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obsessivevoidkitten · 5 months

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A Day In Blood-Swell Swamp

Yandere Frog Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, non-human genitalia, oviposition, general yandere behavior, misunderstanding, reader stuck in mud) Word Count: 1.7k (The yandere in this is a cinnamon roll. A real sweetie. Needed another one like him. He misread the reader's intent and is not at all a bad guy. Really hope you guys like him)

You were an artist on a mission. You were traveling all over your country to sketch the flora, fauna, and landscapes of various habitats. You had already visited several different forests and a couple of prairies.

Now you found yourself in Blood-Swell Swamp. The waters of the swamp were a deep red color. Many people in nearby towns were superstitious about the place and its odd colored water, but you knew it was just a combination of iron filled water and algae.

You rowed the tiny boat you had purchased and found a dry outcrop of trees overlooking the water logged scenery.

When you looked at the impressive sanguine waters and wetland forest sprawling out in front of you, you knew you had made the right decision.

You got out and tied the boat to a tree, the waters were still, but better safe than sorry.

Once you decided on a good spot to look at you pulled out your sketchbook. The first thing you sketched was a frog on a lily pad beside a blooming water lily. The next thing was a cluster of unique purple flowers.

After that you began the larger task of drawing the landscape as a whole.

You had just about finished when you heard a splash and then an enthusiastic male voice behind you.

"HI!!!"

You turned around and almost fell over. If the sudden presence of an unknown man behind you hadn’t been enough to scare you, the fact that he wasn’t human would have.

He was crouched down on very athletic looking legs, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He had long webbed toes and fingers that matched, though he only had four fingers. His mouth was a bit too long and his eyes were large and purple. He was a bit shorter than you but he clearly had a strong and compact body.

But the most odd thing was the color of his skin. He was a deep cherry red with the color transitioning into blue on his arms and legs past his elbows and knees.

His medium length black hair dripped as he tilted his head and spoke again.

“Hello? Are you okay? What are you doing?”

You collected yourself, still frightened by his appearance despite his so far friendly demeanor.

“Uh…”

“Are you okay??”

You flinched backwards as he stepped towards you. He stopped approaching as he noticed you were uncomfortable.

“I just… never saw a… what you are before…”

“Oh! Well I am a frogkin. I have seen a human or two before, but only from a distance.”

You were about to respond but he cut you off, he seemed to be really excited to have someone to chat with.

“My name is Cobi, what’re you called?”

You mentally scolded yourself for your rude and frightened demeanor and forced yourself to calm down and introduce yourself. You were in his territory after all, and he had been nothing but polite to you. You gave him your name and explained to him that you were an artist there to sketch the beauty of the swamp. You showed him your sketches.

“Oh wow, we don’t have any artists here. I have never even heard of sketches. We have some wall paintings in some of our huts, but nothing like this!”

The frog man was clearly impressed.

“Oh, I couldn’t live without being able to draw all the beauty around me. Hey, could I draw you? Just a quick sketch!”

If the skin on his face wasn’t already red you would have been able to see that he was blushing. If you drew beautiful things then that must mean you thought he was beautiful. The notion made his heart flutter.

“S-sure!” Cobi said in his ever chipper voice.

You spent some time sketching him, despite your original plan to get just a quick one in, he happily let you get a couple extra. One with him in the water and one of him crouched on a dead log.

When you finished your sketching you fished some sandwiches out of your backpack and offered one to Cobi. He took it and sniffed inquisitively trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s food, it’s called a sandwich.” You took a few bites of yours and then he took a few cautious nibbles before his eyes lit up and he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once. You had to stifle a laugh.

"Thank you, that was super yummy!"

Cobi was blushing more. You drew him because you thought he was beautiful. Attractive. And now you gave him food. Surely that meant you were interested in him right? People of the swamp didn’t just give food away! You gave food to those you liked. Friends, family, and potential mates you were courting!

Even if it was subconscious you probably were trying to court him. And he really wanted to explore the possibility of being your partner too, you were so kind and interesting.

But he didn't want to jump the gun and assume before he had a bit more solid evidence. So instead of asking or acting on what he felt all the evidence pointing to he just hung around and chatted with you a bit more while you finished your meal.

You finished your food slowly, enjoying your time getting to know the inquisitive frogkin. You answered all of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of questions.

When you finished and said your goodbyes he seemed sad, but you were a traveler. You couldn't really make lasting friendships. And then, when you started to get up, you fell right over your own feet. Your arm stuck in some thick mud with your face low to the ground and your ass pointed up.

And that was all the confirmation Cobi needed. Ass up and presenting. The universal signal to breed!

If you had been able to see his face you would have seen that he was flustered beyond measure. You were also far too preoccupied to notice what Cobi was muttering.

"Oh... well I thought that maybe you just wanted to c-court and get to know one another better... I thought.. I j-just um... well it's just that... I-I have never even done it before... but... it seems like you really want to..."

Despite it being a bit fast he supposed he had become quite smitten with you. And, well, maybe humans coupled faster than frogkin. And he really didn't want to hurt you or offend you!

"O-okay, I'll do it!" He exclaimed loudly.

You were finally almost out of the muck and were about to ask him what he was going to do when he suddenly pulled your pants down and slid his huge tongue right into your entrance. You shuddered in shock and ended up with both hands stuck in the mud.

"Wh-what are you doing!?"

Cobi wasn't paying any attention to your words, not as lost in his efforts to loosen up your hole in preparation for the main event as he was. He gripped your legs with his webbed hands as his tongue probed you as deeply as possible, kneading and throbbing and gently stretching out your insides.

The pleasure was indescribable. You wanted Cobi to stop, but time you tried to articulate a protest the only sound you managed to produce was a loud moan or gasp.

And of course the only possible reaction Cobi could have to that was to think that he was doing a great job making his new mate nice. And he wanted to feel good with you.

He removed the slimy tongue from your entrance and removed his loincloth. Cobi then aligned his engorged cock and drew circles against it with before tip before slowly sinking into your tight heat. He had held reservations about making love to you so soon into courting, but now that he was inside you the last of them had melted away.

"Oh, oh, ooohh, you feel so amazing! I-i think you were meant for this pretty artist~"

Much in the same way that your resolve had melted away under the burning flood of pleasure Cobi was drowning you in. Judging by how it felt it was no human cock. It was much longer, a little thicker, and felt a bit slimy. With every thrust you lost a bit more of yourself until you were moving back against his movements, desperately trying to chase the orgasm you were building up to.

You had just come here to help along your art and now here you were in the mud mounted like a bitch in heat and enjoying it. It would have been humiliating if you had the capacity to dwell on such matters.

There were more important things to think about right now. Like the cock breeding you. The feel of unnaturally heavy nuts smacking into you. The soft and attentive lips kissing up your backside, straining to reach your neck.

You arched your back as you had the most mind shattering climax of your life.

"I can't hold back anymore. You sketched for me. L-let me just paint your insides for you~"

And then you learned why his nuts felt so heavy as they slammed against you. As he filled you he deposited much more than just normal cum. Over dozens of small round objects flooded into you and adhered themselves to your walls.

"Wh-what the?"

Cobi plucked you out of the mud with ease and pulled you into his lap as he sat down, with his prick still buried snugly inside of you. He held you close to his sweaty body and caressed your belly lovingly.

Now that you had a moment to process your predicament and the events that had just transpired you were completely dumbfounded. One moment you were trying to get out of the mire and the next you were being fucked.

