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chaos-in-the-making · 6 years ago

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The Frozen King

(The Dark Hanz perspective that no one asked for)

The moment Hanz laid eyes on the love of his life was both mundane and profound. It was the flutter of a breeze, the caress of silk on his cheek, and then it was gone, leaving him stuck to the cobbled pavement of the bridge, shaking at the impact.

Arrendel was crowning a new queen that day. As a visiting dignitary, Hanz was given an escort into the secluded castle, cut off from the city by massive gates that either held secrets or sins. He listened patiently to his escort supply the history of the walls and their grand beginnings, his smile hiding the foreknowledge of his education. Holding his condescension inside was a skill, one he had honed to perfection.

Oh yes, he knew all about Arrendel. He knew the traditions, the history, the laws, even the genealogy of the royal line. More importantly, he knew the exact age of the orphaned princesses. That is, the soon to be queen, and her sister. There was opportunity in Arrendel, one he would be a fool to pass up.

His brothers had scoffed, of course. Three of them were already married, and the oldest had children of his own. There were far too many obstacles in his path to the throne of his own kingdom. Without the timely occurrence of a massive tragedy, it could be years to pick off each brother and their brats, leaving the throne for himself. Hanz had discarded that possibility long ago.

So when he begged Father to be the one to represent the Seven Isles at the new queen’s coronation, his brothers had each taken the time to goad him with taunts on what a lost cause it was, that he would never earn a wife, much less a queen.

Boiled alive wasn’t good enough for them. Hanz had special deaths for each brother that he savored at night. A lullaby to put him to sleep. He wouldn’t just show them what he was made of, that they had seriously underestimated their youngest brother. He would make them beg for his mercy.

A hand on his chest brought his thoughts back to his surroundings, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn’t a rude hand, just one to check his progress. Thankfully, Hanz had practiced keeping his face fair and pleasant, even when his mind wandered to more amusing things, and so he was able to briefly ask, in a confused voice, why they had stopped.

His question halted of its own volition when he spotted the proceedings pass before him. Two pairs of guards, one before and one behind the woman in between, who strode along with such poise and grace, her eyes forward and never straying. A woman with snow white hair, braided and pinned up without a strand out of place, and a dress that covered every inch of skin to her jaw. A woman of power.

His queen.

Hanz could feel himself gaping, and for once it wasn’t an act. Almost too late, when she was nearly abreast of him, he realized the others in his group were lowering themselves in respect, and he hurriedly bent at the waist in a perfect bow. But his eyes watched her as she swept past, on her way to the chapel no doubt. She didn’t glance his way, not even to acknowledge the group, and then she was gone, the echoes of the guard’s boots dissipating quickly.

It took a few seconds before Hanz remembered to straighten up. He was breathing heavily, the sweat threatening to break his perfectly calm exterior. He needed air before anyone started to suspect.

Using an excuse to see to his horse, Hanz slipped away from the group, going back the way he came until he was outside the castle gates. The people of the town were pouring in, their faces alight with the wonder of the castle that had been denied to them nearly twenty years. But Hanz huddled himself in a corner, out of sight, catching his haggard breath, the hands that brushed over his face were shaking.

Just one glimpse, and he was certain she was the one. Upon his arrival, Hanz hadn’t considered Arrendel to be chilly or frigid. The summer was tepid, the air fresh and the foliage green, basking in the warmth of the temporary sun. But the queen... she made him believe in the tales of the dangerous winter months. Of half a year trapped by snow and ice. The tales that were spun of dark nights with howls of beasts following your every step.

Cold, dark, and so very lonely. Just like him.

Hanz chuckled into his glove, taking a few more deep breaths.

God, she was stunning! So proud, so perfect, carrying herself along like she walked on air, and everyone else was beneath her boots! If she had even glanced to the side it would have been in disdain, at the peasants who thoughts themselves worthy of stepping foot in her domain.

No, he was reading too much into it. It was her coronation day. She was focused, determined! That she failed to acknowledge the people who fawned over her was likely caused by oversight. Arrendel had a history of kind, compassionate rulers. If Elsa followed after her parents, she would be of the same cloth.

But oh, how the height of her pedestal made him long all the more. Ever reaching, never able to touch. Hidden away like a priceless gem. A strange mystery known only to a few. She was perfect in every way! The perfect, unattainable queen.

That was nothing new to Hanz. All his life, Hanz had been reaching for something kept out of his reach. Always dangled above his head while laughter rained down, pushing him to the floor with a boot and a warning. He didn’t ask for much, not at first. What any child would want and crave. His parent’s love. The respect of his brothers. A tiny room to call his own. The permission to exist. Anything!

Anything that couldn’t be wrenched away by cackling siblings, or handed down through too many hands that had used and abused it before. Something that he deserved, that was his by right, and belonged to him, and him alone!

He had to have her.

From what he had learned through spies and loose tongued merchants, the Princess Elsa was free of attachments. No betrothed, no fiancés, no interests yet. But as soon as that crown rested on her head, the invitations would come pouring in, if they hadn’t already. She would be pressured to marry, for her kingdom, for her throne. Hanz had a small window to present himself, to gain an edge on the competition.

But now that he had seen her, his plans began to waver. Would she even notice him? Would she deign to extend her royal palm? Could he sweep her away in a breathtaking dance, or would the slow approach of mutual interest appeal to her more?

He needed more information, damnit! Hanz worked best when he could manipulate a person’s feelings, dig through their emotions and find the ones that would give him access to anything he wanted. Then he became whatever it is they needed the most, feeding off insecurities and expectations until his goal was in reach.

It was how he had survived through childhood. No one wanted Hanz unless he performed whatever trick that was required. Be still, Hanz. Read this verse, Hanz. Shine my shoes, Hanz. Be a perfect, but silent, prince. Be content with your place, the last in line.

Oh, it burned still! The shame, the rage, the injustice. The fire that burned through his veins until it exploded out, resulting in blood and feathers on the ground. Feathers and blood, and no remorse. No tears for the dying gasps. That’s when Hanz knew he was strong enough to do whatever it would take. He was strong then, and he was clever, that much he learned from watching the others. He buried the bird, and went back to being the perfect son. Just a little longer now, and he would reap his reward.

Hanz had cultivated that fire of revenge to a glowing pile of embers over the years, turning his smile and charm into a mask that everyone was too stupid to see through. He was confident his mask wouldn’t slip; he had trained too well. That fire had leapt up unexpectedly when he saw Elsa, though, consuming, demanding. He must be careful... so very careful... or he would lose it all.

An excited sound yanked his attention up and to the bridge, where he spotted a green and yellow striped dress bounding along the conchade, bouncing between lamp posts and... was she singing?

The answer hit him quite suddenly, and he realized it was the second princess. Yes, he could see that now. Her dress was ceremonial, with embroidery of the royal house. Her hair was braided and pinned up in a style similar to her sister’s, with ribbons streaming out behind her in happy waves.

Princess Anna, that was her name. Also secluded in the palace for most of her life. Also alone, and without friends. Yet she moved with an energy like the coming of spring, of happy beginnings and hopeful prayers. She was headed to the bay, meandering and gawking as if she had never seen the town before. Well, perhaps she hadn’t.

Hanz found himself smiling, amused at her antics. What a difference she was from the ice queen inside. Even her hair was a warm ginger color, with an odd streak of white in the front. Anna had been a part of his plans as well, another orphan with no social skills who could get him close to the queen. It would behoove him to introduce himself. In the most appealing way, if that was possible.

Elsa was the prize. The beacon on top of the hill. His silver haired idol to worship when she was finally his to possess, and she would prove that he was the best of all his brothers! Hanz straightened his gloves and his lapel, checking that his hair was perfect before striding out into the light again, keeping his target in view.

The queen was his prize, but it didn’t hurt to have a contingency plan.

#frozen #dark hanz #elsa #anna #yes i went there #why did I spend two hours on this #ask my therapist

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intim3ate · 6 years ago

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Intoxication of the Fall | McHanzo [Overwatch]

Hanzo has long since given up fighting his transformations. When Jesse McCree follows him into the woods on the night of the full moon, Hanzo decides to give up something else, too.

My Monthly Patreon fic, as chosen by patrons in a monthly suggestion poll! The winner this time was @werekem with the prompt “Werewolf Hanzo/Demon McCree and some great big ol' knotty fun.” And they are definitely having a good time with some real good knotting. ;9

I had... so much fun writing this. I write so much canon-verse fanfiction I often forget how much I like writing monsters, so this was a nice return to form for me (even though I don’t write a lot of knotting itself, lmao).

This fic was available for early access on my Patreon two weeks ago. If you’d also like to have early access to monthly fics, commissions, and WIPS, or to have a say in what I write every month, please consider pledging!

AO3 Link | Commission Info | Patreon | Leave a Tip?

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The forest is still, quiet, dark. Peaceful, or so it seems, until the clouds part to reveal the bright, round moon, to bathe the forest floor in its light. Alone, Hanzo turns his face skyward, lets the moonlight illuminate his face, wash over him like a wave, soak into his skin. It sends a ripple of warmth and a flash of heat, a trickle and then a geyser of sweet sweet thrill rushing through his veins. He falls to his knees. His eyes roll back in his head.

He had gave up fighting the transformation years ago. Now, although he doesn’t quite embrace it, Hanzo accepts it. He lets the crushing waves of heat and electricity and power wash over him without struggle, without defiance. All it takes is that first warning sign, the tiniest contraction in his muscles, the sharp prick of sensation in his ears and his nose, and he knows: soon, he will change.

