In a town of no renown, the Black Death wipes out half the community. An isolated convent is wiped out, leaving only one survivor.
A/N: I began writing this at 3am during a fever-induced manic episode, after which I had an incubus dream, so if that's not telling, I'm not sure what is lmao. And yes, this is a monsterfucker fic. No use of (Y/N). Basically, Nosferatu, if it were gay and with demons.
Male!Demon x Male!Human
A/N: Our neurotic brother learns the benefits of a cold shower. Also, HIS NAME REVEALED!!! Thank you everyone for the suggestions, I love you all.
Also also, sorry I have been gone for a bit, the AO3 curse hit me and my old laptop shattered after an accident. BUUUUT.... I JUST BOUGHT A MACBOOK NEOOOOOO. And I have been loving it! I made this chapter just a teeny bit longer to make up for the wait.
My hands tremble. I hate when they do that; it reminds me of my inability to learn. And to be ignorant is the most tempting sin. Or at least, that is what Father Leoric says.
I agree, in a way
Sometimes the soothing hand of nescience is better than the stinging slap of awareness. There are times where even I yearn for the cluelessness of cruelty; to be ignorant of the nastiness that holds hearts hostage when war ravages the lands.
A howl reverberates through my body, my blood running cold as it drags on. My grip on the rosary in my hand tightens, and I try to recite another prayer. I still have not learned a majority of them. Rather, I was less than keen on learning the prayers for the last rites. I do not think I will ever be ready to see a cold body before me.
Another scream, and I shut my eyes.
I wish I could have been ignorant for a bit longer, but Father has stressed the importance of this task. I must face the brutalities of sin and comfort those who stand against such barbarism. These men must be ready to receive the Lord before their final breath, and it has fallen up to me and father this time around.
“Veil them, my lady. Veil their soul from their rendered flesh. Give them the strength to endure.”
My prayer is rushed if anything. It was hard to think of anything else but the screams. They tore through my defense, rendering me a child again. The very same that shook and hid when that terrible man came to take me from my home.
“Boy.”
I jump at his voice.
“F-Father,” I croak out, wiping my cold wet hands on my robes. He gives me a stern look, his jaw clenching.
“It is time,” he states, motioning me to come inside the home.
I stand there for just a second, trying find my composure, but Father has none of it. A heavy hand grips my forearm before I am pulled closer.
“Now.” He demands.
I shut my mouth, silencing any words that I had dared to think of uttering. I follow him in and see a misery that befalls men every few decades. My hands cover my nose the moment I walk in, but still, I nearly retch at the smell.
It smells of death.
A man lies there on his bed, surrounded by others. Family, I suppose. There is another man at his bedside, and judging from the clothes he wore, I determined him to be the doctor. He wore a black robe with a deep red capelet. In his hands he held a bloodied saw. The sight was enough to make me want to cry, let alone the sounds this man made; moans of pain so great that it bores into my bones and chills my blood.
A soldier of the Nochen militia. A small group of the townspeople that have taken up the defense in areas where the kings soldiers have been lacking.
A noble cause. One that moves my heart.
These are men like I, fighting back the unrest that has began to fester like the wounds these men receive while defending Nochen. I worry for the unrest that has been escalating these past few months. Bandits and the depraved need fear the wills of these brave men.
I wrap the rosary around my hand, securing it tightly. I will ask for his name once all has settled. I shall pray that the Lord rewards his valor a thousand fold.
“He is in the Lord's hands now, Father.” He placed the saw onto a cloth along with several other tools before rolling it up into a bundle. Holding it under his arm, he walks up to Father, who holds out his hand for him to take.
“Thank you, Dominic. We will take it from here.” Father pats the man's shoulder before stepping aside for him to leave.
Before I can say my goodbyes, Father Leoric pushes a silk wrapped box into my arms. I set the box on the nightstand nearby and begin to untie the fabric. Despite my best efforts, I could not help but to sneak a glance at the man laying besides me.
His skin was pale; sweat beading profusely throughout his naked body. His teeth were gritted and his hands clutched at the sheets under him. A woman reached out to pat his forehead with a rag. She lets her hand linger over his skin, caressing it gently.
My eyes trail down until I spot the blooded bandages that wrapped around his stump. I give my own leg a small shake and try not to imagine the agony of having a limb sawed off.
I quickly turn away to quickly finish unwrapping. I open and pull out its contents, placing them on the nightstand.
A Bible, a rosary, a vial of holy water, incense, and a silver crucifix.
I can see the woman glance at me from the corner of my sight, her lips upturned slightly. Her hand slides down until finds the man's hand, and wraps her fingers around it. In response, he strains to look up; a pained puff of air leaves his mouth as he smiles at her.
“Daturo,” a stern voice hushes at me in a quick bark.
I jump and snap my head back to the nightstand, grabbing the Bible and passing it over to Father Leoric. He snatches the book from me with a stare. I can feel my ears burn as I turn away to prepare the thurible.
I was sure to receive a lecture after this.
Pushing that aside for future me, I open the bowl and place the charcoal in. I light it before sprinkling in the wormwood.
I hear Father's mutters as he prays over the man; disciplined and without stutter. One day, I hope I can achieve a fraction of his mastery. But for now, the most I can do is accompany Father and study his work.
Hearing his voice is as if being comforted by a parent after scraping your knee. Granted, you were told not to run around with the other grown kids, but the time for scolding would be later. Now is the time for soothing.
I hold the thurible's chain tightly as I begin to gently sway it around. A bitter smell fills the air, not enough to cause irritation in the lungs, but enough to deter miasma.
I look at the man, his face comforted in pain, as the smoke reaches his body. He eyes Father, listening to the prayers. I myself start to feel at ease, and I know that the man is beginning to feel the same.
The woman rubs his forehead soothingly, leaning over to whisper something in his ear.
A feeling pools in my stomach. Syrupy sweet with an acrid aftertaste. The thurible dips as I use my left hand to hold it over my chest. My heart beats as it always has, and it is filled with love for my family.
But I know in my soul that I have space for another.
Just one more person.
One who will caress me when I am bedridden.
Ahhh… What bliss that would be.
The rest of the session is a blur. My body is present, but my mind running through honey. Not even Father's scoring looks could pull me out of this trap. I was far too busy imagining the face of love.
I barely register the crushing hold on my arm as I am roughly pulled up onto Beatrice. Her neighs being me out of my stupor, and I am made fully aware of the dark sky and the setting sun over the horizon.
Father was silent as he guided Beatrice through the dirt trail leading into the wooded mountains.
I take a peak over his shoulder. His knuckles are white, gripping the reins so tightly that I can hear the creak of the leather. I shrink back behind him
I could not fathom the yelling I was sure to receive once we reached home.
I stay silent, not wanting to vex father any further than I already have. As the last beams of light from the setting sun peck at my eyes, I think of where I would even find such a person.
And if i did…
Would they like the stars as much as I do?
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“Mierda,” I hiss under my breath, holding my hand as I inspect my nail. I shake off the pain and look at the dirt where I had stuck my hand in. Reaching in, I pick out a particularly sharp pebble and toss it aside.
I try to dig out the weed again, but wince and hold my finger again as the pain throbs, squeezing the tip.
It really got me good under my nail.
Once the pain subsides I grab that nasty weed by the exposed root and, with newfound strength stemming from annoyance, yank it out clean.
More and more seemingly sprout out everyday, these nasty weeds. I can only wonder why they grow so feistily out of nowhere.
I yank out a particularly developed one, and bring it up for inspection. The roots were tuberous and warped. Almost like a pair of legs twisted around each other.
They must be purged, every last one. My effort to pluck each and every one of them from the ground has been intensified as of yesterday when I discovered that a few flowers had begun to grow again.
Brother Dodd would most definitely stir up a storm if he were to spot these in his precious garden. Knowing him, he would have salted the earth and started anew. My being here now was something he also would fret at. Dodd never let any of us in his garden; he liked the quiet of solitude as he once explained to me. It was the one place he could hide away when the monastery was loud.
I never understood him, and as horrible as it sounds, I doubt the rest of the covenant did either. He hated crowds, loud noises, and interaction as a whole. This garden was his sanctuary from the world.
Regardless, he was our gentle Dodd, and I have took up maintaining his garden as a vigil to his memory. That was, until the last of us was put into the ground, and I plucked a multitude of flowers for their graves. A part of me still regrets that, but I did not know what else to do in my grief.
Now the flowers have sprung back from the dead, and I do not plan to let them spoil and rot.
I drop the malformed root into the basket behind me before continuing to dig again. I manage to tear out a few more roots before I hear Beleth behind me.
“Mffmmh.”
I turn my head to look at him as I toss another weed into my basket. In his maw he held the handle of the basket I had given him. Slobber glides down the wicker, dripping profusely onto the dirt. Beleth had insisted on helping despite my protests; it is rude to make a guest do any work, but he had such a sad look on his face when I tried to decline that I simply gave in.
I suspect this to be another one of his demonic abilities.
I glance inside the basket and see quite a few roots that he has managed to claw out of the ground. I smile at his effort, but I briefly give thought to how ravaged the dirt he worked on must be; I will have to check up on those areas soon.
“Very well done, Beleth,” I compliment. I stand myself up and pat off any dust on my trousers. Beleth lets out a content grumble before trotting closer, lowering his head so he can look at me properly. I still must get used to his size.
I feel somewhat apologetic for making him crouch down whenever he is near me, but I get the creeps when he peers at me from such a tall height. Besides, He does not seem to mind accommodating me in my silly request. In fact, he does not seem to mind most of the things I do.
I grab my basket and begin to walk back to the monastery's back gate. “Come now, we must find a way to dispose of these.” I can feel Beleth trail closely behind. So close that I can feel his body heat against my back.
Sooo warm…
It is one of his more tolerable habits; considerably better than his blunt staring. He likes to stay close to me whenever we do anything together. More often than not, I end up having a moist spot on my back from where his big wet snout presses against me. That being said, I feel as if he takes less and less time for himself as he used to. It was not uncommon for him to disappear for hours before appearing back into sight. Now it seems that he has been always present these past few days.