"I'm so glad you wanted to be mates~"

Your mind was reeling trying to come up with a response to such an outrageous claim. When had you expressed anything resembling such a des-

"Mmmm~" Instead you could only reply with a pathetic pleased whimper as Cobi began rolling his hips, grinding into you and very slowly fucking you for a second time.

"Don't worry, I have plenty more eggs just for my sweet artist~"

You could only lean back against him and drool as he wrapped his arms around you possessively and temporarily fucked your mind away once more.

#yandere #yandere terato #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #male yandere #yandere boyfriend #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #male yandere x gn reader #My ocs #My OC Cobi

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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

#mody bick

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moviecriticseanpatrick-blog · 2 years

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biancadjarin · 1 year

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🌾a Roll in the Hay🌾

pairing : perv!em x innocent!countrygirl!reader

warnings : graphic sex, p-in-v, breeding kink (sorta?)

a/n : hoo boy ok so I’ve been thinking about country girl reader and Eddie for a while, went a little crazy on this one. It’s kinda long, but I hope you enjoy! I have a lot of WIPs and ideas for different types of Eddie’s but it really helps when you guys comment/like/reblog so I know what you want to read more of.🧡

MASTERLIST HERE

18+ !!!

You hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel outside the barn, your hands finishing up a braid in your horse’s mane. You feel the excited butterflies flutter awake in your tummy, a smile breaking across your face.

“There’s my pretty little baby.” Eddie coos as he wraps his arms around your waist, breathing in your sweet scent deeply. You’re so fuckin’ cute and innocent. In your sweet little blue and white gingham dress, a little bow tied between your boobs. And you never wear a bra. Fuck does Eddie love that. He swept his eyes down your frame, your soft thighs leading to the smooth skin of your calves, frilly little socks peeking out of the top of your boots.

He holds out a tiny bouquet of wildflowers he picked on his walk from his van to here. Tiny white and yellow star-lily’s, a baby pink prairie rose, a little bundle of baby’s breath. He’s always doing little sweet things to make you smile.

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. “Teddy Bear!” You squeak, nicknaming him that after he won you a little blue bear at the carnival. He squeezes the jiggly skin of your asscheeks in his big, calloused hands and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in a week. It’s only been about 18 hours. He spins while he’s holding you, making you giggle and get dizzy. “Put me down, Teddy!” You say as more giggles bubble out of your throat.

This has been going on for a few weeks, after you met Eddie and his friends at the Hawkins carnival, you two couldn’t be separated. He kissed you at the top of the ferris wheel, telling you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever met. And he meant it.

“Why have I never seen you around before?” He’d asked, lips leaving wet kisses along your jaw. You giggle into his hair, the feeling of his big hands holding your hips, one of his hands sliding your legs over his thigh.

“I live an hour outside of this town. On a farm.” You reply breathlessly. He pulled back, his big brown eyes looking like a sad puppy’s. “An hour?” He sounded disappointed. He twirls your hair around a finger, his other hand playing with the hem of your tiny Levi’s shorts.

You nod at him, waiting for him to tell you that’s too far away for him to bother. He shrugs, “Guess I’m about to put a lot of miles on my van.” He says, pulling you into his chest, leather jacket arm closing around your shoulder, your head pressed against his shirt, his heart beating fast and the rumble of his voice in your ear. “I’m going to come see you so much, you’ll get sick of me.”

So Eddie drops you down, still holding you close, his tight jeans and black sweater making him look extra cozy.

“Just missed you so much, babygirl. I hate when we’re apart.” He cupped your cheek and you smiled softly, leaning into his palm like a kitten being pet. “I missed you too Daddy.” That’s your favorite nickname for Eddie. His too. It sends a jolt right to his cock every time.

“So what do we want to do today?” Eddie asks, lacing his fingers with yours, swinging your hands gently. You two have gone to dinners, movies, concerts, taken long car rides. Anything to spend time together. But today, you have other plans.

“Mmm… I have an idea…” you sway nervously on your heels. “But I wanna show you something first.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise curiously, nodding softly for you to continue. You take a deep breath, “okay. well I went to the starcourt mall last week and bought something for you.” “For me? Baby, you know you don’t have to buy me things.” He starts to chastise you.

“I think you’ll like this gift, Teddy Bear.” You push him back gently, telling him to sit on a hay bale. You lift the skirt of your dress up to your waist, revealing the lingerie you bought.

Eddie releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His eyes go wide as he looks toward the opening of the barn, making sure no one can see you two. You giggle, “no one’s home, daddy, don’t worry. s’just me and you.”

Eddie’s brain short circuits as he drinks you in. His soft innocent little bunny, your sun-kissed skin, covered in peach fuzz and goosebumps. A sheer pink lace thong covers your smooth core, little flowers, leaves and strawberries embroidered in the fabric. A garter cinches at your waist, thin ribbons circling around your thighs. Silky pink bows hanging off your hips.

“Wow baby, fuck.” “You like it?” You ask, peeking down. “Like it? I’m losing my mind over it.” He says, hands coming out to pull you towards him. You rest your hands on his shoulders as he traces his fingertips over the ribbons, so dainty and small in his hands.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Or anyone.” He says, looking up at you. The sun setting outside the barn is sending golden amber beams in through the door and Eddie’s caramel colored eyes are sparkling as he looks at you.

“What are you thinking about, daddy?” You ask, sweet as peach pie. “Shit,” he takes a deep breath, pulling your tummy close to his face, his lips kissing any bit of skin they can reach. “I don’t know if I should say what I’m thinking about.” He laughs.

“Are you thinking about fucking me?” You ask nonchalantly. He looks up at you, hands gripping your waist. “You can’t just say stuff like that, babygirl. You trying to kill me?” You giggle at the look on his face. “No, Eddie, I’m serious.” You say, shaking his shoulders softly and wiggling your hips to emphasize your point. Eddie watches as your hips and thighs recoil at the movement, he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold himself back and be a gentleman.

“But I thought you wanted to wait until we’re married?” He asks, sliding back on the hay bale to pull you into his lap. You look off to the side, clearly conflicted with what you were raised to believe and what you really want.

Eddie is a perv but he’s also so in love with you, it makes his stomach ache. He would never want to push you to do anything you didn’t want to do but to be honest, this whole ‘waiting until marriage’ thing has been kind of a bitch. He’s gotten used to rubbing your clothed pussy against his boner for a release, feeling guilty about it every time. But he needs to get off. And you make him so horny.

You whispering “Well maybe we can do… other things.” is all the ammo Eddie needs. He pulls your dress off over your shoulders, watching as your round perky boobs bounce back once the fabric is gone. He groans as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyelids hooded as he palms and squeezes your boobs. He lets each fingertip graze over your nipples as you let your head fall back, tingles all over your body. He pinches your hard nipples a little too roughly, a loud moan escaping your throat.

He smiles slowly, “Oh, don’t tell me you liked that. Don’t tell me that because I won’t be able to control myself.” You nod, “Felt good, daddy.” You whimper. His eyes roll back in his head as he takes your nipple in his mouth, his tongue sucking and laving over it while he tweaks your other one. He switches back and forth between them until they’re nice and wet, his lips glimmering with saliva. You rake your nails through his hair, scratching gently at the nape of his neck.

“I feel tingly down there again, Eddie. Remember how I told you last time?” Oh he remembers. Almost had to pull his dick out and stroke it in front of you when you told him. You had been making out, your little hips wiggling, your pussy getting drenched. Eddie loves the fact that he can get you so turned on. He loves that he’s the one who gets to introduce you to all this stuff. He wanted to touch you that day but held himself back. But he’s done holding back.