The feeling comes quickly, sharply; his transformation takes him out of almost nowhere, furious and overwhelming, and Hanzo’s palms hit the forest floor. His nails, blunt, scratch at the dirt. He tries to get a proper grip, tries to ground himself, but can’t. Soon, he gives up. Short, harsh breaths hiss out through gritted teeth; his lips peel back over them as they grow, long and sharp. He growls, clenches his fists as he feels his nails grow and dig into the meat of his palms. The fur of his palms.

And then the tension leaves him. He relaxes, lets the light breeze weave itself through the soft, black-and-white fur that now covers him.

He stands. Takes a deep breath.

Howls.

And then he runs. Runs through the woods he’s fled to, relishes in the feeling of the earth beneath his feet - hands - paws. It’s liberating, somehow, to let himself be taken by this, to allow himself this small freedom after so many years of trying to hold it all back.

But he can’t let go completely. He knows what he is. Knows he’s still dangerous, even in more lucid times, like this. He knows all too well what happens when he doesn’t run, when he allows himself to himself stay in the city, to surround himself with people. With friends. With family.

He fears himself, sometimes - perhaps he always will. But it’s justified, he thinks, as he remembers his brother’s face, mangled and scarred and red red red beneath his paws. Hanzo fears his strength, his teeth, his claws, the overwhelming urge to bite and tear and rend and drink in moonlight and blood.

He fears himself. Others fear him, too.

But what doesn't fear him is the thing that stands before him.

Hanzo stops running. He straightens up, from all fours to hind legs. He sniffs the air, narrows his eyes at the man that stands before him. At the man he once believed to be Jesse McCree.

But Jesse McCree is no man at all. He may look like one in size, shape, and cadence, but now, with his heightened senses, Hanzo realizes that he doesn't... smell right. Under the layers of fabric softener in his clothes and cologne on his skin, he smells just the tiniest bit like sulfur, like wine, like fouled meat and blood. Not his own, though - like the blood of six or seven others. Hanzo wonders if that blood stains his skin or runs beneath it.

McCree holds out his hand and smiles, sharp-toothed and too wide, at the beast snarling before him. "Come on, now, don't be like that,” he says, voice like honey and whiskey.

Hanzo’s nose wrinkles. “So you were never human at all,” he rumbles as he crouches low, poises to strike. The image of Jesse McCree scoffs; his smile widens uncannily. Hanzo’s fur bristles.

“Shouldn’t be surprised you knew somethin’ was up,” he answers. He steps closer. Hanzo backs up.

"Stay away from me, demon," Hanzo growls, for McCree’s protection as much as his own. It takes everything he has not to leap at the hand, snap McCree's arm in two with his pointed fangs and his long, powerful jaw. It's like this every time: he wants to eat, to kill. To let himself go, let himself become the beast he feels inside him.

He wants to fall.

Wants to fall into Jesse. Wants to tear him apart from the inside out, with teeth and hands and tongue. The temptation is strong, overpowering. Unsurprising, too - because isn't that what demons do? Tempt?

McCree's arm moves. It's a quick motion, a small one, not meant to alarm but to remind Hanzo that his offer still stands. “It’s okay, Hanzo. You know me,” he says, and for a moment Hanzo sees the man again, sees Jesse McCree with his bright smile and his kind, warm eyes. But then he blinks and sees the demon, gaze sharp and red and hungry.

Hanzo does not move. His lips curl over bared teeth. He growls; McCree laughs. “Come on. It ain’t like you got much left to hide like this, do you? And you know what I am now, anyway. Why don’t you let me show you what I can do?”

Hanzo sniffs the air. Every muscle in his body warns against this. Against him. But Jesse McCree's pull is strong (fire and danger and meat and blood blood blood so much blood), and the urges of the wolf inside Hanzo (fight and kill and tear, bite, rend) are too powerful.

He takes his hand, and McCree smiles with far too many teeth.

---

There is nothing gentle about the way they fall together.

As soon as McCree closes his fingers around Hanzo’s paw, Hanzo yanks the demon to him and holds him there. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, to memorize McCree’s scent (so familiar but so new, so dangerous, so enticing). He lets himself feel the slightest touch of almost-too-hot heat seep through his fur, and the same instant it becomes too much, Hanzo throws McCree against the nearest tree.

McCree hits it hard, chest first, and it’s all he can do to brace himself against the trunk with both hands. He whips around, but can’t move: Hanzo is on him in the space between heartbeats, a clawed hand to his neck to hold him in place. The tips of his too-long nails dig into the still-soft flesh of McCree’s neck, but he does not press any harder. Does not cut off McCree’s air supply.

“Feisty, ain’tcha?” The demon reaches up and tangles his fingers in the thick fur behind Hanzo’s ears. “Now that you’re finally lettin’ go.”

He leans up, stands on his toes. Hanzo is so much taller like this, so much bigger, so much stronger. He could crush McCree where he stood, if he wanted. It would be easy. But he doesn’t; he holds himself back and snaps his jaws shut.

McCree raises an eyebrow. His eyes darken. His smile grows.

He kisses Hanzo.

Kissing is not easy in this form. Hanzo isn’t even sure he would call what they’re doing kissing; it’s more like they press their teeth together, bump noses, lick into each others’ mouths. It’s like they’re fighting, almost, and it sends a thrill through Hanzo, makes him feel even more like the beast he knows he is, deep down. And it feels so good, so good to let himself fall.

McCree pulls back. He grips Hanzo’s arm with one hand, fingers and nails digging in: sharp, so sharp. Had he always had claws?

“Much fun as this is, I’d rather we take this somewhere a little more comfortable,” he says, and without warning, the world around Hanzo spins and plunges into darkness. When he opens his eyes, he is in an unfamiliar place.

It’s dark here, too. Hanzo has no problem seeing in it. He doesn’t need to see much, anyway; he can smell McCree. Can feel him, soft skin under rough paws. The claws of one hand still dig into his bicep.

“Where are we?” Hanzo snaps.

“Somewhere comfortable,” McCree answers, and that’s the last thing he says for a while.

He grabs Hanzo by the sides of the face and pulls him in again. This time, what they do feels much more like a kiss. There’s still too much teeth to it, but their lips touch for a brief moment before giving way to tongues. Hanzo can taste the inside of McCree’s mouth, hot and vivid: ash and spice and blood. His eyes roll back and he groans. Lets himself fall further.

McCree pulls him forward, toward the bed. Hanzo throws him onto it, all instinct, and stretches over him, rakes his claws down McCree’s chest and tears at the clothes that cover it. He leaves jagged lines in his wake, angry and red. McCree gasps and arches into it, hissing his pleasure with every centimetre of skin Hanzo claws at, from chest to thighs to calves to hips.

Hanzo’s fingers twitch. His mouth falls open and his tongue lolls out as hot, damp breaths escape him. He looks down at McCree hungrily, like he wants to devour everything the demon is. The voice in the back of his mind that is still human reminds him this is just what the demon wants, but it’s too late: there’s no denying McCree now, no going back from this. The demon may be beneath him, may be at the mercy of Hanzo’s teeth and claws, but he is the one who is in control now.

And Hanzo will take whatever he can tear from McCree. Hungrily, happily, he will take.

Hanzo pulls back. He licks his lips, eyes roving over McCree’s naked form and stopping when they reach the demon’s dark, dark eyes. They flash at him and Hanzo grins. He takes off what remains of his clothing and crawls back over McCree to meet him in an open-mouthed kiss.

He paws at McCree’s chest. Scratches down it. Something shifts under his touch, and when Hanzo pulls away to look, the texture of McCree’s skin is different: it’s bumpy and uneven, like tiny ashen scales have erupted over it, chitinous and shimmering.

Hanzo leans down, sniffs at them, slides his tongue along the newly-formed ridges. They taste like nothing he can name. Something unique.

He pulls away again to take in the demon’s entire form. McCree returns the gaze, grinning ear-to-ear. His skin is redder, brighter, almost glowing. The black scales glint against it, but they no longer hold Hanzo’s attention: instead he turns his eyes toward the two dark, curved horns that have sprouted from McCree’s forehead. They’re tiny. Pathetic.

“Hmph. Is that all you are?” Hanzo taunts. “You smelled so much stronger than this.”

“Just you wait,” McCree retorts, finally finding his voice. Hanzo laughs and reaches for one of the horns, ready to rise to the challenge. He runs the pad of his finger over its sharp tip. McCree gasps and twitches in the wake of the touch, his entire body lifting off the bed. His cock, hard and insistent now, presses against the crook of Hanzo’s thigh, and the werewolf laughs again, rubs at the horn in his hand, fascinated by the way McCree writhes beneath his paw and enthralled all the more when the horn grows under his hold.

“You are changing,” he says. “A sex demon, then? Feeding off the pleasure of being touched?”

McCree shakes his head. “Feed off energy of all kinds.”

Hanzo huffs and leans down. “Is that so?” he murmurs, breath hot against the thin skin at the base of McCree’s neglected horn. The demon shivers, clenches his jaw. Hanzo smiles, predatory, though he doubts McCree can see it. He does not need to see, anyway - he simply needs to feel.

Hanzo’s tongue slips from between his bared teeth to wrap around the base of McCree’s horn. He licks at it, drags it up over the curved point, and McCree howls.

