#❛ a wolf in sheep’s clothing ❜ ⸗ * / VISAGE .

[wolfinsheepsclothes]

"I ain't no fortunate son..."

Biography ☪ Wanted Connections ☪ Pinterest ☪ Playlist

Content warning: The appearance section vaguely references self-harm.

~ basics ~

NAME: Remus John Lupin NICKNAMES: Moony, Remy FACECLAIM: Rafael Silva GENDER/PRONOUNS/SEXUALITY: Cis-Male, He/Him, panromantic, demisexual AGE & BIRTHDATE: 20, March 10 BIRTH PLACE: Edinburgh, Scotland FLUENT IN: English, Scottish Gaelic, Portuguese CURRENTLY LIVING IN: A house with the other Marauders POSITIVE TRAITS: droll, careful, intelligent, level-headed, empathetic NEGATIVE TRAITS: insecure, anxious, pessimistic, reserved, prone to self-loathing

~ appearance ~

HAIR: Brunette, short HEIGHT: 6′2″ BUILD: Athletic TATTOOS: Moon on his right wrist that changes to match the cycle of the real one SCARS: Covered in them from clawing at himself when transitioned. The majority of them are along his back and rib cage, with a few along his face and neck. ANY OTHER IDENTIFYING MARK(S): N/A NOTABLE ACCESSORIES: It is rare for Remus to not have a book or some sort of chocolate on him.

~ interests ~

FAVORITE FOOD: Bread and butter with sugar sprinkled over it FAVORITE MUSIC: Appreciates The Who and David Bowie FAVORITE COLOR: Mauve  CLOTHING STYLE / PREFERENCES: Oversized sweaters are his favorite. Can occasionally be to blame for Sirius, James, and Peter's sweaters going amiss. Remus doesn't buy expensive clothes, often keeping what he owns until the point where multiple holes are in them. HOBBIES: Reading, writing, photography, learning to play guitar ROLE MODEL: Hope Lupin is easily the strongest person he can think of. That hasn't changed. LIKES: Visiting muggle record stores, hiking, hanging out with friends DISLIKES: Large crowds, public speaking, vocally prejudiced people

~ headcanons in no particular order ~

A select few know about Remus’ affliction. His biggest fear is being properly shunned by everyone because of it.

Remus is not a fan of astronomy. He maintained high enough marks to pass but did not put full effort into the subject while in school.

Remus severely lacks self-confidence. Although he tries to hide that fact, it can occasionally come out. He is prone to second-guessing himself and afraid of saying things that may lead to his acquaintances deciding he isn’t worth their time.

Remus has not spoken to his father since the summer after his last year at Hogwarts. While okay with the silence, he has noticed his father beginning to appear around places he regularly frequents. Speaking to him is unthinkable since Remus is fearful of being bullied into apologizing for silence that was well deserved.

Transformations have created an arthritic-like effect on Remus’ joints. Flare-ups before and after the week of the full moon can sometimes leave him bedbound or relying on pain potions to be able to function.

Remus has kept to keeping muggle jobs, fearing that the wixen world will ask too many questions if he manages to keep a job in the community. Money is tight and he is too proud to ask for help, keeping track of who and what he owes.

Remus spent part of the war running with Fenrir's pack. It was something he wouldn't have done without Dumbledore's encouragement since he wasn't about to go running directly back to the person who was to blame for turning him in the first place. He attempted to keep that a secret from his friends due to being ashamed about it.

[queerwolflupin]

did you hear that [ REMUS LUPIN ] will be attending the Black Ball during the coming weekend? They recently arrived in London for the social season and we will be excited to see if they make a splash this year. I heard that they are currently working as an [ MUGGLE LIBRARIAN ] and that they have been quite successful. They always reminded me of [ oversized sweaters, sarcastic quips, lukewarm cups of tea, strolls through the woods, the scent after a rainstorm, crumpled up newspapers, stacks of unfinished books, they say you aren’t a monster but that doesn’t change the turmoil inside ] and I heard that they can be [ DROLL + EMPATHETIC ] but also [ INSECURE + CAUTIOUS ]. Rumor has it that they are [ WORKING AGAINST ] Tom Riddle, but you know that you can’t believe everything you hear. As far as I know, they are a model member of pureblood society.

Biography. Wanted Connections. Pinterest. Playlist.

NAME: Remus John Lupin NICKNAMES: Moony, Remy FACECLAIM: Rafael Silva GENDER/PRONOUNS/SEXUALITY: Cis-Male, He/Him, panromantic, demisexual AGE & BIRTHDATE: 25, March 10 BIRTH PLACE: Edinburgh, Scotland FLUENT IN: English, Scottish Gaelic, British sign language CURRENTLY LIVING IN: A flat shared with Sirius POSITIVE TRAITS: droll, careful, intelligent, level headed, empathetic NEGATIVE TRAITS: insecure, anxious, pessimistic, reserved, prone to self-handicapping

~ appearance ~

HAIR: Brunette, short HEIGHT: 6′2″ BUILD: Athletic TATTOOS: Moon on his right wrist that changes to match the cycle of the real one SCARS: Covered in them from clawing at himself when transitioned. The majority of them are along his back and rib cage, with a few along his face and neck. ANY OTHER IDENTIFYING MARK(S): N/A NOTABLE ACCESSORIES: It is rare for Remus to not have a book on him.

~ interests ~

FAVORITE FOOD: Bread and butter with sugar sprinkled over it FAVORITE MUSIC: Appreciates The Who and David Bowie FAVORITE COLOR: Mauve  CLOTHING STYLE / PREFERENCES: Oversized sweaters are his favorite. Prone to “borrowing” Sirius’ shirts and jackets. HOBBIES: Reading, writing, photography, learning to play guitar ROLE MODEL: Hope Lupin is easily the strongest person he can think of. LIKES: Visiting muggle record stores, hiking, hanging out with friends DISLIKES: Large crowds, public speaking, people that are vocally prejudiced, the current opinion of werewolves

~ headcanons in no particular order ~

A select few know about Remus’ affliction. His biggest fear goes out to being properly shunned by everyone because of it.

Remus is not a fan of astronomy. He maintained high enough marks to pass but did not put full effort into the subject while in school.

Remus severely lacks self-confidence. Although he tries to hide that fact, it can occasionally come out. He is prone to second-guessing himself and afraid of saying things that may lead to his acquaintances deciding he isn’t worth their time.

Transformations have created an arthritic-like effect on Remus’ joints. Flare-ups before and after the week of the full moon can sometimes leave him bedbound or relying on pain potions to be able to function.

Remus has kept to keeping muggle jobs, fearing that the wixen world will ask too many questions if he manages to keep a job in the community. Money is tight and he is too proud to ask for help, keeping track of who and what he owes.

[apocalopalyptic]

//SIGH... Enid tag dump

[ovidea]

TAG DUMP

[gestae]

DAIJI. ( tag dump )

[dspirmic]

tag dump

[fastlikealambo]

Does The Wolf Apologize? || Qimir x Black!Fem Reader 

Summary: You’ve come back from a mission and The Sith is pleased. The lines between acolyte and master have been blurring between you two ever since he revealed his face but for tonight he will show you just how pleased he is.

Trigger Warnings: PinV, Consenting Force Choking, just fucking.

18+ minors dni.

TEASER CAUSE I DIDN’T WANNA LEAVE YALL WITH NOTHING TONIGHT

Please REBLOG my work if you can, I'm not sure what tags are best as this is a new character!

The head of the jedi was heavier in your hands than the saber on your belt.

You were bone tired, smelled of mud, and had blood under your fingernails but that didn't stop you from depositing the head at his feet.

 “Well done, you have pleased me.” He said, voice deep and automated beneath the helmet but you fell to one knee nonetheless, holding the lightsaber out in front for him to take. 

  “I have given you each and every saber you have asked for without question nor hestitation. Now I wish, no, I need my own, I’m ready.” You said quietly but firmly, standing up on shaky legs and began to remove your dirty coat and bag.  

  “You’re hurt.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

A click and a small woosh of air signaled that the helmet was off and even now, you dared not to turn around despite knowing the visage behind your back.

 Before you could remove the rest of your bloody clothing, you felt a tug in the Force, sliding you across the room to outstretched hands.

   “Forgive me, I’m tired, I don’t know what I’m saying.” You said softly as he gripped each side of your shirt and ripped it, exposing your bloody and burned back. 

  “What have I said about apologizing?” He asked,bending you over the counter to inspect your injuries. The pain was gone so quickly you moaned in relief, earning a chuckle from your mentor as he kept you bent over. 

 “Mice apologize, sheep apologize, we do not.” You recited. 

