Lmao so I guess sometime last night I had an idea because I woke up to this outline (sort of, not really an outline) in my docs and âcold cave make sickâ is so funny to me đđ€Ł
Do you think any of the Creatures are ass eaters in addition to being munches? Not in the prepping for anal kind of way, but in the they just genuinely enjoy it and know it feels good kind of way
Short answer: yes.
Long answer: absolutely yes, but for very different reasons depending on the creature!
Iâll talk more below
Reader is AFAB.
Cowboy first, Smiley below.
18+
âą One of the Cowboyâs favorite things is tasting you. His absolute favorite place to be is between your legs, your thighs clamped on either side of his head, your warmth seeping into his skin, blocking out everything but the heat of your core, your scent thick and heady, full of want directed at him.
âą he absolutely loves when you tangle your hands into his hair and try and force him where you want him, as if you could ever command him if he didnât choose to let you. But youâre you and so he does, chasing your taste with his tongue, licking into you with a growling, whining desperation that grants him his reward in the form of another gush of wetness seeping out of you and into his mouth.
âą this is a dance heâs done since he first caught you, wide-eyed and frightened in the dark, your screams of fear turning quickly into pleas of desire beneath his touch.
âą heâd enjoyed that too. The hunt and chase, stalking you slowly through the streets, enjoying the way your fear grew as his kin joined him, cutting you off from escape in their quest to help him, not that he needed it.
âą you were always his, it just took you a little time to realize.
âą but, what he hadnât thought of, what he hadnât even realized was an option, was your ass.
âą another perk of offering you that slightest bit of control; you showed him the most wonderful ideas.
âą you were overstimulated, your pretty clit a swollen, pulsing mess, each nerve lit up with pleasure and pain from the too-many orgasms heâd pulled from you, his tongue seeking still, lips wrapping around it, suckling, too much, too much, tooâ
âą you moved, ignoring his snarl, the sting of claws burying into thighs as he started to tug you back to his mouth, and hovered your ass over his mouth instead.
âą there was a split second of hesitation, of confusionâand then his tongue, long, warm, and wet ran gently over your rim, a quiet chuckle resounding through your skin at the sharp intake of your breath, the tensing of your thighs
âą sensitive little thing, arenât you?
âą heâll have to⊠see just how deep that sensitivity goes.
âą can he make you shake and cry this way too?
âą heâll have to find out.
â
âą Smiley knows exactly where to dig his claws to make a human beg to die while still keeping them mercilessly alive. He knows where to sink his many jagged teeth to taste the most fear while spilling the least blood, dragging it out until his prey bucks and cries and screams against him, unable to escape his grasp
âą heâs had yearsâdecades, centuriesâto study what happens when each nerve is sliced, to find out just what happens when he peels the skin from a skull, or how a limb moves when heâs tugged on it until itâs hanging on by strips of skin and tendon
âą but youâre not prey.
âą you started out that way, sure, a funny way to pass the time, a refreshing change from the usual humans too frightened to entertain him, but by the time youâre drawn outside, your human heart pushing you to save the poor, unfortunate bodies his kin has already started to tear into, well⊠youâve piqued his interest.
âą so itâs only fair he shows you the same fascination and attention he shows his kills.
âą your bodyâs a fragile, warm thing, the frantic beat of your heart loud enough to drown out the temptation of the hunt, and he takes his time once heâs got you pinned to the concrete, peeling away your clothes, studying each twitch of your face. the way your breath catches when his fingers brush against the hard nubs on your chest, the way you bite your lip to hold back a whimper when he slips his hand into your underwear, cupping you in his palm, fingers gliding through slick curls.
âą interesting.
âą your panties fall away in a quick slice of fabric, the sound causing your to whine, thighs threatening to close before he spreads them apart once more, trailing a finger slowlyâteasinglyâdown your slit, savoring the frightened, needy sounds you make.
âą heâs never heard them quite like that before. itâd be a shame to waste you like the others before heâs heard more.
âą he turns you around, hands curling around the gloves of your ass, massaging so very gently, fingers tracing along the goosebumps that break out across the skin.
