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itsagrimm · 8 months

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He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 11 - The Dive

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN: Mentions of possible death and injury, fear of water, nearly drowning, mentions of possibly getting hurt, inappropriate use of an axe, depression and bad mental health, on character is passively suicidal, cannibalism, fear of being alone, fear of separation from a loved one, lack of self-confidence, kissing, making out, partial nudity

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by the equally afflicted @queenquazar. Unhinged writing and editing sessions in the dead of night wouldn't be the same without you.

6.0k words

Masterlist

Hope you enjoyed your summer as I have but now as it's getting colder, darker and most importantly weather outside, I am fairly sure updates will roll quicker now.

also I need to do more trips with my camera, I am running out of decent looking header photos.

I made a playlist for this series. Enjoy.

The fresh morning breeze caressed over your slowly warming up skin. Branches of trees danced a lazy rhythm and the late birds of summer sang their song. Ghost stood next to you, wrapped in his coat made of leaves and moss and sturdy solitude, as you both looked up to the window of your bedroom. König was in there, still asleep and out of your reach.

“Let’s try to wake up König one more time.”

Hope reared its head as you heard Ghost’s words.

But not too high.

“How?” You wondered out loud. “I am sorry that you feel stuck here with me, but König did not wake up last time you tried. Why should he now?”

“Maybe we need to try harder,” Ghost replied and grabbed Königs axe.

Your eyes widened.

“Hold on!” You tried to stop what was unfolding before you, only to witness Ghost grow in size, taller than the trees, taller than the house, and far away from your little human words.

“Enough, little brother,” Ghost groaned from high above you and you had to shield your ears from the loud thundering voice “It is time to wake up. I am tired of guarding your Bride in your stead.”

Birds took off, the earth shook and trees froze as in fear of the giant that was said to be their guardian.

Ghost straightened up and turned to the house.

“Hey!”

Like an animal on the hunt that got caught, Ghost froze and turned back, staring down at you with an oddly blank expression.

“What are you up to, Ghost?” You called, trying to ignore the little voice in your mind telling you that shutting up and quivering in fear before the giant was a smarter strategy to survive.

“Why the axe?” You squeaked as you tried not to squeak.

Ghost blinked, confused by this little being that was his future sister in law. Such a flimsy thing of flesh and bone, shouting at him from her place in the dirt. Ghost glanced at the axe, shaking his head.

“Right. I am sorry. I am not used to explaining myself but you have every right to ask,” Ghost admitted, and fell back into a shape more approachable to you, like a shadow growing smaller by the change of light.

“You can do it.” Ghost said. “Hit König with the axe to wake him up.”

You blinked, it was your turn to stare confused.

“He is just the Vodyanoy napping in water. Swinging an axe against him is like hitting the surface of a lake, stirring up a few waves but nothing else. He will be fine. And hopefully he will wake up from it.” Ghost explained and passed you the heavy axe before growing in size again.

You looked down onto the massive wood axe in your hands, the wooden handle old and used.

“Are you sure that will work, Ghost?” Uncertainty creeping up in your mind and voice, worry and frustration manifesting about your fiance’s wellbeing and actions.

“Have you ever heard of running water getting cut?” Ghost answered. “I am not saying König will like it, but it won’t harm him. Trust me.”

You swallowed, feeling uneasy. Hitting a human with an axe in their sleep was murder. Plain and simple. But, König was as much a human as you were a fish. His skin shifted and shaped as he pleased. He ruled the waters and even summoned them in his dreams after not sleeping for who knows how long, destroying your room. And his eyes…

“I understand this might be a lot to ask,” Ghost paused. “You will have to trust me on this one, Vodyanitza.”

His words danced through your mind like willow branches in the wind. If Ghost would have wanted to and this was ill-intentioned, he could have harmed König without bothering to talk and convince you of this plan. Maybe there was a point in trusting Ghost even if the thought of König getting hurt made you grow colder inside than the cooler morning breeze ever could.

You looked up to the giant and nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

“Hold on tight,” He stated and grabbed you to place onto the window sill to your bedroom. Like a leaf he tumbled into the room after you, turning himself small again and landing in the splashing water on your bedroom floor.

You cried out, first in surprise than dreadful fear from all the water suddenly around you as the heavy axe slipped out of your fingers and landed in the water, sinking down with a shallow ‘clunk’ against the wooden planks.

“Ghost. I-” you eyed the water splashing around the room like a lively river. Or a dark river, a deep river, deep enough to drown. “I am afraid of water. I can’t get down from here. I can’t do it.”

Ghost made a sound that could have been a grumbled curse whispered by a tree before being hit by lightning.

“A Vodyaniza who fears the water,” He stated. “Sounds right like the mess my brother would cause. Alright, I’ll do it then.”

“Wait,” You looked at König as you tried to calm your nerves as you took deep calming breaths. He was still deep asleep. A mess of tangled unhuman limbs and scales and hair and skin in the waters of your flooded room. Panic and fear surged from all the water, but you forced those emotions in you aside as you tried to commit his sight to your memory, just in case something was to go wrong.

“Okay,” You finally agreed and nodded to Ghost.

This was it.

Ghost picked up the axe from the water and raised it high before swinging it down onto König.

The impact of the axe connecting with Königs head sounded like thunder rolling over you.

Loud and painful and final.

Suddenly, like a storm, the water rose and reached high before you, waves building and crashing at your feet as you held onto the window frame for dear life while trying to see through the room filled with fine droplets of water and foamy waves.

A groan rang through your ear.

Königs voice - strained and painfully familiar.

Another groan as you heard a second hit from the axe through the wild waters before you … like…

…like a yawn before having to leave bed, yet still feeling tired.

“König?” You hoped aloud, your voice being drowned out by the rushing water and Ghost’s deep voice.

“Wakey-wakey, brother! Stop making your Bride wait for you!”

“Urgh.”

A massive wave crashed right next to the wall with your window, breaking the glass and causing the house to shake from the impact.

“Get up, little brother.” You could not see through all the splashing water before you, only hearing the sound of Ghost’s deep voice. “Stop being dramatic and flooding your girl’s room. It’s rude.”

A third axe hit thundered through the little space before you. More water rose and a wave finally hit you. You wailed as you tried to fight against the dreadful flood, with desperate fingers you reached for safety. Catching the clammy window frame, the sill, and finally just the thin fabric of the curtains until the pull of the retreating water consumed you and took you in to the deep waters.

The silence of being underwater was more unbearable for your mind than the loud crashing of waves and shattering sounds of the hitting axe above.

For a moment fear froze your body and you could not help but stare as you floated impossibly downwards at the sight of König, coiled up like a serpent snake and shifting scales reflecting the light. His eyes were closed except for a sliver of that beautiful blue peeking into the world as if the king of everything under the water was about to wake up. Bubbles of air fought their way out of your lungs and you felt panic as you watched the axe hitting König from above.

Would he be fine?

No blood came out of the wound that broke as the axe connected with Königs sleeping shape. You watched König being unharmed and lazily stretching his long limbs and body as you floated downwards, taken by a strong current in the impossibly deep waters of your bedroom.

Wait, would you be fine?

König did not notice any of it. Instead, his eyes only slightly fluttered, as if merely being tickled awake - lazy, unfocused blinking of blue eyes before sharpening up. Still sleepy, he looked around as if confused if he was still dreaming or awake. Finally, König locked eyes with you and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, toothy and life-savingly-relieving to see him coming back to his senses.

You did not smile back. The air bubbles in your mouth were too precious a cargo to smile for König, opting instead for an unhappy grimace and some waving motions that hopefully spelled out: ‘I don’t want to be here and need your help to get out’.

For a moment, a very long moment as you struggled, König blinked before the realisation kicked in. He was far away, so far away from you in the waters that he had dreamed up. Yet, unbelievably quick the serpent body moved and changed as König headed for you. With hands, not scaled claws anymore, König reached out as he fought his way through a whole ocean between you and him as a last air bubble left your mouth.

Your head was spinning and you started to lose sight as you felt hands on you that lifted you up and out of the water.

You coughed, ungraciously spitted out water as König tried wiping out hair and tangled clothes out of your face.

“Bride! Are you okay?”

You vomited water at his feet and chest while he held you like a cat that got rescued from the floods, close to his body and patting you like a little animal.

“She looks fine.” Ghost’s gravelly voice sounded through the air as you still tried to blink and see. “You better worry about this flood you caused.”

“Oh. Right.” You felt König shift and then the sound of water draining away as if someone had pulled a plug.

You coughed again for good measure, still feeling weak and miserably wet. The cold was starting to set in as the rush of fear and panic started to run out.

Shivering, you tried wiping away the water from your face and opened your eyes.

Your bedroom was a mess. But not in the way your mother would have disapproved of but in a way she would have questioned whether or not it was still habitable. The water was gone, but the signs of the flood were catastrophically clear with nothing being dry, in pieces or not where it ought to be. Your bed was a pile of torn fabrics and splintered wood. The chest with your clothing, tipped over and empty, looked like a sad hungry animal no one had bothered to feed. And your few personal possessions, kept toys from your childhood, gifts from friends, clothes lying around the floor. Ghost was standing before you on something that might have been pieces of your wedding dress, leaning on the axe with the same skull-covered expression as always, yet appearing somewhat amused under it.

And König - he was holding you up to his chest, his hands still patting you helplessly as if that could help you. He looked human. Mostly. The hair was as messy as the first day you saw him, covering most of his face except for blue eyes burning through with worry.

“I-” you rasped despite the storm of emotions waging through you. “I was so worried about you, König.”

Another cough.

“But I have never been as angry as this before. What did you do with my room? And my wedding dress. Also-”

You felt like there was still some water in places of your body where none was supposed to be, wheezing and shaking your head from the uncomfortable feeling.

“-put me down. You are so cold and I feel like I am freezing in your arms.”

Guiltily, König put you down, mumbling something that could have been an apology while Ghost choked on something that could have been a laugh.

You paid no attention to them, concentrating on your weak legs to hold you and carry you to the torn pieces of your wedding dress. Ghost stepped aside and watched you with open curiosity as you held your dress in disbelief of how quickly your work had turned into rags. Holding back tears, you let the fabric fall back down with a wet squelching sound and turned to the door. If you were lucky the hinges still worked and you could walk out on your own and warm you up again downstairs, away from the left battlefield that used to be your sanctuary.

You stumbled, reaching for the handle and opening the door only to face another cruel adversary.

