fearlesstigerquotev

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Well, this is it.

July 1st.

Messages are gone.

Nobody will ever receive a "[username] has sent you a message" notification ever again.

Only one good thing happened today.

Happy Independence Day Canada.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Winterkälte

A Horror Oneshot

Warnings: Mild goreNotes: Reader pronouns used are he/him, written in third person POV. masterlist

The golden rays of dusk had distorted into drab grey by the time they arrived at the alpine hut. A father, his son, and their dog stumbled forward—fur jackets drenched with sweat and melted snow. It clung to their bodies like leeches, biting into their flesh and stinging their skin. The boy's complexion mottled an ugly puce, splotches of purple had already formed on his lips. His shrill complaints drilled into his father's ears before the latter threw him a tiny sausage to satiate his hunger. Only the dog showed no signs of discomfort—it rolled around in the snowbed without a care in the world; typical behavior.

(Name's)—the father's—trained eyes scanned the horizon. From North to South, craggy peaks rose as far as the eye could see, draped in a sheet of ice and snow. He recognized some of them, he had visited this alpine hut with his father and grandfather before. Schreckhorn and Kleiner Schreckhorn were the names of the distant peaks, if his foggy memory served him right. If he squinted, he could see his mountain village nestled in the valley below—smoke billowed from multiple chimneys. He wondered if his extended family had already gone to bed.

Unbroken white covered the land, only broken by the occasional dark patch of forest. It was foolish of him to have strayed away from the established trail, but his son had insisted that they take the longer, more scenic route. Not that he blamed him—it was his first time joining his father on this trip. Eyes lit up with awe and wonder, the father could not resist the temptation of letting his son explore the wilderness. After all, he needed to become acquainted with the route—his son, his grandson, and their sons would need to maintain the hiking trail for generations to come. Every curve, every dip in the road had to be hammered into their minds in case they ever met a lost traveler in the mountains. Then, they would have to guide the lost soul back to the alpine hut and prepare them a warm meal, provide them with medical attention, new clothes.

The wind picked up, and the dog barked. His son tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, yelling at him to open the door. (Name) turned and twisted at the ice-covered doorknob, the metal slipping between his fingers. Strange, this used to be easier in his youth. After many attempts, the trio floundered into the dry hut. Almost instantly, the boy disposed of his drenched jacket and ran into the rickety kitchen in search of water and food. The dog stood guard outside, scratching its ears with its hind legs; typical behavior. Meanwhile, the father grumbled and placed both their jackets in front of the fireplace, before sparking a flame. 

The fledgling flame sputtered at first, wavering against the chill that permeated the hut's bones. Yet (Name) nursed it, feeding it tender scraps of timber and brittle tinder. Gradually, it took hold, orange tongues licking up the logs akin to how his dog licks up the scraps thrown its way. A comforting warmth blossomed from the hearth, banishing the pervasive cold. It caressed the father's numb, frozen skin, thawing the icy ache in his old joints. He exhaled in satisfaction as feeling returned to his fingertips, the fire's heat penetrating deeper, massaging away the day's exertions.

Like a moth attracted to the flame, the son came bouncing toward the hearth, holding a batch of biscuits in his hand. Annoyed, the father scolded him for eating the food reserved for travelers. But the boy complained that there was no more food left in the pantry, nor water. And even that was infested with worms, rendering it undrinkable for the lowest vermins of Earth. Only a few bottles of whiskey sat in the cupboard, and the boy refused to let the alcohol slip past his purple lips.

This wasn't normal. Had a fox found its way inside and ate the dried meat? Or a wolf? Did he forget to fill the barrel with fresh water from his last trip? The man pursed his lips and swung his jacket over his shoulders—they had been given barely enough time to soak up the fire's heat. With a gruff cough, he told his son to stay indoors, and not open the door until he returned. The boy asked where he was going. "To the creek," replied (Name), "to gather fresh water for us." "How about just melting the snow from outside?" "No. Too dirty. Besides, I'll bring back some fish if I'm lucky. Yes, fish stew will warm us up in no time." The creek flowed all year round inside a forest, so there existed no fear of it freezing over. There was no need for the boy to worry, it was a short walk away, and besides, the dog would keep him company.

The boy protested, he wouldn't let his father walk off into the endless woods. Especially not with night approaching. But (Name) dismissed his concerns, securing his son's survival was more important. Parental instincts were such a strange phenomenon—he couldn't let his son die of thirst. The father had walked that path at least a thousand times during his youth; saying that he was well-acquainted with the mountains was an understatement. (Name) grabbed a flask and was almost out the door when he had a second thought. Maybe he should bring a lantern? No need, he'd make it back before darkness settled, or so he convinced himself.

The boy and the dog watched him leave for the forest. He was right—the boy could hear a little trickle of water running in the distance. Or was it the wind? He wondered when his father would return.

Above him, the clouds darkened, covering the sky in black ink.

