally got the courage to show her the only photo he had left of you and him after he ruined the others in his rampage. The most special day of his life where you gazed into his eyes, wearing the most stunning white dress, like he hung the moon and stars for you.

If it were possible, he swears he would.

Nick braces himself to slowly turn around, unsure of what he’s going to find, only to see the very woman who still held his heart in all her radiance at the other end of the carpet.

It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Across the room from each other, him in pure wonderment of you as you’re glowing in your element, totally unaware of his presence, with all eyes on you.

Signs were always a load of bullshit to Nick - a superstition that gave people hope in their time of need. He never believed in them. But if the black dress you’re wearing, too similar to the one you wore eleven years ago, isn’t one? Then Nick isn’t sure what is.

And as if his prayers have been answered, you look straight ahead through the chaos to see him for the first time since you left three years ago - the image of you serving him divorce papers still fresh in his mind.

Attempts to fix the relationship between you were never ending on your side. Suggestions of couples therapy had gone ignored. Getaways to escape reality planned to then be pushed back by him to a later date - always too busy and never able to let work be at the back of his mind for a single day. All options had been accounted for. You put every ounce of your love into figuring out how to pull back the pieces of your marriage that had fizzled out. But you were exhausted and the fight in you had left a long time ago.

So, you had made the decision you never wanted to consider without good enough reason, with a heavy heart that you refused to keep putting in the line of fire.

The divorce papers you gently placed on his desk had shook Nick to his core, regret seeping into your skin as you caught the genuine horror in his features, mouth gaped open with a loss for words.

It was almost too late for Nick to reel himself back to the present by the time you were walking towards him. Half way down the carpet, ignoring everyone else calling your name and full focus on him. The luckiest man in the world to have a crumb of your attention.

Heels lining up to his dress shoes, you stand millimeters apart from each other, time stopping as he soaks in your appearance as though it’s keeping him alive. He still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. If he was, he never wanted to wake up.

“Hey, you.” Your satin voice is music to his ears. Deprived of your ambience for too long and it all of a sudden felt like he could breathe again. He’s missed everything about you - the desire to reach out and touch you overwhelming his senses.

“Hi” it feels so underwhelming to say with a decade of history behind the two of you. But by the sparkle in your eyes and tiny upturn of your lips that only he could notice, Nick knows you understand the severity that one greeting holds. A lifetime feeling like it’s passed since he last laid his eyes on you and God, were you beautiful as ever.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”. You speak as though you're both old friends catching up. Everyone around you knows that couldn’t be further from the truth, the both of you know that couldn’t be further from the truth. But that didn’t matter when the dreams that have haunted his nights are coming to life in front of him, his fantasies of getting to see you again happening in real time. Nick can only dumbly nod as he imagines how stupid he must look to you.

Though, he should know you better than that. He should know that you only ever saw the best in him - that no matter how silly in love he looked, you adored him.

“How have you been?” curiosity weaves through your question as you tighten your lips, that cheeky smile you’re trying to hide slipping through anyway.

Without you? Terrible.

Is what he wishes he could say. But he would never let you feel guilty for that, so instead he answers, “I’ve been alright, life’s been a little busy. Hardly any free time but you know how it goes in this business.”

You laugh, “yeah, I guess being the director of the CIA does have its downsides”. As soon as the words leave your mouth you realise the implication of them, your face falling and your eyes so damn apologetic trying to portray that you didn’t mean how they came out.

Luckily, Nick knows there’s no malice in what you said. There’s not one mean bone in your body and he wants to ease your worries. “Ah it does. But I’m not the director anymore. I um-, I actually stepped down to pursue something else”.

“You-… you stepped down?”

The surprise in your voice is refreshing for him. It would’ve pained him two years ago for you to have the expectation that he wouldn’t do it, but he’s grown since then - understands how he behaved in the last year of your marriage and the scars it left you. He simply confirms “I did, sweetheart”.

You fluster at the pet name. He must still have some of that charm that won you over in the first place. The thought makes him feel young again - that bright eyed, ambitious agent who was head over heels in love with you. Some things never change.

“So um-, w-what are you doing now?”

“I’ve created my own private investigation company from the ground up. Thought I could at least use my skills for something useful. We’re currently in the number one spot with local competition with plans to expand business into Europe within the year.”, pride shines through Nick.

You take a minute to recompose, both from the shock of seeing him tonight and the information dump you received within minutes of each other. Taking the bait to look into his eyes, those azure blue eyes that are desperately calling out to you, you softly murmur with conviction, “I’m proud of you Nicki, truly.”

‘Nicki’. A name, laced with so much love, he hasn’t heard in a long time.

The guilt rushes in as he tries to remember the exact moment he last heard you say it in that teasing drawl of yours and comes up short. He’d neglected you for a great while towards the end of your marriage, ache in his heart ever present whenever his mind transports him back to your defeated face when he begged you not to leave.

His promotion had changed him - the greed of his ambition to be at the top interfering with your marriage. The constant missions he was offered became priority - king size bed feeling bigger than ever before when only one of the two occupants slept in it for the past year. Walks around the garden surrounding the home you and Nick had renovated together as lonely as could be when you reminisced on the picnics he would plan in the summertime - an excuse to make love to you in the tall grass towards the lake.

You couldn’t even remember the last time Nick had touched you - all the more painful when you found out he had been recently partnered up in Paris with Mace. An ex fling who held no boundaries in letting Nick know how much she missed him.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

“Don’t do this to me baby, please, don’t do this to me. We can work on it, on us, you know we can. Look at me angel.. look at me.” He grabbed your face and tilted to look into his bloodshot eyes.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Because I will. I’ll get on my fucking knees for you right now and beg if that’s what it takes for you to stay. I can’t do this without you, none of this means shit to me if you leave. I’ll quit, I’ll tell them the job can get fucked and we can go back to how we were. I’ll change, I’ll do anything, baby, I’m begging you. Just please don’t go. I need you.”

The sorrow on Nick’s face had crushed your soul. You didn’t want this. You never thought in a million years that this was where you and he would end up.

But you couldn’t trust his pleas, the sweet promises too late to mend what had been broken.

“I’m sorry Nick, but I just don’t believe you anymore… I need this, I need you to sign the papers. This is me asking for one last thing from you. Please.. let me go.”

Your gentle, affectionate smile reserved only for him brings him back and reassures his mind that you would never hold it against him. You know exactly what he’s thinking and your eyes tell him so much more than words ever could.

Stop blaming yourself.

Too kind for this world, and definitely too kind for him - your only weakness.

Your tender moment is broken with a stomp of a foot and an ear screeching whine, the easily forgettable presence beside you only becoming noticeable with her cry for attention.

“Nicki-“

“Don't you ever call me that.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Mixtures of shock from both you and the girl, leaving your mouths falling open: her reasoning probably from having someone put her in her place and yours from the protectiveness he places on a name given to him by you.

If Nick notices the rubbing of your thighs underneath your dress, he doesn’t say anything.

After a couple of seconds have passed, his date crosses her arms and looks over to you with venom lining her features as she spits to Nick, “care to introduce me?”

Totally disregarding announcing who the hell she is (unsure himself), he instead focuses on the only person worth talking about. “Um, this is…” he trails off not knowing how to even begin explaining how you know each other, the title of ‘ex wife’ doing no justice to how much you mean to him.

You notice his struggle and decide to help him out, “oh me and Nicki go way back, don’t we, honey?”.

Oh, that tone takes him back for sure.

Nick lets out the biggest smirk, “Yeah, I guess you could say that, îngerul meu.”

There’s a small pause between you as you take in how easily you fall back into the other's charms.

“You look good Nick, really good.”

“Look who’s talking sweets, you always did know how to get me going in a black dress.”

Electric. The passion between you holds no bounds, even after all the time apart. The teasing back and forth. Intense eye contact. A crowd of people around you that you pay no attention to - way too invested in each other to care about anything else.

The abrupt clearing of a throat reminds you that the brat is still here, forgetting about her once again. A lipstick stain on her teeth gets your attention and you visibly cringe. That pink was not doing her any favours.

You look back at your ex-husband, “well, it’s been a pleasure seeing you, Nick. I really hope to bump into you again soon.”

“Is that a promise?”

Your eyes light up, the shared memory holding a special place in both your hearts. You shake your head, amusement in your smile and a thumping heart. He can see the battle going on in your mind - the debate between your head and your heart on whether to run into his arms or force yourself to hold back. You choose the latter, moving to make your way up the stairs with a departing wave, “Bye Nick.”

Panic settles in his chest as the idea of you walking away from him once more makes his head spin.

His heart still breaks when he remembers how tender you were to him, even after all the pain he put you through. Bags only filled with items of sentimental value standing next to you in the hallway.

“I’m not mad at you baby. You gave me the best of you for seven years and that’s more than I could’ve dreamt of…” you took a couple of uneven breaths in composure, needing it to hit home for him exactly why you were doing this, “but somewhere in the last year you got lost, and I can’t damage myself any further trying to bring you back.”