The stairs.

There was no way you were able to make it down the steps without breaking your neck with how wobbly your legs felt and how ridiculously shaky your hands twitched.

You turned around, the pleading frustration in your eyes too visible for König not to step closer and peaking at the obstacle in your way.

He nodded while trying to control whatever emotions attempted to govern his face.

“Allow me, Bride.” He asked and lifted you up again before carrying you downstairs and into the kitchen, setting you down before the warm oven.

Ghost followed and started preparing tea and a hot stone before leaving the room as König returned with dry clothes for you, magically found somewhere in a part of the house that hadn’t been flooded. You looked at the pieces offered in his hands, only to see that it was a mix of mostly your fathers and brothers clothes from the storage. You did not care. They were dry and the village would judge you no matter what you wore. Might as well just do the best for yourself.

Unceremoniously, you stripped out of your dripping clothes. König held and steadied you where you needed it and grabbed the discarded pile of fabrics to put it up on the laundry line outside once you were done.

You stayed where you were, leaning close to the oven in the hopes of warming up quickly, and refusing to do anything before feeling less miserable.

Ghost was still a guest. And König was your fiance. A good hostess and bride would have started serving them the food that you had previously prepared.

A good hostess and bride would not have been dipped into a pool of dreamed up water in their own bedroom either. You thought bitterly before adding a relieving Fuck it.

Someone knocked at the door and you called them in.

Ghost reappear from the outside with a blanket of moss and leaves, wrapping it around you and placing you in the nearest chair to the oven before passing you a cup of the freshly brewed tea.

“Thank you,” You rattled through cold lips.

König returned with more wood for the oven and added a large log to feed the fire. You had shown him how to care for a fire, never expecting he would ever find a need for it. Both brothers hustled and moved around your little kitchen, hardly speaking and only every once in a while giving you worried glances as they made sure all work of a proper household would be done while you rested and warmed yourself. You closed your eyes, letting the feeling of being safe and cared for, seep in.

This day, even if it was slightly past midday, had punched all energy out of you while also confronting you with every possible emotion a human heart could feel. Waking up in the flood, alone and confused, next to your water serpent like fiance, meeting your future brother-in-law who thought you would die soon, nearly drowning once again while your fiance woke from the literally deepest nap possible in your now destroyed room. You sighed, not even bothering to bring order into your mind.

Instead, you gratefully thought how you finally weren’t alone even if it was scary at times to share your life with beings so different from you - König, Ghost, Farah, talking animals and murderous Rusalkis. Yes, this had been another moment where you could have been harmed. And mourning your room and things destroyed by the flood, was one of many things in the curled grey corners of your mind. There was still anger and confusion in you why it all had happened. But you weren’t alone anymore to face those things on your own. There were people around you now that noticed you and cared for your well-being. Clearly, not all of them to the same degree or out of the same motive. You understood that. But your lost room and wedding dress, your fears and secrets and longings felt more like a coherent song than a desperate cry for help when it wasn’t just your voice.

Someone touched you softly on the shoulder and you opened your eyes.

“Hey.” König stood before you with his blue watery eyes and wild hair.

Both brothers had paused their busy work and stood with their attention turned towards you.

“How are you feeling?” Ghost asked gravely from his far away spot at the door and reached for more tea for you with his long unhuman arms without moving.

You shivered, unsure if from the cold or from the odd reminder that neither of the men were human.

“Better,” You replied. “Thank you for giving me time to recover.”

Your eyes wandered to König, craving to hear his voice again and feel his warming eyes on you. He looked away, avoiding your gaze.

Your little heart dropped deeper than the waters in your room had been, fighting hard to soldier on.

You cleared your throat.

“Well,” you squeaked, your voice still feeling thin and fragily human as you addressed the giant men. “I am starving. This is not how a host normally does it in this house since all I did was sit and rest now. But how about we eat?”

The rabbit stew that you had made this morning smelled tempting and promising from its reheating spot in the oven and you heard your own stomach growl.

“Thank you for the invite, Vodyanitza,” Ghost declared, slightly bowing his head. “But we will have to do that another time.”

“Oh,” You huffed, slightly disappointed.

Ghost stilled, as if thinking before taking a deep breath.

“It has been lovely meeting you, my dear sister-in-law. It’s been a pleasure. Also- ” He paused. “I may have treated you rougher than necessary and I do apologise for that. If you ever need help, just send for me. I may not appear to be the most, let’s say, approachable. But I do hope that there is nothing but the best for you and I am looking forward to your wedding.”

“You are coming after all?” König finally spoke, surprise ringing in his voice as he turned to his brother.

Ghost nodded. “It’s not every day a brother of mine gets married. I need to make sure you don’t drown your own wedding guests.”

König forced a smile.

“Graves marries someone new every couple of years,” He interjected.

“Graves married and remarried so much, he hardly needs his elder brother to tell him how to plan a party. He knows what he is doing.”

Both brothers chuckled and you smiled at the sight, remembering your own brother.

“Before I go, dear sister, allow me to give you something.”

Ghost reached into his coat. From the depths of his pockets he produced a huge leaf, rolled up into a package and bound together with a simple string.

“I suppose you have none yet, but a future queen should wear one. It would look good on your wedding day.”

You took the package from his hands and pressed it slightly, trying to guess what was inside.

“Thank you, Ghost. Why-“

“Open it.”

Obediently you opened the little knot holding the leaf together with slow, cold fingers and unrolling what was inside.

You gasped.

In your hands was a Kokoshnik, large and covered with fine embroidery and colourful stones of green and blue. It felt firm in your hands. And it wanted to be worn. Like a crown, proud and bright for a special day. At least one thing you would have for your wedding day.

You thought back a sob at the thought of your torn wedding dress, your fingers still holding the precious crown like an anchor.

“I am sure König will gladly help you put it on. But don’t lose it. I made it for you and there is no other like it. It will protect you when you walk in the forest.”

“I…”, you huffed, “…don’t know what to say. This is very beautiful. Thank you.”

Ghost just waved with his hand like it was nothing.

“Don’t say anything and just wear it to keep you safe. Do me that favour.”

You nodded, out of words.

“Well, I’ll be gone then. The forest calls me.” Ghost turned to the door and you started to get up to send him off. “Don’t you dare get up, sister. What’s the point of the Kokoshnik if you fall sick from the cold and exhaustion. No, stay right where you are.”

You fell back onto your spot, the moss blanket encasing you like a cocoon of earthly smell and warmth.

“Save travels then, Ghost.” You spoke. “Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved and stepped outside, followed by König.

You sat there, hearing them talk and laugh and wishing each other well without making much out of it.

Then, finally, Ghost was away.

The rest of your day was spent alone with your own thoughts. König, aside from making sure you ate and rested, hardly spoke to you. His distance confused you. It gave a feeling of newfound loneliness when you stared at the unfamiliar ceiling with the wrong knots in the wood and the wrong bedding around you as you leaned against the oven. Ghost’s reassurances just a couple of hours ago now felt like a lie. You were no queen. And there was no way for you to live long enough to ever learn how to be one for König that was good enough. No standing on a box or life saving spells could change that. The finality of your fate was devastatingly simple. You would drown and König, your beloved König, would find himself a better queen. Why else did he withdraw himself like that?

The mauling insecurities inside of you stopped you from asking.

Instead you listened to König rummaging upstairs while you dozed under your moss blanket, practised drawing letters in the ashes of your oven or thought about how you could fix your wedding dress. It was pointless but you had little else to do and so you continued like you had always done.

König had brought the dress out together with the rest of your wet belongings, hanging it up to dry in the sun. The liberating concentration kept you from your dark thoughts: you had watched the dress through the window, mentally placing one piece of rag over the other in the hopes of possibly having a saving idea as the rags swayed gently in the breeze. It had worked until the light grew low and the trees around the house in the garden had started to spawn more unpleasant shadows than welcome distractions.

You got up from your cosy spot and started preparing dinner. Still feeling weak, your legs carried you with a slight tremor as your whole body was plagued by a deep tiredness. It came from all those times not resting. It felt like all those tears not shed. It was a tiredness that wasn’t fixed by sleeping longer one night because it was deeper than the soreness in your muscles and bones. It was the dark abyss of water calling for you. But you could lie to yourself. Opting to go to bed and calling it a day in the hopes that tomorrow would be better. Sometimes, giving up was actually a smart thing.

You huffed, once again forced to consider the reality of your situation.

Going to bed? Where? Your bedroom was destroyed. And the other rooms in your house had been packed up and sealed when your family died. Back then it was too much to bear seeing their things and looking at the places they used to rest. Even now, under no condition were you ready or willing to disturb those rooms. The easiest for you would probably be to sleep here in the kitchen.

But what about König? Would he need to sleep too? Flood the rest of the house and destroy every last bit of habitable space as he took you out in your sleep? Or would he leave you tonight and watch as the human-monsters and monsters-monsters finally had their feast with you. The thought nearly entertained you. Maybe that was better than drowning and at least some poor Tschort would enjoy a bit of your precious meat.

You chuckled at your own morbid thoughts.

But it was not night yet, and maybe there was a bit of queenly pride inside of you yet as you decided to brace yourself for an overdue conversation with König, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.

You opted to make some food. Since it might be your last chance to enjoy a meal before you became a meal, you took your time. There was not much to be done for dinner: heating the left-over stew, cutting some bread made of acorn flour, setting the table. After you finished, you steeled yourself for the hardest part.

“König?” You called upstairs. “Would you like to eat dinner with me?”

You held your breath and waited as the rumbling from upstairs stopped.

“It’s fine if you are busy, but I am hungry and would love your company,” You coaxed.

Heavy steps sounded through the wooden house, causing the old stairs to creak under the weight of the Vodyanoy.

König emerged into the kitchen, bowing down slightly under the marginally too low ceiling and looking at you sheepishly.

“Are you sure, Bride?” He asked. “I haven’t finished repairing your room.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, too stunned to speak before you swallowed down a good chunk of your raging insecurities.

“So that’s what you have been doing up there,” You finally said. “I did not know.”

König looked to the ground like he had been caught stealing goodies from the pantry. It was a look that made your knees weaker than even a day facing terrors could.

“I wanted to repair it. I wanted to apologise with more than words. It’s what good kings ought to do.” He explained looking immensely guilty.

Your breath hitched.

He cared?

You looked down, still thinking of your room and your ruined wedding dress. It did hurt you.