Not that I mind.
I am quite fond of the company.
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Well… Sometimes I do mind quite a lot actually.
“Beleth, please, it would only be for a few minutes,” I groan, holding the towel against my body. I wave him away but all I get is a pitiful whine in response. I had not realized he had gotten this attached to being close to me. I know Beleth has had bouts of anxiousness when I asked to be alone, but nothing go this extent.
What is going on with him?
He was laid on the ground, hunched in on himself as if I were to strike him; ears laid backward against his head, his claws covering his eyes.“I. Can. Keep. My. Eyes. Shut,” he whimpers, “I. Promise. Not. To. Peek.”
That fluttering returns; swelling in my stomach and traveling into my chest. Why such a feeling arises in my being eludes me utterly. All I know is that Beleth bring about its creation. Was he stirring a memory in me, like the times before? I sit down on the edge of the lavatorium, the stone scratching at my skin.
“Beleth.” My voice is low and gentle. “Why do you wish to be near me while I bathe?”
His claw lifts off his face for a moment and we lock eyes. I instinctively hold the towel higher and his claw returns to cover his eye.
“What. If. You, Drown. And. I. Am. Not. There?”
“Beleth, I am not going to drown. I have done this many times before.”
He does not stir an inch, but he does begin to shake.
What ever am I going to do with him?
“What did you do ordinarily when we were apart?”
“Wait. For. You. To. Become. Unoccupied.”
“Pardon me?” I squeak out. Thinking back, this explains why he would suddenly appear once my chores were completed. God, do not tell me that this demon was just idling around during those times. I believed him to be doing… Well, I am unsure of what demons do when given free time, but I am positive doing nothing is one of those things.
I look down at Beleth, and for the first time since I had met him, he looks small. Small in a way I have fit myself into a time ago. It is comfortable in a terrible way; to debase yourself to placate another. Like fitting into the nook of someone's mind that they made specifically for you. I simply assumed Beleth was attempting to live here on his own accord, separate from me, but his own individual living. In my imaginary idea of his being here, I had made him feel lonely.
The fluttering intensifies.
If anything, flattery is something I can vaguely feel. Never in my life did I think I would become the cynosure of anyone, much less a demon. Was I truly so comforting to be around?
“Very well, you can stay.” The last word barely leaves my lips before he immediately flips onto his back before springing up and facing away from me, his ears perked up in attention.
I get into the lavatorium as quickly as I can, grabbing the glass vials on the edge and open them. The oil inside was thick and dark; a simple extraction of lavender and rose. I take in a deep smell of the comforting scent before pouring a generous amount into my hand. Emulsifying it within my hands, I look back and see that Beleth is indeed not looking.
The fluttering is torn asunder; shredded and fed to something else, and as I rub the oil onto my skin, my mind races so quickly that a headache might form.
Yes, yes, he is looking away, of course he is. Why would he not be? He said it himself that he would not look. I sink into the cold water, up to my nose as I continue to look at Beleth. My lips part for a moment before closing, any thought I had of speaking vanishing quickly. What would I have said? Why would I have spoken?
Why was I so—
Ah! I am turning into Father!
I was merely hoping to catch Beleth staring just so I can scold and lecture him. Yes, that was it. A nasty habit I picked up after having it done to myself by Father. I have become an officiousness ass who takes joy in reprimanding the well-meaning. I turn away from the unsuspecting demon, hiding my face from no one in particular. Perhaps from God.
Forgive me, Beleth. The person you now live with wants to chide you on the meaning of privacy.
I truly am terrible.
Sinking into the water further, I dunk my head under. I let the current sway me softly as I try to silence my ego.
Strangely, the cold water seems to quell this feeling.
A/N: Alright, sooo MC needs a real name lmao. So ive narrowed it down to Andryn, Derrotino, Octavio, Launful, Macario, Thiess, Daturo, Fauno, or Adomidyr. Lemme know which has more aura.
“Wonderful, simply wonderful,” she coos, lifting her arms in adoration. “That man did phenomenal work. Truly, the hands of a master.”
I back up so as to not get bashed in the face again. Mother Catherine has always been so expressive with her hand when she spoke in moments of great excitement. It was advised to stand clear of her when such occasions such as this took place.
She looks at me and pinches my cheeks. I groan, but do not dare to stop her. She lets out another gleeful squeal before letting my reddened cheeks be.
“Thank you, mijo. I know it must have been an arduous thing to keep Celestine clean.” Her eyes look over the painting multiple times. “I am confident it was almost as difficult as it was for me to convince Father Leoric to commission this.”
I genuinely doubt that.
Father Leoric adores Mother Catherine. There was no question about the power she had over him, regardless if she was entirely aware herself. Sister Sophy swears Mother does these things on purpose, just to see what she could get away with.
It was beautiful, I must admit. All of us, together as one giant family. Halos were drawn faintly behind each of our heads. It was a simple scene. The entire covenant in an open field of short grass.
Thankfully, the trip to this location was merely a quick walk into the forest surrounding us. If it were any longer, the younger ones would have made such a fuss. And a fuss would have resulted in a very loud scolding by Father. Which, in the end, would have resulted in a very expensive portrait where everyone wore a frown.
Everyone looks happy here. Well, nearly everyone. A closer look and anyone would be able to spot the forced smiles on those who were forced to come stand for hours. Some, like Sophy, wore a line that had a vague upturn.
The more I look, the more impressed I become with the artist's ability to paint such vivid expressions.
Mother Catherine leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I must go now. That sheep will not cook itself.” She turns and walks down the hallway, a pep in her stride. She must have wanted this for a good while.
I glance back at the painting.
I reach out and touch the surface, wiping a line down. I pull away and look at my dirtied fingers. How does one begin to clean such a thing? Soap and water? Would it ruin it? What a terrible thought. Better to leave it like this than ruin this memory of everyone. I do not think I could ever forgive myself if I destroyed this painting.
Turning to leave, I take note of Beleth's absence. It was not an uncommon occurrence to have him wander around the monastery while I performed my daily duties.
I suppose even demons need their alone time.
The garden has been watered and weeded, the chapel has been cleaned, the trash disposed of, and I have already swept the floors. Goodness, it seems I have completed all the major tasks. It is only natural with all this free time, I suppose.
My hand touches the hallway wall as I walk, feeling the cool stone's texture.
I could always read. It has been a while since I have opened up a nice book. There is still a vast amount of them to be finished, and I have all this wonderful free time to get through them all. There is one I would like to reread, but I do not think going into Celestine's room to fish through all those finished books I have stored in there would do my emotions any good.
If only she could see how much I have read through.
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~Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon.~
I stare at the words on the page, finger leading along. I can hear the birds chirping nearby, and the occasional chitters of esquirels. I take a second to look up at the morning sky. I should be comfortable under this tree for a while before I must reposition out of the sun's way.
I look back to the book.
~ðæm eafera wæs æfter cenned, geong in geardum, þone god sende folce to frofre; fyrenðearfe ongeat þe hie ær drugon aldorlease lange hwile. Him þæs liffrea, wuldres wealdend, woroldare forgeaf; Beowulf wæs breme blæd wide sprang, Scyldes eafera Scedelandum in.~
Interesting.
~Him ða Scyld gewat to gescæphwile felahror feran on frean wære.~
Yes, of course.
~Aledon þa leofne þeoden, beaga bryttan, on bearm scip—
I snap the book shut and shut my sore eyes, my hand rubbing them.
I could not read this.
A sigh escapes my lips. Why I thought I would be able to read this is beyond me. Perhaps I was on the cusp of lunacy, and these leaps of logic were the early signs.
I reach out to the pile of books I had brought with me, grabbing the closest one. The cover was a dark brown leather, worn and its color dulled. The title’s gold embossing has lost its luster, flakes peeled off in some spots. The name could barely be read.
Liber Abaci
This was her book.
My fingers trace at the impression before opening it up. My eyes stare at the scribbled words on the page, written in red ink.
“Looking into other people's books now, eh? You little shite.”
A shaky laugh leaves my mouth, and my hand reaches up to cover the wail that follows. I snap the book shut, pressing the leather cover against my forehead.
Is this all I am good for now? To cry and come undone at any touch of memory? I have been crying so much these past few weeks. Nothing has changed. I cry and cry until my chest is in agony. What good does that do?
Oh God.
What good does anything do now?
I take in a deep breath.
And the flood cometh.
I hold the book close to my heart, and let out a sob through a tightening throat. I allow my body to slump to the ground, writhing around on the blanket I had brought with me. My hands clutch at its softness.
Why was I like this?
So pathetic, so weak.
No more. Please, God, no more. No more of this, no more of anything. I should have listened to Celestine. I should have followed them. Please take me. Take me. Lord, please take me. No more. I can not do this anymore.
I curl into myself, and into myself I diminish. I want nothing more than to melt into the earth and be forgotten. But to be forgotten, I would have to have people who remembered me to begin with.
And I had no one, not anymore. I had nothing.
Tears fall down the side of my head onto the blanket. Pressing my face against it, I try to gather some ounce or strength to stop myself from falling apart completely.
It is during this that I find myself feeling him by presence alone, rather than smell.
He has come.
I can sense his concern, almost suffocating. His hands emit a heavy heat, and I feel it wash over my body. He says my name. It rumbles through my brain like distant thunder. His hands ghost over my body, most likely not wanting to startle me.
Beleth.
He must be tired of this, I know I would be as well if I were him. Having to deal with my weakness nearly everyday. I would not blame him if he disappeared one day and never returned. Who could want such a mess as a companion? He would be better off without me.
I hug my knees to my chest tighter, pulling away from his hands. He says my name again, nearly a whimper this time. I feel the blanket shift as he presumably sits down next to me. I hear his bones crack as he speaks, panicked.
“What. Is. Wrong?” His hand touches my shoulders, his claws lightly scratching my clothes.
I try to not flinch at the contact but I do. The whimper he lets out churns my stomach. He has not been cruel to me since his arrival, yet I treat him with such suspicion. I truly was a vile, fecal-filled wound.
