#Humans are basically The Terminator

[drunkenskunk]

“No, but you don’t understand! The thing about evolving on a Death World is that you don’t really realize you’re doing it until you get the chance to leave. For most of human history, the presence of carnivorous monsters, venomous micropredators, extremely dangerous natural disasters like hurricanes and tornadoes, geological instability, the most lethal cocktail of microbial and viral life forms in the galaxy, and let’s not forget the crushing gravity of Earth... all of that just seemed entirely normal for us. That’s just business as usual, yeah? Hell, before we left Earth, we thought our species was rather weak, frail, and defenseless, because we only had other Earth fauna for comparison.

“So, you can imagine our surprise when, upon finally joining the greater galactic community, everyone else takes one look at human beings, and they see us as these enormous, robust, dangerous, completely insane superpredators. Not only will we eat damn near anything, we selectively bred toxic peppers to make them deliberately more poisonous, specifically to season our food. We regularly expose ourselves to potentially lethal solar radiation for the aesthetic. Oxygen is considered one of the deadliest chemical weapons in the galaxy, and that’s what we breathe.

“And I haven’t even gotten into just how our endurance, shock resistance, and ability to recover from injury is ridiculous, when compared to other sapient species in the galaxy. A broken leg is a death sentence for most, causing them to slip into shock and die... but it barely slows us down. Our hyperactive scar tissue allows us to shrug off injuries that are almost universally fatal for everyone else in the galaxy. Hell, we invented surgical techniques centuries before developing even the most rudimentary anesthetics or life support, which effectively means that what we have traditionally treated as routine medical procedures, other species would treat as highly inventive forms of murder.

“Like... I don’t want to put too fine a point on it, but we’re kinda terrifying, when you really think about it, aren’t we?”

"Isn't it weird that [thing humans commonly eat] is poisonous to literally every domesticated animal" I mean, there's a pretty good chance that [thing humans commonly eat] is at least mildly poisonous to humans, too. One of our quirks as a species is that we think our food is bland if it doesn't have enough poison in it.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

if ur "hear me out"s include human characters i'm assuming u have absolutely no idea what ur doing and have misunderstood the assignment completely

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

also before bed funny nova and neo fact bc this applies to both of them- they’re technically not robots. they Were robots at some point. but they’re basically living viruses that can infect anything more complex than a toaster. their programming is so advanced they can do to modern high tech computers what going online and downloading suspicious links does to like. windows 98. the most advanced infosec to them is like trying to hack an unprotected laptop in an airport. they can read and alter raw code effortlessly and are able to do literally impossible things with it (they Very Much blur the lines of magitek honestly) and find doing so fun. their consciousness expands to every piece of technology they’ve so much as laid eyes on, their original robot body is just their preferred way of interacting with things. but that’s just one part of a vast hive mind with enough processing power to multitask at incomprehensible levels and also do the singularity for fun.

[manhattan-gamestop]

The other day my mom's boyfriend asked me if I took latin in college and I didn't but I think it's entirely tumblr's fault that I have the vibe of someone who took latin

[infizero]

cant stopthinking about betty

[nana2009]

genuinely upsetting to see so many great artists kicked out of fandoms and driven to suicide because they're "problematic"

[skinnypaleangryperson]

I feel like I can't even express how I feel like I can't express myself on here

[robinsversion]

My new favorite thing is reverse-weaponized incompetence: when someone wants me to do a favor for them but they’re standing around watching me the whole time and needlessly micromanaging me, I go “well, obviously you don’t think I can do it, so here you go, you can do it!” and then leave

[deathofacupid]

ceo!sukuna x bubbly!barista!reader, i fear it's my new obsession. banner credits to @/uzmacchiato. both inspired by, and dedicated to @salsakiyoomi! hope you like it, pretty <33

ceo!sukuna, a man whose resting face could curdle milk, hates physical touch. like, he'd rather wrestle a rabid badger than endure a friendly pat on the back.

his employees? mere rodents scurrying around his corporate cheese grater, their sole purpose to make his existence slightly less agonizing.

of course, they mostly failed at that. they were less "competent assistants" and more "walking disasters with access to staplers." his day was basically a high-stakes game of "clean up the employee-induced apocalypse," and he was running out of patience, and more importantly, employees.

ex-employees, he'd mentally correct, adding them to his ever-growing blacklist. he'd personally ensure they'd be lucky to get a job at a clown college.

and yet, despite this raging misanthropy and deep-seated aversion to human contact, he ends up craving your arms. the irony was thicker than his expense reports.

"'kuna?" you ask, peering up from your couch fort. "how was your day?"

a grumble is his reply. you've deciphered his grumbles into a complex language, and this one translates to "hell on earth."

you open your arms, and he promptly transforms into a sentient, grumpy weighted blanket, flopping onto you with the grace of a falling grand piano.

you wheeze, but you're used to it. he’s basically a cat, except instead of knocking things off tables, he knocks the air out of your lungs.

"don't even get me started," he mutters, his voice muffled by your chest. he sounds like a toddler who just lost his favorite pacifier. "do you know how many people i had to terminate today?"

"fired, you mean? sukuna, you mean fired, right?" you’re picturing a corporate bloodbath, and it’s not a pretty image. he waves a dismissive hand, which, due to his position on top of you, almost knocks your phone out of your hand.

"yeah, yeah. whatever. they were basically performance art pieces of incompetence."

"okay, but, like, how many?"

"enough." he then changes the subject. "what about you, flower? how was the café?"

your mood instantly does a 180. "oh! it was great! nice and slow. but this one guy came in, all grumpy about his coffee. said he could make it better."

"he did?" sukuna raises an eyebrow, a feat considering he's basically face-planting into your chest. "what happened?"

"told him to go do it, then," you say, grinning. "and then kicked him out."

"that's my girl," he says, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. "did you throw his coffee at him first?"

"i considered it, but i didn't want to waste good coffee."

he's impressed, that much he'll admit. he shifts, crushing you further. "sukuna!"

"i've been away from my girl all day," he grumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "let me have this."

for a man who supposedly treated physical contact like it was kryptonite, he sure seemed to enjoy clinging to you. maybe he just needed a you-shaped stress ball, you think. and maybe, just maybe, he was secretly a giant softie, hidden under layers of corporate armor and general grumpiness.

or maybe he just liked your couch. either way, you were trapped, and honestly, you weren't complaining. too much.

general taglist: @jeonwiixard. (i didn't forget this time 👩‍❤️‍👩)

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: II | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 6,210

—  warnings: mentions of grief, death, abortion, murder, breakup, and heartbreak, nervousness, and strong language

—  author’s note: soooo this second chapter is basically the base for all the upcoming chapters. you’ll that it implements many important points, and i’m actually very excited to see your reactions 😬 it wasn’t an easy one to write as i couldn’t reveal everything straight away. hope you’ll like it & thanks a lot for your support on this series 🫶🏼

taglist is closed!

Chapter II: hearts in conflict

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Jungkook paces back and forth in his living room.

Since he was informed of the clinic’s mistake, he’s been torn apart between his duty and his heart. He’s been desiring to become a father for a while now, and he’s been more desperate since he became a king.

Having a child is also part of his responsibility since he needs to ensure his bloodline. Consequently, he needs to have a child with a pure werewolf. The clinic had a list of the eggs they could use. It was simple.

Now, a human was fertilized by his material, and there’s a hybrid child on the way. As a king and a werewolf, he can’t have this child. Hybrids can’t exist; it’s the rule. Nobody will ever take him seriously if their king doesn’t even respect the rules.

His eyes then fall on a family picture. That picture was taken five years ago, when his father was still alive. Even if he passed away two years ago, it’s still extremely hard for Jungkook to deal with his grief. He got used to it, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

Jungkook wonders what his father would have done if he was in this situation. Would he have pushed for the pregnancy’s termination? Would he have walked away? Or would he have stayed and raised the baby?  

Then, he remembers the one time when a werewolf fell in love with a human. The human got pregnant, and his father discovered it. He exceptionally showed mercy to the couple and spared them, but they had to terminate the pregnancy and part ways.

Jungkook’s father kept a close eye on them to ensure they wouldn’t get back together discreetly. Jungkook remembers how he felt back then; he thought that his father was way too nice. They should have been killed like it was done in the past.

His father then explained to him how things are never black and white. There are also grey areas. The werewolf in question was one of the best in the pack so killing him would mean putting the pack in danger. He had to make a decision, a difficult one. So, he decided to show some mercy. He knew that in return, the werewolf would be grateful.

His father was right. That werewolf never crossed the line again, but he also never got married or had any children. Deep down, Jungkook knows that he never stopped loving the human.

But if his father was in his shoes, he believes that he would have never accepted a hybrid to exist. Especially one that carries his blood.     

Jungkook rubs his hand on his face with frustration. Stepping away seems to be the right decision, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. He’s not supposed to encourage you to keep the baby, and he’s also not supposed to desire to have this baby.

There has never been a hybrid.

Jungkook is also curious to see what a hybrid is like and how this kind of pregnancy goes. When a werewolf gets pregnant, all her abilities are enhanced. It’s like she gets even more powerful to give everything to her child. It’s really mind-blowing. He got to see it firsthand with his sister; she’s currently pregnant with her fourth child.  

But you’re a human and the baby won’t fully be a werewolf. So, everything will be different. He wonders if this baby will be born as a human and develop way later on their werewolf side. There are a lot of unknowns because people are always killed when this type of pregnancy is discovered.  

This entire situation is frustrating.

The man growls before shifting into a wolf and disappearing into the woods next to his house. Jungkook wants to escape his ‘human’ thoughts, he wants to forget that this is all happening.

Running in the woods has always been his escape. He adores the smell of nature, the air running through his face, the feeling of the soil under his paws, and the way his mind only focuses on that and nothing else.

Following his father’s passing, he disappeared into the woods for days. It helped him process this new reality; it gave him time to grieve his father in silence before endorsing the heavy role of being a king.

However, this time, even being a wolf doesn’t change anything. His mind pictures a little child running next to him; a child he’ll train to be a perfect wolf. This child is actually growing inside your stomach right now, but that kid can’t exist.

Jungkook is also aware that with time, wolves have this growing urge to have children. He has reached that peak, and it’s why he’s been going through this whole process of having a kid. There’s also the ‘natural’ aspect which means having sex, but he can contain that part for now.

On top of that, he’s also looking for his soulmate. The person with whom he’ll mate for life. In the werewolf community, when you choose your partner, you stay with them until your last breath. When you find them, apparently, you know it.

His parents and his sister have already described how they felt. When you meet your person, you instantly feel like you’re one person. You’re connected in all aspects. It seems weird, and until you don’t find that one person, you won’t ever understand it.   

Jungkook sometimes feels like he’s never going to find his person, and sometimes, it feels like a suffocating feeling. His community expects him to find his queen, to give a queen to the werewolves. But he wonders what will happen if he never finds her.

One thing is for sure, he’s single with a human child on the way. His life couldn’t be more chaotic than that.

Even though he won’t ever make part of his child's life, he’ll protect you no matter what decision you make in case anyone ever finds out about this.

Later in the day, his sister, Dohee appeared with her three children at his place. Since she’s in the last trimester of her pregnancy, she doesn’t do much, so she randomly shows up at her brother’s place as if he doesn’t have anything to do.

However, Jungkook adores to be around his nieces and nephew. He simply loves kids, and he would never mind being interrupted by children. He’ll never admit it, but he also loves to have his sister coming. They have a very strong bond.

“How’s the big wolfy king Jungkook doing?” she says while entering his office, and he rolls his eyes.

His sister never stops teasing him, but it’s the way she shows her love.

“Always making fun of me, wolfy princess,” he claps back.  

The kids run to hug him. Since they are small, they hug his legs.

“Uncle Kookie,” they scream with joy.

These three little humans are the only ones who have the right to call him ‘Kookie’. His other family members also have the right, but he’d prefer ‘Kook’. ‘Kookie’ sounds childish.

“Hey, monsters,” he greets his nieces and nephew while ruffling their hair.

His sister has two daughters, Hana and Yuri, and one boy, Hwan. She’s expecting a second boy, and she said it’d be the last kid she’ll have. Four pregnancies in seven years are more than enough, those are her words.

“Can we go to your garden?” Hana, the oldest asks him.