âą itâs the way you clench that draws his attention to the hole there, kept hidden away from him.
âą he presses his fingers against it first, a gentle, circular motion against your rim, and then a curious thought comes to him.
âą his hand lowers, dipping into your sopping folds, fingers coming away slick with wetness. It sticks to his fingers when he spreads them experimentally in front of his face, bringing them to his lips and trailing his tongue along the sticky string.
âą your taste is exquisite, a deep, salty manifestation of your want, and he tilts his head, a thoughtful hum echoing out of him.
âą the sound makes you whine, squirming in his grasp, and he catches your shoulder, thumb pressing lightly into the tense flesh, pushing you back down.
âą not nowâheâs studying, donât be rude.
âą he massages your slick in soft circles around the puckered hole, shifting his body until heâs laid over you, before he slowly, experimentally, leans down, his tongue dipping gently into your entrance, eyes widening in surprise when your nails dig into the concrete, your ass bucking back against his face as if seeking more of the sensations heâs brought you.
âą his grin widens, a glint of amusement shining in his eyes.
âą he wonders how he should move his tongue to make you beg
âą he licks a circle around your rim, teasingly flicking his tongue against your hole before pulling away altogether, leaving it ignored and wanting.
âą you answer with a whine, falling right into his trap.
Reposting because somehow it got eaten? Weird. Fitting, though, to be fair.
Description:
Youâve been ignoring your creature. He isnât pleased.
âą 4045 words âą explicit
Donât interact if under 18, please and thank you.
An inhuman shriek mixes with a human cry of agony, the first prey of the night caught in a monsterâs grasp. A chuckle follows, unkind. Amused.
It hasnât been long since the last incident yet thereâs hunger in there too. Maybe whichever creature has caught this lamb was denied their play and starved of a kill in the chaos that had unfolded the last time.
The bush youâre in is full of barbs, sharp and unavoidable, scraping against your skin with every shift of your weight. Itâs at the base of a tree which you press your back to, eager to feel the roughness of the bark against your skin. Itâs almost reassuring, but definitely not the greatest of places to hide.
That honor belongs to the cellar at the base of the tree ten paces past the entrance of the forest, buried beneath leaves and branches and a bush full of red berries that looked delicious yet you knew to be nothing but poison.
Still, it had been the closest to you when you caught sight of the first gleaming smile in the night.
The creature dressed in the swing coat.
She hadnât seen you, thankfully, too caught up in her slow prowl toward Fatima and Ellis, the Cowboy at her side.
You almost felt bad for using their plight as your escape, but only just. It would have been worse for you.
The muscles in your calves jerk at the thought, body stiffening as if preparing to run, fingers digging into the cold, wet dirt on either side of your thighs. The scent of rain and earth overwhelms you, the mud trapped beneath your nails growing gritty.
Sticky like the blood being spilled only feet away from you.
Your hands swipe unthinkingly at your jeans, smearing the earthy brown over the light blue, staining them. Tian-Chen would lecture you for that, always worried about the dwindling of the supply room but never enough to refuse someone in need.
A ringing in your ears lifts your head as you try to peer out into the town through the barrier of leaves and barbs all around you. It takes you a moment to realize what caught your attention, and itâs only when the screaming picks back up, hoarse and strained, that you understand it was the sudden silence.
You turn your face into the tree as your body relaxes, digging your forehead roughly into the bark. Lichen scratches at your skin as your head drags across it, breaking off and falling in pieces toward the ground.
Your eyes squeeze tight, fingers closing desperately inward to form fists that tremble at your sides. You press them into your lap, concerned their shaking might worry the leaves and draw attention to your spot.
Another scream splits the night, lips pressing tight as you stiffen and then settle again, your tongue growing thick with saliva, nausea forming a pit in your stomach. The return of the scream should not comfort you more than the end and yet you cannot deny yourself the simple pleasure of a slow, shaky inhale, lungs burning. You, unlike the body you hear thud to the earth, still need to breathe.