“Quiet.” Hanzo yanks the horn in his hand and forces McCree’s head to the side so he can bite the back of the demon’s neck, hold it between his jaws in an attempt to hush him, to put him in his place. It only half-works: McCree pants hard, helpless against Hanzo’s continued attention, but he does not shut up, does not relinquish total control. Not yet.

“You get less and less human every minute, sugar,” he says.

Hanzo digs his teeth in deeper.

McCree hisses, but the sound twists itself into a breathless laugh. “What, didn’t like that? It was a compliment, you know. Lettin’ this thing inside me take over was the best decision I ever made.”

Hanzo snarls and backs up, replacing teeth with claws and pressing his paw firmly to the back of McCree’s neck. “So you were Jesse McCree, once.”

“Yeah. Long time ago. Felt easier to keep the name than use the first one I was given. Hell wasn’t gonna be lookin’ for some no-name human, but they might’ve gone lookin’ for one of their own.”

Nails dig into Hanzo’s hip, sharp. He grunts and flinches, but his hold on McCree does not break. The demon smiles up at him with wide, excited eyes. “You know how it is. You of all people should know how it feels to be hunted.”

Hanzo’s eyes flash. He bares his teeth, lifts his paw from Jesse’s neck to grip his hair. “You talk too much,” he growls as his nails scratch against the hard flesh of McCree’s scalp. The friction is strange, exciting. But Hanzo has no time, no desire to linger on the sensation.

He moves forward on his knees. Pulls the demon’s head down so McCree is at last face-to-face with his cock, hard and red and leaking. McCree licks his lips, opens wide, and Hanzo forces him down.

It’s too much for McCree at first. He twitches violently, almost chokes. He does not try to escape, though; he moves his hands to clutch at Hanzo’s ass, to dig his nails in and pull the werewolf closer to him.

The nails of the left hand are sharper than the right’s, Hanzo notes. The palm feels rougher, too, as if his hand were made entirely of scales and stone instead of flesh. It’s hot to the touch, too hot, and he wonders briefly if that’s where the “thing” inside of McCree came from, where the demon first began to fester like an infection. But he does not give himself the time to wonder or to ask. There are more important things to be dealt with right now, and Hanzo would rather not stop Jesse in the middle of sucking him off. Not when he is so eager.

Eager though he is, McCree does not have much room to maneuver between the cock in his mouth and the vice grip Hanzo holds him in. Still, he tries: he licks at the underside of it whenever he’s given the chance, swallows around the angry red tip and tightens his lips as far down the base as he can go. Hanzo huffs and rubs the base of one of McCree’s horns with one hand, right where the flesh of his scalp is thinnest. A reward for doing so well.

McCree groans. His eyes roll back in his head, and his jaw goes slack for half a moment before Hanzo tightens his grip in his hair and shoves him down further.

“You can do better than that,” the werewolf says, voice coming out more like a snarl than anything. He thrusts into McCree’s mouth, deeper and deeper, groaning as he hits the back of the demon’s throat over and over again. Hanzo can feel himself swelling, can feel his knot begin to fill out as he mercilessly fucks McCree’s throat, and all he can think about is how much he wants it in there, how much he wants to have McCree’s deliciously too-hot lips wrapped inescapably around it.

He pulls out. Adjusts his angle. Grins ferally down at McCree, whose unfocused eyes barely register the beast before him.

And then he slams back in.

Hanzo howls, euphoric, as McCree takes him in all the way, right down to the base, lips stretching impossibly wide over the swollen base of his cock. He can’t pull out anymore - doesn’t need to, anyhow: he’s deep in McCree’s throat, past any sort of gag reflex the demon may have had. McCree’s tongue twitches, long and forked, trying to slide along Hanzo’s shaft, to wrap around it and stroke him to completion. It’s hardly necessary, though - even the slightest movement sends shockwaves of cascading pleasure all throughout Hanzo. It pushes him just as far as he needs to go, and he comes with one last stuttering howl, spilling himself down the demon’s throat.

McCree breathes, hot and heavy through his nose, stealing air between the spurts of cum gushing down his throat. He looks up at Hanzo admiringly, almost reverently, as he tries to swallow around him. Mercifully, it gets easier with every passing second as Hanzo’s knot deflates.

Hanzo pulls his softening cock from between McCree’s lips. A string of cum and saliva still connects the two of them. It breaks when he shuffles back and takes the space to admire how McCree’s neck lolls to the side, how McCree’s eyes look right through him. He looks spent, exhausted, satiated. He hasn’t even been touched yet. Not properly.

Hanzo decides to remedy that.

He leans forward and presses his nose, his lips, his teeth to the side of McCree’s neck. He licks along the demon’s jawline, between his ear and the beginning of his beard. Tries to soothe him, to bring him back to the present. Or so it seems, at first; as soon as McCree blinks, shifts, tries to reach up to touch Hanzo, the werewolf reaches between the two of them, runs the pad of his finger over the ridged head of McCree’s cock, and shivers when the demon falls back, powerless against his hold.

He strokes. McCree gasps, groans, writhes against the bed as Hanzo slowly teases him. He moves his fingers one at a time over the tip, smearing the small trickle of precum that’s begun to leak out of it. The demon’s clawed hands grip the sheets, almost tears them. Hanzo licks along his horns. McCree cries out again.

“Still so noisy,” Hanzo says, a low rumble in his chest. He squeezes McCree’s cock. The demon twitches.

“And you - ah - you’re still holdin’ back,” he stutters. “Still tryin’ to play at bein’ human.”

Hanzo growls. He leans in close to McCree’s face. His wide, powerful jaws loom dangerously close to the demon’s lips. “Silence.”

It comes as no surprise that McCree continues to speak. The demon laughs and reaches up, tangling his fingers in the fur behind Hanzo’s ear. It’s equal parts comforting and alarming. Hanzo’s hackles rise.

“That little stunt you just pulled?” McCree continues in a whisper. He leans in close. Hanzo can feel the breath on his muzzle, can smell it stronger than ever: sulfur, wine, salt. Pheromones. Arousal. “It was nice, but it weren’t enough. I want more, Hanzo. I want you to let go. Feel what I feel. I want you to stop pretendin’ to be somethin’ you ain’t.”

He stops Hanzo before he can speak, pulling the werewolf down and forcing him into another open-mouthed kiss. Hanzo ignores the way his legs go weak at the feeling of McCree’s forked tongue licking along the roof of his mouth. He ignores the eager twitch of his cock as that tongue slides over his teeth, tangles around them. Ignores the thrill of want that shoots through him when he tastes himself in McCree’s mouth.

McCree pulls away. Waits. Looks Hanzo right in the eyes, and all Hanzo sees is red. Deep, dark, all-devouring red.

Short, suffocating silence rings between them but a moment before McCree says one thing more. He opens his mouth and his voice echoes around Hanzo: in his ears, in his mind, in his very soul.

“Let go.”

And Hanzo does.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, exactly, but in the split second after McCree speaks, he feels a frenzy overcome him: want, need, hunger, desperation.

He doesn’t think as his claws dig into McCree’s hips. Doesn’t think as he flips the demon over. Doesn’t think as he grips the meat of McCree’s ass to spread his cheeks apart, as he leans down and licks at the demon’s rim, as he pushes his long tongue past the clenched ring of muscle to stretch him open. He barely hears McCree’s loud, desperate moans of pleasure - doesn’t care when they stop, when they’re replaced by whining and panting. Nothing registers to Hanzo but the need to have McCree, to take him, to make him his.

He pulls back. Licks his lips at the sight of McCree’s hole, open and gaping and ready for him.

Hanzo does not hold back anymore.

He slams into McCree and buries himself in to the hilt. McCree cries out beneath him. His whole body goes tense, tight.

Hanzo pulls out. Slams back in again.

He holds McCree’s hips, pulls him back to meet his thrusts. He feels his knot swell again, fill out more and more with each powerful snap of his hips. Soon Hanzo can hardly move at all: his knot is too big, and when he can no longer pull out, he leans down, presses his chest to McCree’s ridged, chitinous back, and snarls in the demon’s ear: “Mine.”

He jerks his hips, presses in deeper. McCree gasps. He bucks against Hanzo, presses himself further onto the werewolf’s cock. He laughs, a raspy hiss of a noise. “You sure about that?”

Hanzo snarls. A great paw slams down on the back of McCree’s head to force his head into the mattress. He ignores the laughter. Doesn’t care about it anymore. All he cares about is pressing further into McCree, forcing the demon down, making him shut up. Making the demon beg for more. Beg for him.

McCree says something Hanzo doesn’t understand. Another language, maybe. He doesn’t care. He bites the back of McCree’s neck, trying to force him into proper submission. He digs his teeth in deep. Bites a little too hard - something cracks under his teeth. The flood of a new, unfamiliar taste floods his mouth. Not blood. Not anything tangible. It’s something new, something heady and ashy and entirely McCree.

And Hanzo wants more.

He fucks McCree hard. So hard it may have hurt a human. But McCree is not human - hasn’t been for a long time - and he relishes in it, writhes ecstatically in both pain and pleasure. It’s everything he’d wanted, everything Hanzo had refused to give him, everything Hanzo had rejected about himself until now.

“Yes, yes,” McCree hisses. He arches his back, pushes against Hanzo’s thrusting, rolls his hips to grind against the werewolf’s cock. “That’s it, sweetheart, more, give me more--”

Hanzo snarls. He yanks McCree’s hair, forces his head back as far as it will go, anything to stop the words from falling from his lips. He doesn’t want to hear anything from McCree now - all he wants is to feel him, to fuck him, to give him what he wants.