You saw the recognition in his face where he stood, the mental beating he gave himself for not rectifying the marriage sooner. But there was no love lost between you and your overly kind heart had you tell him so.

“I love you, I love you so much and I’m scared of the lengths I would go for you Nick. That’s why I have to go. Because I keep putting you before myself and it’s killing me. It’s not fair to me anymore. I’ve got to start focusing on myself now, do you understand that?”

He did. He understood. The nod he gave as confirmation the only way he could communicate without making this any harder for you.

It was all he could do but watch, a passenger in his own body, as you slowly slid your engagement and wedding ring off your trembling finger and reached for his hand to bring it palm up between them. The sob he let out recognition that he knew what was coming, that this was the end for the both of you.

With reluctance, you dropped both pieces of jewelry into his palm, gently closing your hand over his to squeeze three times before letting go. A final ‘I love you’. He let himself get lost in your eyes one last time, relishing each and every memory you’ve had over the years as he shot you a shaky smile - it’s okay, I know you have to do this.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks, as you stepped forward to place your hands on his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs over his overgrown beard before giving your husband one last slow peck on his chapped lips.

Both of you pull away and touch your foreheads together, savouring the last moments with each other before you separate for good to set out on your own journeys in life - the only time you will have been apart from each other in almost a decade.

Stepping away with your head down, eyes still closed, you turned away from him. The deep breath you took gave you the strength to grab your bags, zone your vision on the door and take the first step to start this new phase on your own. A taxi waiting outside to take you to London for your job transfer at Shield’s new headquarters.

You heard the aftermath of the door closing behind you. The thud audible from outside was enough to imagine the way your husband had crumbled to the floor, legs giving out to fall to his knees in despair.

His cries and whimpers haunted you now and for the rest of your days without him to come.

Nick gets out of his head when you stop on the second step and before going any further, you turn around to face the girl again, honing in on her mouth.

He knows that look - you’re going for the kill.

“Oh! sweetie, before I go, you might wanna wipe the lipstick from your teeth. Can't have you going in like that and ruin poor Nicki’s reputation now can we?”

The embarrassment that colours her cheeks is priceless. Too stunned to do anything else but whip her compact out to viciously scrub the tacky hot pink staining her teeth, missing your smile of victory in rattling her.

Turning to Nick, you throw him a wink and climb the remaining steps to enter the event, sway of your hips hypnotizing him as you fade away.

Always looking after him and always teasing him. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled like this.

He doesn’t remember the last time his cock was so hard either.

He shakes his head in astonishment. His little firecracker, no different than you were before. He couldn’t believe you were back.

Holy shit… you were back.

#nick fowler #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler fluff #nick fowler fic #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler angst #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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irafuwas · 11 months

Text

The Enemy Summary: Lilia did not call the child "Silver" because of the lunar gleam of his hair or the starlight in his eyes. No, he chose the name out of spite. Content Warnings: Depictions of violence against a child, strangulation, blood, expletives, book 7 spoilers Pairings: None Length: 3.8k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

The princess’s death struck the nation like a meteor. The Knight of Dawn had killed her, contemptuously, brazenly, at what was meant to be a peace conference. Before the fae could even draw their swords, he and his troops had scattered like a bevy of doves into the golden light of daybreak. Most of the congregation rushed to gather around their sovereign’s limp body, but not Lilia. He stood at the window, staring at the backs of the retreating soldiers, transfixed by the reflection of the sun blazing in their iron armor, a yellow blot in a sea of white fire. It looked to him like an evil eye.

Dazed by the hot stupor of his great injury, Lilia hunted down the man and killed him. And then he killed the man’s wife, and then the chambermaids and the kitchen staff and the guardsmen and the stewards. He executed them impulsively; their bodies fell before him like heavy ragdolls slumping to the ground.

The glint of his blade was a bright smudge in the darkness of the castle that night. It moved through the air like an emerald wraith – at times languidly, at times striking faster than an adder. For those who’d sought refuge in the pitch-black shadows of the underground passageways, its viridity was the last thing – the only thing – they saw before it pierced them.

His path was methodical.

He stalked from room to room, listening for stifled breaths and choked back sobs, tearing apart every quivering shadow and wrenching open every closed door. He found the pageboys cowering together in one of the storerooms, their small faces shining white with a vicious fear. He told them to run, and they did. They fled crudely, tripping over the hardstone floor and entangling their wiry colt limbs into each other as they stumbled down the halls.

He waited until they left before moving on to the final room. He’d overlooked it earlier; the door was concealed within the tall bookcases that lined the knight’s bedchambers, and he’d only noticed it after one of the maids had left it ajar as she fled. He flung open the door apathetically and marched inside, scanning the room for any sign of life. A wooden object in the corner caught his eye, and a sharp unease pooled in his stomach once he realized it was a cradle.

When he peered inside it, a baby with eyes the color of the aurora peered back up at him. He had seen those eyes before, staring down at him triumphantly as a sword plunged through his sister’s chest, staring up at him from the pale face of a corpse lying in a pool of blood in the adjacent room. And now those same eyes blinked at him dully, as though he were the source of all the light in the world.

He didn’t know the Knight of Dawn had already sired an heir. No one did. He placed a weary hand on the cradle and rocked it absentmindedly as he thought. He easily could’ve walked away, could’ve turned around and left that rotting pit behind him and reemerged into the night’s black embrace, could’ve gone on to live the rest of his life wallowing in the murky waters of his deep grief. And he should have. But he knew, with a firm surety that scared even him, that his grieving peoples would soon come to claim the boy - long before the first light of dawn could reach down its shining hands and begin to soothe their wounded nation.

Lilia’s hesitation possessed him. His gaze flew between the cradle and the door and back to the cradle again. He reached down and gripped the baby’s throat. He stood there, dazed, unable to tell if he was fighting the urge to complete the act or the urge to let go. The muscles of his forearm bulged and tensed, writhing like pale snakes underneath his skin. When the child smiled at him, he ripped his arm away as though he’d been electrocuted.

After a final moment of trepidation, he plunged his arms back into the cradle. His hands had torn that castle asunder mere moments ago, and now they trembled quietly as they pressed the heavy head into the warmth of his chest.

The night held its breath as he left that place. The only witnesses to his transgression, the somber oak trees surrounding that land and the black-eyed creatures concealed in their lofty boughs, watched him silently. He tried to ignore their expectant gazes, but they dug into his skin like daggers as he raced back to camp with the child in his arms.

Later, when he stood with Baul in the heavy heat of their tent and confessed what he’d done - and what he had failed to do - the man nearly exploded.

His barrel chest swelled in contempt. His face flushed hot with a venomous rage. He loomed over Lilia as massive as a grizzly bear, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, the whites of his eyes blazing like spotlights out of his ashen face.

“Are you fucking insane!?” he roared. “That… That thing is that bastard’s son! It’s the enemy!”

“Baul, I can’t kill a baby,” Lilia croaked.

Baul scoffed. “So you can slaughter a whole castle full of people, but a baby’s too much for the Great General Vanrouge, huh?”

Lilia looked away, and Baul continued, aggrieved, “Fine. If you won’t do it, then I will.” He tightened his grip around his halberd, and the wooden staff groaned in his hand. He dipped the axe head towards the baby sleeping in Lilia’s arms.

“No!” Lilia yelled, taking a step back. “Please, just… just give me some time… A decade. Give me a decade, and then I’ll do it, I’ll kill him.” He licked the cold sweat running down his lips, his eyes flicking between the glowering man and the axe hovering before him. The cold metal shimmered threateningly in the dim candlelight.

“Sure you will,” Baul spat, retracting his weapon. “Sure you fucking will.” He stormed out of the tent, muttering angrily as he threw back the tarp with a growl. The stifling air evaporated with his departure, and Lilia took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked down at the child and sighed.

When Lilia returned to the castle town, he discovered that Baul had revealed his great failure to the rest of the world. In the wake of their general’s betrayal, he and the other guardsmen had ransacked Lilia’s room in the barracks, carelessly strewing his meagre belongings before the castle as though they were garbage. Lilia found the blanket from his cot entangled in the branches of one of the courtyard trees, fluttering sadly in the gentle spring wind. He dislodged it and wrapped it around his body, using it as a makeshift sling for the child.

None of the guards, not even Baul, came out to speak with him. They didn’t need to – he already knew their judgement was final. He stooped over as he gathered the rest of his items, weighed down not by the tiny infant strapped to his back, but by the enormity of his decision, of his failure. Here was the home he’d spent the last three hundred years of his life defending, here was the honor and prestige he’d finally won for himself after centuries of flawless servitude and thankless atrocities, the only family and friends he had ever known – would ever know. He understood that he was a traitor, a fool, but his inanity was far overshadowed by his revulsion at what they demanded from him.