He pulls a flannel blanket off the top of the hay and lays it out onto the dirty barn floor. He instructs you to lay down, while he unclasps your garter belt and slips your panties down your legs. He sniffs them taking a slow, deep breath, making you giggle and blush before he slips them in his back pocket.

You feel totally bare in front of him, legs spread wide open for him to settle in between. He crouches down, eyes hooded and mouth hanging open as he takes in the beautiful flower between your legs. Pussy lips all pink and puffy, little nub of your clit sticking out under it’s hood just begging for attention. Your tiny fluttering hole is leaking clear, milky fluid that has his mouth watering, he licks his lips to stop from drooling.

He lets his fingers dance through your folds, gathering all your slick. You tremble at his fingers, thighs starting to come together. “Oh none of that baby,” he says pushing your thighs down with his palms. “so sensitive aren’t you?” he asks before landing a little spank to your clit. You moan loudly, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing hard.

Eddie’s in awe of you, so perfect and pure laying open for him. He gets down on his stomach and hooks his forearms under your thighs, guiding your ankles over his shoulders. “Gonna help you get nice and open for me, ok baby? Gonna get you nice and ready.” You bite your lip and nod, eyes closing as his lips trail little wet kisses up your inner thigh.

He spreads open your lips and spits directly on your cunt, watching it drip down and mix with your juices. His mouth attaches to your clit while he carefully, slowly slips his middle finger into your tight hole. His thick finger curls upwards, finding that special spot deep inside you.

You rake your fingers through his hair, pulling his face closer to you and moaning his name. He smiles against your pussy, peeking his head up to admire your fucked out face and tell you how sweet you taste.

He goes back to licking and sucking at your clit sloppily, his wrist working faster to fuck his finger in and out of you. He pulls his finger out to dip the tip of his tongue inside you, so warm and tight around his pink muscle. “Daddy, feels so good, need your finger again.” He dips his first and middle fingers in this time, seeing how much you can take.

“Fuck baby, your pussy’s practically pulling in my fingers.” He groans. He flips his hand so his palm is up and he starts pistoning his fingers in and out of you. Your legs start to shake and he holds them down, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your thighs.

You cry out his name, a tense spasm feeling starting deep within. His thumb starts to strum fast circles on your clit, “c’mon baby. show me you’re a good girl. know you can do it.” He says, out of breath. You squeeze your eyes shut, all sound fading away as your first orgasm comes crashing over you, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. You cry out, repeating Eddie’s name as you gush onto his hand.

“Fuuuuck babygirl, that’s it. Did so good for me, so fucking perfect.” He says as you come down from your high, catching your breath. “Oh my god, daddy.” you say, exhausted smile on your face.

Eddie palms at his hard length through his jeans, if he doesn’t stop neglecting it soon, he’s going to lose his mind. He leans over you, kissing you deeply, tongue sliding over yours. You run your fingers up his chest under his shirt, helping him pull it off. He pushes his hips into yours, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching at your soft skin. “I need to know how it feels to be inside you baby, just for a minute. I promise I won’t put more than just the tip in. Please.” He begs you, his hands already unzipping his jeans, unbuckling his belt. “Just for a minute?” You clarify. “Cause you know I’m not on the pill, Teddy Bear.”

He growls, “Just a quick minute baby,” he kisses the tip of your nose, “I promise, I just need to feel you wrapped around me.” You nod at him, sweet little smile on your lips. He shimmies down his pants and boxers, just to his thighs.

He shudders as he reaches down to grab his cock, giving it a few tugs as he kisses your neck and whispers a thank you in your ear. Your eyes wander down to look at it. “It’s pretty like you, daddy. Pink like your lips.” You giggle. He smiles, kissing you softly as his weight comes down on you. He looks down between your bodies, letting the mushroom head push through your slick folds. “Gonna be a little bit of a stretch, bunny. But it’ll feel better soon.” He says before pushing his cock all the way in to the hilt. You hold back a moan, focusing on when it’s going to stop hurting.

Eddie’s mind goes blank. Being inside you is more addicting than he thought it would be. He slowly pulls all the way out before sliding back in, just as deeply as before. He lets out a whimper as his face gets nuzzled into the crook of your neck, one hand on your hip, the other holding your cheek.

Your gummy walls hug him tight, like you were made for him. He lets his hips start to hump in and out of you, never fully pulling out, just enough to feel his balls slap against your ass. He keeps going and going and going, whimpering and moaning your name telling you how good you feel.

The painful stretching feeling is gone and all that’s left is pleasure, Eddie’s big thick cock filling you up just right, so much better than his fingers, which you didn’t think was possible.

Eddie’s hands grab behind your lower back, hugging you close to him as he fucks up into you. “So fucking tight baby, never gonna let this pussy go. Gonna make you mine forever.” He grunts as he fucks you hard and deep.

He’s starting to sweat, mumbling curses and praises to you. It feels so good you don’t want it to stop but you start to get worried. He’ll stop before it goes too far you think. His hips pump faster into you, wet sounds and skin on skin slaps echoing through the large barn. “Can’t pull out-can’t. Feels too good.” He chokes out. You whimper, hands pushing his chest, little “no”s leaving your mouth as another orgasm creeps up on you.

His movements get faster and sloppier, short broken moans leaving his mouth as his eyes screw shut, his forehead coming down to meet yours. You open your mouth as a silent moan comes from deep within you, coming at the same time as him. Thick ropes of his cum shoot inside you, his hips flush to yours as he pumps every last bit of his seed into you with a shudder.

You look at him angrily, “Eddie!” “What?” He says, laughing a bit at how cute you sound when you’re angry. “You said only for a minute!” “I’m sorry, it felt too good. Been waiting so long for that.” “You lied to me.” You said, eyes starting to water. He tuts at you, smile leaving his face. “No, no, no bunny, I tried to pull out, I really did. I’m sorry.”

A fat tear rolls down your cheek, “You didn’t try! Now what am I going to do? What if-what if-” you choke out through sobs. “It’ll be fine baby. You’re not pregnant. And if you are, we’ll be ok. All three of us.” You look at him with your big wet eyes, starting to relax and breathe normally again and Eddie smiles softly. He doesn’t regret what he did because he’d do it again. He meant what he said. He’ll make you his forever.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course. Whatever happens, I’ll always be here. No matter what.” He says, thumb swiping away the trail of tears from your cheeks. He kisses you softly, “I love you, Bunny.” You smile, “I love you too, Eddie.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #self insert fic #perv!eddie x innocent!reader #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie #eddie x fem!reader #Eddie x innocent!reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie x reader #eddie x country girl

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thebotanicalarcade · 3 months

Video

flickr

n294_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: American wild flowers in their native haunts. G.S. Appleton. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/39030346

#Flowers -- United States Flowers in Literature #United States Geological Survey #bhl:page=39030346 #dc:identifier=http://biodiversitylibrary.org/page/39030346 #flickr #botanical illustration #scientific illustration #wood lily #lily #lilium philadelphicum #Philadelphia lily #prairie lily #western red lily #cottagecore #flowercore

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unboundprompts · 8 months

Text

Character Name Ideas that have Cottagecore Vibes

-> feel free to comment suggestions, I'll do my best to add them to the list.