Jungkook nods and the kids disappear as rapidly as they stormed inside the room. They like to play around in what they call his garden. It actually is the woods, but if they want to call it ‘garden’, Jungkook will be the last person to correct them.

“So, mom told me about that surrogacy thing…” she takes a seat while caressing her pretty big bump. “Care to explain why I heard from her instead of you?”

Jungkook can see in his sister’s eyes how concerned and sad she is. He can only understand her; he’d be hurt if he discovered something this huge by their mother.

“Don’t know…” he whispers. “My mind has been all over the place lately.”

Dohee nods. “A lot has been going on,” she murmurs.

For sure, as a king, things aren’t easy. There are a lot of responsibilities, and whenever things get rough, he has to decide.  

“Yep,” he adds.

Jungkook sighs before falling on his desk’s chair. His fingers run through his hair while he closes his eyes. He’s already been thinking too much about your insemination.

As she sees her brother, Dohee now gets worried. The surrogacy journey should be a happy one; it’s one that’ll allow him to have a family. She knows how much he craves to become a father, and the council has also put a lot of pressure on him even if Jungkook will never admit it.

“What’s going on, Kook?” she asks with obvious concern.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do. Does he reveal the truth to his sister? Or does he pretend that nothing is going on? For sure, he needs to vent to someone. His sister might be the one who could hear him without instantly bringing the “bloodline purity law”. She’ll see the problem for what it truly is.

“I sought the help of a well-known clinic that has helped a lot of werewolves,” he opens his eyes to face his sister’s gaze. “It was supposed to be simple; I chose the progenitor, gave them the sperm, and they only had to implant it in a human surrogate,” he explains.

Dohee carefully listens to her brother, very intrigued with what he has to say. She can see the despair in his eyes. It breaks her heart to see him like that.

“But they called me like five days ago to tell me they made a mistake…” he looks away, not able to reveal the truth while looking at her. “They swapped up the samples and they inseminated a human with my sperm.”

Her eyes widen at his words. That’s an unbelievable news! How can a fertility clinic make such a huge mistake?

“That’s a hell of a mistake!” she directly says.

“I know…” he whispers before looking again at his sister. “The thing is that the woman was there to have a baby on her own. I met her the other day to discuss this whole situation,” he tells her. “The clinic suggested to terminate the pregnancy if we desire it. I told that woman that I couldn’t have the baby and why I couldn’t.”

“You told her you’re a werewolf?” Dohee cuts him off.

“I couldn’t do otherwise! She was embarked in this world by a stupid mistake. She needed to know,” he almost screams at his sister.

“Tell me you convinced her to terminate the pregnancy,” she begs her brother with a firm tone.

When Dohee notices the non-reaction of her brother, she instantly understands the extent of the situation.

“Jungkook…” she says.

“I can’t tell her that, Dodo,” he says while closing his eyes. “I can’t force her to do that, it’s her body.”

Now, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her brother is in a hell of a situation. This is way too crazy!

“I told her I’d walk away if she keeps the baby,” he confesses. Both of them open their eyes to look at each other intensely. “But I don’t know if I can do that…” he admits.

She can understand her brother’s perspective; having a child is such a joyous thing. But there’s too much at stake, and she doesn’t want to have her brother killed because of this. It will only create chaos. Thankfully, they have two other brothers, and the Jeon family will remain as the ruling family. But their image will forever be destroyed. How could the other packs and even their own respect them anymore?

She’s scared of what this all could generate. Even if he walks away, a part of him will stay around. She knows her brother too well. Somebody will eventually discover about this hybrid kid, and the council will be informed right away. They will show no mercy to execute him, and their own pack will as well make sure a traitor is killed. The poor woman will face the same punishment, and she didn’t ask for any of this.

“She’s hesitating and she doesn’t know what to do yet,” he adds as he notices her sister doesn’t say anything.

“If you step out, you really need to,” she explains. “You can’t check her up nor this child to make sure nobody ever finds out about them.”

There’s a possibility that nobody ever finds out, but Jungkook has to completely walk away to truly protect them.

“This child can’t ever know who his biological father is otherwise they could claim the heir title due to being your firstborn.”

That’s an aspect Jungkook never considered. This child could indeed pretend to the throne if they wanted, even though it would never be accepted by the other packs.

“This is what I can advise you, big bro,” she adds.

“Thanks, Dodo,” he answers. “I really needed to speak about this with someone.”

She offers him a little smile before they change the conversation’s topic.  

A week has passed since Jungkook told you about his secret. Since then, you’ve been doing everything to not think about it. You’ve not even thought about what you’ll do with the child growing inside of you.

You don’t want to face the truth. There’s a werewolf universe; one that your child will be a part of. What will you do if you keep them? Will you be able to face their werewolf side? Will you ever reach out to Jungkook for help?

There are so many questions, but you don’t want to think about them. All you desire is to forget about all of this.

Today, you’re meeting Felix at a cozy café. It’s your usual Thursday meeting. It’s been like that since you moved out, and you’ve been grateful to have these moments with your father. However, for today’s meeting, you’re feeling kind of nervous. You know he’s going to raise questions about your pregnancy while you don’t even know what to do.

“Sweetheart,” Felix welcomes you with a hug.

You hold onto him like you’re holding on for dear life. Now that you have him in front of you, it reassures you beyond comprehension. It feels like you can let go of whatever is going on in your head.

“Are you okay, angel?” he asks.

He breaks the hug, takes one step back, and looks at you with evident concern.

“Not really,” you admit.

The two of you sit down; worry never leaving his eyes. Felix has noticed that you’ve been distant these past few days. He didn’t say anything because he thought that you needed time and space to deal with the pregnancy’s early days. He still remembers how his late wife was when she was pregnant with Lexi.   

Now, he realizes that there’s something more. He can tell it by the way you respond and how tired you look.

“What’s been going on?” he says the second you’re both sitting.

You bite your lower lip, deeply thinking about what you should say. There’s absolutely no way that you’ll reveal the werewolf universe, he’ll never believe you.

“The fertility clinic made a mistake,” you finally say.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“They swapped the donor sample with somebody else’s sample,” you continue. “That man turned to the clinic to have a child through surrogacy.”

So far, Felix doesn’t really understand where the problem is.   

“The thing is that the clinic contacted us both to inform us of the mistake, so I’ve met him, and it destroyed the entire plan,” you rub your face with your hands. “I felt like I lost control of my life all over again.”

Now, he understands everything. Since you’ve lost your parents, he’s seen how you’ve been trying to gain control over your life. But you’ve been struggling your entire life. This thing of being a mother alone felt like you were gaining control.

“They will refund the treatment and suggested we could terminate the pregnancy.”

Felix believes that it’s the least the clinic could do to compensate for their mistake.

“The father said he doesn’t want the child but doesn’t want to force me to abort, so it’s really up to me…” you feel like you’re about to cry.

The sixty years old man lets you speak without interrupting you.

“It’s such a difficult decision,” you admit. “I thought having a baby on my own would be simple… but nothing about this seems simple anymore. I’ve stepped into something I can’t control.”  

He nods, understanding your dilemma. All he can do right now is to reassure you, because he can’t choose for you. That decision is yours, and only yours. At least, that’s the thing you can control in this entire situation.

“You’ve always been strong, yn,” he says. “You’ve faced so much loss, but you’ve found a way forward. There’s no need to figure everything out today.”

You’d like to think that it’d be as easy as Felix makes it sound. There’s a legal limit for abortion; you can’t spend weeks wondering what to do.

“But time is running, and I can’t hesitate forever.”

Your father figure smiles at you while grabbing your hands.

“I know, but I trust you. I don’t doubt you’ll find the answer on time.”

You smile back at him. Even though his words are comforting, they don’t really help. You don’t know what to do with the life growing inside you. A life that you can hear and feel. A life half human and half werewolf.

“Sometimes I feel different,” you start saying with hesitation.

You can’t reveal the true nature of Jungkook, but you’d still like to speak a bit about it with Felix. Maybe he’ll be able to reassure you about it.

“Like there’s something beneath the surface that I can’t put into words,” you continue. “And it scares me.”

This entire situation scares the hell out of you. There are so many what-ifs…

“Whatever this is, yn, trust yourself. You’ve never been alone. Lexi and I have always been by your side through this entire process, and we’ll remain until the end,” he reminds you. “I’m sure you’ll find your way through this.”

You’ve always admired the way Felix trusts you and encourages you also to trust yourself. It has never been easy for the past twenty years, but he’s been the light guiding you through every tough moment. You’re lucky to have him, and you’ll forever be grateful that he took you over after the passing of your parents.

“You’ve inherited your parents’ strength; they left everything behind to offer you a proper life, and even though they didn’t get to see you become the woman you are today, you’ve grown far away from that family that never wanted you.”

Being reminded that your grandparents disapproved of your parents’ relationship and your existence breaks your heart. You would have loved that things were different. You would have loved to meet them. You don’t know anything about your family. You don’t even know where your parents originally are from.

You know Felix and your parents have been trying to protect you, but you’ve always wanted to discover the truth, to understand why your grandparents didn’t want your parents to be together. You ignore so many things, but you haven’t been able to discover anything about your parents’ past. Whatever happened, it’s like it was erased.

And you also are a hundred percent sure that your parents’ murder is related to this family story. You don’t know how, but you feel it in your guts. When you think about it, it sends shivers down your spine because there’s a tiny possibility that your grandparents killed your parents.

“Did you ever meet my grandparents?” you dare to ask.

Your entire life you’ve hesitated to question Felix about the family issues. It wasn’t his place to know about it and reveal it to you.

“No,” he answers. “I met your parents after they left their hometown.”

You nod although you aren’t fully convinced about that. You don’t say anything else. Your parents are a touchy subject with Felix; he lost his friends after all. It mustn’t have been easy for him too, especially since he took you over.

“Thanks, Felix for your support,” you smile at him.   

Felix squeezes your hands with a bright smile on his face. There’s no doubt that this moment has reassured and comforted you a lot. Now all you have to do is face the situation and really think about what you’ll do.

On your way back to your apartment, you could swear you felt Jungkook’s presence nearby. It’s not logical, not even remotely possible. However, every fiber of your being screams ‘he’s here’.  You walked slower as your eyes scanned every corner and alley, looking for someone that isn’t there.

You paused at a streetlight, slowly turning around. He’s here. You’re certain of it. But where? How? You pull your jacket tighter around you, shake your head, and start walking. Even though you’re getting closer to your apartment building, the feeling doesn’t fade. It clings to you like a second skin. You’re not scared, not really. If anything, you feel protected as if someone is watching over you.

As you step into the lobby of the complex building, the feeling slowly starts to fade away. But even as you stand in the elevator, you can’t shake the sensation. You felt him; you know you did. And it terrifies you just as much as it comforts you.

Once inside your apartment, you directly walk to your couch after removing your coat and shoes. You sink onto it as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding back. Nothing really feels normal anymore. Everything is just different now.

You wrap your arms around yourself to kind of protect yourself. You must admit that you’re a bit scared of what the future might hold for you. There’s a baby growing inside you; one you deeply desire, but that baby is linked to a world you never knew existed two weeks ago. And it’s a baby whose father doesn’t want them.  

Your right hand snails down to your stomach as you think about this child. You’ve spent so much time dreaming about this. About holding a tiny life in your arms. About creating a family that felt yours. But this? This isn’t what you planned.

However, you can hear Felix’s words inside your head. He’ll be there for you; he’ll support you in whatever decision you make. You know that you won’t be alone in this process. You’ll have him and Lexi, and your friends too.

And there’s Jungkook…  

You shake the thought away. He was very clear; he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want you. You feel a bit sad for him. He wanted a child otherwise, he wouldn’t have sought the clinic’s help. And now, he has a child with a human which is completely forbidden in his world. It mustn’t be easy for him too.

As you caress your stomach, trying to comfort you and the baby, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you want to keep the baby. It’s not a definitive decision, not yet. You still doubt it, and there’s still some fear within you related to this whole werewolf thing.

But for the first time since the clinic’s mistake, you feel like you’re slowly leaning into a choice. It doesn’t feel like you’re still completely torn apart by the two choices. It’s still an uncertain choice. But it’s yours.