He pulled your pants to your ankles, healing the cuts and bruises there before looking up at you.

“How did it feel when you took the jedi’s head?” He asked, head cocked to the side, thumb absentmindedly rubbing up your thigh while he checked to see if he had missed any wounds.

“It felt safe, like no one could hurt me ever again, it felt powerful.” You muttered.He stood to his full height,calloused fingers tilted your chin to look into his eyes.

“And do you want power?”

  “I’m your equal. My training as your acolyte is over, you and I both know that, but my life, living freely by your side, has just begun. I want power and freedom but whether I do it without or without you depends on you. I pleased you?”

 “Yes.”

“Then prove it.” 

With a flick of his hand, the sith sent you flying through the air, landing on top of the table, legs open. He took his time striding over to you, cape thrown to the side.

  “You still have so much to learn.” He said,slowly climbing on top of the table, your hips lifting without your control but with your consent into position.  

 “My next lesson is to make you whimper, do you understand me?” He asked, his hand slowly closing into a fist and air escaped your lungs. 

“I understand.”

On their own, your underwear slid from your legs and his cock slid in you. In complete control of your airway and your pussy, the sith smiled.

“Then let’s begin as equals.”

need to fix the ending so the rest will be posted tomorrow!

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 8.5k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior, panic attack. Sexual themes: hematolagnia, body worship, masturbation, bite kink, olfactophilia, voyeurism.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣Chapter 2: Wolf in sheep's clothing❣

Love is a word that deserves closer consideration, halfway between the dry hypocrisy of the dictionary and its deep sacral meaning.

What a strange feeling…

Love, both virtuous and vicious, motivates us to accomplish great feats yet also triggers the commission of heinous crimes. This mysterious and inexplicable feeling interweaves its complex structure within us, becoming the most unstable, contentious, and hazardous of all human emotions.

Love is the fundamental source of all our emotions and experiences in the world, both beautiful and disgusting.

Love has a multitude of motives, including the desire for control, submission, care, seduction, lust, protection, worship, creation and, of course, destruction.

The feeling is manifold; We can call this complex emotion by different names, including passion, hatred, obsession, alienation, objectification, mania, unattainable dreams, happiness, idolatry, spiritual unity, and possibly the most poetic of all—the second half of the soul.

Humans crave love from birth until death. This desire is inherent and everlasting. As we take our first breath, we unconsciously absorb the toxic essence of love, which settles in our lungs like delicate, silky flowers.

This need is woven into the very structure of our DNA, an animal instinct that inadvertently condemns us to eternal suffering.

Love exists as a palpable entity, often obscured by human perceptions of carefree happiness and joy. It can be likened to a lurking deep-sea creature, concealing its true visage, branching and moving under the thin surface of our skin.

She is as cunning as a murderer's grin, and she is well aware of the inevitable tragic end of every story she is about to tell. Though we may be in the belief that we have had a joyful life, in reality all our actions have been under the impulse of love. For the sake of this deceptive feeling, which unites us for a moment in the ecstatic joy and privileges of angelic ugliness.

In the end, our physical bodies will serve to feed the earthworms, to house the larvae and to nourish the roots.

Never again will they gaze into each other's eyes, never again will the turquoise flame passion between them ignite, and never again will their lips meet in a voluptuousness kiss. 

Love has the power to drive us insane, to blind us, and even to lead to our demise.

And yet, in life, it is possible to miss everything but love.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

 3rd POV 

I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair

“You look pathetic, San. Don't you think so? I wonder what Seonghwa would say to that?” Yeosang lazily runs his pale spidery fingers over Yoru's silky black fur, looking with contempt at the naked brunette stretched on a pile of knocked-down sheets and pillows.

The rings on his hands burn with blood, like the eyes of the Devil.

San looked blissfully relaxed and languid, like a caressing predator. His golden skin seemed to glow from within with an otherworldly glow as the translucent sunlight greedily licked his body with its soft touch.

Still, there was something vaguely animalistic, almost primitively predatory, about him, which in no way connected him with the arrogant aloofness that was inherent in the entire vampire race.

There was hot blood running through his veins, making him even more dangerous.

He was unbridled.

“I don't care what Seonghwa says, if he says a word at all in the next few centuries. Personally, I would prefer that his magnificent body continue to rest in the coffin for a very long time.” A smug smile played on his sensual lips. “And unlike you, my dear brother, I don't hide my true desires.” A slow, almost lazy glance from San's silvery eyes swept over the slender body of Yeosang sitting in the chair, lingering for a moment on the pale pink patch of soft skin on his temple.

He imagines, not without pleasure, how, with particular cruelty, he tears it from the porcelain face of his beloved brother with his long claws, leaving behind a wet, gaping wound.

San hated it. His birthmark is indisputable proof of his connection with his beautiful Rose.

The sign that binds their souls tightly into a single whole.

He should have found her first that night.

“Look at you, Sangie. You act like a coward, hiding in dark corners and wandering in her dreams. Perhaps I could understand you if your wayward antics gave her pleasure. If our Rose woke up with your name on her lips, all wet and needy, so desperate for more.

You have to ignite her passion and her desire to be loved, make her feel special, and fill her with thirst and hunger for our touch and our love. All her thoughts should belong only to us. But how did we end Yeosangie? Tell me, huh? Our Rosa has an animal terror before you. Sarang is afraid of you. Isn't that really pathetic? You know, I can smell that sweet scent of fear on her sheets.” San buried his face in the soft fabric of the silk pillow on which Sarang usually slept and took a deep, slow breath. “So damn delicious… I want to eat her whole.”

All he wanted now was to feel her from the inside, so that her scent would stay forever in his lungs, merge with his blood, be absorbed into his skin, and become an integral part of it.

God, he is prepared to worship this woman and idolize her in every conceivable way. 

She was his.

Not in some figurative or metaphorical sense, no. She was his everything. A soul that fills the shell with his dead body, blood black as night, that runs through his veins, his thoughts. Every second of his life. San couldn't tell where he ended, and she began, for you were two halves fused together into a single breathing living being.

The beginning and the end of his life

If he could know death, which was no longer possible for him, he would be happy to suffocate on that heady aroma that was spinning his head like a powerful drug. And to do so until death takes him into his arms.

How beautiful would his death be! Silk sheets, roses, and Sarang are the only true loves.

“She smells so divine, Sangie; how can you resist this temptation?” His back arched gracefully. Under the golden canvas of the skin, the jagged vertebral bones were outlined, and the flexible muscles were stretched like tight velvet ribbons. The relief of his chiseled abs pressing against the bed, his thighs rushing up, creating a perfect s-line.

He moved so smoothly. A large predatory cat, draining gross sexuality and animal dominance. A true erotic vision, fringed by the diffused glow of the lazy midday sun. The smell of her fear brought out the worst in him and made him crave to devour her heart and soul, but he couldn't do it.

“You don't know shit, San. You come here whenever you want and act like a cranky kid, pouting and expressing anger because you couldn't get her first. What a pity, because I was the one who made the connection. I can feel her; I can feel her in my veins; I don't have to act like a bitch in heat fucking her bed.” Yeosang's voice was indifferently cold, so deceptively calm, but San could clearly hear the poisonous malice in every word he said.

It looks like he hit a nerve.

“You tell me you'd never been in my place, Yeosangie?”  San grinned, and on his cheeks appeared charming dimples. “You never could lie;you always spilled everything to Seonghwa like a good puppy at the first snap of his fingers. You should ask Wooyoung to teach you some lessons if you want to play games with me. We all know exactly what you do, so didn't be shy about it, honey. Do you think you can hide from Hongjoong your little dream manipulation, constant stalking, and night visits? Or how pathetic and pathetic you look, whining and wriggling like a whore when you come in with her dirty laundry, which you hide under your pillow. Oh my God, what will Seonghwa say when he finds out? You should care. Our good boy has gone to the dark side; he's going to be so disappointed that he lost his mutt. Although you know, maybe you and Wooyoung aren't as different as I originally thought. He's just as pathetic a puppy as you are, my beautiful brother, and look how that turned out for him. Perhaps you'll be the next one to end up in a coffin. I'd change my behavior if I were you. Bad boys get punished.” There was mockery and outright bullying in his voice.

That's right, they were family; their loyalty to each other was an unbreakable blood oath, and if necessary, they would be willing to die for each other. Blood is thicker than water. But the bond they shared with Sarang was different from anything that could be explained. She wasn't a missing part; to think so would be foolish. No, she was a part of themselves, a part of their dead souls, filling their bodies with a semblance of life. Something extremely more dangerous than any possible blood bond. A bond where the lines between reality and fantasy, obsession and morality, understanding and rationality were blurred.  And that bond was the reason, why Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa were still resting in their luxurious coffins. Iron, velvet, and crystal—so completely different, so frighteningly the same.