(Name) continued through the level forest for several kilometers. Then he went down a bank to the frozen path of a small stream. Around him stood towering pine trees, their short leaves and pinecones glistening with a soft powder of snow.

How peculiar, the stream had frozen over. Maybe the weather was colder than usual. The man speared the ice with a wooden branch. Then he bent down and filled his flask with fresh water. Internally, he scolded himself for not bringing a second flask. Perhaps the boy could come here tomorrow with the barrel. 

The clear water burbled merrily as it flowed over the sheet of ice and smoothened pebbles. But its cheerful demeanor concealed its biting chill. As the man dipped his flask into the stream, icy droplets sprang forth and spattered his mittens. The wet wool clung to his skin, soaking through to his flesh beneath. The cold was a knife's edge, slicing into his numb fingers. It stole the meager warmth he had regained, replacing it with an aching, bone-deep freeze.

He grimaced, flexing his fingers within the sodden mittens. Oh, how he longed to cast them away, but that was out of the question.

So he endured, grunting as the cold sliced his skin like a butcher's blade. He focused on thoughts of the fire, recalling its tender kiss on his frigid skin. The memory sustained him as he secured the now-full flask and rose on creaking knees.

But when he turned to return, his heart sank into his frozen boots. While preoccupied, a fresh coat of snow had stealthily fallen, concealing his footsteps in a featureless blanket of white. The sun had dipped below the horizon, abandoning him to the pitch-black night.

Had it always been so dark? Did the stars shift, or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

Panic rose in his throat. At the sub-zero alpine temperature, hypothermia could set in within a moment's notice. How long did it take him to reach the creek? Half an hour.

He had to move, now.

Though his mind churned with rising panic, the man forced himself to focus. (Name) noted each twist and turn of the frozen creek, etching the landscape into memory. The silhouette of the treeline, branches clawing at the night sky. They reached out to grab him. The positions of the stars overhead, their faint light just enough to illuminate hazards underfoot. The crunch of snow beneath boots, the wet chill needling his skin, the faint whiff of woodsmoke teasing his nostrils.  Step after precarious step, he pressed forward, trusting his honed awareness to preclude a misstep. His life now hinged on keen sight, touch, smell—senses locked in a singular purpose, to spit in Death's face and live to see his son.

His knees buckled without warning, spilling him face-first into the snow's embrace. The powder swallowed him greedily, soaking through his jacket, saturating every fiber with mind-numbing cold. The wet fabric clung to him, heavy and constricting, leaching away his fading body heat. He gasped as the chill pierced his skin like a thousand frozen needles, freezing the very marrow in his bones. Violent shivers wracked his exhausted body. Bleak despair flooded his mind, the cruel mountain indifferent to his cries.

He cursed himself for leaving in the dead of night, for being too arrogant to turn back sooner. Visions of his son and dog huddled by the fire taunted him—so close, yet hopelessly out of reach. He laughed at his own foolishness. As he laughed, he noted the numbness in his concealed fingers. He wondered whether they were warm or whether they were numb. He moved them inside the mittens and decided that they were numb.

Fire. He needed fire. 

Was this the panic his ancestors felt? Hopeless to the whims of Mother Nature? 

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he forced a sliver of feeling back into his hands. He didn't want to look at them, he knew they were frostbitten. With a loud grunt, the father forced himself to his feet and trudged toward one of the pine trees. Around him, the blizzard raged, the winds howling in his ears. In the distance, he swore he heard the dog barking, and his son shouting for him to take another step.

One.

Two.

He couldn't anymore.

(Name) collapsed against the side of an ancient pine tree, chest heaving up and down. A few pinecones lay scattered around, which he picked up promptly. Fishing out a box of matches, he soon had a little fire going. The pinecones burned reluctantly, the resin snapping and popping as (Name) coaxed the balky tinder alight. Flames sputtered from the cones in fits and starts, writhing weakly before being smothered by wisps of inky smoke. The meager fire crackled and hissed, devouring the cones in smoldering, lackluster gulps. The smoke, pungent and cloying, clawed at his throat and stung his eyes. He could taste the acrid pine tar coating his tongue. It certainly was still cold, was his thought. But he was safe.

First, he melted the ice off his eyes and nose—or, at least tried to. The heat was nowhere near enough to remove all the icicles, but it was a welcome change nonetheless. (Name) rubbed his hands in front of the fire, praying that it would give him strength to breathe one more breath, walk one more step, live one more second. He looked like a newborn fawn, struggling to move, dependent on warmth.  He fed the flame with pinecones the size of his finger. In another minute he would be able to feed it with larger branches. Afterward, he would throw in a log, then a tree, then another tree another tree—another tree—burn down the forest—melt the snow; bask in the warmth—laugh in the face of the Devil; laugh in the face of Death—see his son and pet his dog—walk—back down the mountain; back to the village, soak in a hot tub and eat the finest meals known to mankind—just another pinecone—another one—

There were none left.