My mouth fills with saliva, and my undertunic suddenly feels like an iron vice. My hands pull at the cloth, trying to lighten the pressure.
Beleth's hands suddenly grab my torso, turning me over to face him. Whatever face I was making was enough to cause him to enter a frenzy of worry.
“WHAT. IS WRONG?” My body tenses up as he checks over me, his hands grasping at my limbs and face. He was trying to assist me, but in all honesty he was only making it worse.
I try to pull myself out of his hold. I accidentally give the side of his maw a bash as I flail around. If he felt it, he did not show. He continues to look for any injuries as he begs me to reveal what is hurting me.
His hands anchor under my armpits and hoists me up as if I was a mere doll.
“ARE. YOU. SICK?”
“CELESTINE? ANSWER ME! ARE YOU FEELING ILL?”
My stomach churns again, not of guilt, but of something even nastier. My throat burns, and before I can react, a watered slurry of this morning's breakfast expels from my mouth, and onto his fur.
Beleth lets out a terrible yell.
He pulls me to his chest and my world spins with such intensity that I swear that my heart nearly stops its beating. I hear the sound of a distant trumpet, and my body feels as if I were condemned to a quartering. Everything felt like it was pulling me in different directions, and it was growing painful.
And as quick as it started, it stopped.
The world was here again, and I recognized it as the courtyard. We had moved tens of yards in what seemed like an instant.
I am sat on cold stone, and the sounds of rushing water fill my ears. My head is pounding and my throat burning. I retch, my body lunching forwards as I vomit again.
A massive hand rubs my back, and a cup is pushed into my hands. I look into it and see water. I raise the cup to my lips without a second thought. I feel that nasty burn subside as the fresh water goes down my throat. As the cup runs dry, gasps for air follow. My hands rub my throat as I turn to see Beleth strewn along the edge of the lavatorium.
His head rested on the stone, his arms covering his eyes as the rest of his body laid limp on the ground.
I stare at the cup he gave me. It was one from the kitchen. I stare into the grain as I try to clear my head.
He brought me here, brought me water, brought me because he was worried.
My grip on the cup tightens, before loosening completely. The cup falls to the ground with a clack. My head feels heavy, and I rest it onto my hands. He cares for me. And as I delve through my mind, I can say with absolute certainty that I would have done the same for him in such a situation. My hands drop from my face.
Me, growing fond of a demon.
What a shitshow.
I look at the pitiful form on the ground next to me. A whine leaves the poor thing as he hears me shuffle closer.
“Beleth,” I croak out. I reach out to him, my fingers grazing the fur on his head.
With a muffled sob, he lifts up an arm. His bloodshot eyes peer at me, and I hold his gaze for what seems like hours before I move closer.
He opens his maw to speak, but is interrupted as I simply let myself fall onto him. His arms instantly open, and his eyes widen with surprise. My body presses against his. The vomit covering his fur squishes between us, but I hardly find the capacity to care at the moment. I feel his arms wrap tightly around me, smothering me in his warmth. I wrap my arms around his torso, or at least, as much as I can.
Neither of us speaks.
His snout presses against my cheek, and I press back.
A/N: I'm still deciding on what to call the main character cuz trying to keep the dude nameless is gonna be hella hard for me 😭 but I also dont wanna give him some old ass name like Bartholomew or some shit. It gotta be cool.
"Forgive the wait."
The cart rumbles as it rolls along the stone floor. My hands grasp at the essentials so that it does not fall over and make a mess. There are enough of those at the moment.
To his credit, Beleth has been a most patient guest. He sits at the table with such stillness and lays his hands on his lap.
Very polite indeed.
It only took me about thirty minutes to explain why sitting on the floor would be unhygienic, but it has paid off.
I stop the cart besides the table. It was a small table. Most of them were in the kitchen. We rarely ate together in one big group. Most of us had separate duties and lessons in various schedules. I myself rarely ate with Celestine as her tasks were delegated to the late nights.
I grab a cup and place it next to the Demon whom smells pleasantly, making sure to place one in my spot. Next I place a plate of roughage and bowl of soup in front of him before serving myself.
Beleth is ever still, staring at me.
I swallow down a mouthful of saliva as I place down the utensils and some rags. Does he not like lentil soup?
"Pardon me."
I roll the cart back to the kitchen before walking back and taking my seat next to Beleth. Looking into my bowl of soup, I feel as if something were missing. My thumb flicks at the flesh of my pointer.
No, I know what is missing.
I slowly raise my hand and reach out towards Beleth, flexing my palm.
"If not too imposing, I would like to say gr—"
A massive hand engulfs mine before I can finish. His hand is hot, almost scalding. Despite this, I find myself curling my fingers around the edge of his palm, soaking up the warmth. His hand slowly tightens around mine, his eyes fixated on my face. I glance down at my plate, my ears burning.
Staring was a strange habit of his, I have noticed. Perhaps this too could be corrected with another lecture. Or maybe it was an inherent behavior of all demons. Regardless, I wish he would not stare so intently.
It makes me feel.... Well, I do not have a word for this feeling. But what I do know is that it lingers around in my stomach, fluttering around like insects upon candlelight.
"Let us say grace."
I close my eyes. I feel his grip tighten ever so slightly. I think about what to say in a time like this. A time where change thunders through my life like calamity. In the end, there is not much more to say.
"We are alive, and we shall eat. We thank you for the mercy of another day, my Lord." I raise my head and sneak a side eye at Beleth, his head bowed and muttering under his breath. As I wait for him to finish, I use the time to look at him closely.
His fur was no longer filthy, but it could use a good brushing. Although, the thought of bringing up such a thing leaves me hesitant. I am certain bringing up such topic bluntly would be impossible Impertinence.
Beleth raises his head and opens his eyes. His eyes find mine once again.
There is that fluttering again.
I look at my plate and pull my hand out of his grasp. Or at least, I attempt to. His grip is tight, albeit not enough to cause me any true pain.
"Beleth?" The fluttering in my stomach intensifies. All that I can hear is our breathing.
His fingers relax slowly, unfolding one by one until my hand is free. I pull away and rest my hand on my lap. My palm was hot and a bit moist.
"Sorry."
"It is quite alright." I grab my fork and poke at the greens on my plate. "Please, eat. I do not want our food to grow cold."
Not waiting for a response, I lift my fork and stuff my mouth. My face grows warm.
Roughage is served cold, you dolt.
I swallow down my embarrassment along with the fennel. Not as good as how Mother Catherine made it. Nothing I made has been even a sliver of a comfort that her cooking brought to me, nor do I dream to achieve it. It is better off in my memories, unspoiled.
A squelch brings me out of my lament. I glance over at Beleth, his head pressed against the plate as he laps up the food like a dog. Scraps of chewed food falls onto the table as he pulls his head back to swallow. I can not help myself from glaring at his teeth. As sharp as blades and aligned perfectly like two hands intertwined together.
I would disappear in no less than four bites.
"Goodness! Were you starving?" I nervously chuckle. I hope my emotions do not wear my face.
Beleth stops eating and lifts his head to look at me. A bit of sage hangs off his lips. He gives me a quick nod before digging back in.
I hope I did not offend him.
My fingers strum on the table as I finish my plate. I grab my cup and drink water. From the corner of my eyes, I see beleth look at me and his cup. He grabs it and pulls his head back, lifting it above his open maw.
He dumps the cup into his mouth, swallowing it in a single gulp. Before I can ask if he would like more, his long tongue slithers up from his mouth and into the cup. It wiggles around like a grouping of eels, absorbing every last bit of moisture.
Unfortunately, I was midway through a gulp myself. I gag on my water and slam my cup down onto the table, coughing into my hand. My face erupts into a burning fire. My coughing evolves into a nasty hacking, and I rise up from my seat.
I hear Beleth call my name, full of concern.
I wave off his worry, but it appears that through my coughing, I did not hear him rise from his seat and crawl over next to me.
His hands ghost over my body as he inspects me, but never make contact. "Are. You. Alright?" He looks like he wants to pat my back, but from the way he hesitates, it is clear he fears scaring me.
I try to respond. I open my mouth and try to suppress a cough to push out words instead. Instantly, I let out a particularly nasty one. My head throbs and I see stars for a moment. My arm stretches out behind me to grab my seat but I hit the table, which is unfortunate because I seem to have lost my balance in my trying to sit down.
I brace for an impact that never comes. I do not share a passionate kiss with the cold stone floor. Two long arms cage my body, and I find that my own arms had instinctively wrapped around his torso.
Beleth's eyes are blown wide with fear, his body trembling and his ears pulled back. His maw opens and he says my name. It is no louder than the trickling water of the lavatorium I had bathed him.
He is warm, so very warm.
I try to speak, but I honestly have nothing in mind that could be said.
He pulls me up gently until I am back on my feet. He pulls his arms back away from me the moment he determines I am able to stand on my own as if cracks had appeared on my surface.
“Forgive. Me.”
I shake my head, my hand rubbing my throat. “Please, I am the one who should be more careful.”
Was this room always so cold?
My hands rub at my shoulders. Beleth does not seem to feel it. Why would he? He feels like a furnace. I rub my hands, which have now fallen limp against my abdomen.
His heat reminds me of winter's approach. I dread to think of the cold that shall come to nip at my extremities. I wring my hands. I am sure Beleth will not have any troubles.
So warm...
“I. Did. Not. Mean. To. Touc—”
“Let us not speak of this anymore.” I blurt out, louder than I intended. Why am I thinking of his warmth so intently?
“Let us continue our meal,” I suggest, pulling my lips into a smile.
A moment is taken for me to set the table back to normal. I sit down and take a sip of water. Beleth still stands next to me, his claws fidgeting with each other.
“I am alright, truly.” I gesture to his seat. I can feel the warmth coming from him.
His ears perk up slightly as he walks back to his seat. The chair creaks as he adjusts himself. I wince at the sound.