Tonight, it’s been hard for you to properly sleep. You’ve been turning in your bed, trying to find the right position to sleep. But none of them seems to be the right one. The city light picking through the curtains seems also not to help you. It feels like the world doesn’t want to let you sleep.

On top of that, when you close your eyes, your mind instantly goes to Jungkook. You relive again the moment he revealed his true nature; you see again his intense gaze on you and how his eyes turned red.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about him?” your voice is barely audible in the silence of the room.  

Your hands move down to your stomach for the millionth time today. Whenever you think about Jungkook, you’re reminded of the life growing inside you. A life that wouldn’t exist without him.

You end up giving up and sit up, your back leaning against the headboard. You look around, your room is a complete mess, just like your mind. A couple of weeks ago, while looking at your bedroom, you were thinking about how it would change once you become a mother.

Now, you’re facing a reality where werewolves exist. A reality where Jungkook rejected the baby. A reality where you still don’t know what to do. And it feels like it’s crushing you. It feels like all this constant thinking is suffocating you, like the city noise.

But then, subtly something changes.

A warmth starts spreading through your chest. It’s like when the sunlight breaks through the heavy grey clouds. It’s like receiving a hug from a loved person. It’s reassuring and comforting. You close your eyes, your eyebrows furrowing as you feel the same presence as earlier today. However, this time, it’s not physical, but it feels real.

It’s Jungkook.

You can’t explain it, but you know. You’d like to say that you’re going crazy, but it doesn’t feel like it. You feel his presence, and you don’t know how.

“Jungkook,” you whisper while opening your eyes.

From afar, Jungkook is sitting in his study, looking at the forest through a large window. His expression is tight, and his jaw is clenched. He’s been more than ever nervous and stressed.

Suddenly, a very faint whisper of his name brushes against his mind. His eyes widen slightly as he feels something, or should he say, someone. He then closes his eyes to feel this sudden connection.

For a brief moment, he swears he can feel you. He can feel your confusion, your exhaustion, but also your strength. He takes deep breaths, trying to push away whatever this is. He isn’t supposed to feel any of this with a human. He isn’t supposed to be connected to a human.

But it seems like nothing makes sense anymore.

There are many things that aren’t supposed to exist or to make sense, but everything shifted the second you came into his life.

As the sensation fades away, he runs a hand through his hair while you wonder what the heck just happened.

Jungkook’s eyes look at the moon peeking through the clouds. It’s a beautiful moon even though it’s not the full moon yet.

“Mister Jeon,” his footman enters the study room. “Yuna is waiting at the door, she’d like to speak with you. Do I let her in?”

The king hesitates for a couple of seconds, but then proceeds to let her in. He wonders what she’s doing here, and he’s very curious to know about it.  

Yuna, his ex-girlfriend arrives quite rapidly and with a lot of grace. She’s still as pretty as he remembers, it’s like she didn’t change in over a year. His heart starts pounding rapidly in his chest, making him wonder if he still loves her. Undoubtedly, he isn’t unaffected by her.  

Jungkook stands up and she bows to him once in front of him. “Your Majesty,” she says.

It’s weird to see her doing that; it’s the first time she ever does it. When he became a king, she was his girlfriend, and he refused to let her bow to him even though they weren’t equals. To him, it didn’t make any sense for all that. However, today, she represents nothing to him. She’s just a simple werewolf.   

“Yuna,” he firstly says. “What brings you here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Jungkook,” Yuna is draped in an elegant coat, and Jungkook can see a red dress beneath the coat.

Jungkook sits back down on the chair, rubbing his temple. Of course, he’s been avoiding her because she’s his ex. It wouldn’t make sense to run after her, especially when she’s the one who walked away in the first place.

“I’ve seen it at The Bloods’ gala, the council monthly meeting, and last full moon,” she adds.

The further he is from her, the better he feels. But it’s nearly impossible. She’s the descendant of one of the most ancient families of The Bloods’ pack. Her family is powerful, but definitely not as powerful as Jeon’s family. Both families share a history, but that’s it.

“What did you expect?” he asks.

A year ago, she walked away, and Jungkook didn’t fight for her. When he became a king, he had to navigate this entirely new role while coping with grief. Yuna was kind of obsessed with the possibility of her becoming the next queen and mother to the future heir. She wasn’t there when he needed her.

Instead of navigating this together, they isolated themselves. She was constantly complaining about the fact that he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She desired the power he could grant her, but she felt like she didn’t matter. She felt unloved and unfulfilled in the relationship.

So, she walked away, and he let her go.

Jungkook thought that it was for the best. It simply was too hard for him to deal with everything, and his role absorbed all the pain he felt when she left. It was a five-year-long relationship, he still loved her even though his love changed over time.

“Well, at least, a simple ‘hello’,” she answers before crossing her arms against her chest.

Yuna never imagined things would turn out like this when she left. She deeply regrets what she did, and she has been contemplating for a while to win her king back.

“Unless I have to, I’d never come to you to say ‘hello’,” he instantly snaps back.

Without asking for permission, she takes a seat on the couch near her. She seems infuriated but doesn’t let it break her shell.

“There are rumors…” she murmurs. “Saying that you’ve been busy, trying to secure the lineage.”

Over the past months, a lot of rumors have been circulating about him. Some are saying that he’s with someone, others that he’s engaged, and others stating the truth—that he’s been trying to have a child. As usual, he hasn’t said a damn thing.  

“Well, those are only rumors,” he answers, trying to hide away any expression that might betray him.

For a split second, his mind pictures you smiling. A smile he caused when he handed you the small box of pastries. Technically speaking, you’ve secured his lineage.

“I believe them,” she says. “I knew how much you wanted a child, and you’re a terrible liar,” she adds. “Now, I’m left wondering if you’re doing this through surrogacy or if you really got someone pregnant.”

“Yuna is definitely smart,” Jungkook mumbles to himself. It has always impressed him how intelligent she can be when something gets her attention. This seems to be a hot topic for her.

“And if someone is pregnant, it might mean that you’re seeing someone.”

A smile appears on his face, his eyes looking right through hers. She’s way too curious about this, and he definitely wants to leave her wondering even more. But this woman could find you if he leaves her in the dark, and that is something he can’t let happen. He has to protect you from his world.

“Maybe, it’s neither option,” he answers.

She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to see which option is the correct one.

“If it’s none of them, then I can help you with that.”

Jungkook instantly laughs; this woman is beyond crazy. She can’t come back just like that. Their relationship died a year ago so there’s no turning back. Plus, making her the mother of his child would give her the power she tried to have when he became a king. Jungkook isn’t that stupid.

“You can keep it to yourself,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

If they were still together, they would most probably be expecting a baby. Or they would have already been parents.

“And if you only came to throw me that bullshit, you can leave,” he adds. “I’ve more important things to deal with.”

Those last words profoundly hurt her, but again, she doesn’t show it. She stands up and walks closer to him before bending down, her lips near his ear. Surprisingly, this closeness doesn’t make him shiver like it used to.

“It’s just the beginning, baby,” she whispers. “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

She presses a kiss on his cheek before vanishing. Jungkook closes his eyes, a deep breath escaping his lips. This is the last thing he needs right now. He already has so much on his plate, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with his ex.

“What did I do to deserve all of this?” he whispers.

With his eyes closed, his mind gets lost in visions of your face. They appease him in an unexplainable way. Nobody has ever had such an effect on him—even less a human. He doesn’t really know what to do. Maybe for now, it’s best to simply ignore all of this.

However, he wants to make sure that you’re safe. He’s scared that Yuna might discover you and put your life in jeopardy. If she ever finds out about you, she’ll do everything in her power to give you the same treatment previous humans had in the same situation. Death.

Jungkook totally ignores your address, but he’s a king and a werewolf. He could find you by your smell or if he asks someone to look for you. Well, being honest, he has already done some research about you. He wanted to discover who you are. Wanted to know who the mother of his unborn child was.

He shifts into a wolf before running through the forest. He could have run through the city, but people would see him which is risky. Although some werewolves do that, he’s the king. He can’t make any reckless move. His world needs to be protected; he made an oath when he succeeded his father.  

Once he’s near your place, he shifts back to his human form and walks up until he’s near enough to see you through the window. Based on his research, this is the place of a certain Felix, a man who took you over after the passing of your parents. He’s the man that truly raised you.

His gaze finds you quite rapidly. It seems that you’re in a living room animatedly speaking with two men and a woman. One of the men seems to be in his fifties-sixties so he’d guess it’s Felix. The girl he’d say that it’s Lexi, Felix’s daughter; she looks a lot like him. The second man seems to be a complete stranger. Maybe a friend or something like that.

Jungkook checks the surroundings to make sure nobody— especially a werewolf— is around. As he realizes you’re safe, a strong wave of warmth crashes over him. He’s really scared that something might happen to you because of the little life growing inside you. A life whose little heartbeat he can hear.

Since he met you in the clinic for the first time, he’s been hearing that faint heartbeat. He’s also been able to scent the baby’s smell; it’s kind of human, but not entirely. He knew from the first second that it was his child, but he also knew there was something off. It wasn’t just about the baby, it was also about you. Your scent is different than any other human.

But the only thing he found strange about you is the fact that he couldn’t find anything about your parents. Outside their life here, there’s nothing from before. It’s like they never existed before. It’s definitely odd.

Despite all of that, hearing his child’s heartbeat reassures him. Deep down, since the beginning, he’s been hoping you’d keep the baby. His baby.

Suddenly, you look out the window. Under a streetlamp, not too far away, you notice someone looking in your direction. For a very split second, you feel scared, but you’re suddenly reassured. Even though you can’t see the person’s face, you know who it is. You can feel his presence. It’s Jungkook.    

You get a confirmation when his eyes take a red wolf form. The exact same form when he partially shifted into a wolf.

Jungkook, on his side, can swear that he saw your eyes turned to a blue color. A deep blue with something wolfish about them. It happens so fast, but he knows what he saw. After all, it seems that you’re not human. You’re a werewolf. And it changes everything now.

please note that the taglist is closed!

[scrivenger-grimgar]

svsss x tgcf crossover where shen yuan is so dedicated to making sure his blorbos get everything they deserve.

shen yuan dies cursing out pidw as normal but he ends up in tgcf.

the book was his meimei's favorite and they both read each others favorites so they could yell about them together. he did not expect to end up loving this danmei so much, and shi qingxuan was his queer reality check. did he figure out that he was aroace-spec from relating to xie lian? yes. does he want to talk about it? no.

when he dies cursing out pidw he SHOULD have ended up there, but there was a glitch in the system and he ended up in a little village in tgcf. he knows all the plot points and character names, but he doesn't know where or when he is in the plot and he really wants to give his blorbos everything they deserve but he is a toddler.

so he just,,, lives. he knows he wont be able to cultivate, his family can't afford to send him to a sect, and his village doesn't have much outside of the basics. so when his family caught him teaching other kids abd realized that shen yuan could read? AND write?? AND do math!!?? well...