No more. None at all.

Please, if there's a God, save me! thought the man as he desperately blew on the embers. 

But before he could blink, it happened. It was his own fault, or rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the pine tree. He should have built it in an open space. But it had been easier to pick the pinecones from the base of the trunk and drop them directly on the fire.

Now, this tree in particular carried a sizable amount of snow on its branches. And even his son would know what happens to snow in the presence of fire.

High in the branches, a single mound of snow slipped loose, crashing down on limbs below. This triggered a chain reaction, the impacts shuddering through the tree, dislodging more of the frozen white. It built into an avalanche that plummeted without warning upon the unsuspecting man and the fire. The fire died. Atop its grave lay a lump of fresh snow.

The man was too stunned to speak.

He was all alone. 

Alone.

Shivering.

In the Alps.

Without a fire.

In soaking clothes.

Caught in a blizzard.

Had the air always been so cold?

Yes. No. Always. Never. Yes.

No more cold. No more cold. No more cold.

In one swift motion, he ripped the sodden mittens from his hands with chattering teeth. Cradling the matchbox, he sandwiched it between his bare palms - the only part of him not yet frozen stiff. Arm muscles burning with exertion, he scraped the box forcefully along its rough striking edge. The matches erupted in a single brilliant flare, all ninety igniting at once! (Name) blinked against the sudden flare, eyes stinging. But something was wrong. The flames, fueled by an unholy force, engulfed his hands, searing the flesh and melting the sinew. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and the smoke rose to the high heavens. From the comfort of the alpine hut, it must have looked like an ordinary campfire.  The father screamed in agony, his eyes watering from the acrid stench. Could his son see him? Hear him? Or could the dog catch a whiff of his blood and flesh, leading the boy to his location? But wait. None of that mattered anymore. He had fire. He had warmth. And it felt so damn good.

Nothing could stop him now. His battered knees sprung to life as he raced through the woods. He felt as though he were flying. He grew a pair of wings and zipped through the trees. Faster and faster. In the corner of his eyes, he saw a wolf. A big one. Black. Black eyes. Black fur. I'll race you! You'll never catch me! Not you, or your pack!

(Name) cackled as he ran. Before he knew it, he had reached the alpine hut. The man threw aside the matches and banged on the door with all his might, yelling at his son with a sing-song voice to open the damned door. His hands were red, purple, blue, blistered, frost-bitten—anything and everything at once.

Bang!

The skin peeled off like wet paper.

Bang!

Revealing the muscles underneath. Pulsating muscles, glistening with a sickly sheen.

Bang!

Then the muscles fell off, and the bones clattered against the door frame. Brittle bones. Clattering to the floor like splinters.

He heard the dog barking inside. It was alive! But why won't his son open the door! Open up! I'll gut you up and plunge my hand in your stomach if you don't open the door this instant! I need warmth! My skin is burnt! I don't care! Your muscles and skin shall be used to make a new hand, new body—your soul shall become one with mine! I see you staring at me through the window! Why are you scared! It's me, your father! I have the water! In the flask! From the creek! See! You want my clothes? Take them! I don't need them anymore! Damn it! Son! Open the door!

He stopped. It was useless. The wolf had caught up to him. But it didn't snarl. (Name) looked down at his hand—now a charred stump. Bone. Cracks in the bone. Bone marrow. Ha. Ha. Ha.

He slumped to his knee and the wolf did so as well. Strange, why was this wild animal so docile? Like a dog. His dog. Good boy.

Would his son ever find his body? Would the dog lick him awake? And what is this wolf doing here? 

Ah, no matter. This is comfortable. There are worse ways to die.

Snow fell from the roof above. In front of the door stood a lump of snow. And next to it, lay the wolf.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Itto the Irresistible Beetle Battler

Notes: Fluffy oneshot. Established relationship between Itto and Y/N. A swarm of trained ladybugs VS a beetle sounded funnier in my head. masterlist

Scratching casually at his chin, Itto grinned impishly at Y/N from his perch atop the wooden post, legs dangling. "What fresh calamity have you brought upon me now, Itto?" said Y/N with an exaggerated long-suffering sigh, though her lips curved in a half smile.     

"Just a little entertainment for this Oni!" he said cheerfully, throwing his arms wide. "You can't refuse a friendly competition between rivals-turned-lover, can you?"

Y/N arched a brow, arms crossing as she shifted her weight onto one hip. "More like you needing an ego boost after losing the last five times in a row," she replied.    

Throwing back his head, Itto let out a booming laugh that glinted off his myriad earrings. Then he fixed Y/N with an exaggerated look of injury, placing a hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. "Must you wound me so?" he said. "I assure you, this time I have trained my little beetle warrior well! They will crush your ladybugs into glittering powder!"      

Shifting her stance, Y/N smirked. "Is that so?" she replied. "My ladybugs happen to be in top form. I doubt your 'warriors' stand a chance."