He grabs his bowl and begins to slurp down the soup. His appetite certainly has a way of encouraging mine. I waste no more time and begin to eat my soup.
The rest of our dinner carries on with no further disruptions. I fill up pretty quickly on the soup, despite nearly half of the portion remaining. Glancing over at Beleth, he seems to have finished rather quickly. I avert my gaze as he begins to lick the bowl clean. At the very least, he is not wasteful.
I can hear the scolding in some dormant recess of my mind. ‘Needless waste is the privilege of the gluttonous,” Mother Catherine would scold if she saw us squandering our blessings. It was her preferred saying, having come up with it during a spring when the crops were extra fruitful, and we had excess to let spoil.
I slide my bowl over to him, its contents sloshing around. He stops his licking and glances over between me and the bowl.
“Are. You. Certain?” His nostrils flare as he sniffs the air. I can see the drool begin to pool on his lips, glossing his sharp teeth further.
“I do not have a hearty appetite tonight, I am afraid.” I push the bowl a little bit closer, and he reaches out with a clawed finger to finish dragging it towards himself.
“Besides, you seem to like my cooking,” I muse. Beleth gives me an absent-minded nod, his attention clearly fixed on his new portion of soup. He laps noisily at his soup, his maw pushed halfway into the bowl.
His eating diminishes my hunger. Not in a disgusted way. His voraciousness is almost enough to fill me up just by looking. I watch for what feels like only minutes before his bowl is empty.
He stares at his empty bowl and then at me, his ears flat against his head. Something tells me that he would like to speak. He does not.
There is something familiar in his silent begging.
“I will get you another.” I grab his bowl and head to the kitchen, returning with the cart. I grab his bowl and ladle soup from the pot into it. I place it in front of him. One part of me would just give him the entire pot to eat, but the other would like to cling to a fleeting semblance of decorum.
“Here you go, hungry thing.” I chuckle, watching as she immediately gets to eating.
“Sustenance. Beautiful sustenance,” she moans between swallows. A trickle of porridge drips down her chin.
I scoffed, grabbing a cloth and wiping her face clean, much to her displeasure. I was cutting into her valuable eating time. How dare I?
“It is like having a second Leoric,” she whines, pushing my hands away with her head. I back away, and she raises the bowl to her lips.
“Some of us prefer to keep our bodies clean, swine.” I can not help the smile my lips curl into.
She slams her now empty bowl down on the table before attempting to wipe her mouth with her newly washed sleeve. I dive in and wipe her face again.
“Gah! Insular man!” She yelps, pulling at my arm.
“Celestine, Mother Catherine is going to be cross with you if she finds even a single sta—Insular? INSULAR?!”
I raise my arm and swat at her head with the rag, skewing her veil. She wears a smug little smirk.“You call me insular for not wanting you to be filthy?” Another swat to her head.
Celestine lets out a laugh. I place the cloth on the table before fixing her veil. I tuck her brown hair into place and make sure the headband is secure. She closes her eyes, contentment clear on her face. I cup her cheek. She opens one eye to look at me.
“No more messes, please. Father paid quite the sum to have this artist paint us.” I grab the rag again and clean the table. “We should get going. Everyone should be about ready to gather for the portrait.”
“After one more bowl,” she explains as if it were scheduled on the chore list.
“Celestine…” I mutter warningly, scratching at a dried bit of porridge.
I do not need to look at her to know that she is staring at me with those eyes. I could never win against those eyes. The rag falls onto the table. Turning to her, I stare as she holds out her bowl to me. She shakes the bowl expectantly with a pout.
There is something familiar in her silent begging.
I give her a faint smile. I would not want her to go hungry. Better to eat her fill now before we must stand in place for a few hours, I suppose. I grab her bowl and pour in her second helping of porridge while she slaps her hands on the table rhythmically.
“Here you go.” I place the bowl down.
“Thank. You. Very. Much.”
I watch as Beleth devours the soup even faster than the last bowl, opting to simply lift the bowl above his maw and dump its contents down his throat
A/N: Sometimes its easier to focus your anger on a while different topic rather than the real issue.
Male!Human x Male!Demon
The candle crackles softly, its light draping over the pages. There is a dull, pulsing pain behind my eyes, but I attempt to steel myself.
Just a few more and I shall be done with this.... for tonight.
I readjust my position, giving my legs a well-needed stretch. I knew being hunched over like this would kill my knees, but I was determined.
It was indeed difficult to read in such low light, as the headaches have proven, but any brighter and most certainly they would know I was here.
~The knyght answerede wyth egre mode, Before the kyng ther he stode, The quene on hym gan lye. 'Sethe that I ever was yborn, I besofte her herebeforn Never of no folye! But sche seyde I nas no man...~
Oh my....
~...Ne that me lovede no woman, Ne no womannes companye; And I answerede her, and sayde That my lemmannes lodlekest mayde To be a quene was better worthye.~
Goodness!
My finger traces my lips before parting and biting down gently onto my nail. I turn the page, spitting out a piece of nail I bit off.
It seems paradoxical. The more I read the more this hole in my stomach deepens, yet I can not stop myself from turning page after page.
Celestine... you indecorous woman.
To think she hid these books away behind the shelf. I can only be grateful that she has acquired me this scrip in such quick time.
Of course, the reference and historical works here will have a place in my heart, but the creatives is what truly makes my breast flutter with a twinge of heat. Poetry, philosophy, and the tall tales of heros.
Ooooh, but the lecherous tales of scorned lovers?
Absolutely intoxicating.
But alas, material such as this can only be smothered in. It took months of pleading from me and Sister Celestine to convince Father Leoric to even consider adding poetry to the collection.
"Honeyed words of fools with plenty of time on their hands," he had described it as we batted our eyelashes.
The first time Celestine showed me an incrediblly scandalous tome, I nearly dropped dead from shock, fearful that we would surly receive a lashing. But after a few pages, I was enthralled. What beautiful words and shapes my eyes drunk in!
She found her culpable pleasure in the sciences, and I in my dramas.
I snap the pages shut, reaching out to gently nudge the shelf forward before placing the book behind. It has gotten late and I must get my rest, lest Father gives me another scolding on the importance of sleep.
I can always read a bit longer tomorrow night.
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"Please.... Open. The. Door."
I stare at the ceiling, too lethargic to reply. God, I had not even removed my attire before laying on my bed. It has been... Well, I can not for my life of me tell how long I have been cooped up in here.
My breath has grown stale and I contemplate leaving to fetch water, yet the thought of having to face that thing outside keeps me still.
I wish I could say I have taken this time to introspect, but I find such thoughts impossible to form right now. And so, I have been thinking of absolutely nothing.
What has become of me?
I take a deep breath and turn onto my side. I hear yet another knock, followed by another low whine. I close my eyes and try to envision the floor under my bed opening up into a dark, bottomless chasm. I did not wish to be here anymore. I have sullied my home. I must leave.
To where I do not know.
I hear another set of knocks against the door. To its credit, the beast has not broken through despite obviously possessing the strength required to do so.
It understands boundaries.
"Human. Please.... Let. Me. In."
To a certain degree I suppose.
I can barely register the sound that exits my mouth as human words. No, I must correct myself. It honestly sounds more like a growl. I sound like a horse on its last legs.
"Please.... I do noooooot wann—"
I simply give up.
The knocking stops.
For a moment, I believe the demon has left. However, my reprieve is short-lived as it begin again. This time, however, with a great urgency.
"HUMAN. OPEN. NOW."
The Demon sounds worried... about me.
Why? Why me? By all means it should have just devoured me and left this place empty. It should have laughed at my offer of a bath and torn my flesh asunder. It should have ended my pathetic life so that I can be....
So that I can be.....
With my....
But I will not, will I?
Because I have invited this thing here.
And now I am bound for hell.
I will never see them again.
And.. this thing worries for me?
My body lurches forward and my teeth grit with the strength of a vice. I sit up and scream as loud as I can.
I scream and scream. My hands flail a bit before deciding to pummel the plush matress beneath me.
"DAMN YOU!" I yell at the door. I grip the sheets and yank them away, letting them pool onto the floor. I toss my feet and storm up to the door where the knocking has finally ceased.
I raise my hands and begin to pound and pound at the door.
"I HAVE A NAME. I HAVE A NAME, YOU BEAST."
I kick at the door, screaming my name over and over until I can no longer feel my big toe.
"YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS SUCH! YOU WILL SPEAK TO ME AS A INDIVIDUAL, NOT AS A SEPARATE SPECIES!"
I give the door a few more bangs for good measure.
I stop everything.
I breathe heavily, my lungs aflame and my foot, sand. I breathe until I feel less... volatile.
Beyond the door, I hear a soft mumble. It repeats over and over. Curious, I lean closer and press my ear against the door.
Its my name.
The beast is repeating my name.
I let out a soft sigh, grab the handle, and pull the door open.
The thing sits there, its head hung in what I can only assume is shame. I can see its eyes dart between the floor and the hallway a few times.
I step out of my room and close it behind me, my back pressed against it.
I stare at the demon. Part of me wishes to reject the filth of its nature, while the other seeks to placate. Of course, the meek fibers of my being wins out in the end.
Ah, even before a demon, I can not find the strength to stay angry. It has never been in my bones to stay such a way. Bouts of rage here and now, but the embarrassment always prevails. God, I must have pardoned Brother Donovan for pushing his duties off onto me so many times before Father Leoric had to intervene.
My head leans back until it taps against the wood.
"Forgive me. I... am not of sound mind at the moment."
I still do not look at it. Not that it would have mattered, because I know its gaze has not lifted from the floor.
"I do not think I have been in a while," I mutter. A huff of air leaves my nostrils as I crouch down into a kneel.
"I am sorry."
Its eyes lock onto me.
Human eyes stare back into mine. Yes, yes, they belong to the body of a demon, but there is a hunger that can only belong to a man in those eyes.
I slowly raise my hand and try to place it on its shoulder. It flinches and I stop. I pull away and hold my hands in my lap.
"May I have your name?" I speak softly. I do not wish to scare the poor thing away. My tongue suddenly dries up at my regard for its feelings.