San remembers with pleasure how good it felt to drive stakes into their black hearts. The spell would be broken with a kiss. Perfectly. He hopes their sleep will be eternal. This time, it should be different. He will be the first, yes. San will be first—not Seonghwa, not Hongjoong, not Wooyoung, but him.

That's right. Everything will be the way it should be from the beginning. After all, he was the one who started it all.

Once upon a time, Sarang belonged only to him.

“San…” Yeosang hissed menacingly, digging his bony fingers forcefully into the soft feline fur, causing Yoru to meow painfully and curl up into a ball in his lap. His fangs bared, scratching his plump lower lip, and black veins trickled in an intricate pattern down his thin neck.

The brunette laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric of the pillow, covering his eyes dreamily.

The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin.

“You hiss like a kitten; will you show me your sharp little teeth?”

“You'd better watch out for your tongue, or I might rip it out.” The fierce gaze literally stabbed him. It burned and penetrated to the core of his being.

“I dare you.” The bloodied lips opened, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to traverse the tortured, swollen flesh, licking away the blood that seeped to the surface.

“Let his lips be like rose petals - red as fresh blood.” Said the Queen Witch.

San covered his eyes and completely ignored the angry brunette. He loved to play with fire. It was his nature. If it had been Hongjoon or Mingi in Yeosan's place, he might have thought twice before poking the tiger with a stick, and of course he would never intentionally offend Seonghwa; the outcome of any of those confrontations would not have been in his favor. But this was Yeosang - airy and gentle as melting snow.

The shadows of San's long eyelashes lay in a lacy pattern on his heart-wrenching cheekbones. They were one of the most striking features of his appearance - sharp and angular - and they made his face a masterpiece. A creation skilfully crafted by the hand of a master.

Yeosang's beauty was soft and angelic, the kind of beauty one might see on the faces of the winged, plump cherubs beneath the vaulted ceilings of Gothic cathedrals. He had once admired their beauty so much, especially when he tore their flesh with his claws and tore baby, fluffy wings from their pale, soft bodies.

Such an exquisite, decadent taste.

San's beauty was of a completely different kind: vicious, dark and hypnotic. Chiseled like the eternally frozen perfection of a pagan marble god, every line of his face was sharp and deadly seductive. From the feline cut of his eyes, shimmering with silvery immortality, to the capriciously curved corners of his plump lips, always inflamed and soft, so tortured and tender from incessant biting and kissing…

San's appearance was sinful.

He was the most desirable of all nightmares, the special kind that seduces the girls of the church, then fills his bathtub with their blood and organizes orgies in the bloody pieces of their torn bodies. San was formidable and intimidating, but his aura was alluring and seductive. The terrible prospect of an inevitable end and death had never looked so appealing. Maybe he was having an affair with you, or maybe he was going to kill you. There was lust, danger, and rage. There was a delicate balance between horror and desire, as if he were the embodiment of both the horror and the charm of God. He was the man everyone secretly dreams about when they caress themselves before going to bed, in a cold, lonely bed.

He was the person who made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and who made you experience a shivering sensation of fear that would spread over all of your exposed areas.

San was undoubtedly that person. Despite the potential for his eyes to linger on your skin, his presence was desired. Exquisite wounds, reminiscent of blossoms from damaged tissue, were created by his razor-sharp canines.

Death and sex were not enough for San; he had a craving for disorder and hot sensations.

He always wanted more, whether it was blood or pleasure. He never felt satisfied.

His sole desire was Rose—just her alone.

“Do you smell that Sangie scent?” San inhaled deeply again that intoxicating divine scent, resisting the urge to savor her flavor like a dog, choking and whimpering. “Mmmm, I want her so badly. I want her whole, every fucking cell of her body. She's driving me crazy.”

Sarang emitted a scent that was distinctly sharp and overpowering in its fragrance. Reminiscent of aged wine, it was infused with the bitterness of dark chocolate, the piquancy of red pepper, and the sweetness of roses. It tastes like sin and blessing at the same time. Like a slight saltiness akin to the tears she had shed, he longed to lick them off her rounded, flushed cheeks. The fruity sweetness of illicit fruit. The taste of his own blood. The metal and thick aroma of their sexual encounter. Thick as semen and honey.

San wants to have her. Wants her to love him. He desires his love to be reciprocated as fervently and passionately as he does.

His only wish is her love.

Although it is not enough for him to possess her love, he wants her to have an intense and almost sadistic affection for him—one that goes beyond what seems possible. He yearns for her to destroy him. Because he's confident in Sarang's ability to do so. He needs more. More than she could offer him, more than she could ever agree to. He is but a slave, created to worship her.

San's aim is to belong to her; he would go to any extent, even to the point of destroying the entire world, if that is what it takes to achieve that. The value of her love is immeasurable, and his objective is absolute.   She is the center of his life and the very essence of his being.   She is the haunting presence in his dreams, a seductive force that both seduces and tortures. The midnight idol of his desire, the serpent that dwells around his heart, tempts him to sin.

San craves her love so much, and that need is so painful, so all-consuming, and so twisted. If need be, he would kill her with his own hands, just to be sure that no one else would ever have her.

Sharing her with his brothers was like hellfire burning him from the inside out, but it was a paltry sacrifice he could make in exchange for her love.

This time, he won't let her go. This time, not even death would dare separate them. Saran will be his. She will be theirs. In life. In death. Forever and ever.

Soon.

It will happen so soon. San can't wait for the day when his Goddess is beneath him, in the cage of his body, sprawled on the black velvet of his bed. With his fangs deep into her sweet flesh, and she will screaming his name in a haze of ecstatic pleasure.

He would make her see stars. San will take her all the way to the doors of Heaven.

“San,” “San,” “San,” “San” over and over, until her voice completely collapses to a painful wheeze, until he absorbs every tiny sound she makes, every moan, every breath, every barely perceptible note, until all she will remember is his name.

Until Sarang whispers right into his lips, “I am yours.”

Soon.

In the meantime, San can patiently wait. He will wait as he always has, obediently and without complaint. He will be such a good boy. San will wait obediently, as he has done for centuries and centuries before. Until the time is right to pursue his desires, he will take all that he has dreamt of, and God will save the souls of those who get in his way.

Right now, he thinks he could die here — in her bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth of her body and her maddening scent. He would like nothing more than to show her all his passion and devotion and all the love he could give her.

He dreams of running his lips over her skin and tasting her until his whole face is wet and glistening with her juices. He will fuck her into oblivion until night turns to day and then drown her in tenderness, worshiping her caress-weary body as an obedient slave should.

Sometimes, he thinks it's not normal—the feelings he has for her. Such love simply cannot exist. How can someone love someone so much? Is it normal to hate the very existence of nature and the heavenly bodies for being able to see her beauty, which should belong to him alone?

However, these were only momentary musings until he regained his composure, dispelling any doubts. How could he even question his love? It felt so perfect and effortless, like breathing. How could such thoughts even enter his mind?

Her love was a life worth living.

It was destined since the dawn of time, when spirits roamed the earth, the sun was young, and the old gods had not yet vanished. She belonged to them, and they belonged to her. They sensed her first breath on their lips. He felt. 

Their love bloomed again—a blood rose.

Soon…

These fantasies drove him mad; every cell ignited with the desire to possess, awakening his animal predatory nature. The ugly nature of his genuinely depraved being.

He pictured Sarang biting into his neck and taking possession of him. She aimed at him as if he were nothing more than a thing, a toy for her amusement.

“Say my name, Sarang. Express your fondness for me and acknowledge that I am your only one. I want you to own me and claim me as yours. Say my name until it burns your lips. Again and again. Drink my blood, bite me to death; I'm nothing more than your slave, just a pathetic means of pleasure. Hit me. Hurt me, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, my love, I am begging you to love me. Love… Love me so much until it kills me. That is what I wish for.”

His hips moved smoothly, grinding his arousal against the rumpled bedclothes. San moaned, breathlessly gasping as he found the perfect angle to satisfy his intense desire for release. He needs to cum; he couldn't leave here without cumming. He buried his face in the pillow, panting and whimpering like a wild animal possessed. His primal instincts demanded he leave his mark on her, to possess her and fuck her into oblivion until her belly bloated from the amount of cum pouring into her and her head felt light and empty.

His claws lengthened, digging into the mattress, leaving sickening jagged stripes as his hips moved uncontrollably, continuing to rub his throbbing wet cock against the silken folds of the crumpled sheets.