Something hot splatters against the bush hard enough to disturb a few of the leaves. A soft sound like bugs jumping from one blade to the other reaches your ears before you realize the bush isnât the only thing thatâs been assaulted by the spray. Fingers raise to your cheeks, smudging the liquid against cold skin, fine hairs at the back of your neck starting to rise.
Blood.
Knees raise to your chest before you can think, your arms wrapping tightly around them, body rocking slightly.
The scent of copper burns your nose, hot and heavy in the air.
Why do humans smell so similar to pennies on the inside?
The sound of grass being pluckedârippedâfrom the earth reaches your ears before you recognize the sound of a womanâs wail, oddly more haunted than pained. More laughter follows, the light giggle of a female mixing with the warm bass of a maleâs chuckle.
They walk in tandem, each with a hold on one of the womanâs feet, dragging her easily behind as she paws and digs at the mud, desperate to keep herself from whatever fate awaits further in the trees. A quiet snickâskin separating from skinâdrags a sympathetic wince out of you, nails aching with secondhand pain.
Her eyes snap to yours.
Your own eyes widen, stomach dropping as your hand slaps soundlessly against your mouth, your head shaking once in denial. Or maybe a plea.
Donât.
She does.
âHelp! Please!â
The male that holds her turns his head, lips pulled into a private smile as he gazes down at her. âHave you found us another toy?â He asks, and itâs only then that you notice the blood painted across the lower half of his face, lips stained red in a way that reminds you of the insides of the poison berries in the forest. Itâs down the front of his letterman jacket too, stained dark, dragging the fabric down. Thereâs so much of it that you wonder if any has been left inside the body at all.
She twists in his grasp, clawing at his hand, jerking her other leg in an attempt to escape the blonde next to him, neither creature offering any give.
Her head snaps toward you again.
The jockâs gaze follows. Your face grows cold as the blood flows out of it, leaving you pale and frozen in his sight. His crimson lips pull higher. âHow lucky for you weâve been told to leave you be,â he sighs, a strange glint appearing in the depths of his eyes. Menacing, yes, but something else. Something almostâŠmischievous?
It is enough to drive you from your spot, uncaring of the barbs that slice and stick into fragile skin, the sting only urging you forward, feet slipping and sticking as you pump them faster. You donât know where youâre going so long as itâs away from here.
Warm blood leaks from small cuts, tickling and itching as the rivulets race slowly down your palm to drip from your fingertips.
A trail of blood leading straight to wherever youâre headed.
Itâs impossible to keep your head from swiveling, checking left and right, again and again. Three creatures near the box, the cowboy and the lady in the swing coat still at the steps in front of the sheriffâs office, the milkman at the swing for whatever reason.
None of them are coming for you. You canât linger on the realization, too busy scanning the town for another place to hide, to wait out the night with prayer and trembling, no talisman to offer you the certainty of seeing another sunrise.
The bus catches your eye, the very thing that got you into this mess, and you lunge toward it, desperate to get inside, to gain some kind of barrier between you and them.
Youâre so focused on the door, on getting inside, that you donât notice the auburn haired figure rising from a crouch near the back of the bus as you throw yourself up the steps, knees slamming roughly against metal, more blood spilling from a new cut.
You push yourself up, gripping the driverâs seat as you find your feet, chest rising and falling too quick, breath ragged and dizzying.
âI was wondering when I was going to see you again.â
A scream rises from your lips, feet skidding across the bus floor as you turn, falling back into the dash to try and get away.
Your eyes meet his, the world seeming to narrow down until all you can feel is the rapid beat of your heart and the buttons on the dash pressing into your back.
Your limbs go slack, the tension loosening, and you will it to come back, curl your toes inside your shoes in an attempt to force your legs to lock back up again. This thing is not your friend. This thing isâ
Covered in blood.
Like the creature in the letterman jacket, it pools at the corners of his mouth, lips stained bright red. His smile is wider, revealing more teeth, all coated in copper, the scent so strong it makes your stomach clench now that youâve noticed it, nausea urging you to double over.
Behind him, you see the source.