My God.
Oh my God.
I am worried.
I am worried this beast will up and leave me. And then what will I have?
Before I can fall into another bottomless pit, the sound of its deep breath pulls me front its edge.
The Demon's gaze falters and it looks around. It opens and shuts its maw a few times. Its claws idly scratch at the floor, cutting the stone.
"Beleth."
Its voice is like the crashing of waves in a turbulent sea. Waters that threaten to pull you under.
"Beleth," I repeat, trying to get a feel for it on my tongue. It is certainly no human name that is certain. I speak it again a few more times.
"He. Which. Dredges."
To that, I raise a brow. "Dredges?" I stare at the demon and it stares at me. Then, it moves in closer. Its only a few inches away when I remember what it did the first time we had met.
Apples
I hold my hand out and stop it from coming any closer. I get a handful of fur in response as it nudges my hand with its maw.
"No more of that," I scold as delicately as I can. "No looking into my memories, please." I shudder as its cold, wet nose drags along my palm.
It looks dejected as it pulls away.
"Huma—"
It stops itself at my sharp glare.
"You. Are. Mad.... At. Me?"
"I do not know."
"Sad?"
"I do not know."
The Demon's eyes once again dart around the environment, its claws digging deeper into the stone floor. It appears that I have rendered it speechless.
Why do I feel bad?
I slap my hands on my lap, hoisting myself up with a groan. The Demon flinches at my sudden movement, but does not move. I stand up straight, looking down at it. I clap my hands once.
"Ah! Forgive my rudeness," I chirp, nailing on a smile. "You are a guest and I have not offered food nor drinks."
It stares at me.
"Come now, stand and let us go to the kitchen and I shall make us something."
It continues to stare at me. I gesture at it with my hands to rise. After a few seconds it begins to move. A few loud cracks and pops later, it rests on its hands and feet at eye-level with me.
I open my mouth to speak, but it moves again. More sickening snaps are heard as it grows taller and taller. My throat closes as my head tilts back to look at it. The Demon nearly reaches the ceiling, while I barely reach its stomach.
"I do not like that."
The Demon falls back into its hands and legs with a thud.
Especially when you are uncertain if such events occurred by one's own foolish decisions.
And I have been foolish.
An eternal and beautiful afterlife, sullied. And for what? For something resembling company?
I have invited something foul into my home. Something inhuman. The very same home me and my family have lived in for decades.
It has been a couple of days, I think.
I catch glimpses of it throughout my duties, that awful smell ever present as it moves around the monastery. It leaves behind something that can only be described as blackened oil.
I believe that it is shy.
What a thought!
A bashful abomination.
It cowers back at my staring as if I could do anything to harm it. A massive thing like that could easily rip me to shreds.
As a matter of fact, it has clawed some of the walls and doorways, leaving deep grooves in the stone and wood. Although, perhaps it didn't mean to. The thing stands at around eight feet, maybe ten. It is hard to tell when it is always crawling around.
Regardless, I wave at it and it stares back at me for a good while before slinking back away into the shadows.
Maybe it is madness that I even attempt to be formal with it. The thing is not from this world. And although I have surmised such, it took me a while to remember the name for such beasts.
Demon.
Or some say Daemon.
Former Angels, shunned from the grace of God.
Beasts who defile and annihilate purity.
Calamities that undo humanity.
And then there is this one who avoids my gaze and shakes when I stare at it for too long.
Yet it lingers around the edges of my presence like wolves to campfire or moths to lantern.
Even now, as I make my way to the monastery's library, the thing follows me at a distance. Unfortunately for me, its smell does not stay behind. My nose burns with the smell of rotted viscera. For every ten of my steps, it takes only one of its own, heavy under its weight.
When I pause, it pauses. Of course, I have been doing it every so often, as a jest. It is situations like this where one needs to find some form of humor. One can only bathe in tragedy for so long.
Bathe....
Bathing....
Good Lord, I almost forgot
It would no doubt follow me into the library. That I can not allow. Not while it reeks of disease and decay. I would die a disgrace if I let those precious tomes absorb any foul odor.
I quicken my pace and walk past the library's door.
I hear the demon's steps falter slightly before catching up at its usual distance.
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I take quick but careful steps as I walk through the corridors. The bottles in my hands clink softly as I try to nestle them safely against my chest. I wince at one particularly loud clink and reposition my arms to hold them more securely.
The demon is not here.
Once I entered my personal quarters to collect these vials, it seems to have wandered off. I guess it has an idea about the importance of privacy. I am thankful for that at the very least.
Regardless, as I make my way to the courtyard, I try to keep an eye out for the beast.
The hallway opens and my eyes sting from the light for a few seconds. I hurry my pace and make my way over to the lavatorium that sits in the middle of the courtyard. A deep, circular stone basin that swirls constantly from the water that comes in from the nearby river. A minor aqueduct pushes water into the vessel and a separate one leads the water out.
I place the glass bottles along the thick rim of the lavatorium and sit down. My fingers drum against my thighs as I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. I can hear the rushing water and the chirping of the afternoon birds. I can feel the soft cloth under my fingers and the cool air.
I try to relax further.
I try to feel something that has vacated this place that night.
His grace. His presence.
My prayers have been ever reverent, downright fervorous. I have even considered taking up the cilice to further my devotions. 'A tool of discipline,' Sister Sophy described it once. Although in my case, it would serve to enact my penance.
This was my doing. He has left this monastery because of my selfishness. Even the statues no longer hold gleam in their eyes. Instead, they are shunning and cold. And when I try to feel his warmth...
Nothing.
I open my eyes and wipe away a couple of stray tears upon my cheeks.
"Human."
It does not take a man of notable intelligence to know where that sudden stench is emanating from.
I steady my nerves, a bit embarrassed to be caught in such a mood. I do not answer, but I turn my head to signal my attention. I do not trust my voice as it might break.
"Why. Do. You. Cry?"
I swallow the saliva that has pooled in my mouth. I turn to look at the demon. I do not have the mettle to stare directly at its eyes, so I settle on its scruffy chest.
"It is nothing. The moment has passed."
The demon tilts its head at my words. I cannot fathom if such a creature can understand the folly of man. Perhaps in their own way, they understand regret. I certainly would if i were cast down to earth from heaven.
It moves in closer and sits a few feet besides me. I have not the lucidity to even gag at the smell. Instead, I pick at the skin around my thumb nail. A nasty habit.
Nasty.
Terrible.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Disgusting.
Invalid.
Putrid waste of fucking bod—
"Huma—"
"Let me clean you." I blurt out, perhaps a bit too loudly judging from the way it flinches.
Guilt washes over me. I open my mouth to apologize but instead my lips move different to what I think. "My brethren would often wash the sheep here if they got too dirty," I explain, tapping the rim of the lavatorium.
The sheep....
I miss the sheep.
They were the last to be eaten once all the other livestock were. Once they were gone, all we had left was the crops.
I wish I could pet one, just once, before I depart this world.
I have half a mind to mention the demon's odor directly, but that would be rude.
Also I worry I would be torn apart piece by piece.
So erring on the side of caution is ideal for the moment. I will be on my utmost behavior.
No, that makes me sound as if I am not usually this cordial. I will act as I always have and pray this beast takes no offense to my human behaviors.
"If you would not mind," I add. My face burns with embarrassment at how late that addition was.
Thankfully, it seems to have not decided to rend my brains asunder at my words.
"I. Would. Greatly," it takes a deep, crackling breath, "Appreciate. It."
I stand up and gesture to the lavatorium. The demon creeps closer and looks into the water.
"Forgive the cold," I mutter. I take one vial and take the stopper off before raising it to my nose.
Lavender.
The demon stretches an arm out and pokes a finger into the water. Apparently it does not mind the cold as it makes a swift motion to get in. It looks at the swirling water as it pushes against its body before looking up at me expectantly.
It is strange to think how I have resigned myself to such a task, and even stranger to think on how self aware I am of it.
Maybe numbness is a stage of whatever neurosis has afflicted me.
I step closer and hold my free hand out. It seems to understand and pushes its massive head against my palm. I raise the vial and pour some of the fragrant oil onto its fur and rub it in.
I pool water into my hands and splash it around its body. The water turns a murky brown before quickly being washed away by the currant.
Commendably, the beast stands still as clean its fur. It's eyes are closed and (if i did not know any better) seems to be enjoying the water. Its fur is crusty in some parts of its body. Most of it, I can tell, is from that oily black pitch, but some are stuck together with a flaky, rust colored substance I dare not to think too deeply on.
I slather on more of the oil before gently pushing its back downwards. It peeks open its eyes to look at me and ducks under the water. The water turns a deeper brown than before and the current has trouble pushing such amount of filth out of the exit aqueduct.
I make quick work to rub its fur clean until the water stays at its natural clarity. I tap its shoulder so it knows to emerge.
It does not.
I tap again.
It still does not.
I stare at the massive dark body under the water as panic begins to settle within me.
Did it.... drown?
And with that sudden thought, my hand lunges deeper and grabs at its forearm. I nearly fall into the water myself. I grab hold of the edge and pull with all my strength.
It does not budge, not a single bit.
The thought of jumping in myself briefly enters my mind before being squashed by fear. I do not want to panic the thing and get myself trapped in its hold.
But it seems my worries were for naught, as right as I get go of its forearm, it finally surfaces the water. It levels its head with mine as it shakes off excess water from its fur.
I jump back as the water splashes around. The beast's gaze lands on me as I wipe my wet hands on my clothes. I step closer again and take a sniff.
"You smell better, much better," I state, looking over its body, "And you seem... less burdened by grime."
"Thank. You. Very. Much," it replies, its voice sounding much clearer.
I wonder if it drank while it was submerged to clean its throat out. Nevertheless, I am glad it is now proper and cleaned. I clap my hands and try to give a smile, but it ends up more of a showing of teeth.
"Now, all we need is to... dry you... off."
My voice loses energy by the end of the sentence, droning off into silence.
Why am I doing this?
Why am I trying to pretend everything is alright?