Hopping down from the post in one nimble movement, striding towards Y/N, Itto scoffed. "How dare you doubt the mighty Oni beetle horde!" he said gesticulating enthusiastically. "They will swarm over your ladybugs like a plague, crushing them underfoot!"                     

Throwing back her head, Y/N laughed, the chiming sound like bells."You do love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" she said. "But today, I shall defeat your ego once and for all!"

The battlefield was drawn in the dirt, a perfect circle. The cages were placed at opposite ends, lids removed.   

Itto's rhinoceros beetle charged forward, mandibles snapping fiercely as it tried to latch onto one of Y/N's ladybugs. The ladybug darted nimbly to the side, then swarmed up the rhino beetle's long horn. The huge beetle bucked and snapped its pincers, trying to dislodge the tiny ladybug clinging to its armor-plated back, but the ladybug held fast. 

More ladybugs joined the fray, crawling all over the rhino beetle, pinching its joints, and nibbling at its antennae. The rhino beetle swung its horn from side to side, knocking ladybugs to the ground only for more to take their place. The slash and clatter of beetle carapaces colliding filled the air, along with the zing of ladybug wings darting in for attack then zipping away again. 

The rhino beetle flailed and thrashed, growing more frenzied, as a tide of ladybug crimson swarmed over its green armor. Finally, with a shudder, the mighty beetle crashed to the dirt, legs twitching in defeat. The victorious ladybugs fluttered into the air in a cloud of red and black, winging triumphantly around Y/N's head before landing back in their cage.           

Y/N had triumphed gloriously.                                  

With an exaggerated roar, Itto kicked the dirt in mock anguish. "Bested by ladybugs again?! The honour of Onis is lost!"  

'But you already know I always let you win on purpose, Y/N.'

Giggling, Y/N tapped her foot impatiently. "And what about my prize, Itto?"                              

Sheepishly rubbing his neck, Itto offered, "T-Takoyaki?"

Y/N responded with an elegant eyebrow raise and scoff. "Think again."

Anxiety crossed Itto's face. "Then, uh, whatever my champion desires?"   

A mischievous smile lit up Y/N's face like dawn. "Kiss me."                

Itto beamed, his earrings jingling as he sprang up, embracing Y/N tenderly. He pressed soft kisses to her knuckles, like whispers of love.

'You always ask for the best requests, Y/N.'

Y/N laughed softly, wrapping arms around his neck and pulling him into a sweet kiss. Grinning as they parted, Itto suggested breathlessly, "Next time, let's skip straight to the kissing!"                      

Y/N tapped his nose playfully. "And skip all the fun?"

Itto pulled her close, whispering. "Our fun has just begun, my champion!"

Y/N kissed him once more. "In that case, the matches recommence tomorrow. But for now, I claim my prize..."

And pulled him into another loving kiss.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Ensnared

Yandere M!Pied Piper X F!Reader

Warnings: Mild body horror, possessive + yandere behavior masterlist

Once upon a time, in the land cradled between the winding waters of the river Weser, there lay two towns, Hamelin and Weidehohl, each a curiosity of its own. To the west, Weidehohl nestled amidst the towering, age-old trees, where the pagans roamed, their shadows falling on creatures of the forest, and their deeds shrouded in darkness. They committed crimes that troubled the very heavens, where cats were denied their lives, and dogs met a mournful fate.

On the opposite bank, to the east, stood Hamelin, a settlement graced by the protective embrace of four mighty forts, where no soul could pass unseen or unnoticed. It was a city crafted from the warm, welcoming wood of time, its heart radiating with peace and prosperity. In Hamelin, the gentle hand of Christ blessed the land with abundance.

And in the blessed town of Hamelin lived a widow named Y/N. Her heart was as pure as the morning dew, yet heavy with the sorrow of a love lost. Her beloved had embarked on a sacred missionary journey, and for seven long days and seven nights, he had vanished from her sight. It was on the seventh night that his lifeless form was returned to her humble dwelling, a pitiful sight to behold. His body resembled a mangled corpse, the limbs poking out in odd angles, the silver cross ripped from his neck. Even the cherished keepsake, a timepiece adorned with a lovingly-crafted portrait of his beloved wife on their wedding day, had vanished into the shadows.

With tearful eyes and a contrite heart, the widow sought solace in the confessional, where she bared her soul to the priest and questioned the sins that had led to her husband's gruesome fate at the hands of the pagans. But the priest, hidden behind the confessional booth, offered words of comfort and guidance.

"Nay, dear child, the burden of blame lies not upon your shoulders," he whispered gently. "The pagans of Weidehohl are the architects of this sorrow, and their lives shall remain fraught with wretchedness unless they turn to the benevolent embrace of Christ."

"Father," Y/N confessed, "in my despair, I confess to having missed Sunday Mass twice in succession. What penance must I undertake to cleanse my soul of sin and ensure the reunion of my husband and me in the heavenly kingdom of our Lord?"