His grin widensâimpossibly soâhis head turning to admire his own work. Behind him lays a woman, hair gray and splayed out around her like a halo, face untouched, chest opened, arms carved, pieces of skin torn away to reveal muscle, tendon, and in some places, bone.
Next to her, thereâs a man. Heâs had it worse. Bite marks drift up and down his body, at least what is left attached, some looking as if heâd gone back for a second bite after tearing away the first. His ankle is bent all the way around, the skin peeled upward.
Your mind screams to look away, and yet your eyes refuse, locked onto the sight with a morbid fascination that seems to please the creature in front of you because he lets out a strange, rumbling trill, head tilting in a way youâve come to know as approval.
âYou havenât been to our tree.â
An observation or accusation, youâre not sure which.
The tree isnât special, only mere inches from your window, the only one you feel safe going to and only when heâs there.
Your lips part to offer an excuse, an explanation, anything to keep those teeth and those claws away from your soft skin.
âIâve been busy.â
Busy coming to your senses.
His smile dropped, the smallest of creases appearing just beside one eyebrow. âBusy,â he repeats, voice bland, empty of his usual cheer, âdoing what?â His lips twitch at the corners, the barest of smiles growing once more, âsince not me.â
Your gaze flicks down to his lips once more, memories of the way they felt against yours flashing through your mind, warm, soft, chasing, always forgetting your need to breathe.
âJust doing things around town,â you shrug a shoulder helplessly, trying hard to look anywhere but at his lips, anywhere but at the bodies behind him, âI can't sneak away every night. People might get suspicious.â
He takes a slow step forward, the first since he alerted you to his presence. âAnd?â
Your brows furrow, hands twisting together anxiously. âAnd if people get suspicious, they might start looking into things,â you explain, incredulous, âand if they find out about you, then what will I do?â You swallow, shaking your head, âI donât wanna end up in the box.â
He chuckles, taking another step forward, closing in now. âYouâd live with me, of course,â he says, as if it should be obvious, as if he hasnât ripped two people to shreds tonight alone, as if he isnât designed to rip and tear and kill, âand it wouldnât matter if you did. The others know not to touch you.â
The Jockâs wordsâhow you were lucky theyâd been told to leave you beâcome to mind, suddenly making sense.
Heâd told them to leave you alone.
Warmth blooms in your cheeks, a humiliating reaction to the flattery the revelation gives you.
He comes to a stop in front of you, pressing his front to yours, his unmoving chest radiating inexplicable warmth, palm lifting to settle against the base of your skull, trapping strands of your hair between his fingers.
Sticky blood gone cold seeps into your shirt, copper rising up to save you from his bewitchment once more.
You push at his chest, knowing the small step he takes away is a victory he chooses to give you and not one you earn.
âAre you going to make me hunt you?â His pupils blow, nearly overtaking the iris. The idea excites him, grin wide and mean. âIt would be fun.â
You wince at the idea, hating the drop in your stomach, not unlike the feeling right before the biggest drop at the top of a rollercoaster. You curse the ache behind your navel, scowl at the quirk of his lips. His nostrils flare as if heâs scented the change in you.
âDonât,â you warn before he can open his mouth. You know that look in his eye.
He huffs, amused, but nods, submitting this once. âIâve missed you,â he says instead, and somehow itâs worse, your foolish heart skipping as if charmed by the sincerity in his voice.
You turn your attention back to the couple behind him, dead at his hands.
He doesnât let you linger on them for long. âIâve missed this,â his lips capture yours, not asking, just taking. You hate how easily your lips betray you, parting for his seeking tongue with not even the barest of hesitation, the taste of copper thick and potent. It should sicken you. It does. It doesnât. Your mind roars, screaming, but your thoughts are a distant thing, driven to nothing by his touch. He licks at the inside of your mouth, exploring, curious even in this, even after all this time, forever in search of new sounds to pull from you.
And pull them from you he does, hand tightening in your hair, your eyelids fluttering as he nips lightly at your bottom lip, catching it between human teeth and tugging, a playful rumble resounding from his chest.
Itâs so very him that it pulls a quiet laugh from somewhere deep inside you, eyes crinkling at the corners, a hint of fondness welling up in your chest despite your best efforts.