He looked up at the castle one last time, craning his head back, trying to memorize every jagged stone and turret and tower, trying to memorize the curve of the windows, the green of the flags flapping weakly in the breeze and the faded grey of the ancient masonry. He stood there until the strained muscles in his neck begged him to stop. And then he turned around and left.

His legs carried him unbidden to the edge of the forest surrounding the castle town, where he found a small house hidden in its verdant shadows. The walls were rotted, and the roof lay sunken under a tangled mass of vines and moss. He couldn’t tell whether humans or fae or wild beasts had last lived there; he only knew he was too tired and too apathetic to continue his search elsewhere.

The first night in that house, they slept on the floor. The child dozed soundly, but Lilia could not sleep. He stared at the stars peeking through the holes in the roof, counting each pin prick of light until his eyes burned. As the black-blue sky began to fade, he realized with a start that he didn’t know what the boy’s name was. He raked his exhausted brain for something – anything – he could call him over the next ten years. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Silver. It wasn’t a name; it was an utterance. Two syllables that weighed heavy in his mouth like poison - air that passed between his lips and nothing more. It was a word he’d hiss on nights when the mist lay heavy over the forest and his mind would sink into the quicksand of old memories he wished desperately to forget, when he’d dream of his sister’s face, pale and drained of blood, her mouth frozen open in a scream that would never come out. The Silver Owl had tainted his heart the darkest black, and this was his chance to finally rid himself of their scourge forever.

From then on, Lilia kept the boy at a distance. He fed him and bathed him and clothed him mechanically, moving most days like a puppet on strings. He tolerated being called “Father”, but staunchly refused any concessions beyond that. His anger was a bulwark against the child’s affections.

Only during the winter would Lilia let the boy sleep next to him. The small body would shiver offensively at his side, interrupting his faded dreams, and he would groan and tuck the thin creature against himself before falling back into an uncomfortable sleep. He would push the child away as soon as he awoke the next morning, repulsed, as though the thing clinging to him were a disease.

It wasn’t just the boy’s neediness that vexed him. Lilia hated everything about him, hated his shy half-smile and his crescent-eyed laugh, hated how the walls around his heart he’d spent so many long years carefully constructing would groan under the terrible weight of the boy’s love. But what disturbed Lilia the most was his eyes. Many of the valley residents were dumbstruck by them – they’d murmur how, on the night of his birth, Nature surely must have plucked the northern lights from the sky and pressed their iridescent glow into his supple skin. But Lilia only saw evil in their lunar beauty. And he watched, incredulously, as the boy grew older, stronger, the infantile roundness of his face hardening around the angle of his jaw, watched the back straighten, the eyes narrow, the smile broaden, watched the child melt away and the visage of his sister’s murderer slowly and steadily emerge in its place. Some days he felt suffocated, like every inch of that small cottage was tyrannized by the boy’s meagre presence. The only thing that stilled his hand was the child’s youth. He could not kill him yet.

The days were long, but the years whipped past him like a tempest. The hot coals of his anger gradually cooled to a tepid warmth, and Lilia at last conceded to the child’s innocence. He wore the clumsily made daisy crowns and ate the burnt and misshapen cookies, he no longer denied the pleas for one more race across the meadow and one more story, accepted the tiny hand that groped across the bed for his own on cold nights when their breath hung above them like fog.

A year before his tenth birthday, Lilia began taking the boy with him on his evening walks. As they padded through the darkness of the hushed forest, Lilia would teach him the names of all the wildflowers and the trees, of the prying creatures observing them from the black shadows, of every star and moon and planet that peered down at their upturned faces. One night, emboldened by his newfound knowledge, the child thrust a single, bony finger into the air and betrayed where the North Star had concealed itself in an ocean of shimmering lights. Lilia looked up. But his gaze did not follow the line of the boy’s indication, beyond to the heavenly body shining above. No, his eyes rested on that tiny, outstretched hand. In that moment, Lilia finally understood that he loved the child.

The realization that he had surrendered his heart to his oppressor, to his enemy – to the hand that’d been gripped around his throat for the past ten years and had torn his beating heart right out of his chest – paralyzed him. (Oh, but what is a decade of pure torment to eyes of liquid moonlight! What is a man – shriveled up and broken, stupefied by his hatred and rendered ignorant by his grief – in the face of pure love!)

He tried, in vain, to suppress his burgeoning feelings with the heavy mass of his anger, but his love would burst open the fortifications of his heart time and time again, threatening to drown him in its raging waters. He fought back against it the same way he had been the past decade - with his ignorance. But as the child’s tenth birthday rapidly approached, he found that for the first time, he no longer took solace in counting down the days.

Lilia awoke the child shortly after midnight. He tugged on the boy’s arms until he finally sat up, grumbling as he rubbed at his tired eyes, only dimly aware of the world around him. Lilia sighed. He dressed the boy impatiently, his fingers trembling as he fussed with the lacing on the small tunic. While he worked, his eyes darted between his sword hanging on a nearby wall and the child sitting slumped over in front of him. He decided against taking it.

He led the child outside into the balmy spring air. The heat prickled at his skin. He inhaled deeply, forcing out the tension gripping his body as he exhaled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl let out a plaintive call, and a nightingale began its serenade in reply. The moon was a shining pearl overhead. Lilia could not bring himself to look at her face, didn’t dare defile her perfect visage with his great shame. He turned and stepped down the dirt path leading away from their home, and the boy followed.

The forest watched disdainfully as the man and the young child walked deeper and deeper into its bowels. Once, the boy asked where they were going, but Lilia did not answer. He felt too shy to speak again, and they spent the rest of the journey weighed down by a pregnant silence.

When they came to a glade, Lilia finally stopped. He turned around slowly, like a cornered beast reluctant to face its hunter.

The boy’s eyes – the enemy’s eyes – reflected the moonlight. The evil shone dimly in their argent depths.

Lilia lunged at him like a panther.

“Fath-!”

They slammed into the ground with the force of a hurricane. The boy cried out as his back struck the earth, pain shooting up his body like shards of ice. He lay there stunned. He could not understand what had just hit him. It had looked like a black storm, impenetrable and overwhelming. His mind blankly refused to reveal its identity to him. But he knew it could not have been his father that struck him, and he knew it could not be his father now pressing those cold hands around his throat and staring down at him with eyes the color of blood.

Not once in his life had the boy ever known fear. He had always ignored it, looked past it, content with the knowledge that his father would always be there to protect him from its ploys. Anything that scared him, anything that invited unease into his stomach or agitation into his heart, was dispelled in the comfort of the man’s steady presence. But now his father was the thing itself. An animal panic gripped his body, his eyes blew wide open like a spooked horse.

They wrestled. He tried wrenching the arms away from his throat, but the bony limbs felt like rods of iron under his hands. He clawed and pounded at the man’s chest, his mind racing as tried to remember every movement, every self-defense technique his father had ever taught him. When the whirlpool of his thoughts stilled for a split second, he ripped from its calm waters the lone memory he’d been desperately searching for. The boy hooked one hand over his father’s wrist and gripped the other one higher up his arm, around his elbow. He kicked a leg free and swung his foot over his father’s ankle. The hands tightened around his throat. The world blackened before him; his lungs begged for oxygen. Using the last bit of his strength, he bucked his hips and rolled over, bringing Lilia underneath him. The hands at last released their grip; he was free.

He shot away from his father like a bullet. He scrambled to his feet and feverishly gulped in the warm spring air until his lungs burned. He took a trembling step forward, trying to flee, but Lilia was upon him in an instant. The man wrapped his arms around the heaving chest and threw the child back to the ground, crashing into him as they fell. The boy writhed frantically in the cage of his father’s arms, almost slipping free, but Lilia shoved him flat on his back with a snarl. He crawled atop the boy, straddling him once more.

The child fought back feebly. His hands pawed against Lilia’s arms, his face, anything solid his trembling fingers could grab onto. Lilia swatted away the flailing limbs, trapping the boy’s arms in one hand and seizing his throat with the other. The child’s screams contorted into a panicked screech as white stars exploded before his eyes. He kicked up his legs and thrust his knees into Lilia’s back, but the man was immovable, his arms and legs pinning him down as heavy as pythons.

Lilia’s hand tightened around the thin neck; the child’s heartbeat pounded against his palm like a thunderstorm. The boy’s flesh melted underneath his fingertips as soft as dough. He squeezed until the eyes began to burst from their sockets, until blood seeped into their auroral haze and foam spilled from his half-parted lips.

The seconds passed by in an eternity. At last, the child’s body stilled, his gasps terminating with a final, strangled sob. Lilia released the neck slowly, marveling at the purple-black splotches blooming across the skin, the imprint of his hand stark against the ivory flesh. He closed his eyes and panted, exhausted.