But there was hope because he cared. You nearly hated yourself how desperate you were from the affection of someone who you could never have.

“It’s fine,” You said, after a few moments of heavy silence as you fought the storm inside of you. “It’s fine for now. We will make it work and repair it together. It’s, ah, fine.”

He looked relieved as you looked up from your hands.

“I also want to apologise,” You continued. The words in your mouth felt relieving to spit out like bitter medicine. “I thought about this. I was really cross at you. Not entirely sure how much nicer I could have been considering the moment. But I don’t strive to talk to others like that, especially not my fiance. I just felt hurt and alone.”

He turned his head like the Heron when hunting little fish in the water.

“You have every right to be angry, dear,” König stated

“I...” You tried before stopping and starting anew. “That does not mean I am proud or okay with my words. Especially after Ghost explained to me that you probably overworked yourself on my behalf. I am not sure how to feel about that yet but it does not make me feel good. I don’t want you to suffer because of me. I feel so guilty. And like a burden.”

König stared at you.

“Dear,” He said softly. “I know you want to be good and kind. I know you are. But please give me your bad as well.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

He raised his arms like a man at a loss of word, stumbling around the room until he turned back to you.

“Guess how I feel failing you over and over again when your reaction to me is kindness and surrender? I feel bad. The worst! Don’t do this to me. Be a burden. Be angry. Be the biggest inconvenient person wherever you go. Please be angry and demand better of me! I want all of you. Not just the nice parts.”

Your head was spinning. Was he…? Did he really…?

“I am not good enough!” König continued his tirade with a voice rising louder and louder like a tea kettle that had reached its boiling point. “I am who puts you in danger over and over again. I hardly protect you from the dangers of the world. I am a danger of the world. I am making a poor husband for you. But the reality is, I am not good enough to step away because I am selfish. So, how dare you make yourself feel any less than you are.”

His eyes gleamed with a madness you had never seen before in him as he lowered his voice with the last of his words. It was dangerous. A sign of warning that told you to step back and run as far away as you could like a good girl should.

But you were just invited to leave that behind you.

“I don't want you to leave either!” You hit back, squaring up to the challenge. “I just don’t want to feel like I am a constant problem. I am just a human! A peasant! And a bad one at that since I will likely starve next winter without help! I know nothing of how to be a queen! I nearly drown all the time! How can you not understand that I don’t feel like I am allowed to be a problem when my reality is that no one cares if I live or die!”

“Because you are wrong! I care.” König's eyes gleamed as he hissed his answer.

“Why?” You spit back, the fire in you burning and ready to torch any bridge behind without thinking.

“Because I love you.”

Königs words hung in the air, irretrievable and powerful enough to break whatever you two had.

You looked at him. His face was frozen in fear and panic. Like he had admitted to a crime he’d sworn to keep a secret.

He loved you. The thought raced through your mind, unsure where to be put and what to do with it now.

“I am sorry,” König said. “I understand. I will make sure you are okay as promised anyway and-”

“Please…” you managed to your own surprise.

“Please?” König asked with his eyes shining down at you.

You took a deep breath and all the courage in you that was left, “Please lean down so I can kiss you.”

König looked at you, too stunned maybe or unsure how to touch you without breaking this human body of yours, before finally kneeling down in one, not so smooth, motion. You stumbled forward, colliding into his chest and tangling in his arms before lifting your head and kissing him.

It was all teeth and desperation. König met your lips with a hunger matching yours, and an anger challenging your long hidden fury. He moaned and you wanted every bit of air you could get from him as you roamed his back and shoulders and arms and chest and neck, and at a certain point you got lost in him. You bit his lips and tasted blood. He snarled and pushed you back, catching your head before you could fall and hurt yourself. You stumbled and fell back anyway, taking him with you. The crash rumbled loudly as König caught himself on his arms, hovering above you before continuing where you had left off. His mouth was addicting, and willingly you answered his salty lips and tongue. A bit of revealed skin at his neck here, a tug at your shirt there. You scooted up feeling hot and needing that damn old shirt off your body because you were burning up with it. Instead of getting it off quickly you got yourself tangled in the large sleeves, nearly ready to just tear it off your body as you felt Königs hands pulling at the fabric and freeing you. The kiss of the cooling air on your skin made you still. For a moment you felt shy, making you cross your arms in instinct before your chest.

König looked at you from a position that was something between kneeling, sitting and lying before you, also half out of his clothes with his Rubacha hanging around his neck and head.

“Not sure why I feel like this is new, now.” You admitted. “You have seen me naked before.”

“That was a different nakedness,” König offered and finished getting the shirt off. “This is new.”

You nodded, understanding entirely what he meant, and continued to feel vulnerable. What were you supposed to do? You had no idea what you wanted now except being close to König.

“We don’t have to continue, my love.” Your fiance said.

You nodded again, reassured yet still utterly lost on what to do.

König scooted closer and slowly raised his hands, “Can I touch you? I just want to hold you.”

Instead of bothering with words or another creative and variety serving nod, you leaned into him. Königs warm hands caught you, pressed you closer to him and embraced you.

You hummed.

“Is this good?”

“Yeah, I am sorry-”

“No,” König shut down instantly. “No more ‘sorry’ for you tonight. Or ever. I really meant that.”

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion.

“But what if I do something bad?” You countered as you enjoyed feeling close to König. “Shouldn’t I say sorry at some point?”

“To me? Always.” König grinned teasingly before growing serious. “The rest of the world, however, has a lot of apologising to do before you ever get back into a situation to be sorry for something, dear.”

“You just want me to be as bad as you are,” You teased back half-heartedly.

“Naturally.”

You stayed silent, not sure what to say or do except enjoying being safe and loved in Königs arms as you mindlessly explored his back and chest with your fingers, drawing little circles and charms into his wonderful skin.

“We should talk about the sleeping situation tonight.” You finally spoke, breaking the silent spell over you.

“Yeah.” König agreed. “I have an idea.”

Cultural Context Notes:

The theme of the unkillable giants as beings connected to nature can be found in the Edda, but it’s not the only place this theme is explored. It’s just the most clear one I thought of, and can be put into words as a place to maybe start researching if your are interested in that. The idea of hitting König as something akin to a giant to wake him up, comes from the tale of Thor and Skrímnir.

Generally, the idea of paralleling gods/godlike beings, humans and giants, escalated into a bit of a philosophical excursion at the kitchen table when I mentioned how the story is unfolding, leading to the question what exactly the difference between godlings, giants and humans is and if there even is one. In plenty of pre-Christian European tales, there aren’t boundaries between godlike beings and humans. If a human stays with a godlike being, they kind of tag along and don’t die like they would have had when staying with their fellow humans. Sometimes there is an explanation for it (godly ancestry, nectar or Idun’s apples, magical blessings), sometimes there isn’t (Thialfi and Röskva as Thor’s entourage, general trope of humans in service of or in marriage with a non-human being).

Warming stones or using ceramics is an old practice when hot water bottles weren’t available.

There are several legends and myths associating the water or waters generally with snakes. Naturally, there is the saga of the Midgard snake, encompassing the world in Norse mythology. The theme of a great water snake or mermaid-like half-fish, half-human body encompassing the world also comes up in Greek mythology in the figure of Oceanos as the great river god and father of river gods. Since we don’t have plenty of sources about old Slavic beliefs, I am taking the liberty and filling some gaps here from geographically closer regions where we do have more sources on mythology.

Acorn is edible and can be made into a fine flour from which it is possible to bake bread. However, do not just make flour from acorns. It’s a huge process to disinfect and debitter acorns before grinding them into flour. There is a reason why nowadays most cultures opt for utilising cultivated crops like grains and legumes instead of using low yield giving nuts and seeds. (Also, we really need those acorns as food for wild animals and for reforestation!) Cultivation of plants is a huge game changer for human life quality and communal living. It’s really cool. But it does require more cooperative systems of labour since harvesting and processing plants like grain requires sharing of work, space to do it, and natural weather & ground conditions to grow. Plus the grain in itself needs to be cultivated first. And these amazing food sources can be exploited by having control over places in which one can grow certain high yielding crops which can trigger war and oppression. Most noticeably in the Central and Eastern European region, which is obviously what I write about a lot, this is the case with Ukraine. This now independent country has good climate and ground conditions, yielding great harvests of wheat grain and sunflower, leading to the region being dubbed the Granary of Europe. Ukraine was fought over not just today but also occupied in historical moments like WW2 by the Nazis or under the Russian Empire precisely to have access to these high yielding conditions. So, food and where food comes from, is an important angle to understand plenty of conflicts, imperial oppression and cultures. I invite you to read more about the history of grain, why Ukraine has a flag literally depicting a grain filed under the blue sky or maybe learning how to make bread yourself. To return to my point: Bride lives in an area which has seasons. However, the climate is cooler with lots of swamps and waters around. The forest takes most of the shore space in her immediate vicinity. She has a garden in which she (tries to) grow buckwheat, a very climate-resistant pseudo grain. And technically she owns fields, but has no way to work them on her own due to the lack of manpower, possible lack of seeds, as well as timing issues for the sowing. But common grains like wheat require a warm and steady dry climate which is not the case here. Other grains like rye are historically common in Central and Eastern Europe, however one needs to plant them first and after the harvest it still requires labour to dry and deshell the rye first, a luxury that Bride does not have because she has been on her own for most of the year. So, to finish this long excursion on grains and flours - she uses acorn flour for bread because she was isolated and on her own. Also, agriculture is really cool and maybe you will think about the amount of labour, logistics, politics and historical development when biting into something flour based.

Vodyanitza is just the female version of Vodynoy

Rubacha is the name of the traditional linen shirt worn by historically both men and women but nowadays mostly associated with male clothing traditions. This shirt is often loosely fitted and bound at the hip with a belt. Having embroidery, especially red embroidery on a Rubacha is very common as red natural dye was widely available in the region. The embroidery and introduction of other colours is dependent on the exact time and place a Rubacha comes from. Even nowadays the Rubacha is part of plenty of Eastern European traditional dresses.

Quick reminder: a Tschort is a type of evil spirit.

Would you like to be tagged as well? send me a message.