Male:

Milo

Aspen

Asher

Ambrose

Atlas

Levi

Covyn

Colton

Arlo

Julius

Caspian

Bellamy

Oliver

Everest

Percy

Alcott

Huntley

Female:

Indigo

Eloise

Evadine

Daphne

Faye

Dahlia "Dolly"

Luella

Ophelia

Persephone

Seraphina

Esther "Essie"

Lyra

Calliope

Aria

Emory

Amber

Ginger

Lily

Willow

Ivy

Marigold "Goldie"

Calla

Ginny

Gender-Neutral:

Fox

Kai

Navi

Naemi

Eden

Juniper

Robin

Juno

Poe

Fawn

Thorn

Oak

Honey

August

Sparrow

Clover

Briar

Prairie

Wren

Darcy

July

Scout

#character names #character name ideas #name ideas #name suggestions #name list #character name analysis #oc names #ocs #oc name ideas #writeblr #original character #creative writing #cottagecore #cottage aesthetic #naturecore #flowercore

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telekinetictrait · 30 days

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Young Miss Cassandra Goth really ought to be courted soon – as the most eligible lady in Willow Creek, she practically has suitors lining up outside her window! But she prefers to lounge in her Mama's old dressing gowns and work on her musical compositions. Little Mister Alexander is a right young genius – why, he's already mastered Latin and is a genius at mathematics, just like his Papa. Well, if Miss Cassandra refuses to wed, at least when little Alexander comes of age he'll certainly make a good match!

cc links and creator tags under the cut!!!

check my resources page and genetics tag for genetics

multiple: an0nymousghost's qrqr19 opal hair conversion - vegantrait's shine moles - wildlyminiaturesandwich's posey glasses - dancemachinetrait's victorian child stockings + boots - linzlu's warm wool socks - linzlu's child button boots / buzzardly28's hilda hair - the-melancholy-maiden's late victorian hair - happylifesims' gilded glasses - dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves - kedluu's ankle boots - historysims4's victorian shoes

everyday/house: zurkdesign's red beans and rice conversion / cmoonsims' rachel dress

going out: vintagesimstress' 1892 boys overcoat / marigold's lace frill boater - buzzardly28's adelaide hair - jewishsimming's gibson girl set

formal: jewishsimming's sebastian jacket + nostalgia knickerbockers / gilded-ghosts' victorian visions dress

athletic: linzu's bicycle suit (download here) / vintagesimstress' cycling hat - gilded-ghosts' victorian visions jacket (i dont remember which one, sorry!) - gilded-ghosts' perfectly plain skirt

undergarments: standardheld's pajama party tank and shorts / dancemachinetrait's lillie corset and combinations

sleepwear: vintagesimstress' victorian nightshirt for boys / cringeborg's simple regency dress

morning: vintagesimstress' victorian nightshirt for boys - inabadromance's child accessory cardigan / vintagesimstress' sifix 1889 morning gown

swimwear: ameyasims' lehgaming's vintage swimwear conversion / lace-and-honey's linzlu prairie bonnet conversion - vintagesimstress' 1893 swimwear - eirflower's bain de soliel bathing shoes

party: vintagesimstress' 1893 boys outfit / simverse's hat with lily - teanmoon's cameo choker - vintagesimstress' 1898 evening gown

summer: jewishsimming's guidry boater conversion - historicalsimslife's polite boy outfit / the-melancholy-maiden's late victorian hat - delis-sims' victorine blouse - gilded-ghosts' perfectly plain skirt

winter: vintagesimstress' 1894 cape coat for boys / simverse's winter hat with feathers - clumsyalienn's rae scarf - sychik's 1890's jacket (...and i didnt see it until now but sychik also made it into a walking suit, which i shouldve used, and you should too!)

thank you to @an0nymousghost @vegantrait @wildlyminiaturesandwich @dancemachinetrait @linzlu @buzzardly28 @the-melancholy-maiden @happylifesimsreblogs @kedluu @historysims4 @zurkdesign @cmoonsims @vintagesimstress @jewishsimming @gilded-ghosts @cringeborg @inabadromance @ameyasims @lace-and-honey @eirflower @simverses @teanmoon @historicalsimslife @delis-sims @clumsyalienn and finally @sychik !!!

...a late victorian lookbook where i DONT use adèle's cc??? whats gotten into me!!!!!!!!!!

#my sims #sims 4 lookbook #ts4 lookbook #ts4lookbook #s4 lookbook #sims 4 #cassandra goth #alexander goth

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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Hi! There's a something I'd like to share....Poly! marauders + lily watching little Harry interact with the belly of a pregnant S/O. Harry is just so excited to be a big brother and his trying to talk to the unborn baby just makes my heart soft ♡. (Hope u have a lovely day and sorry for my bad english ; w;)

come celebrate 4k with me!

:(( what the fuck oh my god that's adorable :((

"'N you can play with my trucks!" Harry leaned into your baby bump, resting his chubby cheek against your flushed skin, "But you can't use my broom. Tha's mine. 'S only for big boys."

You could practically see Remus's grin lighting up the room from the corner of your eye, but you didn't dare distract yourself from the adorable scene before you.

"Daddy," Harry turned, keeping one pudgy hand over your belly, "'S the baby gonna be teeny tiny?"

"So teeny tiny," James crouched beside his son, covering Harry's little hand with his own broad one, "You'll have to wait a bit before they can play trucks with you, Harry."

"But can I hold them?" He frowned, curling his little fingers so that they dug slightly into your skin.

"Of course you can," You piped up, smiling warmly at the little boy who grinned toothily at you, "You'll be a perfect big brother."

"What can I play with them when they're little?"

"You could try peek-a-boo," Lily ruffled her son's hair, "Babies like that."

"That game is dumb," Harry huffed, "It's not fun."

"Hey," Sirius leveled Harry with an unamused glare, "You used to make me play that with you for hours, Harry. You screamed and cried when I stopped, don't pretend you're above it."

"He probably screamed and cried 'cause he had to look at your ugly face again," James smirked from Harry's side, and you giggled as Sirius swatted at the back of his head.

"Anyways," Remus scoffed, eyes softening as he turned to Harry, "You have to be gentle with newborn babies, but you'll get to play with him eventually."

Harry brightened at that, patting the back of James's head as a consoling gesture, though he used a bit too much toddler force, leaving James wincing for a second time. He turned back to you, both hands braced on your tummy now as he began rambling again, "When I learn how to read I can read to you! We can read about the little house on the prairie, and we can read goodnight moon, and-"

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riewritten · 1 month

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𝐎𝐈𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 · CHAPTER ONE · AO3

˚ · .─ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: YOU, a college student in Frankfurt, start receiving emails that embarked the dim of normalcy you worked so hard to build on your own; starting from a message claiming you as the light amidst the hell of Kinderheim, who came just in time to bring a paradise of doomsday and grime, something that pleased the monster inside him. Initially, you thought of reporting the email as spam until another ding came: the monster, so pleased and full, is aiming to return the favor—something to flesh out the paradise you had granted him back at Kinderheim.

˚ · .─ 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎: Johan Liebert/Fem!reader | 6.4k words

˚ · .─ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: stalking, manipulation, obsessive tendencies, paranoia, among many things that might arise.

For a fire to start, there must be friction. For a fire to scatter, there must be air. To maintain the fire, the environment must be tolerable.

"And the prairies would do," the little boy, who seems like he just came out from a deep slumber, beams at you.

And so you look around. Indeed, luckily for you two, because this little sanctuary is surrounded by prairies.

"But, Johan…" you whisper because the little boy asked you to. He entrusted you with a top-secret, after all. "Why burn the whole place?"