Hanzo comes, jaw opening wide and back arching obscenely. He’s poised as if to howl, but no sound escapes him. White noise floods his ears: the rush of pumping blood, the scramble of McCree’s knees against the sheets, the rub of fur against scales. He doesn’t even notice McCree has come too, not until his knot deflates once more and he pulls out, slick and sticky all at once.

When he is finished, Hanzo hovers over McCree and slowly, slowly, begins to come back to himself.

He huffs. Without thinking, Hanzo crawls off the bed, kneels at its side, and once again spreads McCree’s cheeks wide. He slides his tongue between them, licking up the mess he’d made, more instinct than care. The demon twitches feebly against him, and it’s a better reward than Hanzo ever could have dreamed.

When he finishes cleaning up his mate (Mate, he thinks, Mine mine mine), Hanzo flips McCree over and pulls him close, ridged back to furry chest. He wraps his arms around the demon and licks at his neck, all lupine affection and warmth.

“Mine,” he grunts, deep and low and rumbling in his throat. McCree smiles. His eyes glint, unseen, and he reaches back, scratches at the fur behind Hanzo’s ears.

“Mine,” McCree corrects. And Hanzo can not find it in him to argue.

#overwatch #mchanzo #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #werewolves #demons #r: e #fanfic

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triumphorce · 6 years ago

Text

under umbras of bundles of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white,

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens,

amidst a higher sense

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope,

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power, & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle, almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me to learn to teach myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question everyone, everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner, do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering.. whether I'm right to do any god damn thing 'cause if I don't do it right.. was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears, see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation goin in circles, time wasted pet peeve number 1

a nowhere never felt before but something seems familiar.. overlooked, under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of..

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to understand self an urge that intensifies the more i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars, to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

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officerianhowell · 5 years ago

Text

@jcinthedance

I need your help. Meet me at the corner of Veil and Merrywood if you can. It’s kind of an emergency.

Ian’s fingers hesitated as he read and reread the text on screen over and over again, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. He’d been writing and revising it for at least twenty minutes, standing as out-of-the-way on the sidewalk as possible so the foot-traffic of Gotham wouldn’t knock him over, but no matter what he wrote it always came out sounding wrong. Needy, a little desperate, but then again, wasn’t he? He had absolutely no experience in the sort of thing he was asking for help with, and as he sighed a deep sigh he glanced up at the huge stone building he was too scared to enter, quickly making one last revision before sending off the text to Jervis Tetch:

I need help with a wedding ring.

#jcinthedance #{ like some child possessed the beast howls in my veins // werewolf verse }#please help this poor child jervis

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lululawrence · 7 years ago

Note

Hey babe! Since u reblogged the fic "woke up feeling knotty" im on a a/b/o kick. Do you have any abo fic recs?

bless! the best kinds of kicks! and didn’t @jaerie do an amazing job with that one? gosh!!!

so i’m gonna start with being shameless and promoting the two a/b/o i’ve published so far and hope you don’t mind lollll both are short and incredibly soft and yeah hahaha

love so soft is friends to lovers accidental bonding and…yeah. hehehehe

no chance at all is a comedy of errors lolll kind of enemies to lovers? but with a twist? yeah. lollll it’s one i had a lot of fun with so if you read it i hope you like it.

okay, so here are some of my fav a/b/o fics in my bookmarks. please note, for a more thorough rec for these you should ask @londonfoginacup! she’s seriously read everything out there in the tag i think. lol okay! here we go! (this got much longer than i intended, so please forgive the cut)

put some records on by @iamasphodelknox - this sucker is so much fluff and christmassy goodness and it was like a warm hug! i loved reading it so much!

make it work by fanshae - this was just…hurt/comfort and i can’t really say more than that because i adore that lolllll it was such an interesting story and kinda sad but also lovely. such fun!

this thing upon me (howls like a beast) by sadaveniren - this was such a fascinating idea! i loved it! and it had very much the feel of pining and hoping and being unsure if the feelings are mutual or not and i just enjoyed it very much a lot.

do you like my sweater? by @icanhazzalou - take sadie hawkins dance by relient k and make it a super fluffy, cute, awkward kind of larry a/b/o au and it’s just…perfection. you won’t regret reading it, i promise.

cancel your reservations, no more hesitations by @silverfoxlouis - I LOVE THIS FIC because it takes usual a/b/o dynamics and turns them on their head a bit, similar to a/b dynamic in “woke up feeling knotty” by making this a/a and it’s AWESOME. it’s also the first in what will be a series so yeah. meep!

love is like this; not a heartbeat, but a moan by @angelichl - OKAY LISTEN this is like friends to enemies to lovers kinda? with spending a heat together? and it’s just like…yeah. read it. lol

pray for some sweet simplicity by @emperorstyles - LIstEn!!! 250k of PINING AND WORLD BUILDING AND SECRET OMEGA AND SECRET RELATIONSHIP AND A;LGKSHA;LSKFJDA;SKLBHA;SLKFDJA YOU WILL NOT REGRET READING THIS FIC!!!!! i mean. this is the one fic i broke my self imposed word count reading limit for last year while i was busy writing 40 fics so you know it is worth your time.

no one else will do by @dimpled-halo and @a-writerwrites - THIS WAS WRITTEN FOR ME BY MY DARLINGS! so if you haven’t read it yet, do yourself a favor and do it cause yeah. it’s like a dream fic really haha AND if you look closely it says FIC ONE. THAT’S RIGHT THERE’S GONNA BE MORE FAM!

where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting - GOSH okay this fic is pain. PAIN I’M TELLING YOU. but it is BEAUTIFUL. just…please be careful and take care of yourself because PAIN did i mention??? lol it’s so great though. accidental bonding between…not friends. which is what causes the PAIN. but please read it if you think you can handle that.

instincts by starfar - OKAY LISTEN. starfar was one of my very first people i put on notification on ao3 because imo they write some of the very best abo fics ever. they have i believe two wips out there that i’m anxiously awaiting their completion and they are just…so good. so this isn’t a wip, this one is completed, but you wouldn’t go amiss reading their wips either. they are still updating them, even if those updates are somewhat sporadic.

a body wishes to be held & held by turnyourankle - i just…YES. read it. this one was bookmarked and has a heart so i dunno if that means i thought it was hot or soft and lovely or just what i needed in that moment, but yes. lolllll

as deep as the sky by swallowsmateforlife - uhmmmmm this is SO GOOD because it also shows us the social norms in this particular version of a/b/o verse and shows us a gentle alpha and strong omega and yeah. it’s just so so good.

like candy in my veins by @littlelouishiccups - iiiiii may have accidentally gotten friends addicted to a/b/o because of this fic. hah! whoops? but for real it is fake relationship kind of enemies to friends to lovers and christmas and a;gkha;flkdjasfl;kajsf IT’S SO DAMN GOOD.

cameras flashing by @juliusschmidt - yeah uhm. this was written for me based off a random prompt i gave for an exchange. CAN YOU BELIEVE? it’s just. this is also a fic that i have found people read a/b/o for the first time and then got addicted and like, alex is amazing so just, you can’t go wrong? yeah. just read it.

king and lionheart by @aliensingucci - i just adore this fic. it was one of the few i could find when i was still learning how to navigate ao3 and therefore is one i read before i even had my own ao3 so it’s older, but i just love the dynamics that are built in here. and like…yeah. i just really really like it hehe

i don’t wanna be your friend, i want to kiss your neck by crybaby - if i remember correctly, this fic was also one of the first i ever read that i thought i had lost but someone magical, probably emmu or tin, let’s be real, found it again for me and gahhhhh i LOVE fics where harry is the kinda ignored younger brother while gemma and louis are best friends and just omega harry and alpha louis and ;ashklfjdaslfk looooove

harry you little shit series by @juliusschmidt - this won’t ever be finished, is what i think alex said, but it is amazing and you should give it a read. i love how she really delves into the emotional ramifications of everything addressed here as well as the worldbuilding and their relationship and yeah. can’t go wrong with this either, though (as usual haha) she leaves you wanting more.

i just saw one of my bookmarks from forever ago was deleted here, so now i mourn. WAHHHHHHHHHH. okay, moving on.

so i’m actually gonna stop myself here, because the rest of my bookmarks are either abandoned a/b/o i fell in love with before i got burned and stopped reading wips or are slowly updated. i also have a huge amount of a/b/o in my to read pile though, so yeah. there’s just SO MANY and we need SO MANY MORE which is why i am SO EXCITED for the a/b/o exchange coming up wheeeeeee!!! anyway, i hope this helps and gives you some you’ve not read yet! happy reading!!!

#fic rec #Anonymous #asks #mine #abo fic rec

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rey-png · 7 years ago

Text

The Rite by bluuurey

Word Count: 2567 Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey Characters: Rey (Star Wars), Kylo Ren, Snoke (Star Wars), Armitage Hux, Phasma (Star Wars), Original Characters Additional Tags: post tfa canon divergent, Dark reylo, Slow Burn, hella angst, Dream Sex, everyone is angry about everything ever except snoke Summary: In the face of death, Rey has always chosen life. Survival is coded into her DNA, but with the fate of her friends hanging in the balance, how much longer is this choice her own?

Having been accosted by the First Order before the arrival of Chewbacca on Starkiller, Rey is dragged before Snoke and made an offer she cannot refuse.