His face softens, the ridge of his brows smoothing out, losing the touch of menace he carries everywhere, even near you, except for when he doesnât.
Thereâs something warm hidden in the depths of his eyes, the blue still overtaken by pupil. You can see it, proof that whatever emotion lives in him belongs to you.
It sends a jolt of molten heat through you, nerves coming alive at once, eager, attentive, seeking.
This strong, awful creature who kills without mercy, without care, with amusement and joy, saw you and decided you were what he wantedâto touch, to keep, to tease, you press his body against and rock into andâŠ
Itâs awful. Itâs incredible.
Your own face softens. All of you does, actually, tension you hadnât realized you were still carrying slowly fading out, your body relaxing.
He grins, flashing bloody teeth at you as if he senses your thoughts. His fingers tighten in your hair just so, either a warning or a promise, you donât know which, donât have time to decide, his mouth swoops back down andâ
He soothes the sting of his nip with his tongue, lapping at the imprint of teeth, before his hands slide down, stopping momentarily to paw at your breasts, a rough squeeze, thumbs sweeping over quickly hardening nipples, pinching them between thumbs and index fingers. He gazes down at the imprint of them through your shirt, lips pursed with interest. Heâs seen them before, again and again, and yet he always looks at them like this. Says he likes the way they feel between his lips, on his tongue, clamped between his teeth.
He finally moves on, gripping the hem of your shirt.
Too much, too fast.
Your breath hitches, hands pushing at his chest once more.
He shushes you. âI can smell your want,â he leaves no room for denial, âyou ache for me.â
You do, you do, you do, but he shouldnât know, canât know, wonât knowâ
His head dips down to rest in the crook of your neck, lips brushing against your rapid, stuttering pulse, tongue circling it, preparing it forâ
Teeth.
They sink in, still human for now, the pain a sharp, burning sensation that spreads outward until every nerve is alight with want. You shouldnât want those teeth on you.
You shouldnât want alot of things.
And yetâ
You push him away, chasing after his mouth when he stumbles, caught off guard, something only you can do to him and only in moments like this, when heâs too engrossed in you and your taste and the perfect, loud beat of your heart to pay attention to his surroundings.
He bumps into one of the transit seats, dropping down into it, hand finally untangling from your hair to grip your bicep instead, pulling you down with him. He snarls into your mouth, teeth smacking against yours, the force of his kiss almost bruising as he sneaks his tongue between your lips, grunting demandingly, fully expecting you to know what he means, what he wants, and you do, lips closing on his tongue, sucking roughly the way he likes.
The taste of copper floods your tastebuds again, shared between you like a secret, your eyelids fluttering open to catch on the sight of the bodies once more.
Your breath stutters into a moan, lips parting as his mouth leaves yours to slot over the imprint of teeth heâs left on your throat, kissing and licking andâ
Biting.
Sharp, jagged teeth, a deep, horrible ache. In your throat and between your legs , one bleeding and one wanting, desperate, needy, hungry.
Shameful pleas spill from you in a high pitched keen, hands leaving his chest to tangle into his hair, silky auburn strands between your fingers, yank at them, tug his head closer, push his face into your throat, demand he taste the blood heâs pulled from you.
Taste he does, sucking until you see stars, pained and not. You wonder if he can taste your desire in your life force, the deep, undeniable need that claws at your nerves and begs for his touch.
Is your damnation delicious on his tongue?
Desperation causes your hips to buck, your stupid, mud-stained jeans preventing you from feeling his knee against where you want it most.
Itâs infuriating. A rejection not from you, but the environment around you, as if this place has the right to tell you no when youâve already given in. It wants what you do not and wants not what you do. Too bad. This is one thing this town doesnât get to decide for you.
Your lips twist into a snarl, an animalistic demand you must have learned from him because surely such a noise shouldnât come naturally to a human like yourself, no teeth to back it up, no claws to show for it. He answers it now, always, hands gripping the waistband and yanking downwards, not even taking a moment to unbutton or unzip them, his desire to get to you as strong as yours to feel him.