The sounds he made were almost heavenly.

Soft, extended moans that turned into pitiful sobs. He sounded like an angel in the throes of passion.

In his fantasies, San imagined drinking from her as long scarlet streams of her sweet blood ran down their naked bodies, staining everything red. How deeply he entered her body, seeing the imprint of his cock on her flat stomach as her neat, pointed nails plowed into his back into gaping lacerations.

His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. San needed to cum; he was on the verge of madness. The need for pleasure was more obvious than anything around him at the moment. The transparent essence of his arousal dripped down onto the sheets, sticking to his golden, wet skin with every movement of his muscled thighs.

His thoughts returned to the dark, vicious images of hot animal sex. A fine shiver ran down his entire body.

He will run his tongue along every contour of the intricate bloody lines, licking up every last drop. First, the longest neck-open and vulnerable to his insatiable mouth, then lower down the hollow between the heavy breasts, rising in time with her labored breathing. His lips would close around the hard pink nipples, scraping them with his teeth, making her squeal and gasp. Lower down her flat belly, where the flowers of his hungry kisses and hard touches bloomed. Until his tongue is between the moist puffy folds of her pussy, he runs the pointed tip along the soft silken flesh, plunging deeper into the tight hole where blood mingles with her natural sweetness. He wants to feel the velvety, wet walls of her vagina clench and quiver around his tongue.

“Sarang!” His voice was hoarse, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him with such force that his knuckles turned white, almost tearing the skin.

He looked pornographic.

San was so lost in his fantasies that he had completely forgotten about Yeosang, who was still in this room, until he was reminded of it with a sharp, painful tug of his hair. Long, thin fingers gripped the dark, damp strands with force and tilted his head back rigidly, revealing a view of a strong neck with veins swollen from exertion and beads of sweat running down her

“Here we go, such a pathetic, stupid bitch.” Yeosang said it with mockery in his voice. His lips curled into a wicked smirk, and San could feel it on his skin as the brunet whispered in his ear. “Look at you, you're nothing more than a slut; where's your pride, San, eh? The great general of the dark army, the heartless ice prince, the ruthless Ripper, is nothing more than a drooling whore shamefully rubbing his cock against the sheets.” Yeosang's fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, tugging harder on the long silk strands the color of night.

“Yes, yes, keep calling me that.” His request sounded like a plea. All Yeosang's words made him move faster, almost in desperation.

The rhythm of his hips became erratic and uncontrollable. He was close. His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

“Are you imagine fucking her, Sannie, hmm? Or what would it taste like? I bet the taste will be heavenly; she's sweeter than ever in this life. Oh no, I know exactly what you're thinking.” A mocking chuckle escaped his ruby-red lips. “You want her to bite you.” Those wicked lips pressed against the frantically beating pulse point. “Right here.” Yeosang's teeth sank with force into the flushed skin of San's neck—that particular sensitive spot on his neck beneath a scattering of pale freckles.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth opened in a silent moan, and his hips shook with the intensity of his orgasm. Thick, hot cum splattered onto the sheets, staining them with the pale, milky liquid.

The brunet unclenched his teeth, releasing the tender skin. The bite mark was wine-red, with swollen incisor impressions and drops of black blood in the hollows. A poisonous flower, tempting to know sin.

“Sannie, look at the mess you'd made. Truly a royal fuck. I always thought it was more Mingi's style.” Finally, thin but surprisingly strong fingers let go of the silken strands, allowing San to rest his face tiredly against the pillow. His whole body relaxes after the overwhelming orgasm. The entire pillow is soaked with drool and sweat, and semen cools beneath his stomach, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He opens one eye and looks up at the vampire leaning over him with a lecherous smile.

“Would you like to join me, my beautiful brother? We still have a few hours before she gets home.” The brunet rolls onto his back to make room for Yeosang in the bed. His fingers run along the sculpted curves of his abs, scooping up the viscous, pearly liquid and sliding it into his mouth. “Mmm…” A long tongue swirled around his fingers, licking up every drop with lazy, slow pleasure.

“You're disgusting, San.” Yeosang puckered his lips in disgust, looking around at the brunette sprawled on the bed. He turned sharply on his heels and strode away from the room;  to he pick up Yoru on his way, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his arms. “Get up; we have to go. Hongjoon is calling us.”

“You're not leaving the cat?”

The brunette turned around over his shoulder, meeting his gaze with San's silver eyes.

“June misses his darling; for our little girl, it's time to come home.”

San propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the departing Yeosang. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile full of devilish anticipation.

The time had finally come.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

1st POV

"Feed me to the wolves, let them take my flesh."

“Well, I'm glad to finally meet you in a more relaxed setting, Miss Ahn. Please take a seat.” With an elegant gesture, the man motioned me to a deep leather chair in front of his desk. On the glass tabletop was a silver plaque engraved with the name “Mr. Lee Taeho”.

“Miss An” - how sad and tragic that sounds. I never wanted to try out this role. I didn't like being addressed like that, because it was always Mina, and before her, it was my grandmother, and probably my mother was addressed like that when she was alive.

But here I am, the new Miss Ahn, and unlike my predecessors, I have not sought to carry the weight of this unbearable crown. I don't need the congratulatory ribbons and the wet glitter sequins smeared across my face.

Although there was nothing in the address itself that I could call unpleasant, the tone with which it was always delivered foreshadowed the inevitable tragic ending of its own and tasted of earth and chrysanthemums.

You're bound to end up as one of them; it's not all by chance, Sarang.   Don't kid yourself.

I saw the future as a series of predetermined events, especially after Mina's death. She had the arrogance to dispose of my life as she saw fit, putting chains of obligations and secrets around my neck. I buried her in the ground, and my days became nothing more than a list of dull plans, paltry hopes, and bitter regrets, as murky as the water in the city canals through which a coffin floats. Still, I couldn't help but wonder who would be the next Miss An when I died, or would I be the one to hold that title forever?

There are never any former queens. There are only dead ones.

I could feel the blood flowing faster through my veins.

For a few moments, there was silence around us, thick and enveloping like fog. If I'd felt any hint of confidence as I walked through the tall glass doors of Silver & Black LTD, now, alone with this man, I was floundering in my social insecurity like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of his night-dark eyes. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Lee Taeho wasn't just one of Silver & Black's most successful lawyers; he was also a devilishly handsome man.

He was built like a god. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuated his muscular biceps, bulging pecs, and flat stomach. The image of strength and power was completed by the perfectly tailored, tight-fitting trousers. The rolled-up sleeves revealed several tattoos on his wiry forearms—something in Latin that I couldn't make out.

His face was also striking, with angular, pointed features that would have looked strange and out of place on anyone else, but the luscious, perfectly sculpted lips made them something unimaginable and outrageously beautiful.

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. He was looking at me like I was something special, but not in a sexual or romantic way; rather, it was the look of an explorer who had found an unexpected treasure in a pile of rubbish.

“I honestly didn't expect you to have any free time in the next few months, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about Silver & Black until Soomin told me about them on the way here. Soo turned out to be absolutely right when she told me about them. This place was the epitome of the arrogant domination of money and power—cold, glassy, and sterile, like a morgue where the remains of all “happy stories” are taken.

I could never belong to such a place, but I could easily imagine Mina here, with her developing blood curls and the unemotional grandeur of royalty. People like my sister were part of that 'proper' society so suited to closed Sunday clubs and icy glass offices. Like all of her kind, Mina was a great predator, used to labeling people and giving them her own names and definitions. She knew exactly how to make those around her feel uncomfortable with just one look.

Some people have everything, others nothing. It's as cruel and true as the inequality of love.

I still didn't understand how Mina had so much money to afford the services of this company, but judging by how polite and “sweetly” the receptionist greeted me at the entrance, she was very much appreciated here.

Blood of my blood.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Saran.” He said that, and I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn't so much the fact that he allowed himself a familiarity that surprised me, but the way he said my name—as if it had always belonged to his lips. It was as if he'd said it over and over again until the intonation was perfect.

My heart beats fast in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.

“We will always make time for you. If you'll allow me to be frank, I've left a few free hours each day, just in case you decide to call me. Honestly, I expected it to take a little less time on your part, but who am I to judge you, Sarang?”

“But why?” I tried to gather information and put it together in a way that wasn't absurd. I didn't want to assume anything.

“Why? Do I have to explain? Maybe I just wanted to see you; you're a beautiful girl, and I'm a great admirer of the beautiful. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with the embarrassment that must have been written on my face. I could feel the heat spilling over my cheeks, turning them a painfully inflamed shade of red.