UNABLE TO STAY ; UNWILLING TO LEAVE

The earth trembles underfoot, bucking wildly as the girl stumbles through snow capped trees. Adrenaline still courses sharp through her veins from the fight, her heart beating a painful cadence against the cage of her ribs; as if it would to burst free and take flight with every throb. Each gasp she takes sends fire down her throat and straight to her her lungs, inciting fear that those too would soon erupt in protest.

Her frantic thoughts dart hazily between two objectives: find Finn and escape, find Finn and escape. It keeps sore legs pumping as she dodges falling branches and leaps over cracked ice. It keeps her bruised and broken body numb to the pain that was certain to hit the moment she slowed down. She could almost feel the phantom blows her adversary had dealt mere moments prior, the heavy weight of him as he beared down on her with his all his might. Had throwing her into a tree been necessary?

Hazel eyes squint through the darkness, falling instantly on her friend where he is sprawled some fifty yards away. It’s a mad dash to reach him, each quake threatening to dislodge her footing and send her careening back into gaping chasms that chased her. Her breath caught in her throat, nearly strangling the cry of his name as she darts to his side. His own breath is shallow and labored, it crystallizes before his face in thin white clouds as she turns him over.

He was still alive!

His heart still beat beneath the tips of her fingers, fluttering like moth wings as she pressed them beneath his jaw. But for how much longer?

The planet roars in defeat, leaving Rey in no question that it would not be for much longer. Tears prick her eyes, lips quivering as she fights to construct a plan. She doesn’t know where the Falcon is, and she’s certain she won’t be able to carry him that far in time, not at the rate this wretched place was deteriorating.

A whimper dares to slip free, muffled by Finn’s damp jacket as she presses her face against it. Their death would be quick , at least. If the ground below them held out long enough, they would be vaporized when the base exploded, stardust amid the endless velvet night. It was better than starving to death on Jakku, or burning beneath its unforgiving sun. The girl had watched people die slow and ugly deaths, this was better than anything she could have hoped for…

But it was not what she wanted. No, this was not fair, she had only just escaped. Freed from her shackles she had the universe at her fingertips. All of the planets, all of the cities, forests, and islands she’d dreamt of exploring turn to ash before her. She would never see any of it now. She would never taste all of the wonderful food that existed across the stars, nor would she quench her thirst with fine things to drink. Gone were all the friends she would make, friends like Finn ( for certainly, there must be more wonderful people like him, like, Chewie, like Han… ) Whimpers turn to sobs, tears rolling down cold cheeks in stinging rivulets. They had come back for her, they had come to rescue a lowly scavenger girl from a backwater planet they barely knew and they had died for it.

She wasn’t worth that, not when they were so valuable to the Resistance. Finn was terribly clever, he was well versed in leadership. He would have made a fine addition to their cause. And Han… She couldn’t bear to think of him, not yet. Rey could hardly process his loss, it had happened so fast. Perhaps her eyes had played tricks on her, perhaps she had been drugged in her cell and it was all a terrible dream? There had been days on Jakku when she was so parched that her mind would construct of paradise on every heat-blurred horizon. It was naive for her to hope that he would appear from behind one of the great trees that surrounded them, demanding to know what was taking so long in his gruff voice.

Her optimism dwindles further still as another shock splits the forest before them, leaving a great ravine in its wake. Rey holders tighter to Finn, her heart ceasing its futile pounding against her ribs to beat up her throat, choking her with fear. Please, no. . .

Above the roar there is another sound that meets her ears, the steady hum in the distance she knew well. As her head raises, so does hope, turning a tearstained face to the void before her. White lights break through the trees, rendering her blind as the craft hovered before them.

She is instantly elated, her heart surging with joy as she blinks in the bright rays.

They would not die here.

It was not until her eyes adjust that her hope is crushed once more, vanishing so surely that she could moan in despair. It is a sleek black vessel that descended before them, not the Falcon, nor a friendly Resistance x-wing pilot that had spotted the pair. Victory turns to ash in her mouth as it lands a short distance away, two sets of white-clad troopers marching hurriedly down the ramp towards them, blasters held at the ready. Rey is quick to scrabble for the saber at her side, eyes averted as she hastens to find the button that would ignite the blue beam it. A shot from one of the blasters sends the weapon flying from shaking hands, landing several feet away where it was immediately scooped up out of her reach.

Weaponless, Rey saw only one option before her. The girl lunges forward with a snarl, wrapping slender arms around the troopers legs, sending them careening to the frozen ground with a grunt. She struggles to wrestle the weapon from their hands, to gain SOME sort of leverage kicking at every exposed inch she can reach, anything to make them relinquish their tight grip. She had escaped from gangs of scavengers equally formidable in the past, she ought to be able to handle a squadron of troopers easily.

Scavengers were not trained to deflect such feeble attacks though, they were not equipped to. They were not trained from birth to disarm and kill with ease, nor were they shielded by such finely crafted armor. They were just people trying to survive, not creatures bred for war.

Two pairs of hands wrap around her biceps, yanking her harshly from their fallen comrade. She thrashes in their unforgiving grasp, eyes narrowed and teeth bared like a rabid beast. They hold her fast, unwavering as they begin to march towards the craft without so much as a glance at the man sprawled in the snow.

Panic rises in a great wave, a stream of curses and unintelligible shrieks spewing from her lips, her efforts redoubling. No matter how she writhes in their grasp though, she can’t break their hold and they continue their trek towards the ship undeterred. Finn’s still figure lays vulnerably out in the open and Rey has never known desperation until then. Not the moments she has lost her footing in the graveyard of giants, not when Plutt denied her the sustenance she needs for the week, and not when her own life in endangered by the petty thieves that skulk through backwater planets such as hers.

“Let me go! LET ME GO!” An enraged howl tears from her throat as she fights against her assailants. She calls desperately on the force with all of her might, to free her so that she may die at the side of her friend.

The peace and calm she had stumbled upon whilst dueling Ren was nowhere to be found, no matter how she willed her mind to still, to let it fill her once more. She borders on hysterical, bellowing as her feet catch on the metal ramp, struggling for purchase.

“NO! FINN! GO BACK FOR HIM, PLEASE! FINN! ”

Her words are lost on them as her wrists and ankles are bound tight, durasteel locking them into place, ending her fruitless struggling. Rey can do no more than sob as she is dragged like a sack of Corellian potatoes into the brightly lit interior and thrown onto her back. She makes another valiant attempt at escape, wriggling onto her belly until she is able to inch herself a foot or so across the cold floor. This earns her a sharp kick to exposed ribs, a pair of hands wrapped tight around her arms once more, lifting her prone form to the nearest seat, strapping her in and taking the place at her side. She watches helplessly the doors slide shut, lips mouthing wordlessly as she is cut off once more from the only person to ever come back.

Rey is despondent as the ship rises above the ghost forest, seats vibrating as it breaks through the atmosphere, into open space. Dark eyes remain glued to sealed doors, red-rimmed and unfocused in her stricken face. She cannot see the implosion, but she feels the shocks that reverberate through the ship some five minutes later, sending fluorescent lights flickering above. Grief cuts through shock, leaving a gaping hole in the vicinity of her sternum that leaves her gasping, choking on pain. The girl longs to curl in on herself, to shield her tender innards from more harm, for the blows just keep falling.

“If you had accepted my offer, he might have been spared.” comes a husky voice from the opposite end of the ship. Rey’s head whips around, startled by the sudden voice. So fixated was she on the front of the ship that her eyes had yet to stray towards the rear. Kylo was slumped in a makeshift cot, thick droplets of blood staining the durasteel floor around him. He looked utterly defeated, despite the contempt that laced his voice as dark eyes fixated on the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

A medical droid was busy lasering away the heavy black garments that adorned him, peeling them away from his body like an onion to reveal his wounds. Rey could not help but feel a savage delight at the extent of the damage, eyes roving over the brutal gash across the expanse of his face to the blaster wound at his side. It’s gratifying in a way that terrifies her to see him in such a state. Not once had she delighted in such violent acts. Every deed was done in order to survive and warranted ONLY a sigh of relief when it had passed. And yet, as she looked upon his broken body, the jubilation she felt at his suffering was almost euphoric. She wanted him writhing, she wanted him to PAY in kind for the pain he and inflicted on herself and those she cared for.

As if he sensed this, his posture stiffened, resilient before her as bacta is carefully smeared across his wounds, not enough to heal him completely, but enough to keep him alive. His lip is curled in an ugly sneer, staring down his nose at the girl that had beaten him so thoroughly.

“ Liar. ” She hisses through numb lips, fists clenched tight in her lap. The voice that that speaks is not her own, hoarse and aching from all of her screaming. She can still see Finn laying in the snow, the florid light of the shuttle illuminating his still figure. She can still see Han toppling off the catwalk into an abyss, murdered by the BEAST only a meters away. How much death could one witness before they broke? How heavy could one’s heart feel before it simply collapsed under the agonizing pressure? And above all, how much hatred could simmer her blood until it melted the flesh from her bones?

“Your actions are unforgivable.” The four troopers that flanked her shifted nervously in their seats, the animosity that radiated off of her clearly recognized by all in the vicinity, though none more than Kylo Ren. The girl felt she could have crushed the vessel with the strength of her rage, and for a moment she’s certain she can feel the metallic rafters vibrate ominously. The lights above are reflected in Rey’s eyes, a frightening spark against dark irises that flickers dangerously the longer she stares at him. “You’ll answer for this, I promise you.”