âMine,â he growls into your face, his own face doing something strange, something shifting beneath as if heâs struggling to hold onto this form, to keep himself human for you.
He doesnât have to. Youâve seen both of his faces, handsome and grotesque, and you desire them both, both of them capable of igniting that heat within you and dragging it out until youâre naught but putty in his hands, something for him to shape and mold until youâre as addicted to him as he is to you.
You jerk your head in a nod, frantic to agree. âYes,â you breathe, offering ownership the way one might offer their name, willing to give him your life and your soul and blood and body, âyours. All of me.â
His chest rumbles with a trill, hands closing on either side of your waist and lifting you up. You take the hint, sliding your jeans down your legs, kicking them off when they bunch at your feet.
The air brushes against your underwear, drawing your attention to the wetness that has accumulated in a dark patch right there for him to see. Your cheeks flush, embarrassed, but the exposure only makes your stomach clench that much more, pussy aching with need. Heâs got you captured in his gaze, unblinking as he stares at that patch of liquid desire, his smile gone, replaced by a face so earnest you canât possibly predict what he will do next.
Hands tighten around your waist for just long enough to switch your positions, you on your back in the seat, him knelt in front of you, calves thrown over shoulders. The sound of fabric tearing is the only warning you get before your panties fall in pieces toward the floor, landing in a heap.
Tian-Chen is going to be pissed.
His tongue flattens against your slit, licking up. Your breath hitches, caught off guard, eyes threatening to roll back into your head at the sensation of warm wetness on your sensitive, pulsing pussy.
âIâve missed this, too,â he dips his tongue inside, dragging upward, sucking your clit between his lips, tongue flicking it gently, âyour taste,â he sucks hard, pulling a whine from your lips, your fingers curling into the seat, moving to grasp his shoulder, then his hair, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your folds, only adding to the pleasure, another gasp spilling from your lips, hips bucking pathetically toward his mouth. âYour sounds.â
His lips glisten with your slick, your legs trembling where they rest atop his shoulders, always so sensitive for him, he barely even has to work, the sight of him between your legs does it all for him, fills you with need and desire and want and heâs poison seeping into your bloodstream and infecting you with these dark desires that lead to cruel delights and oh god, heâs got his tongue wrapped around your clit now, fingers sinking into your hole, stretching you out, not enough, not enough, not enough.
He pumps his fingers once, twice, three times, and then heâs pulling them out, slick refusing to allow him to break the connection as he moves away, gently circling your clit once, your guard completely dropped, and thenâ
He pinches.
Your hips jerk, a cry of painpleasurepain reverberating through the air, fingers tightening in his hair to the point that it might have been painful had he been human. As it was, he simply rewarded you with a growl and a quick, lightning-fast snap of his teeth in your inner thigh. It stings, but his fingers tighten around your clit, overwhelming you.
âYou ignored me,â he tilts his head up and to the side, âdidnât come to the window, didnât come to the tree, didnât even look at me. Why,â he releases your clitâwhich throbs, aches, longsâand shoves two fingers back into your poor, empty hole, too fast, too rough, too little, you need more, you need him, his cock, miss it, miss it, miss it, âshould I let you cum?â
Your eyebrows furrow, unable to comprehend the idea of him not letting you cum. You burn for it, stomach a knot of deep, awful longing, a coil so tight you fear it may never come loose again should he leave you to suffer. You may always be this, lightning nerves and breathy pleas, body open, willing, a home that welcomes only one and will be satisfied with no other.
He pulls his fingers from you again, smearing your arousal between his fingers, looking down at it with mild interest before he brings them to his lips, licking your taste from his fingertips.
âI like it when you beg,â he smiles, glancing toward something behind you, a sigh on his lips, âitâs too bad the sunâs coming up. I might have given in.â
A sob spills from your lips. No, no, no, please, how can he be so cruel?
He stands to his feet, your legs falling from his shoulders, and bends down to press a rough, demanding kiss to your lips, his tongue snaking into your mouth just long enough for you to taste yourself on him before he pulls back, bumping his forehead to yours. âTonight,â he demands, âcome to the window.â
And then heâs gone, leaving you empty, face streaked with tears, and desperately wishing for night to fall once more.