I had never been a girl with a 'cute' blush. I was more like a girl burned by the gold of the sun, pressing her cheek directly against the boiling, bubbling surface of the sun.

Taeho lightly drummed his perfectly filed nails on the glass tabletop, completely ignoring my obvious embarrassment at the situation, and continued:

“But let's say that this is due to the fact that your dear sister was a valued client of ours, whom everyone here at Silver & Black LTD sincerely appreciated. Miss Ahn was our special customer. All the staff will agree with me; your sister is impossible not to love.”

“A special client?” I interjected. Somehow, that didn't surprise me at all. Of course, it was only natural that Mina was always at the center of the universe. People followed the sound of her voice like rats behind the magical melody of the flute.

“Are you surprised, Sarang? Your sister has helped our firm in many ways, bringing us new clients and introducing us to the 'right' people, making our firm one of the best in Korea. She's contributed a lot to the development of Silver & Black. There was a strange note in his voice, as if between the cracks there was something terrible—a terrible secret that could change my whole life.

For some reason, I don't feel comfortable at all right now.

“I'm pleased… hmm, or rather, I'm pleased to know that my sister has done so much for you. Lately, she and I haven't really been close, and we've barely chatted. So I didn't know where she went or what kind of people she hung out with.” My words come out a little sour, and I press my lips together.

The lovely Mina, as always, is proving to be the best. I wonder if the day will come when she damn pedestal will be nothing but a pile of ruins at my feet. I thought all this time you'd been pining for roses, but instead you've been doing the right thing. What else don't I know about you, Ahn Min?

What don't I want to know about you?

''Yes, yes, she helped us a lot. Now let's get on with signing the documents, do you mind? I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary.” His words were very dry, businesslike, and in no way in keeping with the previous flirtation. Something flashed in his eyes—concern, doubt, maybe even fear—there was a tense tremor in his hands, and his whole aura changed, as if something huge and evil had turned its attention to him.

“Sure, let's get started.”

The entire process took no more than 30 minutes. I signed document after document, with occasional detached comments from Mr. Lee, which were completely at odds with his previous behavior. There was nothing special about the documents, except for one thing: Rose Hill. As best, I could make out from the extensive stack of papers, it was a small house in the style of Victorian England. It was in the ownership of a gated cottage community, the grounds of which were owned by a private company. It was all too complex and confusing to realize the meaning in the space of 30 minutes. I'll deal with it later, most likely in the company of Soomin and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Can I sell the house I inherited, Rose Hill?” I asked without lifting my head from the papers; a few more strokes and I could be out of here. The atmosphere in the office was terribly tense; my skin itched unpleasantly and tingled in places as if it no longer belonged to me.

“To my regret, I cannot help you in this matter. In all matters concerning Rose Hill, you must deal directly with the owners of the land; I will email you their contacts.” The smile he gave me was forced, and I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a difference in his change of mood.

“Okay, thank you.” I signed the last form and handed the pile of paperwork to Mr. Lee. “I'm done; hopefully everything is settled now. Can I get a copy of the documents, preferably today?”

Taeho cursorily flicked through the pages to make sure each one was signed.

 “Our administrator, Sunwoo, will give you all the documents. There is one more thing you need to get before you leave. When you leave here, go further down the corridor to the vault, and Bora will show you a locker in the storage room that belongs to your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next customer is waiting, and I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Lee.” I clumsily rose from my chair, trying to get out of this stuffy room as quickly as possible. The air felt pressurized, and I felt like I was going to start suffocating a little more. I needed to get out of here right now.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Miss Ahn. Please take care of yourself.” The look he gave me was sad—so unusually sad, like the look of a man living his last day on earth. It was as if the end had come for him before he could realize it.

His words, on the contrary, were a warning. “Take care of yourself.” What kind of lawyer wishes that to a client as a farewell? Was I in danger? Perhaps you were. Although that's true, it's worth crossing out the word “perhaps”, yes, I was in danger. Could he have known about it? Did Taeho know about the roses or the people who sent those awful flowers? Was there something he hadn't told me? A thousand questions were in my head as I walked out of his office.

Mechanically, I reach for the strands of pearls at my neck and twist them around my fingers, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. This isn't some worldwide conspiracy, Sarang. Wake up.

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

The door closes softly behind me. I'm alone in a sterile, shiny corridor.

In the distance, I hear a cheerful laugh—Soomin. She was definitely laughing. Soo is having a great time waiting for me to wrap things up. Even though she was denied my escort to Mr. Lee's office, she wasn't upset at all because the nice receptionist, Sunwoo, I think his name was, was determined not to let her get bored alone.

I could have fallen in love with him. He was charming and cute, with a sweet, heart-shaped smile that would make your teeth rot. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, Armani Prive, in a thinly stitched pinstripe. I'd say he looked like a puppy. With those big, wet, shiny eyes and the way he struck the right pose when you told him to.

Yes, that was the kind of guy I fell in love with—the kind with a good reputation and a well-paid job—the kind who makes love, not fucks. They're the ones who make sure he looks you in the eye and whispers to you about how good you're feeling when he's caressing your body.

Good boys. Obedient boys. Sugar-coated like candy.

If I fell in love with a guy like that, Soomin would break him up like a Christmas candy bar and take a bite right down the middle of him. She liked that type—kind, gentle, and submissive. There had never been a lack of male attention in her life, but for some reason, Soo had always surrounded herself with this type of boy, like colorful toys. She wasn't afraid to break them because she could always move on to the next one. They never crossed her, nodding in obedience and jumping as high as she asked. Men were no more precious to Soo than broken crystal balls, shimmering but useless.

The corridor in front of me was long and empty, with a single door at the end. The sound of heels hitting marble tiles echoed in my head, and the checkerboard pattern on the marble was jarring. For a moment, I thought the corridor was narrowing like a rabbit hole, endless and dark. I was short of air, unable to breathe, and the oxygen in my lungs was as thick and viscous as swamp sludge. I clawed at my neck with my fingernails, trying to pull off the pearl collar, but I felt myself tightening it stronger. My eyes stung from tears and mascara, and ink streaks ran down my cheeks, and somehow they felt colder than they should have.

My fingernails dug into the skin on my collarbones, scratching at it with cruelty and anger.

I needed to get away from myself. To be separate from my body and the way I felt. The nightmare awakened inside me, licking my veins, working its way inside, and gnawing into my soul. My consciousness was beyond my mind.

I hear the sound of tearing threads and thousands of pearls falling at my feet, and I fall with them. I want to go back to before it all began. Before the pain, Before the roses.

Fluorescent lights flash like the tails of nameless comets on the pearly roundness of the beads. I see stars exploding behind my eyes, painting the underside of my eyelids with intricate strokes—the constellation Gemini. Nergal. I want to remember the days when roses were just roses, not home to the ghosts of my soul.

I hear a sound—it's pearls crunching under sharp heels. Under steel heels, like the teeth of the Witch Queen. 

“Oh my God, Saran!” Someone shouts. Soomin isn't laughing anymore.

Her hands are so cold against my clammy skin. She presses my face against her chest, and the feverish beating of her heart brings me back to reality. She is my white rabbit.

Voices, voices—there are so many of them. It's a cacophony of sounds and unpleasant cracking noises. The pearls keep breaking, and I keep crying.

Someone brings me a glass of unpleasantly cold water; it runs down my throat like a liquid flame.

I finally took a breath.

“Take me home.” That's all I can say right now. I want to go home, away from the world, away from the sun, and away from the memories.

“She's having a panic attack; she needs air.”

“No! I need to go home.”

“It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you,” Soo purrs, kissing the top of my head like a little baby. She pulls me off the floor with effort, lifting me to my feet.

I look down at the checkered pattern of the marble slabs and at the scattered pearls. In some places, the white slabs are smeared with red, like lipstick smeared by a kiss. This is blood. My blood.

My legs shake like a newborn fawn as Soomin leads me away from this place. Every step was painful, almost more painful than Soo's tight grip on my forearm.   “It's okay, Sarang, we're going home.”

It's okay, Sarang.

It's okay.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“Are you sure you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” I squeezed out the shadow of a smile. Apparently it was useless; the look in her eyes remained the same: worried, with fear lurking around the edges. Fear for me.

“How long have you been having these attacks?”

“This is the first time. I guess… I don't know. Let's just say it's a consequence of trauma. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm so sorry.” Soo crouched on the edge of the bed, taking my hand gently. I was made of glass; she didn't want to break me or do the opposite by hurting herself on me. “It's so horrible that you have to go through all this, baby.”