“Will I now?” He taunts, leaning forward to brace his arms atop his knees “It seems that you had every chance to make me PAY, yet you didn’t take it. You fled with your tail between your legs and look where that has gotten you. Coward .”

It was as if he KNEW what black thoughts had crept into her mind and knew the terror they left in their wake.

Her lips curl into a snarl, vision going red as invisible fingers grasp her tight, holding her fast and keeping her silent. Though her tongue remains ledden, her mind teems with an endless current of profanity and poison, unable to form coherent sentences to spew at him. Her gaze is shrapnel hurled from depths of hazel eyes that ignite in raw emotion. Such is her rage that she cared little for her safety, for anyone’s safety. Let the void swallow them all, let their lungs burst as they perish amongst the stars. It was the least they deserved for their abominations. It was the least she deserved for not fighting harder.

Another subtle vibration wracks the ship, dimming the lights and sending the droid skittering back into a wall with whir of indignation.

A commotion a short distance away draws Rey’s gaze reluctantly away from her enemy, falling on a man with red hair and an expression so stern she might have flinched if she were less ired. His voice cuts like a knife through the air, so sharp it’s a miracle none of them are bleeding. “Subdue the girl before she destroys another ship.”

Rey is about to make a scathing retort, the ship shuddering in the tides of her rage, when Kylo’s grip on her tightens further. Unable to speak, dark eyes fall on him, glaring as beads of sweat trickle down his brow. They struggle for several moments, both of them gasping for breath with the sheer intensity. An unstoppable force and an immovable object clashing so violently the engine began to sputter. Copper blooms across her palette, with the force of her will. You did not come so far to give in, you did not survive all of this to be cowed by such a despicable man. She was no match for him though, powerful as she was, she was untrained. Her clumsy attempts to wield the Force around her as she had were fuitle. It slipped through her fingers like sand through a clenched fist, vanishing before she ever had the chance to command it.

With a flick of his wrist, Rey’s head slams back into the steel beam behind her, darkness blooming like flowers across her vision for the second time. She clings desperately to consciousness, tears of frustration streaming down flushed cheeks before lids flutter shut and she collapses back into her seat.

All aboard the ship breathe a collective sigh of relief.

#reylo #reylo au #reylo fic #reylo trash #reylo fam #dark reylo #*solstuff #MY ORIGINAL BABY FINALLY SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY #again #tlj got me making some revisions but yES

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shadcwarchive-blog · 8 years ago

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Prologue

UNABLE TO STAY ; UNWILLING TO LEAVE

He was still alive!

His heart still beat beneath the tips of her fingers, fluttering like moth wings as she pressed them beneath his jaw.

But for how much longer?

A whimper dares to slip free, muffled by Finn’s damp jacket as she presses her face against it. Their death would be quick, at least. If the ground below them held out long enough, they would be vaporized when the base exploded, stardust amid the endless velvet night. It was better than starving to death on Jakku, or burning beneath its unforgiving sun. The girl had watched people die slow and ugly deaths, this was better than anything she could have hoped for…

She is instantly elated, her heart surging with joy as she blinks in the bright rays.

They would not die here.

Weaponless, Rey saw only one option before her. The girl lunges forward with a snarl, wrapping slender arms around the troopers legs, sending them careening to the frozen ground with a grunt. She fights to wrestle the weapon from their hands, to gain SOME sort of leverage kicking at every exposed inch she can reach, anything to make them relinquish their tight grip. She had escaped from gangs of scavengers equally formidable in the past, she ought to be able to handle a squadron of troopers easily. Scavengers were no match for the brainwashed creatures trained from birth to subdue and destroy though. For all their zeal, they were not to be compared.

Two pairs of hands wrap tight around her biceps, yanking her harshly away from their fallen comrade. She thrashes in their unforgiving grasp, eyes narrowed and teeth bared like a rabid beast. They hold her fast, unwavering as they begin to march towards the craft without so much as a glance at the man sprawled in the snow.

“NO! FINN! GO BACK FOR HIM, PLEASE! FINN!”

Her words roll off of them like water against their white armor as her wrists and ankles are bound tight, ending her fruitless struggling with durasteel cuffs. Rey can do no more than sob as she is dragged like a sack of Corellian potatoes into the brightly lit interior and thrown onto her back. She makes another valiant attempt at escape the moment she's released, wriggling onto her belly until she is able to inch herself across the cold floor. This earns her a sharp kick to exposed ribs; grabbed harshly once more, her prone form lifted and placed none too gently in the nearest seat. She watches helplessly the doors slide shut, lips mouthing wordlessly as she is cut off once more from the only person to ever come back. She ignores the troopers that shuffle silently into their seats on either side of her.

Rey is nearly despondent as the ship rises above the ghost forest, seats vibrating as it breaks through the atmosphere, into open space. Dark eyes remain glued to sealed doors, red-rimmed and unfocused in her stricken face. She cannot see the implosion, but she feels the shocks that reverberate through the ship some minutes later, sending fluorescent lights flickering above. Grief cuts through shock, leaving a gaping hole throughout her sternum that leaves her gasping, choking on pain. The girl longs to curl in on herself, to shield her tender innards from more harm, for the blows just keep falling.

“If you had accepted my offer, he might have been spared.” comes a raspy voice from the opposite end of the shuttle. Rey’s head whips around so fast it nearly hurts, startled by the sudden and unwelcome voice. So fixated was she on the front of the ship that bleary eyes had yet to stray towards the rear. Kylo was slumped in a makeshift cot, thick droplets of blood staining the argent floor around him. He looked utterly defeated, despite the contempt that laced his tone as he fixated on the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

A medical droid was busy lasering away the heavy black garments that adorned him, peeling them away from his body like an onion to reveal his wounds. Rey could not help but feel a savage delight at the extent of the damage, gaze roving over the brutal gash across the expanse of his face to the blaster wound at his side. It’s gratifying in a way that terrifies her to see him in such a state. Not once had she delighted in such violent acts. Every deed was done in order to survive and warranted ONLY a sigh of relief when it had passed. And yet, as she looked upon his broken body, the jubilation she felt at his suffering was almost euphoric. She wanted him writhing, she wanted him to PAY in kind for the pain he and inflicted on herself and those she cared for.

As if he sensed this, his posture stiffened, resilient before her as bacta is carefully smeared across his injuries, not enough to heal him completely, but enough to keep him alive. His lip is curled in an ugly sneer, staring down his nose at the girl that had beaten him so thoroughly.

“Liar.” She hisses through numb lips, clenching her fists so tightly that knuckles pop in protest. The voice that that speaks is not her own, hoarse and aching from all of her screaming. She can still see Finn laying in the snow, the florid light of the shuttle illuminating his still figure. She can still see Han toppling off the catwalk into an abyss like a rag doll, murdered by the BEAST only a meters away. How much death could one witness before they broke? How heavy could one’s heart feel before it simply collapsed under the pressure? And above all, how much hatred could simmer her blood until it melted the flesh from her bones?

“Your actions are unforgivable.” The four troopers that flanked her shifted nervously in their seats, the animosity that radiated off of her clearly recognized and felt by each person in her midst, though none more than Kylo Ren. The girl felt she could have crushed the vessel with the strength of her rage, and for a moment she’s certain she can feel the metallic rafters shift ominously. The lights above are reflected in Rey’s eyes, a frightening spark against dark iris that flickers dangerously the longer she stares at him. “You’ll answer for this, I promise you.”

“Will I now?” He taunts, leaning forward to brace his arms atop his knees “It seems that you had every chance to make me PAY, yet you did not take it. You fled with your tail between your legs and look where that has gotten you. Coward.”

His words are punctuated with an outstretched hand just as she opens her mouth to retort, a sharp gasp leaving her lips instead. Nerves and muscles scream in protest as they are all but disconnected at his will, leadening her tongue until she chokes around it. Rey's gaze remains steadfast in spite of the invisible gag, fixated and wild in her sweat soaked face. The silent battle of wills sizzled in the stillness, an unseen wildfire that sought cook each living soul in the shuttle. She is just aware enough to wonder if this rage HIS or HER OWN, for his eyes reflect her own. Yes, she felt it too. She felt the pull, she felt a pain that was not hers to feel hovering around the edges of her psyche. Even in her frantic, half mad state she could comprehend that something was amiss. She did not understand then and could not understood now. The silent observe, that calm and collected part of her whispered of an unwanted tug towards something unknown.

Her lips curl into a snarl, vision going red as invisible fingers grasp her tighten. Her mind teems with an endless current of profanity and poison, unable to form coherent sentences to spew at him even if she had use of her tongue once more. Her eyes sting, her wrath so absolute that it surged to the only outlet it had left. Try as she might to hold them in, the seawall crumbles, saltwater trailing down her cheeks in hot rivulets. Oh, how she hates him… She feels she could break from the depth of it, quaking from the inside out as it heaves and cracks as surely as the frozen earth they had just escaped from. Such is her rage that she cared little for her safety, for anyone’s safety. Let the void swallow them all, let their lungs burst as they perish amongst the stars. It was the least they deserved for their abominations. It was the least she deserved for not fighting harder.

Another subtle vibration wracks the ship, dimming the lights and sending the droid skittering back into a wall with whir of indignation.

A commotion a short distance away draws Rey’s gaze reluctantly away from her enemy, falling on a man with red hair and an expression so stern she might have flinched if she were less ired. His voice cuts like a knife through the air, so sharp it’s a miracle none of them are bleeding. “Stop playing with your food, Ren. Subdue the girl before she destroys another vessel.”