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes @sizzlingsaladpeach @peachymonsters @blackrockshooter780 @cl3rks @king-thunderstorm @hosshihusshi @id0nthaveidea @perilous-pasta @lothiriel9 @berryjuicyy @asmohunny @amatis-gray @blubumblebee @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @moonlitmoonpie @ktmjoslin @globalmilk03 @interactive-brain @dark-rosy-amaranthine @quietlyignoringyou @hey-assbutt35

#grimmwriting #he who comes from under the water #hwcfutw #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #call of duty 3 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #leshy #monster!au #monster!König #vodyanoy #vodyanoy!König

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sadist1224 · 3 months

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я искренне буду топить за то, что окто!кениг выглядит так\ I will sincerely drown for the fact that octo!könig looks like this

#call of duty #könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig fanart #könig mw2 #monster!AU #octo!könig

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deadboyfriendd · 9 months

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Stone Gothic

Summary: Few knew your village by name, but many had heard of the terrible things that happened there. A wolf terrorizes the village you call home, and it is now taking larger offerings. The village head priest insists that you are plagued by an unholy being. Could that being just happen to be your betrothed?

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader, this is monsterfucking!!!, an animal dies in this (they kill a rabbit on a hunting excursion), period accurate homophobia, period accurate depictions of a witchcraft accusation and unjust trial, period accurate descriptions of an exorcism and excerpts from prayers of The Rites, heavy period-appropriate catholic influence, depictions of the reader being picked up but no mentions of a body type (it’s monsterfucking people), not beta read, not spell checked, I dumped all of my really niche knowledge of witchcraft and heresy in old europe and four years of catholic school knowledge into this, blood and monsterfucking is at the end

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 6.6K

Author's Note: (I actually don’t know if the witchraft trial is technically period appropriate because the first documented witchraft trial did not happen until the 1600s and this technically takes place in the 11th century, but I guess you’re here for the monsterfucking and not my knowledge dump.) Thanks for looming over my docs like God, Drac. @dr-aculaaa

Few knew your village by name, but many had heard of the terrible things that had happened there. The crestfallen snow fell heavy in sheets at this time of year, coating the thatched roofs overhead in pillowy caps and settling between the paving stones frozen into the earth below. You still relish in the satisfying crunch beneath the worn leather of your boots, ignoring the remorse of your footsteps leaving impressions on the perfect sheet of snow behind you. The air around you is still, frozen, suspended in time. Suspended in ice.

The death toll of the brass bell that lived in the turret in the center of town rings shrill, shattering the stillness like ice. The first time a muffled ringing that broke the ice from the stationary bell, the second a funeral march, and the third a reminder of what it meant:

The wolf has killed again, taken an early sacrifice.

The last time the wolf had killed in broad daylight, was nearly twenty years ago:

The snowfall was much like the one this year, the shroud of fog lingering wet and heavy in the orange for weeks longer than it should have. Though your mother thought of the warmer fall like a gift, your father sneered at its lingering presence with a claim to a colder, harsher winter.

Your feet were heavier, and you held less remorse as you kicked up leaves and ripped moss from its thatches where their roots lay buried in the sodden earth, Steve on your heels in his own clumsy, boyish choreography.

He was only a few years your senior, but larger in height by a vast margin. The initial weight had melted off of him in the spring and left something ganglier in its wake.

“Come on!” He chanted at you in triumph, his footing slower and heavier than your own, now, “Come on you’ve got it!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your mouth in a wisp that came from his praise, when when you dove to the sponginess of the ground, white hare struggling between your fingers– just barely caught. You rose to your knees, holding it against your chest, crumbles of soil and moss rolling off of your dresses back down to the earth.

“Now what?” You looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, breathless. You knew what he would say. You knew what had to be done.

“Now kill it.” Steve said to you, firmly. It was reminiscent of the tone your father spoke in. Authoritative and firm, “Come on. I’ll dry it for you, make you a new hide.” He reached up and put a hand firm on your shoulder. It was not the first time he had touched you like this, though, it was the first time you had remembered his warmth.

You tried, you tried so hard to drive the tip of Steve’s knife into the rabbit, but something locked in your muscles. You couldn’t bring yourself to muster enough force to end its life, “You do it.” you said to him, voice a whisper– like you were committing a crime. You pushed the rabbit towards Steve, giving him the burden of murder to bear.

He grabbed your wrist, holding it tight in his newer, firmer embrace, “No, you wanted to hunt with me and now you have to kill it.”

“I-I can’t.” Your eyes lined with tears, hurt. He couldn’t tell if it was the hurt from having to kill the thing in your hands or the harshness in which he spoke to you that caused it, though, if the burden of killing the rabbit was less heavy on his heart than the burden of making your cry was, then it was one he would bear in silence.

“You’re too soft, entirely too soft.” He whispered to you, plunging his knife in a relentless, swell motion. The rabbit died silently. It was fast, and you hoped it was painless. He tucked it into his belt to be skinned for dinner.

It was one thing to eat the rabbit, but another entirely to look into its living eyes.

When the bell tolled, you froze, immediately searching for the wolf in your proximity. Steve was fast to grab your hand, though he insists he was comforting you, you remembered the tremble of his hands entwined with yours. You remembered the tear that ran down your face as you ran for the closest cover, the rabbit blood that covered your entwined fingers.

To you, that bell was for you. You were no better than the wolf.

Steve was more stoic now, the gangliness of pubescence long gone from his body. He was more filled out now, smooth ridges of lean muscle built up under warm skin. He stood like a stone column, even when you sought him out running.

“Steve!” You clattered into him at full force, though it was still not enough to move him. He was a stone, both in his stance and in his face.

“Where were you?” He reprimanded you like a child, smoothing your hair back from your face and holding your cheeks, squishing them together into a pout between his firm hands. His touch, thought slightly degrading, thawed your icy cheeks between warm fingers.

You pulled your face from his hands, looking up into his stoic gaze, “Out fetching water” You gestured towards the bucket, now half empty from the impertinence of your panicked run back to your residence.

“On a wolf evening?” He scolded, raking a worn hand through golden locks, “We are to be wed within a month. I shouldn’t have to look out for you like this.”

You shook your head, knowing well that he didn’t need to watch over you. He took your nonchalance in stride, “Who was it this time, Steve?”

“Just some sheep in the north fields, darling.” He moved a hand to cradle the back of your head, smoothing the hair flat against your neck, "But you need to stay closer tonight, the blood moon is approaching.”

You look to Steve for comfort that afternoon around the stone hearth for comfort. Though you find it in his presence, it does not stem from his naturally doting nature. Since your betrothal, he had been cold as stone.

His sentiments remained marbeline even as you plaited your hair with clove and anointed your neck with rosewater and jasmine. Steve used to think you were beautiful, though now, it felt as though you merely existed alongside him.

The Festival of the Blood Moon was the largest celebration you could remember. They did not occur every year, and were rarely linear. The last festival you had attended, you were merely a girl. Larger this time, more filled in the waist. You remembered Steve, less gangly in nature now. You’d remembered noticing how the leanness in his arms being replaced with lines of definition now. You’d wondered what they felt like, even when you gripped his hands as he led you barefoot across the hot coals.

You missed the way he laughed then.

The tavern had been full that night, families and neighbors gathering in a mass between meals and celebration, warding off evil and hoping for abundance in the coming of spring. There was abundance tonight, rang hearty in the laughter of the village men and shrill in the squalls of children and their games. It ran in thick rivers through your glass and past your lips and settled warm in your stomach. Though, it seemed to have slithered past Steve, ambergris eyes cold as they averted around you and fixated themselves on the wall past your father’s head.

You approached him, warmth spreading through your fingertips that was unmatched by the warmth that radiated from his hands. Even now, in the dead of winter– “Steve, come on.” You tugged at his fingers softly, though he kept his feet planted.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked, neck folding as he peered down his nose towards you.

You looked towards the door to the tavern, giving him one more relentless pull before sighing, “We’re going firewalking, darling. Like you used to do.”

“That’s a child's game. We are not doing that.” It was harsher than he meant for it, though, you were older now– more able to will the tears back. He felt them in the way you drew in a breath, sharp and domineering, or the way you dropped his land, letting his fingertips stick against yours for just a second too long. He thought of the rabbit, and the silence in which it died.

If the burn of his feet against the hot coals hurt less than the burden of making you cry, then it was a burn he would relinquish.

He simmered in his own thoughts for a mere seconds too long. You had disappeared within the sea of bodies packed in the tavern. It was entirely too warm in this place despite it being the dead of winter, and he raked his fingers back through his hair, pushing the beads of sweat away from his hairline in the process. You were faster in your hurt than he anticipated, he had lost you. He hoped it wasn’t for good.

You’d disappeared to a far corner of the tavern, where Prudence sat. Heart heavy in your chest and wine heavy in your hand. It was a wretched concoction of herbal remedies and pepper, open aged and barely palatable. You had hoped for a better one at your wedding. Prudence was a hearty girl, back broad from toting mead buckets and logs back and forth within the tavern walls. She was welcoming in the places where your betrothed had not been, kind in her eyes and soft in the way she spoke to you. You craved that kindness, searched for it in Steve’s hands and searched for it at the bottom of a stained wooden chalice. Prudence had been the only kindness for miles.

She was the softness you looked for, hand in hand with her as you danced across coals in the snow, cooling your feet on the ice at the end of the path. She was the giggle that you could not muster from your own throat and the fun you sought out where Steve had grown out of it. She held your waist in an embrace as you danced a sapphic almain in the village square, tight against you in a way that you craved. Steve had not held you close to him in months. You needed this in the way you needed warmth, in a way that you had sifted through every square inch of Steve and still found nothing in his gaze.

His eyes found your face, aglow in a sea of orange firelight. You were too good for him, alight and kind and entirely celestial in nature. He’d felt bad for the way he had spoken to you in the tavern, though the ache in his chest was more bruising as he watched your dance alongside Prudence, waist to waist, the sticky wine residue still lingering on the softness of your chest against hers. He watched the way your hands interlocked as you danced with her, at the way she spun you in circles. He ached to touch you, watching the ebb and flow of your hips while you spun yourself dizzy, worn linen skirts clinging to the hills of your form in their own sapphic choreography.

It was sick, how he could be so cruel. How the other men watched over his shoulder both in endearment and snide remarks. The village knew of your betrothal, though, knowing that only marriage was binding. His core burned hot, like the coals that should have been beneath his feet– glowed orange in his chest like the wood that decomposed under the heat of the fire in the center of the village. Though, the sickness did not stop when he trudged out into the snow. It did not ebb when he snorted angry breaths through his nostrils– calming his anger like nausea. It did not end when his fingers pressed a bruising grip into the softness of your arm, pulling you back from the dance in a stumble.