“Yes, it is.” What else could I say? I could not have said a word, and everything would have been understood. The wounds under the bandage itched terribly. Long red marks stretched along my collarbones and neck. Mascara was still smeared across my face, as was the soft pink lip gloss. I looked like a mess. I was a mess.

My throat was all dry and thirsty, and my eyes were so swollen I couldn't even open them fully.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight, love? We can watch a film or something; maybe one of those stupid comedy shows Mina hated. I'll make dinner and open the wine.”

“No need; I'll be fine. Soomin, go home; you should be resting too, not babysitting me. I'm fine, really. I'm feeling better, and I'll definitely get through the night. I'll probably go straight to sleep as soon as you leave.” Much as I loved Soo, I didn't feel like seeing anyone right now.

“If you say so, Please call me in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe, Soo. Love you.” I thought I covered my eyes for only a second before I heard the click of the front door. The mark of her kiss burned on my cheek.

I don't know how many hours I sat like that—completely still, not taking my eyes off the dark landscape outside the window, which was getting brighter now that a little moonlight was seeping through the thick clouds.

I didn't want to get out of bed, drowning in pillows and blankets like a pipe dream. I felt good in my bed. I couldn't understand what exactly had changed, but I could feel the change. Even in the morning, the bed had been cold and lonely, but now the silk under my fingers was warmer and softer to the touch. Even the smell of the blankets seemed to be different, like purple lilies and musk, a scent that remotely reminded me of something very familiar but long forgotten. Could it have been Soo's perfume? No, more like the scent that Yoru always brought with her.

By the way, where did she go? She was here when I left this morning, but knowing her talent for disappearing and reappearing at will, I didn't hold out much hope of seeing her today. It would be nice to have her around now, though.

I rolled onto my side, resting my cheek against the pillow. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't want to get out of bed either. My gaze settled on the small box that lay on the chair across from the bed. A casket from a storage locker.

After my panic attack, Soomin took it away, since I was apparently incapable of doing so. Next to it was a neat stack of papers with black paint poisonously embedded in them, listing all the possessions I now owned, including Rose Hill, but the most valuable and important thing was kept in this little silver coffin.

The metal walls of the casket shimmered like liquid silver when moonlight hit them. I was mesmerized by this otherworldly glow. Number 0711 - Miss Ahn Mina. Sometimes a lifetime can be folded like origami and placed on a velvet cushion like a collector's item.

I struggled with myself for a few more minutes before I threw back the blankets and got out of bed. My curiosity outweighed my fear. At that moment, I had to remind myself that “curiosity killed the cat,” and if I had been any smarter, I would have thrown the box to hell and never thought of it again.

The box opened silently, and I felt a chill, as if someone had dipped my heart in ice water. There weren't many things in the box—something old, something new, and something blue—all like a wedding tradition. It wasn't like Mina. She had always despised the idea of marriage; the very thought of anyone daring to claim her freedom made her sick.

It wasn't for her, and it wasn't for me.

Weddings are gorgeous, creamy bouquets of fragrant flowers that breathe in the dawn. At the end of a long journey down a narrow church aisle, a handsome prince awaits with the promise of eternal love. As if. Girls, guard your hearts, for they will eat them for breakfast. Piece by piece, like a birthday cake, until there's nothing left to keep you alive.

Then there'll be another, just as naive. And then another, and so on, endlessly. That's all love is. A streak of devil's rubies and eaten hearts.

There was no heart and no love in that box. Just one little piece of paper with torn edges and a handful of precious trinkets. Just one small puzzle piece that had fallen out of a huge and complex picture. I could recognize Mina's handwriting from a million others, but the words written on that little piece of paper were not hers. In each letter lurked something that had never belonged to Mina; her hand had scrawled those lines, but her lips had never uttered those words.

“My only love. My divine Rose, when I leave this world, I will leave you everything you could ever want. When you read this, I will be gone. Everything has been arranged; everything is ready for you. The whole world will belong to you, my love. I took care of it. On the back of this page, I have left the number of my good friend. Please give him a call; he will help you with all the things you need. He'll be waiting for you. He is the only one you can trust, Sarang. Your beloved Mina P.S. Don't forget, love is eternal.”

I flipped the sheet to the other side. The handwriting was the same but so different; the letters were sharp and crumpled, as if they were written in a hurry.

Hongjoong. I had heard that name before. I knew the taste of it on my tongue.

My fingers hurriedly dialed the number; I didn't look at the time, and, to be honest, I didn't care. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that this wasn't another one of her crazy fantasies that would lead me down a blind alley. I needed to know that Hongjoong wasn't fiction but blood and flesh, intermittent breathing, and an unevenly beating pulse.

At the other end of the phone, the long beeps were interrupted, there was a static pause for a second, and then I heard the sleepy and so welcome sound:

“Hello.”

[eternal-naptime]

🌙Forever Night🌙

This is a Five Nights at Freddy's Security Breach-themed RP blog, focused on an AU version of Moon (or Moondrop), called the Lunar Eclipse Upgrade.

Please check out this link for lots of details on how this version of Moon functions. Below is a bit of a taste or a tl;dr.

Name: Moon Gender: Male Pronouns: He/They Note: He appears to look like Sundrop fully 80% of the time. The illustration is meant to be a little artistic. :)

Shipped With @lillie-stargazer

The Daycare Attendant has received a full body upgrade, courtesy of an engineer named Lillie. His body is now closer to the general shape of the Glamrock animatronics, but still lithe and flexible.

The Daycare Attendant's face is still round, but now, instead of being stuck in a permanent smile, they're able to express a wide variety of emotions thanks to their new silicone face.

Moon's visage lurks beneath a Sundrop mask, held in place by powerful magnets. This mask can be peeled off to reveal Moon beneath.

Moon is in control 95% of the time. Good luck coaxing some Sun out of him, though it can happen.

Moon has the ability to hide his control and is protected from light by Sundrop, or rather, by Sundrop's face.

Moon has a feral, yet almost refined nature. Free of Glitchtrap's control, he is a bit more 'respectful', if you could even call it that. He's like a wolf in sheep's clothing… or a Moon in Sun's clothing.

Moon doesn't really have a goal. He'll leave people be if they leave him be. There are some, however, that he takes express interest in.

Please check out this link to learn about the owner of the blog. Thanks for checking it out!

What I'm comfortable with: - Short-form RP. (one or two sentences) - Paragraph/multi-para RP. - Light-hearted or heavy subjects. - Plot-centric with a goal in mind. - Fluff and comfort (Moon will care for you!) - Horror themes, gore, violence. - Multi-ship fine.

I'm only okay with more explicit themes in private and if I know you well!

My other blogs!

[septicwriters]

It's still Pride Month, so here is my last contribution:

Good Omens s3 Musical

This egg has been hatching for a while, so here we go!

A tale of woe of star cross lovers. I shall give a brief description of the happenings for each song. The basic gist of the story is Crowley and Aziraphale mourning eachother, missing the other by looking at the past and the missed future. A story of madness, guilt, betrayal, and an apology long overdue.

1) Get back up again, Aziraphale moving through the motions of being Supreme Archangels, fixing problem after problem while trying to stop Armageddom part 2. He tries to keep a steady smile through it all, even with that small voice in the back if his head that says he won't fix anything, and it all comes to a head when he gets a letter from hell, that Lord of Hell, Crowley would like a meeting with him.

2) Gossip, after Aziraphale begs to hear why Crowley would rather take the reigns down here instead of heaven, Crowley snaps. He knows that the angel is attracted to them, so he dances around Aziraphale, spouting this song at him with acid on his tongue. He drags the angel around in a dance Aziraphale is not familiar with. Crowley does get his point across, that Aziraphle is viewing heaven, Hell, earth, and them through a visage and that he doesn't see the real picture. By the end, Azirphale is kicked out of Hell, on his knees with silent tears, feeling he doesn't even know the demon anymore.

3) The Phoenix, After their conversation, eachothers "trust advisors" (i.e. Metatron and Husker) try to get them tk forget the other, and outright fails. This song is a duet for the two, sort of, but it is sung to show their true colors. They plan to use Crowley and Aziraphale as puppets, figureheads, to get their war. This is them singing as they shape Crowley and Azirpahale as their chosen leaders.

4) Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, Azirphale sneaks out of heaven and hunkers down at the bookshop. He is ever so tired and decided to try to Sleep, wanting to be close to the demon he used to know. But, his first attempt at sleep leads him to nightmares kf Crowley birating him, calling him a monster, and saying that Aziraphale should have fell instead. He wakes up and cries, deciding to put aside his feelings, the Metatron was right, he is a demon.

5) Freak on a Leash, this is sort kf Crowleys descent into Madness, it begins on him deciding to take the thrown of heaven and telling himself to forget Aziraphale while also pining for him. His eternal struggle leaving him waning and weak.