Rey bristles instantly, dropping the feeble defense she had thrown up when Kylo’s grip on her tightens further. His triumph makes her feel ill, sickening waves of it crashing over her as her focus returns to the Knight. They struggle for several moments, both of them gasping for breath with the sheer intensity. An unstoppable force and an immovable object clashing so fiercely the engine began to sputter. The troopers that flanked her shifted visibly away from the pair, even Hux paling as the shuttle dipped alarmingly. Teeth sink deep sending blood cascading past chapped lips, chest heaving as tension meets its breaking point.

'You did not come so far to give in, you did not survive all of this to be cowed by such a terrible man.'

He was right though, she needed a teacher. Her clumsy attempts to wield the Force around her was for naught as she fought wildly to break his hold. It slipped through her fingers like sand through a clenched fist, vanishing before she ever had the chance to command it.

With a flick of his wrist, the back of Rey’s head slams into the steel beam behind her, darkness blooming like violet flowers across her vision. The girl slumps back in her seat, helpless as lids flutter shut and consciousness flees her grasping fingers.

Every set of lungs aboard the command shuttle breathe a sigh of relief.

#❝ THE RITE ❞┊( verse i )#i think i'm gonna start posting chapters of my fanfic here since this is her story~#I'LL BE BURIED IN DRAFTS MOMENTARILY

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rubypop · 8 years ago

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Hunger, Chapter 11 - Dragon Age 2

Hunger by rubypop Chapter 11

Anders blinked slowly at the gathering clouds, lacking the sense to wonder whether or not he was dead. At first he saw only the overcast sky, which gradually stained pink with the setting of the sun. The pain was slow to creep through him, until it ignited his nerves like a line of fuses, and he cringed, and almost screamed, for suffering this mistake.

He could scarcely feel the ground through this pain. He writhed over cold, jagged limestone. A slow panic was taking hold, and he, well-versed in healing, urged himself to relax, to calm down, but, oh, such pain was unlike any he'd yet survived. He had the impression that he was not here, sprawled upon the ground, but was instead standing over himself, staring down at bruised-black flesh and crushed bones. Neurons in his brain were fireworks, explosions, conflicting bursts of information. I am dead, he thought; I am going into shock; I will not leave this place; I will never see her again.

With something of a whimper he forced himself to lay still, letting go of the instinct that screamed for all of his muscles to cramp around his injuries. Tears flooded his eyes. He breathed deeply, and counted: one. Two. Three.

With great effort, he took stock of his condition. He could move his head, just barely, and thanked every deity and spirit he could imagine that he hadn't snapped his neck. He felt slightly less grateful when he caught sight of a splintered, yellow length of bone, and he lowered his head again dizzily. He breathed, and counted again. One, two, three.

"Oh, Maker," he said.

In one hand he still clutched his staff. Miraculous. He could not lift it. A sharp new pain sliced through his shoulder when he tried, and he knew that his collarbone must have broken in at least two places. He dared not guess how many bones, exactly, he'd shattered, in case that tide of panic were to rise again. Instead he focused on the staff, urging all of the warmth he had left into a single focal point, and he whispered words of healing, stopping to cringe, to gasp, and to begin again.

He was forced to work slowly, forced to identify as many individual wounds as possible, one at a time, so that the healing would be total: every clot of blood, shredded muscle, fragment of bone, and traumatized tissue. He thought, at first, that the worst of it was over once he'd repaired the punctured lining of his lungs, and then he arrived at his left leg. Here was the yellow point of his femur, which had split, vertically, almost in two.

"Maker," he said again, and twisted the fabric of his coat between his teeth, and he tried not to call too much attention to himself as he rejoined the halves of the bone.

He lay still for quite some time, feverish and doused in sweat. The sky, by now, had grown dark.

He sat up. His newly-repaired nerves were raw, and protested.

Black carcasses were stretched and crushed around him. The rest had gone over the sheer drop. He had slammed onto an outcropping, which now was littered with the boulders he had brought down the cliffside. He stared up, beyond the white wall and its crooked scarlet mineral veins. He did not know what awaited him at the village. He could not be certain how much time had passed, and hoped it had only been half a day — though even now it might be too late.

He found himself praying, for the first time in his life, that Fenris was still alive.

"Little poppet," Dragana sang softly. "Little girly poppet, with snipped strings."

She lay next to Fenris, her eyes staring.

"Little girly poppet, with your ribbons and things."

Her teeth stained red.

"Little poppet, why do you not walk?"

Her gaze settled on Fenris, focusing at last.

"Why do you not walk?" she whispered.

She forced herself up. Her dripping hair dragged through blood. She leaned over the silent body. She skimmed at the blood with her hands, but it had already begun to coagulate, and she gagged, and could not get it down. She stared at Florian as though seeing him for the first time, and screamed.

She fell upon the body, weeping and shrieking. "I'm sorry, dearest." She fumbled at his doublet and stroked his black curls. "I'm sorry, oh, sweet dearest, look at you, oh, those clothes will have to be replaced, just look at your shirt, I am sorry, I am sorry."

She reared back again, covering her mouth. "Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker. Oh, no. Oh, no."

She backed away and crawled across the floor, stamping it with handprints, until she cowered against the wall.

"Little poppet," she whimpered. "Little girly poppet."

"Dragana," Fenris managed. "Lady Dragana."

She stared at him incredulously.

"Please try to be calm," he said.

"Ser Silver Elf?" she said, as though she had forgotten him.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, Dragana. Please, just look at me, and be calm."

She gathered handfuls of her hair. She pressed her fists to her scalp. She was about to speak when she glanced up suddenly, her mouth hanging open, and Fenris turned to look. Grasin gaped at them from the doorway.

"Grasin," Dragana said.

Fenris watched his gaze move first from them to Florian, then to the knife, and back to Dragana's blood-spattered face. He turned and ran.

"Grasin!" Dragana shrieked.

The slamming of a door echoed from the foyer.

Dragana began to weep hysterically and crumpled to the floor. Fenris strained against his bindings, but his wrists had been knotted fast, and he could not reach the rope with his claws. He struggled and twisted about on the floor.

Just as suddenly as she began, Dragana stopped crying. Fenris froze. She'd sat up again, her face inscrutable. She swayed. She said, "I've done something wrong."

She met his eyes. "I must have done something wrong."

Painstakingly, she stood and tottered across the room, waving her arms for balance. She dropped down beside Fenris and stared, for a very long time, at Florian. Fenris dared not move.

"You said you hurt her," she said, without taking her eyes off of the body.

Fenris didn't speak.

"Do you think — she will forgive you?"

"I," Fenris said.

The glassy stained face turned to him.

"I don't know," he said.

She sat back and ground her little fists into her lap. She rocked back and forth and hummed.

"Little girly poppet," she mumbled. "With snipped strings."

She lay her head against Florian's chest and was silent.

Anders leaned against his staff like an old, old man. He slid to his knees. His heart hammered. He could not focus. In his mind, he saw Fenris groping at the cleaver in his shoulder. He saw Florian, enraged and deadly. He saw Hawke vanishing into the maw of the beast.

He groaned and stabbed at the cliffside with his staff. He drew upon all of the natural energies that he could summon, all that would listen. He felt for the pulse of the earth. Cracks ran like ripping seams down the sheer wall. The rock shifted, caving here and jutting there, crumbling and cleaving and reshaping, and he had, for a horrible instant, a vision of the entire cliff coming down on him, destabilized and vengeful. He clung to sheer concentration, until the fractured rock settled and became still, forming a series of inexpertly-wrought steps that led back up the cliffside.

Exhaustion leached through him. He slumped. I must go, he thought. I must go.

Dragana flung open the garden doors. Dressed in moonlight, the overgrown rafflesias lurked. She staggered against her cane into the vines. She seized handfuls of flowers and tossed them away, and kicked the largest foul-smelling bloom. She wedged her cane beneath its spotted lobes and wrenched it from the ground, revealing a black, rocky cavity. She turned back to Fenris, her wet eyes shining.

With the long, curving knife she cut the rope from his feet. She tugged the bindings at his hands, urging him up, and dragged him into the garden. He went unsteadily. When he swayed back, more for lack of balance than any genuine attempt to escape, she rounded on him with the knife, pressing its edge into the soft flesh beneath his jaw.

"You will come," she said. The knife trembled in her little hand. "Or I will kill her myself."

She yanked the lead at his wrists and together they descended into the mouth of the cave.

The heat, here, was familiar, and for an instant Fenris was racing along the manor stairs again, cradling Hawke to his chest. A fist of longing squeezed his heart. He followed Dragana through absolute darkness. He breathed hot, wet air, and a more potent carrion stench, upon which he gagged, and which stirred the bile in his gut. He heard deep, steady breathing, a rhythm which grew gradually louder, and it seemed to emanate from all around him, seismic, ever-present, swallowing him whole, as though they walked the gullet of a behemoth.

They came to a vast, torchlit cavern. Condensation, which dripped even now, had shaped these calcareous walls, and stalactites choked the dome of the ceiling. His gaze fell upon a pile of corpses. No — a mountain, staggering in its implications, of parts and pieces, twisting limbs and reaching fingers and unidentifiable viscera. Fenris retched and tried to turn away, but Dragana yanked his lead, unmoved by the sight, and he glimpsed bones, and gaping jaws, and all that was now mere detritus of the villagers who'd once lived ignorantly above this place.

"My Lord," Dragana said.

The great beast turned, with brilliant unblinking eyes.