He sat there, waiting. For a decade he had envisioned this moment, had clung to it like a promise of salvation, had dreamed of the pure relief that would wash over his body and befree him from the prison of his immovable grief. He waited, but it did not come. The enemy was gone, yes. But with it fled the black shadow of Lilia’s anger that had obscured the child from him all his life. He looked down. His eyes flew open in shock. For the first time in a decade, the first time since he peered down into that cradle all those years ago, he finally saw the boy. He finally saw Silver.

“Silver!” he gasped, recoiling, as though the name burned him. He threw himself off the body and crawled away from it on his hands and knees. He pulled himself up against a tree and doubled over as he began to vomit. It felt like this was the pure poison of his rage leaving him - like a decade of repressed anger was erupting from his body all at once, pouring out of his throat and his nose in a scalding torrent of acrid bile, burning his eyes, his lips, his tongue. He stood there heaving until his knees gave way, collapsing into the ground with a mutilated groan. As he rubbed his raw throat, he suddenly remembered the boy.

He whipped his head around in a panic and found Silver lying motionless where he’d left him. Lilia staggered over to him. The few meters between them seemed to stretch on for miles, and he tripped and stumbled as he clawed his way across that great divide, falling to his knees once he finally reached him. He cradled the limp body in his trembling arms. He kissed the boy’s eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips slipping weakly across the wet mess of tears and blood. He pressed his face into the silken hair, filthy with dirt and grime from the forest floor, breathed in his soft lavender scent, drowned in the milky white flesh, ice cold against his own feverous skin. He nuzzled his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, choking back a sob as he felt a faint pulse throbbing weakly under him.

Silver’s mind reentered the world conscious only of the sharp pain in his throat and his father’s white face hovering above him. He stared at his father, and for the first time in his short life, the man did not look away. The eyes that had long haunted Lilia, had aggrieved him and insulted him, finally revealed to him their beauty. They were bloodshot and swollen, the skin underneath enflamed with irritation, but they were more resplendent to him than any gemstone.

Silver swallowed weakly and opened his mouth to talk, but Lilia shushed him with a shake of his head. As he gazed at the boy, a faint memory flashed before his eyes – he remembered the heavy head pressed into his chest, the limp neck resting in his hand, the wet mouth opened in a gasp, the shining eyes boring into him silently. Lilia shivered violently. Yes, it was just like that night, all those years ago. The days-old babe he’d stolen from that cradle was in his arms once more, born anew before him.

As he embraced the child, he decided that he would try to do better, to be better. He would try, falteringly, with the desperation of a marked man begging for a pardon, to rectify the decade of his ignorance.

He would try until it no longer hurt him to speak his son’s name.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #sorry if this is cringE im not using to writing evil stuff dfkgjdfg #when i said i been brainrotting about ch 4 this is what i meant #also tried writing in past tense for this which i dont like to do cause its gross but i did it #obligatory no i do not condone or aim to glorify any of this

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belethlegwen · 27 days

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MASTERLIST POST

[HEADER CREDIT TO: @chamomile-g-tea <3]

My name is Belle, I'm a Giantess-leaning G/t fan who writes G/t fiction and enjoys art, writings and getting to chat with people about G/t and other nerdy things. Most of my writing gets posted to AO3, but there will be scattered shorts and writings posted here among the usual mess of my personal blogging and reblogging.

LINK TO MY KO-FI: HERE

If you like what I do and want to toss some support my way, it's extremely appreciated!

WRITING:

The Stranding:

My largest work to date, it is active and currently still being updated.

Almost two years after a man named Henry suffers a shipwreck and is rescued by a woman named Melanie, the two left on a journey to try and return him home, only to suffer a shipwreck of their own. The good news? They made it; Henry is home and is among his own people again. The bad news? To him, and everyone else in his homeland, Melanie is over fifty feet tall.

An out-of-time, out-of-place situation, Melanie has to navigate being integrated into a small military force for a nation that seems to be in a tense, fracturing peace with it's nearest neighbour, and also just navigate a world that has never had to deal with anyone or anything like her before.

[I personally recommend reading until at least Chapter 12 - Nightmares before starting on The Rescue]

The Rescue:

The prequel-piece to The Stranding, and also currently still active and being updated.

Melanie travels to the beach after a storm, as she often does to find driftwood and debris that can be used for crafts to keep herself busy in her lonely life, and sees a ship in distress just off of the shore. Unable to believe what's happening, she is able to rescue a sailor from the nearly-doomed vessel and take him under her care.

She helps him adjust to life in her land, which is vastly different-- almost like a different time entirely-- from his own. The biggest obstacle in doing so, however, is that the man isn't even eight inches tall.

[I personally recommend reading The Stranding up until Chapter 12 - Nightmares before beginning this work, but I am also not your real Dad and can not control you.]

The Faerie Spell:

[Can also be found here on Tumblr with the help of this Chapter Directory]

A first-person-perspective written work following Daphne as she attempts to navigate a strange and upsetting curse where a Faerie has stolen parts of her essence so that the Fae can, whenever the mood seemingly strikes them, steal Daphne's height and attain a more human-like appearance to hide that they are a Faerie. While the spell is active, however, Daphne because 5.5 inches tall (give or take a few millimeters).

Can she, or her friends, really navigate this new part of her life and all the difficulties it brings? Or is this spell about to change everything to do with her life?

The Scars We Leave Behind: [written by @adjacentperception and myself]

What's left of a hero when everything is taken from him? What's left of a villain with no identity?

What's left of a man who has no choice but to save the symbol of a system he's fighting against?

Within a city constantly besieged by a super-power fueled war between Good vs Evil, a hero is captured by a powerful villain and their secret organization and forced to play part in a twisting and enigmatic plan; to tear down the systems in place that keep the League of Heroes in an ultimate seat of power to rival the government itself. But… is the system as good as it projects itself to be? Are the villains and their henchmen really as evil as the media says? Is it truly as simple as tearing it down, or does that simply open up space for a new, worse system to enter?

Is the harm we do when we believe we're helping mitigated merely by our wishes to be better? To create something more? To fix what we believe is broken?

Do we hold blame for creating the evil we think we're fighting against, regardless of our intentions?

This work features descriptions of violence, abuse, neglect, and uses adult language, as well as mentions of nudity and sexual topics.

ADDITIONAL LINKS:

ABOUT RECURSIVE FICS: Here

SHORTS AND BONUS SCENE Masterlist

FANART AND COMMISSIONS MasterPost

THE STRANDING CHARACTER DESCRIPTION/REFERENCE POST

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t writing #g/t author #gtauthor #author thoughts #gt #gentle giantess #masterlist #masterlist post #masterpost #big little thoughts #links #directory

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thetentaclecommander · 2 months

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On a Devil's Wings

OaDWs (part 4 of the Devil's Saga)

((Header Pic for the series done by Lil-Chilo)) On a Devil's Wings Rated E; has adult/intensely heavy themes and very explicit content Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Nemesis/Jill Valentine Side Ships: Jill Valentine/Albert Wesker, Carlos Oliveira/Ada Wong, Original Character/Original Character, Nemesis/OC, others in light passing Chapters: 32/?

CW: graphic depictions of violence, psychological trauma, implied medical torture, implied/referenced torture, major character death, heavily implied incest and rape, on-screen dubcon (full tag list on AO3) Summary: ~Does beauty truly conquer the beast, or does the beast conquer her?~ ~It’s save, not conquer, my silly prince.~

The final arc of TDS taking place right after TSoD/Domesticity. This is where hard decisions and painful truths that change everything known up to this point occur. Do not expect the fairy tale ending to stay completely pretty. The last remaining brother to Nemesis, Zeus is a creature of not sound mind nor understanding of the value of life. He is 'free' from his 'Father' Simon Ghandon, but is ensnared by a deeper want - to find his brother and to clean him of his failings including his weak female and child. This arc digs deeper into 'what is' about Nemesis both physically, psychologically, and emotionally. It will explore darker themes and topics: it will basically not shy away from nor sugarcoat the violent or suggestive situations within. ________________________________________________ Excerpt from On a Devil's Wings: Prologue-

It's hot…

Father

Why is it

So hot?

Where did brother go?

Where are we…

Body feels lighter yet heavy. The feeling of thrashing underneath skin registered to the 'mind'; the sensation curling through bone and muscle culminating into the sick ripping of tentacle pushing through skin. More and more purple-black tendrils push through the headless corpse of the 3rd NE-T to have ever existed.

The head was still pinned to the wall, the sword hilt sticking out of a maw gapingly open in a monstrous permanently shark-toothed smile. The head was staring blankly at the world with empty bloodied sockets. …Not that in life the artificially reddened eyes gazed with any more life unless the gaze of madness hidden behind them counted as such. The body still vaguely registered the sensation of sloppy jagged cuts the sword that struck him down left along what was left of the neck.

But the one that did this to him – the male that had his own head burnt away by a frail, hapless human in one point and time – had hurt the body but did not end the mind. The parasite that was in name Zeus had merely retreated deeper into his stocky body, letting brother Nemesis behead him. A necessary sacrifice to survive and a gamble that paid off. As his former head stared blankly with still wet ichor dripping down the wall, his parasitic tentacles like bloody fingers pushed out through his neck. His limbs had begun to move albeit jaggedly only sensing heat but nothing more.