"My dear child," came the priest's soothing reply, "perform acts of charity, extend your hand to the needy, and become a sponsor to the orphan. Through these acts of benevolence, your soul shall find its path to redemption, and in the divine grace of our Lord, you shall one day be reunited with your beloved in the heavenly realm."

And so, the widow poured the essence of her very being into the sacred act of spreading the love of the Savior. She became the guardian of the forsaken, running a humble orphanage for the downtrodden street urchins. Beneath the sheltering eaves of her makeshift home, she provided not only a sanctuary from the cold, unforgiving world but also warm soups that chased away the hunger that gnawed at their fragile bellies.

To those who approached her with intentions other than those of the divine, she responded with an unshakable steadfastness. Her words, like a sermon from the heavens, would gently rebuke them, reminding them of the plight of the orphans and how humanity had often forsaken those less fortunate. In her wisdom, there was a grain of truth: Why should the Church entrust a humble widow with the monumental task of caring for orphans, while it basked in the wealth derived from indulgences?

Yet, Y/N knew better than to arouse the ire of the Church, for as a widow, a solitary soul, she teetered on the precipice of society's margins. A single misstep could condemn her to the mercy of the clergy, leaving her precarious existence hanging by a slender thread.

But despite her pure intentions, the Devil would test her belief in God once again. This time, He unleashed upon her beloved Hamelin a deluge of rats and mice, a horde of vermin with ravenous appetites. They descended upon the city like the overflowing waters of the river Weser, devouring the meager stores of grain, defiling the once-pure waters of the public well with their loathsome droppings, and spreading pestilence and death throughout the land.

In the face of this vile pestilence, the people of Hamelin turned to their faith with fervor, seeking solace and redemption in daily worship. Their voices echoed with praises to the Lord, sung until they grew hoarse from their devotion. Yet, amidst their piety, the plight of the orphaned souls remained unseen, their suffering ignored. Hearts once kind were now veiled by self-righteousness, their pride preventing even a morsel of bread from being offered to those in need. And so, Y/N toiled away once more, her body growing weaker and more fragile as the weeks passed by.

One day, a curious traveler, bedecked in a garb of vivid hues, sauntered into the fortified realm of Hamelin. Bemused and bedazzled, the city's folk kept a wary distance from this stranger, their wariness ignited by his flamboyant cloak and hair ablaze like Hell's own fire. At his neck, he wore not the sacred cross but a flute, intricately carved from bone.

"Citizens of Hamelin," rang out his voice like a melodious tune, "I bear, through secret charms unknown to most, the power to summon forth all creatures dwelling beneath the sun—those that crawl, swim, fly, or race across the land. These are the creatures that oft bring harm upon you—the mole, the toad, the newt, and the serpent. People call me the Pied Piper. If I but free your town from its rat-borne scourge, shall you grant me a thousand guilders?"

"A thousand guilders? Secret charm?" laughed the crowd. "We'd sooner drink cow's urine than entertain the whims of a charlatan like thee! Why, you are clothed like the pagans of Weidehohl! We good Christians would never associate ourselves with infidels like thee!"

And so, the Pied Piper found himself slumbering upon the city's cobblestone streets, right before the doorstep of the humble orphanage. Unable to turn a blind eye, she fed him with the crusts of bread the children could not eat, and soup made of vegetable scraps.

He looked up at her, bewildered that one of the citizens who had rejected him would dare nourish him. "Dost thou not fear condemnation? To aid a stranger such as I?"

"Nonsense," came her swift reply, "before me, I see neither stranger, nor maverick, nor even one hailing from Weidehohl. In this moment, I behold but a fellow soul, a man who may succumb to the bitter cold if aid is not given."

Bringing the broth to his lips, the Pied Piper relished in its salty aroma. How could a denizen of Hamelin, known for their stern devotion to God's path, radiate such tender warmth? In what felt like but a heartbeat, the soup disappeared from his bowl. "Is... Is this the doctrine of thy Lord?"

She smiled as she took the bowl from him, "Indeed, it is the teaching of our Lord, who bids us to love one another as He loves us."

The Pied Piper could only chuckle and rake his fingers through his red hair, which twirled upwards in delicate curls at the base of his collarbone. "Throughout my long years upon this Earth, they have regarded me as but an exterminator, a mere tool to rid their towns of the earthly vermin. Never have I been graced by the presence of Mother Mary herself."

"Mother Mary? How does a pagan such as yourself know of her?" curiosity laced Y/N's voice as she sat down next to him. Inside the orphanage, the children, intrigued by the unusual encounter, giggled and vied for a view between their surrogate mother and the curious visitor.

The Piper bestowed upon her a subtle, enigmatic grin, and with a deft movement of his fingers, he began to play a soft, mesmerizing tune on his flute—a melody so enchanting that it seemed as if the very stars had descended to dance in the moonlit night.