Johan stays still. Cold smile, half-lidded eyes. You only realize how lightweight he is when he places his palm on your head. His aura is enormous, darkly so, that it often overwhelms you. You wonder how Johan's simple pat on the head could ground you from his quiet but menacing presence.

"You said you want to see the fireworks up close."

"I did…? Oh, yes, I did, but that was a long time ago!"

"Only two weeks ago," Johan corrects.

"You could remember?"

"Everything you say is etched in my memory."

"Because I'm special?"

Johan smiles, "Because you're special."

You chuckle innocently as your silly little brain can't perceive that silly little remark as something deserving of alarm. After all, Johan is special for you, too.

He's the first friend you ever had. The first kid that has been introduced to you by Daddy. Daddy had constantly introduced you to people of his age. Whenever you ask, "Why not a person of my age? I want a friend!" Daddy had the same answer: it needs to be—for his work, for your house, for your storybooks, for your clothes, and for the food you eat. And with his cold smile, he adds, "It's how the world works. No child would prosper without an adult." His smile gets even more uncanny when he quips, "Worry not because when you grow up smart, you'll be introduced to children like I introduce my men to you. By then, you'll understand. By then, you could replace me."

But you don't want to replace him or his so-called men, for that matter. Something about them unnerves you. Sometimes, you don't even remember what happens after Daddy introduced them to you. You'd just know it when you come home with a new storybook. That was it. That's the only thing you could decipher.

So Johan's arrival in your life was a momentous change. His presence changed the direction of the air, perhaps towards something more sinister. But what could be more ominous than the storybooks, let alone Daddy's workmates? If Johan is with you, sinister would be a secondary thing. The excitement cradled with Johan's gentle presence would be the primary.

And how could you not deem him special when he suddenly went to you with myriads of ideas so that you could see fireworks up close, just because you said you wanted to?

"But, Johan, there might be a reason why fireworks are thrown to the sky."

"What would happen if it wasn't thrown to the sky?"

You look around the prairies and the building. Then, your face gets etched with pity. "What a waste of beautiful things," you thought to yourself.

Johan walks to you, nonchalant, full of poise. He carefully hoists your hair to put a red spider lily on your ear. Then, he replies, "You're right. Everything would get burnt to a crisp. The prairies would be no more. We will be none but dust in the wind."

A strange urge came to you, then. Run. Run away as fast as you can. However, the urge was weak. Curiosity riddled you more. Yes, it could be indeed frightening, but you were so used to it. Storybooks and the sessions with Daddy's workmates gave you a primal urge to run at first, but it all faded when you got used to it.

You stay silent as he looks at you with a subtle adoration—almost proud of how the flower accentuates the features of your face. Just as if it's not the same flower that'd be burnt down to a crisp if he gets to show you the fireworks up close.

Suddenly, you reach for your leather shoulder bag to grab a book, "Just like this one?"

Johan's sleepy-looking eyes lighten up. You know it excites him whenever you bring a storybook with you. He loves reading it more than you do. If not for the policies inside the sanctuary, which you're obviously not aware of, you were sure Johan would've brought it back with him.

The book cover is a paper mache of matchsticks and flames. You had always loved caressing it as you slept. Still, seeing Johan's dazed eyes towards the book right now, you figure it'll always be worth sharing whatever's yours with him.

Daddy said you two share a lot of similarities. You honestly don't see it if you were to compare personalities, but if that was why he introduced you to Johan, then you might as well cling to it. Daddy said Johan meets no other children aside from you. Daddy said Johan, just like you, only gets to talk to the adults. Daddy said the only difference between you two is that you live in an actual house. In contrast, Johan lives inside the sanctuary where Daddy works. Daddy said, Daddy said, Daddy said, Daddy said—

"Thank you, really," Johan calls your name. "The book keeps me awake."

"It's okay to be a sleepyhead, though. Daddy said your quizzes are much harder than everyone else. You're such a hard worker that I could give you everything that's mine!"

Johan's face darkens at the mention of so-called quizzes; hence, you reiterate, "If it'd help you do better in Daddy's quizzes, then you could take whatever's mine. They said everything that's mine has been given to me for being a good girl. You're a good boy, too. And so every piece of mine is yours, too!"

Johan's voice, unlike earlier, is much quieter now. "You resemble someone."

"Do I?"

"Someone I must never forget."

Your smile widens. Suppose your presence alone helps Johan remember someone he must never forget—it'd be unnecessary to give him everything that's yours so he won't leave you alone. "That's wonderful. Are they why you could withstand Father's difficult quizzes?"

Johan didn't answer. His smile, albeit his usual one, is much darker and more complex to decipher.

You remove the red spider lily from your ear, walk towards him, and gently hold his hand with the flower. Your foreheads bump—perhaps it's your statement to the wind that whatever darkness and terror your friend has inside him, you're not afraid to stick to it—just like the match head is to its igniter or the pin stuck in a grenade.

You don't know why, but it makes you proud. Not anyone could do that. Not even Daddy. Not even his workmates in the sanctuary. Only you.

"Let me visit you as much as I can, then. I'm gonna visit you until you can be with that person again, the one you must never forget."

"Would you?"

"I would!"

After all, Daddy said you're not much different from him. And Johan is special. And he holds you special, too. And he'd devise ways to show you the fireworks up close because you said you wanted to. And you'd love it. Your curiosity would be more palpable than the terror because you're used to it. You're used to it all.

You shot your eyes awake, terror filling every crevice of your skin. You feel hot. Despite the sunny weather, autumn-like sky from the window, and the vivid dream about a poor child who seemed to be a lovely friend, it feels like you're quenched in an oil well fire.

Your breaths are staggered, loud. Your mouth is open, gasping for air as if it just went through hours-long of suffocation. Your throat hurts. Your eyes are drenched with tears, just as your skin is soaked with sweat. You look at your surroundings to ground yourself, but everything seems spooky. One tiny sound would make you faint out of fear. Your eyes linger on the spare bed of your dorm.

"Frieda is right. I need a roommate as soon as possible."

Perhaps the source of your recurrent nightmares was the heap of emails you've been receiving recently. Your friends in college were quite conflicted when you talked to them about it. Half of them, which includes Frieda, said you must file a blotter at the police station at this point. The other half, however, deemed the messages as something sweet. They told Frieda and others not to overreact because the emails were too cryptic to qualify as stalking.

"Too cryptic, huh?" Frieda grimaced. "The sender is named 'Monster,' for heaven's sake!"

"Maybe an exaggeration? Like some sort of 'You might as well call me a monster, for I could only be satisfied once I devour your enormous love' type of monster?"

"Ew!" Frieda shuddered. "It better be that type of monster, but the latest email just creeped me out!"

"Really? What did they say?" the other friend turned to you.

You sigh. You really don't want to think about it anymore. "The Monster said I was the one who brought him the 'paradise of doomsday and grime' and that he'd come to me at last to return the favor I did for him back at Kinderheim."

You froze at the last word.

"Kinder—what?"

"Okay, 'the paradise of doomsday and grime' was actually creepy. But hey, in my defense, the previous emails sounded like a profession of love!"

Kinderheim. Kinderheim. Kinderheim.

You barely skimmed the email this morning, so the word Kinderheim passed from one ear to another. Or maybe you just blocked out the needed energy to decipher what it meant because the message came right after you woke up. Only now that you are at the school cafeteria and sipping an iced coffee with your friends did you realize that Kinderheim was a very familiar word that triggered a primal fear in your head.