“Well, thank you for minding my fiance, Prudence, but I think it’s time for us to turn in for the evening.” He had spoken to her, confusion and remorse budding across her round features.

“No, I’m not going to bed.” You told him, pulling your arm from his grip. You knew that you had sounded like a child, but you had not forgiven him yet, even when the stone nothingness in his eyes turned into something more primal, something tinted over his anger.

He took your waist in a broad hand again, grip like a vice. With a collision to his chest, breath grazing hot against your ear and chilling down your neck, “I’m sorry I spoke with you so rashly, but I am your betrothed and you will respect me”

There is a crimson eagerness doused behind his annoyance with you, and he reaffirmed it in the strong hand that fixed itself against your back, pushing you forward. You did not have a home you could return to, the home you would find yourselves in after your wedding unfinished and cold. He found himself cruel, but he would not take you there.

Instead, there lies a grainery just outside of the premise of town, secluded and wide. Inside, there is a thatch of soft hay that they keep as a reserve for the more brutal winters. You’d known many girls in the village that had been taken there, long before the covenant of marriage was established. You’d wondered if Steve had taken other girls there. Surely not, though, the thought left a burning ache in the pit of your stomach.

He sensed your tension, giving your hand a squeeze as he pulled you along. A stifled, please, thank you, I’m sorry, and I love you, in one gesture. It did little to calm your tense body, though everything to calm your more tense nerves. He was gentle in the way he lowered your back against the soft hay, though his hands spoke volumes of assuredness and his domineering nature.

The broad planes of his palms scraped scratching embraces up your thighs, where it hiked your underskirts up past where they rest on your hips. His hands gripping into your suppleness like a vice, white teeth grazing the soft fat of your folded knee. It sent a shudder down your spine that settled hot like iron in your coccyx.

“Steve” You whined beneath him, presence looming over your body in a sheild of warmth and hunger, “I-I’ve never… Never had a man-”

He reached forward quickly, pulling the segment of hair that settled too close to your eyes and brushing it to the side of your face, “I know.” He whispered to you, voice deep in a hungry growl,

“You’ve been mine your entire life, haven’t you?”

His hands lay heavy against your face, cupping your cheek in a tender grip. You feel the plane of his thumb, rough against it, bring itself to your mouth. It tugs gently at the softness of your lower lip, bringing it down as he watches you. His eyes are seething– ravenous, as they watched your face with intent. The hot, wet kisses he presses to your neck are hungry and omniscient. They trace patterns and words in languages you don’t care to make out over the curves and lines of jaw and neck, settling in the dip of your collar. He presses small pecks there, the tip of his tongue working its way past his own plush lips, reaching out to taste the sticky sweetness spilled across your chest, tasting the result of your disobedience.

He wanted you to speak, fingers now relentless between your thighs as they parted you tenderly, his soft eyes never leaving your own.

“Yes.”

Steve sat back on his haunches, now, hands gripping your ankles, his thumbs rolling over your malleolus in tender circles. Slowly, as if to not startle you, he takes your left ankle and brings it to his lips, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your ankle, trailing lines in slow, tedious patterns to your calf, then to your knee. He presses gentle bites against the softest parts of your thighs, tasting the salt of your sweat and the sticky sweetness of your arousal that laid over your skin in a thin coating.

He thanked the Lord for small mercies, your forgiveness benign to the gift that was your affection. Even more benign to the gift that waited for him between your parted thighs.

His breath was cooling against the heat of your core, slick even as he parted your knees to accommodate the broad expanse of his clothed shoulders. He reached out for your hand, buried deep in the hay beneath you, bringing it to his scalp with permission to tug as you’d please. Actually, he would give anything to feel your fingers against his scalp. The first lap leaves you shuddering against him, a tug of his hair sends him back in for a second, third, and fourth– relentless and unending. You cried out in pleasure, thighs closing in search of friction around his head.

His hands convexed the ellipses of where your legs folded upwards into your body, gripping heavily and pulling you backwards onto his mouth. This new, delicious friction caused you to cry out into the now-stagnant air, thick with the heat of your bodies.

“Quiet now, darling.” He growled against your core, a vibration that bordered against the lines of cruelty. “Can’t let anyone hear you.”

You reached one hand away from the tangled mass that was quickly becoming Steve’s hair, instead bringing your heel to your mouth to stifle any moans that found themselves spilling from between your kiss-bitten lips, though, nothing seemed to be able to tear your mind away from the budding sensation alight deep within your belly.

A rolling feeling, a pas de deux of fire, ran through you at once, though, not alight like a candle. This sensation was new– held no steadiness. It rolled and crackled and danced its fickle dance like a wildfire overcoming your body. It left your legs shaking, lungs burning with the desire to cry out Steve’s name once more. This was unlike anything you had ever felt, even when you had begun to dip your own fingers between your legs in the dead of night.

Repent. Your body is the temple of the Lord and you have defiled it.

Father Solomon was a dastardly man, though one who, not only claimed righteousness, but wielded it like a sword. A cruel, double-edged weapon for the beast with two faces.

When the bell tolled again early the next morning, it was a cow. This time, nearing much closer to the village. Flayed, gutted and scattered over several yards, but miraculously uneaten. Something almost more dastardly than the priest. Something who killed for fun.

He stood in the field, nefarious and impending, over the people that gathered over the still-steaming bovine carcass. It’s blood darkening in striking pools over the fresh snow that fell in the night. You let it create a river in the snow as it trickled downhill, pooling just before your foot and staining the polished leather toe of your shoe.

You thought of the rabbit, and the way Steve was quickly driving the knife between its third and fourth ribs, the pushback of pressure against tissue as the smatterings of blood leaked from the tip and down its white fur. You’d wondered if it was different for animals, that rapaciousness. You’d wondered if the wolf hesitated, or if the cow had died as silently as the rabbit had. You’d wondered if the wolf bore the weight of death against its troglodytic heart. Maybe that’s why it was so angry. Maybe that’s why it kept taking larger and larger offerings. Maybe it was addicted to the thrill of killing, or trying to not be so angry anymore. Did a wolf carry resentment? You would never know.

“The wolf isn’t satiated anymore.” Father Solomon growled, a rolling noise low in his throat– accusatory.

Your betrothed stood behind you, loomed large and broad from behind your back. You could feel his presence hot through your clothes, “We can see that, but why?”

“It’s the work of the Devil.” The priest gave utterance to his suspicions, “The Devil does not need a reason.”

Another man spoke from the mass of villagers accruing around the gruesome scene, “The wolf hasn’t taken an offering outside of a full moon in years.”

“Perhaps what we are looking for is not a simple wolf, but an entirely different entity altogether. What we are looking for– is a man.” The priest vociferated, loud enough to send the crowds’ mutters into silence.

“It’s not possible.” Steve finally spoke, Father Solomon’s dead turning on a dial towards him, “A man could not have done this much damage to a cow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have. Just after my Ordination.” Father Solomon spoke, voice suddenly quiet and eyes suddenly distant as he recalled a memory– though, you couldn’t quite tell how truthful it was, “We were called to Croatia, myself and eleven other ordained were brought to a village much like this one. A man overtaken by a demon called Baphomet– allowed him by will of unholy magic to take on the form of a wolf. He had terrorized the town for several generations, first taking the livestock, then moving on to unsuspecting women and children.”

“We’ve upheld our promise. We’ve made our sacrifices, we’ve offered our livestock. We’ve lived our lives in fear.” Another man spoke, angrier this time. His anger dissipated across the crows as the voices began again.

“Perhaps we’ve angered it. Perhaps the last hunting party backed it into a corner, made it feel like it had no other option than to kill.” You barked finally, towards Father Solomon in particular.

He stalked towards you, feline in nature as he circled your body– cutting the tie between your body and Steve’s “Sympathy for the Devil is abetting the Devil. Perhaps you are of evil creation as well.” He spoke this in your face, enough to where you could smell the rot in his breath. Loud enough to where the townspeople could hear.

“That will not be necessary, Father.” Steve asserted, hand reaching forward to grab your shoulder and pull you back towards the safety of his immediate space.

Father Solomon’s eyes remained distant, “That’s what they said in Croatia.”

There is an impromptu trial called immediately for that evening, the townspeople gathered in a hivemind swarm of depravity as you stood a kangaroo trial in front of them. There is no podium, no court, and little testimony. Only the father’s own agenda and your words twisted against you as he spoke.

“You cannot do this. There is no officer or magistrate. There is no council. This is an unjust prosecution.” Steve said to him, a firm grip on the priest’s shoulder in place of words unsaid and actions withheld. You knew it was a pressing one.

Father Solomon took a step, closing the gap between his body and Steve’s, “Perhaps you shall stand trial as well. Aiding a witch is no laughing matter.”

There is a pressing silence that rings heavy in your ears for several seconds, hanging tension unresolving as Prudence takes a shaking step forward– her eyes holding something behind fear– something resembling remorse.

“You would like to speak now, Prudence?” The father asks with a heavy hand to her shoulder, parental in nature. A rouse.

“She can walk across fire– better than the other girls can. She does not cool her feet in the snow–” Prudence began, voice shaking under the pressure.

You turned to Steve now, meeting his eyes. You’d wondered if you would be here had you not wanted to go firewalking the night before. You’d wondered if you would have forgotten the cow this morning and been back within your home, discussing which passages would be read at your ceremony. His eyes were hurt, something akin to I told you so, behind them. Underneath, yours whispered, you were right.

“ – She is sapphic in nature… l-like a succubus. She dances with women, holds their waists as a man would. She does not recognize the bound between man and woman.” Prudence continues. She will not look you in the eyes, she will not look in your direction. Instead, she keeps her eyes fixated over the heads of the congregation, far off in the distance, “She disappeared into the night. Last night. She does not fear the wolf.”

“Do you think she had motives that were ulterior?”

Prudence looked to the priest now, brow furrowing together in confusion, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what he was asking, “What kinds of motives, Father?”

“Do you believe that she was attending the witch’s sabbath?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Thank you, Prudence. I think I have made my decision.” He nodded towards her, excusing her from the trial. She did not stay for your sentencing.