Anders laboriously climbed the cliffside, his fingers bruising against jagged rock. Wind stung his eyes and yanked at his tattered robes. His nervous system howled. Despite his healing, the trauma of broken bones and punctured organs still rattled his skull like a cage. Cold reason penetrated his thoughts: certainly this outcome was preferable to being eaten alive. Anders found that he could not argue as he groaned and dragged himself up, and up.

Justice did share his bodily pain, at least.

This did not comfort him — that mortally fragile side of all human brains which seeks self-preservation. He could not deny that Justice had rendered him a helpless passenger in the body that they both shared, in a body which Justice had sent purposefully over the edge of a cliff. Cold reason, again: but we have survived.

His frightened brain: I would not have done that, could never have done that. What else will I be made to do?

Onward he climbed, white and shaking.

He neared the peak. He wished desperately to pause, to catch his breath, but forced himself to go on, to spare no time. A dark face peered over the edge, long-nosed and pointed-eared. For a wild second he thought it must be Fenris, until he recognized the harrowed expression.

Grasin reached for him, and Anders grasped his hands gratefully, allowing himself to be hauled over the edge, until he sprawled on solid ground, heaving, exhausted. Grasin helped him to his feet.

"I saw you fall," he stammered. "I thought, for certain . . ."

Anders waved his hand. "There's no time," he said. "I must hurry. I have to find her. And I have to find Hunger."

Confusion clouded Grasin's face for a moment, and then he seemed to understand. "But, your companion —"

"I will have to come back for him."

Grasin lowered his head regretfully. He nodded. "I will take you to the Lord's den," he said. "But we cannot go through the manor."

Anders jolted. "The demon is in the manor?"

"No. You misunderstand. There is an entrance. There are many entrances. This way. Hurry."

He beckoned, and led Anders toward the butcher's shop, the front of which gaped open, all splintered wood and shattered glass. Anders stopped short.

"I cannot go back in there," he murmured, and Grasin turned, not hearing. At that moment, ice flooded Anders's veins and poured from his eyes, stinging, stealing his breath and his voice.

"Lead on," Justice growled, and Grasin trembled where he stood.

Fenris and Hunger faced one another for the first time since the abduction at Hawke Manor.

The demon huddled against the concave wall, massive, solid, its black hide shining. Its teeth clenched and unclenched as it breathed. Its gaze penetrated Fenris as readily as the curving talons on its fingers.

"You brought him here," Hunger said, and growled, long and resonant.

"My Lord —"

"WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE," Hunger roared, and Dragana ducked her head, hiding her face.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

The demon groaned then, leaning back, so different, now, than the first time Fenris had seen it.

"I didn't know what to do," Dragana said, near tears.

"I have told you what to do. Useless little twit." Hunger dragged its enormous claws against the wall, and fleshy tumors sprang up, bloated and pulsing, and it settled back against them wearily. "Tell me that is the blood of the mage."

"It is not," Dragana whispered, touching her face. The blood had long dried, and flaked from her mouth. "But he is dead. I swear it."

"And you've not brought his head?"

"He fell from the cliffside."

"Then I am not convinced," Hunger snarled, "until his head is in my hands."

"My Lord." Dragana began to cry. "You treat me so poorly now."

The white eyes narrowed without pity.

"Please hold me. Please kiss me, and tell me that you love me."

"You are undeserving," Hunger said.

A long, pitiful sob escaped her. She nearly crumpled, swaying against the silver cane. She smeared blood across her arm as she roughly wiped her tears.

"I killed Florian," she wept. "I cut his throat. I drank his blood."

Hunger said nothing.

"Still the tremors have not stopped," she stuttered. "My legs. They will not stop shaking. Nothing has changed."

"Stupid, foolish girl," Hunger said, and Dragana fell silent.

Hunger's claws raked against its forehead, dancing along the crown of spikes. "It is beyond my power to heal you," it said.

Dragana stared. Her arms lowered to her sides, and hung limp there. "What?"

"Did you think I hold sway over miracles? That blood rites and rituals are enough to eliminate the affliction that is just as much a part of you as your red hair? My dear. My silly, stupid girl."

"What?" she said again.

Hunger sneered. "Do you still not understand? Nothing, my dear," and the demon rose, towering above them both, "will ever banish the tremors from your body. 'Twas a hopeless dream of your father's."

"You lied to me?" Dragana said.

"I followed along with the fantasy." Hunger sat again amongst the tumors. "The one that so blinded your father. A pleasant dream. It gave sweetness to the taste of his flesh."

"But — the rituals. The sacrifices —"

"All a pleasing way to pass the time." The black lips curled back over yellow teeth. "Marvelous, sensuous entertainment."

"Entertainment?" She turned to Fenris, as though he could explain. Her frightened eyes stirred within him a deep pity. "Entertainment?" she said again. "My love . . ."

A deep purring sound emanated from the beast.

"But. What was it all for? What do you want?"

Hunger shook its head. "Her," it crooned, stroking its hard stomach. "The contract she and I shared has been fulfilled. I thank you, for providing this waiting-place. You have been a most pleasing host."

She stared, dumbfounded, at nothing. Her fingers loosened around the knife.

Hunger chuckled. "And the little girl realized at last," it said delicately, "where her selfishness had gotten her."

Justice and Grasin passed through the gaping portal and into the butcher's shop.

They followed a long, snakelike vine that was smothered with rafflesias. Justice ignored the human trepidation that resisted every step, and he went into the back room, awash in the fetor of rotting blood.

A great butcher's block stood on wooden legs in the center of the room. Its stained surface bespoke frequent use. A series of tools, well-cleaned and gleaming, hung on pegs all around: cleavers of varying sizes, honing steels, skinning knives, bone saws, wicked little larding needles. Over a long draining trough dangled a telltale row of hooks. Justice observed these. They had not been empty, mere hours ago.

Earlier when he'd arrived — when Anders had arrived — he'd heard moaning, low and piteous, and, going into the back room, had found bodies — villagers — contorted and hanging from the hooks. Naked, mewling, twisting about, discolored, inhuman. They'd reached for him, many with maimed hands, as blood sluiced into the trough. Mid-ritual. Mid-transformation.

Grasin hurried through the workshop, ducking his head low. Justice followed. They came to a wooden slat set into the floor, and Grasin drew it open. Underneath there was a staircase that sliced deep into the earth.

"Messere Lefebvre," Grasin murmured, with sorrow thick in his throat, "lured villagers here. Routinely. And he butchered them. He brought them in pieces to the Lord, through this passage. He — and the Lady Croceum — dined on their flesh. I — they had me cook it. Prepare their meals."

He gave Justice an imploring look. "Please spare her," he said. "If you can. I have cared for her since she was a babe. Since she learned to walk. Before her illness made itself known. She was not always the monster that she has become." He blinked away tears. "Her mother died to bring her into this world. I've been told it was a difficult birth, very difficult, one that should have taken both mother and child. But my Lady survived. I believe with all of my heart that this trauma was the cause of her affliction." He wiped his eyes. "A terrible curse, to have obsessed her father so, and brought this demon upon us."

"I will do what I can," Justice said. "But I will also do what I must."

Grasin took a deep breath, and dropped his head. "Save her," he whispered. "End this atrocity."

Justice nodded. He turned to the staircase. He descended.

"You," Dragana murmured. The knife shook in her hand. "You. I killed Fluh. Florian. I . . ."

The demon watched her, amused.

"He loved me." She stared at the blade. "And I. I . . ."

"I knew that you would," Hunger said. "If I only asked."

"And Daddy?" Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused.

"His flesh was sweet," Hunger repeated.

"Daddy," Dragana said.

"You did not seem to care, when he had gone."

"Stop this," Fenris said suddenly, unable to take any more. "Stop taunting her, you beast, you monster."

"Ah, you. Elf." The penetrating gaze fell upon him again. "Such a waste, for my little thing to have surrendered herself for you. Now I shall have to devour you, and her trade will have been for nothing."

"Where is she?" Fenris cried.

Hunger's claws again ran over its stomach. "She is with me," it said. "I could not resist. I swallowed her whole. So that she will always be with me."

"She still lives?"

Hunger's smile remained, stretching wide, secretive.

"Daddy," Dragana murmured. "Florian."

"Your time is done, child." Hunger flicked a hand in her direction. "Go. Leave me. Live out your miserable existence elsewhere, where I will not be bothered. It is my gift to you, precious hostess.

"But first." The demon turned again to Fenris. "Bring the elf to me."

Dragana lifted her head. She stared, for a few moments, at Hunger, and then turned to Fenris. He saw new clarity in her eyes, as though a pall had been lifted for the very first time.

She drew close to him — slight, pale, trembling Dragana. She released her cane, which clattered to the cavern floor. She cupped his cheek.

"Perhaps she will forgive you," she whispered, and, with one stroke of the knife, cut him free of his bonds.

Hunger roared — a deafening, earth-shaking sound. Dragana smiled sadly at Fenris. She turned the knife and plunged it between her ribs.

Fenris started. He moved toward her, but Hunger had thundered onto all fours, had begun to charge. Dragana collapsed with a rattling breath. Fenris turned. He stared down the approaching beast.

Hunger's jaws sprang open wide.

Fenris leaned forward. He sucked in his breath.

He ignited, silver, hot.

Hunger dove.

Fenris charged.

He sprinted, and sprang up, ghostly bright, and dove into the great gaping mouth, and vanished.

#rubypop #fanfiction #dragon age #fenris #anders #hawke #horror #hunger

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