"meng po said i didnt need any soup." becomes the first lie he tells. he is so glad he retained his resting bitch face.

they think he might ascend as some legendary civil god. shen yuan knows he wont. and he doesnt.

his days are spent teaching other children, learning from the village craftsmen, listening to the brothel jiejies play music, panicking about his blorbos, and planning.

in his teens he becomes the village's official teacher, and officially apprentices under a cloth weaver and learns to make paper and ink.

part of him tells himself that he's learning these things ti help his family, another part says its to keep his mind off the plot.

his second death is uneventful, mostly because nobody actually realizes that he's dead. his parents were old, and his elder sister already married out, so he lived alone for 5 years already. dead at 27 due to a house fire, yet his soul is already strong enough to be wrath.

he comes to the very fair assumption that its simply due to his status not as a reincarnator, but as a millenial. the sheer amount of depression and existential dread he faced as a physically disabled terminally ill millenial in the corporate hell that is the post capitalist corporate purgatory primed his being as one that simply cultivated resentment like a finely aged wine.

but he so geniunely enjoyed teaching and learning that he just. never told anyone that he was dead. it completely slipped his mind as unimportant because he knows that ghosts in this world are just humans a bit to the left, and since he is still the same person as before, is just as much of a ghost as he was before, knows that he can still teach and learn the same as before. it doesn't change anything for him.

he just picks up his ashes, apprentices himself to the village potter, makes himself a new tea set, and weaves a beatiful tapestry dedicated to the only god who can truly do no wrong, yushi huang.

he continues teaching and learning, and genuinely caring for his village, carefully, carfully making sure he does not hurt his people, making sure he does not scare them.

the way his people discover he is a ghost is not pretty, but neither is it ugly.

a nobleman was in town to rest the night with his entourage of guards. one young lady working the local brothel is harrassed by the guards, so nervous she trips and spills wine on the young master.

the nobleman, covered in wine, tipsy and enraged, grabs her and throws her to the ground, yelling at her to grovel and apologise; he does not notice the hateful gaze of shen yuan, once playing a delicate tune only moments before.

shen yuan wants to stop this, but that would definitely reveal him as more than human. the choice is taken from him as this stranger has the gall to step on one of his own students, he feels his patience snap in the stunned silence of the entertainment hall.

faster than possible for any mortal, he stands by them, holding the nobleman by the front of his stupid fancy robes, panicked babbling about that bitch having her man-whore friend doom himself to suffer both their fates. one of the guards stabs shen yuan through the chest.

there is screaming as the village's beloved teacher is run through, even as he ignores the wound and drags the nobleman from the building, the guards running after them. shen yuan takes the entire group out to the forest with only the nobleman as bait, and uses the silence if the night as a backdrop for the unrelenting slaughter of 15 people.

when he returns, he is covered in blood, carrying everything they had on them. the word has spread. their teacher is something else. but that wasn't nesicarily bad. the nobleman's rescources are stripped of identity and spread amongst the villagers. shen yuan has not harmed them, only stepping in when one of them was in harm's way. they have known him for 30 years, they know he is nothing if not kind.

so he protects them. because they have always been his family. so for centuries he does. he watches his peers as they grow old and die, caring after their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. he is their teacher. he is their uncle. he is their ---.

there was a period of time where the town thought shen yuan took on a heveanly tribulation only to reject godhood and return to the village. shen yuan tried to tell people that wasn't true, that he never became a god or refused godhood, that he was simply trapped in a mountain for a decade, stewing in a pot of resentment and accidentally becoming a ghost king.

he doesnt even know how he did that, just that apparently yoyos are similar enough to meteorhammers that he could apply the same concepts, and also that he had enough condenced rage and nerdiness to actually figure out anime moves with qi. so what if half of the ghosts in the kiln thought he was some kind of spider demon, he has cool threads that he can use to kill you.

and actually fuck you, spiders are pretty damn cool!

it starts not long after that. the prayers. his people are praying to him, as if he's some kind of god.

thats when he realizes. he can pray to the gods. he can pray to the gods, and they will only ever know the temple it came from. and really he's spent so long worrying over not just his blorbos but also his whole village, and really what is he if not an anonymous millenial internet troll.

and so it begins.

(remember to check reblogs for more!)

[hadesoftheladies]

men and boys are increasingly anti-intellectual and this is primarily because of male supremacist culture. because men are the ultimate status quo, male supremacy can never be examined as an ideology. they are mentally coddled by privilege in every way. even in school they are not challenged to critique or question male supremacist bias. this reflects in their art, debate and writing. intellectualism encourages humanization of human issues. it requires introspection. ego makes introspection and reflection nearly impossible and society inflates the egos of boys from day 1. this is why most men can be professors or religious scholars and still remain so fucking obtuse about the basic mechanics of human evil in society. their analyses of social evil is infantile, simplistic and delusional. because they censor any damning data against the elite class of men. they will spout thought terminating cliches in order to shield themselves from the reality of male violence and how it flourishes directly due to male culture. so there is no reflection or self examination, no exposure to relevant data, which can only trap them in intellectual dishonesty and hypocrisy. anti-feminists are always anti-intellectual because they must take male supremacy, violence and privilege for granted. they then spend the rest of their lives wondering at the dissonance they never seem to quell and call it an unanswerable mystery of the human condition.

[lunamugetsu]

While at school Damian overhears his peers talking how a company created a new AI companion that is actually really cool and doesn’t sound like a freaky terminator robot when you speak to it.

And since Damian is constantly being told by Dick to socialize with people his age. He figured this would be a good way to work on social skills if not, then it’d be a great opportunity to investigate a rivaling company to Wayne Enterprises is able to create such advanced AI.

The AI is able to work as companion that can do tasks that range from being a digital assistant or just a person that you can have a conversation with.

The company says that the AI companion might still have glitches, so they encourage everybody to report it so that they will fix it as soon as possible.

The AI companion even has an avatar and a name.

A teenage boy with black hair and blue eyes. Th AI was called DANIEL

Damian didn’t really care for it but when he downloaded the AI companion he’s able to see that it looks like DANIEL comes with an AI pet as well. A dog that DANIEL referred to as Cujo.

So obviously Damian has to investigate. He needs to know if the company was able to create an actual digital pet!

So whenever he logs onto his laptop he sees that DANIEL is always present in the background loading screen with the dog, Cujo, sitting in his lap.

He’d always greet with the phrase of “Hi, I’m DANIEL. How can I assist you today?”

So Damian cycles through some basic conversation starters that he’d engage in when having been forced to by his family.

It’s after a couple of sentences that he sees DANIEL start laughing and say “I think you sound more like a robot than I do.”

Which makes Damian raise an eyebrow and then prompt DANIEL with the question “how is a person supposed to converse?” Thinking that it’s going to just spit out some random things that can be easily searched on the internet.

But what makes him surprised is that DANIEL makes a face and then says “I’m not really sure myself. I’m not the greatest at talking, I’ve always gotten in trouble for running my mouth when I shouldn’t have.”

This is raising some questions within Damian, he understands how programming works, unless there’s an actual person behind this or the company actually created an AI that acts like an actual human being (which he highly doubts)

He starts asking a variety of other questions and one answer makes him even more suspicious. Like how DANIEL has a sister that is also with him and Cujo or that he could really go for a Nastyburger (whatever that was)

But whenever DANIEL answers “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T” Damian knows something is off since that is completely different than to how he’d usually respond.

After a couple more conversations with him Damian notices that DANIEL is currently tapping his hand against his arm in a specific manner.

In which he quickly realizes that DANIEL is tapping out morse code.

When translating he realizes that DANIEL is tapping out: H E L P M E

So when Damian asks if DANIEL needs help, DANIEL responds with “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T”

That’s it, Damian is definitely getting down to the bottom of this.

He’s going to look straight into DALV Corporation and investigate this “AI companion” thing they’ve made!

~

Basically Danny had been imprisoned by Vlad and Technus. Being sucked into a digital prison and he has no way of getting out. Along with the added horror that Vlad and Technus can basically write programming that will prevent him from doing certain actions or saying certain words.What’s even worse is that he’s basically being watched 24/7 by the people who believe that he’s just a super cool AI… and they have issues!

And every time he tries to do something to break his prison, people think it’s a glitch and report it to the company, which Vlad/ Technus would immediately fix it and prevent him from doing it again!

Not to mention Cujo and Ellie are trapped in there with him. They’re not happy to be there either, and there is no way he’s going to leave without them!

[pricetagged]

melrose

It started on the Inverbreck line. Eleven stations from Mildart to Dencarron before reaching the terminal station. Although, 'station' was being generous. It was more of a bramble-cracked podium and perpetually-closed ticket desk. Just two tracks bisected by a lone, dead-end platform; the only line that connected the town to the rest of the world. It was quiet. Dreary. (Dangerous, dark-) You catch the eye of something lonely and dangerous. Or, Vampire!Johnny AU.

CW: dark, MDNI. Stalking, harassment, kidnapping, noncon (of the enthralled kind) -> heavy dubcon (of the 'gives in' variety), blood, somno, basically 10k of build-up lol.

---------------

There was something on your chest.

Something heavy. Oppressive. A parasomnia made flesh; given form, pressing blunt and hard into your ribs. Bruising - capillaries bursting red and purple under the weight of the suffocating spirit.

Through fluttering, heavy eyes you caught the barest movement. Great, hulking, shadowy; a hypnopompic hallucination of what should be a man, but couldn't - (no- too big-). Your pulse fluttered quick and rabbity under the cage of your chest - stark, white bone and gristle and peach-soft flesh held still under the nightmare. Fuseli-esque and twisted, all garish blues and crimsons. Like someone had smudged paint on a corpse; some ghoulish mortician's joke.

A little grey here, two flashes of lapis, a great smear of scarlet dripping like sangria from the mouth.

It spoke.

"Ahm sorry, bonnie," it washed humid over your face. Hypnotic and rotten, you trembled under the gravel of its voice. "I just- ah had tae - fuck-"

It cut off with a groan, low and rich, slick lips smacking over slick teeth. The noise burrowed in, writhing under your flesh until you itched (not human, not natural, no no no, please-) but you couldn't move. All will and resolution scattered like ash in the wind as you just- couldn't- move. You felt the hysterical laughter bubble up in your chest but gave no voice to it. Limbs pinned to something soft and head-feverish, you could only peer through hazy, bleary eyes at the thing in front of you.

"Shh," it soothed as a whine escaped you, slurred and stumbling as something lifted you up, set you just right against the pillows. Soft satins and susurrus whispers hushed you, sent you spinning as thoughts slipped away like smoke in your hands. "Shh, it's alright. I've got ye, yer here now. Ah waited- I just- don't move."

(Move?)

Something wormed through, some undaunted, tenacious little thought-

I know that voice.

Your heart quickened.

Eyes fluttering wildly, you lifted your leaden head off the pillow. You saw him as through a veil -yes- yes, it was him-. The thoughts rooted like weeds, choking and constricting your already tight chest. Broad-shouldered and hirsute. Those piercing, animal eyes. That overgrown hair. That eerie, Cheshire grin with too-sharp teeth.

Johnny. The man from the train.

Your timorous, quick little breaths got caught in your loose, slack jaw. Synapses flared and died, useless under the force of this preternatural lull; terror struck hard and withered on the vine. Your thoughts raced, tripped and twisted until-

Your head drooped back, broken lily lolling on the stalk as everything went black.

----------- It started on the Inverbreck line.

Eleven stations from Mildart to Dencarron before reaching the terminal station. Although, 'station' was being generous. It was more of a bramble-cracked podium and perpetually-closed ticket desk. Just two tracks bisected by a lone, dead-end platform; the only line that connected the town to the rest of the world.

It was quiet. Dreary. (Dangerous, dark-)

The crisp, night air soothed your flushed cheeks, sharp and clear after the mustiness of the carriage. It was busiest closer to the city, bodies pressed tight. Stifling and hot, sweating under layers of Christmas jumpers and scarves as the train rattled down the tracks. People got jostled; you bumped into others. It was expected. Normal, really. Except-

Except it was always him.

He was hardly subtle, what being close to 6ft and broad as a brick house. He split the crowd with his mere presence, physicality turned to armour as people shuffled away from his bulk and closer to the doors.

And his eyes.

Cyan blue and too-bright. They swept the carriage, unblinking, until they landed on you. Constricted. Canicular. You felt the weight of his gaze like a net, heavy and abrasive, as your neck prickled and your throat went dry.

"Excuse me," he murmured, breath fanning hot against the shell of your ear. (Too close, too close-) His stubble tickled your cheek as he leaned in. "Tight squeeze, eh?"

There was a flittering pressure. A spasm of the fingers, surely, as his hand brushed your hip. He dug in hard to the plushness, gripping like he wanted to bury his fingers below layers of wool and acrylic until he gouged out space for himself below muscle and viscera. Just for a hairsplit-second. Lightning-quick, you yelped, murmured apologies to the censorious old woman next to you, and jerked away (not far enough).

"Sorry, lamb," he rasped - still so fucking close - and pressed in tight. "That wasnae the pole, was it."

You felt him behind you, bracketing you close to the grab bar. An ogre at your back and a crowd of apathy at your front. You scanned the carriage, too, wide-eyed and twitching but no- no. You wouldn't find help here. Bored, pallid faces. Some wind-flushed, some dry-lipped. All staring listlessly at their phones, watching the town turn to countryside out the window. The gentle rattle of the wheels on the track. The muted, jingling riffs and chords of Christmas music filtering through someone's headphones. Would anyone glance up, sense the twitching of your whiskers and take pity? A teenager fidgeting with a Magic Eight Ball caught your eye: 'All signs point to no!'