The next thing you know, your friends are done talking about the email and are focused on calming you down because of trembling and crying. You ended up at the infirmary after lunch. After witnessing your meltdown, Frieda couldn't gather the headspace to her next class; she insisted on accompanying you instead.

"Sorry for not telling you this sooner, but—" Frieda gulps, "I've found you a roommate. I'm getting really paranoid about the emails. After what happened today, I'm sure you must not be left alone in your dorm for the meantime."

Much to Frieda's surprise, you squeeze her hand to ease her worries. "Thank you, really. My nightmares are worsening, too. Every sound inside the dorm kind of scares me."

"Oh god. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you."

You shake your head, "You don't need to. Your grandma isn't getting any younger. Just introduce me to the roommate you've found." Frieda is the most trustworthy friend you've had for god knows how long, so you don't doubt the screening process she did with the roommate in question.

"She's a very, very pretty girl, let me tell you! She's a recent transferee from Law who's been dorm-hopping for a week now, and she saw my poster on the bulletin board."

"Recent transferee from Law? What's her name?"

"Anna. She's the talk of the town! I can't believe you haven't heard of her yet! She's mysterious but very amicable. I was able to screen her nicely, though, don't you worry! And oh, I think both of you would click."

"Why do you think so?"

"You're similar to each other in ways I couldn't explain," Frieda pondered. "Maybe it's because you grew up with foster parents…?"

You let out a strained chuckle, "Just because of that?"

"Ugh, I told you I don't know how to explain it. Be the judge once you meet her! And be quick to get well because I can't introduce you to her in that state, okay? The pros of having her is that she's ready to move in as soon as tonight."

"Tonight?! Wait, that's too soon!"

"But it's quite a pity, you know? She's been staying at the hotel near the campus since her transfer. She looks wealthy, but we both know how expensive hotels are in this economy! Give some college girl a slack!"

If this were normal circumstances, your face would turn sour at how fast the transaction was. However, Frieda's grandma owns the apartment. If it's her granddaughter who arranges things concerning roommates—let alone with someone from the same campus—it'd be faster than needed.

"How about the down payment? Her lease? Hell, when did she even reach out? Why are things happening so fast?!" you ask, albeit futilely. Deep inside, you're wondering if you had cleaned your room enough for a visitor to come.

"I was initially planning to let her in a week after I tell you, but today was an emergency. You really need a company tonight. Anna told me she needs a place as soon as possible, so this arrangement would benefit her. And she had sent the down payment already."

"Without visiting the place first? If I were Anna, I'd deem you quite sketchy."

"Heh. Anna doesn't need to take a look inside. Don't you know where you're staying right now has always been eyed by the students?! You're just lucky you got the 'best friend pass!'" Frieda crosses her arms and sticks out her tongue. "Besides, I'm sure she wouldn't bother visiting the place anymore when I already gave her the pictures. And she's quite excited to meet you, too."

"She knows me?"

"She said one of her classmates has a crush on you. I'm frustrated that I couldn't get the name out of her, though! Seems like she really is a trustworthy friend."

It made you excited to meet her, too. And oh, Frieda really did not lie at all. She is such a pretty girl—no, pretty would be an understatement.

Stunning could be the nearest term.

You only return to your senses after Anna flashes a sweet chuckle. "My hand is getting numb."

"O-oh! I'm so sorry!" you frantically shake hands. "It's just that you're so beautiful I got lost. Frieda didn't warn me enough."

"Hey, I did warn you!"

"Oh dear," her voice is even sweeter than her face, "how lovely it sounds from a pretty girl like you." Rarely did you ever blush with someone praising you, and for some reason, the honey in her voice didn't help ease the butterflies either.

Frieda helped fix Anna's stuff, which shockingly was a little. The house wasn't that huge—a typical townhouse, if one must say—but the one and only bedroom is designed for two people. That's why it felt pretty empty when only you were sleeping on it.

Anna insisted on cooking dinner while you settled on washing the dishes. She initiated a get-to-know-you conversation, and you were glad to follow through. But then, perhaps Frieda was right when she said you and Anna share many similarities. You could see through her while talking—her gestures, cordial eyes, and eloquence seemed programmed, to say the least. That would take time to practice, and you know how long and hard it'd take. How else would you know if you're not the same as her?

Unlike other people, communication wasn't conventionally taught to you. You were meticulously taught to do so. And you just know Anna was, too. Ordinary people who learned it naturally stutter and space out occasionally, and the awkwardness will be apparent if you squint your eyes. You've been scrutinizing this for as long as you remember. You'd believe someone if they say it's possible for a human being to be born at age ten, already equipped with basic human abilities, despite not knowing the reason why.

But then again, if you don't have any memories of your life below age ten, how could you know you weren't taught conventionally? How could you see through Anna? How do you know she underwent the same process as you did? How? How? How? How?

Anna gently called your name with her palm, caressing the top of your head, dissipating the fiery pit of your deeply rooted curiosities.

However, even her hand feels unusually familiar, too.

"I'm gonna turn off the lights now. Is it okay?" Anna gently asks.

"Where are you from?"

If Anna was taken aback, she showed no sign of it. Instead, she quips, "Does it have any relevance to me asking to turn off the lights?"

You look away in a flush, "N-no! I-I mean, yes, you may turn off the lights. It's just that I'm not yet over with our getting-to-know-each-other conversation."

"You seem tense today. Frieda told me something had happened and that I needed to move in tonight. Looking at you now, I think you were the reason why." Anna lies on her bed and snuggles inside her futon. She faces you with a smile.

Frieda and you will have to talk as soon as tomorrow comes. However, Anna's honey-laced voice exuded sheer comfort. It's as if she could take whatever you'd tell her. She seems like a person who could put things together despite your incoherence. And it's something remarkable because you have never met someone like that. Your friends had always described you this way, but never did you appreciate the charisma of it until you met Anna tonight.

"I'm having nightmares recently about a strange little boy in a strange little sanctuary. It's so vivid and recurrent that one could think it really happened."

Anna stays silent, but her kind eyes coax you to continue.

"The sanctuary is in the middle of a vast prairie. I have so many storybooks to read, and I share them with this one tiny, pitiful boy who looks like he just woke up from years-long sleep."

"That's a rather wholesome dream. What made it a nightmare?"

"Because he suggested burning the sanctuary and the people inside it just because I told him I want to see the fireworks up close. We discussed how the grass could help turn everyone and everything into dust. And we were so giddy doing so. It's such a nightmare for children to think of something that cruel."

"Is it really a nightmare for children to think about such things?"

"Obviously?" you chuckle nervously. "Do you think otherwise?"

"But what are children's words if not things passed down to them by adults?" Anna trails, "Cruelty is as inherent as our primal fears. No being would survive without it."

Your eyes widen.

"See, if lions teach their cute little cubs to gobble innocent deers who have their own babies, what more could human beings do?"

"You're justifying children's mass murdering tendencies, Anna."

"Am I wrong, though?"

Oh crap. Frieda might've gone wrong with her screening.

Anna calls your name, "Are you and your little friend wrong for wanting to see a firework up close at the expense of prairies and the sanctuary? Is it so bad for children to think of goals in a manner taught to them by adults? Why fear something so natural?"

After a while of not speaking, Anna slowly sits and scoots her face near to your frozen one. You could smell the flowery scent of her hair and the oh-so-pleasing soap she had used to wash her face. Amidst her pleasant smell, nothing else could enter your mind but horror. Her presence is quite similar to your dreams. As Anna's face scoots closer, she's becoming more familiar, too.