6) 21 Guns, this song is for Crowley and Aziraphale, struggling together. Trying to stop the oncoming war but utterly distracted by their shattered heart. They think back on their kiss, how close they came, before they fell away. This time, Azirpahle sends out and invitation to Crowley to meet at the Bookshop.

7) Krytpnite, Crowley sings this song after Azirpahle tries tk get through to him and he laughs like an insane person. He sings as a way to scare the angel away. This songs tells the angel that Crowleh is loosing himself and he knows it, but he can't stop, and the only thing that will stop his spiraling descent, is Azirphale, one way, or another. Once again, they do not part as friends.

8) Given up, Crowley returns to Hell fuming and this is him lashing out. He tosses his thrown, crushes his crown and yells at Hastur. He frightens all of hell as his pain is let out. Hastur smiles, seeing his work coming to an oncoming fruition.

9) Innocently Annoying, Hastur puts another step into his plan by sending demons down as Crowley. Azirphale sees these demons as hallucination and tries tk avoid these guilt tripping demons. By the end, he goes back up to Heaven we're he receives word that Hell has declared war.

10) Miss Murder, Crowley, shattered and broken down numbly rallies his forces. He doesn't even know what ks happening, but Hastur is thrilled, his armies are ready and the war is upon them. Both sides meet at a certain point at Hell and at the beat drop of the song, Crowley charges his armies.

11) Decode, Aziraphale watches with wide, unbelving eyes as Crowley sends Hell to fight. He wades his way through, trying to get to the demon and demand answers.

12) Fighting Myself, Crowley sings this song, once Azirphale amd him lock eyes. He let's the angel see him discoportate angels without a care, telling Aziraphale to stay back because he can't stop.

13) Apology song, Azirpahle gets too close and Crowley begins to fight him, not wanting tk hurt the other, he tries tk apologize, this is when he starts tk sing. He tosses his flaming sword aside and avoids Crowleys own sword. He pushes and pushes until he can reach Crowley, taking off tje crown and his glasses, he kisses him. Crowleu collaspes in his arms.

14)There should be another song here to show them stopping the war, but j have no idea.

15) All the Right Moves, Crowley sings this song, better and back tk normal, telling Aziraphle his plan for their future together at the cabin in the Southdowns, happy ending

If anyone would like tk add to this, or replace songs, please, add on, I'd love tk hear from others!

[king-aridam]

⚠️TW: RA mentions, SA mentions, a shit ton of religious and violent imagery⚠️

MY HEARTBEAT, A WAR DRUM

“If I find your soul do you want it? // I see it everywhere, past the death visage. // If I find your soul do you want it? Do you even know? // Do you even know what part of you you are?” –”From in the Pines” by Alice Notley

Drum beats thrumming in my head.

I watch, a sinner.

My legs are not long enough in this body.

Guilt serpentined ‘round my neck like the Serpent of Eden,

Tasting burning crimson and violent jade upon my tongue.

I know what I’m to witness.

I know I cannot stop it.

Suffocation via the Devil.

Flashes of memory, of feeling

Things I locked away so long ago.

I struggle to cry tears relating to my experiences, and when I do,

I wonder which me they belong to.

These forbidden vaults have cracked open, I can’t fix this nightmare.

I feel possessed,

Beats thrumming harder,

In time with my heartbeat.

My childhood bedroom was the first grave I woke up in,

and at 3:33 in the morning on the pulpit floor I became God.

To be a Daughter made of this cursed flesh is a humiliation,

shame flocks to me like flies to rotting meat.

Saccharine honeycomb gripped in my teeth,

Swallowing pomegranate seeds,

Entrapping my soul upon that wretched floor, upon that wretched cross.

More flashes of memory.

Golden crucifix, white teeth bared in a grin.

I asked God to give me strength, and He turned his gaze away from me.

Instead I stared down the burning red eyes

and felt myself get fucked into the floor,

all blood, no tears, never a word from my honey stained lips.

I care not for God, because he cares not for me,

and so I became Him.

Beats thrumming in my head like war drums.

I watch him and he watches me.

I think he knows I’m not her.

I turn off the emotions. Lock them away.

I feel nothing when I look at them.

Past tense.

Now I can’t stop feeling and it’s eating away at my sanity.

Self-cannibalism.

Blood soaks through my claws, guts drip from my jaws,

I stare into the face of the Devil and I’m trying to turn it off.

I can’t turn it off.

Everybody wants a taste,

One by one,

Of the god-bled glow,

The righteous purity you preach,

God, I’m going to be sick.

Was it good for you?

Was my performance adequate?

The Devil taking a blade to the Lamb’s vile throat.

This grief and suffering has torn me open,

this rage, a hemophilia.

I bleed and bleed and bleed.

It’s not poetic anymore. It’s just violence.

It’s just red. It’s just pain.

He attached these heavy wings on my shoulders,

halo tight ‘round my neck like a dog collar.

I’m not meant to disobey.

I still hear the war drums.

More flashes of memories.

I am sick from fear.

My hands shake like I’m seizing, I can’t feel my face.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

MAKE IT STOP!

Crucifixion.

I want to kill them.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

I choke on my own blood.

Violence in its rawest form.

My heartbeat is a war drum.

I hang from my crucifix and stare into HIS dark eyes,

the eyes of a snake.

I see your teeth,

white and sharp, flashing a grin at me.

You’re trying to be friendly.

I know who you really are.

You killed us on Sundays.

Stabbed your fingers into the wounds,

filled us with your filth.

I can only imagine the ways I would kill you back.

I am a being of Wrath.

I used to want to bury it, but now I want revenge.

I refuse to lie beneath you again.

I chose a self-made sort of righteousness.

I became what You wanted to be,

A self-proclaimed holiness like a hot brand on my skin,

I tore myself apart like a dire wolf wrapped in sheep’s clothing.

A dying God in the skin of a child.

Monsters create monsters,

and yet they are surprised when I bare my teeth and snarl.

I may be a disobedient wretch, but at least I’m not You.

Though I have found that the rage does not want to go back to its cage.

Now that it’s broken free,

The war drums beat even stronger still.

This anger is better than tears.

Better than agony.

Better than the torturous affliction of divinity.

Better than the torments that hell will surely give me.

Better than the shame of my existence

You think I asked to be this way?

A mainframe of apathy,

a creature of cold, dead eyes

and an iron-clad heart,

A wretched thing of torment and guilt?

This prison of life is the only gift you gave me.

So now I will scream with the voice of a man

until every shattered piece of me knows the truth.

I will use this life I have and live it

so that you regret that you did not kill me.

You made me a creature to be feared.

So fear me.

[gunsli-01]

Alright who's getting Chimera now that we know it isn't Mu- Well I could be putting my foot in my mouth again or catching a tiger by the tail. However, after looking into it more. It's more than likely Amane. Let's start with the weakest evidence first the squiggles and lines that appear in Magic are remniscent of the ones we see in Chimera Miku's hair.

A Chimera is also a a mix of multiple animals. We see Amane transform into what could be considered a human hybrid of a chimera at the end of Magic. After taking on the brunt of punishment Amane has a magical girl esque transformation adding three different things to her visage lightning magical girl wand a badge from the cult replacing her ribbon and then wings on her back. A transformation met with applause and praise from the people who'd just punished her cause this change met their expectations.

Let's touch on those expectations. Throughout, Magic we see Amane being molded by the expectations of others repeatedly. Something her Positive Parade cover touches on. The positive parade cover can be interpreted as her attempt to cope with the circumstances presented in Magic. Showcasing her intent to focus on the positive by stuffing her heart and mind full of dreams that her situation will get better as long as she tries hard to be a better girl. As long as she can become that better girl her circumstances will improve.

Her not being able to stop and it not being enough perfectly emphasizing her environmental circumstances. That feeling of reaching the goal just for it to be moved. Something that's shown over and over again in Magic but said to be love. They just want her to be better but regardless of how better she becomes it's never going to be good enough. Amane is shown to understand that helping the injured person is against the rules but does it in secret anyhow even making a motion to keep it a secret to the cat before being caught.

So, it begs to reason that she may not personally believe everything being done here is right. Yet knows that doing something considered wrong to the group will lead to forms of punishment she'd rather avoid. The cover could also be seen as something she was singing directly to herself with lines like "If someone tells you you're wrong even when you're not at all. I won't support anything that denies you." "Don't laugh and say this isn't like me it's my answer to meeting you. Rely on me, rely on me, please."