Father Solomon suggests sacrifice, how a woman in cohorts with the devil is not worthy of a wedding. A worthy death for a proclaimed witch– a woman marked by the devil. A woman who has given herself to Baphomet. You are whisked away, pried from the eyes of Steve and a prying crowd, ripped from you life and anything you could have hoped for. You are placed at the seat of the altar and bound, the stone cold against your back and pressing against the flesh that covers there. The footsteps of Father Solomon, accompanied now by the lesser priests reverberate loud against the stone hearths of the church, cast heavy through holy ground.

The priests congregate quickly, three in total when including Father Solomon. They adorn the crystalline surplices, white and free of impurities, and stoles of royal grandiloquent purple. A tear slipped from your eye, thinking of your wedding cloak, adorned with the same royal thread. You would never wear it now.

Water is derived from the church well, adorned with salt, and blessed by Father Solomon. He calls upon God to reclaim the centrality of your new life. Calls upon him to receive you in baptism and the ultimate defeat of the devil through Jesus Christ.

They take turns anointing each other, then anointing you with the blessed water. They impose their hands on you, equally cold and unpleasant. Six hands with firm grips laid across your arms, legs, and forehead. Father Solomon is affixed behind your head, exsufflating your breath from your mouth as if it were unholy, and affirms your body as a temple of God, then, takes a step back, turning your face to gaze upon the large crucifix– the Lord’s cross– fixed to the wall. He holds his hand in a line, the other hand fixed firmly across your shoulder, hovering over your forehead, your breastbone, and each of your shoulders in a sign of the cross.

There are five thousand words in The Rite, you counted, an imploring formula of prayers and psalms they read aloud, anointing themselves and you between readings. They touch crucifixes you your skin periodically, each of them expecting you to cry out or your skin to bubble with the contact from the holy relic.

“En antiquus inimicus et homicida vehementer erectus est. Transfiguratus in angelum lucis, cum tota malignorum spirituum caterva late circuit et invadit terram, ut in ea deleat nomen Dei et Christi eius, animasque ad aeternae gloriae coronam destinatas furetur, mactet ac perdat in sempiternum interitum”

They perform this ritual over again in segments. Then again. And then again. Their voices grow hoarse, and their arms grow tired. There is an increasing frustration that becomes stale in the warm, stagnant air of the church. It becomes dark around you, the evening casting a sinking, amber glow against the walls, then turning to shadow afflicted by sparse, flickering candle light. It becomes warm, being surrounded by moving bodies and fire, and a bead of sweat rolls from your forehead.

“Virus nequitiae suae, tamquam flumen immundissimum, draco maleficus transfundit in homines depravatos mente et corruptos corde; spiritum mendacii, impietatis et blasphemiae; halitumque mortiferum luxuriae, vitiorum omnium et iniquitatum.”

You do not cry during the rites.

Though, when you are cast out into the snow, the sharp cold a burning relief from the staleness of the inside of the church, your body racks a sob. As you drop to your knees, you release another, and then another. The ice burns against your knees, the skin an angry red where they scrape against the ice beneath them. Hot tears roll down your face, freezing against your neck and chin as choking sobs shake from the lowest parts of your lungs.

At an instant, there are hands on your shoulders, skating and hot, though familiar to the touch. You are startled, but not afraid. Suddenly hands are claws and the soft lips of your betrothed become a snarled jaw with teeth.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it. I swear to God, I won’t.”

You wake in desolation, though surrounded by warmth like a shroud.

You figured you must be dead. To be bare in the snow and still feel so warm must be purgatory. You rise, hands shaking as you push your body up with the heels of your hands, growing dizzy from the sudden change of temperature. This was not purgatory, though, you figured it may be Hell. The beast in front of you stirred, raising to meet your position with a monstrous groan. It was then that you recognized a softness behind its eyes. The beast before you was Steve.

You tear your face away from him, hand affixed against the concrete of his chest. He looked like Steve, but more ghastly. He was large in stature, both in height and width, broad shoulders and chest covered in a coarse layer of hair. His hands are still hands, though, transposed by the thick, white claws that emerge in the place of his nails.

A hearty claw reached for you, fixing itself between your shoulder blades and pulling your bare body into his chest. You did not have time to cower from him, nor did you have time to take in the nature of this form.

“Cold.” He growls, breaths harbored and voice resembling a growl before it did a voice.

Your face meets his chest where his hand has pressed against your occipital curvature, harder than he intended. He is warm, burning. His heart pounds a fast, rhythmic bass crescendo against your ear where it rests. He is much stronger than the man you knew before.

He pulls you back down to the ground, curling your body back into his own. He holds your waist tight, though you cannot tell if it is of his own want or the will of this unfamiliar strength that forces you to his abdomen. His bicep rests below your head, hot, strong breath fanning against your neck and a growl in your ear as you remain silent.

“Why?” You asked finally, not really knowing if you were referring to anything in particular.

He must not have known either, instead sitting up behind you to peer down at the plane of your cheek in questioning.

Reiterating, you asked him the first question that came to your mind, “Why did you kill the cow?”

“The same reason I killed the rabbit.”

It was your turn to stare into him. Turning in his arms, you faced him. He understood that he was a beast before you, though, the cold questioning of your eyes was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“If bearing the weight of killing it is less than the weight of hurting you, then I’ll do it. I’ll kill a lifetime of rabbits before I let myself hurt you.” He explained to you, grip on your waist tightening in place of an I’m sorry.

You fall silent, brain straying away to that now far-away place. You’d wondered if he was plagued with this curse during that time. You’d thought about the coldness in his eyes as the rabbit died and wondered if he had killed before. You’d wondered if it was necessity, or a boyish desensitization that negated necessity, or if the wolf lived behind his eyes at that tender age.

His voice pulled you from your wondering– “I’m not possessed, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t love you less, even if you were.” Your gaze was pressing, scanning his face. Your fingers curled into the thick smattering of hair against his monstrous chest, letting yourself feel comforted by him still.

“Do you love me less knowing I’m a monster?” His hand left your waist, trailing a claw up your body to grip your hand against him, thumb pressed into your palm.

“No.” In fact, you think he’s beautiful. More beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“This is a curse I have to bear alone–”

You stopped him before he could finish, his brooding not a good enough answer for you. You understood why he needed to keep this from you, you understood why he had failed to mention it to you, though it didn’t stop it from hurting your feelings, “We were to be wed. What would have happened when we lived within the same walls? Slept within the same bed?”

“Were?” He questioned, eyes growing sad.

You reached another hand upwards, pushing a golden lock away from his sad face before cradling it in your palm, “Steve, I’ve been declared a witch. I am no longer marriageable.”

“We could marry in another court. One far away.” He tried to reason with you, aloud, knowing it wasn’t worth the risk.

“The village thinks I’m dead– eaten by a dastardly wolf.” A sacrifice to satiate a hunger for another moon. “The covenant only lasts until death. We cannot be married if–

“If death has already parted us.”

“What about you?” You questioned him, “Won’t they search for you?”

“A man, so forlorn with the sacrifice of his lover that he would rather bear the burden of death than live a life without her.”

It did not feel wrong when Steve cupped your face in a sinister claw and locked on to your lips in a pressing kiss. You had been back on the Vatican of forgetfulness and purity, and the ex cathedra riff that plagued your conscience screamed at me every second that this was right. Your body lay naked against him, the hand that resided beneath your head now finding purchase against your lower back, claw scraping against the fatty plushness there. It didn’t hurt– it would never hurt.

Oh sinister sin.

This was right. His body is heavy as he drags it from the wet cave ground to hover over you. He did not rest his full weight on you, though the mass of his body was substantial enough for you to recognize a clear difference. His breath is heavier now, dissipates across you with more force and from a greater distance than before. You’d thought back to the barn, his assertiveness shrouded in softness as he parted your knees. You’d thought back to the way he held your hand and guided it to his hair, or the tenderness in which he’d plunged his fingers and and out of you at a slow, yet relentless pace. That softness was lost on him now, more primal in nature. Animalistic– a beast that needed sating.

His head was a heavy weight between your thighs, lapping hungrily at the arousal that gathered between them. It was much different in this state, the way he was able to smell, feel, and taste you in ways that one never could in his mortal state. His hand trapped you against the ground, pressing a weighted grip onto your lower abdomen, the other sinking into the fat of your hip. You tugged at his hair with one hand, still soft beyond your comprehensible belief, the other gripping on to the beastly claw that pressed into your sternum.

Oh heinous sin.

His claws trailed your ribs, sinking only deep enough to cause a raised pink line without breaking flesh before he rolled over– your body plastered to his chest under his pressing, beastly grip. He was large– larger than you had ever taken from him in the past. You reached down, felt the sheer weight of it in your hand and you stroked it experimentally. A beautiful noise ruptured from the depths of his cavernous chest, not an entirely human, though, familiar to that of your beloved. He needed this as primally as you did. Slowly, hands bracing the weight of your body against his heaving chest, you sank down on to him. You cried out softly at the bruising sting originating from your core, but relished in the pleasure that came after. Despite his size, he attempted a clumsy tenderness with you. Your opportunity for cleansing and forgiveness was closing smaller at every kiss of your neck and every drag of a vicious claw.

Oh soundly sin.

The drag of his thick cock from within you drew a sound from your bosom unlike one you had ever produced, low and groaning. He did not will your body to move, instead holding your hips in a sedentary position pistoning his beastly body against yours. He offered a whine of consolation back towards you. The roll of his hips changed from a tentative to a frantic pace, holding your body close against him as you collapsed against his chest.

His touch is both a consolation and a devastation, a comfort to your shivering form and a reminder of what once was and what will never be again. You are shrouded in the tide of his affections. You roll back over to your back, the cool ground a welcome sensation in your comedown. His head finds the softness of your abdomen and rests there, soft kisses pressing against your hot skin. Your hand settles between his shoulder blades, blunt nails trailing comforting circles against his skin.

“This was my burden to bear, and now it's your burden, too.” He whispered, a promise to you against your skin. You belonged to him, you had always belonged to him– regardless of the covenant or legality of it all. You peered outwards at the moon that cast its dewy light across you, still tinged pink from the waning blood moon.

He promised himself to you, not with the breaking of bread, but the breaking of flesh, your blood trickling down your waist and on to the floor in a slow stream that left droplets on the cool stone beneath you– a coppery wine unlike one he had ever tasted on his lips before. You whined softly in pain, but knew this was your way to be bound to him for a lifetime.

You whispered to him softly, hand raking his hair back from kind eyes, “Now may death never part us.”