The children, drawn by the enchanting music, abandoned their timid hideaways and gathered around the pair. Their eyes, wide with innocent wonder, bore witness to the magic of the Piper's tune—a melody that had never before graced their ears. For indeed, the orphans had never heard of the wonderous music before. It was unlike the solemn hymns of the church, rigid and controlled. Instead, it was a music that spoke of freedom, of joy, and liberation from the chains of the mundane.

Y/N couldn't help but feel that it danced on the edge of sin, but she could not deny the children their delight. She allowed them to dance and frolic, their laughter rising like the joyful laughter of forest spirits.

In the end, she never received an answer to her question.

With the passage of time, Y/N perceived a waning in the rat population, witnessed the orphans suffer less from the grip of disease, and felt her own health flourish in the absence of the rodents.

"Perhaps the Lord has graced me for extending sustenance to the Pied Piper?" she pondered, conversing with her fellow women during Sunday Mass.

"Hush, dear," came their swift rejoinder, "you were simply a fortunate soul. Our homes still teem with the pestilence of mice!"

"But consider this," Y/N beseeched, her voice laden with earnestness, "What if God sent this plague as a trial? A test of our kindness and charity, a challenge to alleviate the traveler's suffering, even if he be unconventional? If each working man were to bestow but one guilder upon the Piper, he would amass a bounty sufficient to lead the rats away from Hamelin!"

Her words did not go unheard by the mayor. Share his own coffers of wealth would he not. But pluck a thousand guilders from the working class to please the Piper—a fine deal indeed. After Mass, he called the Pied Piper to his office and told him of the proposal.

In response, the Piper laughed and shook his head, "Gentleman, the thousand guilders were but a jest. All I seek is a fine wife in exchange for my services."

The mayor's eyes lit up in delight. Now, he would not even need to part ways with his beloved coin! "Go forth, and choose an unmarried woman of your liking! Do anything that you must in order to kill the rats of Hamelin!"

On the morrow, the good folk of Hamelin awoke to a sight most peculiar. The Pied Piper, with his mop of hair burning red, led an army of rats away from the town, all the while playing a merry tune on his bone-carved flute. His garments billowed like swallows riding the breath of the wind, whilst the rats scurried at his feet, dancing with mania. They squeaked and chirped, running and tumbling in circles, over cobblestone roads, through the gates of Hamelin, over hills and meadows, until they reached the winding river Weser.

"Little rodents! Ye must be parched from your toil! Go, partake of the waters that the Lord Christ hath graciously provided!" sang the Piper, twirling around his own axis as he played the hypnotizing tune.

As if by some mystical command, the rats leaped into the river, one by one, and there, they met their watery fate.

"My, 'tis sorcery!" screeched the resident priest, clutching his cross in the palm of his gnarled hand. 

The mayor interjected, "But Reverend, thou must admit, the young lad hath cured us of this plight! And in return, all he seeks is a companion—a wife!"

The Pied Piper turned toward the crowd and bowed with theatrical elegance. The colors of his cloak simmered and contorted—one moment, a vibrant lemon yellow. The next—deep cerulean blue. Loud gasps of wonder and awe erupted from the crowd, who had formed a small comune along the river bank.

With a dazzling smile, the Pied Piper got down on one knee and raised his arms to the heavens, "Fair maiden, protector of the orphans, a soul akin to the benevolent Mary herself! Amongst the Christians of Hamelin, you alone treated me with the grace of human kindness. Would you do me the honor of becoming my cherished bride, despite the unfavorable reputation that taints my name among your townsfolk?"

Y/N froze and averted her gaze to the ground. Using the sleeve of her dress to conceal her face, she replied, "An outcast for an outcast, it seems. Piper, you have placed me in a most wretched predicament. I have dedicated my life in service to God and find myself an unwedded widow, a spinster by the world's judgment."

His expression darkened but was soon replaced by a charming smile. "Fair lady, I take it as a no?"

Unable to speak another word, the widow nodded, unable to reciprocate his smile. What use was there in accepting the hand of a man whose name remained a mystery to her? Besides, the priest would never officiate a marriage between a believing woman and an infidel. Even an infidel who saved Hamelin from certain ruin.

"Fear not. I had a lingering suspicion that such would be thy response."

Once more, he brought the bone-carved flute to his lips. But this time, the melody that poured forth carried an almost otherworldly quality, a tune that seemed to teeter on the brink of the supernatural.

The children, both orphans and those with families of their own, emerged from their homes, their gleeful laughter and exuberant cries resonating through the air like the unholy revelry of a wicked tarantella. Yet, as the music wove its spell, a sinister transformation overtook them. Their limbs elongated and stretched, contorting to grotesque proportions, as if every ounce of their humanity was being pulled apart by unseen hands.