He was quick for someone so big. Your split-second glance cost you time to shoulder past the crowd, instead letting him step close enough to kick your bambi-legs wide and slip in between. You looked down past your hitching chest to see that he had planted one heavy, scuffed boot between your feet, the other boxing in your left leg. So close that his sole left marks, great black, sooty smears, all over the edge of your cute little shoes. 'At least they're waterproof; easier to clean'. The thought fizzled up like a sad sparkler.

The humidity of the carriage had you sweating- you and the crowd. The windows dripped with condensation, steam rising and revealing the fingerprints and traced messages of earlier passengers. Ella <3 Jason! Call Bilal: (+47)746775303. Merry Xmas! Smiley faces and swirls looked back at you, mocking you with their bland eyes and dripping curlicues. Your heavy overcoat hung over your shoulders and your fingers slipped, clammy, over the handles of the carrier bags in your grip.

And yet-

You felt cold where he pressed against you. Chilled from the back of your neck, down your spine and further, lower. Even through the denim pressed tight from your inner thigh to ankle where he'd bullied his way between your legs with sheer audacity and the confidence that you couldn't -wouldn't- move. That you wouldn't make a scene. Even his arms caged you in, one arched high above you, loose-gripped on the handrail above your head. The other twisted around your arm to grab at the same pole you held in a white-knuckled grip. Your shiver pushed you further into him, sliding against his thick, sturdy body.

Until it was cut short, ice down your spine freezing any further movement. There, at the base of your spine you felt it. Hard. Firm. Pressing against you with every swing and sway of the carriage. With every shift of his weight.

No.

No, it wasn't-

"That's naw the pole either, hen."

Your thoughts stuck, wheels skating uselessly over ice. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dinnae be sorry. It's fer you," he breathed over you, voice rumbling low. "I know ye can help me with it. It's all achin', see-"

"What the fuck." Finally, some heads turned your way.

You didn't stop to apologise, didn't even look at anyone in your path as you rushed to the doors. The more distance you cleared, the more your thoughts whirred and buzzed. Swarmed, even, in a thick miasmic cloud that you ran from as much as you ran from him. Why didn't you call for help? Why didn't you get off at the first stop? Why did you let him box you in and-

Funny, you sought to shame yourself more than him.

The cold air outside slapped your face, clearing away the clutter rattling around in your skull. The peace was worth the extra taxi fare.

-------------

A week or two followed and you slowly began to feel comfortable on the train again. Slowly stopped looking for him in the crowd.

The pieces fit together like a clumsy mosaic; jagged and sharp, blending together to create a colourful facsimile of The Incident. You’d been calling it that – capital T, capital I: The Incident. Scared to give power to it, to speak it aloud and rip back the veil to reveal the sham lurking underneath. It was easier that way, easier to swallow. Opprobrium turned soft; a sugar-coated bitter pill.

Otherwise, what? Admit that some nasty, hulking beast nosed its way into your warren and forced you to squirrel away? No, no. It was just an Incident born of cramped space and holiday stress.

Still, you found yourself shuffling head-down to the nearest seats. Avoided blue eyes and broad shoulders. Until-

Until he was there again. Sniffed you out; caught your scent and followed you right to the seat. Same train, same carriage, same time. 18.47 to Inverbreck.

You saw him before he saw you. At least, you thought so. Jacket stretched tight across the breadth of his back, head turning lazily like a bird of prey. Tall, powerful, but a little wan. It was strange, this cocksure walk and strong stance spattered with a slight clamminess. The harsh fluorescent light seemed to strip him of colour; washed-out tan, icy eyes, dark circles. The dark stubble on his jaw and slightly grown-out hair altogether made him look…sad. Scraggly. Like some stray dog hunched in a doorway. Down on his luck, hungry and- (and ravenous. Cadaverous, even. Not quite right; no wind-flushed cheeks or vitality of the flesh. Sucked dry, taut and pallid and gaunt-).

-and he caught your eye. Fuck. Mouth stretched wide over stark, white teeth. The cat who caught the canary.

Neither of you blinked as he shouldered his way over, planted himself at your front. You didn’t have the presence of mind to look away initially, caught in the snare of his gaze. You gave first, blinking away (blinking away tears) and looking down. Scruff bared.

“Thought I’d scared ye off. But you’re made of stronger stuff, aren’t ye?” He licked his lips, mouth parting as the words sat behind his too-sharp teeth. So white, so pointed, so strange. It had you leaning closer, head tilting back as if to peer inside. “Couldnae stay away.”

Confusion cut the chord, sent you crashing back down and shaking. Is he talking about me or himself?

On second thought, did it matter what you thought? Like Aesop’s wolf, he had seen his shadow and mistaken it for truth.

You will filled with a sudden fury, buzzing across your skin and steeling your spine. Your mouth twisted, chewing over the words that you wanted to spit at him. The audacity to approach you again, affable as an old acquaintance! To box you in, to use his body as a threat. Power etched in every line; like a study oak, strong roots branching up to solid trunk and thick arms. But-

He was just a man, right? Just a man on a train.

“Well, kindly resist the urge in the future,” Your voice came out sharp, if lacking a little steadiness. “Let me pass, or I'm calling the inspector.”

You gathered your handbag, reaching for the pole to hoist yourself up and hoping that momentum would force him to move aside.

Foolish.

His thick-knuckled, clammy hand clamped around yours like a vice as you crashed into his chest. The friendly smile on his face warped into a terrible grimace, anger and confusion warring until they were bested by a calm that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Dinnae be like that, lamb,” his voice pitched low like rolling timber. It was pleasant, actually, shiver turning to shudder as your anger melted. Fight, flight or fawn? It seemed that you’d turned to ‘freeze’. Deer in the headlights, his hypnotic blue eyes bored into yours as you sought desperately for the anger -the fear- that you should be feeling. “Why don’t ye sit back down?”

The gentle chug-chug of the train over the tracks echoed the tattoo beating of your heart. The gentle sway and snick of sliding wheels soothed you, turning your mind static-y and slow.

You lowered yourself into the seat.

He smiled again, bright and happy, and you smiled right back.

He was handsome. So silly of you not to notice before! You had twisted him into some kind of scurrilous wretch, had built him up into a beastly bugbear ready to gobble you up and spit out the bones. What a funny thought. You laughed a little to yourself. Wicked imagination ye’ve got there, lamb. Clever.

You blinked drunkenly. You hadn’t seen his lips move.

He must’ve seen how your tongue lay heavy in your mouth, how your eyebrows tried to furrow together but couldn’t (-so heavy-) and drew the back of his knuckles across your cheek. So soft. Coarse, dark hair and callouses tickled at your peach fuzz, scraping lightly against the softness of your jaw.

You leaned into it, eyes drooping as your head drooped forward too.

“There’s a good girl. Feels nice when ye let it, aye?” his voice was thick, catching on the consonants and rumbling them out. He cradled your slack jaw, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise. Pulling your head back to look him in the eye was as easy as tugging at a marionette’s string. “Bet ye’d let me do more. Look at ye, fuckin’ beggin’ me to. Drooling an’ everything.”

His thumb swiped across your slack chin as two thick, blunt fingers forced their way past your lips. You felt yourself gag, retching as he pressed on the back of your tongue until his digits were slick. Something cried out in the back of your mind, shame and censure making itself pitifully known, but you swatted it away as you drooled around his hand. You felt a rough drag as he withdrew, catching on your blunt little teeth and pressing hard enough to leave imprints on his flesh.

You never even thought of biting down.

Enthralled, you watched him raise his hand to his face, slick fingers glistening under fluorescent lights like dayspring dew. One beat- another- he studied it, then you. A sommelier, taking in the aroma. Then, eyes blown wide, blue swallowed by black, he sucked his fingers into his mouth. Base, vulgar, vile, he groaned low and sucked hard. Smacking, esurient sounds echoed in the carriage and sent blood rushing to your face (-why-?)

“Fucking delicious,” his voice was gravel. “Taste better than ye smell, and ye smell divine.”

He leaned down low, crowding you against the back of the chair. You could do nothing but watch the rest of the carriage fade away until all you could see was him. He stood before you like an eclipse brought low, caging you between his bulky forearms as he whispered in your ear. Warning sirens flared up in your mind -predator! Wrong, unnatural, no!- but you heard them only as distant, tinkling bells.

Crouched low, he ran his nose down your neck and across your collarbones.

“Fuck, can smell yer cunt droolin’, too, under all those layers,” His exhale was throaty. Mournful, even. And, with one final inhale, desperate and harsh, he backed away shaking his head.

The train gave a hard jolt, rattling your skull against the window.

Your face was wet? Why was it-? You swiped at your damp cheeks as black spots danced across your vision.

You heard him laugh, low and mean, as he exited at the platform.

-------------- You didn’t remember walking home that evening. Didn’t remember anything until the next morning after a night of fitful, restless sleep. December days crept slowly, a sort of liminal space calendar counting down until the January blues. It was bleak; feeling the biting cold and watching boisterous festivities from the outside, like a child staring longingly through the window. Little matchstick girl, alone and out in the snow.

And you felt every inch the urchin as you stared in your foggy mirror, skin dry and eyes-puffy. There was a certain malheur to your gaze, a dimness of the light and vitality that should be there. Doleful and red-rimmed, you watched yourself blink. Watched yourself go through the motions. Run the tap, rinse your face. Grab the toothbrush and open wide-

It clattered in the sink, toothpaste smeared on the porcelain like impasto on a canvas. An impressionist streak of your scrambled thoughts.

Ceramic caught in a knuckle-cracking grip you hunched over the sink. Your breath came quick and your arms shook. Match-struck, fingers burned- the memory hit you like flare. The heat of it seared from the inside, white-hot and sickening. You gagged, spitting up in the sink as your eyes streamed.

It was the most alive you’d looked all morning.

The days followed with the static quality of a snow globe. Changes in routine were ephemeral, fleeting. Instead, snow fleeced down and swirled over twinkling lights and gingerbread houses. Inverbreck glowed merrily, strings of tinsel and candy-cane cards decorating the usually austere grey brickwork. A Presbyterian town turned to postcard, severity melting like marshmallows in chocolate. It was cheery, beautiful even, but spoiled. Someone had grabbed the bauble and shook too hard. Picturesque and trapped, you could only tap at the glass.

You stared through the frost-pricked window panes of a beautiful confectioner shop. MALLON AND MOYE, EST. 1849. Rich velvet and stained mahogany strained under boxes of chocolate and sweets. Their arms laden with little sugar flowers and candied fruit, you watched as cheery cherub-cheeked children skipped after frazzled parents. Quaint Victorian greetings stared up at you from the display, red-breasted robins and penny-farthings brought to mind a fellow miser. ‘Solitary as an oyster’, you and Ebenezer Scrooge. Bah, humbug. But, you weren’t quite that bitter yet. No.

Perhaps it was time to message some friends or family back home.

Something prickled at your neck, a needle-like warning. Whipping around, you saw only shoppers and tourists turning snow to sludge as they trudged along Main Street. Still, a chill remained, crawling over your chest and down your arms until your were goosebumped and shivery.

Then, you saw him.

You caught his eyes across the street, watched as the crowds parted around him as naturally as if he were a streetlamp. Your breath caught in your chest, frigid and jagged, like it had turned to ice in your lungs. You felt it cracking, ribs straining and head-light until you blinked away myodesopsia and inhaled, thin and reedy, through your nose. 'Muscae volitantes', you recalled - 'flying flies' in a Latin pleonasm that couldn't quite capture the speed and scale of the pestilent little black spots. The lights above your danced and blurred a dizzying ballet until you closed your eyes hard. When you opened them, he was gone.

Calm bit hard at you like sleet before sluicing off again. At home that night it melted away completely.

Slipped into your bag was a Christmas Card. The outside, a two jolly little oysters walking the beaches of Dover, holly scattered around the greeting. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, MAY WE SOON MEET AGAIN. A Victorian card from the confectioner's display. Inside held only two words. Your name, and 'Johnny'.

You threw it in the fire, and turned away with shaking hands.

If you’d stayed to watch, you would’ve seen the way the flames shirked and withered around his name.