I am bound to hell, my family is dead, and an abomination has made my home its dwelling. All such issues resulted from my existence.
Father should have left me to rot in that alley.
My hands slump to my sides and my smile drops.
"Human?"
I want to reply, I truly do, but I am just so tired. My response is more of a grunt, than a true grumble. I do not stop walking.
"Human?"
I do not bother with a vague response this time. I just keep walking. Within seconds I hear splashing, and the demon repeats itself.
I walk into the corridor and I hear the beast speak out to me over and over.
Male!Demon x Male!Human
A/N: They finally interact in this one lol. I'm still trying to name the demon. Its between Valefor, Beleth, or Amduscias
Another apple falls onto the ground, and it is quickly devoured by the critters. I wonder for a moment if it was accidental, but am quickly proven wrong as he lets another apple fall from his hands.
Small, scrawny fingers tear at the flesh of the fruit before greedily gobbling it down. I believe that Mother Catherine referred to them as "Esquirels." Their redness reminds me of the sunsets. Their hunger, however, reminds me of the sheep, who would no doubt eat us into ruin if given the opportunity.
What an appetite for such small things.
"Brother Blyde...."
His head turns ever so slightly, and he grabs another apple from his basket and drops it. This one drops closer to his feet than the ones before. The little pests gather closer to grab at it.
Anxiety creeps quietly through the corridors of my heart. Father made it incredibly clear that these animals were not to be fed. My right hand grips my left wrist, rubbing the sore skin.
"Please, you know this is.... If Father Leoric finds out you were feeding them again..." My hands clench at my stomach, wrinkling the fabric.
I want nothing more than to yell. Yell with the clapping thunder of authority. But I am not thunder, nor am I the lightning.
I am not even the startled gasps of those who bore witness to such phenomena.
I am me.
And Blyde is Blyde.
Why couldn't he listen? These pests are unclean. Father Leoric went through so much trouble to ensure these things wouldn't get near the monastery. And to what end? To have some disobedient wretch invite these...
Blyde kneels down. If he had heard me speak, he does not make it known.
No.... Why am I making excuses? Of course he hears me. He stands no less than four meters away from me.
He is ignoring me.
I have half a mind to walk over and...
Well, I would not yell. That would be rude. And I couldn't possibly inform Father of this. Blyde would no doubt be punished.
Before my hands can grip my clothing any tighter, his voice reaches me.
"They are starving."
I could barely hear him. Is he trying not to scare the things off?
It is only after his comment that I take a closer look at the animals. At first glance, they seem content, but looking closer at the abdomen, it becomes very much apparent that their ribcages are protruding to an unnatural degree.
That would explain their appetite.
"Yes, they are...but...."
But what? My mouth sours at the idea of any further reasoning. What would...
"All things struggle," I opine, drawing up the muddy memories of Father Leoric's lectures. Although I myself do not know why such misfortunes are bestowed on earth, Father has stressed the futility of needless waste.
'We must give to our own before others, ' or something along those lines.
"Is that not all the more reason to care for the suffering of others?" He holds out an apple for the esquirels. They creep even closer, so close that they reach out with their own small fingers.
Blyde allows the critter to take the fruit from him, before reaching into his basket for the last apple. "I give them reprieve despite knowing there will no reciprocation." He tosses the apple into the forest and the little animals all scatter to find it, dragging their scraps within their cheeks.
He stands up and turns to look at me. I reject the urge to look away from those consuming brown eyes. He walks over until he stands right in front of me. He raises his hand and I flinch.
He pulls away for a second.
Wonderful, he now thinks me to be some skittish animal now. Maybe he'll feed me as well.
I do not move, and once he determines that I will not flee, he places his hand on my shoulder.
"One day, I will be starving, and I can only pray that there will be someone there to give me what I have given to others."
I say nothing.
He pats my shoulder once before beginning to walk towards the monastery behind me.
I stay behind, listening to the rustling foliage as the animals eat just out of sight for a few moments.
I lick my lips, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve.
I would like an apple myself.
I turn around and begin to walk briskly to catch up to Brother Blyde.
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"Be. Not. Afraid," the thing repeats, for what seems like the hundredth time. It's almost hard to be frightened when its voice drowns out nearly all coherent thought in my head.
I had woken up about..... No, I cannot even tell when I woke up, nor how long I have been staring at the monstrosity in front of me. Everything is a blur, melting moments as they all seem similar.
Every attempt to get away has been met with that same response (or perhaps warning), followed by it closing any distance I may have made. And for whatever reason, I feel calm.
It feels vile to admit.
I feel calm. As calm as a violet bending in the wind.
I feel like a rabbit that has given up and made peace with the futility of struggling against a predator.
But there is another feeling that is swirling inside me, one that can only come from such depths of despair.
Boldness.
"Be. Not. Afra—"
"Why are you here?"
My heart drops at my own stupidity. Why did I ask that? What reason does an abomination have to enter such a holy place other than to devour all its inhabitants? I can feel my bravery faltering, nearly all of it used up to ask that through a scratchy throat.
The thing tilts its head, its terrible eyes flicking around to look at every part of me. I suppress the urge to gag. It is very close to me, so that awful smell is even stronger.
It suddenly leans in, and I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can.
"You. Invited. Me."
My mind goes blank.
Invited?
It...by me?
"I invited you?" I repeat, my voice but a whisper, though I doubt it would have had trouble hearing me due to its proximity. "No.... You are lying to me. I did not invite you into my home. This is a mistake." My voice was beginning to shake. I try to scoot away from the thing, but it gets even closer.
It presses its maw into my forehead. My breath catches in my throat. I shudder at the wetness. I wanted to be unconscious again.
No...I wanted to wake up.
A burning blooms in my head. It is an annoyance, but nothing painful. Before I can ask what it is doing to me, something is implanted.
"I do not care who."
"Please.... Anyone. I do not want to be alone anymore."
"Anything.... Come to me."
By some miracle, I pull myself away from the beast with sheer will. It was as if I pulled myself out of water fully clothed, entangled by aquatic flora. "No, I did not.... I did not..not mean..." I stammer as I try to push myself off the ground.
The beast makes a "face" that can only be described as confusion. There is no real way to present it visually, but the emotion is so strong I can nearly see it above the beast's head like a label in a book. Its head tilts again, this time way past the capabilities of a normal neck. It looks at me nearly upside down with those piercing man-like eyes
It, again, leans in, no doubt wanting to press its disgusting maw against my head. My hands shoot up, and I claw at the sides of its snout.
The foul thing lets out a whine and pulls its head back. I let out a whine of my own. My hands are covered in black, sticky pitch. I wipe my hands on the ground before pushing myself up. I turn around sharply, nearly stumbling over my own feet.
I do not take even five steps before my body is engulfed by two long, massive arms. One wraps around my abdomen, and the other wraps around my head, shrouding my eyes.
Oh God, the smell.
I gag, writhing in its hold. I twist my body around violently to face it, and its hold loosens for but a second before tightening again like a noose. It presses its head against my stomach. My hands fly to its head, gripping what fur I can and pulling as hard as I can.
"Be. Not. Afraid."
It sounds pained.
My strength falters, but I quickly come to my senses and tug as hard as I possibly can.
No, stop it. Do not feel...empathy for this unclean spirit.
"Please, let go of me, please." I try to sound formidable, but it sounds more like the begging of a child. I curse my mouth's meekness. I try to yank it off again, but it lets out another whine.
"Stay. Please. Stay."
"For the love of God, please let me go. I did not mean it. I did not mean it. I did not mean it."
I repeat myself over and over, my hands tugging at its body as its hands grip mine. The beast mutters its own repetitions, too low for me to hear completely, but its tone is undeniable.
Pleading.
Its slobber wets my garments, soaking the cotton from the divet of my breast down. I speak again, my voice ruined and raw.
"Don't hurt me. I do no- I do not want to die." My voice breaks near the end of my words. My fingers graze his eyes as I try again to pull him off. The abomination removes its head from my stomach looks at me.
"Leave this place and nev—"
My fingers slip from the beast's slimeridden fur. Before I can let out a gasp, it takes the chance to press its vile maw against my forehead again.
A pleasant smell enters my nose. It is a fleeting thing. Nostalgic and comforting. I close my eyes.
Apples.
"Be. Not. Burdened."
It takes me a moment to even realize the thing had spoken to me. And it takes me even longer to realize it has stepped back from me.
I try to respond, but the smell returns. This time, it is accompanied with a warmth.
The warmth travels down from my nose and into my stomach.
"I. Am. So. Lonely."
The feeling moves through my legs before leaving my body. It feels as if I was doused in sunlight, bleaching away all impurities.
"I. Know. You. Have. Been. Too."
It's words are no longer a thundering drum in my ears. It feels...comforting.
"Please. Let. Me. Stay...... With. You."
The silence that follows last for a good minute before I gather the energy to speak. My mouth opens, a bead of saliva dripping down the corner. "Yes. Stay."
Within an instant, nearly all sensation vanishes. There is no more warmth, no more smells, no more anything but the cold of the monastery.
It is messy, often painful, and sometimes abrupt. But always, it is a given. The others did not understand what I meant when I said that. That waking was a given. Of course, only the good Lord knows if you make it through the night to see the morning, but if you never see it, you sleep believing that morning comes.
I never saw the point in worrying about the possibility of perishing in one's slumber. You either see the morning, or you do not.
And today, I live to see another day.
Joy.
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I have spent what seems like an eternity staring into nothing as I lie on the cold floor. I have been thinking. And believe me when i say there's been plenty of time to think.
Let us talk of isolation.
Isolation is cold, a deep chill that bites into your bones. You may think yourself impervious to the cold, most do, especially the young. We believe that our minds are sharp enough to handle the lack of voices and bodies around us.
Wrong. This is wrong.
We need the warmth of bodies pressed against us, we need the sounds of others to collect our own thoughts together. We need each other like the sun needs the moon, cycling around each other. I need to be talked to so I'm not left alone with these awful thoughts.
Oh, and how warm people are!