The adults could not move a single muscle, it was as if their feet were planted firmly in the ground. Y/N herself was no exception, and she screamed and begged the Piper to stop this madness. But whenever she tried to take a step toward him, her legs were met with a gripping pain, searing through her body, mind, and soul. 

There was no doubt: The Piper wanted to see the Hamelians suffer. More specifically, Y/N.

Their movements grew wild and untamed, limbs flailing and twisting with a grotesque grace that defied the laws of nature. It was as though their bodies had become marionettes, but marionettes manipulated by a malevolent puppeteer, their movements driven by a dark and unholy force. They twirled and spun, their movements growing increasingly frenzied, entrapped in a wicked ritual that defied the doctrine of the Lord itself.

Laughter mixed with the cracking of bones as the children frolicked and pranced, following the Piper as he led them away from Hamelin. Together, they crossed the shimmering waters of the river Weser, traversed rolling hills, until they disappeared into the foreboding depths of the woods that led to Weidehohl. 

Y/N was the first to break out of the trance. With lightning-fast reflexes and a heart heavy with dread, she sprinted toward the looming woods that led to Weidehohl, her voice raised in a desperate cry. "Children! Come back! This is not the path ordained by the Lord!"

But her pleas fell upon deaf ears as the possessed children, their eyes vacant and their limbs contorted, followed the Piper deeper into the shadowy woods. Deeper into the woods she ran, the gnarled branches of ancient trees clawing at her as if trying to hold her back. She followed the trail of broken branches and twisted footprints, breadcrumbs of waning hope that stretched endlessly into the heart of the forest.

Finally, at the heart of the sinister forest, she stumbled upon the lame boy, his eyes wide with terror and confusion. His frail form quivered, unable to join in the manic dance of his peers. Y/N knelt beside him, murmuring prayers of protection and strength. "Where have they gone, dear child?"

"There..." the lame boy whispered, pointing to a clearing in the midst of the woods.

The widow told the boy to stay put and approached the clearing. To her surprise, the clearing appeared utterly ordinary, as if untouched by the dark enchantment that had gripped the children. Bewildered, she turned back to check on the lame boy, only to have her heart plummet to her very shoes. He had vanished without a trace.

Heart hammering in her chest, she ran through the woods, between the ancient trees, leaping over quaint forest streams. But the lame boy was nowhere to be found. Not even the wretched Piper or the remaining children.

A gloved hand grabbed hers. Y/N shrieked and begged to be released, but it only caused the grip to tighten. She blinked and the next thing she knew, she was in a forest village, surrounded by the children she had come to love oh-so-dearly. 

Overcome with relief, she ran forward and embraced the children, sobbing and wailing just like at her deceased husband's funeral. Through tear-filled eyes, she beheld a wondrous transformation of the world around her. Waters gushed and sparkled, fruit trees burst into bloom with an otherworldly splendor, and flowers unfurled in hues that defied earthly comparison. Sparrows radiated a brilliance surpassing that of peacocks, their plumage resplendent. Horses bore wings akin to eagles, and even the honeybees had shed their stingers.

"Welcome to Weidehohl!" announced the Piper, taking her hand once more. Ignoring her pleas for release, he dipped and twirled the maiden with practiced ease, his steps sure and confident. Whispering sweet nothings, he drew her close for a kiss, and his gloved fingers brushed away the tears that streamed down her face. They danced in graceful circles, surrounded by the mesmerizing melody of the birds and the bees, who serenaded them with joyful chirps and buzzing.

It was then that she noticed the transformed children, each playing a flute similar to the one that dangled from the Piper's neck. The tune that flowed from their instruments was all too familiar—a cherished church hymn reserved for weddings. Dread seized her heart as the realization settled in, and all she could do was weep as the Pied Piper kissed away her tears,

As she danced, a small piece of metal fell from within the man's garments and onto the forest floor.

A timepiece, engraved with a lovingly-crafted portrait of herself on their wedding day. But in place of her late husband now stood the Pied Piper.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

I’m still coping from the loss

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Masterlist

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Introduction

Welcome to my Tumblr! My name is Tiger and I’m a hobbyist author and Quotev Refugee. Currently, I’m using Tumblr as a backup for all my oneshot works on Quotev, as well as the occasional meme. In the future, I’d like to post more oneshots on here as well <3 Currently moving all my full stories to AO3, I have linked the account in my bio, and will link all stories as well on here.

I mainly write yandere x reader stories, dabbling in horror, thriller, and romance. Some of my stories contain smut and dubious themes. As is the case with such types of stories, please refer to the tags and trigger warnings beforehand! Read at your own discretion. Minors do not interact with me concerning R18 stories.

Asks about my thoughts on topics, stories, headcanons etc. are allowed but I do not take oneshot/story requests.

With those disclaimers out of the way, I wish you happy reading!

Please note that this is still a WIP, only stories marked with (X) are available to read currently on Tumblr and/or AO3! For works without links, please check out my Quotev page.

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New Works Post-Quotev Apocalypse

Coming soon!