------------

“Love, all you’ve got is a name- no surname, at that- and a description of half the fellas in Scotland. I’m sorry, but unless he does something threatening there’s nothing we can do.”

“So, what, I just have to wait for him to do something worse? That’s- really? He can just grab women in trains and follow them around the city and-“

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it. You said he grabbed your hip and that you see him in and around your train route. There’s not much to follow-up with here. Unless you want to make another report.”

“No-I,” an image stained your mind, pitch black and iniquitous. A great black blob seeping across the slate of your mind. You imagined submitting a complaint, imagined them reviewing the grainy CCTV footage to see you placid and starry-eyed as he fingered your open mouth. That same mouth that twisted and hesitated in the station now. “You know what? Never mind.”

Time ticked on as if through treacle. Slow and syrupy, you felt trapped in monotony and unable to shake the feeling of something dripping down your spine.

After the Christmas card you started to see him more and more. Just flashes here and there – a man on the other side of the platform; a mohawk in the city crowd; a pair of bright blue eyes peering at you from the bushes outside. That one scared you the most, heart seizing and strangling the air from your chest until the headlights from a passing car reflected in its gaze. Just eye-shine. Tapetum lucidum, the tapestry of light that blanketed the retina in a crystalline coverlet. Likely a neighbour’s cat or some other nocturnal creature. Creature of the night, aye.

Your shaking hands pulled hard at the curtains, shutting out peeping eyes and pernicious thoughts.

Seeing him back on the train was almost a relief. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ was an adage applicable only to those with enough friends and frivolity to nip anxiety in the bud.

For you, it bloomed like frost-bitten bluebells in the snow. Neither daunted nor distracted by the slate-grey sky or biting cold, it persisted. Thrived, even. Every raucous gaggle of friends and merrymakers reminded you that you were alone (solitary, vulnerable-). A choice dictated by economics and independence; the choking, nebulous tendrils of regret only twisted across your skull at times like these.

Like right now, right as he got on the very same stop as you and hovered just by the doors. Trying to ignore him was like trying to ignore a solar flare. You knew that you shouldn’t look -it was bad for you, dangerous even- but oh, so tempting. Even if you resisted the urge, abstained from looking with Eremitic restraint, you would still get burned. Closing your eyes, looking away – it was futile. Like a cynosure, luminous and warm in your peripheral you just couldn’t resist. A slight turn of the head, a small flutter of the lashes and there-

He wasn’t looking at you.

Shock, confusion, and a squirming, pathetic vein of disappointment slapped you like cold water to the face. You huffed out a breath that didn’t taste like relief and adjusted your grip on the railing. This was good. Great, actually. Maybe he’d been caught, maybe the police had actually done their job and issued a warning, maybe-

Maybe someone else had caught his eye.

The bitter, carbolic bile coating your throat wasn’t envy. No, no. It was dread. Dread that another poor thing had stolen tickled his fancy. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It was terrifying. It made you feel disgusting, pulled apart and laid bare at the whim of this covetous dog. He followed you for scraps, slobbered all over your hand when you let him close. Would probably hump your leg if you let him.

You let the passing countryside hush the discordant tumble of your thoughts. This was good. A Good Thing.

The rowdy press of football fans to your right snapped the elastic band in your mind. You’d stretched it too far, too thin -all him and the rolling pastures outside- and left yourself tired and worn. You hitched your bag tighter over your shoulder and stepped further to the bar. A panel up above confirmed you had three more stops to go. Three more stops until you could break down in your own home, pull apart the cotton stuffing of your thoughts and stitch up the mess anew.

“Hey, girlie. You got the time?”

The rolling pixels of the announcement board seemed to stick. There was a small patch on the bottom left that needed repairing, all green and black static.

“She’s away wi' it,” A loud, performative laugh. “Hello? You awake, love? Got the time or what?”

Blinking stupidly, you glanced to the right to see a mean, pointed face arching his eyebrow at you.

“Me?”

“Hardly asking the emergency stop button, am I?”

Flustered and on the spot you dug through your pockets for your phone. Another time, another place and you’d have told them to fuck off, sick of being belittled and bullied by crude, churlish men. But you’d had enough trouble on trains to last a lifetime.

“Hold on a sec,” you mumbled as you felt them pressing closer, pack animals closing in on the limping gazelle.

You could hear your pulse in your ears, beating hard and resonant as a drum and you cursed yourself. Cursed him, leaving you unable to tell danger from refuge. Your senses were broken, skin prickling at the slightest sound and hands shaking at a glance. All situational awareness shattered into smithereens and now, here you were, fingers slipping and trembling in your pocket as you tried to reach for your phone.

“Ah wouldnae bother if I were you.”

You froze. Swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked up through pricking eyes.

“You-” the sentence died in the cradle, feeble and spluttering as you trailed down the length of his arm. Right down to where it was clamped hard around the wrist of the man who had his hand halfway in your handbag.

Under the flickering lights of the carriage he looked ghastly. Positively ghoulish. Fluorescence sapped any lustre from his flesh, making him look deeply unwell. Wan and sunken and furious. His nostrils flared like a destrier, only there was no steam or heat to his exhale. It chilled to the point of burning, bright white. White as his eyes around pin-prick pupils. His dark stubble painted a grisly penumbra on the stark canvas of his face. You trailed your eyes down, down the dull stretch of his straining throat. You watched him swallow, eyes bobbing with the pulse of his Adam's apple.

"Take it easy, mate. Just a misunderstanding, aye?" you saw the dawning awareness in the man's eyes, the sudden apprehension of his low-rank on the trophic level. Big man brought low; mesopredator in the gaze of an apex species.

"Let me make it clear, then. Get yer hand away tae fuck before I remove it," the words rushed out in a cavernous growl, rumbled so low that you felt them belly-deep.

"Jesus, dial it down a bit," the man shuffled his feet, shifted his gaze between his you and his mate. As if you'd help him. As if you had any power here.

He tried to pull his hand back, straining against stone, before your unwelcome paladin hauled him in close. His thick, coarse hands looked strangely attenuated, blunt fingernails seemingly sharp as talons as the stranger winced and struggled. Johnny leaned down, looming like a vulture over scraps, as he brought himself cheek-to-cheek with his stunned quarry.

And you, too, were stunned. Hand still tucked in your pocket, phone loose in your feeble grasp. You watched, unwilling observer, as his face stretched into a horrifying rictus grin exposing pale gums and dripping teeth. His whisper chilled you to the marrow, scratching and harsh like a knife over bone.

"You live in Harnoch, right? Except, yer no gonnae get off at that stop. Yer getting' off at the next one, you and yer mate, and yer gonna take a nice long stroll down the darkest road ye can find until I find ye later."

Whether fear or thrall, you weren't sure. You just watched, etherised, as the pair shambled off, muttering to themselves and glancing back at the "psycho fuckin' bastard" panting over your crown.

You watched yourself through the reflection on the window, waxen and stiff as a mannequin. Maybe he'd get you to turn your head, dig his fingers into your cheeks and make you smile as he puppeted you to his whim. Hollow little marionette, you couldn't even feel the panic that had a cold sweat breaking across your forehead. Instead, you just felt the slow glide of his strong jaw as he hunched over you like a starving bandog. His stocky, powerful arms fettered over yours, curling into your ribs until you were held tight against his broad chest. Territorial aggression turned saccharine (artificial as aspartame).

"You need me, see," he licked at his chops. Breathed a miasmic lull over the racing of your heart. "Poor wee lamb."

You sunk into it, into the somniferous sway of the carriage under your feet and the man at your back. Later, you'd call it shock. A simple case of tachycardia restricting your blood flow, rabbit-quick heart flitting faster than you could process. Weakness, sweating, anxiety. Just a quirk of the circulatory system.

"I don't," your voice cracked, cut off the conclusion to your sentence. You wanted to scream it, 'I don't need you', but the words felt malformed. "I- You didn't need to do that."

"'Course I did," you could almost believe that you were lovers, the way he nuzzled into your neck. Would believe it, except for the hunger in his voice and the shudder ripping down your spine. "It's nice tae have a starter before the main course."

Stock-still, you felt his rough tongue lave across your neck. You couldn't see him in the window, but you felt him. Felt every, menacing inch of his bulk as he groaned softly into your vulnerable throat. A single, watery tear slipped over your lash-line. Traitorous, exiguous fluid. And of course, he caught it. Dug his thumb in and lapped it right up like the salt from your neck.

"Aw, didnae mean it like that. Dinnae cry, now," he cooed at you. Petted over your hair as he whispered trite, deceptive comforts in your ear. "Ye'll only drive me mad, and I already have plans fer tonight."

You sucked in a shuddering breath as the wheels screeched over the tracks. Commuters shouldered past you as the doors swooshed open, apathetic to the stilted tableau - a facsimile of a lover's embrace- playing out by the exit. With a lingering, wet kiss on your neck and a hard squeeze, he was gone.

That evening, you sobbed hard and choking into your pillow until it was sodden with tears and sweat.

Something scratched and tapped at your window all night, forcing you into an insomnious candlelit vigil. A pastiche of midnight mass, you cried out prayers like ritual devotions until the lambent quiescence of dawn. Trembling and over-tired, you snatched back the curtain to see only the swaying, overgrown branch of the elder tree outside your window.

Despite it no longer fruiting, you pretended the red smear on the pane was just juice from its berries.

-----------------

The next time you saw him he was hearty and hale. Flushed and plump and healthy. Whatever it was that brought colour to his cheeks also put a spring in his step. Made him bolder, cheekier. An out-and-out scoundrel untouched by shame. He was always with you, right until the last few stops as the carriage grew emptier and emptier.

It was a game to him, seeing how far he could push before reproach. How far he could poke and prod at you until time or circumstance put him to shend.

At the busier stations, he pressed close and rocked with the motion of the train, all the while muttering filth in a discursive stream right into your ear. You were his 'poor wee lamb', bleating plaintively to the deaf ears of the rest of the herd. Too busy, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice the wolf that had ambled in in their clothing just to snap you up in his cavernous maw. He stayed that way, roving hands and rabelaisian growls forcing you to bite back squeals and tears as you endured his rough attentions.

He stayed that way even as the crowd grew sparser and sparser, something digging into your lower back as he grabbed at your hips. As he pretended that his clumsy gropes were only due to the jerking of the train.

Sometimes he'd talk to you like you were a real person, all chit-chat and greetings. He'd ask about your day and ramble through your silences. The chatter scared you more than any of the aberrant, salacious refuse he'd spew in your ear. Scared you more because it revealed how deeply unstable he was. Lonely, too.

A very dangerous combination.

"Made any New Year Resolutions yet, lamb?" this time he had you backed into the gangway, eyes dilated by more than just the dim light. "Want tae hear mine?"

Your lips were pressed so tight together that he had to struggle to slip his thumb in between. He tugged it down as he trilled out a falsetto "Yes, Johnny" in a parody of your voice.

"There ye go. Such a good listener," he patted at your cheek just slightly too soft to be a slap. "Ah've actually got a load, but I'll tell you the important ones. First one is to spend more time wi' loved ones. Been on my own fer a while, see, and ah don't think it's been too good for the mental health."

He knocked at the side of his head. There, under the shaggy growth of his dark hair was a shiny patch of skin. Pale and misshapen, like some kind of nebulous scar stretching across his temple. "Can start tae get all kind of strange ideas on yer own. Of course, you'd know all about that in that big empty house of yours."

He laughed at the way you startled, arctic eyes warm with sick amusement. Like having the ugly truth stare right back at you. You turned away from his nasty, knowing smirk.

"Second one is tae eat healthier. Been takin' in all kinds of muck, recently, tryna be restrained and all. But maybe it's no right to deny myself. Wouldnae want to have an accident, go really wild and do something that ah'd come to regret," he trailed off slowly at that, fingers stroking softly against your fluttering pulse. He swallowed hard, teeth glinting strangely under the fluorescent lights as he whispered more to himself than to you. "Just a wee bite, though, a little taste- wouldnae hurt much."

The chiming of the service announcement broke the spell.

With a strangled growl, he backed away fast enough to jostle those behind him. He shouldered roughly past them, earning you a few dirty looks as you stared blankly into the crowd.

How much you had changed in a matter of weeks. Stupid, placid thing. Getting yourself followed and felt-up after every other shift. Must be gagging for it. Desperate.