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #monster!au #Spotify

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 6 months

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Bitten

Pairing: Vampire!Shanks x AFAB!reader

Warnings: NSFW, biting, this got graphic fast, doggie, oral (fem receiving) P in V, fingering, cum drinking, squirting, feeding, groping, aftercare, overstimulation,

It was the night of the full moon, and it wasn't just any full moon, it was a blood moon. Most of the red hair pirates had gone to bed, in fear of a superstition that the blood moon was an ill omen that brought out the monsters in men's hearts. Only you, Shanks and Benn were awake past lights out to view the celestial spectacle.

"Careful there sweetheart, you might not want to lean on the railing right now. One stray wave, and you'll go straight into the drink." Benn rumbled from his lounge chair on by the mast.

You stood up straight and grumbled, "I've fallen overboard before, and you didn't have a problem bringing me back up."

"Yeah, but that was during the daytime when we could see, if you fall in and don't come up then you are as good as gone." Benn retorted, flicking the ash off the tip of his cigarette into the breeze. "And when the rest of the crew was awake to help."

You rolled your eyes playfully, "fine, fine," and strolled over and plopped down on the couch Shanks was sitting on. The red head wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled your back against his side. Shanks kissed the crown of your head and mumbled, "wise choice love, we wouldn't want to wake the crew, or worst lose you."

Your hands gripped his forearm as you got into a comfortable position. The warmth of his body seeped into your skin as you relaxed against him.

"If you were gone, I'd have to find someone else to tease for my amusement." Shanks added, before his lips danced over your neck. A shrill squeak ripped from your throat at the tickling feeling, you tried to escape him, but the tightly muscled arm around you just tightened.

"Benn! Help me." You whined, "Your boss is being mean to me."

"You're fine, he doesn't bite... Well t least not often," Benn replied, leaning back in his chair and taking a drag off the cigarette held between his fingers.

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye and growled, "he might not, but I do." You twisted behind you and sink your teeth in Shanks's neck. The tall man groaned, "oh fuck, darling." His hand slide down and squeezed your breast, making you moan around the mouthful of his hot skin. His breath fanned over your shoulder as a chuckle rumbled in his chest, "I didn't know you liked biting, I must admit that I usually prefer to be the one doing the biting, but don't mind indulging you."

"If you two are going to go any further, fuck off to your own room, and let me enjoy this night by myself." Benn growled.

Shanks chuckled, "so you don't want to watch? How unlike you, but fine." He shifted his hold around you and picked you up. Purely out of spite you refused to release your bite, as he carried you below deck. He kicked open the door to his room, the carmine colored moon light poured in from the large bay windows, making your partner's usually very cozy room quite eerie. As he made his way over to the large bed in the center of the room, the smell of your captain flooded your nose making you quite giddy. Shanks plopped both of you down onto his plush bed. "Are you gonna let go, love?" Shanks huffed, dragging you to the head of the bed. When you didn't let go, Shanks's hand dove up your shirt, and he yanked on your nipple. The yelp he pulled from you allowed him to pull away, he reared up and sat on his heels. His brown eyes took in your form, before focusing on your chest. He pushed your shirt up until it bunched at your collar bone and circled his thumb in a soothing manner over the bud he had been rough with.

"There we go, now my turn." Shanks purred before diving at your chest, nipping and sucking at the skin around your areola. His stubble leaving a pleasant burning sensation in his wake that made heat pool between. You gasped and squirmed, trying to rub your thighs together for some relief when Shanks pried your legs apart and laid himself between them. "Oh no, no, no, you don't get to pleasure yourself, only I get that honor." Shanks whispered as he rested his chest against yours, sinking you deeper into the crimson covers of his bed. He hummed in amusement as he trailed his nose from your chest up to your neck and his hand gripped your wrist and pinned it above your head.

"Shanks, please kiss me." You panted, while trying to tilt your hips, so you could grind against his stomach.

The look he gave you was almost feral, but he made no move to kiss you. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you..." He said, suddenly quite serious, all traces of lust gone from his voice. "Bust I'm worried it might scare you off."

You scoffed, "darling, I've seen you behead a man, there are very few things that you could tell me that would scare me off."

"Even if I told you I'm not human anymore?" He asked, "and that I need something besides normal food to survive?"

You frowned, and searched his eyes only to find that no deceit in them. "What do you need to survive?"

A hesitance overtook your brave companion, giving him pause before he responded, "blood."

"I still love you even if you are a vampire, because you're still you..." you cooed, finger combing his hair back with your free hand, before adding, "wait is that right, you're a vampire?"

He let out a relieved shuddering breath, and nodded his head.

"But why tell me about this now?" You asked, "are you hungry, is that it?"

Shanks shook his head momentarily before cocking it to the side and replying, "Well, I ate on the island, but I'm still feeling a little peckish. And while normally I would ignore it, this blood moon is making it hard to ignore."

You giggled, "So what you're telling me is you want a dessert, baby?"

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the column of your throat, as he replied, "absolutely, and I figured you would be delectable."

"Perhaps, but don't you think I'd be even better after a few orgasms? When my blood would be a cocktail of hormones?" You sighed, trailing your fingers from his hair, down to his jaw, and lifting his chin to make him look at you. As he gazed up at you his pupils widened before narrowing into a slit like a cat's eyes and red flooded his iris.

A low growl rumble shook his chest, making your own rib cage vibrate. "I don't know, but I'd love to try it out."

"Then get to work," You commanded softly, and pecked a gentle kiss onto his chapped lips.

Shanks lunged forward, slamming his kips to yours while his hand gripped the collar of your shirt and tore it down the middle. And before you could complain he huffed, "relax, I'll buy you new ones," before parting your lips with his tongue.

You slid your trousers off for him because you did not want them ripped. "No panties or bra tonight? What a naughty thing you are." Shanks quipped as he pulled away, to undress himself. You decided then to tease him, and dipped your hand between your legs, running your fingers through your folds and around your clit. He hungrily watched you lift your hand to show him how wet they were. He stumbled over his pants crawling back on the bed, trying to get back on the bed. Shanks kicked them off as he shoved your fingers into his mouth. Laving his hot tongue around each digit to suck them clean.

You used your other hand to take a handful of his hair and guide his head between your legs. Shanks did not need any more encouragement to latch his mouth onto your clit, sucking like his life depended on it. When you gasped out his name, he moved down to your sopping cunt, and lapped up as much of your slick as possible. His tongue greedily dipping inside you, sucking gently as your walls to drink up more of what you had to offer. Shanks's eyes remained locked on your face the entire time, making sure you could see him swallowing.

As his jaw grew tired, he pulled away, and replaced his mouth with his hand. Stroking your clit with rough pad of his thumb while his long fingers scissored and curled inside of you. Shanks watched you with rapt attention as he wound the coil in your stomach tighter and tighter. "Come on, come on, give me something to drink love." He barked, while you bucked up into his hand.

"It's close!... But not enough. I need both!" You cried, digging your nails into the wooden head of the bed.

A rough growl bubbled in his throat, before he latched his mouth over your clit and shook his head while thrusting his fingers into the spongy wall that always made your toes curl. The coil in you suddenly snapped, but pressure kept building inside you. You wailed out as every nerve in you sang in pleasure, bucking your hips uncontrollably until the pressure in you burst, all over Shanks's face. He quickly cupped his mouth over your cunt as you squirted, gulping down your cum like he hadn't drunk in a month.

When your head stopped spinning, allowing you to regain awareness, Shanks was kissing his way up your belly. He hummed, "And now for the main course," and suddenly the world spun around you, and you were now face down in his sheets. His big hands gripped your hips, and he hauled you, so you were ass up. Shanks guided his fat cock between your folds, and stroked himself to make sure he was well lubricated. He ignored your pleas of urgency, as he gripped the base of his dick and slapped the sticky head against your clit. "Patience love, wouldn't want to hurt you one accident." He purred, before pushing himself inside. The stretch made you gasp his name, and arch your back for him more.

"Go ahead and set the pace darling," Shank ordered, hands gripping your hips and urging you backwards. And set the pace you did, leaning back on your knees and putting your back into slapping your hips against his. He eventually started to meet you halfway, with thrusts of his own. It didn't take him long to pull another explosive orgasm out of you, one that didn't stop. Each one of his thrusts had you gushing and clenching around him. You were absolutely cock drunk, and unable to do more than let him use you like a cock sleeve, and babble things like declarations of love and praise him for how good he was fucking you. Which shifted as his thrusts grew sloppier, to please for him to fill you with his cum.

Your cries were cut off when he wrapped his hand around your neck, and he hauled you up on your knees. Each thrust was harder than the last, as he got closer to his own orgasm. Finally, cumming when his fangs sinking into the soft flesh of your neck as he released his load deep inside you. Your eyes rolled back, and you came again, as you felt his warmth spread in what you could swear was your womb. His hips still pumping into you, to milk what was left of his orgasm. You could hear him gulping down your blood, as you rode out the aftershocks of pleasure that wracked your body. When Shanks felt full, he pulled away and let you go, unaware how lost in the sauce you were. That is until he watched you fall forward, into the puddle of your own cum that had formed on his sheets. He smirked as you slowly slid off his cock, and cum around nothing, releasing a gush of fluid and cum.

"Are you good?" He asked, sliding his hand up your back in what he thought was a soothing manner. Only for you to arch away from his touch with a whine. "Was it that good?"

"Yes, and I'm still sensitive." You panted, trying to crawl away from him.

Shanks pulled you back under him, and pushed away the damp hair that stuck to your forehead. "is there anything I can do for you?"

"Water." You groaned hoarsely, "Fuck my mouth is dry."

"I imagine, I'll be right back" Shanks chuckled.

"Put on pants!"

"No."

List of Up-and-coming works

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#one piece x reader #one piece #shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks x reader #vampire shanks #red hair shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #monster!au #tma original #10/31/23 #no beta we die like men

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a-man-of-questionable-morals · 5 months

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my take on the monster/octo König thing i've seen floating around

mi chula <333

#got my monster fucker license revoked #moster fucking illegally now #call of duty #cod #cod fanart #monster!au #könig #könig cod #manslut

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silverthelovebug · 6 months

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Have these two sketches of Monster!Blondie I was redesigning on a Random day in September, she’s based off of the Golden Bear Legend and Cupid just thinks she’s the cutest thing in the world

@xxcherrycherixx :3

#eah #ever after high #blondie lockes #monster!au #monster!blondie lockes #explanation as to why she looks like this?#uhhhh #the mirror portal Cupid went through turns you into a species that would fit the world you’re traveling in #so bear Blondie #in Monster High!!!#monster high

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thesirencat · 7 months

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Purr, purr, purr...💖🐯

#svsss #liushen #shen yuan #liu qingge #monster!au #scum villain self saving system #short comic

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emotionaldisaster909 · 2 months

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Concept sketckes for bracken!fafa

based on this Lethal Company au fic

(very nsfw, mind the tags!)