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Oneshots imported from Quotev

Yandere M!Pied Piper Halloween Oneshot (X)

To see townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. — From The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story by Robert Browning

Winterkälte Halloween Oneshot (X)

Winterkälte: A strung-together German word that roughly translates to "winter coldness." It is a childhood folk story from Switzerland, but as far as I'm aware, there is no official name for this tale. Depending from canton to canton, many variations exist. But all of them share the following structure: A boy, his father, and their dog hike up a mountain. A blizzard causes them to take refuge in an alpine hut, where they are confronted with the personification of Death. This story is told to children in order to warn them against staying out too late, especially in the cold winter months.

Itto the Irresistible Beetle Battler (X)

Itto X F!Reader | You and your Oni boyfriend have a beetle-fight competition. Short, sweet, fluffy.

A Friendship Tested

Heizou X F!Reader | A oneshot where you are a thief and Heizou chases you through Inazuma.

My Queen

Itto X F!Reader [Royalty AU] | A short oneshot where Scaramouche is a prince, and you are his bodyguard. Even though he doesn't need one.

Study Buddies

Kaveh X F!Reader X Alhaitham [R15] | A oneshot + crackfic where you are an underclassman at the Sumeru Akademiya, and ask Alhaitham and Kaveh to tutor you before an exam. But you're a simp, and both of them have different styles of teaching.

A Wholesome Genius Invocation TCG Session

Tighnari X F!Reader [Platonic relationship] | You and your friend/mentor play an exciting round of Genius Invocation TCG. Short, sweet, fluffy.

[Reminder: Add all The Royal Tutor Oneshots]

Full stories [links to AO3]

Dies Irae — Days of Wrath [R18] | Various!M!F!Yandere Reverse Harem x F!Reader (X)

After nearly half a decade of war and turmoil, Princess (Name) hears the sound of war trumpets playing: Her empire has won the war. Being the sole heir to the throne, she is quick to rejoice and immediately rushes to provide an official statement. Fate, however, has other plans for her. When her own soldiers storm the castle and usurp the sovereign, she is faced with a nasty truth: Her childhood best friend has joined the enemy side. The kingdom has won the war, but at what price? As she navigates the treacherous web of politics, societal pressures, and negotiations, Princess (Name) finds herself forming unexpected and complex alliances with a group of captivating individuals, each with their own secrets and desires. She must not make a single misstep, lest she wants her head rolling on the ground.

Playing with Fire | Yandere Diluc x F!Reader [Royalty!AU!] (X)

After countless years of war and turmoil, Natlan has fallen. Too bad you were the War Maiden of Natlan during the conflict. In order to salvage the remnants of your country, you agree to a peace treaty brokered by the rulers of Snezhnaya and Liyue—An arranged marriage. But instead of marrying Mondstadt's sovereign, you find out you're betrothed to Duke Diluc, an esteemed nobleman from the Ragnvindr clan. He claims to be acting in your best interests, but something tells you that he cannot be trusted. And when secrets of both your pasts come to light, you find yourself struggling to maintain Teyvat‘s political stability. One wrong word could lead to your demise, a fate you must avoid at all costs.

Bad Liar | Diluc x F!Reader (Known as Malefactor on AO3) (X)

In which you, a Fatui member who is fiercely loyal to the Tsarista, is tasked with stealing the Anemo Gnosis. But Diluc, the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt, is dead-set on making your mission a living nightmare... In more ways than you could possibly imagine.

Snake Eyes | Yandere M!Naga x F!Reader

Upon the request of your former professor, you travel to India to aid his research team on their quest to find the Ivory Serpent. However, due to unprecedented circumstances, things go awry right from the start, including the disappearance of your close colleague. Paying no heed to the warnings of your team members, you head off into the mangroves in search of her, ignorant of the ancient curse the land is bound to. Before you know it, you find yourself caught in the coils of an ancient deity of the mangroves. It will take more than mere prayers to wriggle yourself free.

Infiltrator | Yandere M!Harem x M!Reader [Cyberpunk Isekai]

After a gruesome murder makes headlines, a rookie journalist finds himself chasing the scoop of a lifetime. But he soon finds out that the Underworld doesn’t give out secrets so easily, vying for control over the story only he can tell. In a world where information is the highest currency, he's the richest prize. And the crime lords he's entangled with hate sharing.

Bibliophilia | M!Yandere x GN!Reader

Getting locked inside Sanfatio Library by accident was the last thing Y/N expected. Their only option is to enter a strange stone door leading to a whimsical alternative version of the otherwise quiet and quaint library. However, they soon realize they aren't alone. Something sinister is lurking between the bookshelves, stalking their every move. The once docile and humble Y/N is forced into a race against time with only a little red book to guide them. And if they don't find the exit in time, they risk being trapped inside this demented reality forever.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

How everyone feels after the Great Quotev Apocalypse on 31.05.2024