When the proximity is only centimeters apart, she blows in your face and says, "Boo."

You sit up in a panic and scream, then quickly return from it upon hearing Anna's chortles. This is the first time you've seen her laugh, heartily so. Throughout the day, her smiles have always been controlled, the same way as her words and gestures are composed. The tears forming in her eyes due to laughing don't seem calculated this time.

"That's mean, Anna!"

"Sorry, sorry," Anna tries to wipe the tears with her fingers. "It's just that you look so cute when scared. I can't help myself."

The flush forming up your face doesn't help you at all. It may prove Anna's point, even. You turn your back to her, annoyed. "Frieda brought you here to accompany me as I sleep, not to make my night harder!"

"Should I turn the lights on, then?" she slyly asks.

"I'm not a kid!"

Anna's chuckles wrap the room again, "Sorry for scaring you. I'll make up for it."

"How? I'm totally terrified to close my eyes now."

Anna hums in pondering. You're still determining if she's thinking of ways to take back what she did or mess around with you more.

"Okay, you could take it this way: if you dream of the same boy again, maybe you could ask him a question," Anna starts. You face her again, confused, and so she continues. "Ask him why he'd grant your wish at the expense of human lives, the beautiful flowers, the grassland, and even the sanctuary itself."

"How would that help me?"

"Once your empathy surpasses the fear, your nightmares would stop being nightmares."

Oh.

"Don't worry, I'll stay here," Anna gives you a sweet smile. "Tell me his answer first thing in the morning."

You're unsure if it's because of Anna's impact on your first day together, but the little Johan in your dreams became clearer.

It was Anna's face, or rather, Anna if she were a young little boy.

"How silly," you thought to yourself. Now, you're sure the dreams are not the memories scraped off from your brain before you turn ten.

˚ · . ─ 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 ─ . · ˚

Life is good. Every morning is not filled with fires. You have the best roommate who compensates for her mysterious presence by pampering you. You're not a kid (you never became one). You never had a sinister childhood friend. You were a particular case of a human being born out of nowhere with a ten-year-old body, uncanny eccentricities, unrooted trauma, and fear of abandonment. It's better to put things that way.

But it isn't. How bad. Do you hope it works that way? Things are, in fact, getting worse on your end.

Anna was so present in the first month of moving in that you got so dependent on her, especially when having nightmares. Anna is so easy to wake up that you even wonder if she really is asleep the whole time. Anna would sit on your bed, squeeze your hand with her broad fingers, tuck you in while caressing your head, and whisper sweet nothings. When morning comes, she'd ask you about the nightmares, particularly about Johan. Then she'd ask you how you perceive Johan based on the dream. She speaks as if Johan is not a fragment of your dream, that she knows the boy personally, and that she knows the overall premise of your nightmares even though you only tell her the gist of it. It's as if Anna knows everything about you.

Despite the uncanny development between you two that needs to be assessed because otherwise, things could get a bit toxic, you couldn't help but cling to her. How could you not, when she's always there, so aware of what to do whenever you don't? How could you quench this dependency when she rarely comes home now, and the creepy emails from the Monster are increasing alarmingly? How would you sleep alone in a room designed for two when the Monster tells you things only your close friends would know? You're getting a bit too paranoid—delirious, even—during midnight meltdowns that you start cutting people off. It continued until Anna and Frieda were your only close friends left because you were sure neither would be the Monster. You sense Frieda's utter worry, but at least leaving Anna in your circle of trusted people tempered her anxiousness.

One midnight, right after you woke up from a nightmare showing the burnt sanctuary cradling corpses of so many children, you felt the most tormenting headache of your life. But Anna wasn't there to help you. You had to force yourself out of bed, wear your hoodie despite being drenched in cold sweat, and search for the nearest 24/7 pharmacy.

As if the night couldn't get worse, a strange tall man with a pointed nose and black trench coat approached you. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, and his dead eyes riled your intimidation towards him. With a small smile, he asks, "You don't seem well, young lady. Need help?"

"No," you grimace, the headache and paranoia increasing your irritability. "I can manage."

"The pharmacy is three blocks away from here. I can accompany you."

"How could I know you're not gonna bring me somewhere else?"

"You've got pepper spray on your left pocket, taser on the right. I don't think any burglar would dare go against you, not when your temper is riddled by unbearable headaches."

Sharp, he is. You silently nudge him to pave the way, then. The twinkling lights from bars and the volume of people leaving and entering the place help ease your intimidation on this terrible midnight.

The man waits for the painkiller to kick in with you beside the pharmacy, after which he shows his ID and says, "Apologies for not introducing myself sooner. I'm Inspector Heinrich Lunge from BKA.”

How strange it is for an inspector to introduce himself at three in the morning. Upon examining his ID, you finally ask, "How could I help you, Inspector?"

He confirms your name, with which you nod, and then asks straight to the point, "Have you been receiving peculiar emails recently?"

Blood in your head flushes out in fear, which is quite uncanny, if you'd be honest. This might be the help you've been waiting for all this time. After your teary-eyed nod, the inspector invited you to a nearby cafe. His treat. The economic crisis had made mere painkillers so expensive for college students in Frankfurt, after all.

You don't let details slip with Inspector Lunge; he seems immersed in it, minus his strange finger tapping on the table.

"To summarize, the Monster started his message by claiming you as the light amidst the hell of Kinderheim, who came just in time to bring a paradise of doomsday and grime, which pleased the Monster inside him. And after telling you that he's about to return the favor you did for him, the emails started becoming more personal and alarming," his finger-tapping did not cease after saying all this. It isn't until he closes his eyes that his voice changes, "All that, and yet, you didn't report it to the police."

"Because I'm conflicted. If I had reported that and it was a silly prank by one of my friends, how embarrassing would it have been to the officials who handled my case? Not to mention that—wait, hold on, how did you know about the emails, then?"

"An anonymous tip came to me, and it just so happened that your case might be related to the person I'm finding."

"The person you're finding…?"

"Okay, first things first. What I'm about to say are merely hypotheses I came up with by myself. It's not confirmed, at least not yet. In fact, you're the one to prove if everything I'm about to say is true."

You raise an eyebrow, "By yourself? How could you disrupt some random citizen's night over something you thought all by yourself? Have you not consulted your colleagues first?"

"That's not needed, to be honest," Lunge poses, holding his methods with utter confidence. "I don't think it's necessary if the one who tipped the information I have about your case is the presumed suspect themselves."

Your head starts spinning, unsure if it's because of the horror or rage. Really? Is all this torment only a game for this Monster?

"That's why you must help me, young lady," Lunge interposes, "because your cooperation would benefit your safety the most."

You don't trust people so quickly, but it's not like you have any other choice if the best one to help is this eccentric man in front of you. "Go on, Inspector."

"Nice choice," he clicks his tongue, "I'll get straight to the point, then," then sips his coffee. You feel he's going tormentingly slow as if pretending to consider your headspace to accommodate it.

“Johan, Kinderheim 511.”

Fuck.

No way. There is absolutely no way.

"That's quite a reaction. It rang a bell, didn't it??"

Neither Anna nor Frieda had known that the little boy in your nightmares was named Johan.

Myriads of possibilities ran inside your head sporadically. The painkiller started wearing off despite its supposed 12-hour effectiveness. Trembling pleas for help transcended into actual throbbing headaches. If not for the public fiasco it could cause, you might have lost consciousness by now.