I donât know why Iâve been hyperfixated on Jaditha since the last from episode but
Something about the differences and similarities between Jade and Jim is just so painful like theyâre alike in the way that they both seek answers ruthlessly. They need to know whatâs going on, need to figure everything out, need to keep pushing.
But Jimâs need pushes into everything.
Jadeâs doesnât.
Tabitha avoids. She runs, hides, pushes everything away until she can process it because if she doesnât, sheâs gonna fall apart, and the sad thing is, she canât. She has to stay strong because everyoneâEVERYONEâneeds her. Her kids, the town, the spirits of the long-dead, everyone.
But Jadeâevery single version of him, from the first to the currentâsees her. He pushes too, yes, but itâs like he knows when sheâs breaking and when she needs him to stop, to take a step back, to just be there on the outer edge of her life. Somewhere she knows heâs at but doesnât have to think too much about. Because she needs him, but she canât let herself need him. So he gives her himself without being given any of her in return. Because he loves her and he remembers now. Isnât sure how he ever forgot.
you know how Kevin got tricked into letting Jasmine inside through seduction lmao?
Imagine he had a spouse who gets real pissed and (stupidly) decides to get revenge by trying to seduce a creature just to be like âhaha too bad you canât get in cause my lovely little rock on the windowâ
Until something happens to land them outside at night, vulnerable and ready for punishment for thinking they could tease them
Warnings: mentions of child loss, grief, mentions of death and murderous thoughts.
The memories come like a flood, too fast and too deep. They crash into everything she thought she knew and break through the fabric of her life. Her childâoh god, her little girlâsits on her knees in the grass, a small smile on her lips, so innocent even now.
Her hands tremble at her sides as she remembers. The bargain, the rebellion, the sacrifice. She tried. He tried.
They both tried so hard.
âNo,â she whispers, denying what canât be denied. The proof is all around. It swarms like bees drawn to honey, stinging her over and over until the grief swells like venom beneath her skin.
She couldnât save them.
She could never save them.
Jade sucks in a breath. She canât see him, unableâunwillingâto look away from the child sheâd lost, but it sounds shaky, pained, and she knows heâs seeing it too.
âWe tried to save them,â he speaks, voice thick, âbecause one of themâ,â
âNo,â she shakes her head, not ready to hear it spoken aloud. Not by the sharer of her failure. âNo, no, no, no.â
âOh, godâŠâ
His voice echoes in her mind, joined by not one, not two, but hundreds of versions of himself. Different faces, different lives, all the same soul, all the same path.
She knows him.
She has always known him.
âI canât,â she turns away from the child, wiping furiously at her face, âIâm sorry, I canât.â
Maybe if it were just the oneâŠ
But no.
Over and over, again and again, how many has she lost? How many will she lose?
Julie? Ethan?
She doesnât answer Jim when he reaches out, concerned. She just keeps moving, though where sheâll go, she doesnât know. Every road leads back to here. Every life is paved to hell.
Victor. Eloise.
Thomas.
Was he extra? A spare? Is that why he was taken, was it only ever meant to be two, a boy and a girl? Had she brought him into a world where there was no place for him, no part for him to play?
Was it always going to be this way? Was there nothing she could do?
She moves blindly through the trees, her mind a mess of fragmented pasts she canât quite grasp.
Branches snap behind her. She doesnât stop.
âTabitha!â
Jim. Her husband.
She loves him. His face morphs in her head, replaced by a graying beard, a rambling voice, breathless with the need to theorize, to understand, toâ
Her eyes squeeze shut and she shakes her head.
His are the hands sheâs held for years, but his is not the soul she knew when they were atoms.
How can she look him in the eye now when in them she will always look for him?
âNo, I canât,â she says, not stopping, not slowing.
He follows. He will always follow.
Another difference.
Jade doesnât follow. He lingers, both where she left him and in her mind, a poison sheâll never be rid of, a lifeline she never wants to lose.