If there was pain, he could not register it. Not that he really understood what pain was in 'life'. Pain was like another touch. Another way to touch, mark, claim…brother. Where is brother? The NE-T's body had risen with the grace of a zombie, only having touch to guide his way, the senses of sight, taste, smell, and sound denied him. It feels so warm now. Too warm. The parasitic brain that maneuvered the body like a headless marionette did not dare emerge out for fear of losing what it had claimed as 'himself' for so long.

The body had after a few moments of moving around blindly, stood stock still. The many tendrils protruding from the severed line of his neck reached outward like spidery fingers. They roam out nearly crossing the entirety of the room grazing along old toppled overstuffed and positioned dead animals, to the blank expanse of wall where a tapestry once hung. A tendril touched the wall, dragging along the layer of dust the large wall hanging had hidden.

It dragged downwards still till it wrapped around something metal, along with wetness. The tentacle wrapped tighter still around the metal before pulling on it. With inhuman strength, the tentacle ripped the metal item from the wall. Had he had the ability to hear, the sickening sound of muscle ripping along with the thud of the heavy unattached head hitting floor would have registered. The metal item was dropped to the floor, the bigger prize now somewhere on the floor.

More tendrils shot to the floor, the mass now certain of where the missing head was. They curled around that broken, bloodied pile of flesh, bone, muscle and whatever filled the head of the 'dead' Tyrant before lifting it up towards the stump where it should have been at the Tyrant's neck. Almost immediately they began to penetrate the head – still warm for it was very recently he had even lost it – from the bottom, the tendrils filling key portions of it. From within the parasite began to fill the fatty mess of brain and cortex; the organ itself not important for it only gave the parasite more cushion. The Tyrant body Zeus 'inhabited' was long mentally dead anyway. The reintroduction of the parasite would revive what needed to be.

He could not see, but he could vaguely hear and smell again. Smoke and the loud countdown to some sort of purge. His eyes were damaged; he could not see for brother made sure to blind him. It would take a while to fix what was needed.

Too long...it's hot here.

We are confused. Why are we here?

We…We need to rest. Father why is it so warm.

The strangely reattached head shifted and held on, the parasite slowly trying to blend it with the body again, making both one. But it…he needed time. So much energy needed; this place is too warm. Like a blind worm the risen Tyrant's body shifted through the eternal darkness, grasping along the thick dusty walls. The sensation of the ground moving was odd but warned him something wasn't right.

Father wasn't right…no. Father is dead. Father and that female…and…and…

And?

Despite being blind, despite feeling the not so complete reattachment of his head, the parasite known as Zeus slowly reclaimed his body and along with it the memory of what landed him here. Father was dead now. He, in other words, was free. But what is free? No, Father is just dead in body, that's all. There is no 'free' for us. Freedom meant being unneeded. Unnecessary. Like brother.

He could only understand the freedom of anger, complete obedience, and rage at the image of who did this to him. This last pushed him through halls full of debris and rubble he could not see, through fires he could only feel, the scents of blood and viral agents filling his hidden nostrils. The loud and obnoxious warnings of a long-dead human's voice rung in his ear holes. But most of all he could almost taste him…taste the lingering presence of his 'killer' on a tongue that licked across sharp teeth.

'Oh Zeusy, are you still being a good dog? Good dogs know to lie down when beaten.'

If he could work his not quite functioning voice box, he would've snarled at the voice. Brother even now is trying to make us fail. Ruining our thoughts with your lies!? But that's okay, we will prove you wrong. We will make you lie as Father taught us. We won't…won't let you confuse us. We are too filthy for that. Yes…too filthy. Even with the voice of brother roaming in his head, he was not deterred; if anything Zeus could only feel the rising excitement from not only their last fight but in still feeling his lingering presence in the air. Even his bloodstained leathers held splatters not his but of his brother.

Oh yes.

We will find him.

We will find and destroy such weakness, and make brother see his error. Brother is so wrongly made, Father. Why doesn't he accept our assistance? We are his better. We will strip him clean of his filth.

So much filth coats you, brother. (Continue reading the prologue of On a Devil's Wings on A03)

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strivia · 10 months

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Fuck purity culture for treating proshipper like a dirty word. Fuck purity culture for trying to make shipping a moral statement. Toxic relationships can be fascinating and important narratives to tell.

Fuck fandom for having a double standard about violence compared to sex. People are always ready to assume you don't endorse violence because you like whump, but the moment it's about unhealthy things within a ship people jump to say you condone eViL thINgS.

wow your characters drive your narrative? Their actions drive the narrative? They do shitty things cause they are complex and flawed people? ILLEGAL. They cannot be fucked up. Sand down and sanitize their edges! Gtfo my blog with that crap.

This post sponsored by: striv saw one too many proship dni headers.

#strivia speaks #salty strivia time #fandom salt

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saintsofwarding · 1 year

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WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header art by Keltii-tea!

Chapter 5: A Story for Donna

"The MARS worked," Rose said. "Aren't you happy?"

Chris looked anything but. They sat together in the BSAA facility's cafeteria. Well, Chris was sitting, and Rose was pacing, back and forth and back and forth. She was on her third cup of coffee- cream and three sugars- while Chris nursed his green tea, dunking the teabag in then slowly withdrawing it before repeating the whole maneuver, his head angled downward, his brows drawn together, a murder's worth of crows' feet cutting lines from the corners of his eyes.

Someone walked past outside the cafeteria, and Rose looked up, eyes big. Just an IT guy. Not anyone coming to get them, coming to take them to see Donna.

"You should be happy," Rose pressed.

"Yeah. HQ is happy. 'An admirable performance.'" He'd gotten off the phone with them a few minutes before. "They're gonna reinstate my control over Hound Wolf Squad for the mission, provided Beneviento cooperates."

"That's good," Rose said.

"Yeah."

He went silent once more. Rose finished another lap, sipping at her coffee, then came to a halt by his side.

"This is gonna work, Chris," she told him. "Not just the MARS, I mean. All of it."

"I'd feel a lot more confident about this if it didn't involve Miranda's bioweapons."

"I know that. I-"

"No, I'm not sure you do."

"You have any better plans, then? I'm all ears."

He glanced up at her, assessing her. "We're still not sure what you are," he said. "Not fully. When Miranda awakened you from the megamycete-"

Rose cut over him. "If you're about to say I'm a dangerous liability, that the BSAA doesn't trust me, that I shouldn't be allowed around humans, then you can save it. I know."

She lowered her voice. "Kind of obvious what with the evil-eye I get when all I want is a snack or something..."

"That's- no, Rose, I wasn't gonna..." He rubbed his forehead, staring down into his undrunk cup of green tea. "We're not still sure how much of Miranda was absorbed into you via the megamycete. How many of her memories still linger within your subconscious. And...with proximity to the village, with more Lords resurrected and reinvigorating the hive mind-"

"You think I could become Mother Miranda," Rose said.

He looked at her again. The answer was plain in his blue eyes.

"You're kidding me," Rose said. "I would never be like Miranda. Never-"

"You said it yourself. The other Lords had no choice in their actions. They were forced to comply to Miranda's bidding."

"I'm- no. No." She slammed down her mug of coffee. "She's...she's dead. She's never coming back."

"So you've never experienced any of her memories?" Chris asked.

"No."

He gave a little nod. "Okay," he said.

"Okay? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm telling the truth. Unlike you have a history of doing."

He lifted his hands in a little fine, fine, gesture. "I meant what I said. Okay. I believe you. As long as you let me know if that changes."

"It won't," Rose said. "I'm way stronger than Miranda."

"She was the megamycete's original host," Chris said. "Channeling all her energy into keeping the villagers and all her monsters under her control. Freed of that...who can say how powerful she really was."

Silence fell. Rose took up her coffee again, but she didn't want to pace anymore. She slid onto the cafeteria table bench opposite Chris, staring down at the light brown liquid in her cup.

"And what about your mother?" Chris said.

His voice was even, but the words drove themselves into Rose like he'd vaulted the table and punched her right in the gut. She gave a little shudder.

"I don't know," she said.

"She was a bioterrorist before you were born, Rose. She went back to that life after you were taken-"

"He didn't...take me, exactly," Rose said. "My father gave me to him for protection."

"Until he could get you to civilization."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Ethan was desperate. He..." Chris gave an exasperated huff. "I can't convince you of this, Rose, and I don't want to try anymore."

"Then don't."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Rose said. "I didn't mean to be so sassy."

"That right."

"Not really."

He almost smiled. He dipped the teabag back into the cup.