"Johan, he—" you trail, "h-he does not exist."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He does not exist!" you exclaim and stand up. The aggressive reaction turned everyone's head towards you. The only one unperturbed about it is Lunge himself.

"What's with your reaction, then?"

"Johan, the prairies, the fireworks up close, the burnt sanctuary holding corpses of burnt children, all of them!" you grip your hair with both hands, hoping to ease the ringing pain inside your head, "They do not exist! They're all in my head, they are nothing but nightmares! I—ah—huh—" you might be having a panic attack right now. Why? You just adamantly claimed that none of these exist? So why?

If the inspector knew of your meltdown, he showed no sign of it. He seems to care more about the information you have in you rather than the tumultuous effect it could give your brain by saying it out loud.

"The only way to ensure your safety right now is if you spill everything to me. Otherwise, you'll remain in that torment until that Monster reaches you."

You glare at Lunge angrily, "I won't be able to spill something that doesn't exist!"

"Your reaction says otherwise. You know it."

Your breathing becomes more staggered, urgent, and unrelenting. The inspector really might help you, so you try to calm down. If you couldn't help yourself, even his initiatives wouldn't matter, "H-huh… Hah—"

You look around the prairies and the sanctuary, "What a waste of beautiful things." "You're right. Everything would get burnt to a crisp. The prairies would be no more. We will be none but dust in the wind."

Tears start streaming down your face. You swear you could feel strands of your hair falling off by how hard you're gripping them.

You remove the red spider lily from your ear, walk towards him, and gently hold his hand with the flower. Your foreheads bump—perhaps it's your statement to the wind that you're not afraid to stick to whatever darkness and terror your friend has inside him. "Let me visit you as much as I can, then. I'm gonna visit you until you can be with that person again, the one you must never forget." "Would you?"

The snippet starts glitching in your head when the red spider lily Johan and you are holding melts down into blood. The tranquil afternoon turns dark. And the fluffy clouds turn into a massive chunk of smoke. The air started to stink. The cold breeze is now tormentingly hot. It reeks of corpses. Children. Flames. Ashes. And there goes Johan, looking at your reaction with expectant eyes, saying: Here are the fireworks you so wished for. I told you everything you say is etched in my memory. You ask, and I deliver.

"Stop—hah—go away! I can't—oh!" you snap out of it when a familiar hand grabs you by the shoulder and brings you to her embrace.

She hushes you and whispers sweet nothings until it overpowers your sobbing, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here. Breathe slowly."

Your eyes flutter. Anna's soft touches coax your heart to slow down.

"Where have you been?" you muffle your cries on her shirt. "I've been having a hard time alone in the dorm."

"But I'm here now, am I not?" There's something in Anna's honey-laced voice that calms you down. Something more effective than drowsy painkillers or the sleeping pills you buy when nighttime events go dire. "You've been so independent all your life, so I thought you could handle it. Am I apparently mistaken?"

Just before you let your body give in to the cradle of Anna's safe arms, she speaks in a voice much deeper than usual, "I'm here because you want me to. It was you who wished for me, so you're not gonna get rid of me anytime soon."

You neither understood what she meant by that nor what was with the sudden change in her voice. Perhaps it was your delusion kicking in, but Anna's tone almost sounded like the boy in your dreams if he got to grow up into a fine young man. How alarming, indeed, but with your mind so desperate for comfort and warmth, you let Anna's remark consume you with relief.

To leave the only inspector who could help you in the hands of a girl you've only known for a month or two? What a pity.

But then, it's not like you can do anything about it. You have no choice but to let Anna handle it. As she always does, as she always would.

When you wake up, you're already at the dorm. Lying on the bedside table was a full-course breakfast Anna cooked for you. She told you what happened after you lost your consciousness. Inspector Lunge begrudgingly called it a night, but her apologies to your roommate were sincere. Anna was able to confirm his identity. Inspector Lunge is indeed from BKA but is on leave of absence.

"Then why did he go to me in the middle of the night? And the strange thing is that he reached out to me with nothing but assumptions he had just made by himself, with no colleagues involved whatsoever."

"My friend's father works at BKA. He told me an uncanny rumor."

"Rumor? It's more uncanny that the beauty and brains Anna Liebert believes rumors."

Anna giggles, scoots closer, and whispers to your ear, "One of the crucial witnesses in the case Inspector Lunge used to handle had killed themselves after he got so engrossed interrogating them. His leave of absence was forced by his superiors," she then faces you upfront; cold but gentle eyes are centimeters away from yours. Her breath smells of fresh mint. "Strange, isn't it?"

What's more strange is how you're flushed from the proximity just now, though.

"That's why I want you to be careful around him," Anna calls your name. "It's not that he couldn't help you—I think he would do so well in that regard—but do come to me once he crosses the line."

Indeed, if Inspector Lunge really crossed the line with this thing, killing yourself is way more possible than anything. "Thank you, Anna. I don't know how to repay all the help you've done for me."

She cups your cheeks, a very soft gesture contrasting her uncanny reply afterward, "I'll do everything for you."

"Why?" and yet you're too entranced to get alarmed by it.

"Why?" Anna lightly ponders. She gives you a cold, sweet smile shortly after: "Because you're special."

"Special? Why?"

"That's a secret," Anna then slides a toasted bread in your mouth. "Now eat. Someone dropped a letter in our mailbox. I think it's for you."

She then closes the door to leave you be. As much as the so-called secret is riling up your fluster, a realization daunts you, too. The longer you stay with this mysterious girl, the more it strengthens the feeling of familiarity towards her.

You brushed a hand through your head, deeply baffled and horrified. Not because of how this inspector nailed the events in your nightmares but because of a long-awaited admittance to your realization: the nightmares aren't just nightmares. You were never a particular case of a human being born out of nowhere with a ten-year-old body and uncanny eccentricities. Johan is real; when you were a kid, he was the sinister but only friend you've had.

I would like to apologize for my reckless behavior the previous night. It was imprudent of me to continue when you're clearly asking for a break. This time, please read this letter at your own pace. I know you're having a hard time, and this is the least I can do to help you.

Long, long ago, in one of Kinderheim's foster homes, there was a little boy constantly forced to sleep as he held the words that could shatter human lives. "He was a monster, keep him locked in the underground!" the staff often say. Rumors have it that he had ten horns and seven heads—a monster, indeed, if one might say. One day, this little Monster developed resistance to Kinderheim's sleep-inducing methods, and there, he leashed out the words that could ruin human lives. His power led to the demise of Kinderheim. Some say the monstrous boy only wanted to see fireworks up close, but Kinderheim wouldn't let him. Death to the foster guardians who didn't let him! Pity to the children who had to sacrifice their bodies so fireworks would be lit!

No one knew about the boy—neither his name nor his past. And as an inspector, I do not believe he's as monstrous as rumors say. It's a child's inherent characteristic to copy what adults around them do. Furthermore, hatred in an oppressive home is strengthened when people inside it gather. Hatred brings people together, and this measly little boy might've just ignited a flame out of it. Perhaps this little boy was just the personification of it all.

How strange it is for a boy to have the means to burn everything to shreds. If it's true, I deduce it's possible only if someone gave him the material condition to do so—like a matchstick to its igniter or the pin inside a grenade.

Such are mere assumptions a mere inspector came up with on his own. Such are the assumptions only one person can prove.

You've been asleep so long and now have no choice but to wake up and put down the fire your wishes had caused.

• NEXT CHAPTER >>>

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oh this is gonna go down so bad folks

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