I had to make him as rapunzel as he canonically is, even tho the in game bracken in very bold .D

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majimasleftasscheek · 11 months

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🐍ㅤ

#kiryu is dying majima #this ain't about him #monster!au #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kazuma #majima goro #kazumaji #my art

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kitboy-catboy · 5 months

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STARDEW VALLEY MONSTER AU!!!

Idk why but all I've been able to think about the past few days have been an idea for an AU where all the bachelors and bachelorettes are monsters so here's my thoughts!

I'm going to rank my ideas for what monsters they are going to be from a scale of "you can literally not change my mind" to "I barely know anything about them please help"

Abigail is obviously going to be a witch. With the theory of her being the wizards daughter as well as her spirituality, making her a witch would be the obvious choice.

Sam is a werewolf and you can't change my mind on this one. He is THE golden retriever bachelor so making him a dog is just a given. I could see him go full dog mode when he's around Abigail and Sebastian. I don't think he'll cause too many problems during the full moon, as long as he's fed well.

Sebastian being a vampire is also another obvious one. I could see him desperately trying to find an alternative way to quench his bloodthirst (literally) because he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He would probably try to feed on animals at first or something like that.

Shane is a zombie. I think it would be an ironic turn of events if he ended up dying and then came back to life. The rest of the village would probably not even notice anything because he already looked kinda dead, Jaz would probably be a little suspicious, but if a toddler told you that her alcoholic godfather was a zombie you would probably just think she's got a wild imagination.

Emily and Haley are definitely sirens to me, specifically the mermaid type of siren. I don't really have much to back this one up other than Haley being the typical "beautiful but mean girl" and idk it gives siren to me, also the thought of Emily and Haley swimming around with beautiful mermaid tails just makes me happy.

I literally have no idea what the rest of the bachelors and bachelorettes could be, if anyone has any ideas please send me an ask or something like that.

#stardew #stardew valley #sdv #stardew Abigail #stardew Sam #stardew Sebastian #stardew Shane #stardew haley #stardew Emily #stardew valley monster!au #monster!au #witch!Abigail #werewolf!Sam #vampire!Sebastian #zombie!Shane #siren!Emily #siren!Haley

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mjolnirswriststrap · 30 days

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Silver Bullet

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,670 Masterlist

Summary: The best night of the year, Halloween, turns into a night you just want to forget. PART 1/4.

Warnings: werewolves, cheating, backstabbing best friend, Zemo is a whore, truly.

Red cloaks filled the crowd. This years Halloween parade theme being Dracula. Rob Zombie blared through speakers anchored to lampposts. You and your friends all wore matching costumes, collectively going as the wives of Dracula. It was a good excuse to wear the hottest outfits you could find. Most people paled their skin with white face paint, and molded little pieces of wax to their teeth.

Not you, you wore basically nothing for your costume. Each friend had a different color of fabric, that was loosely draped and cinched around your body. The best way to describe it would be a Greek toga, instead of linen it’s sheer silk, leaving nothing to the imagination. You all wore the same gold collar, a dragon etched on the front; curtesy of the blue bride, Miranda’s, 3D printer.

You didn’t plan on staying, you all agreed to be a part of the parade, once that was over, you were all headed to Zemo’s annual Halloween masquerade. You don’t think he particularly liked having hundreds of people flooding his property every year. But having the biggest house in town was a blessing and a curse. He hosted most festivities for your rather large population of teens and young adults.

You had a fascination with the bachelor. He inherited the mansion, land and money from his grandfather, skipping over his father completely. His family was prominent in the community, both of his parents having a chair at city hall. They volunteered at the food bank and donated to every shelter. Any sane person would think they deserved the money in a way. So why Zemo?

You made it to the party late, everyone leaving the house for the back yard. Zemo had the trees lighted and a dance floor built, always prepared for a celebration. Your friends ditched you as soon as you all got drinks, saying they were going to find their boyfriends. Leaving you to explore the surrounding woods alone.

You nearly drop your red solo cup when you see Zemo pressing Miranda against a tree, practically swallowing each others faces. Tears of betrayal sting your cheeks. She knew you had a crush on him, and she has a boyfriend anyways. You stalk away in anger, losing the trail but not caring. You found a tree far enough from the party that no one would hear your sobs.

You downed the cup filled halfway with vodka, a drop of orange juice for flavor. It dried your tears quickly, leaving your whole body warm. “Stupid.” You say, standing up and brushing the leaves off your dress. “Stupid for liking Zemo.”. You agreed whole heartedly with that. “Stupid for thinking Miranda was my friend.” That’s what hurt the most.

In the midst of your self hate you failed to notice a looming figure. “You’re not stupid.” You jolt, throwing the plastic cup in the direction of the stranger. “Sorry, you scared me.” You giggle, when you see it’s just a guy from the party wearing a phantom of the opera mask.

“It’s okay.” He reaches down and picks up the liter. “Gotta keep our forests clean.” He waves the red in the air. You give him a dry laugh. Men are scary and being alone in the woods with a stranger was causing every alarm in your brain to siren. But the vodka numbed your sense of fear.

“I should get going.” You say, turning and trying to step around the tree. Before you could, the stranger steps closer. “Should you?” He says deeply. He’s close enough now that you can see his piercing blue eyes behind the mask. They render you speechless, the way the moonlight shone off them, put you in a trance. You shake your head, too focused to verbally answer him.

“See, you’re not so stupid after all.” He teases. You have no reaction. His words didn’t fill you with pride or embarrassment. Your veins filled with the distinct warmth of feeling safe. You don’t know where it came from, your body was irrationally reacting to him. You should be shaking with fear and trying to get back to the party, not calmly standing here waiting for something to happen.

It felt like you were locked inside a body that wasn’t yours. It was being controlled by some outside force. You let him reach for you, never flinching away. Your body produced goosebumps where his fingertips grazed your skin. “You’re so beautiful. I’d hate to ruin that.” You nod your head, not even thinking of a single way he could ruin your beauty. Your mind was blank, you couldn’t even say thank you.

“Promise me you won’t resist, once it happens.” You knew nothing of what he spoke, but again you feel your neck bow to him, nodding in agreement. The masked man looks up at the moon, reveling in its fullness. “Are you prepared for no return?” You agree with a nod, now you know you were fully possessed by something. His words should send you running, but a small voice in the back of your head says you would never.

He steps closer again, grabbing fistfuls of your gown, cinched at your waist. “You have to say it. Say I have permission.” His voice was desperate and darker than before. You try to find the words but the influence he had on you was slowly fading, the way he started pressing you against the tree brought you back to your senses. He holds your hips in place as he nuzzles his face into your neck, taking a long deep breath.

The stubble on his chin tickled you and you had to remind yourself yet again that this is a masked stranger in the woods. Even though your senses were coming back, the way his hands lit a fire inside of you was enough to make you not care. That fire pooled lower and lower the closer he got to you. He smelled like a mix of musk and pine. You couldn’t tell if it was him or the trees surrounding you. But it made your mouth water, filling you with a want to taste his skin, just to be sure.

He raises his hand to cradle your cheek, “Please.”. He caught your eyes again, boring into them with an assured look. He focuses on your lips “Just say the words.”.

“I give you permission.” You say them without thinking of the consequences. He sealed your fate by closing the gap between your faces. Pressing his lips to yours. You moved your lips in sync with his, using your free will to wrap your arms around his neck. Before it could go any further the man disappeared. You felt him pull away, when your eyes opened to see why, he was already gone. You searched the surrounding woods with your eyes, there was no sign of him.

You grab your head, wondering if you drunkenly hallucinated. The moisture on your mouth and in your underwear was foolproof evidence that it really just happened. But you still began to question its validity.

You hear a twig snap somewhere near you, in hopes that it was the magnetic stranger you followed it, rounding an old fallen tree you spot a black dog. It was rather large in stature, must be a purebred if it’s that big. You knew an expensive dog wouldn’t be wandering the woods collarless. And you couldn’t remember if Zemo ever mentioned having any pets.

You stepped closer, never fearing animals. You loved dogs, you had a few of your own at your parents house. “Here boy.” You kneel down, reaching out your hand. It finally gives you its attention. Immediately showing his sharp canines, snarling loudly. “Oop.” You stand up and slowly back away, knowing the signs of an agitated dog.

When your view of it is blocked by the tree you turn around and sprint away. Not wanting to receive a rabies shot on Halloween night. You see the lighted trees nearing. That’s when you heard it, rhythmic thumbing coming from behind you. When you turn around you let out a scream, the dog is already pouncing on you, knocking you to the ground. You tray to scramble away. You see people’s feet running towards your screams.

The dog latches its mouth onto your leg, when you try to rip it away it only sinks its teeth deeper. You see Zemo come to your aid with a pool cleaner net, swinging it at the dog. “Get away.” He shouts, he ends up cracking the dog on top of his head with the plastic pole. It yelped, causing your leg to fall out of his mouth. He ran for cover, disappearing into the woods. Zemo drops to his knees beside you, shedding his jacket to wrap it around your bleeding leg.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes full with tears, embarrassment was an understatement. You didn’t want to face Zemo or Miranda. You didn’t want to see all the party goers pity filled faces either. You stood up, sucking a breath between your teeth at the pain. You limped past everyone giving eachother confused glances. Ignoring Zemo and Miranda’s fake concern.

You called your dad, sitting on the curb infront of the house. He rushed you to urgent care, spending the rest of the night with you in the waiting room. You were fine in the morning, a shot and a round of antibiotics set you on your way to recovering. You took ibuprofen for the pain. You called off of work for the rest of the week, needing to stay off your feet.

When you returned the next Monday, your boss told you there was a new bus boy. You waited tables all day before you finally saw him. Clocking in and disappearing to wash dishes. He was cute, dark brown hair and light stubble. He didn’t introduce himself to you or Mary, the other waitress, odd. But you had a feeling the little diner would grow on him eventually.

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