I miss the others dearly. I miss being scolded, miss being told what to do, I miss their laughter.
The only thing worse than this isolation is the helplessness that crashes over me like the violent waves of the sea.
I am as helpless as a newborn. Every night I lie in my bed and ponder all the ways things could have been different. Perhaps if I noticed the signs quicker, or if I had been more thorough in my bloodletting.
I know it's a sin to even consider it, but as of late I have been...thinking of other things. God, forgive me. Your gift of life is a precious thing.
But what kind of life is this?
Some days I think about stopping my duties. Let these halls become dirty. Let these rooms rot. Let those crops in the garden spoil. That last one has been an especially loud thought. It would be easy. To just sleep in and not water and weed those plants.
It wouldn't be by my own hand, would it? If I starved to death because my last source of food withered away in the winds? Surely my merciful Lord wouldn't condemn me to the pits.
Christ, my Lord, it surely would not be suicide, would it?
I am tired, Lord. Surely it would be allo—
There is a sudden slam that echoes throughout the building that startles me out of my manic ramblings. I gasp and immediately sit myself up. I try to breathe quietly and strain my ears to listen for anything. A few seconds pass, and that turns into minutes. I sit there, trying to listen for what made that noise, but it seems to have been a one-time thing.
I place my hands on the cold ground and lift myself onto my feet with a groan. Sleeping on a hard floor was not the best idea. My youth can only protect me from so many bodily abuses. If I keep this up, my back will be as brittle as these walls.
I walk out of the chapel, closing the doors behind me. The sound seems to have originated from the front of the monastery. I make haste with my steps to reach the courtyard. I make note of the dark sky. I must have been asleep for only a couple of hours. As I walk through, I glance around.
Did one of the stones fall from the balconies?
Of course, this monastery is old, but to think that it would be falling apart so suddenly. The sound implied a massive impact, and I fail to spot where an event could have occurred.
I enter the hallway leading out, quickening my pace as I turn the corners. I reach the main entrance and quickly walk over to the candles adorning the walls. I fish in my pockets and take out a match. I flick it against the stone wall before lighting a few. I turn around and stop all my motions. What I find is incredibly bizarre. I walk over to the massive wooden doors. As I do so, I rack my brain to find when I was in this wing of the building today.
They are open.
I stand there for a good while, staring at the outside world. It was a deep black. So dark, in fact, that I doubt a torch would be enough to illuminate even a few feet in front of oneself.
I step closer to the doors, and with great effort, pull the first door away from the wall and push it back closed. I wince at the groaning of the hinges, as it is the only sound I can hear at the moment. Usually, the night is busy with the chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls. But, it is quiet, incredibly so.
I lean against the door, catching my breath. Although not impossible to do alone, these doors were heavy. I take in a quick breath before grabbing the second door and begin to close that one as well.
As I strain to close the door, the light from the surrounding candles illuminates something I had missed on my first inspection. The shock that surges through me gives me that final push I need to slam the final door closed.
Something akin to fear fills my chest.
There, along the walls besides the door's hinges, were deep cuts into the stone. They extended outwards into the room.
The thought of swords come to mind. But that was an impossibility. Even if thieves (who no doubt would have come from the disease-ridden village) wished to loot this place, they would have been lost in the surrounding mountains. The paths here are crooked and hidden, needing sunlight to traverse. Torchlight shines strangely onto the jagged terrains. I myself have experienced the pain of falling onto the sharp earth of those routes. I myself have gotten lost out there for hours, needing to be saved by my brothers. There can not be anyone here.
So where did these come from?
The lines were slender, yet deep. They nearly reach the corner of the room. I turn and see that if it were to have continued, it would lead into the hallways connecting to the main courtyard. Right were I was moments ago.
Was it a beast?
Sister Herida once spoke of something the villagefolk were squawking about when she visited to sell some of our tomatoes. Wolves that were devouring the livestock. Bears, some even claimed.
Fear slithers up my legs.
If this was a bear, then it definitely was inside.
I remember a blade that was kept in Celestine's room. My legs, albeit trembling, took one step forward, and then another, and then two more. Five more were taken in quick succession before it became a sprint.
I had to find her blade and hide. Or run. Or both. No, I could not run. It was night. I would surely fall into a deep pit or get torn apart by wolves. But what was the alternative? Stay here and get devoured by a bear?
I turn the corner with such rush that I nearly slam into the wall. I push myself against the stone and continue to run.
No, I must think rationally. This monastery spans out a generous amount of land. Even if there was a starving man-eating bear wandering around, the odds of it getting to the living quarters upstairs were very low.
Bears are stupid creatures, are they not? Yes, they are. They must be. That is why God makes them sleep and defecate outside with the rest of the simple minded animals.
Yes, yes, bears are very dumb creatures.
I run out into the courtyard. Every shadow nearly makes me jolt out of my skin. The silence itself is deafening. It is as if the monastery itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens to the poor, lonely, pathetic welp once he runs face first into the claws of a bear.
I just needed to find that blade and lock myself in my room. In the morning I will make my escape and leave. To where? I am uncertain. Perhaps I'll meander around and try to lead the bear out with meat.
With what meat? I am uncertain.
I dash up the stairs leading to sisters' wing. The name boards on the doors are are blur as I try to count how many doors until I reach Celestine's room. It's just around the corner. My feet ache with such a burn, but I pay it no mind. I can deal with a bit of pain seeing as my salvation is just a hop and a skip away.
Yes, yes, I am nearly there.
I run so fast that I must stop myself from going any faster as I would definitely run into the railing and plummet to my death. My running slows to a brisk walk. My lungs are burning as well. My chest feels as if a bellow is pushing air into it.
Almost at the corner.
I glance over the railings to my right. Darkness encompassing all I see. Tonight is especially devoid of moonlight.
I reach the corner and turn it as I have many times before. I walk to Celestine's room near the end of the hallway and grab the handle, turning it.
But, before I can even fathom to let myself in, I smell it.
That smell.
Along with my labored breath, the smell is absolutely damaging to my senses. I already feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest, and now I am retching into my hand as I try to block out that smell.
The intensity of the stench is unlike anything I have faced before. The best way I can describe such a scent is wet and rotted. The sweet, metallic odor of a carcass that was fished out of a bog.
I turn my head to where I came from. The darkness seemed to follow, veiling the hall in a pitch black. It did not seem so dark when I came up here. Why is it darker?
Before I can try to conjure up a explanation in my head, a sound interrupts me. like the growling of a man with ferocity of a hound.
I turn my head to look.
There, at the end of the hallway, was a beast that was not there before.
A horrendous beast. A beast that looks human, and at the same time, can be said to resemble nothing of the sort. It's head was wolfish, but that snout was wide and long. It's teeth were skewed and sharp, dripping with what I can only assume is slobber. The abdomen was that of a human, fur sploched onto the skin at the borders of it's limbs.
Dear God, the limbs.
They were stretched longer than any human's limbs should be. Despite that, the beast was on all fours. It looked like a person trying to play dog.
It's eyes were that of a man, staring at me.
I doubt there is any word that can describe the fear that grips my heart at this moment. I try to scream, but I feel it extinguish in my lungs before it even reaches my throat. Before I can think of anything, my legs give out and I tumble backwards onto the floor.
The beast seemingly reacts to this, shuffling closer
A sound finally escapes me, but is it not a scream. It is a garbled wail. My throat is tightened, and I try to swallow the phelm and saliva that has pooled in my mouth. Another wail. I try to back away from the thing as it crawls a few more feet towards me.
I do not even consider getting up and running. Something deep in my soul is telling me that will be a mistake to end all mistakes.
I retch again as the smell gets stronger.
I gasp for air before I even attempt to move my trembling lips to form a word, any word.
But before I can, it speaks.
"Be. Not. Afraid"
Deeper than the sea, and as terrible as the nature of man.
And I yell.
I yell louder than I have ever in my stupid, pathetic life. My hands lie limp against the floor, what good is doing anything but yell?
So I do.
I yell until it turns into a shrill scream. I scream until my throat feels like its bleeding.
The creature shuffles closer.
And I scream louder. My hands finally shoot up to thrash around in front of me, swinging to deter the thing from getting closer.
I had told myself that I would not visit again, but the thought of them being alone broke my resolve. Although in the depths of my mind, I know they have each other, and that brings me a great deal of comfort.
I kneel down before placing the bundle of weeds onto Sister Sophy's grave. It was honestly all that I could scrounge up. She would not mind. She was a modest woman. Not one for the extravagant.
I glance over at Brother Dodd's headstone, his mound decorated with the most flowers. Guilt flicks its crooked finger against my stomach as I mutter a quick apology under my breath. His garden is now barren. I can only imagine the verbal lashings I would have received if he were here now. But I could not allow my family's graves to be unadorned.
After all, once I'm gone, what other proof will there be that these people were loved?
But what about my grave?
I shake that thought out of my mind immediately. Rising to my feet, I stretch my body. The warmth of the morning sun washes over me, and I feel its rays veil me from any lingering grief I may have. There is work to be done, and once the night shrouds over, I know that the sadness will return.
So until then, I must be quick.
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My hands ache as I scrub the floors of the hallway that leads to the chapel. The smell of wet stone is one of the few easements I have discovered. I have tried previously to attach the smell to a past memory in an attempt to be held by the soft hands of nostalgia, but in all honesty, I had rarely been put to washing the floors. That was Sister Ragma's usual duty. At least the smell is pleasant to the nose.
I stop the scrubbing. I drop the brush into the bucket beside me. I take a quick whiff of the air. Fresh herbs and flowers.
At least for now.
Every now and then, there is a smell. A terrible, nasty smell that wafts through the monastery. It smells of rot. It smells like what they had smelled like after their passing. I have tried to locate its source, but it seems to move. I swear on the Virgin Mother that the source moves. I do not believe myself to be going insane with grief, at least, not yet. If that were the case, the phantom scent would have appeared not long after Celestine's death.
This smell has only recently appeared.