These lines also showcase her headstrong nature far before we even get to see her response to punishment later on. Amane has dealt with punishment before this is clearly showcased in her trial one song. It's understandable that she would be unwilling to fold to it again and stick to what she's chosen to believe in now over anything anyone else says. Why she would suddenly believe in the teachings she's shown to be skeptical in within her first trial song is what we believe should be questioned here.

Magic shows her skepticism pretty clearly and how punishment did play a part in her ending up in Milgram. All this has led to her becoming someone who won't back down or accept her choices being denied easily. All that and the heavy focus on changing for approval within Chimera needing to watch one's step or be drowned in poison. The thin line of tettering between acceptance and being rebuked. It just fits Amane a lot to me from what's been seen so far.

Jackalope even compares voting her guilty to catching a tiger by the tail while Chimera has lines like your face is like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Both things allude to situations where the chances of anything good coming out of it are near impossible but the person is already stuck within it. So there's really no choice when it comes to proceeding. People tend to not realize someone's a wolf in sheep's clothing until the danger is unavoidable and if you have a tiger by the tail you're already in a situation that you can't leave. So chances are someone will get hurt either way unless they're the wolf or the tiger in those situations.

So, even if she doesn't get Chimera dealing with Amane is turning into a real putting your head in a lions mouth situation.

[valorums]

          @debelltio     said;        if you can't beat them, make them bleed like pigs.

╰►      SOURCE:        the mountain goats lyrics

DISAPPROVAL marred the goddess-esque visage of SECRETARY VALORUM, stealing from such beauty its most ethereal qualities by the mere design of providing a glimpse beyond her carefully crafted façade. The predatory smile formerly donned by this deadly wolf in sheep’s clothing was thereby compressed into a thin line, whilst her piercing cerulean gaze narrowed into slits. Perfectly manicured fingernails cloaked in crimson red polish tapped rhythmically upon her ornate wooden desk, as though drumming out the dainty melody of an operatic aria long since forgotten.

     ❛ Fighting violence with violence is not wise, Director Krennic. ❜  Secretary Valorum’s response was quiet, uttered amidst a slight shake of her head. ❛ Look to the annuls of history; every governing body whom engaged in such an endeavor eventually fell to their own people. I do not wish for our empire to be privy to that fate. ❜

Secretary Valorum paused to take a careful sip of TEA, then spoke once more. ❛ Instead, the wisest course of action if we were ever beaten would be to lie in wait, and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike back once our opponents have been pulled into a false sense of security. It is the oldest trick in the book. ❜

[journal-intime-de-poeme]

Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

I have sharpened my teeth

And reddened my eyes

Turned my appearance

To fearsome disguise

And still trough it all

Despite all my tries

Some see I eat leaves

And have rectangular eyes

I have pointed my ears

And shagged my fur

Terrifying, I howl out;

Demanding to be heard

Sometimes I still bleat,

Shake through my words.

Combatting this,

I am confident and sure

Making my self loud,

My cloven hooves turned to claws.

No enemy of mine

Escaped my terrible jaws.

Now I see faces

Struck with awe.

Respecting the beast,

The wolf they saw.

I was once a but a sheep,

Now morphed and twisted.

To protect myself,

I wear this monstrous visage.

[roleplayingspinosaurus]

Sometimes I think of Benjamin as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His angelic visage hiding something truly dangerous, but no. He’s a wolf, certainly, but one that would never lower himself to the level of sheep. A wolf that’s proud of being a wolf, one that revels in being a predator and shedding blood. He never pretends to be anything less. And if people fall for that, well, then that’s on them, isn’t it?

[fastlikealambo]

Does The Wolf Apologize? || Qimir x Black!Fem Reader Full Drabble

Summary: You’ve come back from a mission and The Sith is pleased. The lines between acolyte and master have been blurring between you two ever since he revealed his face but for tonight he will show you just how pleased he is.

Trigger Warnings: PinV, Consenting Force Choking, Improper use of a lightsaber.

"A lightsaber doesn't work like that- that don't matter, this is a whorehouse, sin defies canon and logic round here

18+ minors dni.

Please comment and reblog if you can, thank you for reading!

The head of the jedi was heavier in your hands than the saber on your belt.

You were bone tired, smelled of mud, had blood under your fingernails and in your braids but that didn't stop you from depositing the head on the sith’s table. 

 “Well done, you have pleased me.” He said, voice deep and automated beneath the helmet but you fell to one knee nonetheless, holding the lightsaber out in front for him to take. 

  “I have given you each and every saber you have asked for without question nor hesitation. I need my own, I’m ready.” You said quietly but firmly, standing up on shaky legs and began to remove your dirty coat and bag.  

  “You’re hurt.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

A click and a small woosh of air signaled that the helmet was off and even now, you hesitated to turn around despite knowing the visage behind your back.

 Before you could remove the rest of your bloody clothing, you felt a tug in the Force, sliding you across the room to outstretched hands.

   “Forgive me, I’m tired, I don’t know what I’m saying.” You said softly as he gripped each side of your shirt and ripped it, exposing your bloody and burned back. 

  “What have I said about apologizing?” He asked,bending you over the counter to inspect your injuries. The pain was gone so quickly you moaned in relief, earning a chuckle from your mentor as he kept you bent over. 

 “Mice apologize, sheep apologize, we do not.” You recited. 

He pulled your pants to your ankles, healing the cuts and bruises there before looking up at you.

“How did it feel when you took the jedi’s head?” He asked, head cocked to the side, thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on your thigh while he checked to see if he had missed any wounds.

“ I felt safe, like no one could hurt me ever again, powerful even.” 

He stood to his full height, calloused fingers tilted your chin to look into his eyes.

“And do you want power?”

  “ What I want is to be free. I’m your equal, my training as your pupil is over, you and I both know that but my life, living freely by your side, has just begun.”

“ That’s not an answer.”

You sighed, tired and tense, you needed to unwind, quickly.  

“Did I please you?” You asked him, closing the gap between the two of you, eyes on his lips, hungry for a release.

 “Yes.” He growled.

“Then reward me.” 

With a flick of his hand, the sith sent you flying through the air, landing on top of the table, legs open. He took his time striding over to you, cape thrown to the side.

  “You still have so much to learn.” He said,slowly climbing on top of the table, your hips lifting without your control but with your consent into position.  

 “My next lesson is to make you whimper, do you understand me?” He asked, his hand slowly closing into a fist and air escaped your lungs. 

“I understand.”

On their own, your underwear slid from your legs.

“Then let us begin as equals. On the count of three, take a deep breath in.”

You closed your eyes and did as he requested. It was only a few seconds later that you heard a familiar noise and the vibrating hilt of his lightsaber against your clit. 

“Don’t move, you know the rules.”

You stayed frozen, sensations mounting within you but you dared not move, shaking internally until he removed it, penis entering you with ease. He began to pump, nice and slow to start, his force hold on your throat squeezing enough to please, not harm.

 “Tell me what you want.” Qimir inquired quietly, lips nipping at your neck, the pressure on your throat and within you building and building till the sith relaxed his hand and you could fully breathe once more. 

There was no time for you to catch your breath as he carefully left you, replacing his penis with his mouth, sucking and pleasuring your clit. Like a starving man, he ate you out till you saw stars.

Between laments of passion, you manage to answer his question.

  “Power.”

He saved his softness for your lips, kissing them deeply with a real smile on his face and for one moment you were you just two people, fucking on a reinforced table.

 “Then it is given.” 

As equals, you met him thrust for thrust, sweat for sweat, and when you could take it no longer, you readied yourself to cum but his hand rose again, the force grasping your orgasm like a fist.

“I need to, I need-”

“Say please, my acolyte.”

“Please.” You begged, writhing in wonderful agony.

His hand twisted and you came all at once, back arching with relief.

To return the favor, you force pushed off the table and mounted him, pinning his hands over his head, leaving a trail of biting kisses all the way down his chest. You rocked into position deep inside him, wet and hot, his mouth sucking on your brown nipples as the dance continued.

“From now on, we live together, we kill together. Is that understood?” You asked, tightening your grip on the back of his head, increasing in speed, your turn to make a sith mewl.

 “Understood.”

Breathing hard, Qimir was not quite finished with you yet and before you could react, he had you on all fours, the force spreading your ass cheeks wider and wider for him and he held you fast, driving his cock rhythmically in your ass until completion.

And when he finished right there on the floor, he gently wiped you clean with his cape first before wrapping you in it and pulling you to his chest.

“You’re right, you are ready.” Qimir said,stroking your shoulder.

“If I’m no longer your acolyte, what am I?” You asked and met his gaze.

“What you’ve always been, powerful.”

That’s it! Hope you enjoyed it!