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Caretaker Kankri: Kankri X Female!Reader Part 4~At your hive~
Life was good. You were currently on your couch with a blanket around your feet, a pawbeast in your lap, a good book in your grasp, and your favorite music playing in the background. Even your occasional cough couldn’t detract from your enjoyment of the moment.
And then someone knocked at the door.
You narrowed your eyes at the barrier. What were the chances of you pretending to be absent actually working? You glance at the bright ass reading lamp behind you, then the open window next to the entrance.
Right. Absolutely zero.
“[Name]?” You jerk in surprise, disrupting the pawbeast in your lap. What was Kankri doing here? You were nearly positive you’d scared him off for good! You glance at your pajamas in dismay, which were nothing more than a tank top and a loose pair of shorts, covered by a My Little Hoofbeast robe.
“[Name]?” Kankri called out again. “May I c9me in?” With a sigh you steel yourself for the upcoming humiliat
KurlozxReader Don't want to die (Part 1)"Hey, Tavros?"
"Do you believe in fate?"
"I'm... not sure..."
"A few days ago, I read in a book that fate is impossible to escape. That no matter how hard you try or how far you run, fate will always find you."
"Uh, why are you telling me this?..."
"Because...I want to escape mine."
~earlier that day~
Your name is Abiska Aolinn and you are almost 8 sweeps old. You work in the Paddy field with most of the other trolls of your small village. Although tiny, it is one of the largest producers of rice in the country. As soon as you were old enough to understand, you were sent out to work with all the others. Every morning you wake up with the sun, ready to work for another day.
"Abiska! Get your lazy ass out of bed!" You groan as the village leader pulls the blankets off of you. "It is two hours past sunrise, you pathetic troll!" He shouts. "Your right, I'm pathetic, and horrible. Leave me to wallow in my sadness and repent for my actions." You mumble sarcastically, rolling over
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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