"Ethan and Mia..." he began. "I thought I'd helped them. Got it right. After Dulvey, after cleaning up the mess Eveline and the Connections and Lucas Baker left behind, I thought- I'd saved them this time. I'd helped these ones. I'd got it right. Mia was, uh- well. She was getting through things. Taking meds, seeing a therapist, but...anyone would need to, after what she'd been through for the past three years. I never imagined what she'd been keeping secret. Guess it was even more than I bargained for."

"My father's mutation."

"And then, to be capable of going straight back to terrorism..." He gave his head a little shake. "I imagine her bridges to the Connections were all burnt, but there's always a new den of wolves looking for their newest packmate."

"Anyone can pull anything, given the right situation," Rose said. It was a quality she'd always associated with Heisenberg, for better or worse.

"Yeah," Chris said. "I sure know that."

"And Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to worry about me."

"About what, specifically?"

Rose licked her lips.

"Miranda," she said.

She paused again.

"I'll never be like her," she went on, after a moment, her voice small. "I would never do the things she did."

Chris nodded, but he had no words of comfort for her. Those were thin on the ground, these days.

"Sir?"

A researcher stood at the door, clipboard in hand. Chris looked up, at once on alert.

"It time?" he said.

The researcher nodded. "She's ready for you."

***

Down white corridors, past labs, past vaults of biohazards, locked up tight. Rose's palms were slick, so she put them in her pockets as they entered the facility's containment area: a labyrinth of cells, guards at every doorway.

"She's been docile," the researcher was explaining. "To a fault, really. Without flora to transmit her hallucinogen, she's of little threat to anyone. While bioscans indicate she has the same increased muscle density and regenerative capabilities as other Cadou hosts, she's...well. You'll see."

They reached the thick glass of what was clearly a cell. Rose squinted in. The lights were down, the room beyond dark to such a degree she couldn't see anything inside.

"She's in there?" she asked.

"Sure is."

Rose paused. Then, "Can I go in?"

"Best not," Chris cut in. "Can you bring up the lights?"

The darkness within the room eased. It was a dull concrete cell, a cot in a corner, a washbasin in another. At the far wall, in a chair angled away from the observation window, sat a slim figure dressed in BSAA sweats.

Someone had detangled her hair, and it hung in a shining black sheet down her back and shoulders. Long, spidery hands with black nails were set lightly on Angie in her lap. Of her face, all Rose could see was the pale edge of one cheekbone, the tip of a nose.

Donna Beneviento didn't move, not even to acknowledge the change in lighting, nor the voices through the observation window. She might have been a still photograph, a projection on the wall.

"Is she...is she okay?" Rose asked.

"Vitals are normal. Cadou activity is lively. She's all there, physically speaking. As for her mental state- well. Redfield, you saw Miranda's files on her."

Chris nodded.

"Is there a speaker?" Rose asked.

The researcher pressed a button by the window. "Good evening, Miss Beneviento," she said, her voice crackling into the room. "You have some visitors."

There was no response.

Chris shifted his weight, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

"The MARS regenerates tissue," he told Rose, quietly. "But neurological patterns...those can be a lot more delicate."

"So let me in there with her," Rose said. "I can talk to her."

"You-"

"I can talk to her," Rose said, more quietly, pressing the word talk. "Chris, please." She decided to go for the big guns. "If you went to all this trouble of fixing up the MARS, recovering Donna's Cadou remnant, regenerating a whole-ass BOW from a couple pieces of crystal and a prayer, and all she does is give you the silent treatment, won't that disappoint HQ even more than you already have?"

He looked sharply down at her.

"Won't it?" Rose prompted.

"Low blow, Winters," Chris said.

"Yeah, well, did it land?"

A muscle worked in his jaw. "You say she's not excreting her hallucinogens?" he asked the researcher.

"Yes, sir. The room's air supply is kept on its own loop, so we know we aren't being affected out here, and sensors aren't detecting any contaminants inside."

Another pause, then-

"Just be careful, Rose," Chris told her.

They ended up giving her a rebreather anyway, the same kind she'd worn into the antiques shop with Chris; if there was any chance at all of Donna tripping her out, Rose supposed the BSAA didn't want her going on some kind of hallucinogen-fueled rampage.

She stepped into the airlock, listened to the doors seal around her, winced as the icy decontamination fog hissed into the air, stinging against her exposed hands. It swirled away, and the second door unsealed with a chunk.

Proceed, a cool, automated voice said.

With a small, steadying breath Rose stepped through the second door and into the darkness of the cell.

The air slipped over her hands, cool and dry. She stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Donna a few yards away.

Close up, she was smaller than Rose had pictured her. In Heisenberg's memories, the ones she'd glimpsed during her time rummaging around in his head, the ones she'd glimpsed in the deep, painful hearts of his dreams, Donna had seemed more...substantial. Maybe because he'd known her when Claudia was alive, before the both of them had been broken by her death, he remembered her as the person she was before.

Now, she sat in the chair with her head slightly lowered, her shoulderblades sharp as bird bones through the incongruous gray sweatshirt.

"Hey, Donna," Rose said, softly.

A faint rustle. She'd shifted in her chair.

Rose's heart gave a little leap. Was she listening? She pressed on. "Are you okay? Is there anything you need? Do...do you feel all right?"

Nothing. Rose glanced toward the observation window, which appeared as a mirror from this side. She looked nearly as insubstantial as Donna in this lighting, her shoulder-length hair and skin colorless in the faint light from above.

The light...

"It's too bright in here, isn't it?" she said. "I get it. I don't like direct sunlight, either. I guess it's the mold, huh? I mean, makes sense, right, mushrooms don't like the sun..."

She was rambling. Donna seemed to have shut down again; she sat frozen in place.

"Chris, you hear me?" Rose said.

A knock came on the glass.

"Turn down the lights again."

There was a long pause. Come on, Redfield, Rose thought, impatient. Then the lights dimmed; only a faint glow through the observation window allowed Rose to see anything at all. Donna became a dark, indistinct shape, her pasty skin making her hands and trace of a cheekbone seem to float disconnected from the rest of her.

"Okay, Donna," Rose said. "Is that better?"

"You really think she's gonna start blabbing to you?"

The voice grated from the darkness, childish and sly. Angie. Rose couldn't see her, but she heard the faint grind and rustle of her movement. A chill feathered through Rose's nerves as she shifted backwards on reflex. Interesting to look at Angie might be, but a creepy doll was still a creepy doll.

A cackle. "Oooh, scared, little Rose? All your power, and you're still struck silly by the dark..."

"You weren't ever scared by the dark, Donna?" Rose said.

There was a silence. Then she heard whispering in it. Faint, rapid; she made out no words, just that there were two voices involved. She couldn't tell which was Donna and which was Angie. Maybe it was Angie talking to herself.

"Donna isn't interested in what you're selling," Angie said finally. "You gotta go through me."

"Okay," Rose said. She inched closer, a hand slightly lifted. "Fine. That's just fine. You know who I am, don't you?"

"The nasty little spawn of the man who killed us." A hiss, like an angry opossum. "Ethan Winters. Oooh, Miranda liked him, she did. Perfect, she said. Perfect. The answer to everything she'd been working toward since, hee hee, forever. We knew it would be the death of us, but...gotta do what Mommy says, that's what Donna told me."

"You...you knew Miranda's end goal was to have you all killed? To replace you?" Rose's heart began to thump. Imagining Heisenberg slaughtered like he was nothing, imagining the magnificent Lady Dimitrescu cast aside as if she was some expendable thing...horrific. Who could do something like that?

I would never, she thought, savagely, toward Chris. No matter what clever little hypotheses you and the BSAA come up with.

"Yep," Angie said, nonchalant. "But Donna was so grateful to Miranda. Taking her in after her parents...after...Claudia."

Her voice dropped on the girl's name, and as she said it, Rose heard a simultaneous scratchy whisper, as if in echo.

"She took care of us," Angie went on. "We would have thrown ourselves off the waterfall if not for her. We tried to cope. Ohhh, we tried."

Her voice grated down and down, like a gramophone losing steam. "We made our cute friends act it out."

"Your cute friends...you mean the other dolls?"

"Mm-hm! We made them be everyone. Mama and Papa. Me and Donna and Claudia. Even Mister Karl, Donna's meanie brother. And then one by one they fell down until only me and Donna and Karl were left."

"Heisenberg was there when Claudia died?"

"He watched it. He watched her. Held her little hand while she spat blood all over the place." The doll made a theatrical blech sound. "She made such a nasty mess! And after, did he help clean it up? No. No. No, he did not."

"He left," Rose said.

"And he didn't come back," Angie said. "And Donna learned he'd come to spy on them, that he was the reason Miranda decided to give Claudia her gift. And Donna broke apart. And so she went to Miranda and Miranda became her new mother."

Angie gave a little snort. "Donna didn't need him anyway. All she needed was me. No boys allowed in our playhouse. Donna thought he might visit when we buried Claudia but he didn't. It was a pretty burial. Flowers and candles and a grand headstone and Claudia with her hair in braids and her favorite yellow ribbons on the ends."