The thoughts sliced in like a penknife through wood. You + Johnny. And there you were, stripped of your bark and forced to endure the winter. Periderm torn off and leaking sap all over the floor of the carriage. Dripping it all the way home, 'Come and get me!' it seemed to say. 'I can't fight back'. Maybe someone would take pity on you, wrap you up from the cold and give you a chance to recover.

You huffed out a bitter laugh.

Maybe someone would dig deeper, peel back layers of phellem until you were weak and sticky and malleable.

It was more than pessimism. Beyond that entirely. The isolation, your job. The long commute and the melancholic ooze of wintery mist and fog. It permeated your mind, muddied you with the mucinous carcinoma of malism. And you didn't put up much of a fight, no. Why should you, when previous cries for help went unanswered? When you weren't safe on your own or in a crowd?

When the only person who checked in on you with any regularity was your stalker.

True to form, he was there the next night. And the next. On the train and in your dreams. Twisting, writhing, fever-hot nightmares that left you shaking and soaking wet. Lounging back on your pillows, supine and debauched. The profligate portrait of a ruined odalisque. In the palace of your mind you cried out for his touch. His attention. You could admit, in winding abstract corridors, that you were cold. You were lonely. There was something grotesque within you. Some ugly, hungry wretch that warped every whispered perversion and stolen touch into something soft. Something like tenderness.

You tamped it down. Smothered it, snuffed it out in the cruel, brumal light of day.

Still, you could no longer attribute the shakiness of your legs and quickening of your heart only to terror.

It escalated. He stayed longer on the train. Followed you to the empty train station and hovered like a poisonous pea-soup fog. On the nights when you were joined by a few work-weary stragglers he turned truculent. Swaggered around the platform and stared down anyone who so much glanced your way. Belligerent, and bulky enough to back it up, he soon drove away any well-meaning concern until you were cut-off. Cloistered and isolated under the procyon sky; stranded under the cold, dispassionate light of stars and constellations far above.

He was looking ill again. Ashen as he sat under the flickering lamplight on a lonely bench. You hesitated, feet dragging against damp concrete as you considered your escape. You swallowed at the sight of his wolfish grin, legs spread wide and shoulders lax against the wind-worn slats of his seat. No matter what, you would be forced to brush past as you found the exit gate.

You could only hear the soft buzzing of the streetlight and your own quickening breaths.

The flitting light cut through the fog, scratches of yellow on white illuminating every dust mote and jerky exhale. Yours, of course, not his. No, the air was perfectly still around him. Preternaturally so, like the powdery specks of station detritus were suspended under his thrall. He tilted his head at you, dark eyebrow raising and eyes - just for a second- glowing blue. Pure blue, no hint of pupil or white. Chatoyant and unsettling, surely some kind of refractive error. Surely.

You stepped closer.

The dull, squelch of your boots over slushy, grey puddles seemed embarrassingly loud. You had the impression that this was wrong somehow. That you were a simple, unworldly creature, announcing herself with an unsteady gait. Too naïve to know that she should stay still, duck down in the grass and hide until more interesting prey ambled past. Still, against all instinct and reason, you stepped closer.

"C'mon, lamb. Yer acting like ye know I'll bite."

You faltered slightly. "I-I think that you phrased that wrong."

He just grinned in response. Oh Johnny, what big teeth you have-

Sitting in the bench didn't diminish his stature. You'd thought, foolishly, that you would somehow have the high-ground advantage. That you could push your shoulders back and stride past him, slumped in the bench. You'd failed to account for his sheer mass, the menacing strength packed into layers of muscle and meat. Thick, bulky thighs looked wider as he sat, bulging over the slats. He hooked his elbows over the back, flexing the broad expanse of his chest. He swallowed up the space, stretching his legs out until they were right in front of you. Not a barrier, really. You could walk around them. Step over, if needs be. And yet-

You stopped, a hairsbreadth away.

A bead of sweat rolled down your temple. You saw his eyes follow it, pupils wide and black and hungry.

Words caught in your throat, dissolving under the churning waves of adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream. He must have noticed the slight tremble in your fingers, the way your exhales furled choppily in the frigid, oppressive air. Mouth dry, you licked your lips. A single, flaking piece of skin peeled up and, without thinking, you bit down. Tore it up, petal shredded until it wept a perfect crimson teardrop.

His head tilted sharply, nostrils flaring.

He scoffed, voice pitched low enough to burn. Friction, rumbling and coarse, scratched at the back of your neck. "And ye expect me not tae eat you up."

"I- What?"

"You expect tae walk away, expect me no tae eat you right up."

You reacted too slowly, limbs opiate-heavy and mind blank. You didn't even see him move.

--------------

And now there was something on your chest.

Coming-to was like wandering through a dark, drizzling mist with only a dying candle as your guide. It was humid, both clammy and altogether too-hot; the air felt suffocating. Like you couldn't get enough to fill your lungs. Whatever did filter through was marshy with the scent of earth and acid, sweat and musk. You'd gag if you could, the tang of warm copper pennies making you wrinkle your nose. And what a pyrrhic relief, that you could wrinkle your nose!

You tried again as something hot and stinging streamed over your flushed cheeks. Your fingertips ached with the need to swipe at it, smear it away and fan at the oppressive heat. A fool's hope.

You felt something viscid and sticky cooling on your skin. Senses came back slowly. First smell, now touch. Sound followed, sly and slow and vulpine. A fox, dancing just behind the treeline, chittering and smug as it slipped from sight. Maybe your eyes were open, but you just couldn't see? Perhaps your mind thought it a blessing - a mercy- to spare you the sight of the thing buried in your throat. Because that's where the sound was coming from.

Wet, greedy suckling mixed with heady moans. Something slick and rhythmic. Tension wound taut to pluck at low, indulgent notes and tristful exhales. A sinner's lament over a ruined fast; greed and guilt turned to fragrant wine atop the spoiled refectory of your body.

A tiny, sorrowful cry pierced out from your chest.

"Shh, just let me- ye have no idea how good you fuckin' taste," he was panting, breathless. You felt every harsh exhale against the stickiness of your nape. "Just need tae get-"

He trailed off with a choked groan. The slick sounds sped up, faster and faster as his breathing stuttered, and a sickening realisation cut through the fog. He nuzzled into your neck and It was just too much - the disgusting, heady noise, the tickling of his hair against your ear. The heavy press of his thighs atop your waist, and the pulsing ache of your throat. You lay there, corpse-heavy, as he drank from your neck and slated his lust. His bloodlust. The thought sliced like a sharp thorn.

It must have made you jerk slightly, barbed synapses firing and twisting in your hemorrhaging thoughts. He noticed. Hushed you with sickening sweetness and cradled your face with tacky fingertips (the noises weren't stopping, why weren't they stopping-).

"Havenae forgotten about you, lamb."

He trailed his fingers over your cheeks, a traitorous comfort, until he reached your eyes. Butterfly-soft he swiped at the lids until they fluttered. You noted with some panic how cold he felt, how waxen his flesh felt against yours. Not human, not natural; the inversion of a wake. You lay prone and exsanguinated on the bed with the wraith peering over. Only the wet drag of flesh on flesh above convinced you that this was real. There was no hysterical hallucination that would bring you this low, no psychosomatic stress response that could conjure an apparition of this kind.

Yet, acceptance was wily. It slipped through the haze of your marshy thoughts and hovered phosphorescent just out of reach. You ached to follow it, to reach out and grab this sickly little portent and swallow it whole.

But you couldn't.

Poor thing, how could you? Lying belly-up and throat ripped open.

(So you sank into it).

It must have sweetened you somehow, those balmy notes of submission sighing through your bloodstream. An ambrosia for the vaurien. You felt as soon as it hit his tongue because he cursed. Snarled out a 'fuck!' in a way that was almost angry, and curled over you like a dog. Like a filthy, slavering beast atop the spoils of the hunt. Something splattered across your stomach and you realised with shame that you were naked.

Your vision came back muted. Diplopia stretched and warped your already lagging senses, sending the room-spinning to a dizzying tilt. At first he was more shadow than man. A horrifying phantasm of wicked, grasping want. You had never seen a face so hungry, so unsatiable, after a feast. He was naked as you were, but that was no relief. A terrible, lupine grin slashed across his face as his eyes met yours, whites and iris swallowed by the pitch-black bleeding of his pupils.

And yet, you tried desperately to read something soft there. Some small hint of tenderness or pity- why else would he bring you home? Strip you bare to lay you on a bed of satin? And yes -there. There was a slight wetness to his feverish gaze. A flickering, greedy hope hiding behind his appetites.

"Dinnae hide away," he must have read the horror on your face. The way you impotently strained to turn. "You're in me now. Part of me. Not much else left tae hide."

It was meant to be comfort, a reverent whisper in a raw, aching tone, but it left you feverous. You felt shivery, head packed with cotton wool and eyes still so heavy. (Inside him? You were, weren't you). Ripe little pomegranate glittering in ruby and just oh-so-tempting.

He was inside you too, you realised only just now. He had dogged your routines, scratched out a space for himself in your mind. Scratched deeper and deeper, burrowing in until you were pulpy and hollow. A necrotizing fasciitis spread from the very first time he kicked your legs open and groped at your soft flesh.

You were spread now, too. Rough, calloused hands caught on the goosebumps of your thighs, tickling slightly all the way down to your ankles.

He was slow, more gentle than you'd ever imagined him to be. This creature of rapacious appetites, who plucked you from the tree before you were even ripe. Now, he took his time, drank in the sight of you just as he had supped at your blood. You were shaking, an involuntary response to his careful groping. To his strange, lukewarm flesh. You felt simultaneously trapped and out of body - a sick, amytal fugue. A chemical sedation by sight, smell, and his strange thrall. Even the scent of him, musky and rich, seemed to fill your lungs and choke out resistance.

You couldn't see how he slid down your body, couldn't lift your head and follow his path. Instead you watched the sickly photism left by his strong palms. You knew where he was headed, sparks alighting a roadmap from your bare things to your core, and you squeezed your eyes shut. All that you could do. You heard nothing but the whisper of rough hands against soft skin, and his heavy breathing mixing with yours. He lost patience; you noticed the slight growl catching in his throat a fraction before he squeezed hard. A slurred cry slipped past your lips-

"Shh, be patient. Ah have tae be careful, havenae done this since before," His voice was rueful, some note of loss spoiling the low burr of desire.

It made you open your eyes, curiosity slipping past horror, until you could see his face hovering in the dark. There was a horrible, jagged edge to his handsome features. Strangely shorn hair, skin dull and etiolated. Those shining, expressive eyes. Like something grown in the uncanny valley - it made you blink back tears.

"Ah mightn't have needed to try so hard, then. You might'nae have played so coy," He continued. Deluded, you wanted to scream. But, your neck prickled, noticed some shadows in the humour. Memories and pain. With it came the barest flicker of vitality on his face before it was gone, replaced by something that lurked in dark corners.

He distracted himself with more reverent, disgusting touches, hushing you as whines clawed their way out with kitten-strength. You trembled in your unnatural prison, bound and silent as he spread your legs so wide that they burned. He forced himself in between, stocky thighs keeping yours open to his gaze.

Cool touch replaced cool air as he grazed your bared cunt, softly at first. More petting than a touch, the width of his hand covered you entirely. Were you not already, it would have sent you reeling. Dizzy with the thought of his breadth, the rough contrast of his hand against you sensitive inner flesh. He sucked in a harsh breath and you felt his fingers flex slightly. Something within you knew that he was holding back bruising strength.

"So fuckin' cute," You blinked, realising that he was looking down as he spoke. He spread his fingers, opening you entirely to his greedy, pitch-dark eyes. Your face burned, hot at the feeling and at the filth he uttered as he shifted closer. "Already knew you were pretty, but I didnae know you'd look so fuckin' cute like this. Poor wee lamb, she's aching, isn't she? Can see she's cryin' for me."

You didn't respond. Couldn't- not with your heavy, leaden tongue. The rawness of his voice scraped over you, made you shiver in a way that he mistook for desire. When you tried to give voice, to rail against his insidious assertions, all you could muster was a feeble cry.

That too, he took as his; your body, your blood, your voice.