Jimâs hand catches her bicep, turning her around, his other hand curling around her shoulder. Heâs angry, and how can she blame him? He hasnât seen what sheâs seen. He only knows that sheâs running away, abandoning him the way she always does, but how could she not?
She should have left a long time ago.
She is toxin. She is the reason he is here. He could have had a life. Their children could haveâ
No.
She doomed them the moment they formed in her womb, cursed to have her as a mother, cursed to live out this twisted life.
Maybe Thomas was the lucky one.
This town didnât need him and so it spared him. Julie and Ethan did not get to escape.
Everything is so loud. Her mind, her blood, the beat of her heart. It all roars in her ears until she can hardly hear what Jim is saying, his lips moving but his words not reaching.
Itâs a plea.
He wants her to talk to him. To tell him what she saw.
How?
âI know why I see those children. Why Jade can see them. Itâs why thereâs more than one bracelet.â
Her eyebrows furrow, jaw clenching as she forces back the sting of tears. That stupid bracelet that she obsessed over, making it again and again because it never felt right. Because he lost them, or didnât wear them, or didnât like them.
His anger bubbles over when she tries to pull away. âI donât know what the fuck youâre saying!â
Neither does she.
Itâs insane. Impossible. Awful.
Did he not hear her when she said she couldnât do this? Was it not obvious that she hurt, that life hurt, that all sheâd ever known was this ache, this pain, this empty hole that nothing could ever fill?
âItâs because weâve been here before. I remember. Somewhere deep down, I remember.â
She couldnât remember her daughterâs name, but she knew her face. Didnât know her birthday, or her favorite color, or the sound of her voice when her lips formed around the word âmama.â
She couldnât recall her first steps, her first words, or the way her face had scrunched up at her first taste of solids.
All she knew was the sound of her tears in that godforsaken cave, echoing off stone wall until it formed a song of heartbreak so strong not even the monsters could touch it.
And she remembers them, too. Not well. She canât recall their names, nor what had really led them to do what they did, but she remembers the hatred.
No. Hatred is too kind a word for what she feelsâwhat she feltâfor them. She remembers the loathing.
It doesnât burn like she thought it would. It freezes. Everything it touches turns to ice within her. Mostly, it yearns. It wants to reach them. To seep into their filthy, inhuman skin and claw and tear. It wants to rip the immortality out of them, to steal their life and give it to the children theyâve stolen from her, to take from them like they take from everyone else.
âThe reason I felt what Miranda felt,â she continues, clutching his jacket, willing him to understand, âis because I was Miranda. And Jade, he was Christopher.â
She looks away, his gaze too heavy to meet. âWeâve come back over and over again because we failed the first time,â her voice cracks on the word âfailedâ, shoulders curling in on themselves.
He doesnât understand. Canât. âThe first time?â
She nods. âYes. Jade and I were here at the beginning. We tried to save those children and set them free,â a sound ripped out of her, high pitched and keening, âbecause one of them was ours.â
She sucks in a breath, lungs burning. âShe was our daughter.â
Forgotten and alone.
She left her little girl all alone.
How long?
She canât breathe, she canât breathe, she canâtâ
âNo,â Jim denies, âno, thatâs notâŠâ
She wishes it wasnât. Wishes her with all her heart that her little girl, her little boy, every child sheâs lost was here, alive, happy. She would take their place if she could. Lay down her life on that fucking slab of rock, let those monsters bleed her dry, steal her years until they belonged to them, until she was nothing but a sacrifice given to grant them their eternal existenceâŠ
But she canât.
She tried to offer him a smile, reassurance she doesnât feel. âItâs true. I feel it,â she swallows, stomach clenching with dread, âI need some time.â
He doesnât deserve this, itâs not his fault, sheâs running again, itâs all she does, she leaves, abandons, forgets.
âCan you give me some time?â
He nods slowly. An agreement he doesnât want to give but is far too good to deny her.
She gives him one last look. One last attempt to see him, to recognize the man sheâs loved, the one sheâs spent this life withâand still, thereâs an ache in the love, as if his presence canât quite fill a hole sheâs only just noticed she has.