Another lowering of the voice, a hissing hush, as close to the doll could get to a whisper. Another raspy echo chasing Angie's words, Donna speaking in time.

"So small," she said. "So little. Miranda promised she would live through the gift." Her voice became so quiet Rose barely caught the last words. "Miranda lied."

It was beginning to make a bit of sense. So they'd all once been- well, if not close, at least cordial. Heisenberg had spent time at House Beneviento, had become, like he'd said, a kind of surrogate father to Claudia. A companion to Donna, annoying and entertaining her in equal measure, as he was wont. A break in her agonizing loneliness. And when Claudia died, nothing between him and Donna was ever the same again.

Oh, god, and what loneliness it was. The kind that drove someone to go back to the thing that had destroyed them, just so they didn't have to face another day in an empty house.

Rose lowered her hand. Her fear had died down, replaced by a hollow ache, close to tears. All she wanted to do was go to Donna and hold her hands in the dark.

She didn't.

She took a short breath.

"Donna," she said. "Mister Karl is why I'm here now." Another glance toward the glass. Don't you stop me on this one, Chris. "He's gone missing. He was taken, stolen away. And now I'm gonna go get him."

"Why?"

"Because-" It was a long, long story. How to sum it up so that one homicidal doll and one broken, emotionally bankrupt, childishly delusional mutant would understand? "Uh-"

"Was your papa's vengeance not good enough for you?" Angie screeched, over whatever arguments Rose was about to make. "You gotta get him back to make him pay? Is that it?"

"No! No-"

"You should have left us alone. Left us to be dead! Donna doesn't want your pity. She doesn't want this cage. Again and again, so many birdcages. Why can't you just leave us be?"

"Because I need you! Because I want your help, okay? Just listen to me-"

"Our help?" A high trill of laughter, impish and maniacal, like what she'd said was the funniest joke in the world. The sound of sharpening knives echoed from the dark. Rose's palms began to sweat. The doll didn't have any hidden weapons on her- the BSAA had examined her thoroughly- but in the darkness it was all too easy to imagine rusty blades coming from nowhere, going for the eyes. "Our help? Why do you want Mister Karl back, anyway? Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!"

Frustration mounted. How could she make them get it? How could she possibly plead her case and atone for her father having killed them and impress upon them just how much she needed to rescue Heisenberg all in one? She couldn't. She couldn't. This was impossible.

No, Rose thought, with a strange little shudder.

Not impossible.

She reached up to her rebreather and pulled it away from her face, tossing it aside. Chris could chew her out later. Angie instantly shut up.

"Because he took care of me," Rose said. "Like he wanted to do for Claudia. But this time, he got it right. He saved me. And because I love him, and I want him back."

Her voice trembled. She stopped.

Another short breath.

"Please," she said.

Fabric rustled. Not the antique silk and lace of Angie's dress, but sweatshirt material. Donna. Rose blinked as she saw the figure in the chair rise, and turn, her feet in their gray slippers silent on the floor.

Donna stood before her. She was about Rose's height, her long black hair framing an oval face startling in its pallor, and in its beauty. One dark eye looked, levelly, back at Rose. The other was gone, the skin on the right side of Donna's face bubbled and twisted, swollen in a tumorous growth, short veiny tendrils writhing like the touch tank at an aquarium.

Rose caught a trace of a scent- bitter and floral, there and then gone again. Donna's lips twitched in what might have been a smile.

"Our little Rose," she whispered. Her voice sounded like it had rusted somewhere deep in the darkness, a spare whisper, dry as moth wings. "You lived."

"I did," Rose said.

Donna nodded. "I'm glad," she said. "I wanted to say no. To Miranda. But I was scared. Now...she's gone, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good," Donna said. "Then I can help you. First..."

She hesitated, a delicate pause, and fidgeted with a bit of lace on Angie's dress.

"Yes?" Rose said.

"Tell me the the story," Donna said. "It's been such a very long time, and so much has happened. I want to hear everything."

#saints of warding #re8 #re8 fic #re8 fanfiction #resident evil village #resident evil #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg #Chris Redfield #Donna Beneviento #angie beneviento #chapter 5 #mother miranda

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devilsuju · 1 year

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The Evil Within 2 | Sebastian Castellanos , headers

#header #headers #the evil within headers #the evil within header #the evil within #the evil within 2 #sebastian castellanos header #sebastian castellanos headers #sebastian castellanos #game headers #game header #game #horror game

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brigdh · 5 months

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i want to ask so many :D 15, 21, 27, 35?

Thank you, I love having so many to answer! :D

15. Which genre(s) are your favorite?

Ahhh, hard to choose! Probably horror, if I had to choose only one, but I'm also very big on historical nonfiction, fantasy/sci-fi (with a slightly preference for fantasy), and in the last few years I've gotten really into mysteries.

21. The book(s) on your school reading list you actually enjoyed.

I (obviously) did not have a school reading list this year, but back in the day one of my high school teachers had us read Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead and I was, as is only appropriate for a teenager in fandom, completely obsessed. If you haven't read it, it's a Tom Stoppard play that's literally fanfic of Hamlet, all about what the characters do when they're not "on stage", and how they deal with being fictional, and questions of fate and randomness and art. It's extremely meta and slashy and sad and also hilarious. It also contains this quote, which is from the acting troupe within the play, but comments on the nature of fiction in general:

We’re more of the blood, love, and rhetoric school. [...] I can do you blood and love without the rhetoric, and I can do you blood and rhetoric without the love, or I can do you all three concurrent or consecutive, but I can’t do you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory — they’re all blood, you see.

Which (again, as is appropriate for angsty 17 year olds) I definitely used as a blog header for a few years. Also, I just read a OFMD fic that used the same quote as a thematic point and I need to find the time to write the author a long comment because it was SO GOOD.

27. What was the first book you remember reading as a kid?

I have a terrible memory and have no idea what the first book I read was. But I do remember being fairly young and obsessed with an edition of Grimm's Fairy Tales I somehow had. It had been read often enough that the cover had fallen off, so I must have gotten it second-hand, but I don't know if someone gave it to me or what. It was mostly unexpurgated and had creepy Arthur Rackham illustrations, and I remember being young enough to have this sense that I wasn't really supposed to be reading it, that no one knew I had this gory book full of child murders and torture and talking heads, so I only read it in secret. The drawing of the witch all wrapped up in the thorn bush (under "Sweetheart Roland" at the link above) still haunts my dreams.

35. Least favorite trope in your most favorite book genre.

I haaaaaate the Chosen One trope, and it is in so many fantasy novels. Particularly I hate the variety of it that goes "many people have tried to do X (where X = pull the sword out of the stone, kill the evil king, etc, whatever grand deed needs doing in this story), and they have all failed, but here comes the Chosen One, and they will immediately succeed, because they're just so much more ~special~ than anyone else, or because they really ~believe in themselves~, and I guess all the people who failed before and therefore died tragically and/or had to learn to live in the wake of their failure and ruined dreams can just fuck themselves, shoulda had more hope, I guess".

(Weirdly, the place this trope hit me the hardest recently was not a book, but Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. And I do! get! that there is important significance to having the One Who Finally Succeeds be a Black boy! But it's still a trope I dislike.)

Book meme!

#books #meme

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mikarchive2 · 2 years

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mika | 21 | she/her | white.

(was @ problematicyaoi and srdiecko).

header by tumblr user katzone.

please dont interact if youre under 18. this blog contains potentially triggering themes.

enjoyer of themes and narratives, studying eroticism and hedonism at sensual university. i contain within myself the entire human condition, just like everyone.

currently reading: stigmata: escaping texts by hélène cixous, the flowers of evil by charles baudelaire, songs of a dead dreamer and grimscribe by thomas ligotti

storygraph | letterboxd | myanimelist

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fivevotesdown · 1 year

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about me

I'm Five!! I'm 25 years old, I'm from the USA, and I've been on Tumblr since like 2011 (don't do that math, i know, thanks). I work in elections on the east coast, and have done so since 2018 (if you need help with election/voter stuff pls hmu my dms are open and i would love to help!) I'm an artist and amateur musician and author, and I'm absolutely open to being friends!!!

my pronoun soup is as follows:

they/them, it/its, he/him

zey/zem/zeir - "i saw zem walking home! zey were wearing zeir favorite jacket"

imi/im/is - "imi was just here! i swear i saw im over at is desk a second ago!"

ink/inks - "ink loves to go walking in the woods by inkself. inks self-preservation instinct is not overly-developed."

eye/eyes - "eye is finally getting to be eyeself, good to see eyes hard work is paying off."

bog/bogs - "bog likes grapefruits, almost better than any other fruit you can get. bogs piss is downright laden with the stuff, it's a wonder bog hasn't poisoned bogself!"

feel free to pick one and stick to it, mix and match within sentences, or flip back and forth, or use whatever combination you like best!

about my blog

I post a lot about the following subjects

fine art and fan art (my own and others')

language, poetry, literature

fashion

nature and nature photography

the human condition (positive)

worker's rights, human rights (i try to keep it mainly lighthearted)

space, etc

various aesthetics

misc

and i post and reblog inconsistently for the following fandoms

doctor who and associated media

naruto

jujitsu kaisen

hockey (ducks, leafs)

dimension 20 (all)

the west wing

letterkenny & shoresy

the witcher

avatar the last airbender

homestuck

elementary (cbs)

i DO NOT use the queue (except for evil). when I'm here I'm here.

i do not have a cohesive tagging system, but if you need a trigger tagged pls feel free to send me an anon or a dm!

i try to vet who follows me, if you have a default icon or header or an otherwise blank blog i will probably block you. u look like a bot bud sorry

i have a Tumblr famous post that has been overtaken by porn blogs, i have tried turning off reblogs and yet it circulates nonetheless. please do not talk to me about this post. i do not want to witness it lmao

i do not vet original blogs before reblogging, if op is a freak and you message me about it I'm gonna hit you with a stick

this is all for fun!! it's my blog where i go to have fun and look at fun stuff!!

please be nice in here

#about me #five speaks #introduction post

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seventh-district · 2 years

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Welcome to the Seventh District.