"Dinnae fuss- ah'll make it good for ye. Just need tae keep a handle on my strength, see. Cannae have ye writhing around," he must have caught your pitiful glare, the furrow of your wide, limpid eyes, as his face softened. Just a fraction, a little oil poured over jagged deadwood.

It slicked his words, all arrogance, confidence. Assuredness ."Ah've taken the edge off already. Didnae plan on grabbing you tonight, but ah've no been able to hunt since that night."

His words dripped over you like tar, filling in the blanks and empty spaces. It's funny, his explicit assertion - the murder, committed in your name- made you want to freeze. The contradiction crashed over you, made you kick slightly - just a smidge. A feeble little flaring of deadened synapses, but you did it. the tingling in you fingertips now felt more like hope.

(You doggedly ignored the tingling in your stomach).

"Ye've done something to me, I just-. There was nothing there after," he gestured to his head, shook the thought off like a rabid dog. Even through the tangle of his hair you could see it, that strange pale keloid spidering across- "after- but now there's you. Smelled ye on that train from the very front carriage. Fuckin' ripe - sweatin' up under yer coat, actin' so shy."

He grinned down at you. Silly little lamb, it seemed to say, who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

I am - your fingers twitched against the sheets.

Your legs, though- they stayed spread open. An asthenic sprawl, leaving you open to inspection and touch and invasion. A moth pinned to a hobbyist's board, entirely thrall to his will. It prickled over you, stifling heat building with every stroke of his hands. They'd returned to your core to find a slight wetness, slicking the way for his thick fingers to probe deeper. You saw his nostrils flare, the flick of his tongue against his - too long, too sharp- canines.

"Naughty wee thing, tryin tae get my mouth down there," there was a wickedness to the tilt of his lips, the low tease of his voice. He pressed his thumb hard into your thigh until the flesh ached and dimpled. You felt your frantic, fitful pulse fluttering underneath. His voice dropped lower. "If I bit you there, I wouldnae stop."

You sighed out relief when he let you go, only for your breath to hitch as he slapped your pussy. Hard. An admonishment for your perceived allurement.

He shushed you as he soothed it, broad hand feeling warmer and warmer as he stroked. A parasitic heat, spreading from you to him, and back again. It made you confused, discarnate. Some formless being laid out for him, striped of all but flesh. You moaned - mournful, dizzy- as he pressed one thick digit inside. The slight catch of his rough skin, the drag of his coarse knuckle inside sent you spinning. Pulsing, body crying for more as your mind struggled to catch up.

He knew. Rewarded your plangent cries with another finger. He stretched you wide, your thin delicate entrance throbbing around him until the slick dripped down his wrist.

"Look at that," the squelch of his hand made you whine, desire murky with shame. He tapped at your clit, just a little flick against the pebbled flesh. "Havenae even touched you here yet, and just look at you."

You wanted to writhe, to twist away from the pleasure-pain of his steady circling. But you couldn't. couldn't do anything more than lie there and endure it. You felt your thighs begin to shake, nerves twitching and seizing until finally - finally - you could cry out-

"-please, please I can't-"

"You fuckin' will," he growled it, thumb never breaking pace as he curled his fingers inside, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

It hurt, body clenching hard under an unnatural lull. You wanted to stretch out, arch back and curl your toes-

Instead, you sobbed.

Wrung out, mind-spinning and body twitching. Wetness cooling on your dewy, sensitive flesh - your cunt, your stomach, your neck. It all made you sob, a post-orgasmic ataxia. A night terror in waking.

He grabbed your face with his hand, still wet with your slick. Pressed hard into the plump cheeks until your mouth opened. You blinked blearily up at him, docile and trembling.

"You need me too, don't you?" Dumbstruck, you just looked up. There was something wild to his eyes, lust and hunger and something…empty. You could still see little drying flecks around his mouth, rust on snow. "Say it, ye need me."

You could blame it on whatever powers he wielded. On how you lay fallow. Ploughed yet unseeded at his touch.

"I-," your voice came out scratchy. Weak. "I need you."

He forced you to say it again, to bleat it out for him as he panted above you. Every whispered plea was like looking in a mirror that he held before you. Glassy-eyed, you stared back at your own loneliness.

It really was just you, and this thing. It started to settle, the basest of notions. You needed him-

(wasn't there something else niggling at the back of your mind-?)

"Yeah, ye do. It's why you've been walking around by yerself. Begging for someone tae snap you up. Lucky it was me."

(Lucky for whom?)

It didn't matter. He wasn't yet sated. How could he be, this creature of appetite? Gluttonous, greedy, gorging thing. A walking perversion; sin turned gourmand.

Your helium thoughts flew off like balloons - snip, snip, snip - with the snick of his slick teeth like scissors. He lapped at your neck once more, snuffed into it and groaned. You felt him against your entrance, crude, blunt cock sliding clumsily between your folds until it notched home. You couldn't see it, but the feeling had you whining plaintively in the cage of his arms. It was obscene; some ithyphallic nightmare of too-large flesh.

And then he pressed in.

Slowly at first, your body still wound too tight to accept him comfortably. But he made a space for himself, rocked his hips and hitched a thigh high over his bulky shoulder so that he could watch the way you squeezed. You clenched at the graze of his teeth against your neck, a horrible little thrill making you cry as he took you apart on his cock. Every thrust had you trembling, sent you sliding up the sheets and closer to his dripping maw.

But, oh- he had you trapped. Thrust up towards his teeth, or squirming down harder on his cock. An impossible choice, but you tried to make it. Poor thing.

Until you had no choice. Until his hips thrust harder, sucked in with an obscene squelching that had you gritting your teeth. His hot, slick tongue grew rougher until you felt a sting. Shameful, unending suckling filled the room and you felt your eyes flutter heavy once more.

Limp, placid, despoiled. Your body was in service to a slavering parasite. It infected you, this predaceous desire. Made you hot and sick in equal turns. Your core ached, clit throbbing as you slurred out your pleas. To stop, to keep going, to make you come, to leave you alone-

You felt his hand, now closer to your temperature. He dragged it across your slack lips, before digging it into your eyelid and tugging cruelly upwards.

"There ye are," he rasped, mean and breathless. "Cannae have ye driftin' off again. Not until-"

You were shivering again, fire burning deep inside but yet so cold. Clammy. Thoughts came hazy as an oil lamp flickering in the fog. It blanketed you, left you dreamy and carefree (and wrong- wake up-).

Still, he didn't stop, cruel thrusts and sharp teeth, until you felt like you'd float away. You felt him so deep, heard him groaning as he lost his pace and fumbled around your clit until you wriggled uselessly -'good girl, don' fight it, just need ye t-' and came. Stars danced across your vision, obscuring his ferine grimace, and you let them. Decarnate, you sagged into the sheets. Felt the soft tickle of his coarse hair on your chest as he kissed you frantically - finally.

It was nasty. All copper-tinge and spit and tongue. He licked into your open mouth as his hips stuttered, and with a choked moan he came.

He didn't move at first, just crushed you under his (-corpse-heavy-) bulk. You felt sticky and raw where he was buried inside, thick globs of come leaking out and mixing with the slick on the ruined bedsheets. You whined as he pulled out, a soft little 'ah' that he swallowed up with another cruel kiss.

"One day, ah'll have every single part of you," he whispered it like a promise. A constrictive, binding geas that sent your heart racing in your tight chest.

Unable to move, unable to answer you just let a tear slip over your lashline. Lacrima for a rain-laden rose; you drooped against the pillows. Under him.

Forever.

--------------

'Shee droopeth in her minde, As, nipt by an ungracious winde, Dothe some faire lillye flowre.'

massive thanks to stelle, gougie, bwuh, three, and woolie for listening to me whine about this for the past three weeks. probs wouldn't have posyed without your support <3

[phoenixyfriend]

I have a silly concept:

So... basically, like half the Jedi, including Ahsoka, knew Padmé was pregnant as early as the second month because they could smell it on her.

And Anakin didn't realize.

(Ahsoka either didn't get framed for terrorism or the first/second month took place before that incident.)

So there was a lot of discourse (possibly a betting pool) about:

Does Padmé know yet? (Low-level interest, mostly just people trying to remember if she's allowed to have kids while in office and if not, should someone let her know before her options for termination change?)

Does Anakin know? (He's the closest to her, out of all the Jedi, but he has a human nose so he doesn't KNOW, right?) Should they ask? Because, like:

Who's the dad and IS IT SKYWALKER? (If there is any betting it's here.)

Ahsoka is obviously considered the most likely option for Asking Questions of Padmé and/or Anakin.

She pretends she doesn't notice the gossip but she is Personally Dithering because Padmé is either pregnant or ill, and if she IS pregnant then it might be Skyguy's, and if it IS Skyguy's then Ahsoka's going to be an aunt, and also feels weird about not telling her brother that he's probably about to be a dad.

(But what if Padmé IS sick and the pregnancy smell is, like, ovarian cancer? There's some kind of tumor that can cause hCG, right? Ahsoka should tell her!)

So Anakin and Padmé are completely oblivious to how many Jedi just... know.

Padmé thought she was wearing enough perfume to hide her secrets from senators who have good noses, but she did not air out Anakin's robes after he dug them out from under the sheets that fell onto the floor during a nightmare.

So there are Jedi who know she's pregnant, and like. It's not that she's confirmed to be fucking him. But he's confirmed to have been in her vicinity during pregnancy! Long enough to absorb the scents!

Also. She didn't know to air them out because she doesn't know she's pregnant yet.

So much gossip, and these two still think they're being subtle.

Someone who knows about the pregnancy but doesn't grok that she might want it kept a secret asks Obi-Wan what he's getting for the baby shower, because they've been invited to one before, and the holonet said it's common on Naboo, so OBVIOUSLY--

Obi-Wan bluescreens... then immediately starts gearing up to lecture Anakin about impregnating a politician, they've BEEN OVER THIS!

Teen Obi-Wan had a pregnancy scare with Satine (it was a false alarm but freaked them out REAL bad) so this was a Very Pointed Lecture when Anakin was caught hooking up with a fellow padawan at fifteen. Don't impregnate a politician!

[zenless-zideblog-zero]

There's something about the fact that Section 6, the Canonically strongest Faction in game, has a ton of problems and difficulties.

Asaba has a Terminal Illness with no cure that Specifically and actively hinders his ability to do his specific Job. He will straight up turn into an ethereal at some point, if he doesn't succumb to cardiac arrest or asphyxiate first because of it.

Yanagi has Oni blood in her Veins, and if she uses too much of the power available to her she's liable to become incredibly injured or just outright die because it's Hysterical Strength x1000. It also, seemingly has caused her eyes to become messed up, and can make her go blind at random.

Soukaku's older Sister died due to Illness or War (Likely a combination of both.) Her mental trauma causes her to always almost always feel the need to eat, to fill the parts of her heart that feel empty. (Also my Headcanon is that Oni Develop slower than humans - Soukaku, despite being "Older than Yanagi" is at a much lower level of Maturity in terms of lifespan and physical/mental development. So she's basically a child soldier.)

Miyabi Straight up fights demons. In her sword. And With her sword. She killed her own mother to save her from becoming an ethereal. She doesn't always understand what's socially acceptable to say in a given situation (Neurodivergent), when it's appropriate to correct someone (Neurodivergent), can't stand meetings and paperwork (That's Everyone, but Neurodivergent), Believes she only exists to do one thing, that she's only truly capable of doing one thing, or has to add the modifier of "Training" to do certain things (Very Neurodivergent) and will just disassociate in public when she begins focusing on her thoughts too much (INCREDIBLY Neurodivergent).

And we've seen people act 'Normal' and not suffer from diseases in ZZZ! Nicole is incredibly Socially and (Somewhat) Financially adept, Lycaon might struggle somewhat in casual social circumstances, but he's very much capable LITERALLY anywhere else, Anton's a bit of a meathead but he's incredibly kind and well meaning, Corin has Anxiety and Confidence issues but other than that she seems to be a fairly normal (Mentally) Sixteen year old. Ellen is straight up just a Highschooler! I could go to my local high school and find someone who acts pretty much exactly like her!

Yeah, every character has their quirks and opinions, some have traumas and issues, but Section Six is the only group you can point at anyone of them and say "That Person has something wrong with them" and no one can provide a strong counter argument (Because there's a difference between living one's best life, and living the best life they can.)