A couple of days ago, to be exact. I had spent hours running around the monastery to find the origin. Cleaning and washing all potential suspects. But that smell still persisted. Eventually, I surrendered and decided to keep incense burners lit continuously throughout the grounds.
I rise up and brace against the wall as my legs regain feeling. With a shake of my legs, I grab the bucket's handle and begin to walk towards the chapel door.
Still smells pleasant... Maybe it will not appear today.
I place my hand on the cold iron bar of the chapel's double door entrance and push with force. Creaking fills the empty halls as I push the door completely open and quickly open the other door. Setting the bucket down by the door, I take a quick sniff. There is no foul odor in this room. In fact, the chapel seems to be the only place where the smell doesn't ever appear.
I quickly walk around the room, making sure no candles or vessels have been left burning. After making sure the monastery wouldn't be reduced to a pile of ash by my hands, I walk back to the entrance and pick up the bucket. I walk over to the altar, taking a glance inside the bucket. The water was beginning to brown a bit.
"After this last room, I'll refresh the water."
My voice was raspy.
There has not been a reason to talk as of late. There is no one here to talk to (Besides the statues and paintings). Still, I have taken it upon myself to speak a few sentences a day, lest my tongue shrivel up from disuse. According to Sister Berith, "A tongue is a terrible thing to waste, especially when it has learned to please."
I never did understand what she had meant by that.
Kneeling on the altar platform, I fish the brush out of the soapy water and begin to scrub. The dull ache in my hands returns shortly, but I do my best to ignore it. I could not allow pain to inhibit my tasks, let alone something as small as this. This had to be done; there is no one else here to do it for me. Not anymore.
I stop to plunge the scrub into the water, then return to clean with greater force. They are counting on me, everyone is. They entrusted me in their final moments. This was...is our home. I was not going to allow our home to become decrepit and crumbling. I must be the one to clean it. I must be the one to maintain it. I must be the one to—
Drops of water hit my hand, stilling it. It was not water spilling from the bucket. No. It was tears. The tears of a pathetic welp who could not clean without becoming undone. What good were these tears? There is no one here to wipe them away.
A wretched sob breaks out from the depths of my soul.
"Lord, when?"
I turn to look at the stone statue that towered over the altar and me. I inch closer, crawling as if I were a babe again.
"When will it stop hurting?" I cry, my hands digging into the platform's wood. "When will this loneliness end?" My hands reach out to hold onto his legs. I pull myself up, my legs wobble as I try to steady myself. I drape my arms around his waist, hoping that by some miracle, his arms would move to comfort me.
"I beseech you, Lord. Grant me mercy. Send a soul my way, even if just for a moment. The isolation is crippling, and I do not know how much I can take."
I had lost count of the times I had begged him. Many nights spent crying my eyes out, praying that the Lord see an end to my suffering. My tears cloud my vision. The messiah's face is a vague shape. Another sob escapes my mouth.
I reach out to his face.
"Please.... Please bring someone to me."
There is no response. There has not been one in a long while.
Before I can let out another feeble plea, my ankle twists under my uneven balance. My body hits the floor. Pain erupts through my head. The air is knocked out of me. A pitiful sound is all that leaves me as I try to breathe. Tears seep into the crevices of my lips, salting my tongue.
All at once, air rushes back into my lungs.
And then I cry.
That is all I can do at this point. Cry.
And I do, for a long while.
And then...
Something I can not describe pools deep inside me. A coiling serpent. A stranger's forceful grasp. A persistent beggar.
It is a nasty, cold feeling. And it is ever-growing.
"I do not care who."
The salt on my lips sweetens, rottingly so.
"Please.... Anyone. I do not want to be alone anymore."
A part of me screams for my mouth to shut immediately. But this feeling is a bubbling cauldron of filth that must be expelled at once. It is almost over. The final push comes now. This is it. It has to happen, here and now.
"Anything.... Come to me."
At that moment, the final thing besides me here dies. I can feel it. I do not know what or who. But something perished the moment those words left my lips.
But what was it?
I am suddenly aware of how cold the floor is. I do not care. I mutter a vow of penance. I am to die and rot on this chapel floor.
I continue to cry for what seems like hours, and eventually, sleep takes me.
Friday, the morrow of the Ascension of our lord,
in the year 1349
Sister Celestine has breathed out her last. I am alone now.
The pestilence has claimed her, but I was able to salvage her immortal soul. I prayed over her as per the written instruction of Father Leoric, despite how scrawled the text was. He himself departed not long before Celestine began to show the first signs.
She passed two weeks ago, but I have been holding my thoughts in delay until now. I have been trying to forget what she had told me moments before she left. The moment I had finished the prayer of Saint Macrina, Celestine grabbed my arm with such strength that I am still bruised.
She begged me to follow. To follow her, to follow the others.
I tried to shush her, but the poor thing began to sob. She wailed about isolation and despair. And it was not until midway into her distress that I realized that she was referring to me. Sister Celestine continued even as her boils opened and soiled the sheets even further. I had to put my hands on her to force her to stay still, but even so, she did not relent. She threw herself up and clung to my chemise as she lamented my fate.
I comforted her one final time as she calmed from her fit. I held her face and told her I would be fine. Celestine then drifted into a slumber and did not wake. She looked peaceful.
I now know what she had meant.
I am alone. Everyone is gone, and the Monastery is silent.
I have been putting thought into Celestine's words. I do not like it. I do not like my thoughts. I am scared. I am scared of what I would do if this continues.
I have been sleeping in the chapel for a few nights now. The paintings of my Lord that adorn the walls keep me company.
I am unsure how much longer I can withstand this.
Last night I had a fit of my own. Threw myself onto the steps before the altar and cried out to the Holy Father for an end to the isolation.
this is so true. beefy minority or werewolf? please choke me with your bicep. slime monster or tentacle monster holding you in place and going out of their way to choke you out? sign me up. dragon using clawed hands to lock you in place while breeding you? sounds perfect.
Don’t title your fics as “x reader” if you have the reader specific features and a name. Thats either a self insert or just your oc💀 “Character x Reader. But in this story your name is Alex Jonson and your have brown hair, green eyes, and olive skin” like baby that’s either a description of yourself or just a random character you created. It’s ok, just give it a correct title, nobody’s gonna be mad.
"Get… off…me you… sonuvabitch…" Bill wheezed, writhing beneath the man choking him. Clawing at the strong arms cutting off his windpipe, he tried to gain some leverage to throw off the stranger.
The man on top of him snarled, eyes blazing with anger. Spit flew from his lips as he tightened his grip on Bill's neck.
The score was meant to be simple: clean out the old cabin Sean had scopped out a day before, grab whatever supplies they could find, and leave. The last thing Bill expected to encounter was an O'Driscoll thug waiting to get the jump on him.
Struggling against the thick hands squeezing his throat, Bill kicked wildly beneath the man pinning him down, desperate to shake free and get enough air back into his lungs.
A sudden gunshot rang through the cabin, stopping the struggle as quickly as it started.
Bill gasped for air, coughing as the weight of the dead man collapsed onto him. As soon as his airway opened up again, he shoved the corpse away forcefully, crawling backwards until he hit the far wall.
Glaring at the body lying in front of him, Bill rubbed at his bruised neck, wincing slightly at the pain caused by the throttling. He swallowed hard, still catching his breath, eyes bloodshot as adrenaline surged through him.
"Bill?" a voice called out in a hushed shout.
As Bill turned to look towards the source of the voice, his vision swaming, the room spinning slightly. It took a moment for his gaze to land on you crouching near the door, scanning the room with your revolver raised.
The relief washing over him upon seeing your familiar form sent his shoulders sagging, dropping the tension inside him just a fraction.
"He was…the only one here," Bill managed to croak out, massaging his tender throat.
"You took too long exploring the cabin so I came. Thank God I did," you say, standing to approach Bill while holstering your weapon. Offering a steadying hand, you helped him rise up from the floor onto a nearby chair with care.
Taking a deep breath, Bill let himself relax further as the blood flowed freely to his head, the dizziness beginning to dissipate.
Before Bill could say thanks, he suddenly felt your hand gently cradle his chin. He stiffened instinctively, eyes widening a touch as you guided his head upward with gentle pressure from your thumb.
The warmth of your skin pressed against his jaw sent a strange sensation coursing through him.
Eyes lowered bashfully, Bill couldn't help but feel his own cheeks growing warm under your gaze; unable to bring himself to meet your intense stare directly, opting instead to fixate on a spot somewhere along your shoulder.
"He really got you good," you muttered as you examined his raw skin.
"Uh…" he began nervously, clearing his throat quietly as he shifted his posture slightly, closing then unclosing his legs unconsciously, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg.
"I should've known something was off sooner," you whisper, your hand now cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry."
"It isn't…It isn't your fault," Bill stammered softly, shaking his head slightly in protest.
You retracted your hand slowly, leaving behind a lingering warmth where your palm had been resting. "We should get going. Dutch'll probably have a fit if we come back empty handed and late," you sigh.
Forcing back a whimper, Bill did his best to keep his disappointment hidden. "Yeah…yeah, you're right," he agreed, swallowing hard as he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "Let's go." He added firmly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.
The ride back to camp passed in silence, only the sound of clomping hooves against the dirt road and the distant birdsong echoing through the trees.
You wave to Lenny as you enter camp, guiding your horse to the makeshift posts with Bill following behind. Bill opens his mouth to say something...anything, but his mouth dries up. He watches as you hop off your horse and tie it securely. With his head slightly down, he does the same. Before he could head off and drink himself to death, your hand grabs his arm to stop him.
"You need to rest," you said softly, pulling him gently by the arm towards his bedroll setup.
"Nah, I'm fine," he protested weakly, "Just wanna…get a drink…"
Despite his words, Bill makes no effort to pull his arm away from you.
"Please…" you insisted, tugging him along. "At least let me put some ointment on those bruises."
At the mention of your hands on him again, Bill felt a phantom hand pressing against his face, engulfing his head in warmth. He wanted to feel the way he did at the cabin again. He wanted to be touched...by you.