My name is Seven, I’m 24 and I’ll answer to any and all pronouns.

Firstly, here's my side blogs -

🍼 Agere 🍼 • @sucrose-soymilk

🌞 FNaF 🌚 • @celestial-toys

✨ Genshin ✨ • @branches-of-time

🔞 General NS/FW 🔞 • @degenerate-district

Secondly, here’s some links & credits -

• My AO3 • My Pinterest • My Spotify •

• My Personal/Main Twitter • My 18+ Twitter •

• My YouTube Channel •

This month's Weather Reports can be found here.

Header Image and Icon were both made by me.

Post Dividers by firefly-graphics.

Thirdly, some of my lore -

Jack of several trades, master of none.

Demilady. Panromantic. Pansexual.

Scorpio Sun, Aries Moon, Leo Rising.

Personality type is INFP-T and Enneagram Type is 4w5.

I've been Straight Edge for a long time, Vegan for 6 years.

Uh, mentally ill, if you couldn't tell. God’s weakest little soldier in an age-old battle against Severe OCD. Collecting anxiety disorders like they're the fucking infinity stones.

Likely also on the spectrum if we’re being honest with ourselves here.

I reference Gods and religious stuff a lot for someone who's Agnostic.

I like (decaf) coffee, carbs, fiction, fantasy, unreality, games, music, writing, space, the color yellow, fish, and deer! I also like oversharing on the internet, hence this blog.

Finally, about this blog -

What I post about is entirely based on whatever I happen to be fixated on at the moment. Personal ramblings, art, writing, edits, moodboards perhaps. Who knows, it's a mess. I try to at least tag most potential triggers as "cw _____".

Current Blorbos: Aventurine, Boothill (H:SR) • Seth (YuuriVoice) • The Daycare Attendants (FNaF:SB) • Venti/Barbatos (GI) •

Some of my past & current favorite media that might make appearances on this blog : Adventure Time • Alice Isn't Dead • Animal Crossing • Arcane • Baldur's Gate 3 • BitterSweet by YuuriVoice • Detroit:BH • Detroit: Evolution • Escaping Denver • FNaF • Genshin Impact • Ghost (the band) (but yeah, the CoD character as well...) • Good Omens • Honkai: Star Rail • It Makes A Sound • Marsfall • Moomins • My Hero Academia • Resident Evil • Site-42 • Stranger Things • Summer Camp Island • The Legend of Zelda • The Magnus Archives • The Orbiting Human Circus • The Walking Dead • Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery • Welcome to Night Vale • Within The Wires •

Pinned Post Last Updated On - 5/17/24

#Seven.txt #i just love me a pinned post. organizing information. creating links. describing myself. very satisfying verrry satisfying #one day. i will make a carrd. but until then. i will cling to my long-ass tumblr pinned post

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belethlegwen · 2 years

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Welcome, to the MASTERLIST POST!

[HEADER CREDIT TO: @chamomile-g-tea <;3] Hey everyone! My name is Belethlegwen, or Belle for short! (Please call me Belle, it's just so much easier) I'm a Giantess-leaning G/t fan who writes G/t fiction and enjoys art, writings, and getting to chat with people about G/t and other nerdy things. I currently have two active works ongoing over at the ol' AO3, (and one unfinished/abandoned, more explicit work that I won't be directly linking here).

The Stranding is my biggest work ever, even outside of the G/t fandom. It is currently being updated (roughly) weekly, and is still actively being written. Almost two years after a man named Henry suffers a shipwreck and is rescued by a woman named Melanie, the two left on a journey to try and return him home, only to suffer a shipwreck of their own. The good news? They made it, Henry is home and is among his own people again. The bad news? To him, and everyone else in his homeland, Melanie is over fifty feet tall. An out-of-time, out-of-place situation, Melanie has to navigate being integrated into a small military force for a nation that seems to be in a tense, fracturing peace with it's nearest neighbour, and also just navigate a world that has never had to deal with anyone or anything like her before. [I personally recommend reading until at least Chapter 12 - Nightmares before starting on The Rescue]

The Rescue is the prequel-piece to The Stranding, and is also currently being updated (roughly) weekly, and is still actively being written. Melanie travels to the beach after a storm, as she often does to find driftwood and debris that can be used for crafts to keep herself busy in her lonely life, and sees a ship in distress just off of the shore. Unable to believe what's happening, she is able to rescue a sailor from the nearly-doomed vessel and take him under her care.

She helps him adjust to life in her land, which is vastly different-- almost like a different time entirely-- from this own. The biggest obstacle to doing so, however, is that the man isn't even eight inches tall. [I personally recommend reading The Stranding up until Chapter 12 - Nightmares before beginning this work, but I am also not your real Dad and can not control you.]

ABOUT RECURSIVE FICS: Click Here

Here is a link to the SHORTS AND BONUS SCENE Masterlist Here is a link to the FanArt and Commissions MasterPost!

The Faerie Spell is a separate work of fiction from Melanie and Henry's adventures, happening in the same world as @adjacentperception's Rose & Laporte series.

Blurb: A first-person-perspective written work (at least thus far) following Daphne as she attempts to navigate a strange and upsetting curse where a Faerie has stolen parts of her essence so that the Fae can, whenever the mood seemingly strikes them, steal Daphne's height and attain a more human-like appearance to hide that they are a Faerie. While the spell is active, however, Daphne becomes 5.5 inches tall (give or take a few millimeters). [More is available in the synopsis on the Directory Page!]

Written by: @adjacentperception and @belethlegwen

What's left of a hero when everything is taken from him? What's left of a villain with no identity?

What's left of a man who has no choice but to save the symbol of a system he's fighting against?

Is the harm we do when we believe we're helping mitigated merely by our wishes to be better? To create something more? To fix what we believe is broken?

Do we hold blame for creating the evil we think we're fighting against, regardless of our intentions?

This work features descriptions of violence, abuse, neglect, and uses adult language, as well as mentions of nudity and sexual topics.

KO-FI LINK:

If you like what I do and wanted to send along some thanks, I was heavily encouraged by an extremely sweet tumblrite to make a Ko-Fi so they could force their generosity on me and I could use it to buy Starbies (Starbucks) to fuel me while I write more! It was an incredibly thoughtful and sweet thing to mention to me and if I think too hard about it I will cry, so here, please! Enjoy this link!

CHARACTER REFERENCES:

Henry:

[Image credit: RL friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous for now] Age: 30 (Rescue) - 32(?) (Stranding) Height: 5'9", or 7.2 inches A highly-skilled sailor from the land of Vogunti Royalty, Henry Lemuels left the port of his home's Capital City on a privateering mission from the King, only to have his vessel, his crew and himself, swept up in an immense storm. The wreck claims the lives of all but him, and he washes up on the shores of a strange land to be rescued by a giant woman.

Melanie:

[Image credit: @LNBeep on Twitter!! Amazing artist <;3] Age: 32 (Rescue) - 34 (Stranding) Height: 5'4", or 50 feet An "early-retirement" crafter from Canada, Melanie Barnes suffered a string of bad relationships and a devastating loss in her family before stepping away almost completely from her old life, isolating herself in grief. She picked up driftwood art crafts to keep herself busy and semi-social by selling them at flea markets, and one days comes across the bizarre wreck of-- what she believes to be-- an elaborate model ship. After rescuing a small man, she has to adjust her life again to try and keep him safe, and hopefully help him return to his homeland in the future.

I'm hoping to add more character info and references in the future as I get more commissions done, but I hope you like what I have so far and that you enjoy my works! If you'd like to ask me any questions at all about myself, my works, my characters or my worlds, my asks are open! Much love, - Belle

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t author #giant tiny #gtauthor #author thoughts #gt fluff #gentle giantess #g/t writing #masterpost

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